by Jared Teer
Why isn’t he listening; that won’t cut it, Hughes thought. Then Darion alleviated his concerns.
A wide area of blackened earth around where the solar canon had embedded began to tremble and crack, shining with golden light from below. The ground suddenly sank into a crater and then exploded in a geyser of magma and black smoke. Darion continued to back away from the golem and inclined his hand toward the crater. A black hole as wide as the crater appeared above the geyser, taking in the continuous flow of lava. Darion inclined his other hand to an area above the golem, creating another black hole—the exit of the first.
Magma and soot descended from the black hole, pouring over the golem. After a few moments, the geyser subsided and Darion dispatched the black holes. All that remained of the golem was a hill of magma with a black, cooling surface with molten veins.
Darion hovered in the air, folding his arms in triumph, and smiled down at Hughes.
“You like that, Hughes?” he said. “I had some tricks up my sleeve.”
Hughes laughed. “Yeah, and so does he,” he said.
The hill that was the golem began to stir, with the veins of molten rock widening and overflowing with magma. A stream of magma shot from one of the veins, pouring over Darion and causing him to plummet to the ground.
The hill began to rise, and the magma issuing from it formed and cooled into legs and then arms. The golem of grey stone was now charred black, with red-hot magma visible at its joints and behind its line of a mouth.
“What the … ” Darion said as he staggered back to his feet.
“Surely you have more up your sleeve,” said Hughes. “Adapt and overcome.”
The golem opened its mouth and spat a stream of magma; Darion teleported to safety just before the stream engulfed him. Darion materialized well behind the golem and inclined his hand to the sky, forming storm clouds. The golem made to turn around, but was showered by an intense rainstorm—the cool waters hardened its joints and froze it in place.
The rain ceased and Darion looked down at Hughes and nodded up and down triumphantly. His celebration was cut short as he turned his attention back to the golem who had begun to stir once more. The cold rain only momentarily solidified the golem’s molten joints. As it stirred, the hardened joints cracked and the rock fell away, revealing the magma beneath.
“This isn’t simply a fire golem, but a stone golem with incendiary properties,” Hughes advised. “Adapt.”
“Adapt how!” said Darion. “How can I use the surroundings against it when the surroundings have its same properties?”
“Adapt the surroundings,” Hughes returned. “Isn’t that the point of creation? The state of the surroundings is inconsequential when you can alter them to your liking. You were on to something with the rainstorm, just turn it up a notch.”
The golem continued its advance. Darion breathed deeply, and lifting his hand to the sky, a strong, cold wind arose against the golem’s approach. With the wind blew a heavy snow, showering the golem and blanketing the area around it. The golem’s internal temperature initially prevented the frost from building up on its body, but with a surge of determination, Darion intensified the gust, allowing it to accumulate faster than it was melting. After a few moments in the intense blizzard, the golem was covered in snow and ice, a frosty white mountain in the midst of the volcanic wasteland. Darion inclined his hands toward the mountain of ice and, with great effort, willed it to rise hundreds of feet into the air and then let it crash to the ground. On impact, the mountain smashed into countless pieces of ice and hardened volcanic stone. The golem was defeated. Darion descended to the ground, exhausted by his efforts.
Hughes touched down beside Darion and patted him on the shoulder. “That was excellent,” said Hughes. “You adapted, overcoming the environment and adversity.”
“Yeah, no sweat,” Darion gasped, hunched over with his hands on his knees.
“Don’t worry, you will only get better,” Hughes said with a smile. “The tougher the challenge and the more you are pushed to exert yourself, the greater your Essence will subsequently grow and the more powerful you will become. Your powers have already grown considerably. You’ve been training nonstop for some time now, and I’d like you to rest your mind and meditate on these things. Rest and reflection are just as important to building the Essence as practice. Rest and regenerate, and we will continue later.”
CHAPTER 8
The Man of Reason
Below the Antarctic twilight in frosted desolation lies Mount Erebus, the earth’s southernmost active volcano. Heat and gas from deep within the earth melt cavernous tunnels through the packed snow to the surface, dotting the mountain’s flanks with hundreds of ice caves. Inconspicuous among the others, the bluish, tubular cavern of one cave declined for a mile to a seemingly impervious slab of a blast door, its incongruity veiled by its reflective surface adopting an icy appearance.
Behind the slab, an elevator descends another mile to the entrance of the research compound of physicist, Dr. Francis Hitchkins. In his private chamber, the old man sat in the cockpit of his computerized hover-chair, his torso rising perpendicularly out of the housing of the metallic ovular device. Before him lay the Primordial Concentrator, a flat, circular platform, fifteen feet in diameter with three, vertical, ten-foot prongs evenly spaced around it. The subterranean laboratory was the perfect location to study the mysterious energy waves emanating from the planet’s core—waves that his devices alone were able to pinpoint. It was his intellect, his faculties that led to the discovery of the waves, the energies, the greatest scientific discovery of the twenty-first century: primordial consciousness. The conservative administration was foolish to halt his funding, more concerned with their meaningless wars of imperialism than scientific breakthroughs. Maybe they weren’t fools. Had they realized the true nature of the primordial120 Transcendence consciousness, they surely would have seen it as a threat to the very foundations of their power structure, a threat to the religious mythologies with which they so deceived the masses. The primordial consciousness removed the need for a God, for surely it was the source of life on earth and all self-awareness.
Their loss would be his gain, for he, and he alone, would harness the primordial consciousness and unlock its mysteries. He could proceed without the lab assistants they provided, incompetents who hindered his progress more than anything else—his genetically engineered assistants were a vast improvement. He could proceed without their funding as well, for his discoveries and inventions made him extraordinarily wealthy of his own accord. Their funding was for their benefit, for it made them privy to his work. No more.
The fools would see it as a deity, but to him it was no more than another constituent part of the physical universe—an element to be harnessed like any other, which he dubbed hellium in contempt of the self-righteous fools. His mind alone could comprehend the limitless potential of the primordial consciousness because it was to he alone that it spoke. It was his intellect that the consciousness deemed worthy of its discourse, for it was he who created the primordial concentrator that educed it by concentrating the oscillating primordial waves emanating from the core. The primordial consciousness gave him access to its limitless knowledge, knowledge of the mysteries of life itself. It instructed him in the construction of the Primordial Amalgamator—a device that could imbue a human with the power primordial, granting him superhuman powers, restored youth, the ability to alter matter, near invulnerability, and virtual immortality.
The Consciousness told him that it would initiate the next stage of human evolution, and he would be the patriarch. The Consciousness itself would merge with him, making him the most powerful man on the planet and its rightful ruler. Mankind would be subject to his will, for he would be the fittest to rule. The Consciousness proclaimed a sort of rational oppression that the fools would label as “evil” in its call for the subjugation of the human race. It was quite logical, really, and completely in line with the ideology of natural select
ion and survival of the fittest. The human race was in disarray with advancement stifled due to ignorance and deception, deception promulgated mainly by the religious looking to control the masses for their own purposes. He would change all of that. By discovering the catalyst for the next stage of human evolution, he had proved himself worthy of the mantle of fittest, worthy to represent the primordial consciousness on earth.
From the console at the end of the right arm of the hover-chair, Hitchkins activated the Primordial Concentrator. The prongs began to spin, slowly at first, increasing in speed until they became a blur. There was an electric crackle from the device, and then, in its midst, slightly higher than the prongs, a golden orb began to manifest, swirling with white-hot energies. The rotating prongs slowed to a halt. The orb, three feet in diameter, floated in place and emanated a low hum.
“Consciousness, the dawn of a new era is at hand—the Primordial Amalgamator is complete,” Hitchkins said to the entity.
The entity spoke with a reverberation as if its voice emanated from a hollow void. “Indeed. You have done well. Ultimate power shall be yours. Prepare to activate the Amalgamator. The world awaits.”
Hitchkins floated his chair down the glossy corridor leading to the chamber housing the Primordial Amalgamator, barely able to restrain himself for anticipation of his imminent godhood. As he neared the entrance to the chamber, its sensors detected his molecular signature, ceasing the infrared force field and raising the blast door. Upon entering, he was greeted by one of the many genetically engineered lab assistants—clones of himself, automatons fashioned in his youthful likeness and unflinchingly loyal.
“Dr. Hitchkins, the Primordial Amalgamator is prepared,” the clone said stoically. Its head was bald, the clones being completely hairless. It wore a white, full-body, formfitting compression suit with connected boots. It filled out the suit with its lean musculature. “We await further instructions.”
“Excellent,” said Hitchkins. “Take your places.”
The clones took their places at the consoles and monitors lining the walls of the circular chamber. The Primordial Amalgamator, a flat, highly polished circular platform, lay in the center of the chamber, with two cloned guards standing on either side of the metal steps in front of it.
Hitchkins landed his chair just before the Amalgamator. The housing of the chair parted to either side and Hitchkins rose slowly and painfully to exit. His white, formfitting suit fit loosely on his scrawny limbs, but tight around his pudgy middle. One of the guards hurried to assist him but he adamantly refused.
“Hold your place!” he commanded. “These are the waning moments of my frailty, and I wish to savor them.”
Hitchkins hobbled up the steps to the center of the level platform, where he stood, hunched over. The circular platform was rather plain looking, flat and metallic, with a ring of a different metal just within its diameter. “Begin the initial sequences.”
Some of the clones began typing at their consoles, others monitored data. A hum emanated from within the Amalgamator platform and the inner ring began to spin.
“Levels?” asked Hitchkins.
“Hellium levels rising at a constant,” said one of the clones.
“Infusers,” said Hitchkins.
The spinning ring started to emit a golden glow and began to rise straight up as it spun. The ring, six inches in height, rose to a level just above Hitchkins’s head, where it remained suspended. Another spinning ring rose from the housing of the platform, suspending itself at Hitchkins’s waist level. The third and final ring rose to just below his knees.
“Initiate molecular saturation,” he ordered.
There came crackling and whirring as the rings increased their velocity and began sparking with golden electricity. The currents intensified and began jumping from ring to ring.
Hitchkins held his arms out to his sides and, tilting his head back, closed his eyes and grinned. The intense currents jumped from the three rings to Hitchkins himself.
“Yes, yes!” he cried. “I can feel it; I can feel the power!”
As the currents licked his body, Hitchkins’s back began to straighten: blonde hair began to sprout from his bald head; his limbs began to fill out the suit; his stomach began to flatten; his bent posture corrected, and he began to grow in stature. The wrinkles in his face and the saggy skin of his neck began to disappear as his muscles and skeleton grew and his skin tightened. He resembled the clones in his youthful appearance, but different—larger in stature, stronger, immeasurably stronger!
His head sprang forward, and his eyes suddenly opened, glowing golden in their sockets. He clenched his fists at his side, reveling in their newfound strength and destructive potential.
“The primordial consciousness is my own—knowledge and power beyond human comprehension! Let those who oppose me tremble, for their day of reckoning is at hand.”
CHAPTER 9
To Destroy a Planet
The golden-arched slab, the door to one of many training chambers in the Hall of Destruction, rose like a headstone from the white nothingness. Above it, suspended in the expanse, lay a planet nearly identical to earth in appearance but a quarter its size. Hughes and Jones combined their powers to form the dwarf planet, its entire surface a battleground, just as their teacher used to form to test them. This was the stage of the final test of Darion’s destructive abilities, and his objectives were simple: survive and destroy as many enemies as possible within one hour.
In the month that passed since his first lesson in the Hall of Destruction, Darion had been engaged in near constant training, taking respites only to replenish his Essence. He learned various methods of defeating the colossal elemental golems, dispatching all set before him. Hughes showed him how to properly use the radiance technique, teaching him to sparingly employ its incendiary properties. Darion was taught “summoning” techniques—the transporting of matter from one part of the universe to another for various effects, taxing one less than Creation as it does not involve expending one’s Essence to create from nothingness.
It would take all Darion had learned to master this final test, an entire planet bent on his destruction.
Darion stood in the center of a green mountain valley, steeling his resolve for the test to come. Ironic that he would test his destructive capabilities in such a serene setting. The immense valley, set between green mountain ranges, was a grassy depression dotted with foothills, with a broad pond in its midst. He bounced around a bit on his toes, cracked his neck to both sides, and threw a few punches in the air.
Hughes hovered high above the surface, monitoring his pupil. “Warmed up?” he asked, his voice amplified across the great expanse.
Darion got into a wide stance with his arms relaxed at his sides. “Ready,” he said.
“One hour, Darion,” said Hughes. “Be smart, conserve your Essence and you’ll do just fine.”
Darion nodded. A single chime rang out, signifying the start of the test. He stood in place, shifting his gaze all around by twisting his head and waist; he knew what to expect—the unexpected. Suddenly, two hands of dirt shot up from beneath him, each grabbing a leg in a death grip. He radiated himself for a split second, just enough to burn free of their grasp and fly up and away. As he hovered in the air, the grassy hills of the valley began to stir, break away from the brown earth, and rise—golems of earth and stone with patches of grass on their heads, chests, and limbs. The golems lumbered to form a perimeter around him as he did a 360 to number his foes, counting five in all. No time to sightsee. The golems’ boulder eyes, five feet in diameter, began to shoot from their sockets: Darion dove just in time as the volleys smashed together where he’d been, showering the valley with dirt and stone. He flew between the legs of a golem and hovered at its back, maneuvering to stay at its rear as it attempted to turn to get to him. The other four trudged toward it, two approaching from the left and two from the right, letting loose another volley of boulders that Darion avoided at the last moment, al
lowing them to smash into the fifth golem. The impacts of the boulders smashed its right arm off and cratered its body, sending it crashing to the ground. Darion was shrouded in the debris of the aftermath, but the golems continued their assault. They directed their fire at the cloud of debris; he was prepared and erected a black hole in front of himself, its exit above the first golem approaching on the right. The combined boulders of the four golems rained down upon it, smashing its head away and sending a fissure down its torso, splitting it in two as it crashed to the ground. No time to admire his work. The golem that was taken down first was still in the fight and began shooting eye boulders from its supine position. One hit Darion from below, sending him toppling down on top of the golem. The golem seemed surprised as it lifted its head and looked at Darion on its midsection. Undaunted, Darion created a large black hole on the ground beneath the golem and flew away just as the behemoth was pulled in. He inclined his right hand to a point high above the remaining golem on the right and formed the black hole’s exit, out of which fell the supine golem—their collision smashed them both to pieces.
Even though Darion had practiced and rejuvenated constantly during the last month, his Essence still had limits and energy conservation could become a factor in the test. He felt good for now—the black hole exits only slightly taxed his Essence. From his vantage point, the remaining golems were close in proximity laterally, but further apart in depth, with the trailing golem appearing smaller in the background. He decided on an attack that would hit them both despite their separation, the Asteroid Torrent—a technique that opened a portal in the asteroid belt, taking in speeding asteroids and letting them exit from a portal toward a target.
Darion visualized the portal forming in the asteroid belt and formed its exit in front of him. The exit portal, a black circle one hundred feet across and almost imperceptibly thin, erupted with a cylindrical stream of asteroids of various sizes, pelting the golems, smashing them to pieces, and whisking them away in the stream as it continued its linear trajectory into the white nothingness of the chamber. He dispersed the exit hole and looked in awe at the extensive damage rendered in the wake of the attack. The torrent gouged a smoldering canyon through the landscape, whisking away hill and mountain as if they were no more than dust. One of the mountains was a dormant volcano, its magma chamber exposed as the asteroids sheared away the layers of rock and soil. The churning pool of lava began to erupt, heaving arches of magma onto the surrounding ground. The molten mounds then started to bubble and overflow and rise. Darion knew that they would soon grow to be magma golems and decided to deny them the opportunity. He thought of the cool waters flowing from the frosted mountain on Darion V and formed a vortex in those depths. He inclined his open hand above the pool of lava and formed the exit portal, 200-feet wide, which emptied like an enormous faucet, washing over the lava pool and its growing offshoots. There was deafening hissing and crackling as the cool waters met the molten stone, with great plumes of steam erupting from the merger.