by wildbow
It codifies the thoughts and memories of the society it investigated into a usable fashion.
Then it waits.
Sentinel.
Time passes. A revolution of the planet around its star.
Something has gone wrong. It is time, but it has not received a broadcast from the counterpart.
The entity emerges, stepping into the target reality.
It can see its shards showering down from above like meteors traveling the void. The first to arrive.
It can see the shards of the counterpart.
Not all are intact.
Dead shards. Damaged ones. Vital shards, even, going to hosts.
The entity destroys these on sight. They are corrupt, ruined. They will fail to provide usable results.
Extending its perception over the world and other realities, the entity can sense everything at once. It can sense conflict. Wars.
It remains aware of its limited lifespan. Three thousand and six hundred revolutions. To search like this costs a tenth of one revolution’s time. There is more than enough remaining before the cycle concludes.
Or there should be.
The entity abandons the search. Enough information has been obtained for it to know.
The counterpart is dead.
For a very long time, the entity is still. It does not move, and instinctively holds back every ability, as if conserving energy in the face of a vast threat.
But this is not a threat that it can weather, like a storm of acid rain: the cycle has been disrupted.
Worse, it is terminated. The entities have altered themselves so that each half of a pairing serves part of a role. It is only with the counterpart that it can gestate, that it can modify the individual shards, cast the next generation out and start the cycle anew.
In seeking to understand the host creatures, the entity had coded shards to emulate them. It is those same shards that experience the entity’s first ever emotion.
Crushed.
The entity comes to experience a deep, profound sadness, for the very first time.
Time passes, as the entity considers the ramifications. The sky grows dark, then light again. Dark, then light.
A structure, a vehicle approaches. A hull pierces the water as it draws nearer. A crowd stands on the uppermost surface, gathering. They stare, even babble among themselves, their voices jumbling together, a hum, a blur. He can see into the other realities that lie adjacent to this one, similar people, similar crowds.
Drone.
Buzz.
They are communicating, and the entity is unconcerned. It watches as they draw close to the edge of the vehicle, pressing themselves against the barrier that was erected at the edge. They reach out.
They worship him. Of course they do. His form was crafted to fit the values of this reality. They hold faith, and the entity chose a shape that fit the most celebrated figures of the most popular faiths. Race divides this species, so the entity deliberately chose a form that didn’t fit any one race, with skin and hair given the color and texture of another thing they celebrated and worshipped—a mineral.
This is intentional.
The entity sees a shard already taking root in one of the vehicle’s passengers. One of the dead shards, damaged. The entity’s vision allows it to see the man’s inside, the damage. He is dying of a systemic issue in his body, producing the wrong type of cells in the wrong places.
The entity reaches out, feels others touch his hand before the male finally makes contact. A simple wavelength serves to kill specific cells.
The shard will grow now, damaged as it is.
With that, the golden man turns from the crowd and flies away.
* * *
The Entity slowed as a figure barred its path. A female, with her arms outstretched. Smaller life forms were arranged around and behind it.
Vaguely familiar.
“Stop, Scion,” the female said.
The entity came to a complete stop. It could see the connection to the female’s shard, the activity as it broadcast signals, reaching out to contact lifeforms throughout the area, coordinating them.
All around the entity, there were shards in varying states of maturation. The female’s was among the most mature. Seasoned by conflict, heavy with information, lessons learned, tactics, applications, organization. It had already fragmented once, heavy enough with information that it could afford to handle other roles. The fragment would have a derivative ability, and given proximity, it would hopefully remain close enough to exchange information with the shard that it had split off from. There were no signs of that exchange. The female had separated ways from the fragment.
The entity recognized her shard. The last one that had split off before the entity took on this form.
Queen.
The entity’s despair deepened for a moment. It was a good thing that the shards were harvesting such good information, but nothing would come of it. The cycle had been disrupted.
“I know you want to help, but it’s too dangerous. You’re too strong, and this situation is fragile. It’ll do more harm than good.”
More harm than good. Scion accepted that as a given and decided to stay where he was.
The female kept on talking as memories stirred.
* * *
A male approached. No shard, no powers. The area was dark, the planet turned away from its star. The entity was hovering over the highest point of a short bridge that spanned a river.
Lost. It had created itself for a purpose it could no longer fulfill.
The male pulled off one foot-covering, hefted it, then threw it. It bounced off the entity’s face, not even eliciting a blink.
The male hauled on the other foot-covering, but it was too tightly bound.
He gave up, half-hopping, half running up the length of the bridge, pounded his fists on the entity’s chest, scratched, clawed. Aggressive actions, but it didn’t matter. The entity was invulnerable. It could glance into the immediate future and know there was no potential reality where this male would be able to harm it.
Not that it mattered.
“Damn you!” the male cried out. “Fucking perfect golden man! Fuck you! Just… just bleed! Fucking feel this!”
A strike to the entity’s face. The male nearly fell from the bridge. The entity would have let him.
“You don’t—you don’t deserve this! This power!” The male sniveled, mucus running from his nose. Flecks of spit dotted his lips from the sheer force of his words.
“They keep saying you’re fucking sad!? What do you have to be sad about? You weren’t beaten black and blue by a fucking girl you were too chickenshit to hit back! You haven’t been kicked around by motherfucking teenagers who thought it’d be good for a lark! Buggered against your will… no! You get to be untouchable!”
The male clawed and scratched, long dirty fingernails scraping at the entity’s body, clawing at a nipple, at the part the entity had crafted to look like genitalia. Nothing did any harm. Even the dirt skidded off, failing to find any traction in the entity’s skin.
The male collapsed, his face pressed up against the entity’s chest. His mucus and saliva slid off with the same ease the dirt had.
“Fuck you. Fuck you, golden man. You don’t… you don’t deserve to be miserable. Or you don’t deserve to be miserable and useless. Fucking burden on society, distracting people from shit that needs doing. Fuck you, you ponce. You… Fuck you! Go do something. Never got that. All these sad fucks that kill themselves or hide away… if you’re going to be miserable without a damn excuse, go to Africa and help those damn kids who were orphaned in wars. Go… save people from burning buildings. Help clean up after disasters. Work in a fucking soup kitchen or something. I don’t care.”
The man’s voice had gone quiet, barely more than a whisper.
Another pound of fist against the entity’s flesh.
“I don’t care if it’s penance or if it’s a fucking way to kill time. Do some goddamn good,
and maybe you’ll feel like you’re worth a damn. Maybe you’ll stop being so fucking miserable.”
The entity continued to stare out over the city. It absorbed the words, considered them.
It was a task. A role it could play.
It was something. What had this male said? Which were ones the entity could achieve?
Save orphans in wars. Rescue people from burning buildings. Clean up after disasters.
The entity took flight once more.
* * *
The entity remained patient. Patient then, patient now.
“…You could go to Houston or New York, even. That’s far enough away from Jack,” the young female with the administration shard was still speaking, quiet, intense, urging without prodding.
The entity and the young female were still hovering over what was becoming a major site of conflict. The entity extended its senses over the area.
At the center of it all was a man. Not at the center, but everything tied to him. Everything moved in relation to him, and he moved in relation to others.
The entity stared, intrigued.
“…We can’t stay here. Come on.” The female host was still talking.
The female paused, waiting.
“Orrrr you don’t understand what I’m saying. Or you don’t care. Fuck me. Listen to me, Scion. Pay attention.”
The entity turned its attention to the young female. Its hands found the entity’s, pulled.
There was a meaning behind the gesture, but the entity was too lost in observing what was going on below to care.
A confrontation had started between a young male and an older one. A fragment of a shard against a very mature shard. The most mature shard in this area, at a glance.
The more mature power was unleashed. A wavelength power, a kinetic transmission.
The entity watched, and it recognized the shard at work.
The broadcast shard. One that had been crippled, just like the shard of the female that floated before the entity now. The same shard that had managed communication between the entity and its counterpart.
The entity turned to observe another conflict. One shard was connected to eight individuals. A lesser shard, connected to eight unusual hosts.
The eight advanced in clusters, moving towards the various individuals that seemed to be hostile to them. The shards connected to each individual provided more detail than anything else.
“You big golden idiot! Come on.”
Her subjects formed a thick cloud, blocking the entity’s vision. No matter. It could still perceive the world.
“Come on!”
She pulled harder.
The entity turned to follow the confrontations.
The male with the broadcasting power was swinging his sword. The younger one was erecting defenses, lashing out.
Their shards were reacting. The entity could see how every aggressive shift in the younger one was met by an instinctual retreat in the older. Cause and effect, invisible but there. The nature of the shifts changed as they started speaking.
To strike the one with the mature passenger was akin to trying to catch a leaf in the wind. The hand moved the air which moved the leaf, and it slid just out of reach, just beyond the hand’s grasp.
Ah. There. A narrow miss. The male slid out of reach, and he prepared to go on the offensive. His shard shifted, just as ready and able to capitalize on the weakness in offense as he was able to evade trouble in defense.
A shard flared to life, and the entity saw an effect take hold around it. It reached out and found a barrier it could not penetrate.
Cell.
Its hand was moved back to the previous position. It was caught in a sinkhole of distorted time. Over and over again, it moved in a steady loop.
Snare.
A trap.
* * *
The city burned, and the entity wielded its power. Controlled wavelengths disrupted the molecules, extinguished each source of heat, inside and out, rendering it a little cooler than the ambient temperature.
Countless individuals fled for safety, running in droves. The entity watched, but it did not rest.
It hadn’t rested in years. The longest it had stood still was in the company of Kevin Norton, where the man gave it a white covering that clung to its body. As instructed, the entity kept the cloth clean, pushing out energy in patterns and yields that would drive out the soil and smoke while leaving the cloth intact.
It lowered itself to get a better angle on one blaze in the basement area of a library. In the doing, purely by accident, it lowered itself to eye level with a female on a balcony.
The female was startled, afraid, unable to even breathe. It could look inside the female and see the emotions as an increased heart rate, hormones and adrenaline churning through her system.
It almost blurted out the words. “Kto vy?”
The entity understood the Russian words as it understood all languages, through the knowledge it had scanned for and codified, prior to arriving.
It remembered the instructions Kevin Norton had provided. To be polite, to be considerate.
Speaking, nonetheless, was an unfamiliar concept.
How to answer? The entity did not know what it was. It had no role but the one ascribed to it by Kevin Norton.
In thinking of the man, the entity thought of a thing the man had said. A word in the midst of a story about ill-behaved spawn.
As it did most words, the entity had searched its memory for details on the concept.
Zion.
A promised land.
A utopia. A harmonious kingdom.
The promised land could be this world at its climax, the shards at critical mass, the entity and its counterpart bringing about the end of the cycle. It could be utopia, as the entity understood the term.
It could be the world at peace, people saved from hardship, as Kevin Norton had described it.
Whether the entity was somehow able to return to its original task or whether it continued carrying out Kevin Norton’s answers in an attempt to find itself, the term fit.
“Zion,” it spoke.
* * *
Memories. A refuge, a reminder of how things should be, if the cycle were intact. There would be more shards, more conflict, but it would be more controlled. The dead shards polluted the setting, almost too numerous.
The female with the administrator shard had long since fled, covering the retreat with her small army of lesser lifeforms, more traps snapping into place in her wake.
It thinks of Zion, and it thinks of other metaphors and ideas. In the thirty-three revolutions since arriving on this planet, the entity has had time to think. It has saved a lot of individuals from harm, heard many prayers.
It was aware of everything that occurred around it. The planet’s star moved across the sky, above the dark, heavy clouds of moisture. Small movements, but movements nonetheless.
It thought of the beetle in one mythology, rolling the orb across the sky.
It was an idea that persisted across mythologies. Scarab. Chariot. The Brother. The Sky Barge.
Abstract thought. Was that the sort of pattern that led to a connection, an inspired idea in the development of new shards? The entity wasn’t sure. Its counterpart was supposed to handle such matters, retain that capacity for thought and analysis.
Its physical body continued to loop in time. It didn’t matter.
The conflict continued. The broadcaster was moving in and out of trouble, relying on a pronounced projection that was being emitted by a dead shard to provide further protection. There was another entity nearby. A boy with another dead shard. Odd, that they had gravitated towards the broadcaster.
Mature shards, a situation ripe with conflict, so much to be gained, and nothing could be done with that. The entity felt a hint of another emotion, dismissed it. The simulation of the host-creature’s psychology was only that. A simulation.
It would spend some time here. Nothing would change in any event. Kevin N
orton had passed.
The entity observed the ongoing conflict. No less than five seconds after it had been trapped, two figures had emerged from a doorway between worlds. The entity could see the paths forming, trace them back to the source. Another world, a living world without a shard occupying it.
They engaged the eight with their own perception abilities, intervening to assist a group of others. As a pair, they opened fire with guns, then waded into hand to hand combat.
The entity looked at the male, and it saw the connection to the same shard as the eight. His connection was stronger, more mature.
It looked at the female, and it saw a shard that wasn’t its own, but wasn’t dead.
Puzzling.
The fight progressed. Strikes with weapons and with the creature’s limbs were evaded, a careful dance of attacks where each edge and bludgeon touched skin, many even shaving off the finer hairs from cheeks, noses and chins.
The male fought the eight in such a way that they couldn’t move without exposing themselves to attacks from the female. Each movement placed the male in a path for obvious harm, a fatal blow, but the eight could not capitalize on that. At the same time, he positioned himself in such a way that four or five at a time were unable to retreat. Not just in reach of weapons, but in reach of arms, elbows, for being taken hostage.
The female felled three of the eight, and the situation was decided. The remaining five dropped to a position where they sat on their knees. She spoke, and an interdimensional portal appeared behind them.
They crawled through, heads down, and the portal closed.
The pair glanced up at the entity as another wormhole opened. They stared.
The entity, in turn, faced a different direction, but it could perceive them nonetheless.
They disappeared back into the portal.
Puzzling.
The entity observed as the fight concluded elsewhere.
The broadcaster remained unaware as an individual without any attachment to shards at all entered the confined space, unloading a vaguely familiar substance over the group. Something the entity might recollect if it had access to all of its memories. A technology.