by Jo Zebedee
The Second Cataclysm
Zerial lays still, his body and muscle wasting as the sleeproot refuses to relinquish its grip. How long has he slumbered? How long has he dreamed? Time has lost all meaning in the prison forged by sleep. All he can understand are the nightmares, which blend into one another, an unending tapestry. They have taunted him a thousand times with images of his lost wefi, Asha, her corpse still moving, walking towards him in conflict with all laws of life and death. He can feel the agony stabbed into his mind by Viarus all over again, a shadowy figure laughing at the torment he causes. But worst of all are the dreams filled with the figure of Apius. The Re'Nuck has become his prime tormentor.
And it is now that the image of Apius returns to him. The looming frame stands ten times his own height, and Zerial runs frantically, but Apius strides one to his ten. In seconds Zerial can feel himself being hauled from the floor, held tight behind unbreakable fingers. He tries to escape, even though it means a fall to certain death. That would surely be better than what Apius has in mind.
The fingers close in, oh so slowly, relishing the agony that rips through Zerial. He can hear and feel individual bones break as the pressure grows, and he cries out for help. Ameri! Olurus! The fingers contract further, his own limp and useless arms no help as the digits squash his ribs. He begs for mercy. He begs for a quick death. He begs for it to be over. But Apius grants none of those pleas, tightening his grip a little further, until Zerial can feel his heart give way beneath the pressure...
So much pain, all felt at once...
Apius this time has him tied down, restrained to the floor with a host of ropes and twine. Zerial wriggles, trying to find some form of freedom, but there is no give. Apius is much smaller this time, but his shape is no less cruel. His hands are tipped with cruelly curved nails. He grins as he makes his approach. He shows the blade-like nails to Zerial, running them across his face, not enough to cut but plenty to confirm just how sharp they are. The first cut comes rapidly, a slash across the cheek, drawing blood. But Apius wants to make him wait. He spends some time with the nails exploring the exposed frame before him, looking at the best places to cut.
The incisions, when they come, are launched in a frenzy. Apius is a moving knife, the cuts arced and angled to draw the maximum amount of blood. Zerial cries out, cries out as loud as his voice will allow. Why will no one help him? Asha! Asha! She would always have helped...
The whirl of frenetic activity comes to an end, and Zerial realises he is still alive. It is no relief.
The next wave of cuts is more controlled, as though Apius is attempting to create a masterpiece drawn in lifeblood. There is none of the fury, but much more of method. He is at the mercy of a craftsman whose medium is pain. Each incision brings forth a scream. The carefully chosen slashes feel as though they will never heal. A rasping voice comes from the twisted lips of Apius.
'Beg for help!'
At first Zerial refuses, shaking his head emphatically, but Apius lifts his fury once more at his lack of compliance. The calculated cuts end with a renewed blitz of knife-like fingers, and in bloodied moments Zerial cannot help himself.
'Help! Help! Asha!'
The husky tone of Apius responds to his plea.
'She cannot help you. She is dead, killed by my own hand!'
The pain that lingers on the skin of Zerial is intensified by the pain beneath.
'Olurus!'
'Olurus will not help you. He has turned his back, forsaken your cause!'
'Help! Ameri! Please!'
'Ameri cares nothing for you. She would not help you, even if she could. You are mine, Zerial.'
'Anyone! Anyone!'
'Only the gods can save you now!'
Apius draws his bladed fingers together, thrusting downwards with violent force. The seemingly unlimited pain of death comes as a sweet release...
A release that lasts barely a moment...
The next dreams happen too fast for him to take in, but each is a jagged moment of agony. He barely has time to wonder what fresh horror awaits before it is upon him. There are punches and slaps across his face with stone fingers, tube-like digits reaching deep into his throat to scratch at his lungs from the inside, flesh somehow melding with his own and reshaping him into hideous disfigurements, and all the while the misery, the endless stream of agony, shouts and begging...
Ever-present is the face of Apius, twisted into a sneer, wanting, needing to bring pain without end...
He cries, and cries, shouting out to anyone he can think of that might help. The final, desperate scream betrays all that he has ever stood for...
'Animex! Gods, please help me!'
With this very proclamation, the pain ends. And in its place is only a yawning oblivion. No more pain, no more pleasure. Just blackness, and Zerial is contented with that.
***
In a quiet hut on the outskirts of Genem, there is death. The Noukari are unused to death. They have seen little of it, compared to others in the galaxy. Olurus watches Zerial uneasily. The poor man's face has grown pale and wan, his visage sheened with sweat. His body contorts at unnatural angles, movements of arms, legs and head spasmodic. He lets up small whimper, but Olurus knows that under the effect of the sleeproot this must represent of a pain beyond imagining. If only he had known that the drug would bring such nightmares, he would never...
Zerial's body suddenly twists into a rictus, and Olurus is stunned to see the sleeper suddenly sitting up. His eyes are open, but Olurus knows from the empty stare that they see nothing. Instinctively Olurus constructs a mental shield-wall, fearing the worst in this moment. After a pregnant silence, Zerial lets out a scream that is too loud, too powerful, too all-encompassing to emerge from the lips of any of his kind. The sounds knocks him back a step, sending him sprawling.
The noise finally subsides, and when Olurus looks up again he sees that Zerial has fallen flatly back to the bed. He knows without having to look that the nightmare is finally over for him.
In death, a wave of blistering psychic energy blasts from the body of Zerial. Its pure impact sends Olurus flying from the hut, crashing against the wood of the wall and eventually spiralling out of the door. He lands yards feet away, stunned and confused. But alive, if only due to mental defences.
He know all along that Zerial had power, but he had no idea that it could be released so potently and so swiftly even in his deepest sleep.
***
The ground of Noukaria shakes, bringing the simple buildings of Genem to the floor, wood cracking and splintering to kindling. The quaking earth is torn asunder, cracks and fissures opening to reveal gaping pits. The very sky itself joins in the tumult, opening with a dark rain that lashes down, the rage of the sky unleashed. Lightning cracks, casting the whole darkened scene in stark shades of actinic blue. The lashing rain draws welts, sometimes blood. The growing cover of the cloud gives the impression of shadiest moonrise, only intermittently broken with flashes from the sky, revealing small, jagged hells.
Many flee into the forest around them, seeking refuge there. They find none. The violence of lightning crashes into the height of the trees, burning them to blackness or sending them crashing. The creatures of the forest are forced to flee, and the Noukari darting there find themselves dodging tumbling boles. Scuttling creatures are crushed in blasts of blood beneath the fallen trunks.
There are screams as Noukari rush from their homes, trying to reach some kind of safety. Some dash aimlessly for other huts, trying to press themselves inside as unwelcome visitors. Others simply stand watching the scene, paralysed by fear. They are static islands in a swelling ocean of movement. It is a blend of panic and stillness, two different kinds of madness meeting head on.
***
As the wave of energy subsides, Apius finally opens his eyes. He relished the pain he was able to cause Zerial – is it wrong to admit such? Perhaps, but Zerial has wrought his share of pain upon him. Yet he had never g
uessed at the power Zerial would be able to unleash. Thankfully this time around he had a greater understanding of the forces he was dealing with. He has managed to deflect the majority of the power upwards. Even Viarus could never have produced such a masterful effort.
In taking a first look around the clearing, he can see that the effect of his efforts have still been profound. There are cracks and chasms in the very ground, which it seems most of his followers have managed to avoid. Those who have fallen will never be seen again. There are numerous planks in the temple which have started to bow and splinter, but the proud structure still stands. The Animex themselves would have wished it so. There is one fallen tree, which splits the clearing in two with its vast trunk. He can see one arm emerging from beneath it, and knows that at least one more follower is lost to him. The others?
They stand in surprise, in shock, a few with slack smiles that demonstrate some sort of delight. They have done it. Apius knows it, and he can see the fact dawning upon the rest of them. Their efforts and their faith have been rewarded. The Animex must have heard such a cry.
He still says nothing, allowing his flock to gather themselves. Instinctively, without any speech at all, they draw closer to him. This gravitation sees them all soon enough ready to hear him. Surely it is a moment too momentous for him even to do justice to. But what will the books say of him, the silent leader at the greatest moment of his triumph? No, this deserves words.
'Brothers, sisters, we have achieved what all too many thought was impossible today. We have conjured a call that even the Animex cannot ignore. You will be remembered as the first of many to speak to the gods themselves!'
As Apius again falls silent, he becomes aware of just how deep the stillness and quiet around him is.
Then the silence is shattered by distant cries of anguish, cries of pain.
The First War
The shock around Genem is soon replaced by fury. Ameri is the very avatar of it as she emerges from her hut, much of which has fallen around her. Only the door and the semblance of two walls remains. The roof collapsed inwards above her, and only her quick reflexes ensured her survival. Drawing her arms above her head to shield her skull, presenting her back to the tumbling beams, she is sore and bruised but nothing worse.
As she steps outside, the true scale of the devastation strikes as a physical blow. Her hut is one of many struck low, little more than loose conglomerations of splinters. There are shattered cracks in the ground, which look impossibly deep at a simple glance. There is dust everywhere, and a smell of burnt wood taints the air. She picks up beneath that the metallic tint of blood.
They did it, she realises. They did it before they were ready! They did it secretly, so that they could not be stopped!
Her anger rises, white hot, spilling from her lips as she screams. It is a cry of frustration that stops all of those within earshot. Her hatred has never been so raw, her rage so untempered.
This is the end of it all. This is the time.
She grabs a jagged length of wood that was once part of her hut and dashes from the surrounds of her broken home.
***
There is an atmosphere of celebration in the clearing. The overriding sense of success is so that no-one even considered injuries or deaths among them, although they have undoubtedly happened. There are hugs, handshakes, congratulations from one to another. Apius warmly greets each one of his followers, proclaiming theirs a key role in their success. In truth, there was no role more vital that his own. Except perhaps that of Zerial, but the Re'Nuck doubts that his old adversary will be able to enjoy the acclaim.
Many have already started work on the temple, doing their best to fixing the damage done to both exterior and interior. Broken but unbowed, so much like their very religion.
Apius looks to the now-clear skies, and knows that they have been heard. The slight whistle of the wind is the only sound as he breathes in his own achievement.
No. There is another sound. Far away, but growing louder all the time. A rumbling, discontented sound. A sound that strikes a note of fear into his heart.
'Brothers! Sisters!' he cries. All eyes turn to him, but he does not know what to say. 'They come!' is all he can muster.
The warning comes barely in time. Rows and rows of their fellow Noukari burst into the clearing, each wielding some manner of crude weapon, a shovel, a misshapen club, a wooden pitchfork. They have a glare in their eyes, and Apius cannot help but wither before the expression. He has never seen such from his fellow man and woman.
They look like an army, he thinks.
Behind him the brothers and sisters of Animexianism have gathered, each as grimly rapt with the scene as Apius himself. Once all of this in force have moved into the clearing, they pause, an action in response to the signal given by their leader.
Ameri.
Apius looks at her, his body filling with every bit as much as cold hatred as she holds. Her constant opposition to the truth, to the gods, has gone on long enough. Their eyes meet, two baleful gazes that remain unbroken even as they stride forward to the centre of the clearing. There is no movement but the two of them. Once they have closed, they begin to circle one another, two hungry predators in a dance that can only end in death.
'You should not have come here, Ameri. This cannot end well for you.'
'On the contrary, false Re'Nuck. I should have come much sooner.'
'False? I have done nothing false! I have pursued only the truth.'
'You have pursued your own agenda, and the gods you created. I care not if this ends well for me. But be sure that this ends now.'
'I would have it no other way. Ameri. I only hope I get the pleasure of killing you myself.'
Ameri's eyes close a fraction further, and with a roar she launches herself forward. The unbalanced club is awkward in her hands, and the blow launches her far past the elusive Apius.
But this action is enough to ignite the incendiary atmosphere that has been threatening to explode. Rivalries and suspicions that have boiled beneath the surface are finally ready to be unleashed.
The warriors of Ameri and A'Nockianism dash forward, war cries on their lips, ready to dispense death with their blunt weapons.
The followers of Apius spring forward in response, unarmed, but equally ready to fight in the name of their leader.
Ameri lifts the club awkwardly once more, but before she can ready for another strike she feels the lash of a kicking foot crash into the small of her back. She tumbles forward, face down in the wet soil. Mud gathers in her eyes, her mouth. Spinning onto her back, she rolls out of the way of Apius's descending fist. He curses as Ameri rolls to her feet.
'Not bad, for one with a liar's heart!' he shouts, but knows that he is too late to be heard. All around them, in the heart of the clearing where it all began, the two sides of the Noukari enter into combat.
***
Warfare is never a beautiful thing. Perhaps those commanding their forces may see the deployment of their tactics as a thing of beauty. Maybe even the martial skills of the trained warriors involved could be admired. The weaponry may be finely-crafted, glorious objects to be admired.
The conflict between Noukari and Noukari has none of these things.
This is warfare at its ugliest and most brutal. There is a purity of cause and a bursting hatred prompting men and women to do whatever it takes to best their foes.
Viarus, in the heart of the A'Nockian vanguard, has never seen anything like it. Adrenaline pumps in his veins. Fear drives him to action. Raw fury drives his hand as his shovel crashes into the face of the first Animexian he comes across, the flat wooden face stopping his charging foe with blunt force. The man crumples to the dirt, a bloody gout streaming from his nose. Without hesitation, Viarus swings the shovel downwards. He wants to hurt. He likes the blood. The flat connects again with the already broken nose. There is a rewarding crunch, but Viarus is not done. He smashes the face viciously, time and time agai
n, until the wood is stained red on brown.
So much hurt, so willingly caused, on those who used to be his brothers and sisters. But no more than he has already caused.
'Rest in peace, Juvus,' he whispers to himself before moving deeper into the conflict.
***
Ameri lifts herself to her feet as Apius seeks to press in, keen to press the advantage. Ameri is slowed, but more determined than ever to destroy her foe. She swings out clumsily again with the club, missing Apius and sending herself spinning on the spot. The Re'Nuck does not miss the opportunity – his punch lands right on her chin. Ameri reels. Ameri rocks.
Ameri holds her feet.
Apius moves in for a second strike, but Ameri ducks beneath the blow this time. Still holding her club in her hands, she jabs the blunt end into his stomach. Apius doubles over. Ameri rises, looking for a finishing blow. The downswung club misses Apius by the smallest of margins as the Re'Nuck falls backwards, his only defence. Ameri tosses the club aside and launches herself at her grounded enemy. The club has helped her none – perhaps hand to hand combat will afford her more luck.
Their conflict remains private. No-one else would be willing to step into the battle between their two leaders. All around them is chaos, but it is nothing more than periphery to their personal war.
***
Viarus allows his hate full expression, taking his revenge on those he once called brother. Piapus looks at him pleadingly, not understanding why.
He always was a fool.
The shovel crashes into the side of his skull, which is instantly reduced to a red ruin by the force of the blow. As Piapus falls, Viarus lands another blow on the backstroke, effectively pulping the entire brainpan. The squelch of ruined bone and grey matter does not move him.
A body lands heavily on his back, and Viarus turns to try and shake the grappler behind him. The figure clings on tenaciously, and so Viarus does what comes instinctively.
He falls limply backwards.
