Transendence

by Jared Teer

  There was a sense-shattering explosion—a great blast that filled Darion’s ears with a resonant ring. Darion’s entire world went white in a flash and he was caught in the inertia of a rush that he couldn’t resist. He could feel his skin being singed, but there was no escape as he tumbled back, seeing only blinding white nothingness. It felt as if his very molecules were on the verge of coming apart.

  He cried out in agony—and then it was over.

  The blinding white light dimmed to reveal the nothingness of the white training room. His backward inertia eased, and he was able to recover control of his momentum and slow to a halt, hovering in the expanse. Exhausted, he began to plummet, but Hughes was suddenly there to catch him.

  “Good job, Darion, good job,” Hughes reassured as he let him down gently on his feet. Darion stumbled forward, but Hughes caught him. Hughes’s hands, one on each of Darion’s shoulders, began to glow golden, and Darion was suddenly rejuvenated.

  “Better?” asked Hughes.

  Darion looked down at his hands and clenched and relaxed his fists. “Yeah, thanks Hughes.”

  “Thirty-seven minutes, Darion. Not bad.”

  “Not bad?” Darion said. “I failed.”

  “Actually, you did quite well.”

  Darion’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

  Hughes continued. “You destroyed as many enemies as possible … by destroying the entire planet. You nearly blew yourself up in the process, but technically, the planet did explode before you did. The test concluded when the planet exploded, ending the sequence just as you began to experience particle dispersal. Tell me, what did you think of the final golem?”

  “You threw me for a loop with that one. I thought it would be weak because of its size, but I couldn’t touch it.”

  “I thought you’d like it. I call him The Pugilist.”

  Darion laughed. “Like the Greek statue, except a black guy? I knew I recognized it.”

  “That’s right. You are a true boxing enthusiast. Though the golem’s blackness isn’t due to skin pigmentation: its body is formed of ethereal black diamond. The Pugilist golem you faced had nearly the mass of an entire dwarf planet packed in its humanoid form. It manipulated its own gravitational field offensively against you—using it as a concussive force, as well as capturing you in its pull. A formidable foe, but giant balls of stellar plasma are lethal to terrestrial bodies—planetary and humanoid.

  “The Pugilist was also intended to prepare you for the Hall of Might. I began your training with the giant golems and concluded with the Pugilist to remove any terrestrial notions about the advantages of size in a fight. In the Hall of Might, you may face opponents that dwarf you in stature and some that are half your size. You must not underestimate, or overestimate, anyone—regardless of size.”

  Darion nodded. “I won’t let you down, Hughes.”

  “I’m sure you will do just fine. As it turns out, you will get to train with your friends Ray and Sky. Their class, the rightly named Rowdies, begins matriculation in the Hall of Might tomorrow as well. This will be good for all of you and will definitely provide for some interesting training.”

  “This should be fun,” Darion said as they passed through the slab door.

  CHAPTER 10

  Rise of the Insectizoids

  North Waziristan, the mountainous region of northwest Pakistan, bordering Afghanistan—a land of sparse vegetation, with rugged, barren mountains and hills interspersed with crests of beige stone. In a valley accessible by a dirt road running through a narrow defile lay one of the training camps of Allied Jihad, the world’s most notorious radical Islamic network.

  A golden ray flashed across the clear blue sky. The ray took a sharp dive and a radiant being touched down on the dirt road just before the flimsy, wood and barbed wire entrance gate of the terrorist training camp. The man wore a white, formfitting, fullbody suit, adorned with golden shin guards, midsection band, and shoulder spaulders covering his upper chest and back. The spaulders had a connected metal stand-up collar that opened at the front to reveal the whole of his throat.

  Two guards in desert fatigues trained their AK-47s on him as he approached casually and shouted threats at him in Pashto. He understood their language and replied with a smile. They opened up with their automatics and the bullets simply ricocheted off him as he walked forward. He held out his open hand and one of the men was pulled toward him, tearing through the gate and landing gripped by the throat in his grasp. He held the man in front of him, letting him absorb the spray of bullets from his comrade, and then tossed him to the side. The other man turned to flee. He extended his hand toward the terrorist and clenched his fist, stopping the man in his tracks, paralyzed. He nonchalantly motioned up and to the side with his arm and the man was hurled so far that the place of his crashing was lost on the horizon. Twenty men who had been practicing on a shooting range in the distance scrambled to their jeeps and pick-ups and made for him. He continued to stalk through the camp, toppling tents with gusts of telekinetic force directed by slight gestures of his hand. One man who had been sleeping secured an RPG launcher, took aim at him, and fired. He decided to display his power by punching the RPG out of the air.

  He missed.

  His punch angled to the side prematurely and the rocket detonated on his shoulder, blasting him backward to the ground. How embarrassing for one of his stature to receive such summary treatment. Better not to soil my hands on such detestable men.

  To the dismay of the man with the RPG, he got to his feet. He dusted himself off, crouched to one knee, and jammed the fingers of his right hand into the sandy earth. “Evolve!” he commanded, transmitting a portion of his own energies into the very soil.

  Five, huge, fire-ant-like creatures rose from the ground; they were humanoid in build having two arms and two legs with red exoskeletons and articulated joints, foot-long pincers, and long, transparent, veined wings at their backs. One of the insectizoids grabbed the man with the RPG by the throat and pulled his face toward its chomping pincers—his demise wasn’t painless. The vehicles from the shooting range were approaching rapidly. Some men jumped from the truck beds, strafing and shooting at the creatures, but the bullets had no effect. The ants closed the distance in the blink of an eye, skittering through the hail of bullets before gripping the men in their pincers and ripping them asunder. One of the jeeps succeeded in plowing down an ant. The impact left the creature maimed, but wrecked the jeep as well, flipping it over and ejecting its passengers. Their slight victory was short lived as the other ants converged and tore them apart. The remaining two trucks sped off, kicking up dust as they raced away on the dirt road.

  He stood with his arms folded, admiring the carnage of his handiwork. The remaining four insectizoids assembled before him.

  “Hunt them down and feast. You’ll need your energy, for our days work is incomplete,” he said with a grave smirk. Their long wings spread and they took flight toward the fleeing vehicles. His laughter resonated through the dessert.

  CHAPTER 11

  Immortal Combat

  The ascending, circular stands of the vast arena were filled with many anxious people, Ascended and Supernals alike. This was the first session in the Hall of Might for Sky and Ray’s class, the Rowdies—as well as for Darion and many other Ascended—and all of the students were on edge. The chatter of a multitude of voices filled the arena, Ascended teachers and students in their various outfits, and the matriculating Supernals in the white uniforms trimmed with gold of the hall. The arena was vast, the circular competition floor 600 feet in diameter. The stadium resembled the ancient Roman Coliseum in design, complete and brilliantly white, with widening circular tiers of stone etched with vines of gold.

  The hall staff stood assembled in the center of the smooth, stone arena floor, all wearing the white trimmed with gold, formfitting sleeveless tops with baggy bottoms (which, on some of the well-muscled individuals, were formfitting as well) tucked into their boots. Their boots were white le
ather, rising to below the calf, with three horizontal straps down the front. Unlike the students, the hall instructors wore golden sashes around their waists.

  Clay Conner, the head instructor of the hall, paced before the line with his hands clasped behind his back and addressed the assembly. “Students, Ascended, trainers … welcome to the Hall of Might. Here, students will learn the intricacies of physical combat, the methods of debilitating the body. I make no qualms regarding the nature of the training here; it will be brutal, you will all suffer greatly, and your greatest efforts will often be futile in preventing failure. There will be weekly tournaments, regular full contact sparring, and everyone—and that means instructors, including myself—is susceptible to random challenge attacks.

  “Here, Ascended and Supernal warriors will learn the most ancient of martial sciences, or arts—Combative Applications of the Humanoid Form. The humanoid can be effectively manipulated for a number of devastating effects—hurled like a projectile, strikes with various appendages and digits, crippling holds and locks.

  “Applications here are restricted to the base attributes of the transphysical form—great strength and resilience, extraordinary reflexes, and maneuverability. The Essence is not to be consciously employed for any reason other than flight. This excludes any number of bio-alterations, such as channeling Essence through the limbs for concussive and explosive effect, molecular compacting, teleportation, rearrangement, and bio-radiation techniques. Under no circumstance is Essence to be used for extra-physical combative applications, meaning no summoning, manipulating, or creating of forces apart from the physical body. And, to make sure everyone stays honest, violators will be subject to disadvantaged combat against the instructing staff.

  “Some of you may not be familiar with the methods of incapacitating transphysical beings. For now, I’ll give the short explanation. We are not invulnerable in the sense that we cannot experience debilitating injury. Sure, we are nigh indestructible, but our physical invulnerability lies more in the regenerative abilities of the Essence that permeates our very molecules. Under ordinary circumstances, when our bodies receive damage, the Essence is nearly instantaneously employed to heal our wounds. When facing another transphysical being in combat, the Essence of both individuals is taxed through attack or defense. When completely expunged from the body, the Essence too requires regeneration, and when this occurs the body is unassisted and becomes susceptible to damage sensory overload—the point at which the physical body is destroyed, or temporarily incapacitated, with the consciousness being disembodied while the body rejuvenates. Therefore, matches are won by inflicting sufficient damage to separate an opponent from his or her physical self. Everything is full contact here, and you will spar until one combatant’s body is completely incapacitated. I can’t wait.

  “Some of you may be wondering, how can transphysical beings who can withstand the most abrasive elemental forces—stellar plasma, intense gravitational pressure, high voltage—be significantly injured by a purely physical assault by another transphysical being? That is simple. Here, hitting with bad intentions is more than a catchy slogan used by boxing announcers; here, it actually determines the effectiveness of your attacks. You must visualize and believe in your attack, which employs one’s Essence to achieve that destructive end. The opponent’s Essence then almost instantaneously makes an expenditure to resist and repair the damage. And just like in defense of elemental and metaphysical forces, the Essence reinforces the body against attack, making the body immensely resilient but immensely destructive as well, both of which tax the Essence greatly. Devoid of sufficient Essence, the body shuts down on a molecular level, at which time the consciousness is separated from the body—what terrestrials refer to as being KO’d. This is one manner in which Essence can be exhausted, by attack or defense.

  “Some of you are laughing. I honestly tried to give the short version, folks. Well, we have plenty of opportunity to discuss these details later. Anyway, I certainly don’t wish to hold up the training—for I am certain that many amongst us are quite eager—so next, a demonstration of what you can expect.

  “Kitiona, please,” said Clay, motioning toward an enormous Samoan man with his long black hair tied back in one braid, with shoulders as large and round as soccer balls protruding from his sleeveless, white shirt. He was very tall, not lanky but extremely muscular, like a competitive bodybuilder. Kitiona stepped forward from the line of instructors. “As you all can plainly see, Kitiona is a man of grand and intimidating stature. What are you Kit, six-eleven, 450 pounds?”

  “Seven feet, 425 pounds, bro,” Kitiona said. “I’ve been watching my figure.”

  “Indeed,” said Clay. “Many of you, particularly the recently Ascended, may see a man of Kitiona’s stature and think it inconceivable that he could be bested in a test of might, particularly a fight.”

  “Rocky, front and center.” A small Supernal, a child of no more than ten years old, stepped forward wearing the same uniform of the instructors. The kid had short, spiked, brown hair and big green eyes. He was no taller than four feet, lanky, but with well-toned muscles.

  “This munchkin is my little brother, Rocky.” The little guy looked down, obviously shy, his feet fidgeting. Looking around at the crowd, Clay asked, “What do you think will be the outcome of a fight between these two? Murder in the first degree? Child abuse, perhaps?”

  “Gentlemen,” said Clay. Kitiona nodded, as did Rocky. They turned toward each other, separated by a span of twelve feet. The other instructors teleported to their seats on the front tier of the arena. No longer fidgeting, Rocky looked up at Kitiona with a grin. Kitiona cracked the knuckles of both his fists, smiling as well. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready!” said Rocky.

  “Yep,” said Kitiona.

  Clay suddenly vanished and his voice resonated through the arena, “Fight!”

  Kitiona exploded toward Rocky in a sprint, almost instantly closing the distance between them, and punted the little guy, sending him skipping backward across the ground like a stone across the surface of a lake. Rocky managed to tumble into a three-point stance fifty yards away, his nose dripping goldenhinted crimson.

  He smiled.

  Maintaining his stride after the kick, Kitiona was bearing down on Rocky, having nearly covered the distance put between them by his savage punt. Just as he was in range to deliver another blow, Rocky leapt forward, smashing the crown of his head into Kitiona’s chin. The big guy went cross-eyed momentarily and staggered back, his face contorted in a smirk-like grimace. Rocky landed on his feet, wiped the blood from his nose, and began to bounce on his toes like a boxer. Kitiona suddenly burst from his stagger with an overhand punch, looking to drive the little guy into the ground like a stake. Rocky jumped back just in time as the fist smashed wrist deep into the concrete. Rocky was still airborne as Kitiona followed up with a lunging uppercut with his other arm, catching him under the chin and sending him flipping backward. Rocky landed on his feet and used the inertia of the blow to propel himself into a series of back flips. Kitiona sprinted in pursuit. As Kitiona neared, Rocky landed out of a back flip and then flipped forward, smashing the bottom of both feet into Kitiona’s sternum. As he toppled backward, Kitiona unleashed a brutal upward kick, catching Rocky with his instep and sending him soaring into the air. Kitiona regained his stance. Rocky overcame the upward momentum a couple hundred feet in the air and glared down at Kitiona. Kitiona smiled. Rocky’s face contorted in a snarl and he flew into a dive with both fists directed at Kitiona. Kitiona leapt straight up with his fists aimed directly for Rocky. Rocky slipped by Kitiona’s arms, smashed both fists into his face, and continued in his downward momentum, driving Kitiona into the arena floor. They were both lost in the dust of the impact, then there was a boom from within the crater and Rocky came sailing from the cloud of debris and smashed into an occupied section of the stands. The impact pounded a concave fifteen feet in diameter into the intricately carved, stone bleachers—Rocky lay in
the center of the crater, strewn with rubble and the bodies of those who didn’t react in time to move.

  “Come on!” yelled Kitiona, standing on the arena floor.

  Rocky stood in the rubble, dropped into a low stance, bared his teeth with a growl, and inclined his arm backward in a curl. He disappeared—not teleporting, but flying so fast that his movement was lost to the eye—and then he was almost instantly in front of Kitiona and released his cocked arm, smashing an uppercut into Kitiona’s stomach. Kitiona’s back bulged unnaturally in a hunch, leaning him forward. Hovering before Kitiona’s midsection, Rocky struck upward with his other elbow, blasting Kitiona in the chin and sending him stumbling backward. Rocky shot forward intending to deliver a smashing head-butt to Kitiona’s solar plexus, but Kitiona caught his head in both hands, grabbed him by the hair, and pulled his face down into an upward knee strike. Kitiona then held Rocky in front of him with one arm and reared back to deliver a straight punch. As the punch approached, Rocky raised his knees, blocking the blow, and then extended the toe of one boot into the underside of Kitiona’s chin. Kitiona let him go and staggered. Hovering at eye level with Kitiona, Rocky went forward, grabbed him by the hair and pulled his face forward into a vicious head-butt, smashing the crown of his head into Kitiona’s nose. As the big guy reeled, Rocky quickly touched down on the ground and exploded upward, bashing Kitiona underneath the chin with both knees simultaneously. Rocky ascended rapidly after delivering the blow, sailing high into the air while Kitiona staggered and fell backward. Rocky, now hundreds of feet in the air, curled his legs back, flexing his knees, and grabbed his ankles in their corresponding hands and plummeted toward the supine Kitiona with both knees aimed for his torso.