The Acolytes of Crane Updated Edition

by Tew, J. D.

  ‘You are the human they say will defeat me? Your bones are pitifully weak,’ the devilish demon said, as he laughed from within the hood of his robe, ‘Oh that is right. You cannot speak!’

  He drew me in closer as if nonchalantly examining an object under a bright light. I became petrified by fear. My hope dangled like a T-bone next to a rabid dog’s jowl. As if reacting to his touch, my skin turned blotchy and pustular where he clutched my throat.

  His free hand grasped the apex of his robe, rapidly pulled back his hood, and revealed the vilest face, pale white, with varicose veins running down his neck. There was total savagery in his eyes—grey eyes, and stunning red pupils.

  ‘Do you think Zane foresaw this? You know he wants to add you to his collection of Sepherans, which are nothing better than instruments of dead souls. Zane only preys upon those who have no spark of life left, robbing them from the grave!! You cannot see how sick that is?’ He was gazing off to his side as he spat out these words, as if he was confronting Zane in the very room. I tried to squirm, and he leaned in closer, ‘What if I send your grandparents to Sephera? Two adorable souls to become wilted by time and burned by flame, only to be resurrected as particles of matter by Zane? All for vanity!’ The walls reverberated with his guffaws, which sounded more like screams due to the echo effect.

  He released his grip ever so slightly and peered at me with eyes of hatred. ‘Where is the research?’

  I had no clue what he was referring to, and there was no way I could even summon the breath to answer. I was only left with my power of thought. Nezatron, Nezatron—I frantically delved into my mind, before it turned into a black void.

  Over my nanocom Nezatron said, ‘Migalt is closing in on your location now.’

  Just as I was about to pass out, there was a flash of blinding white light and a huge bang, as if there was an explosion. Immediately, the grip on my neck was released, and I fell to the floor, gulping down precious oxygen.

  Looking up, I saw a glowing, towering angelic figure, as if heaven had intervened. Perhaps it had. Scattered flames licked at the walls and the floor, surrounding my guardian.

  It was Migalt, the Bromel, whom I had earlier met along with King Trazuline when I had boarded the Uriel for a very short time. He must have seriously scared the crap out of Odion, because there he lay, kneeling, whimpering like freshly caught prey. It was quite a sight to behold.

  What a magnificent creature, this Bromel! He scraped the room’s ceiling with the tips of his monumental twelve-foot wings. In his large hands he held a spear that shimmered with a radiant blue light, brightening the entire room and blinding me somewhat. The majestic spear was humming; every time it crackled, white-hot light burst from the blinding bluish beam.

  As if conveying evidence of my guardian’s dramatic entry into this room, the walls were freshly splintered. Migalt had so much power that various cogs and wheels from the industrial machinery in the room had exploded straight off their supports and rammed into the walls.

  Odion kneeled before the Bromel, writhing out of severe pain dealt upon him by the aura of the blade. He was clawing away at his own body. It was as if he could not stand the radiating power of the Bromel’s weapon.

  ‘I am Migalt, and you are not welcome in the mind of the boy,’ he said, as he rose taller, posturing over Odion.

  The Bromel was at least twelve feet tall, but Odion showed no fear as he overcame his searing pain and rose on his feet.

  ‘You don’t get it, you winged-freak? I can go and do whatever I please! There is no touching me here in this realm or any realm. Do you understand me?’ he screamed, as he rose up and punched into the massively broad chest of Migalt.

  As if offended by Odion’s assault, Migalt’s spear blazed with a dazzling array of ultraviolet blue. I squinted as Migalt raised the spear high above his head, his muscles striated and flexed. With a mighty heave, Migalt threw the spear and impaled Odion.

  Odion gave one final scream that night. ‘Travis, go get the research!’

  Then Odion’s image de-pixelated before us. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, the devilish Omnian in charge of the Dacturons was nowhere to be seen.

  I woke up, drenched in sweat. The industrial warehouse room had vanished and I was back under the covers of my bed. Jumping to my feet, I ran to my bedroom window quickly and looked out. I saw Travis walking away from my house. He was heading north, toward Seventh Street. He looked back with a sneer, flipped me the bird, and in a burst of evanescence—he was gone. Only a pool of molten blacktop was left behind by his teleport.

  A large thud on the side of my house grabbed my attention. I had to see what it was, so I walked along the side of the house past the garden of perennials. Standing there, proud and majestic, was the Bromel—Migalt.

  ‘Thank you so much, sir,’ I said.

  ‘You are very lucky. Any longer in Odion’s grasp and you would have been killed in your subconscious, boy,’ Migalt said. He took a knee, and the ground trembled. He whispered to me, ‘It has been your newly presented weakness of mind that let Odion in, and by allowing that, you have opened a pathway in your brain for him to re-enter as he wishes. Travis most certainly used a device to project him into your mind from the window. You need to finish your objective here, by getting that team of four to follow you. Then you must all leave. The longer you stay, the sooner your death will be. We need representatives from Earth.’

  Migalt carried on about the sovereignty of Zane and his record of accomplishment for providing the multiverse with freedom, liberating them from misdirection. My angst fled slightly and was overwhelmed by a feeling of guilt.

  ‘This is the only way I know, Migalt. I have been fighting my whole life. And that makes me think twice before I trust anything good or unexplainable,’ I said.

  Migalt leaned forward, hugging me with his arms and wings, and said, ‘Theodore. I know that you have been dealt misfortune; you were brought into a difficult position. Don’t waste your time trying to figure out the intricacies of the multiverse. Accept that there will be things out there you cannot explain. I have been monitoring your inquiries with Nezatron and I know of your doubts. You need to take up the sword, and fight as you did against your parents. Believe me, Theodore, when I say, Odion rules in a way not far from how your father ruled his house.’

  Migalt stroked an emblem on the shoulder strap of his armor, and he instantly was tailored in a majestic metallic suit. He slowly squatted toward the ground and with a magnificent leap through the air, he launched into the star-lit sky, and I lost him in the handle of the Little Dipper.

  “I had a task to complete, and there was no time to whimper and sulk. If I had learned anything from Migalt, Nezatron, and Trazuline, it was that Zane had done so much for me, and I had not done enough. I needed to complete my goal once and for all.”

  11 theodore: sephera

  I hear the view box open, and I stretch from a nap.

  “Prisoner, move your ass and get into position—now! Prisoner eight-six-seven-five. Open request—guns are at the ready—over.”

  I move quickly, because the angry guard, Shifty, is impatient and rushing along. I scurry and snap into position.

  “Squad—weapons hot!” Shifty yells.

  The mechanics of the vault are pulling and rolling; grinding and unwinding. The vault is a masterful work of security that no one can ever escape. A squad posts at the entrance; it is usually an indication they are going to move me.

  “Cover me! Don’t even think about moving, prisoner,” the guard says. I hear footsteps that seem to slow from caution.

  My disk. It’s on the ground, hidden under a millimeter of dirt. I dare not have it on my possession; for sure it would be detected during a pat-down.

  “You forgot to turn his room over Shifty?” the veteran guard asks. “I am taking over this squad. Move along.”

  “You cannot do that. The council’s chancellor specifically delegated the order to me,” Shifty says.

 
“Ridiculous. The Chancellor? You’ve been letting your pitiful ego take over. Report to command or I will be reprimanding you instead of writing you up . . . you idiot,” the veteran guard says scornfully. “Alright boys. We’re on the clock! Let’s move.”

  “What about the cell search?” Shifty yells.

  The veteran guard retorts, “No time. Thanks to your gross incompetence! Move it!”

  I breathe a sigh of relief, yet slowly release the expulsion of air, so that no one would suspect my anxiety. The disk is safe, for now.

  I start to shake, puzzeling and feeling somewhat faint. The temporalysis is upon my head. This time, the temporalysis program is set to disable my vision. I feel a numbing sensation as the temporalysis paralyzes me, then everything goes black.

  My heels drag along the floor. Then, I experience severe discomfort as someone throws me over his shoulder, my head and arms dangling over his back. With every step, he drives his solid mass into my soft belly. The blood rushes to my head.

  The Multiversal Council—my warden’s puppeteers. What do they need this time? The Chancellor, the supreme of them all. I knew he would be dying to clear up this mess.

  As I am lowered, as limp as seaweed, into a sitting position, braced against the wall, the pressure transfers from my gut to my ass. The guard says, “File around the room. Form along the wall there. Let’s go! He will be here any minute. Get those damn restraints on the prisoner! Have you guards been reading your digi-manuals?”

  In the background, I hear footsteps and the voice of the warden, increasing in loudness as he approaches. The guards now prop me up on a chair’s surface—I think.

  The warden asks, “Is the prisoner in position? He had better be, because I only have five morgets. Where is he?”

  “Right this way warden, as requested,” the veteran guard says.

  “Dim the lights on my end, and place the spotlight on that prisoner,” the warden says.

  “You heard the warden—move!” the veteran guard yells, “Free up the prisoner’s sight.”

  They press a few buttons on the temporalysis. I have visibility, but the light blinds me. It is painful. The temporalysis continues to immobilize my body, and the warden says, “I appreciate your cooperation. Most of the information you have provided so far is at least a bit strategically useful. Maybe this will be good enough for us to reward you a bit more.” I start to speak, but this temporalysis had me wrangled completely still.

  “So, I bet you are wondering why you are here. I want to make this quick.” I hear whispering, and the warden continues, “Guards, get the cannons hot in this room and get the firing squad ready.”

  The shuffle of feet, the hissing noise of the lock and the clattering of metal weapons fill the air.

  “Squad, guns at the ready! Go turrets hot in room seven-two-three—over,” the veteran guard says.

  “If you cooperate, this will be fast and painless. Tell me everything you know about Sephera. Where is Nezatron?”

  I feel this temporalysis release me, but I am too weak to fight. I ask, “Another ghost of Sephera gone rogue?”

  “That is not what I asked for,” the warden retorts. “Again, Sephera. The whereabouts of Nezatron—now. Start with Sephera.”

  I speak to satisfy the warden’s request, saying, “It’s complicated. See, Sephera is the forefront for digital resurrection. It is as most imagine. It is a collective collaboration of multiversal dreams and hopes of what an afterlife should be. That is it.”

  “I bet you love that, thinking there is a place to go once you die. Right?” he asks.

  “Earthlings are not the only people longing for a Sepheran conclusion. Everyone in the multiverse shares the need for hope. Hope at the end of life. You could even say reincarnation,” I say.

  “Not the Multiversal Council. The Council believes in truth. Namely, that there is nothing after death. To infer otherwise is misleading and is propagating a living falsehood,” he says. “Keep going.”

  “Keep in mind; I am not saying spirituality or God does not exist. I am only saying that I have seen Sephera with my own eyes,” I say.

  The warden speaks, “Some gullible people are talking; they say, ‘If a heretic is blind enough not to choose the path to Sephera, he chooses hell.’ Given how vile the concept of Sephera is, I would say that hell and Sephera are the same thing.” He paces across this room a few times. “Enough. So how has Zane been performing this evil deed—sending people to Sephera, to their deaths?”

  I throw caution to the wind, by saying, “I don’t know how this helps you, but I have to tell you, people try to destroy Sephera all the time and fail. That I know.” At this point, given my lingering doubts, I wish they would just destroy Sephera and get it over with.

  “Answer the question, prisoner,” the veteran guard says.

  “Alright. Whoever believes in a sort of utopia or god fathoms an image of them, right?” The warden twirls his finger, and I carry on, “The Dietons strategically extract, format, and use the majority of people’s mental images to represent a utopia in Sephera. This is my earliest perception of it anyway.”

  “Okay, carry on,” the warden requests, and sits.

  “Sephera is a tangible creation that represents an afterlife. A planet, with a massive physical metropolis made from the dreams, thoughts, and memories of everyone”

  “How?” The warden asks, finally showing signs of curiosity.

  “I am tired. Can I just go back to my cell?” I ask. Suddenly, as I scan my surroundings, I notice that many of the guards have expressions of unease on their faces. What’s going on? My hands are in restraints, and yet they fear me! Maybe there is a way out of this after all. They know something I don’t, and I have to find it.

  “Listen prisoner, if you want your son to live a full—”

  I interrupt him, and shout, “There you go with my son again! I don’t have a son. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  He slides a digital certificate of birth in front of me. There is no photo on it. I look at it and the last name matches up with mine. It could have been fabricated in order to deviously manipulate my thoughts, but I cannot chance it.

  I say, “You’re just pulling off a ruse. Can we just end this? Look, I’m telling you as much as I can. If you’d at least have the decency to feed me properly and give me a warm bed, maybe I would be in better shape to answer your ridiculous queries!”

  I received a sharp blow to my head.

  “All right,” I say. “They use a telepathway. It is a device made by Zane to intercept and interpret brain waves at the time of one’s demise—I think. Again, this is all rumor, and I have no clue where the transmitter is. Honest.”

  “How do you know about digital resurrection then? If you don’t have a clue about where the telepathway is and how it works?” the warden asks.

  “I know how it works. I just don’t know where it is. Nezatron is the source of this information—okay?” I ask, and the warden nods, “The concept of digital resurrection is based on Zane’s device, the Telepathic Life Continuum—also known as TLC. TLC is the concept of extracting someone’s experiences, memories, and behaviors. Before one dies, the TLC inserts a replay of the people’s own imaginative representation of Heaven and God, or whatever deity they believe in. It is an occurrence most humans say is a life after death experience.” This is done in order to prevent them from seeking their own destruction when they are born again as brand new Sepherans. This dream sequence resurrects them and inspires them to survive, but in a different life form.”

  The warden scoffs with revulsion. “So Zane acting like a puppet master, deluding them into their deaths with visions of angels. And you condone this behavior? You and your friends?”

  “I never said that. Look, I am just as disgusted with it as you are. Can we be done? None of this even helps you. We were kids then. All we were doing was responding—misguided and misled as we were back then—to what was happening to us. We know about as much as you do.”<
br />
  “We will be done when I say we are done. When we have all the information necessary. You destroyed the database, and because of that we have no choice but to interrogate you. It will be vital as evidence in support of your acquittal at your trial,” the warden says. “If it comes to that.”

  “We? You mean the Multiversal Council? That is what I thought. Anyway, when all the life experiences belonging to an individual are being extracted, the mind usually sees them all in a flash. It is sort of a quick dream reel of one’s life. People refer this as seeing your life flash before your eyes.”

  “Yes,” the warden says, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. He was finally getting to the heart of the matter.

  I continue, “This near-death experience can go in one of two ways. One, the subject’s mind turns to concepts of God, and that’s where the TLC kicks in, to entice them to Sephera.”

  “And,” the warden jumps in, licking his lips, “…if they don’t?”

  “If the subject refuses to embrace unconditional love, if they don’t turn to God, then the TLC will fail and they will integrate into dust, to be scattered among space.”

  The warden looks away, teary. “That bastard Zane,” he growled. He turns back to me. “How does Zane monitor everyone?”

  “Zane can create an infinite amount of Dietons, and he has. There’s billions of them. The Dietons form an aura surrounding every living being in the multiverse. These Dietons record and save all information in Eppa’s mainframe for future use.”

  “Very diabolical,” the guard murmurs. I take his tone to be that of reluctant admiration. “Zane makes Big Brother look like a Commodore 64.”

  “Huh?” I say.

  The warden waves me away. “Eppa, the Mecca database that you spoke of, was on the planet Foita. The place you destroyed. Now, what about Nezatron?” the warden asks.