Bringer of Chaos- The Origin of Pietas

by Kayelle Allen

  Suppressing a smile, he continued to play dead.

  Ghost One bent down, turned him onto his back.

  Pietas let his body flop.

  The guy came in closer, checked for a pulse.

  He opened his eyes.

  The ghost's alarm fed Pietas energy.

  He yanked him down, hard, while jamming the heel of his hand up. The ghost's head snapped back, and Pietas felt his bones crack. He shoved him aside and went after Ghost Two.

  Pietas gripped his leg and tripped him. He jammed an elbow down onto the man's neck. Bones broke. The ghost's stab of dying fear spiked the energy from the first, and Pietas mixed it with his gift of Chaos. He flung the vortex of emotions outward, broadcasting confusion and terror.

  He activated his ability called Zip. The pseudo speed meant he could move at a regular pace, but humans perceived him as a blur. They could not focus on him long enough to get close. To him, everyone moved in slow motion.

  He flipped onto his feet, braced both hands on his pod, and kicked Three and Four square in the chest.

  He pushed off the pod, and the momentum carried him straight into the arms of Five and Six. They stumbled backward, tumbling Seven and Eight onto the floor.

  Pietas rolled, grabbing Seven. One quick twist of the neck and another down. Five to go.

  Six and Eight flipped themselves to their feet. Three and Four struggled to rise.

  Pietas took a running leap and crushed Three's neck. Four raised his hands to shield his face. A swift kick to the head--gone.

  Pietas dropped, rolled, came up behind Eight. Broke his neck.

  The burning need for air hurt, but there were two to go.

  He turned and a fist caught him in the mouth. Thrown off balance, he danced sideways. Pietas touched his lip and frowned at the spot of blood. He met the gaze of Ghost Six, who'd punched him.

  No human had ever hit him before. Pietas gave a nod.

  Five and Six rushed him.

  Turning into Five's momentum, Pietas hurled him into the wall, jamming the ghost's head down onto his spine.

  He whirled back to find Six standing beside Helia's pod, working the code on a control panel. The ghost held up a warning hand and poised his other over a bar with flashing red letters: Immolate.

  He could kill the ghost without killing his mother. Pietas darted toward him.

  Six shook his head. "Don't make me," he mouthed. He patted a set of wristlocks at his waist and then pointed to the floor.

  For no reason would he grovel. Not even for his mother.

  Pietas considered creating an illusion and then killing him, but they had cameras on him and would know. Illusions could not be photographed. They took energy to hold and he was running out. Fast.

  If his people saw him surrender, so would they. If he fell, so would the empire he'd spent centuries building. His people would end up slaves to mankind, shunned like rabid animals.

  Unable to breathe, Pietas staggered. He'd reached his limit. He needed air. It would not come until they opened that door.

  Six motioned to the floor and pointed to the flashing button.

  Pietas had killed seven of the ghost's compatriots. This creature would kill one of his in retaliation. Did he know the significance to Pietas of the person in that pod, or had it been closest? If Six had chosen the pod his father was in, this would all be over, and the ghost would be dead. Again.

  Pietas had revealed his mother's importance to him by tapping his heart. He'd let a maudlin emotion surface and look what it had cost him.

  He should never have displayed love.

  His lungs screamed for air.

  If that ghost killed Helia, Pietas would give him a long and excruciating death. Memorable, too, because if his mother died because of Six, Pietas would dwell on it for eternity and he'd want to savor every moment of his revenge.

  Keeping his gaze locked with the ghost's, he gave one nod. To save the single person in the galaxy for whom he would humble himself, Pietas went down on one knee. That was as far as he would go. Either the ghost accepted this gesture, or he killed Helia.

  To show he would not fight, the would-be king of the immortals placed his hands behind him.

  Chapter Eight

  Three months later

  At the guard gate, he waited while security forces identified him. He had been the one to terminate the Ultra ship and help imprison their council. Yet after a mere three months away, no one knew him.

  How soon humans forgot their benefactors.

  He reined in his thoughts. There were rumors a few telepaths had survived the purges of the Human Pure movement. Best not to reveal he was Ultra.

  At last, the two guards who'd been eyeing him stepped aside for the one who returned. A tall, slender young man in a blue jumpsuit accompanied him.

  "Your ID is in order, sir. May I ask you to state your full name for VASH, please?"

  "VASH. That wasn't here before. What is it?"

  "Voice Analysis Security Hallmarking. It's a system that identifies your voice. Once entered, no one can imitate it and fool security."

  "Is that necessary?"

  "Some Ultras imprisoned here are natural mimics. Others are illusionists who can duplicate your external image and voice. VASH will identify your voice and brain pattern while you speak and compare it to what we already have on record. It's a precaution." He gestured for the young man to come. "This is the AI who'll be escorting you. He has full access to the station, same as you're allowed. Go ahead and tell him your name."

  A flesh-encased android. Rheault had heard of them but never seen one. The android's eyes had tiny, human-looking red-colored blood vessels within the white sclera, and blue irises with brown flecks.

  "The skin and eyes are quite human."

  "Thank you, sir." The android inclined his head. "Welcome to Enderium Six."

  "Can you detect emotions?"

  "No, sir. Only lies."

  That settled that. "I prefer a human escort."

  "I do not take breaks," the android responded. "I cannot be bribed and I can protect you from an Ultra. I have the strength of one. I am immune to their illusions and empathic weaponry. Please pronounce your name for me, sir. Once I hear it, I will never forget it, or you."

  And wasn't that the real problem?

  He looked to the human security officer for help, but the man gestured for them to enter the secured part of the station.

  He'd passed as human for a long time. No reason to think his hard work--and luck--wouldn't continue. He entered the door beside the android. "I'm Rheault ap Kirin. My first name is pronounced roe, like fish eggs."

  "Pronunciation established. Thank you, Rheault Like Fish Eggs."

  Rheault chuckled. "Just the word roe. I was defining the term."

  "Thank you, sir. I have adjusted the name. You may call me Vash-T. This way, please."

  Beside Vash-T, he entered a lift.

  The android placed a palm against a panel and both his hand and the device lit up in blue. The car rose.

  "Where are you taking me?"

  "My supervisor said you were to inspect the ship where the Ultras are detained." The doors opened. "Section six is this way." He exited and turned right.

  Built to hold a million Ultras, the ship's bulk filled the sky. A gangway sealed the ship to the opening ahead. The name of the vessel showed through the vast windows.

  Rheault slowed and then halted, transfixed by the sight.

  Vash-T stopped and came back. "Sir? Is something wrong?"

  "Are you aware of the significance of this ship's name?"

  Vash-T glanced at the giant letters in white against the black hull. "One moment, sir, while I access historical references. Ah, yes. Shall I explain it to you?"

  "I understand already." Long-stifled emotions within Rheault fought to rise, but he drove them back. "Let's do this, shall we?" He walked with Vash-T.

  Outside, in the cold of space, spotlights traced the hull of Charon's Boat.

&
nbsp; * * * *

  The infernal, cheerful whistling began again. Pietas tried in vain to escape the sound. Shackled at the ankles, hands bound behind him, he remained flat on his back. There were no comfort choices inside his pod.

  No. Not his pod. He would never claim such a place.

  The prison pod. The nightmare pod. A casket for the living.

  Would that whistling never end?

  Whoever guarded him whistled, night and day. He must have lips made of steel. How a human kept that up day after day was beyond him. Or perhaps... Did an Ultra guard him? Had one of his people come to free him?

  Pietas opened his mouth to call out and clamped it shut.

  If it were one of his people, he needed to wait for them to act. They would do so when the time was right. For now, he suffered bouts of agony as feeling returned to his hands and then left in repeating cycles. His metabolism healed him, but brought pain. He focused on that, accepted the pain, welcomed it, examined every step of its journey through his body. What one understood, one could bear.

  An Ultra does not seek to escape pain. If one inflicts pain, one must bear it. Pain must be borne. Pain is a warrior's ally.

  He hovered in a nightmare-filled, windowless, endless monotony of thirst and hunger.

  Punctuated with unending lilts of bouncy, alert, happy, chipper whistling.

  At first, he'd welcomed the sound. The rising and falling notes broke the tedium of everlasting darkness. It stopped for brief periods, but began again soon after.

  He'd considered calling out and asking them to stop. He had gone so far as to open his mouth. But asking implied weakness. He acknowledged no tool of torture.

  Beg mercy from humans? Never.

  This was not stasis. Stasis meant cessation of thought. Of emotion. A dreamless kind of sleep. The end of awareness. A not-time.

  They'd frozen his people in these pods, but they'd imprisoned him.

  Or perhaps his blood ran so hot, no human force could freeze him.

  The tune changed.

  For the love of all that's holy, will you shut up!

  Blessed silence fell. But then light blared in his face like a blast of horns.

  What fresh perdition was this? They'd tortured him with darkness. Now they'd torture him with light?

  Pietas tried to force his eyes open, to face the torture, but after so long in darkness, the light stabbed his eyes. He twisted his head to avoid it.

  "You-- you're awake?" The startled voice hovered close, muffled by the pod. "Security! Security! Prisoner Six-Six-Six is out of stasis! I say again, Prisoner Six-Six-Six is out of stasis!"

  The alarm in the male voice gave Pietas a measure of pride. Even imprisoned, he engendered fear. They had taken away his name and given him a number that among humans meant a demonic beast.

  Let the legend of Pietas--by name or by number--bring fear straight into the heart of man. No... let it bring terror.

  The alarmed voice led him to another thought. Had they not known he was awake? No. These vile creatures had readouts of every type. How could one mistake his beating heart and steady breath for anything other than wakefulness and life? They meant to keep him aware and suffering. They knew.

  But whoever was guarding him hadn't. Pietas might hate humans, but he knew the difference between genuine alarm and fake fear. He'd been instigating the real thing for centuries.

  Interesting. He could use that.

  His eyes adjusted to the light, and he focused on the face hovering over the small window above him.

  Was that...Ghost Six?

  The light cut off, taking with it the familiar comfort of sight. Pietas bit the inside of his cheek to keep silent.

  First Conqueror, War Leader of the Ultras, did not beg.

  He did not. He did not.

  The long silence felt like days but must have been hours. He'd begun to think he'd imagined the entire thing when a hard clank-thud-thud sounded through the walls of the pod.

  The unit jarred and shook, digging the shackles beneath him into his wrists. A deep, percussive set of smaller thumps hit next. The tap of many hammers or the closing of small successive doors. The death rattle of a dragon.

  Had the ship arrived on Sempervia? Would this ceaseless nightmare end? He listened, intent on understanding, identifying.

  When he recognized the sound, it extinguished his tiny flicker of hope.

  The prison-pod that already held him immobile was being wrapped in chains.

  * * * *

  The curse of an Ultra's metabolism was that while he healed fast, he needed almost no sleep. Pietas longed for the escape it gave humans. Yet while he wished for it, the fact that he should desire anything human appalled and disgusted him.

  Since the lone interaction with Ghost Six and the wrapping of chains, nothing had occurred. He supposed it had been nothing more than hours, but it felt as if months had passed. Years. Decades.

  Pietas counted. Every time he passed three thousand he lost his place. He recited poems he'd read. Books. With his eidetic memory, rereading a book was simple. He practiced maths. He recalled songs, but sang them in silence.

  It hurt to move his mouth. The thirst raging in his body made his lips stick to his teeth. Every time he moved his lips, the skin tore, then regrew. He pushed out flakes of it with his dry tongue. His face must be gaunt, hollow. One time, when younger, he'd gone two months without food, testing both strength and resolve.

  This felt longer.

  Once he got out of here, he'd never have to go thirsty. He'd find pools of water. Rivers of it. He'd bathe every day. The smell of his own body and his sweat would not fill his nostrils and choke him. He would fashion a house with towering ceilings. Big rooms. Never be held in a place such as this.

  His houses would have windows that let in light. Open doors. Nothing that locked or closed. Who would dare to rob Pietas ap Lorectic? Who would wrong First Conqueror, War Leader of the Ultras? No one. He needed no doors. No locks.

  He had begun counting and was almost to three thousand when the whistling returned. This time, his heart leaped at the sound.

  For the first time since the pod had closed on him, he laughed. Though it sounded like a dragon gargling, and tore his throat, joy erupted. He was not alone.

  The whistling stopped and then started.

  Pietas listened without complaint. Once he was free, he would kill this ghost, but for now, he welcomed his presence.

  Silence dragged, but then the whistling resumed. A soft warmth suffused Pietas. So rare was the feeling in his life he didn't recognize it at first.

  Peace.

  The ghost whistled in fits and starts, stopping and starting in varying lengths of song. It took a long time for Pietas to recognize a pattern. A long tune, then a short one. Silence. The letter N. A long tune, two short ones. Silence. The letter D.

  N and D. What did that mean?

  The ghost whistled two short tunes, a long, a short, and then silence. F.

  Short, long, short, silence. R.

  NDFR. What kind of acrostic was that?

  This was madness. He was hearing patterns that did not exist.

  Pietas wasted time pondering the effects of his captivity and almost missed the next letter.

  I. NDFRI?

  The next letter came and he saw the pattern. He'd come in on the middle of a word the ghost had been repeating. Were they listening? Watching? Could the ghost say nothing, so he whistled the message?

  How unlikely was it that this message would pass from human to Ultra? And that Pietas would believe it, considering the person who sent it?

  He'd gotten the order wrong. It wasn't N-D-F-R-I-E.

  It was F-R-I-E-N-D.

  Chapter Nine

  Pietas let Six get all the way through the word again before responding. He twisted around enough for one foot to reach the side and tapped once and then again, sending the letter I. It was short and might be overlooked by anyone listening.

  There was a pause and then the gho
st broke into a merry tune and kept whistling, breaking the pattern. Sometime later, he went back through the letters for FRIEND, and Pietas tapped the single letter I.

  "I thought you were awake."

  The voice, deeper than Pietas expected, sent alarm pinging through his veins. Had he let them trap him into responding?

  "I think they've stopped watching this cell." The ghost spoke matter-of-factly. "It's been a few days. I've been whistling, shining my shoes. Not that they'll ever be seen by anybody, but it's boring and I get the impression they've stopped watching. They told me you were back in stasis, but I came in here and saw they'd wrapped your pod in-- well, hey. I knew they were lying.

  "They told me to guard your pod, because supposedly, no one else ever hit you." Silence. "Yeah, I didn't think you'd react to that, Ultra. But I thought, oh sure. That's myth. Some human got in a punch sometime in your history. They tell me you're almost two thousand years old. Gotta say, you don't look it. Don't fight like it either. Although..." A pause ensued. "Come to think of it, maybe you do fight with two-kay worth of experience. Anyway, that shot landed me here, on this ship, watching you sleep. Some reward, huh? They locked me into this cell with you. Not getting out. I'm as much a prisoner as you are, with a bigger cell. I don't think they intend to let me live after we get to Sempervia. If they even send us there."

  It sounded as if the ghost leaned back. "Might be planning to shoot this ship into the sun for all I know.

  "The cell we're in is lined with steel and copper. Seems that's some kind of Achilles' heel for you Ultras. I thought when you told me to shut up that you were dreaming. Talking in your sleep. So I opened the window to check. Didn't expect to see you look back. They've sealed it now. I can't open it. I can't get to any of the controls."

  Told him to shut up? Pietas pondered that a moment. "I th-" He coughed, and tasted blood. He hadn't spoken in so long, it tore his vocal chords. The blood wet his throat. "Thought--it."

  "You figured you'd thought that? Maybe you did, but I heard it. 'For the love of all that's holy, will you shut up!' That's what you said to me. Don't mind telling you, Ultra. Freaked me right out."