“Dylurshin is an alien. A very, very old one who comes from the same galaxy as Neight and Zosma.”
“We can’t sit around and chat anymore Dr. B,” Bazzo said, hitting the table again. “We gotta save Bridg and Allister and Zosma and us, the world.”
“I can’t reach him this far... and we’re in no condition to take on C20 and a cosmic entity.”
“What’re you saying?” he asked.
“I’m—”
“What’s this?” Clara interrupted, positioned close enough to look over her sunken shoulder.
Florence had stopped on a sketched and shaded diagram. The rectangular contraption’s origin, its purpose and function, and its measurements: height, length, and width were doodled in cursive, layered over the image and hiding in the corners of the page. She read the title, The Temporal Chamber of Dylurshin Hexforth. She broke a cold sweat. Her lungs worked overtime to catch her breath, to keep her heart from leaping through her chest. The Temporal Chamber of Dylurshin Hexforth was a page swamped with answers she hadn’t been looking for: a prison devised by the King of an everlasting people, engineered by the finest blacksmiths in Andromeda and empowered by the white energy of time. The ancient book’s script claimed with such certainty it would work, that she, now uncertain of most things, stole its confidence and said to the room, “It’s the silver bullet.”
Zosma Caster
The Subconscious
Like a torn page from a vintage National Geographic magazine, plains, mountains, foliage, and desert, each took up a quarter of Zosma’s brain. The hidden world intended to keep her mind at peace, hoping it would keep her body at peace, and in turn, keep Z-energy at peace.
There was no way for Zosma to walk in this world, but the open rooftop of iron and stone had allowed her to rest in a dragon chaise and observe its simple, serene beauty. The Uragonian guard had blocked the intruder’s suspicions and hostile attempts to infiltrate.
The triangular door protecting the sacred land from chaos was open. Mist and blue energy contaminated her utopia like an oil spill. Half her mind was bathed in Uragon’s binary starlight, and the other half was covered in midnight’s shadows, even scales soon to tip.
Legs weakened, Zosma groped for the tower’s ledge. “You got in,” she murmured to the wind blowing past her.
“You preserved it well, I must admit,” Dylurshin said. It materialized in a puff of distorted particles. “How long do you think you can resist me?” Ruby energy flowed through cavernous veins underneath its thin, misty skin. Glowing in fiery triumph, it orbited her at a slow pace and waited for her answer.
“I can resist you forever,” she said, monitoring the land they fought for. “I will resist you forever.”
“I do not need forever,” Dylurshin sneered. “Only long enough for implementation.”
Her knees buckled. It clicked, and she remembered the tender moment that had unlocked the door. To stop her from killing anyone, Allister in particular, she’d opened herself to let memories, love, and sensibility out, and in doing so, let Dylurshin in.
“What say you now?” it asked. Light slid away, sealing what felt like permanent doom.
“I... I will not be a weapon,” she struggled. Flashbacks, flashing short clips of the battle she’d lost in Vancouver. Z-energy didn’t know how to kill Dylurshin.
“For centuries your people denied what Z-energy is, and for decades, King Neight Caster denied what you represent.” Dylurshin’s arms aimed skyward and turned into gushing faucets of dark energy. It floated higher. “It is a matter of time before I scour your mind for the location of what I seek. And when I activate the artifacts you will be nothing more than what you are: a power source.”
Fog covered her miniature kingdom’s former beauty, then climbed the castle’s exterior. Her body gave up resisting and smacked the rooftop. Putrid particles smothered her charming patio, moved up her legs and down her arms, crawled in her mouth, and through the smallest openings in her eyes. Dylurshin and its influence had won.
Neight Caster
C20 Basement
Neight contemplated the options laid out for him, knowing that dampening technology taunted him from within. Patience was a virtue, but the choice to stay captive had more to do with his Z-energy depletion, than the virtue itself.
“Hmmm.”
A razored claw slid down the titanium-infused barrier. It occurred to him, as he examined the incision’s thickness, that he and Zosma’s prolonged presence on Earth had created a new timeline yet to be revealed. He opened his hands to receive knowledge, inhaled stale air, and growled, “Dylurshin Hexforth has returned.”
Influenced engineers and scientists, led by Russell, prepared each U-generator to move to its final resting place. Low grey fog snowballed from the doorway, hovering at knee level. The C20 minions’ mindless pacing dispersed eerie shadows alluding to the formation of a physical body.
“There are methods for saving humans that do not involve tampering with immeasurable power.”
“So you keep saying,” Dylurshin said, as the mist became a recognizable physique. “While you have baited this primitive people with ancient power and empty promises, I have done my diligence to enhance humanity’s intelligence and, thereby, potential.”
Activity on C20’s base had ceased, presumably by Dylurshin’s force of will.
“I wish suffering on no living creature,” Neight replied. “However, they cannot harness this energy.”
“You say yourself this dying rock has ten years left. Z-energy will be their guiding light, their fire, and when they awaken to it, I will usher in a new age as their faithful guide.” It trudged to the completed U-generator’s base. “This masterpiece was built by a human mind, Russell Ashur. You are so afraid of this human advancements. Why?”
“I am afraid of what they will do under your said guidance, besides conquer worlds and build an empire spanning two galaxies. I have seen it in my dreams. I have written about it in my prophecies.”
“You behave as if you do not already support an empire spanning two galaxies, King Neight,” Dylurshin countered. “Or have you have so quickly forgiven the tyrant who drove us here?”
“Your words are as hollow as your soul, murderer.”
“Hmph, the fear in you is refreshing.” It traced Russell’s immobilized figure. “We are all murderers. You have killed. I have killed. They have killed. Whose conscience here is free of judgment?”
“How did you know about the unlimited energy bands?” Neight asked quietly.
“I am greater than you. I came before you. That is why.”
Glowing hands opened window to the past through cryptic language. Neight saw that Dylurshin had body-snatched its way through human history, using influence to exploit their impulses, fears, and limitations in the process. Its consistent mission was to seek the smartest and rise to power with them.
The Z-energy magic spell explained Rabia Giro before he was Rabia Giro, when it was Dylurshin, cast out from Andromeda and escorted by the galaxy’s soldiers of fortune to unknown sector four. Legendary tales lost to generations more concerned with the future than the past. Centuries of secret war and Dylurshin’s presence on Earth became myths. The crash landing a legend, and Andromeda’s children, human, more or less.
“Survival of the fittest is a concept I have lived since before you were imagined. Darwin conveniently forgot to express gratitude for my hand in the evolutionary theory’s development. I have given humanity the ideas and the tools. I have offered it my cosmic awareness.”
Thin blue power drifted past Neight’s shoulders. His head dipped. “I have seen your truth. You spent a lifetime studying Z-energy.”
“For one goal,” it sneered. “The end of Infinity.”
Neight had what he needed: a motivation. The entity referred to the Aenecan race, Andromeda’s supreme governing institution known for their immeasurable abilities and extended lifespans. He sank to the floor. His flickering energy battled black misty needles fill
ing the capsule and attempting to drill through his skull.
Dylurshin tilted toward Neight. “Where are Uragon’s Z bands of unlimited energy?”
There was no answer to the question. Z-energy tumbled through Neight’s hand and moved across to the other. Blinking at what felt like light speed, he opened his mouth. “Scattered like the others, cloaked behind an elusive barrier, protected by a mystical guardian.”
“A king’s deceit is his greatest weapon. You see, I realized in my research, a planet’s core is a significant barrier for such cloaking. Knowing Andromeda’s wise emperor, he would prefer these artifacts to exist somewhere he could watch them.” Dylurshin added force to its intention and kept talking, “I formulated a hypothesis. If the core was destroyed with Uragon, how is it you, Zosma, and Allister can use Z-energy?”
Once upon a time the Uragonian’s sentient power came from within themselves. The Z-bands’ creation brought their power together, creating the source known as Z-energy to protect the bands from discovery. When Andromeda’s leaders chose to disband the artifacts of Evale, the Z-bands of unlimited energy became the exception.
Collectively, they decided the power of ergokinesis (the ability to control all energy forms), as granted by the bands, was too dangerous to have drifting in space, ripe for discovery. Uragon’s impenetrable core, acting as the artifacts’ guardian, housed the energy source, and the Z-bands. Like the Cavern of Transports had held the Transporter gems.
Neight’s silence surpassed the allotted time for dithering over an acceptable, yet honest answer, and moved into a prolonged hunt for necessary deception.
“Quite impossible,” Dylurshin said, “I agree.”
He used the wall to get to one knee, chanting a spell, “A people of darkness, who dwell as mist. A threat unknown, in shadow’s nest. Influence I do not give into thee. Formeth a barrier of Z-energy.” Repetition assured success. Under his breath, he said the short rhyme again and again. It triggered. Sizzling and sparking, a comet’s brilliance flashed inside the capsule. The ominous mist disintegrated. Neight stood tall. “The more I rest, the more I wait, the more I learn and the more I know,” he said. “Today I speak no more.”
“Very well, Neight Caster. Harnessing the Z-energy is the sole reason for my being. It will happen if you like it or not.” Dylurshin conceded, slinked away, and siphoned into Russell’s hunched back, bringing the base back to life with his mortal breath.
“Are we ready for deployment, Mr. Ashur?” Myra said. She removed her glasses and searched Russell for confirmation.
He checked Dr. Giro’s work station. The swiveling stool, empty and immobile, collected dust. Russell shook his head slightly. “Dr. Giro said to wait for him to get back.”
“It’s been days. You saw the news. I doubt he lived.”
“You may refer to me as Hexforth,” the beast announced.
Russell swept a hand across his forehead and staggered back, as Myra ducked behind him. Its height and mass overpowered them, but they blinked and blinked again. Dylurshin penetrated their truth and delivered lies, so they saw him as they thought they knew him: Dr. Rabia Giro. Only possible in closed quarters and on a limited number of subjects, Neight knew the impressive illusion required much of the entity’s attention.
“Ahem, Hexforth.” Myra shivered off the effects of the encounter. “It looks like the energy is resisting the transfer request.”
Dylurshin’s snout lowered. “I have been a fool not to see this.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Russell asked, glued to the screen.
“Indeed, Mr. Ashur, my theory was correct.”
Fatigued, Neight slumped to the capsule floor and rested his weary head against the metallic interior. “What theory?”
“Now the king speaks.” It turned and stalked to the U-generators stacked side by side, then addressed him, “The secret you have been keeping is, I do not need to locate them. They are here, inside Zosma. Whatever vessel houses the sentient power, be it a core or a living being, is the artifacts’ guardian. I destroy the guardian, and the Z-bands of unlimited energy appear.” It placed a single claw on the device. “Mr. Ashur, you know what to do.”
“Prepare to deploy the first generator,” Russell said to Myra. “Coordinates are set for Morocco.”
“I could not have done this without you, Neight Caster, and to show my gratitude, you may live long enough to see my plan come to fruition.”
Cackling shook the room, and in the mist’s absence, 100 percent visibility returned to the basement.
Obtaining the Transporter gems, preserving Z-energy, fleeing Earth, missions complicated by the unknown working against Neight in literal shadows. Dylurshin had outlived innumerable civilizations, imbued with the patience and wisdom of a true immortal.
Allister Adams, his proposed savior, had been hindered by lack of direction and kept humanity’s future hidden in foggy uncertainty. And it was then Neight knew he’d placed too much pressure on a mortal, bound by emotions, by youth, by his (80 percent) humanity. It was not his war to win, not alone.
What of the other lost children? he thought. If the descendants didn’t know where they came from...
He took a deep breath. Understanding was the key to action, was the key to success. Stroking the downward facing horns on his magnesium-alloy battle helmet, he chanted, “A more meaningful gift than a battle won, is the strength to see through deception. I give to thee, clarity, from a life we’ve lost, in your time of need.” Light in every color in the spectrum streaked from his palm toward the being who needed it most.
Dylurshin Hexforth
C20 Lair
Prior to arrival on Earth, Dylurshin had been enslaved in its weakest form, uneducated on how to use the Zaian mist at maximum power. Three thousand years among humanity had given it time to explore and master inhabiting non-superpowered mortals. Dylurshin’s choice worked to its advantage, as the binding contract guaranteed that mental, physical, and spiritual control endured until the victim’s natural or unnatural expiration. It enjoyed a fresh challenge every fifty to seventy-five years. Practice makes perfect.
Using a host body was unavoidable on a planet where its presence and alien form would lead to widespread alarm. And doing so limited the number and depth to which it could influence anyone else. Fellow gifted beings had proved the most challenging when random factors such as distance (from it), the subject’s own power, confidence, etc., caused complications or stopped it altogether.
Those limitations vanished once it’d been inadvertently unleashed from the human shell known as “Rabia Giro.”
Dylurshin floated in the meeting place for the directors, evading the troublesome and discomforting overhead light. The screens flickered on. Jane Wenyin, Chung Tae-Won, and Aleksander Karjavine wore scowls, high, tight hairstyles, and clothing buttoned to the neck.
“Dr. Giro, are you there?” Jane asked.
Unable to mimic the Eastern European accent, Dylurshin spoke in its deep, raspy tones. “I am.”
“United States president is dead,” Aleksander started. “This could cause war.”
“Betrayed and killed by his own. An age-old story I made sure to tell.” Influencing the Roman senate into assassinating Julius Caesar came to Dylurshin’s mind.
“You’ve jeopardized our initiative,” Jane added. “They’re calling the demonstration and our proposal a ‘hostile, terrorist takeover’ of the world’s energy. We’re losing supporters by the day. No one wants to cosign on living sacrifice. Alien, or otherwise.”
“Your inexperience fuels your concerns, spare me.”
Chung Tae-Won tripped over his words. His buggy eyes bulged further out of his round face. “Your financial investments allowed me to create the U-generator system, and now you will reap the benefits in silence.” Dylurshin’s angled chin lifted and the light blinked. “It will be impossible for your un-evolved minds to comprehend the operation’s next phase.”
“What you say?” Aleksander a
sked.
“This is unbelievable, preposterous!” Chung shrieked.
“I save you from renegade anti-superhuman group to work on project,” Aleksander said. “And this is how you repay opportunity?”
“False! I seized an opportunity I have been waiting for since Ancient Greece and Persia drew the Peace of Callias treaty. The opportunity to take humanity to a place it could never go in my absence. To usher your race into its evolutionary pinnacle, to teach you the art of self-preservation, in exchange for my unchallenged leadership.”
The light died.
“The U-generators are en route to their respective destinations. Your counsel is no longer necessary.” Its arm flicked across its body. Thrown daggers shattered the screens, quieting protests and insufferable whining.
War? They knew nothing about war, or sacrifice, or self-preservation. Humans had not been called to learn such skills, fighting amongst themselves versus fighting the more evolved, and learning from smarter beings. They were malleable, misguided. They could be manipulated and molded to create better specimens, generation after generation. His experiments proved it.
Dylurshin floated higher in the air, particles crawled on its skin. It was the last, the last Zaian. It knew war, sacrifice, and self-preservation. Spending millennia watching strategic, innovative, and powerful civilizations in the known universe rise and fall, Dylurshin knew what it took to succeed, to overthrow. The time had come to employ a highly effective tactic: influence.
Celine Nephthys
Rabat, Morocco
Celine pressed her toes on red sandstone, scouring for life in Rabat’s eerie, soundless streets. Through sizzling heat, a helicopter caravan and military cargo plane lowered themselves into the open dome. The U-generator had arrived.
Alone on the roof. Alone in her resistance. She wrestled her conscience, not knowing whether her actions protected Earth or damned it. The varied aftermaths of Z-energy integration spun inside her head on the drums of a slot machine, never matching up to one which made sense. Her brow scrunched, and nature’s whispers painted an unforgettable image of mass annihilation behind her eyelids.
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