((Work in Progress))

[Sekot]

Jul 28, 2008 18:14:55 GMT -5 o ding said:

Jul 28, 2008 18:07:11 GMT -5 Sekot said:

One thing you'll prolly end up noticing about my writing is that I like to leave questions.

These questions, if I'm doing my job, end up getting answered eventually. For the time being, some of this is either I have no idea just yet or I want you to try and figure it out.

Your confused point would fall under the latter part. All will be revealed. In time.

Is that code for "Oh shit I left that part out!" ?

No. It means that you'll have to be patient. Audreeana's relationship to Deshtalik will be revealed in time. It won't be something outrageous or anything, but it doesn't work in the present context.

[o ding]

Alright. Also, Audreeana...

That name sounds really familiar. Don't reply, I'm just talking to myself. While typing it out in a public forum.

[Eliphas]

Very cool. That name does sound familiar to me also...

[Sekot]

If you read my WoW stories, Audreeana would be the name of the priestess who dies and gets returned as Mallyce.

I'm unoriginal with names, so I like to recycle them. With a name as obscure as that, I don't think it really matters if I do reuse it =P.

[athelstan]

Well, Sekot. That was interesting. I like your amount of setting description especially: you never wax into purple prose, but you also give me enough information for me to imagine what the location looks like, which is more than can be said about some authors. I also like characters that lose illusions about the world and have revelations. It reminds me of a guy named Anasûrimbor Kellhus, from The Prince of Nothing series by R. Scott Bakker.

This is Akaji, by the way.

[Sekot]

The first glimpse of the earth below the thick and heavy layers of fog was a welcome sight. Deshtalik felt that he had been falling for ages down this artificial canyon. The ground rose up to meet him, to welcome him. What had the old man been trying to prove by dropping him down here? Anger welled up within Deshtalik, his heart racing with rage. His eyes smoldered and he felt a surge of the strange power. Opening his mouth, he let out a challenging battle cry, urging the earth below to crush him, to just try and stop him.

Deshtalik threw his hands forward, palms outward and fingers ready to grasp the dirt. With a jarring shock that shook his body, Deshtalik hit the bottom. An explosion ripped apart the surrounding walls and the very ground he stood upon. The earth cracked and split, rocks were vaporized into dust. The energy from Deshtalik's fall was transferred to the earth, and so he was spared from death. Shaking, he collapsed, his body spent and battered into submission. His vision clouded and narrowed. His eyelids shut, he drifted into unconsciousness.

It wasn't long before he heard a soft cry. It was a woman's voice, light and airy. It cooed at something unseen. A child's laughter rose up, followed by the woman's. Deshtalik tried to open his eyes, but he found that the lids were too heavy. So he laid there, listening to the woman speak to her child. "Oh how cute you are!" the woman cried. "My little baby, my cute little baby!"

Deshtalik realized who the voice belonged to but refused to try again to open his eyes. That voice was that of a long lost mother. But, despite his reluctance, he felt his heart longing for her once more. "You abandoned....me," he croaked through dry, cracked lips.

The cooing stopped and the baby's laughter died. "Who...who's there?" the mother asked, her voice echoing in the narrow canyon walls.

Deshtalik opened his eyes only to have blackness stare back at him. Slowly he turned his head in the direction of the voice, his neck screaming at him to cease the action. The woman glowed in the darkness of the canyon, her brown hair dirty and going in every direction. Her frantic brown eyes looked this way and that before finally resting on the man that was right before her. Their eyes met and she gasped. "Who are you?" she asked, taking a step back in fright.

"Who am I?" Deshtalik repeated, but with a tone filled with malice and hatred. "I am the son you left behind."

"The son I....no, you can't be. My son is right here!" she said, a small toddler peeking out from behind his mother's rags.

Deshtalik looked at the child and saw himself at that age. The child was malnourished and had the look of lost hope in his eyes. "What sort of trickery is this?" Deshtalik asked to no one in particular. The figure of his mother merely stared at him. The child also stared, but it took a step away from his mother. The child's eyes took on a different hint, one of recognition. "You know me," Deshtalik said.

The child nodded. The mother looked from son to prone man, "What is going on? Come here sweety, don't pay any attention to this man."

The child refused to return to his mother's embrace. He turned his little head to stare at the one who could not provide. "She will abandon you!" Deshtalik cried out, his voice now pleading. "Leave her! She will only leave you to die!"

The child understood but made no attempt to move away. The mother turned her gaze to Deshtalik, "Who are you to say such things!? How dare you!"

She moved forward, her hand raised to slap Deshtalik. But before she could bring her hand down, Deshtalik rose from his position on the ground. He focused his anger at the apparition that was his mother. She stopped midstep, her eyes going wide. "I don't know who is playing this trick on me, but I shall not play along."

The mother disappeared as Deshtalik focused his attention on the little boy, his past self. The boy stared back, his voice reaching Deshtalik's ears like a cold wind. "As you walk forward, you shall confront your past. Your past is what made you. You now have to decide if what you are is what you want to be. Past choices shall be replayed, and you will be given a choice. Confront your past and deal with it as you so choose. Only after your trial shall you be able to face your future."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then forever shall you be trapped in this place until you accept what is to be. There are no choices left to you. Your emotions are a torrent that must be harnessed. Your past is what created these emotions. This was but an example of what will come."

"Will you guide me?"

The child smiled, a haunting similarity to Deshtalik's own. "No."

The boy disappeared, and Deshtalik found himself alone. "Confront my past? What is this bullshit? It sounds like some sappy novel created by a twelve year old."

* * * * * *

The old man sat upon his rock, his eyes fluttering open. A smile crept upon his wrinkled visage. "Whatever you think of your trials, dear child, they are necessary. I will break you, for that is what is required of me. You will face such horrors that you will cry for someone, anyone. But you are alone. The path has been chosen for you. No other options are left open but to accept what is to be."

((Blah, minor update. Wasn't really in an excellent mood for writing but inspiration struck. I'll probably heavily edit this part in the future. My attempt at humor at the end is mainly a stab at my own uncreativity at the moment >.<))

[Sekot]

((Alright this post will act like its in the place of the post before it. I want to write a different way to do this..))

"Wake up, child."

"Awaken."

Deshtalik felt his lids become heavier as he tried to open them. He could feel the voice grating within his mind, clawing its way through his thoughts. The long, spindly fingers reached for the recesses of his consciousness, searching for everything that laid within. Deshtalik found that he was incapable of stopping the intrusion. There was nothing he could do to stop the invasion of his privacy. It assaulted the walls that protected his deepest memories and tore down the doors to the dark halls.

"Resist, yes, resist. It only makes this that much more entertaining."

The voice began to take shape. It was no longer a throbbing pain in his skull. It belonged to a woman, though harshened over several years. Deshtalik now found the weight that had been placed upon his lids was lifted. He opened his eyes to a blurry, mud colored mess. He tried to sit up but his body refused to move at his command. "No, do not rise. You are not well enough to move around yet."

A fleshy colored mass moved in front of Deshtalik's eyes and the world suddenly became clear. The hand was wrinkled and spotted. The fingers were long and thin, cracking lightly with each movement. Deshtalik blinked, the hand drawing away from his field of view. He found himself staring at a brown ceiling, made of clay and various other materials. "Ye-ee-sss you are the one who was sent to us..." she said, her voice becoming wistful and far off.

"Am I dead?" Deshtalik asked, unsure of what else to say. His voice cracked and he suddenly found that his tongue was thick from dehydration. "Where--where am I?"

"You are where you need to be, and still so far from your rightful place. And you are still quite alive."

As if to accentuate her point, she pressed a solitary finger to the inner part of Deshtalik's elbow. A searing pain echoed through the veins in his arm. His mind automatically shifted to shunt the agony but he discovered that it was of higher quality. He could not stop it so easily, if at all. So he chose to revel in it, to allow it to course through his body like poison. Every hair stood on end, his eyes bulged wide and his jaw clenched. "You are strong..." she whispered.

"Afraid?" Deshtalik asked through clenched teeth, somehow taking on a mocking tone.

The woman laughed, one without mirth and one that stole the warmth from his very soul. "No, I am not afraid. It is you who will be afraid, my dear boy. There are trials ahead for you. Many difficult trials."

"Was the torture not good enough? Was not the months I was subjected to isolation a trial?"

"Oh yes, those were trials. But they were not enough. They were only the beginning."

Deshtalik turned his head, the bones in his neck grating against each other and the muscles around them. The woman sat upon an old chair next to his bed. She too was old, very old. Her skin hung on her bones, as if there was nothing to separate the two. Her sunken eyes were glassy but still they penetrated deeply into Deshtalik's soul. He found himself completely open to her. Desperately he tried to close off the secrets within, but he could not. The old crone merely smiled at his futile attempt like she would a child she had caught trying to steal a cookie.

Deshtalik tried to call forth his anger and the power it brought with it, but he was empty. The woman shook her head slowly, "You will not use your abilities until I allow it. You are not ready for them."

"Let me go!" Deshtalik bit out, trying to move off the bed.

The woman just shook her head again, "Your anger....it is a storm that sits within you. It eats away at you and consumes you. We can not have that."

"Fuck...you!" Deshtalik spat.

The woman rose, far too quickly for a woman her age to be capable of. She clamped a hand around Deshtalik's mouth and brought her face in close. No matter how hard he tried, Deshtalik could not wrench free the titan grip. Her cold grey eyes stared deeply into his and he could see the anger boiling within them. "I will teach you how to control yourself. I know the path you walk and I will lead you for a time. Do not be disrespectful of my gift. I do this out of my own kindness. I could have very well left you to die at the bottom of the canyon."

The woman stood up and released her grip. She resumed her seat while Deshtalik gasped for air. Something about her touch, about her stare unnerved him deeply. He had felt an utter emptiness about her. She wasn't human.

"You are in the Valley of the Damned," the woman said without preamble. "We are a nomadic people who have stopped here at my command. I knew you would be arriving and I have come to help you. You must rest now because I can not keep my clan here long."

The old woman rose and stepped out of the room. Deshtalik stared up at the ceiling, a feeling of fatigue washing over him. He chose not to fight it, knowing that he could not even if he wanted to. The woman was powerful, what she commanded she received. As he drifted away, Deshtalik felt her eyes boring through his chest and grasping his heart. They held it hostage, and promised to never let go.

[Sekot]

((So which one do you guys prefer more? Personally I like my second revision. There are still some cliched parts within it but I feel it to be a much better piece then my first attempt. A lot less sappy and corny.))

[AEShenhav (Ali)]

I'd say that I'd have to agree with you, Sekot. I like the second revision better as well. Not that the first was too sappy, this just feels colder in spite of the vast emotion; and I think more of what you are going for. There isn't too much cliche, and that's not necessarily a bad thing. I personally thrive on taking something cliche and giving it a slight tweak.

As always, a very good read bud. I wish I could offer more than just gushing fan-girlism. I'm sitting on the edge of my seat awaiting another installment!

What may be able to add is this, if you hadn't already considered it: How long are you planning on making this? A short story or a novel? Are these installments chapters, or just continuations?

[Sekot]

((At the moment all of this is rather free form. I know that sounds terribly unorganized, cause it is, but that's how I'm doin' it. I kinda want it to be a novel, but my ability to plan far ahead is terrible. I'm always daunted by how much actually goes into a novel and so I never think what I'm writing is adequate.

For instance, the way I see all that I have written so far is that it doesn't even add up to a chapter. If anything I would just have to say a rather short prologue followed by a beginning to chapter 1.

For the most part, since there is a severe lack of organization and coherent structure, you can consider these as a continuation. This is really my first time ever getting down and putting my many ideas into a story form that doesn't have the structure of WoW. So, in essence, I'm using these beginnings as practice before I finally organize it.))

[AEShenhav (Ali)]

A good idea, the using this as a way to organize things. If you wanted to put it into a novel you might want to draw out an outline, though I guess that this could be considered and outline in a certain kinda way

One can, for lack of a better term for it, creatively BS a lot in order to make it a novel. Not that I mean to BS at all! What I mean is take your time with the descriptions and situations. I have absolute faith in you to make this longer through careful planing. You also have to consider that your story will probably be a long one as that is the nature of novels, that's why they don't transfer into movies very well

But your setup so far is very good and it seems like there can be a lot of room for the story and side plots. I hope this helps

[JLStewart (( Nightwatch ))]

Aug 24, 2008 22:28:31 GMT -5 AEShenhav (Ali) said:

You also have to consider that your story will probably be a long one as that is the nature of novels, that's why they don't transfer into movies very well

And that is the reason why Lord of the Rings in particular was cut up into three books. And even with three books each book took up 3-4 hours... You know what I blame?

The use of the smallest possible text. I think it was size 6 or 8...

[Sekot]

Deshtalik awoke with a start, his breaths coming in ragged gulps. He frantically looked from side to side to become aware of his surroundings. Once the dizziness had subsided, the familiar mud colored walls fell into focus and Deshtalik realized where he was. "Bitch," he whispered before swinging his legs over the bed.

"That would be the matriarch you were referring to," a sultry voice said from the side.

Deshtalik gingerly placed his toes on the dry floor, hesitating before putting his weight on them. They did not tingle or sting when he rose and his legs could support him without collapsing. Only after he made a check of the rest of his body did he turn his head to look at the one who had spoken. A thin young woman stood framed in the doorway. Deshtalik could barely make out her features, so dark was her silhouette. "Who are you?" Deshtalik asked, putting forth much more authority than he knew he had in the question.

"Who am I?" the voice asked mockingly. She stepped into the room, her body becoming clearer to the him. "I am Britanniae. And you are in need of some clothing."

As the woman passed Deshtalik, he realized that he was indeed as nude as the day he was born. He made no attempt to cover himself as he turned to fully face the woman who had intruded upon him. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared at her, "So? It was you who came in uninvited."

The woman paid him no heed as she opened a small closet. Inside was a simple ensemble. It was of the same color as the building and appeared simple. The woman turned to face Deshtalik with an upraised brow. She tossed the cloths at him and waited for him to get dressed, her eyes never leaving him. Deshtalik looked for any sign of lust in her expression but found nothing.

It didn't take long for him to finish dressing. The clothes were indeed simple, a pair of pants and a tunic. The material wasn't entirely comfortable but such amenities of civilized life hardly bothered him anymore. "So, Brittaniae, why are you here?"

"I have been watching you. Maretnalla, the one you called a bitch, ordered me to."

"Were you entertained?" Deshtalik asked with a sly smile.

"As entertained as one can be watching a corpse gather dust. Follow me."

Britanniae wasted no time in leaving the hut. She didn't even look over her shoulder to make sure Deshtalik was following her. Her stride was long and quick, which surprised Deshtalik. He could keep up with her without problem, but her determination was unexpected. "Where are we going?" he asked his guide.

"Your first test."

Deshtalik's brows shot up in surprise, "So soon?"

"What else would you rather waste your time on? We do not have the luxury of time and so we must get you on your way as quickly as possible."

Neither of them said anything more as they walked. Deshtalik turned his attention to his surroundings instead. The village, if one could call it that, was nothing more than a collection of similarly sized huts of mud and straw situated at the mouth of the canyon. A rushing river ran along side the village, surrounded by massive and gnarled trees. Brown grass that was waste high blew every which way in the breeze. The sky was still the same color as before. No creatures ran along their path, not a bird sung or flew. It all felt dead to Deshtalik, like the life had been sucked out of the planet. How these nomads survived Deshtalik did not know but he gathered that he would find out soon enough.

It wasn't long before they reached the outskirts of the camp where a small clearing in the grass had been made. It was circular and obviously freshly cut. Pieces of grass were still strewn about the center of the circle. In the center of the circle sat a small boy with legs crossed and hands resting on his knees. He watched the pair come up on the circle through large, round, grey eyes. He had short, straggly brown hair that went in every direction. "Why is this boy here?" Deshtalik asked.

"He is your test," Britanniae said matter-of-factly.

"Excuse me?" Deshtalik laughed.

"Fight him."

"I refuse. To do such a thing would be beneath me!"

Britanniae faced Deshtalik with a look of fury, "I tell you this now so that you are prepared. You can not even best the smallest of us in combat. The skills we possess are far greater than yours. This is a test to see how long you will survive, not to see if you can win."

Deshtalik's look of contempt faded and was quickly replaced with his familiar mask of anger. "Alright then, I guess I'll have to prove you wrong."

Turning to face the boy, Deshtalik quickly advanced. It was but two strides before he stood towering above the child, looking down upon his tousled hair. He reached down and grasped the boy's scalp, roughly pulling him up to eye level. The boy merely stared back through the expressionless eyes, taunting Deshtalik to strike. And strike he did.

Deshtalik's punch flew through the air and knocked the kid out of his grasp. The boy tumbled over and over until he smashed into the ground. He slid for several feet before coming to a stop. Deshtalik adopted a defensive stance, anticipating a counterattack. When there wasn't one, he smirked and walked over to the boy. Before he could reach him, however, the boy stood up to his full height. He cocked his head to the side and a loud pop issued from the realigning cartilage. "What are you, ten?" Deshtalik asked.

"Nine," the boy answered in a meek voice.

Deshtalik barked a laugh as he snapped a kick aimed at the boy's temple. The largest toe barely brushed the boy's hairs before the lad dropped to the ground. Without any contact, Deshtalik was thrown off balance. Before he could recover, the child countered with his own kick to Deshtalik's supporting knee. The bone snapped and crackled, bending unnaturally to the side.

With a cry Deshtalik crumpled to the ground. He glared at the child, anger rising within him. The boy stared back, still expressionless. Reaching out a hand, Deshtalik willed the boy to shatter, to die right there. Power issued through his veins and coalesced into his hand. A blue bolt of lightning issued from the fingertips, reaching out painful tendrils for the boy.

But the boy merely raised his own hand and a black void opened in his palm. The lightning was pulled in and snuffed out, the void collapsing immediately afterwards. The boy's other hand came around and made a fist, punching the earth at the boy's feet. The energy was discharged in a brilliant flash and Deshtalik was thrown several feet into the air before crashing back into the jagged and torn earth.

The boy raised both hands to the sky, palms facing upwards. His fingers twitched, one by one. Roots issued from the ground and wrapped themselves around Deshtalik's body before he knew what was happening. They lifted him into the air and began to pull his limbs in every direction, bending them in ways they were never meant to be. Familiar pain echoed through Deshtalik's body and he laughed in the face of the child. "Is this the best you got!?"

The boy looked at him, his eyes warped and inhuman. They were empty, devoid of anything. Expressionless could no longer describe them. Once Deshtalik gazed into them, his laughter died. The boy dropped his hands, but the roots held still. One hand rose with a fist, a solitary finger uncurled itself to point at the man bound.

Deshtalik's insides burst open. A gash was cut along his stomach and blood and gore issued forth from the wound. Deshtalik could feel his internal organs slipping out of his inner cavity and against his warm, sweaty skin. He heard them as they hit the ground in a wet slap, bits and pieces of what used to be a stomach and liver mixed with blood and bile. Darkness blanketed his vision, the last thing he saw being the boy's bottomless stare, the horrifying emptiness of despair.

[Sekot]

Deshtalik's eyes flew open as he rocketed straight up in his bed. His hands clutched his stomach, his breathing coming quickly and in short bursts. He gasped and moved his hands across his chest, searching for the opening that should have been there. "Calm yourself," Britanniae said from his side. "You're alright, be calm."

Deshtalik turned his head to look at her, his brief moment of fear dissipating as he tried to regain control of his emotions. "The bastard..." he whispered.

"Now now, he was only doing as he was instructed. As were you."

"But he...but he..."

Britanniae brushed Deshtalik's cheek with a soft, thin hand. She gazed back at him, suddenly seeming radiant and beautiful in the meager light that entered the hut. "Shush now, everything is alright."

"What happened to me?" Deshtalik said, feeling warmth coming from her touch. The fear that had gripped him disappeared and he felt that he was able to relax into the soft sheets of the bed.

"You were bested in a duel. You were taken back here to recover. I have kept a watchful eye on you to make sure everything ran smoothly," she answered with a delicate smile.

"A duel I wasn't supposed to win?"

Britanniae nodded, "That is correct. But now it is over. You need not worry about it now."

"But that boy, such power..."

"The boy has far less ability than what you yourself possess. It is just a matter of control."

Deshtalik looked at her, unable to do anything else. He could see the promise in her eyes, the lust she held back behind them. "Will you teach me that control?"

"Oh yes," she answered, straddling him on the bed. It was then that Deshtalik realized that she wore nothing but a thin dress, and nothing underneath. "I can teach you so much more."

She leaned in for a kiss, a fiery touch that ignited Deshtalik's heart and body. He leaned into her, feeling her supple body beneath his as he moved around the bed. It was passion, it was lust, it was anger, it was beauty.

Britanniae moved with such grace and practice. Her fingers touched all the right places, her power accentuating this and causing Deshtalik to feel pleasure like he had never felt before. He melted into her, becoming her slave. He was unable to resist her intrusion into his body, as she was unable to resist him.

She placed both of her hands on his cheeks, throwing her head back in an ecstatic, muted cry. Deshtalik's mind erupted into whiteness. It was not a climax, nor was it painful. It was nothing. Deshtalik suddenly could not move, could not feel the woman's touch. All he could see was her eyes staring into his, the betrayal written plainly across her face. "Your arrogance shall hinder you. We must rectify that so your training will go smoothly."

She rose from the bed, leaving Deshtalik stricken and dumb. He felt his mind slipping away behind closing doors. Something else was replacing him, something that wasn't him. In his panic, he tried to fight it, but it was no use. It fought back, harder than he. And so once again he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * * * *

Britanniae departed from the hut, the man within still sitting straight up in his bed and with a distant look in his gaze. She felt nothing as she left him, just another job that needing doing. The light was quickly failing in the canyon mouth. Many of the others had departed for their own huts and hovels. In the coming days they would begin their move deeper into the canyon. "Did he perform well?" an authoritative voice asked from the side.

Britanniae jumped at the sound. She quickly turned, harnessing her emotions at having been caught unawares. "Obviously he must have, otherwise you wouldn't have been so oblivious to my presence."

Before her was the same ten year old boy that had disemboweled the man in the hut. "He was decent," she responded.

The boy lifted a brow but said nothing more about it. Instead he motioned for her to follow him. As they began walking, the small boy began to change. He grew taller and more muscular. He took on the form of a lean young man. His short blond hair and steel eyes told of a past age where such features were common. He was handsome by many standards, and he carried himself with an air of command. Added together, it was hard for many of the other wandering villages with their young women to swoon over him.

He never paid them any heed. He never took on a wife or lover. He was a solitary creature. Some could say he was the true leader of the camp, his age being the only thing that held him back. Britanniae knew that age had nothing to do with it. He simply didn't want to be known as the village's leader. He was so much more than that.

"Will he remember anything?" he asked after several minutes of walking.

"Not a thing. He has been repressed and a past personality will surface to replace him until we deem him ready."

"Audreeana failed. She should have beaten this part out of him. It will cost us many days of training to push through it."

"But push through it we shall."

The man nodded, "Yes we shall."

In silence they continued walking through the high grass. They walked passed the clearing that the young man and Deshtalik had previously sparred in. Blood and guts still littered the ground, evidence of carrion feeding was everywhere. Britanniae ignored the mess, as did her guide.

It was an hour before they stopped. They were far from the village, unable to see the light from the fires any longer. The man turned to face Britanniae, a sly smile on his face. "Would you join with me, out here, under the stars, like you did with our friend?"

Britanniae kept her face impassive, "If you so ordered it, I would do so."

The man turned his head to the side, his smile never leaving. "Do you think you're ready to train him? He holds a great deal of power. More than even me."

She only nodded.

The man straightened and nodded in return. "Do you know why you were chosen, Brit? Do you know why you must train him?"

Caught off guard by the question, Britanniae did not respond immediately. The young man waited patiently for her answer. "Because I am ready to die for our cause, for what needs to be done."

"And what needs to be done?"

"The universe must become united."

"Why?"

"Because too many lives have been lost, and too many more are on their way."

"Do we seek vengeance, do we seek retribution for what was done to us?"

Britanniae shook her head without hesitation on that question. "Though we were wronged, we must not seek revenge. We must work towards our new goal."

"Do you have anything you'd like to ask me?" the man asked, circling Britanniae like she was an item on for sale.

"Why him?"

The man nodded slowly like he knew the question was coming. For all Britanniae knew, he did. "He is not like us. He is not restrained. The power that flows through him is more than you or I could ever hope to touch. And in the end it will destroy him. It will turn him into us. But before that, he is the only capable of pulling through. He, and only he, can accomplish our goal."

Britanniae chewed on those words for several minutes. The young man smiled at her like a grandfather would to a child. He came around to her front and placed his hands upon her shoulders. "Do not fear him. Though he may be strong, he is still weak at the moment. Train him, make him better, and then he will understand."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then we are doomed," he said flatly, taking a step back from her. "Everything you see around you will burn. This galaxy, this universe, will burn. And he will be the center of the flame, the fuel for its hunger. See to it that you do not fail, my dear. Otherwise we will never recover."

[Sekot]

“Wakey wakey!” a shrill voice said, piercing the darkness of the man’s mind.

He looked from side to side, unsure of just where the voice was coming from. The room was dark. He was unable to see a hand in front of his face let alone someone. “I said wakey!” the voice said again, this time accompanied by a hand that smacked into the left side of the man’s face. It wasn’t a hard slap, it didn’t even sting, but it was enough to jar something into the man’s broken mind.

The world around him took shape. The darkness gave way to dim light from candles in the room. He was sitting straight up in his bed, his head facing forward. There was a cramp in his neck, as if he had been sitting in this posture for way too long. With effort he turned his head down to look at the weight on his lap. What he saw surprised him. “Yaaaaaay!” it squealed, “You’re awake! Let’s play!”

It was a little girl, not much older than four to six years of age. She had short blonde hair, and emerald eyes. Her round face was lit up by her wide, toothy smile. She bounced up and down on the man’s lap, clapping her hands delightedly. “Yay yay yay!” she chanted, slowly rising onto her feet. She wasn’t clad in much more than a few rags made into dresses, but she wasn’t covered in filth.

“What’s your name?” she asked quizzically, her fingers poking the man’s head in random places.

“I….don’t know,” the man said after several seconds of poking.

“Why?” the girl asked, barely paying attention to the question she asked, continuing her prodding of his body.

“I don’t know that either.”

“Are you made of metal?” she asked, poking his chest.

The man smiled at her, “No, I’m made of the same stuff as you.”

“But it’s hard,” she muttered with obvious disappointment at his chest not being as squishy as his face. Before the man could respond the girl looked back at his face with a wide smile, “What should we call you? Everybody has a name.”

“I don’t,” the man said quietly.

“Sure you do,” the little girl beamed. She sat back on his lap and clapped excitedly, “Let’s name you Benny.”

The man raised his eyebrows at the little girl seated upon his lap, “Why Benny?”

“Dunno,” she said absentmindedly tracing lines across his torso.

The man shrugged, deciding that since he didn’t have a name, the one this little girl gave him would suit him just fine. “What’s your’s?” Benny asked her.

“I’m named Kitty,” she said with another one of her smiles.

“Well Kitty, you said you wanted to play a game?” Benny asked her with a smile of his own.

“Yay!” she squealed, hopping off of his lap and landing gracefully on the dirty floor. “I want to play dolly!”

“Where are your dollies?” he asked her.

“Uuuuummmmmmm,” Kitty thought, her tongue sticking out of her mouth as she did so. “I dunno.”

“Well how are we going to play dolly if you don’t have any dolls?”

“Uuuuuummmmmmm….I dunno,” she said as she plopped onto the ground.

Benny half expected her to begin crying, but the little girl merely looked up at him with the same exact smile. “Want to play something else?”

“Sure,” Benny said.

“Catch.”

Without warning, Kitty raised her hand to her face, a small blue ball of pure energy coalescing in the palm. She tossed it at her new companion with a giggle. Benny’s eyes went wide at the sight and he immediately dove out of his bed and onto the floor, getting tangled in the sheets in the process. Kitty’s laughter filled the stuffy air of the room, her hands clapping together lightly. “What the….” Benny muttered. “What did you just do?”

Kitty frowned, “Can’t you do it too? Why’d you jump like that?”

“No I can’t catch that!” Benny exclaimed, his breaths coming in gasps from the near death experience.

“Oh,” Kitty responded, her frown deepening. But without warning, her smile erupted once more. “Then let’s play dodgeball!”

“WHAT?!” Benny exclaimed, rising to his full height.

Kitties giggled and let loose another ball of energy, causing Benny to trip over himself in his sheets and smash his face into the dirt. Kitty’s giggle became a full blown laugh as she threw deadly projectile after deadly projectile. Benny moved this way and that in an attempt to keep himself from getting harmed. Small craters began to make the room appear like a battlefield. It wasn’t long before Benny became too exhausted and received a blue bomb right to the center of his chest. He was thrown backwards into the wall. Kitty was now rolling on the ground in laughter, her legs waving in the air.

Benny struggled to move but found he could not. He knew that his body should have been able to move longer than that, but fatigue had set in deeply. His muscles burned as if he had run marathons. He stared hard at the little girl, unsure of what to make of her. Her previous questions had made it seem like it was a common occurrence to wield orbs of pure energy. But Benny was positive he hadn’t seen something like that before. Or was he?
Benny suddenly discovered that his past was hidden to him. His mind felt trapped in a box, unable to move outside of its boundaries. Benny looked in fright at the little girl who had ceased her laughter and was moving towards him. “That was fun,” she giggled. “Let’s do it again!”

“NO!” Benny blurted. “No, let’s not.”

“Aaaawww,” Kitty pouted.

“That’s enough,” a strong voice spoke, shattering the moment between the two.

Kitty’s pouting look immediately changed to one of fear. She quickly moved to place Benny in between her and the new arrival. Benny hardly felt her; he was far too enamored with the visitor. He was male, tall and in his late teens. It wasn’t his looks that caught Benny’s attention, but the sheer aura that seemed to surround him. Benny couldn’t place it but there was something odd and powerful about the boy. He couldn’t take his eyes away even if he wanted to, he couldn’t even move his body to stand before his presence. “Go home, child,” the young man ordered, the command almost forcing Benny to rise and seek shelter far away from the newcomer.

Kitty immediately bolted out of the room, looking back at Benny before she disappeared out the door. Benny barely saw her leave. “Rise,” he ordered.

Benny did so, his muscles seemingly moving without his knowledge. “Who…who are you?” Benny asked through trembling lips.

“Who I am is not your concern. Do you know who you are, where you are?”

Benny managed to shake his head once before returning to his paralysis. The young man nodded, “You are amongst a group of nomads wandering through the Valley of the Damned. You are to face trials that will determine your place in the universe.”

“Me?”
The young man nodded, “Yes you. Rest. Tomorrow your training begins.”

Without further explanation, the young man turned and left. Benny found himself alone in his room, wishing to see little Kitty again. Everything suddenly felt cold. He crawled back onto his bed and laid down, his eyes staring at the ceiling. Maybe that boy had the answers; maybe he could tell Benny why his mind was locked in a cage. As he drifted off to sleep, Benny was visited with visions of Kitty and her dolls.