He rushed across to her, but could already see that it was too late. He held her limp body in his gloved hands, screamed long and loud, then repeated her name lovingly, unable to believe what he was seeing. “You cannot leave me!” he screamed, light flaring from deep within his being. It was partly a command, partly a plea. But it was too late.
“I’m… so… so…rry… Nooooooo!”
He felt like something inside of him had exploded at that moment. If his chest had been a cannon, he would have shot his heart upon her, his distress turning quickly into rage. He roared through the Power of the All, sending out a shockwave of the most absolute hatred and frustration, reverberating through every ounce of his being, submitting not to the will of his mind, but to the feelings of his heart.
He spoke directly to the Eidolon inside himself then, hating everything that he had become, quoting a book he had once read a long, long time ago now.
“...To the last, I grapple with thee; from hell’s heart, I stab at thee; for hate’s sake, I spit my last breath at thee…”
And in a flash, it was over.
The Malevolence emitted a bright white light, then burst into a million tiny particles.
Ammold Paramo turned around in his Mech just in time to watch the huge battleship disappear from view. The soldiers on the ground crowded below, cheering, staring intensely at the massive craft as it began to vanish. At such a close distance, the white burst of light would have blinded everyone on the ground were it not for their protective eye gear. What they got instead, after that initial brilliant pulsation, was a fireworks show like none they’d ever seen, blowing long fiery arcs across the sky for miles around.
“The Malevolence has been destroyed,” Paramo announced through his communicator. “I repeat, the Malevolence is down. All remaining units commence the siege on the Silver City immediately.”
Another triumphant roar spread through the crowd.
The tide had changed.
Light.
He found himself surrounded by light; it poured from every conceivable direction, bursting through walls, stabbing through the very fabric of reality itself. It was silent, beautiful, overwhelming. In a moment, all he could see was perfect whiteness, with no other discernible colours. He could feel the light all around him, and deep within him.
“What is happening? Where am I?”
There was no indignation in his question, only curiosity.
Then, slowly, a human figure emerged through the light somewhere ahead of him; faintly at first and taking shape, darker colours blurring together, becoming clearer as the figure stepped in his direction. As it drew closer, he began to recognise her – a person, an angel, perhaps, he hadn’t seen for hundreds of years now, since that fateful day when…
Little Kimberley bounded over to him, her round face flushed, her long golden curls bouncing. She smiled fondly at him. “Isn’t the light beautiful, daddy?”
He reached out and stroked her impossibly soft hair. “Oh, yes,” he answered, surprised at how easily – how naturally – the words came to him, at how utterly natural it all seemed, as though he had spent every moment of the last three hundred years with this delightful creature, as though he had been a father to her every day since the day she was born. “Yes, it’s astonishingly beautiful, Kim. I love you.”
“I love you too, daddy.”
“But… why are you here?”
Behind her, he saw another two figures emerge through the intense light. When they drew close, he recognised them. It was Alexis Stefánsson – his darling wife, and Lorelei Chen, his lover. They both looked serene, elegant and beautiful.
“What’s going on here?” he asked, confused.
Alexis spoke, her voice soft and calming. “You have entered the immeasurable region, my love. It is time for you to come home now.”
He didn’t understand. “But you’re all dead. Alexis, Kim – you died in the Apocalypse. And Lora – you… you killed yourself here… right before my eyes. You’re dead!”
“Nothing ever truly dies,” Lora said, stepping forward. “The Light cannot die, it is simply transformed. Think of us as… echoes of the people you knew and loved. Parts of them they left behind.”
“Left behind?”
“We are the Dwellers of the Threshold,” Kimberley told him. “We can be as real as you want us to be. But we were only ever here to guide you on the path. Now, you are ready to take the next step. You have released your burden.”
“I… I have?”
“Cristian,” Alexis said. “You are a good person. Your heart is pure, and your spirit is beautiful. Despite your past actions, you gave up everything you had, everything you wanted, including life itself, for the sake of love. Love conquers all…”
Damarus – Cris – felt himself wrenched free of the prison that had kept him restrained for so long. The ragged black cloak that had surrounded his form collapsed, a lifeless bundle of old material. He drifted free, a being of pure light now.
“Come,” Lorelei Chen said, her smile widening. “Come, and gaze upon the Source of the Light. Let its power wash over you. Become One with the All.”
As he looked upon that almighty vision, he finally understood.
Love was the answer to the darkness.
30
Supreme Commander Uisper of the Eleventh Faction roared with victory, and led his battle-weary command squadron through the Silver City’s illustrious Palatial district, passing huge, exquisite fountains and sculptures on either side dedicated to their most Holy Emperor, Lord Damarus. Colossal stone colonnades, four columns deep, dominated the massive, long road to the Palace itself, which gleamed invitingly like a precious stone on the horizon ahead of them, tantalisingly close.
“We’re almost there,” he barked into his communicator. He could almost taste the end of the battle, it was so close.
Suddenly, a handful of warheads slammed into the left hip of his Mech, shaking the hundred-ton machine and sending a sharp jolt of pain through the connection to his Assault-class Rãvier suit. Uisper cursed, shaking his head at his own duplicity. This was the first time in over a decade he’d actually gone into combat, and his reflexes were rusty, to say the least.
Spread out over several kilometres in a long north-south line, Uisper’s squadron pushed northward, fighting uphill toward the Sacred Palace where the Resistance Movement intended to seize control of the Silver City and end the reign of Lord Damarus once and for all. Laputan aerospace fighters swept through the air over their heads, unleashing bursts of laser fire, maintaining air superiority despite the determined waves of resistance fighters which had moved in after the destruction of the Malevolence.
The Mechs ate up the ground in huge strides, pressing back the loyalist defenders, breaking trail for tanks and infantry carriers. They were only three hours into the coordinated assault to take Laputa, and this was Uisper’s first heavy firefight in over twelve years, having spent most of that time as the administrator and sovereign of the Eleventh Faction. He always imagined that the forces of the Silver City would be unstoppable, but as it turned out, the First Faction’s Holy Guard couldn’t stand against the Eleventh Faction’s unbridled force, not after the loss of their precious battleship Malevolence - a hit to enemy morale, to be sure. Just in case, Uisper had added some of King Dudreda’s reserve forces into the fight. They ranged ahead to pick at the Laputan flanks, worrying them, buying some occasional relief for Uisper’s squadron as it charged ahead.
A fighter twisted through the air then, flailing at him with the azure whip of a particle projection cannon, but the AI-controlled vessel missed wide and cut a blackened scar into a nearby cliff facing instead. Uisper ducked aside regardless. Flinching away from the arcing blast, he turned in closer to the dark cliff as an assault vehicle rolled out from behind a nearby building. His tactical display flashed warning icons, giving him a second’s notice before the vehicle’s autocannon chewed hot metal into his Mech’s leg and two aerospace fighters paired up from
out of nowhere to pummel him with their lasers. He cursed, his pristine armour turning into blackened ruin.
“Hang on, sir.” Captain Ammold Paramo’s voice was clear and precise over the communicator. “Help is on the way.”
Help came in the form of Paramo’s own Mech, which stormed into view nearby. Planting both feet in a wide stance, he struck at the Laputan fighters with his own heavy lasers, howling like a man possessed. The destructive energy washed them down, and the enemy craft exploded violently, taking several of the ground forces with them. Paramo turned about, standing side by side with Uisper’s Mech then as they twisted toward the Palace.
“Thanks,” Uisper breathed, shoving his throttle to the forward limit. His Mech kicked up into a hard run, breaking over fifty kilometres per hour within seconds.
“You in a hurry to get somewhere?” Paramo asked.
Uisper nodded to himself in his cockpit. “The Sacred Palace, of course,” he whispered fiercely.
Ammold Paramo entered the throne room ahead of Uisper and the rest of his squad, his weapon raised, ready for anything. The battle through the Silver City and up to the Palace itself had been intense, and many of the ground soldiers had already been killed or seriously wounded. Now, the moment of truth was at hand. He descended the elevator to the lowest level, then moved swiftly between the rows of seats toward Damarus’ empty throne, expecting some kind of trap. Despite his fears, nothing happened.
He stepped over and knelt beside a dead woman’s body that had slumped to the ground nearby. He rolled the body over, and then felt a punch of grief from his chest. “Lorelei Chen,” he whispered, tears rolling freely down his cheeks. He frowned, noting how she appeared to be much older than he remembered. Her mouth was burned and covered in blood, the exit wound on the back of her head the size of his fist. He grimaced and looked away, then noticed the odd-looking bundle of black material on the floor beside him.
He took it in his right hand, and got to his feet. He blinked, dropping the material out to its full length, and realised with a stark shock that it was Damarus’ hooded cloak – the cloak he always wore. A collar-shaped piece of metal dropped out from the material and clunked heavily onto the floor beneath, bouncing once.
He gasped. It was Damarus’ mask.
One of his squad members – Youl Ansen – approached from the left, pulling off his combat helmet and taking a deep breath. “Captain Paramo, there’s no sign of Lord Damarus. We’ve looked everywhere.”
Paramo’s eyes narrowed. He looked at the empty cloak, the retracted mask, and then across at the dead body of – an older – Lorelei Chen. Whatever had happened here, had decided the fates of both individuals.
It almost felt like an anti-climax.
“Damarus is gone,” he said to Ansen, his gaze lowered. “He’s gone.”
31
The formal meal was to be held in the afternoon, at precisely five o’ clock, in one of the Sacred Palace’s largest reception rooms. Located on the sixtieth floor of the main spire, the reception room was a grand hall in the shape of a square, each side sixty metres long with seventy-two exquisitely-crafted columns placed at regular intervals. Each column was nineteen metres tall, fashioned from gold, with a square plinth. The columns carried the weight of the vast and heavy ceiling, which was also fashioned from gold. The tops of the columns were made from sculptures of extinct animals such as bulls, lions and eagles, and were joined to each other with the help of vast transparent beams. The walls were covered with fine art, depicting a classical interpretation of Damarus’ arrival through Heaven’s Gate, and his bringing salvation to the world following the Apo’calupsis.
Paramo arrived late, but he was relieved to see that the meal hadn’t started yet. In fact, several of the other invited dignitaries did not arrive until some time after him, having travelled halfway across the planet, or even further, just to be here. He recognised his allies from the Battle of Laputa – Supreme Commander Uisper of the Eleventh Faction, and King Dudreda of the Third Faction (who had managed to escape the Ballog before it was destroyed) – plus representatives from those factions who had chosen to remain loyal to Damarus, including the infamous Chancellor Denigrand of the Twelfth Faction. Tensions were rife between the two groups, despite the tentative ceasefire. What surprised him the most, though, was the presence of the Nommos Emperor, Khonsu II, and his entourage of alien bodyguards. They were amphibious, hermaphroditic, fish-like creatures, with humanoid upper torsos and legs, and a fish-like lower torso and tail. As a species, their distrust of the human race, and particularly Lord Damarus himself, was legendary - yet their involvement in the Battle of Laputa had still come as a surprise to most, given their usual policy of non-interference. Their true motives in these events remained unclear, ambiguous for certain. The Nommos Emperor had been in power for more than three generations, and had only visited Earth once, long before Paramo had even been born. The fact that he had chosen to attend this formal meal here, today, surely signified the importance of what was happening, and what was to be discussed.
He found the room crowded. Also present were various important politicians, ambassadors, and staff from across the entire Terran Alliance. People lay on expensive couches or strolled with a certain false casualness. They wore clothes in an explosion of rich colours. Music played softly over the quiet chatter, emitted from some hidden loudspeaker, and robotic servants circulated with trays of food and drink. The conversation bubbled prettily, but there was a thick tension under the politeness, with people watching each other with sharp, suspicious eyes. The apparent disappearance of Lord Damarus had, in short, created a power vacuum that would need to be filled quickly. The purpose of this meeting would be to resolve the issue.
Eventually, a hideous-looking servant named Sai’bot showed them all to a long dining table covered with a pristine white sheet. He bowed to the assembled guests, then turned and shambled out of the room.
Paramo sat down, trying to avoid everybody’s eyes, aware of the reputation he had among many of these Faction Leaders. Undoubtedly, his pivotal role in the Battle of Laputa would have improved his standing with some of them, but there were some whom he had crossed paths with over the years who would not look kindly upon his presence at this table. To them, he was a blasphemer, a mercenary, a criminal, a traitor.
Sure enough, Chancellor Denigrand leaned over. “Congratulations, Paramo,” he whispered, slightly drunk, unable to hide the venom in his tone. “You finally got what you wanted.”
Paramo gritted his teeth. “None of us would be here if not for the selfless sacrifice of Queen Anacksu’namon. The Resistance Movement was her idea, not mine.”
The food service began, to Paramo’s relief, and they all had something else to occupy their attention. There was a starter of salad, eggs and oysters. He tucked in without hesitation, realising he hadn’t eaten for over twenty-four hours.
“Might I suggest that a Coalition Provisional Authority be formed,” The Nommos Emperor said. He spoke through a translator device, a small sphere connected to his mouth by a tube, required by all Nommos people to facilitate speech between them and humans, as they did not have vocal cords. “In the absence of Lord Damarus, vested with executive, legislative, and judicial authority over the Terran Alliance, and the Holy Parliament of the Twelve Factions, until a restoration of autonomous factional government can be achieved.”
Khonsu II was a dynamic and able leader, and his words were highly regarded by everybody at the table. King Dudreda leaned forward, nodding. “I concur. With the death of the Holy Emperor, our Parliament should be reorganised into a democratic Republic. A much fairer system of government.”
Princess Ishru of the Eighth Faction shook her head. She was bald, and her skin was so pale it made her look like a ghost. “With respect, King Dudreda, there is absolutely no evidence to suggest that Lord Damarus is dead. He is missing, perhaps, nothing more. It is my opinion that we are being tested…”
“Damarus has been overthrown,” Paramo
said assertively, his eyes catching the younger woman’s steely gaze. “Without his immediate presence now, the current system cannot continue. Change is needed. If we are to avoid an all-out war, we must agree to Emperor Khonsu’s suggestion. A Provisional Authority is the best way forward, for all our sakes.”
After several hours of debate, the assembled dignitaries voted thirty-nine-to-twelve in favour of a Coalition Provisional Authority, and the immediate separation of Church and State in order to facilitate the transition of power. It was a huge triumph for Ammold Paramo, who had spent more than thirty years dreaming of this very moment. Total war had been narrowly averted, and the world was on the verge of finally recovering from the darkness imposed by Damarus for so long.
The sun was sinking on the horizon.
Paramo went to stand beside Lorelei Chen, putting one arm around her back. She wore an elegant silver dress, a model of sumptuous simplicity, perfectly suited to the sweet and serene style of the youthful twenty-seven-year-old woman. Together they stood at a great circular window inside the Sacred Palace, on the north-facing side of the main spire, overlooking the majestic expanse that was the Silver City, which stretched as far as the eye could see, bordered by the uplifted plateau of the Laputan mountains on the distant horizon.
It was getting late, and the highly sulphuric acid clouds in the sky above the island yielded a remarkable sunset, reflecting the strongly-reddened sunlight still striking the stratosphere down to the muted surface. A beautiful sight, which perhaps reflected their mood of late, after the tumultuous recent events that had transpired for both of them. There was a new bond between the two of them now, a new understanding.
Since Lorelei Chen’s arrival from a distant galaxy aboard the experimental bioship Thunder some days ago, Paramo had learned about the fate of Cristian Stefánsson and his transformation into Damarus, the temporal paradox that had been involved. Chen had been severely traumatised by the affair, and had relayed the entire story to him with incredible detail. Because of her sensitive disposition at that moment, Paramo had chosen not to reveal his ‘discovery’ back in Damarus’ throne room more than six months earlier now: the dead body of her future self, perhaps twenty years her senior. He lied, telling her they had found no trace of the future Chen she had referred to.
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