NationStates Jolt Archive

EDIT: All edits are title changes as story progresses. Please offer comments and suggestions.

Run! The other man screamed in His face, pausing only for a minute, his visored helmet falling over young features, too young. The man kept running, and He turned, trying to see what was happening. Fire. The whole city is burning. His vision swayed as He ran, but this wasn't right. It was as if He was watching through a camera that bobbed and swayed, transmitting someone else's vision. The view was tinged an odd green, like through a lens of some sort... a visor, maybe. He could feel His feet pounding, weight of weapons smacking his armored leggings. DEMPR Rifle, SOPMOD. The rifle was in His vision, an odd design of tubes and deflectors...but He knew how it worked. An explosion threw him down-

Buildings tumbled, stones rolled. I'm fine! I need to get to the battle! Battle? He wondered. Where is this? Three moons hung in the sky, and fire traced the heavens. A streak of fire rushed to the ground, and a fountain of fire erupted forth. The Third Fleet is still here! We're not dead yet! He was climbing the blasted wreck of a building, while people ran past him fleeing from where he headed-

FLASH

A wall of energy, cascading down. Bodies flew in all directions, sprays of burning organs that silenced screams. I have arrived. Amid the carnage, a beast rose, a wall of darkness before it. The screaming masses scattered, parting around a still island in the human sea, even as they fled. The dark being stopped, halted, perhaps fear on its twisted face as the crowd parted to reveal a man, kneeling, a hood over his helmetted head, a grin on his face. The man rose, smiled-

Who is this man?

I rose from the rubble from my crouch, charging into the Dreadlord. I have an arsenal at my disposal, and Time is my friend. I will cleanse- The man drew two guns- AESIR Assault Pistols He flipped his shoulders, the cloak flipping away in the fiery breeze as lightning lanced from the barrels-

FLASH

Plasma wash on magnetic armor. Guns lay around, discarded as their ammo was drained, and the man dueled with his opponent. Both were scarred, ragged, and reduced to close quarters weapons... swords? Magnetically channelled energy, Temporal Distortions. Man and monster maneuvered about each other, flashes of fire and darkness-

I have met my opponent, and he is mine. An explosion of light, a falling beast.

FLASH

Starfire, a wall of it, cascading down as transports lift. General! We can hold them-

There's no time! We must leave, or the Fleet will slag us, too.

We can stop this!

The world fell away, and He looked at his feet, booted and bloody as He stood in the Transport hold, His armored hand against a transparasteel port. Behind Him, children cowered, adults glared... at Him. He was their hated subject, their target. He was their savior, their bane. Why do I fight?

FLASH

It's okay, you're safe now. A woman, beautiful and intense. It was a victory.

How can we call THAT a victory? He stood on a starship, watching the world beyond.

Because we have to. Because you're alive.

FLASH

He stood now, before an army, and they praised Him with lifted weapons. Tomorrow we face the Shadow, and we shall emerge victorious! For we are right, we are just, and we are chosen! An army bellowed in response, but He was hollow, burning with hate and anger. Aurora...

FLASH

He cried on a black deck-

FLASH

Energy meets energy in a crackling display. Two men stand in mortal combat, and He is one of them. Lights die, thousands perish, and they fight onward-

FLASH

Death. There is only Death, as far as the eye can see, stretching on barren planes and burning skies... This is my victory... this is my pain...

FLASH

"No!" he screamed. Jason Derval woke up in a cold sweat, his mind ravaged by nightmares. He gasped, rolled over, and flipped on the light. What the hell? What was that- Some nights, he couldn't escape these visions, they carved into his brain. I suppose I should get my head shrunk. A psych might help me. For bad dreams? Fuck it, Jason. Go back to bed. He glanced at the alarm clock, and moaned in disbelief. It's only four thirty... damnit. There's three more hours of these nightmares.

He swung his feet from his bed, sliding into his slippers. He tread through his apartment, glancing over at his presentation on the table. Sighing, he opened the fridge and grabbed a piece of cold pizza. Just give it up, you aren't going to get any more sleep. He looked over at the open medicine cabinet. Out of sleeping pills again. Damnit. He flipped on the TV, scanning through infomercials and porn to try and ease his tormented mind.

(OOC: Mind if I join as a buddy of Jason's, TRSN?)

OOC: No prob, but keep everything normal. Real life, America-type nation, modern times. He's part-time tech-guru, studying history at a community college. The city (as yet unnamed) is an Anytown, USA type place. Friends would be as expected in this place.

Jason was a bright, extroverted student. But he's slowly turned inward, and although friendly, he's a little off. (Being plagued by nightmares to the point he can't sleep). He has confided in some people (friends and family), but they don't know what's going on. He sometimes displys ABNORMAL insight into situations or acts strangely, wigging out for no reason.

Howard Tolarison quietly walked towards his room in an apartment, he was sharing with his friend, Jason, after a nightcap at his girlfriend's place. Arriving at the door, he rummaged through his pockets, he discovered that he had left his keys. Sighing, Howard knocked on the door and yelled.

"Hey Jason, this is Howard, open up!"

(OOC: Howard is a "playboy")

Jason reached over, grabbed the nearest coaster, and winged it offhand at the door. The metal ring strikes the deadbolt, and it flips. "Come in, and shut it. It's cold out there." He commented, flipping past yet another Foreman Grill add to settle on some softcore for a moment, then clicked it off. "You want some pizza and beer?" he asked, hoisting the box and case, respectively.

Howard pushed the door open and walked in, closing the door behind her...

"Thanks man..."

Plopping down on the nearest sofa, Howard took his feet out of the sneakers and plopped them on the table.

"Naw man... Had some stuff at my gal's place..."

"It's cool." Jason stated. "You ready for Prof. Freeston's analysis of the Cold War tomorrow?" he cocked his head at his project, the stack of books against the wall. "Finished it about one."

((TAG, n' stuff. Good read, TRSN! ^_^))

"It's cool." Jason stated. "You ready for Prof. Freeston's analysis of the Cold War tomorrow?" he cocked his head at his project, the stack of books against the wall. "Finished it about one."

"Naw, man... Didn't have time, because of that party... I really should cut down on my party-life and get into studying."

Jason laughed. "It will get to you." his voice died off. "It got me." With a shake of his head, he stated, "Maybe I'll come out with you tomorrow. I'm up, anyway."

A bit sore, Howard stood and stretched. Remembering something, he asked Jason, "So, any dreams of late?"

He shrugged, motioned the array of pizza, beer, and crossword puzzles. "Take a guess." He kicked back. "It's the usual. Destruction, death, and some chick. The kid wasn't there this time, or the creepy old guy." He blinked. "I think I'm loosing it sometimes."

Howard laughed out loud...

"You and me both, bro..."

Sobering up, Howard's eyes began to droop. Standing, Howard walked to the counter and began to make coffee.

"Want some coffee, bro?"

"Hit me." He stood. "It's just, creepy, man. It's like, I'm someone else, and I'm seeing through their eyes... and they're scary eyes." he twitched a little, the images of burning bodies and his own hands, covered in blood burned into his brain. "I wake up, guilty, for my dreams."

Howard scowled, as he worked the coffeemaker.

"I'm sorry, bro, but I don't know if I should believe you or not... I never was interested in that superstitious stuff..."

"I know." He leaned on the door. "Maybe I'll go see a shrink." It was another empty idea, another vague plan. This is all so pointless. There is no purpose to this life. Every day... eat, sleep, drink, breathe, and nightmares... what is the point?

"Naw, man, don't go see a shrink. He'll call you crazy and lock you up in an asylum..."

"Yeah. But, if I go crazy with a chainsaw, remember that you told me I was fine." he grinned a little. After a while, his gallows humor got easier to understand. "Well, I'm gonna review my project. I'll meet you at the Starburst Coffee house before class tomorrow... we'll cram for the Test."

OOC: In other words, g'night.

(OOC: I should really go to sleep. Its 3:00 in the morning... Anyways, good night.)

Howard stared long and hard at Jason.

"Um, Jason, its 3:00AM in the morning..."

Jason flipped his laptop up on the coffeehouse table, turned it on. WiFi Detected. The wireless connection activated, and he began to scan the news. Let's see... stock market is up, employment is down, another car bomb in the Middle East, and what's this... another accounting scandal. Bleck. Another day that was neither good nor bad, mixed results of positive and negative, hope and discouragement. He took a sip of his coffee and winced. Gagh! What is that? Maple? In my coffee? He slid the five dollar drink away from him, trying to clean the sugar from his teeth.

The door clanged, and Peter Arrick stepped into the house. He saw Jason, grinned, and lifted his backpack up, a hint of some new half-brained idea. Peter was one of those rogue genius types, brilliant yet completely unmotivated. Well, I can't say that. He's very motivated when he feels like it. What does he have today? Peter snagged a cup from the counter, spun the correct change on with his other hand, winking to the girl behind the counter, who rolled her eyes at his nitwit behavior. He dropped next to Jason.

"Hey, man. You aren't gonna believe what I got in my bag!" Peter exclaimed.

"If it's not a copy of the test, I don't care, Peter."

"Aw. It's better than that. I ripped the magnetron out the seventh floor microwave, and I'm gonna make ball lightning!"

"Jesus! Point that somewhere else!" Jason poked the bag. "I don't wanna glow from the radiation!"

Peter started explaining his plans to irradiate birds and such, but Jason fazed out. Everything seemed to double up, like he was crosseyed, but the sound was echoing. With each moment, one of the scenes moved further from the other, becoming more dissonant until he seemed to be witnessing an echo. He was seeing the same scene at five second intervals, hearing the sounds repeat seconds later. His head swam, and he tried to focus. He locked onto reality, tried to seize it, repeating after Peter...

"...and that's the plan." they said in unison.

Peter jolted a little, stared at Jason. "How'd you know what I was gonna say?"

"I was repeating you!"

"No, you weren't. You even lead me at times!"

"Huh. Weird." Jason looked around, shifting the conversation. "Howard will be along in a few."

"Cram time?"

"Oh yeah. I guess I should have gone to more classes."

Peter snorted. "I'll stick around, help you guys."

"Help? More like, open your book for the first time."

"We had a book?"

Jason shook his head. "Yes, we had a book."

"Shit."

Maybe he's got the right theory, just having fun. It's not like I care... why am I doing this?

OOC: I guess he's dropped back out, so I'll continue as planned. Please, don't just join... you can if you want, but talk to me first. AIM is "Joseph the Grea7". Comments welcome, but not the "my gunzor pwns j00rz" kind.

IC:

Jason paced down the street, his black shoes kicking into the fine powder snow beneath. Next to him, Peter and Howard were talking about some kind of frat party that was going down tonight, but he wasn't really listening, simply smiling when he figured he should. With every step, the cold around him sunk through his skin, into his chest. For some reason, he felt the urge to run, to kick the snow beneath his feet, to slip across the cold landscape. What am I running for? What would that do? There's no reason! But still, the urge stayed with him, the need to run from this location. He wasn't afraid, nor cold, nor did he enjoy running... yet, more than anything, he had the urge to sprint away. I would not be here, in this spot. I would be in the next, and it may be better.

"-you up for the kegger tonight?" Howard asked.

Jason shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

Peter grinned, "Yeah, after you both take this test. Heh. Suckers."

Howard demanded, "Do you even go to class? What do you do?"

The other man shrugged, "Sometimes. Hell, gotta work... get cash."

"To pay for nothing?" Jason asked.

"Dude, it's college. More money is coming from it!"

"Yeah, sure." Jason stated, glancing away from the grinning man. It doesn't matter anyway.

"Huh? What's wrong with-"

"Nothing. You're right." Jason sped up, seperating from his friends. As his pace quickened, he could feel the urge to run from them tense. Why am I running from my friends? He slowed down, berating himself. You're a moron, Jason. Complete and total. There's no need to get pissy with them because they don't get it. He paused, "Get what?"

"Huh?" Howard asked.

"I don't get it. Why are we doing this?"

"What?"

"I don't know... everything... born, breathe, eat, sleep, fuck, and die?" Jason shrugged. "Everything just seems so blasse, nothing will change. We work twenty years to become cogs and work forty more, then retire and die. And what have we done? Spat some more junk into the gene pool? Lovely fate, that. Born, screw, die, repeat."

Peter commented, his breath puffing on the cold air, "Dunno. But it sure is fun."

"Fun for now. But then it shreds on you... nothing is worth anything." Jason bit his tongue then. "Jesus, what am I saying? Sorry 'bout that. I was up all night again, I'm not thinking right."

Howard, with an odd glance, shrugged. "Yeah, it's cool."

Peter just turned away. "Whatever, man. Hey, check it out!" he pointed to a group on the corner. "It's the pinkos out again. Morons."

Ahead, there was a group of Campus Socialists on the corner, as usual, waving their signs and cards, shouting slogans. Today's theme was apparently "Anti-War", and it was full of vitriol, more than usual. "Stop the killings!" one of the students yelled, and the others echoed him. The leader saw the three students watching, and he began to chant one of the semi-rhyming cheer that protestors loved these days, "Down with the killers, down with the soldiers."

Jason felt his upper lip curl back in derision, and his fist clenched a little. To his side, Howard called back, "You know, we need to protect our allies! They're under attack!"

One of the mob screamed in return, "They're butchering the children over there! No war for oil!"

Peter took this one, "We don't even need oil! We have three new reserves opening! We're there because those jackasses thraxed Terrina!"

To this, the leader started a new slogan, "Never war, never more!"

Jason heard these ring in his ears, the words bouncing inside his head. To the man's sing-song chant, he heard the thunder of a thousand men and women, screaming as fire consumed them. He felt a wretching sensation, he staggered a little bit, leaned against a stop sign, his vision swimming, his ears ringing. There was fire in the skies, stretching downward towards the gleaming city. He was looking up, staring at the falling destruction, his hand clenching the pommel of a weapon that screamed for blood. His eyes were narrowed, his breath was seething between clenched teeth, his eyes burned. He could save them, but he was forbidden...

"There is no need to intervene. They are lost, and we would only lose more men in a pointless fight."

"We've damned them!" he stated, his voice venom.

The chant was continuing, and Jason found himself closing on the other students. His vision was narrowed, through slhalf closed eyes and against smoking breath. He was speaking, but his voice was not his own, "-the only pointless fight is to try and change people like you, people who would let worlds die rather than suffer any possible discomfort! I ought to-" he stopped his voice, but his mind finished the chain, -strike you down and let you bleed. Then you might understand the need to fight. Or you would die. He felt pain in his hand, and he looked down. In his clenched fist, blood was running from his palm, and he had his boot knife there, slicing his own skin. The blood was falling on the snow. My God, what was I thinking?

He shoved his hand into his pocket, hiding the blood. Where did that rage come from. There was no reason! He looked about, but no one had seen the shiv. Howard and Peter caught him. "Damn, man!" Peter stated. "Didn't know you felt that strongly! You tore them apart." If you only knew. What is happening to me?

Jason stepped into McKinnley Hall for the exam, followed by Peter and Howard. His hand was wedged in his pocket firmly, and he could feel the blood caked on it. Better clean that off. "Hey, I gotta stop in the bathroom. Meet you in class." he stated, stepping aside.

"See ya." the other two answered, and Jason pushed the restroom door open. He stepped inside, walked to the sink. He pulled his hand from his pocket, and it was covered in blood. My God. His hand was caked in rust color from his wrist to fingers. How bad is it? He turned the water on, put his hand under the flow, trying to get the cake away without re-opening the slash. The blood fell away from his hand with ease, to reveal the cut... or lack thereof. There was no cut on his hand. Impossible. I saw the cut! It was several inches long! He looked at his hand, turned it under the now scalding water. Nothing. What the hell?

Jason grabbed the towels, dried his hands. He stepped into the hallway. Maybe I just imagined? But the blood! So wrapped up in his thoughts, he walked right into something. "Oof!" he exhaled as he rebounded slightly. He caught his balance, and saw the girl he had run right into. She slipped a little in the impact, fell back... and he grabbed her arm, yanked her back to balance. "I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed. "I was thinking about the exam-"

She blinked slightly, amazed at how fast he had moved. "No problem... I should have bee watching..." her eyes brightened a little, "Hey, you heading for Freeston's?"

Jason felt a little bubble inside. Score! Talking to a girl! Don't screw up! "Yeah... you?" he asked. Good so far. Don't say anything stupid!

The blonde girl shrugged, smiled. "Yeah, got to take the exam on the Cold War. Bunch of shit, anyway." she sighed.

"Nah." Jason stated. That's good, impress with knowledge! "It ain't too bad. Just remember, if he asks who won, you gotta say "nobody", because he flips on people who say we did. Also, be careful if questions come up about the Jungle Wars... remember the phrases "Mission Creep" and "Military-Industrial Complex". He's really biased on those." Score!

She rolled her eyes, "I don't get it. We should get in there early."

"Yeah, good point." he stated.

As they walked, she asked, "Hey, aren't you Jason Derval? You were confronting those guys outside!"

Uh-oh. "Yes, I was. What's your name?" he stated, hoping this wasn't going downhill.

"Oh." was all she stated as she stepped away.

"What?" Jason asked. "Is something wrong?"

She didn't answer, simply hurried away from him. Screw you, bitch. He closed his eyes, punched the locker next to him. Why me? Ahead, she jumped slightly as his fist clanged from the metal. Stupid! He berated himself as he followed her into the classroom. As he entered, she was sitting with her friends, and they were glaring at him. On their shirts, they were wearing "Stop the War" buttons. Oh, for God's sake, it's not like I kill puppies! He sat down to take the test.

1.) What is the reason...

Jason stood, glancing back down at the test. There. That's the best I'm going to do. He didn't check his answers or essays, simply filed his papers in order. This was the way he had always been. He would do something once, never again, never checked. He wrote one copy of an essay, and that was the final. He answered a question once, and never checked it. If I altered it, I run the greater risk of creating error and doubt. He glanced about. No other student stood, they were hunched over their tests. First. He walked to the Prof, handed the packet over. The man asked, "Jason, why didn't you come to class?"

"I was sick." Ha. I was sitting there, and I decided it was better to sit there.

"Okay." He didn't buy it.

Jason left the room, pulled the zipper on his leather coat up, taking another glance at his hand. He stepped out, into the freezing winter air. Outside, cars were plowing through the slushy roads, hurling sprays of gray snow onto the salted sidewalks. The sun was setting slightly, and the lights were kicking on, illuminating the restaraunts and shops around campus. Jason put his hands in his coat to keep them warm and walked down the street. His phone rang in his pocket, and he fished it out.

"Hello." he stated, flipping out the face of the cell phone.

"How did the test go?" his mother asked from the other end.

"Fine." he stated. Amazing. I want to talk to my family, and then I only give one word replies. Stupid, Jason! "It was fine."

"Do anything social today?"

"Yeah." he stated absently, thinking hard for a "social" activity. "I went to breakfast with some friends."

"You need to get out more." the concerned voice replied. "You can't just hole up-"

"Yeah, I know. Hey, I've got to go-"

"Alright. Love you."

"Same." he closed the phone, and flipped it closed, hoping it would ring again. Why did I not say anything? What is there to say? He grimaced and kept walking. They're trying to talk to me. I want to talk to them. But I don't. He swallowed a little lump in his throat and pressed through the chill. He would go home now, read a book or watch TV or surf the net. He would sit there, in silence, lights out, and pretend the world did not exist. Then, he would try to sleep... This ritual was his, and it continued every day.

His skin had grown pale, and he found no interest in the weather. He stepped over the snow, merely avoiding the ice. Never once did he think of throwing any, or sliding down a hill, or of building something. He simply watched oncoming cars, stepping aside with careful timing to avoid the spray of slush. Ahead, there was a gathering of teenagers, all shoving and swearing. Other people stepped aside, but Jason simply walked towards them, not caring.

He stepped into the center of the argument, then slid out the other side without pause. Behind, the group fell silent, and then there was a call, "What you doing, rich boy?" Jason kept walking, ignoring the ruffian. "I'm talking to you! Don't walk away from me, bitch!" there was running behind him, and Jason turned, slowly.

"What?" he asked. "I'm not rich, and I'm not bothering you. Just leave me alone." he turned to keep walking, ignoring the anger.

"Ax-you-a-lee, you are pissing me off, rich boy. How about I take those shoes and nice coat. I think I like that leather." the other man stated, closing with Jason.

Jason turned back, realizing where he was. Fear began to set in. I'm going to get killed. He took off his coat. "Here." he handed it over.

"Much better." the other man stated, grinning, a switchblade in his hand. "Now, the shoes."

Jason lifted his leg, reached for his first shoe. His vision flashed, and he saw something different. His shoe was a boot, tucked under armored leggings and black utility pants. He blinked hard, the vision returning to normal. He dropped his foot, and he stood again on both feet, reeling backwards slightly as his vision cut in and out. The punk was now against a burning backdrop, and the knife was a wicked dagger. He staggered a little. The mugger glared, "What the hell you doing? Give me yer damn-"

Jason doubled over, his vision whiting out, his ears ringing. The robber stepped forward, and Jason's head snapped up to face him. In his eyes, there was a steel glare, and a crooked grin was on his face. Disconcerted by the madman's smile, the mugger froze for a moment, scared. But he could not back down, not now, his reputation was at stake. He stepped forward, raising the knife-

Jason lunged forward with blinding speed, and his vision faded to whiteness, his ears heard nothing, he felt nothing. He fell unconscious as he moved-

FLASH

Jason opened his eyes. What happened? He looked about, and there were bodies. My God! The mugger was lying on the pavement, his neck spurting blood three feet into the snow, his arm twisted beneath him. Next to him, another two bodies were laid out, one bent double backwards, the other with head nearly detatched. Another man was lying over a car hood several feet away, blood streaming from under his left armpit. There was shattered glass near a restaraunt window, and a pair of legs hung from a large shard in the window. Jason refused to look inside.

Oh God, what happened here? He looked down, and he stared in horror. The mugger's knife was in his left hand, his own knife in his right. There was blood on both blades... "No." he stated, shaking. He looked around. People were staring at him, their mouths open. Others were running. There was screaming. "No!" he screamed. "I didn't-" The cops! "I killed-" I have to get out of here! What have I done? This can't be happening! He screamed and threw the knives away, spun, his mind racing, his heart pounding. No!

Jason ran.

The city was a blur of grays and shadow as Jason ran. His feet slapped into asphalt, concrete, and cobblestone in turn, moving through the city in steady mark time. The snow sprayed with each impact, blasting away in a wave of white powder that hung in a cloud behind him. Flakes fell from the darkened skies, stinging his face and covering his tracks in a wall of winter wonder. But Jason did not notice the ironic beauty surrounding him, for his mind was focussed on the blood on his hands, figurative and real. He looked to the sky, his breath steaming before him. Why? But there was no answer from the harsh and serene skies, and his gaze returned to the dark reality before him.

He reached a chain link fence blocking a back alley, and he hit it at a run, scrambling five feet up, pulling over, and dropping over the other side. His knees bent with the impact, and he sprang forward, not slowing in the slightest bit. The neon lights of the city glowed around corners and in the distance, the downtown lights shined in glistening glory. But Jason stayed to the dark corners, to skirt about the city center in favor of the warehouse district. His knees were aching from the run, and from tens of walls climbed and ledges vaulted. His breath came in rapid order, and his senses were tuned fiercely. A dog barked, and he ducked into another alley.

How did it come to this? Why did I do this? He felt a tear fall from his eyes, freeze to his face. Who would have thought I could kill? That I could murder? How could I have done this? He let out a ragged cry, a strained beg for help, a plea to the silent heavens. I'm not a bad man! I want to help! It was self defense! But there were too many bodies, the street had become a charnel house. I killed them!

Jason's knees gave out under the last thought, and he crashed into the gravel alley. He tumbled into the stones and rolled, coming to rest lying face down in the dirt. "Why?" he screamed. "Why did this happen?" His fist pounded into the stone, and he felt the burn. Why did I do this? He rose to his feet, dirt and tears on his face, his pants torn and jacket scraped, but the cold no longer bothered him, compared to the burning of the cuts. Blindly, he ran into the freight yards, his past flashing before him.

Private, religious school. Balanced family. Good friends. High school was a nice public school, away from the run down city schools. I was on the track team, wasn't I? Yeah, I was. And drama for a year, but I stunk at that. The ground flashed beneath his pounding feet. Good grades, but not outstanding. In the summers, I worked at a computer club store and volunteered on Church Mission Trips. I started driving in sophomore year, and I've never even gotten a ticket! He was between the train yards now, dodging the spikes and planks, never breaking stride. Went to some concerts, had some parties. He was under a water tower, it's dark form blotting the sky. Flipped the principals car senior year, never got caught. Is that what this is? Bad Karma? He laughed hysterically amid his stifled mumbling apologies. Something changed in college. But that was apathy, not murder! What is wrong with me? Why did I kill them? I couldn't have! It's not me! It was someone else!

"It wasn't me!" he bellowed to the empty yards and crates, slowing to turn and declare his innocence to the world. The echoes of his fevered cry returned to him in mocking half-tones. It was me. I did it! He glanced up, the ore docks held against the glow of the moon through the clouds, their grid casting onto his solitary form. He stared at the contrast of bone white light on blackened wrought iron, and his resolve was clear. I have to end this.

He grabbed the first ladder rung with one of his cut hands, and he pulled himself up, into the cold air. One hand over the other, he climbed the ladder, inside of the safety cage. The light glinted through the crossed beams of the elevated railway and the bars of the ladder, lines of dark and light that played on his pained face. Higher still, he climbed the works. The ore dock was designed so that trains would pull onto them, then drop ore down the the house-sized shutes into the weighter freighters on the sea. Tonight, they would drop another cargo. Jason pulled himself onto the top of the docks.

From here, he could see everything. The lights of the city and the glow of the moon cast down onto the glistening snow, and Jason turned about to see the city one last time. The downtown glowed in never-sleeping grandeur, the suburbs slumbered peacefully. A party could be heard from the east, on the campus, pounding music and flashing lights. There were sirens in the city, but they were far away. You won't find me there. Jason turned, looked towards home, towards the northern residential areas. He knew he couldn't see, but there were surely lights on, waiting to hear from him. It's better this way. They'd be mocked for my crime. How could I?

He turned away, the tears streaming again, and he placed one foot in front of the other, walking the dock as a plank. He stepped between the crossbars of the tracks, his form cut against the snowy backdrop. I have sinned, and this is my only repentance. Another meter, the end of the dock was quite clear now against the glittering icy sea. Far out to sea, a lighthouse swung around, flashing it with it's beam. A buouy bobbed amid the flows. Jason walked.

I am a failure, a criminal. I could have been so much more, but I am dirt now. He passed the utility shed. Mom, Dad, I'm sorry I couldn't be more. Friends, forgive me. I love you all. I'd do anything for you, but now, this is all I can offer... I must remove myself. He passed the track brakes, the emergency stops. Five feet now. God, I'm sorry I wasted this. He glanced again to the heavens, and he called out his last words, "So this is all I am now? So this is my life? Twenty years of nothing? Twenty years of learning and growing... and this is the end? A murderer? Is this your glorious plan? Well, I comply! I am nothing! And as nothing, I am gone!"

With a final wordless yell, Jason turned and ran the last five feet. His feet reached the air, and he fell for the icy water. The air flipped his jacket behind him, his arms closed in swan dive. He closed his eyes as the gleaming surface rushed towards him-

FLASH

Bump for comments, please do offer them! And also, not quite worked up next scene... you'll see why...

:shock: I'm impressed....

(OOC: Sorry Kaukolastan/TRSN, don't worry I'll be back soon, after I stop killing myself over homework...)

OOC: Okay, my initial response was gonna be - Best use of flashbacks (or flashforwards, or flashsidyways or whatever the hell they are) I've seen on Nationstates. Then that changed to excellent follow up continuing suspense drawing reader in. Then that changed to best ending. Now all I have to say is:-

Oooh! Oooh! I want in! I want in! Oooh! Pick me!

OOC: Okay, the story does not stop here, but continues, and shall return to the beginning at some point, but it is about to follow another path. This story will open into an RP at some point, and feel free to take a side character and play with him/her. Feel free to contribute to the story line that I have left behind, but Jason is no longer there. He did not strike the ice. He has vanished. The story will return, but I have to take it elsewhere. This is a style I've never written before, so bear with me. Comments and suggestions are always welcome. Now, for Part Two...

IC:

The night sky was lit by a sudden snap of lightning, and the rows of golden wheat shuddered, rippling away. A wind swept the rolling lands, and the light faded. In the farm house, Giral glanced up from his table, where he was fixing a harness. The old farmer stood back from the table, stretching his joints and pulling his coat from the wall. He pulled the light wool around himself and picked the lumos lantern from the ground. Reacting to his touch, the moss inside began to glow, casting a pale blue glow around him. Giral opened the door, stepped into the cool summer night, "Hello?" he called.

In the distance, he saw something moving in the fields. Turning to the house, he called, "Cerris! Riken! There's something in the fields!" There was pounding on the stops, and his two youngest sons came barrelling around the bend, grabbing weapons.

Cerris, the larger, spoke for them both. "We'll take care of it. Don't worry, father." The young man opened the wall chest and removed two sword, passing the other to Riken.

Giral shook his head, "I have to see what it is. Call it senility, but this old man likes to see it for himself, sometimes."

From the steps, there was a question, "Giral, what's going on?" The farmer glanced up, seeing his wife of sixty years, Hana, sitting on the steps, her gray hair tussled from sleep.

"Just a little something in the field. We're going to check it out." the old man stated, placing his straw hat on his head.

"You're too old to be out there, Giral."

"Never, my dear." the man grinned. "I'll take care!"

She sighed, "You boys make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

"We will, mom." they answered.

The three headed out into the night, moving through the fields towards the source of the movement. Cerris waved his sword before him, using the old long sword to part the crops. He muttered to Riken, "If some damn borebear got into the ground again..."

Riken grimaced, "I'll be crawling after it. It stinks to be little, you know that?"

Cerris grinned. "Hey, you'll grow... runt." he shoved his brother a little.

Giral held up his hand. "Quite." he whispered.

There was only the sound of leather boots crunching on the grains, and the swish of the broadsword in the grass. The lantern bobbed before them, and they walked to the edge of the wheat field, ontop of the hill. Giral stopped suddenly, the lantern swinging before him. "He's hurt!"

Cerris peered over, "Who's hurt?" he glanced down, saw the man lying there.

"I'll tell mother, and we'll get an apothecary!" Riken sprinted back towards the farmhouse and it's candlelit window.

Giral bent down next to the man, who was lying, curled into a ball in the center of a small burn mark on the field. The farmer glanced to his son, "There's magic at work here. Look at the burns he has... what happened to him?" Giral moved the lantern over the man, to examine his wounds. The man wore no normal clothes, except for a bizzare armor coat. His leggings were torn, his boots were useless and low, his thin shirt was bloody. An open leather armor hung loosely around his body, and blood was caked on his hands and face. His eyes were closed, his breathing ragged and shallow. There were stange burns on his clothes and body, and his eyes moved rapidly behind his lids.

Cerris asked, "You think this was a bad sending? He is no mage!" the young man pointed to the injured, "He carries no scrolls nor potion, and not even a dagger. I fear he was the victim of something..."

Giral nodded. "We need to help him, in any case. More if he was attacked as such!" The old man tried to pick up the man. "Could you..." he stepped back, his spine aching. "My joints are hurting, and I can't carry him-"

"No worry, father." Cerris picked the injured man up gingerly, heading back towards the farmhouse. As Cerris walked away, Giral noticed a small black booklet fall from the man's leggings. He must have had a pack somewhere. The farmer picked it up, and thumbed it open. Inside, there was green paper, as well as several pieces of unknown material, bearing foreign words. Giral did not read them, for he feared magic, and to read magic beyond you was to go insane. But one of these cards attracted his attention. It was white and plain, carrying only a few strange characters and a picture of the man Cerris was now carrying. Below the picture was a series of letters Giral couldn't make out. It has to be a name or title! This is a census card! He stared at the name for a moment. "Jason Derval"... what does that mean?

The farmer removed his hat, and he offered a slight prayer to the gods for allowing him to help this poor man. Then he followed his son for the house. What is this man's story?

tag, nice work!

A ring of fire, then another. A cut of ice, a wall of noise. The was a brilliant light and rush, like surfacing through water. He was a child, sitting on the swing in his backyard, but it was not his yard. It was a perfect scene, but one made more perfect by it's memory. The grass was a perfect green, the sky a canopy of clear blue and cookie-cutter clouds. He grinned as he swung on the homemade contraption, resting on a piece of plywood from two ropes. His father was grilling hamburgers, and his mother was talking with the neighbors on a checkerboard bench. The sun and breeze made the scene a picturesque vision, and everyone was smiling. A thought occured to him... Who is pushing me?

He turned, trying to face the person pushing the swing, but there was a voice that commanded him, "Do not turn, child." He obeyed, and he watched the barbeque. The scene began to dim, and he glanced skyward as black clouds began to cover the sun. He wanted to cry out, but he could not. On the street, a parade was passing, but the music of the band was striking in minor chords. The smiles were turning false. The sky was black now, and the swing was hurtling violently.

A red circle appeared in the sky, and it peeled away to reveal an abyss. Somewhere in that abyss, there was a voice that rumbled and threatened. He gripped the ropes tighter. The fire began, raining down onto the neighborhood. People were running and screaming as bolts of darkness and flame cut them down, hurled their charred corpses aside. The parade was burning, but the music continued in strident, conflicting tones, a demon circus. The swing was shaking.

The ground fell away, the perfect scene falling into the cavernous nethers below, chunk by chunk. But the swing kept swinging, and he could not turn. "You must watch."

"I don't want to!" he found his voice.

"You must. This is the end. This is the coming storm."

He spun, trying to face the man swinging him, but the swing was spinning now, in opposite direction, and he could not see the man. Instead, the scene was thrown back to him as his family fell into the darkness and fire, as his playset burned. He swung on a burning saddle as it whirled to blinding speed, the chords screeching in his ears as laughter billowed from the hole. He screamed, and the scene fell to darkness-

His eyes flicked open, and he tried to spring upright, but strong hands forced him back into the bed in which he lie. "What happened?" He glanced about himself in a panic, trying to make sense of his surroundings, "Where am I?"

Two women stood at the foot of his bed, talking, but both turned to face him, looks of concern on their faces, while a weathered old man held him down. The old woman and the old man had the look of people who made their living on honest labor, as their lines and callouses attested, while the younger woman wore some sort of robes. Am I in a religious place? He glanced about, spotting fields through a window, and from the simple clothes and down blanket, he guessed a farm. But how am I here? "How am I alive?" he demanded, surprised. I fell from the docks... then there was the light...

The woman pressed her robes a little, folded her hands. "You're very lucky that Giral found you when he did, three days ago. You were lying in the wheat fields, covered in cuts and burns. The cuts were from little more that a short fall, but the burns were quite odd... were you the victim of some magic?"

Jason blinked twice. Like pulling a bunny out of a hat? He glanced at the concerned looking people in the room. They're serious! "I don't really know how to explain it... there was this bright flash... and nightmares... and then I woke up... I'm sorry. I don't know what's going on. I don't even know where I am!" Or if the cops know I'm here.

The young woman glanced at the older couple in worry. "If he's lost his memory, this could be bad magics indeed."

Jason couldn't take it anymore, "Magic? What does magic have to do with this?" he demanded, then began to cough.

The younger woman sat on the edge of his bed, "What does-" she paused, pursing her lips. "Everything. How much do you remember?"

Trying to kill myself in the city after murdering about seven people! Then a big flash! Now, I'm in BFE with you! Jason felt the thoughts clanking in his muddled brain. Play it safe... "Not much." he stated. "My name is Jason Derval, but that's about it." Better safe than sorry.

She closed her eyes in a slight prayer he had never heard before, with an odd name for God. Where the hell am I? The woman glanced back at him, "You are in Fuerberg, one of the provinces of Esper, in the Eastern Expanse."

"Expanse of what?" He was truly confused, as he had heard none of these names before.

She looked increasingly worried, "The Solaran Empire, of course. Did you think you were in the Wastes?"

The stupefied look on his face told her everything she needed to know, and she continued, "The Solaran Empire controls all of the land except for the Wastes, but those still glow from the Outsider's weapons." Jason heard the capital letters clicking into place as she continued, "You're in a mostly agricultural area, and pretty far from the cities. Perhaps you should head there. With the census taking place again, they could help you find your family."

I have no clue what she's speaking of. There's no way in hell I should be in a city when I know nothing! The old farmer saw his scared expression, and spoke, "Thank you, apothecary, but perhaps he would be better if he recovered out here first, away from the hustle."

She thought for a moment. "That's up to him, but I have no problem with that." Everyone turned to face him, and he felt himself sink a little deeper into the matress.

"Uh... I think I'd better take it easy for a while." he stated.

"Very well then." she stated, bowing slightly. "Continue taking the medicine, and get some fresh air. Gods bless." she stepped free of the room.

She definately said gods, not God. Jason noted, rolling to face the farmer and his wife. "I'm sorry about the burden. I'll get going as soon as I ca-"

"Nonsense." The older woman stated. "You're welcome here as long as you need. I insist that you rest up for a few days."

Giral handed him a book. "Feel free to read. There's plenty of wax and wick to burn, so you can keep yourself from being bored. Get well."

The two left the room, and Jason called after them, "Thank you." Glancing about at the room and out of the window, he doubted there was much in the way of television out here... if there was television. Okay, you ain't in Oz anymore, Jason. Now, figure out where you are. He looked down at the book and paged it open. The text was some foreign language, one that he did not recognize... but he could read it, clear as day. It was only here that it struck him; the entire conversation with the apothecary was in this language. Not only had he understood the language, but he had spoken it without question or thought.

Opening the book, he began to read about the adventures of some mythical knight, slaying beasts. Inside his mind, thoughts tumbled. Obviously, I'm not dead. I'm not at home. I need to figure out where I am, and how. Then maybe I can get back. He almost laughed. Last thing I remember, I was trying to kill myself. Now I want to go home? What the hell, Jason? He flipped the page of the book. Start here, Jason, in this little old farmer's book...

OOC: Bah, can't post yet.

Light was flickering through the darkness, and Jason opened his eyes. A beautiful sunrise was flickering through the window, and he slid from his bed- No! He glanced around. This was not his room, not his bed. Memories flashed back to him, the fight, the run, the jump, and now here]/i], wherever here was. He glanced out the window, to see the golden fields stretching in all directions from the farm house, small tree-lined roads running to the dots of other houses on the horizon. The sky was a pure blue, lit by dual suns. [i]What the hell? He stared for a moment. Little farther than I thought... He dropped back onto the bed in shock, and more was coming back to him, the "apothecary", the reference to "magics". He grabbed the story he had been reading before he slept. It had been a book of knights, mages, creatures, and gods, rather good, actually.

The Path of Honor: The History of the Seventh Knighthood, 1345-1754 PD

History? Jason felt sick all of a sudden, wretching over, out of the window. As he stopped choking, his thought train resumed. Where the hell am I? What's happened? Teleportation? What the hell? He glanced back to the dual suns and suddenly laughed. Well, at least no one will know about my crime! This absurd thought sent him crashing to the floor in hysterical fits, only killed when another truth struck him. I spoke to them in their language. I read their book without problem. He glanced at himself in the mirror, as if waiting for himself to change into something. How do I know this? He slowly stood. Can't ask questions. I just have to live here, now, until I can find a way home. I'll try to retain everything.

He walked to the door, opened it, and entered the hallway. He heard voices downstairs, and he carefully walked down the flight, entering a small kitchen. "Hello." he stated, quietly.

The farmers wife turned from what he guessed to be a stove, and she smiled. "Good to see you awake and well. You've been out for three cycles." I guess a cycle is a day. "My name's Hana, if you didn't know. Giral and the boys are out in the fields. It's almost lunchtime, and you'd best get some food in you." She poked him with a wooden spoon. "You haven't had anything but dragonsbalm for days."

"Thanks...um...what's this "balm"?" he asked meekly.

"Your medicine! You were badly burned by something...and they were not mere normal burns. When we head into town next week, we're going to take you to the Academy, to make sure it wasn't anything more than a bad spell." She went back to cooking. "The apothecary said that some fresh air would help you, once you came around."

Okay, this is information I can use. "Sorry to ask, but what is this Academy?"

She sighed. "You were hit bad, weren't you? The Regional Academy is for the best and brightest mages in the province. They would know what happened to you, better than anyone."

"Okay." he felt something tug him inside. These people have helped me, I owe them something for their kindness. "Is there anything I can do to help around here? I mean, if I'm here for a week, I think I should contribute something."

She laughed a little. "Giral will love to here that. He's been needing some help in the fields. It'll get you sturdy again, and could let him have less pressure. We're taking the grains and fruit to the market soon, and with Partinis away, we're short some help. Take it easy, though, I don't want you hurting yourself."

He nodded, "I'll be fine. Thank you so much. I'm just trying to figure everything out..."

There was a door slamming, and a deep voice boomed out, "Hey, mom!" A large young man, in his early twenties, entered the room, looking around, still covered in dirt from the fields, his nose burnt from the suns. He spotted Jason, and he grinned. "Good to see you up and about. Enjoy your nap?"

"Cerris!" Hana barked. "Be nice to the boy!"

Cerris grinned good naturedly, "I'm just giving him a hard time." He turned back to Jason, "You didn't take it personally, did you?"

"Nah." Jason shrugged. "Just glad to be up and about again."

The big man's smile grew, if it was possible, "Any idea what happened? You were knocked up, bad."

"Not a clue." Jason stated as anther young man entered.

The new man was probably only seventeen, but he was also bigger than Jason by a good two inches. He saw Jason and remarked. "Hah, Cerris. No more short jokes for me."

"Riken!" Hana snapped again, cuffing both boys. She turned to Jason, "I'm sorry about them. They're good boys, but none to smart." She glared at them again, and they both ducked out of the room. "I hope you like simple meals. We don't have anything fancy."

Jason glanced at the table, where a large roast was sitting, with homemade bread, a dark brown, gravy, and some vaguely beet-like vegetables. Damn! Compared to McDonalds... if that tastes as good as it looks... He started salivating already, and he commented, "That looks wonderful, ma'am."

Giral and his sons were re-entering the room, and the farmer glanced at Jason. "Good to see you, lad. You recovered faster than I thought."

Jason shrugged a little. "I always bounce back quickly."

They began to seat themselves, and Giral motioned for Jason to seat himself. Jason could feel hunger gnawing at his insides, but he waited for the others, afraid of violating some custom or belief. Sure enough, Giral began a prayer to some unknown god. "...and bless this food before us, and those who sit with us, and those who cannot. We thank you." The farmer looked up to see Jason, and he smiled. "You can eat now, boy."

Jason felt his mouth pick up a little, in an echo of a smile. "Thanks." He dug into the food on his plate. Kinda tastes like pork.

Cerris commented, "Killed that boar this morning. Got it with the bow, out on the border of the wheat field."

Hana spoke to Giral, "He's volunteered to work in the fields with you, to make his keep."

The farmer nodded, his tanned face showing approval and respect. "Thanks, lad. We can always use a hand." Swallowing another one of the "beets", Giral asked, "So, what's your name? I found this card thing in your booklet-" he pointed to Jason's wallet on the counter. "-but, I can not read it." he tilted his head. "What language is that, anyway?"

"My name is Jason Derval." he stated. "It's English, if you've heard of it."

"Well, Jasonderval, I've not heard of this english."

Jason smiled. "No, my first name is Jason, my family name is Derval."

"You're royalty?" Giral asked, his mouth agape. "You have a lineage?"

Jason shook his head. "No. Just a merchant family." I think that's middle class, anywho. "Where I'm from, everyone has a first, middle, and last name. Helps keep track of people. Like that card you found."

"I told you it was a census card, father!" Riken declared triumphantly. He looked at Jason, "What is it made of? Some sort of wax? It's malleable, but hard, and it holds the printing well."

Jason thought hard, partly for show of his "memory loss", and partly because he was trying to think how to explain plastics. "We call it plastic. It's made from oils and pressure and heat, but I forget how."

"Amazing! I bet we could get a lot of money from a mage for that trick. Think how useful this could be in recording information! Or for building tools! It's amazingly strong stuff, and it bends-"

Cerris jumped in, "Sorry about that. He's got a head in the clouds. Just ignore him if he gets pushy." Riken looked like he wanted to throw something at Cerris.

Hana coughed, and both boys quieted down. Giral chuckled a little and spoke, "So, after the meal, we'll head out, and I'll show you how to bale the grains. It's pretty simple..."

Jason listened to the man talk. He realized that, for the first time in a long period, he was enjoying himself.

Jason felt the glare of the twin suns on his shirtless back, but it didn't bother him today. He smiled a little, the sun beating down on him, as he walked next to the lizardlike Rodan. It felt odd, still, even after five days. His hands were fading from the earlier blisters, going to callouses, and the hard work and farm food was already building him out. He glanced behind, where the cartdrawn rolling baler collected grains with simple mechanics. Beautiful, really. No machines, no computers. Hardly efficient, but it gets the job done. He pulled the straw hat forward as he faced into the suns again. Goddamn. I feel like I've been dropped back in time. But I haven't... I've been placed somewhere else. The Solaran Empire. Cute name. He grinned, working his neck around. But what will I learn in town?

The Rodan suddenly stopped moving, the baler caught on a rut. Jason walked to the back, began to work on the picks. "Damn things." he muttered. "Stuck again." With a final tug, he popped the impeding stone free. He tapped the Rodan, and the large beast began to move. This is nothing like Earth. I can only assume that this is not Earth. But the food is fine, the water fine, the air fine. The people are human... He scratched his sweaty head, and he felt the beard starting. Need to shave, though. There was running behind him, and he glanced up, shielding his eyes. Riken and Cerris were scrambling through the fields, carrying swords. They saw him, and waved. Cerris boomed out, "Come on! We've got a boar bear in the fields!"

Jason nodded. I figured I'd see one of these things. Supposedly, they burrow through fields, pop up, and attack people when disturbed. Ruin crops. He took off after them. His feet slapped on the rows of grain, and he glanced down at his tennis shoes. The leather "boots" had made quite an impression on Riken and Cerris, who had professed a love for them. Jason snorted. These have to be better than those hide boots. As he ran, though, his thoughts turned to his run, one week and a million lives ago. I wonder what happened at home. Mom and Dad. My friends. What are they going through? Removed from the emotion, he wondered what had driven him to it. Why was I so bothered? Why was I so willing to throw life away? I would have hurt them more, not less... but now, they have no idea. I must return. The thought was bittersweet, because he was growing to love this world, but he owed his family to return... It is neither here nor there. I have no clue how I am here, much less to return...

He had reached the edge of the field, where the brothers knelt behind some trees. He slowed and dropped next to them. "What's going on?"

Riken glanced back to him. "Shh." he whispered. "Boar bear in the brush, over there." he pointed. "See it? We're going to take it down."

Jason focused on the next field, saw the animal. It looked like a hairless badger, with armored leather skin and short tusks. "Nasty." he stated. "Can I have a weapon?"

Cerris looked at him, doubtful, "Can you handle a sword? You'll hurt yourself."

"I'll do better than just watching, won't I?"

Riken snickered. "Here. Take mine. I've got something better..." he patted a series of slots on his belt, sort of like coin roll holders.

Cerris glared at him. "You insist on the parlor tricks, don't you?" He commented to Jason, "Riken there thinks he can pull mage tricks, because he can read them."

"I didn't go nuts, did I?" Riken stated. "I mastered this one. Real simple. Just a fire spell. Pull scroll, recite, scroll incinerates, enemy burns." He grinned. "Been waiting to pull this one."

Jason took the large sword gingerly. "Be careful, man."

"You to." Riken smiled, "It's not a kitchen knife."\

"Ha ha, real funny." Jason stated, gripping the hilt.

Cerris motioned. "Let's go." The three men sprung from cover, rushing the boar bear. Jason felt the weight of the broadsword, and for some reason, it felt natural. It was almost...light, like he was used to bigger. But it was still cumbersome, and it moved sluggishly. The beast looked up, charged them. Cerris swung his sword, and it landed true, but the boar plowed onwards, the sword stuck in its thick armor. Cerris was bowled over, and the sword popped free. The animal was bleeding, but it thrashed about, and it struck Jason, sending him sprawling backwards, toppling into the grass. Riken yanked a scroll free, unfurled it, pointing to the beast. He opened his mouth to speak, but it rammed him, and the scroll flew from his hands.

In that moment, time slowed. The scroll hung in the air, lit by double suns, silhoutting it. Cerris was struggling to his feet, reaching for his distant sword. Jason glanced to the side, but his weapon was buried in the grass. The boar was about to gore Riken, and he could do nothing. The scroll landed, and in desperation, Jason grabbed it. He duplicated Riken's actions, pointing to the beast and reading the words on the page-

They were strange to him, another language. They were power, encoded on partchment, and he could feel the power in him, flowing through him, towards the boar- "Incendio!" he stated in a crisp voice, and the boar exploded into blue flames, squealing in pain- The the flames grew brighter, and it turned to an ashen form- The blue -fire faded, and the ash blew in the wind, the ground scorched- Cerris and Riken were staring at him. Jason stated in a shrug, "Guess it works." he glanced at the scroll in his hands. "Isn't this supposed to be gone?"

Riken gaped, openmouthed, glancing at the vanished boar-scar. "You cast- you cast-" he slammed his mouth shut. "That was not what I wrote! That was military grade magic! Definately not "fire"... more like "inferno"... and it was blue! Blue flame is only cast in death magic!" he was staring at Jason. "By the gods, who are you?"

Jason glanced down at the scroll. "I don't know..." What am I?

Cerris stood. "Well, it doesn't matter. You're our friend, and you saved Riken's life. That's what matters."

Riken was nodding. "You cast without the scroll, which mean you had it memorized! You must be a mage! What was it like, to cast from memory? Could you teach me?"

"I don't know...I don't remember how I did it-"

"Of course. The spell burns clean every time, so you have to re-memorize it." Riken was disapointed. "I should have known."

Jason shook his head. "It's not that. I can remember it now. I could cast it now! But I don't know how I learned it! Where I'm from, there is no magic!"

They were staring at him again, but he didn't care. He had to get this out. Riken asked, "But, you can multi-cast! That means you had to be very powerful! You had to have learned it somewhere!"

Jason shook his head, "You know how I spoke of my dream, where there was no magic? Only technology?"

"Yeah..." both brothers stated, in unison.

"It wasn't a dream! That's where I'm from! It's another world, I swear to God! Yes, God! Single... not multiple!" He stopped as they stared at him. "I'll explain..." he began to fill them in on his last days on Earth, the nightmares, the accidents. He told them about cars, and aircraft, and electricity. He told them about the docks, and his attempted suicide. He told them of his visions. "...and I have no clue how to get back, or what anything means!"

Cerris rubbed his fist into his head. "That's some intense stuff, Jason. You sure you didn't imagine it?"

Riken spoke for him. "He speaks to solidly, and remember the card, the boots, the jacket..." he glanced at Jason. "So, steam power is possible?"

"Oh, yes! We've had that for centuries now, and we've moved onto fossil fuels, but we need to get away from those- This world is so different..." he felt like crying now, from the release of his inner demons.

Cerris stated. "You need to speak to the Priestess. The more I here, the more I am convinced that the gods are involved in this. And speak to father... he's spoken of something similar..."

"What?" Jason demanded. Riken stared as well, waiting for a reason.

"Speak to father. He told me of it once, when he had too much ale in him. He spoke of a war, and of men like you, who arrived from another world. I don't know any more."

"Thank you." Jason stated. "I don't know what's going on."

"We're here for you." Riken stated.

"Thank you." Jason glanced back at the double suns. "I think I'll be getting my answers soon. I know it..."

"Sir, I need to speak to you." Jason stated from the doorway, as Giral counted down the days intake of grains with an abicus on the table. The triple moons hung outside the window, and the night sky was rather bright from alien stars.

Giral sighed, not turning around. "I know. Cerris told me. Come, sit down." The old man placed the abicus down and drew a box.

Jason paced around the table, sitting opposite Giral in a wooden chair. "He told you about the spells, and my story?"

Giral nodded, solemnly, "Yes. Now, Riken shouldn't have pulled that stunt, but I think he's learned from nearly being gutted. I hope, anyway. The boy isn't stupid, just over-eager." He looked up, meeting Jason's eyes. "Thank you, for your work out there, and for helping on the farm." He shrugged. "I can't put this off any longer... From the moment I found you in the field, surrounded by the burnt grain, I suspected a connection." he saw Jason's confused expression. "I should explain...

"Thirty seven years ago, I was a soldier in the Solarian Knighthood. We were under attack, from the Barbarians and their new masters, whom we dubbed the Dark Ones. They used powerful magic, terrible powers. I saw whole legions lain to waste from one uttered word, and the barbarians, their overlords, and more foul creatures were overrunning Solaris. We fought them, we fought them valiantly, but we could not win. They used forces we could not match, metal beasts that flew, and chariots without beasts, with "guns" that spat fiery death. They crushed us, threw us from the Capital, left the land to waste. The royal families were slaughtered, and the Temples desecrated. We were forced into hiding, selling our swords to the Barbarian clans for money, with which we fed the underground. Over time, the Dark Ones left, and we thought of revolution.

"It worked. We pushed the Barbarians and the Foul Creatures from the Capital, reclaimed the Temples and Academies. There was celebration... but the royals knew it would not last. The Dark Ones were returning, to finish the task and enslave us forever. We prayed for days, worked every conjuring the mages had, and on the sixth day, we had our miracle. A fire in the sky, a falling star... that man had built. We met the survivors, and found that it was a ship. A ship that sailed the heavens, and crewed by mortal men! We could not ask for a better omen, and we had their aide in everything we did. Their leader was like you... young, powerful, and capable of extreme magic. Though he had never seen it before, he worked it with precision and power that astounded the elder mages. He fell in with the Priestess, despite my objections and fears, and they planned the counter-offensive to drive back the Dark Ones.

"I remember the final council of the war, before the assualt on the Citadel, the Darl Ones stronghold. I sat with him, with their leader. He rarely spoke, and never showed his face, but he was honorable as man could be in that dark war. It was he who proposed the combined armies maneuvers, who combined his technology with out arcane powers, and he and the Priestess faced down the Dark Ones alone. I saw him work terrifying magics and powers, beyond even the Dark Ones' abilities. He was more than a man, out in battle... he was Battle itself, the God of War incarnate. I watched him slay the Dark Ones like cattle, the forces that had slaughtered our finest.

"And after the battles were won, he asked our help. They were fighting these same Dark Ones, in their home, and they needed allies. Many of us joined with him, including the Priestess. They went away, to fight the good fight, and some, in the hopes of becoming like him. But he was cursed, damned, by the powers he weilded. He would die, consumed by his abilities. But he fought onwards, to save people who loathed and feared him. The Priestess came back, several years later, with seven soldiers of the ten legions that had gone with. The war was over, and He was dead, with millions of others. They were changed, all of them... they were tormented by visions of what they had seen... the Priestess cast a powerful piece of magic on all of us, with our agreement. We forgot about the war, about the Dark Ones, about the man, about his allies. But I chose to remember, I refused to forget, even when She forgot. She has not aged a day since then, you know? I saw her last year, and I am one of only five who can see her, for I served her loyally years before. She expresses the torment you do, with flickering memories and illusions...

"If I were to guess, I would say that you were part of that War. From here or there, you have been put under a magic, by your own request, and now it is failing. Why are you here, I do not know, but I do fear. I wonder what is happening in the Capital?" Giral took a deep breath, and Jason stared at him. "Do you believe me?"

Jason felt something click, inside of him. "Yes." he whispered. He repeated louder. "Yes, I believe you. But why am I here? Why is this spell fading? What happened in that war that I would wish to forget?"

Giral shook his head. "I do not know. You must ask the Priestess in the Capital tomorrow. She will be there, and you must speak to her."

"I thought you said we weren't allowed?"

"I am. She's come to see me, and I to see her. She's like a daughter to me." Giral opened the box. "These are called "pictures", I believe. The Man gave them to me, to remember by. That is him, with the me, on the balcony of Tir Rolen, before the battle the next morning." Jason held up the print, and it's familiarity brought comfort. I know how this works. This is normal. But the picture was not normal. The twin suns were setting, and the moons rising. The city below the parapet was lit by candles and campfires of warring bands, and the two men were dressed for very different wars. The younger Giral wore a battle-skirt, like the ones Jason had seen in Roman documentaries, and a metal plate with runic emblems, with leather sleeves and pants, and armored leggings. A plumed helmet was under his arm, near a bastard sword that blazed with more runes. The other man wore black pants and shirt, with some armor in them, a kevlar like material. A buckle held his belt and leather strap in place, and a large coat barely hid numerous weapons of destruction. Guns were there, and what appeared to be grenades. A sword was on the back, though, seemingly out of place, and his head was mostly covered by a visored helmet, and a mic was infront of his mouth. Giral spoke, "He was the finest warrior I had ever met. His name was Allon Te'rysath... formal old Solarian for, "The Reaver". And he was... the sword of the gods. I think you are tied to him. I think you followed him, and I think that the Priestess is the answer."

Allon Te'rysath... I know that name. I have worked with that man. He is in my dreams. Jason glanced up. "I need to see her, then. Thank you for everything, Giral."

The old farmer shook his head. "Only repaying a debt I owed a dead man. I never trusted him until almost too late, and I never got to see him again. If I can help one of his own men..." Giral suddenly looked much older, much more weathered. "When you find out what happened, could you tell me? I need to know how my old compatriot was lain to rest."

Jason nodded. "I promise." He hugged the old man. "Thank you, sir." The farmer patted his back, then pushed him away. Jason nodded. "I will tell you."

Bump

The fields were burning. He looked around. This is the Solaran Empire, I know this place now. There was fire everywhere, and the houses were wrecked. Bodies littered the fields, and there was panic behind him. He turned, slowly, and faced the devastation. A great city was burning, it's gates blown apart, it's ziggurats and towers crumbling as they were pierced by darkness. Stone rained down, upon the people below, fleeing from the carnage, only to be smashed. Defenders ringed the ridges, but they, too, were cut down with impunity, shredded and decimated. He looked down, at his hands, and he saw blood. He turned back, but there was no one with him. The armies were dead, and he alone faced this result.

He gripped his weapon, and bit his lip. He had to get into the city. The fight, though futile, must be fought. The day was lost, but he fought on. He turned once more, to the harsh suns, and he began to run, into the city. But, no matter how long he ran, the city remained distant, crumbling. He ran faster, but it remained distant. And now, the attacking army was moving from the gates, to confront him. They were not beings of flesh and bone, but shadows, illusions. They surrounded him, moving through him, sending him sprawling to the ground. His shots slid through them, his blade wisped like air, and they passed through him, leaving their chill.

He sprawled to the ground, crashing into the field. His hands landed in pools of blood, and in the reflection, he saw faces. Some he knew, some he didn't... but friends and family were there, and they were screaming in torment, dying. "No!" he grabbed his sword, rose, swinging the plasma blade at the Dark Ones, but they laughed at him-

A blinding light cleared the air, and a woman stood there, reaching to him-

But she was dying as well, bleeding from a wound that would not heal-

Even as she saved him, she toppled into the grasses, he limp hand in his-

"No!" he screamed, grabbing the blade again, but the blade was not corporeal now, it was a lash of energy, a wave of fury that he propogated, a weapon of pure power, from him and of him-

The Dark Ones shattered, one after another, but they kept coming. He stood alone, slaying them, but they did not falter. The dance continued as he felt himself removed from his body, drifting over the slain. All lay in wastes now, and he fought, not for survival, but for primal vengeance. The fight would never end, he could never escape. He was death now, laying waste to all that opposed him. But it was lost to him. He saved the damned, but they were already gone, and he was foreit-

"No!" Jason yelled as he jumped from his bed. The morning light was barely trickling through the window, and walked to it, putting his head into the open pre-dawn air. He breathed the air in, feeling it cleanse his lungs.

There was the sound of his door opening, and Cerris stated, "You're up? I heard you talking in sleep. You all right?"

Jason turned, blinking a little. "Yeah...just had one of those nightmares again. This time, it was here."

Cerris shrugged. "Well, huh. The only way out is forward. Come on, we're getting ready to head out to the city."

Jason nodded. He had taken a bath the night before, after loading up the equipment, and it had been his first in two days. Bah. If there's one thing I miss, it's showers. He switched into a set of cloth pants and pulled his jacket over his shirt. Cerris glanced at him and tilted his head, "That jacket will be stolen. It's fine leather."

Jason shrugged, "One thing I keep." He grabbed a hat and placed it on his head. "I'm ready."

They headed down the stairs, and met Riken out in front, throwing a saddle on a Rodan. He pulled the last strap taut, tied it off, and turned to face them. "Good to see you two made it. Thought you would sleep till dawn." His mouth pulled into a wry grin. "Damnation, I want a coat like that." he stated, pointing to Jason's. Riken gave the saddle a tug to test it, and satisfied, he commented, "Father is ready to go, and we've got him and mother saddles. We...walk."

Cerris glanced at Jason. "Hope you like walking."

"I certainly like running." he offered, a vague gallows reference. "This should be fun, comparitively."

Giral walked around the corner, "You boys ready?"

"Yes, father."

"Of course."

"As I'm going to be." Jason stated.

Giral glanced at him for a moment, quizzical. "Haven't heard that phrase in a while. Well, let's head out. We'll meet up with the others at the Junction, and caravan to the Capital." He climbed onto the Rodan, and stated something quietly to Hana. "Yah." he stated, and he tapped the Rodan. The parade of beasts headed out, pulling carts of grains and fruit.

Jason, Riken, and Cerris walked beside the last Rodan, keeping watch and holding idle talk, munching on pieces of tack from the bag a Rodan carried and drinking from canteens. The first sun began to rise over the horizon, and the small caravan moved onwards.

The suns were high in the sky now, and the heat was beating down upon the family's convoy. The Rodan's benefitting from the heat, were moving faster now, but the humans were sweating profusely in the glare. The road was dirt, and moved straight for miles upon miles, with small drinking pools at regular intervals, and lined with irrigation ditches and a small line of short trees of some foreign variety. Of course it's foreign, Jason. For Christ's sake... Jason had placed his jacket with the others on the Rodan, and was debating removing his pack and shirt, like some of the farm workers already had.

He took another swig from his canteen, and he asked the brothers, "Do you ever have winter around here?"

"Winter?"

"Cold season." Jason stated. "We have it half the damn year back home, but what I wouldn't give for a little snow right now." He wiped his brow.

"Oh, sure!" Riken stated. "They get the frozen rains in the Northern lands, but we only get down to chilly in here. But once, when I was little, we had snow." He thought. "That's why we're the best fertile lands around. Our growing season is nearly non-stop."

Cerris grunted in agreement, blinking in the sun, "I'm going into the Militia soon, and I'll probably be deployed up there, to the Frost Lands. There's problems with Barbarians and Creatures sometimes, and they rotate wall staff, to make up for the cold. Wouldn't mind some cold, myself. Probably get in trouble for playing in it. Always wanted to do that."

There was commotion up front, and the three fell silent. The convoy came to a halt. Cerris stated, "We should be near the Junction by now. Why would we stop?" He paused, drawing his sword. "Could be bandits."

Riken drew his own, and asked, "This close to the Junction? The Guard would take them apart!" Beneath his shirt, there were rows of scrolls in sockets.

Jason added, "Careful with those, Riken. Remember the boar." he took a sword from the Rodan's back.

Riken mimiced his voice, "Careful with those... phft! I can do them, if there's no boar on my chest!" The three ran up towards the front of the convoy, where Giral was waiting. Ahead, there was fire, and smoke was billowing towards the sky.

Giral shielded his eyes, his voice grave, "The Junction is gone. That's not bandits...the convoys are burning." He motioned to the servants. "Turn it around! We need to get out of here-"

Hana stated, from atop the Rodan, "To late." she pointed to the hill to the east, where several figures stood.

Giral pulled her from the Rodan and called out, "Get down!" Arrows rained amid the convoy, and servants were grabbing weapons. Some of the Rodans, stuck or spooked, began to run, their carts tipping behind them, flipping over. The arrows were burning, and the grains exploded into flames. Entire summers of work erupted into flame, and there was the thunder of feet on the ground.

Jason picked himself up from the ditch he had dived into, two arrows landing near him, hissing out in the water. Multiple men, in armor, rode on horse-like mammals, but with blunt faces. They held various swords and two had hammers. He stared for a moment. "Shit." he stated, running for the scattering convoy. Two workers were cut down by arrow fire from the hill, and the barrage continued.

Riken emerged from the tree line, holding one of his scrolls. "Incendio." he stated, and one of the horses burst into flames, hurling it's rider free as it screeched in agony. Riken duck back, uttering some curse at his bad focus. The rider landed with a crunch, his bastard sword spearing into the dirt near him. The first of the riders hit the road, and only then did the arrows halt. The cavalryman swung his sword, and a servant was beheaded. Cerris charged from behind a burning cart, hacking the horse's rear leg off, and the animal toppled over, but the rider rolled free, came up, and charged the farm boy. Jason jumped the cart, swinging his blade into the man, but it clanged from his crude armor.

The man whirled, and Cerris slammed his own sword into his helmet. The helmet exploded into blood and bone, and the dead man fell to the ground as Jason stumbled up. Another man was riding past, and another servant was cut in half. Cerris called to Jason, "Thanks! I owe you!" Jason saluted him and spun to engage the next challenger. Ahead, Riken stepped forward, reciting another scroll. The parchment burned away, and the armored man burst into flames, falling from his horse and crashing into the ground. But another was charging from around the corner, bearing down on Riken, sword raised-

"Immolatus!" Jason screamed, and the rider was hurled backwards, a black swell erupting on his armor, and he collapsed to the ground, shaking and shuddering. Smoke rose from the joints and the helmet, which rolled away. Ash spilled from the armor, and the armor glowed red hot. Riken glanced back, his jaw open. "Keep fighting!" Jason called, and Riken nodded, running for his father.

Three of the riders charged down on Jason, noting his last movement and the lethal spell. Jason faced the three men that charged from the fire, the sword primed in his hands. Time seemed to slow for him, adrenaline pumping. The sun was brighter, the sounds were sharper, the contrasts higher. He could feel his breath on his face, the bead of swear on his brow, the snorting of the horses, the clank of armor. He felt as though he was outside of himself, and he smiled, an inhuman, cold smile. The first rider was the closest, and Jason dived forward, the sword hooking out low, cutting thorugh the horse's muscle and bone. The beast was toppling, and Jason sprung from the roll, the sword flashing into the slot between the falling man's helmet and chest armor from behind. The head popped free, and Jason dived behind the falling animal as it crashed into the second horse. The third reared back, throwing it's rider free, while the second was knock clean.

Jason glanced down, saw the bastard sword, and grabbed it with his left hand, spinning it into reverse grip, like a knife. The two men were rising, charging him again, on foot. The first man was swinging, and Jason swung the reversed bastard sword up, bringing it horizontal across the downward chop. The swords clanged together, and Jason's other blade speared the man's gut, punching through the armor. The man fell back, taking the blade with him, and Jason whirled, bringing the horizontal blade to the second man, who was rising to attack. The helmet fell free, and this man fell as well, blood shooting onto Jason's clothes in massive spurts.

Jason continued his spin, grabbing the first sword again, and planted back into combat stance. There was silence. The convoy was burning, and a dozen armored men lay dead, along with nearly thirty servants. Giral, Hana, Cerris, Riken, and numerous servants were staring at him in this silence, and the archers were fleeing the ridge. Jason glanced at the fleeing men, pointed offhandedly, and closed his fist tighter on the pommel. There was a scream, and three archers toppled over, dead. He turned back to the family, lowering his hand, and stated simply, "I think they're gone."

Giral, holding a weapon of his own, shook his head. "I've seen this before. I've seen this all before." he glanced back a Jason, an unspoken thought on his lips. but instead, he stated, "Barbarians. But how did they get into the interior?" He glanced over the convoy. "Gather what we can, we move out. The injured can get medical help in the city, and we need to report this."

The others began to move out, and Jason felt his energy fading. "I feel sick." he stated, and then grew dizzy. The burning carts and trees spun around, the bodies blurring into a whirl. There was a rushing noise in his head, and his vision went black. Before he lost conciousness, he felt the sensation of falling towards the ground. He was out before his form struck the dirt.

Bump for comments.

OOC: This is a style I've never written before, so bear with me.
:shock: Very wow. Keep writing!

He's alive.

No one can survive that!

He did, sir. He survived, and he's coming to you for a reason.

Shit. I'm not around, then.

Sir, he's coming for you, and he knows you have the answers.

He's not ready for the answers.

He's still coming for them, sir.

Jason felt like he was drifting, in a sea of nothing. He wanted to speak, to touch, but he could not. He merely was, a lone man in the darkness, in the silence. But there was noise now, drifting in, becoming louder! He could here people talking, and other sounds... a fire, perhaps. "...so he'll live?" he heard Giral's concerned voice.

"Oh, yes. He's bouncing back faster than anyone I've ever seen. It's like he tried to pull to much power, like a mage that pushed to far. But it's not magic, that's what I'm telling you. He's not a mage, nor wizard or sorcerer. No arcane powers... but he definately burned out from something." This was a new voice, but gruff and concerned, all the same.

"You should have seen it, Feros. The way he moved, the way he fought... It was frighteningly reminiscient. Everything was right, the double blades, the reversed left hold, the speed, the powers... and then the grin he had, in the carnage. I felt like I was standing there, in Tir Ranor again, against the Hordes..." Giral sighed.

Feros replied, "Oh, I don't doubt it. Those were Barbarian Riders, and the servants are all ranting on and on about the way he slew them like animals." He paused, and Jason felt pressure on his forehead. "He's coming around."

Giral asked urgently, "Jason, can you hear me? Are you there?"

Jason struggled to form words, eventually managing a short mumble that may have been an affirmative. The darkness was lifting, becoming a fog, then a mist. His eyes flicked open, and he winced against the light. He coughed a little, and muttered his first words, "Is...is everyone alright?"

Giral was smiling, and he offered a quick prayer upwards before answering him, his voice grave, "Thirty-eight of my farm hands were killed. However, thanks to you, the rest, and my family, is safe."

The other man, a little older than Giral, and with a short stubbly white beard, and dressed in robes and clasps, stated, "Quite a piece of work out there, boy. The workers and his family are going on about how you did it. Seems you have some skill with a sword. When you recover, would you be interested in joining the Militia? With the Barbarians returning, we'd need a man like yourself."

Jason sat up, his eyes finally adjusted to the light. He was in a bed, and there was music drifting from downstairs. A fire burned in the corner. "Well, I've got to try to get home, sir. But if I can't, I'll let you know."

"Good enough, son. I was expected as much." He nodded to Giral. "I must be going." He left the room.

Giral turned back to Jason. "You are one unique piece of work." he shook his head. "Hana, Riken, and Cerris are out, in the town, attempting to sell the remaining grains. They wanted to stay, but there was nothing they could do. We're in the Red Rodan Inn, and we're in the Provincial Capital, Esper."

Jason could feel his legs aching, his back twitched a little, "It's warm in here. Is there a reason for the fire?"

"Well, you were very chill when we got here, so we had to warm you up. It's still late morning, so we can head out if you wish. I'll take you to see the Priestess."

"Please, Giral. I need to know what's going on, who I am."

"Very well." Giral pulled a set of clothes from the chest and tossed them to Jason. "Get dressed. She's the closest thing to royalty in this city."

The first thing that struck him about Esper was the way the light came through the buildings. The great walls, towers, and ziggaruts climbed into the bright sky, and the dual suns shone through them, striking from the adorned buildings and stonework, casting the entire city in golden light. Jason glanced about, from garden to open market to library, and then his eyes fixed on the minaret covered university and the grand ziggarut temple. It was tiered, like the ones he had seen in his books on the Aztecs, but this one was not for sacrifice, but for civilized religion, with waters flowing down it in grand falls, catching the lights. Several towers rose from the city, and there was a grand defensive wall, like a castle gate. The market was buzzing with merchants selling their wares, and he had to focus to avoid their sales pitches. Colors flashed about him, and the whole city felt alive. This is beautiful. He thought to himself, as a town guard patrol rounded a corner, moving through with practiced ease.

Giral glanced back to him, the old farmer dressed in an old but well kept suit of ceremonial armor, "Grand city, isn't it?" he asked.

Jason nodded, enthusiastically. "Yeah. Are we heading there?" he pointed to the Temple.

"Of course." Giral began to walk, and Jason scooted to catch up.

As they walked, Jason asked, "Are all the cities like this?"

"Mostly." Giral shrugged. "This place is one of larger capitals, but it can't compare to heart of the Empire. Been there a few times... amazing. Every building reaches for the heavens, gardens hang in the air, and the entire city is constructed of magics." He smiled, remembering something fondly. "I served there, under Valdis. I guarded the Priestess when she was but a child, and then, I defended it in the Darkness..." his smile fell, but he changed the topic. "This city never fell. The walls held them back. I remember the battles here, when this was one of only three cities free. He was here, too, He stood with me on that wall when the Dark Ones came." Giral pointed to a tower. "I've never seen a sword like he weilded. It was not physical... it cut the soul, the being. What we saw was not what was, and even the Dark Ones feared it's blade. I think it cost him to use it. I think he paid for his power, despite his valor."

Jason felt his voice catching. What happened to him? What will I learn?

Giral turned to him again, as they stood outside the base of the Temple. "Please, if she can return your memories, please tell me of him. I need to know how he died."

"I will."

Jason glanced at the Temple, and he gaped. At its base, it was over three miles wide, and the first tier was nearly ten stories tall, and it built from there. The waters fell into pools, and eternal flames burned. The great door before them lay open, and two guards stood stoicly beside it. Giral pressed forward, and Jason tore his gaze away to follow the farmer. He passed the guards with a wave to their immobile facade, and he stepped into the first sanctum.

The inside was lit by channels of mirrors and windows that bounced the light through the room. Fires burned as well, and the luminous moss was hung light lights. The air was full of incense, and waters flowed about in small rivers. People walked silently in robes, and there was a soothing chant from another room. Temple Guards, in ornate gold armor, leaned on walls, and large groups moved about in the gardens and rivers. Some were meditating, the children were praying, and the whole place was very tranquil. Jason felt a sudden urge to stop here, and think and ponder. But Giral was walking, still, leaving the vast chamber for a small room. Jason followed.

They stepped into a circular shaft that stretched to the open air, hundreds of meters above. The floor was separated from the walls and had guard rails, and a glyph was on the floor. Giral pressed an unseen button, and the glyph beneath them lit. The platform began to rapidly rise up the shaft. Jason gripped the rail, trying to peer below them. "What's lifting?" he asked.

Giral shrugged, the air tussling them both. "Magics. I don't really know."

Jason glanced back at the vast expanse beneath. "I hope they're good." he commented. The elevator began to slow, coming parallel to a door and drifting flush to it. Giral opened the door, and they entered this upper chamber.

Here, the Temple was smaller, and the rooms were by far more ornate. Grand mosaics covered the walls and ceiling. The floor was marble, and pillars stood, decorated in fine metals. The Guards were more alert here, and a staircase rose into another chamber, but Guards lined every step of the way, and a great door was at the top. Jason surveyed the room, and the Guard's watched him.

Giral spoke. "I am Giral, and I've come to talk to the Priestess."

One of the guards, more ornate than the others, with a sunburst medallion and a partisan, stated, "She's been expecting you. Who's he?" The officer pointed to Jason with the partisan.

"He's a friend of the family, and I think he was part of Allon Te'rysath's Unit." Giral stated, letting the words drop onto the stone walls.

Those words seemed to echo, and every guard in the chamber turned to Jason, their eyes wide. Some of them gripped their weapons tightly, and the officer stammered. "One of them? What is he-" he paused, and pointed to a soldier. "Summon the Priestess, immeadiately!" He turned to stare at Jason again as his aide ran up the stairs, his armor clinking.

"Yeah, hi." Jason stated, offering a half wave and innocent smile. "I don't really remember much-"

There was a rustle at the top of the stairs, and every guard snapped to attention. Giral bowed, and Jason turned, slowly. This has to be this Priestess. He glanced up, his jacket slipping back a little. Immeadiately, he was struck by her. She wore white robes and several slight cord links, probably symbols of achievement, and carried a golden book, emblazoned with glyphs. Her fiery hair was pulled straight back into a single tail, and she glanced down to see who was causing all this commotion, her eyes fierce-

Jason felt something click in his head. I know her! He had seen her before, in his dreams, but she was different. She had worn black combat armor, carried a gun. He could feel the code name in the back of his head, her designation for comms, "Aurora." he stated, even as her name came to his mind. "Priestess Ariana Karonis."

But, even for his surprise, hers was greater. The book fell from her hand, and her mouth fell open and her eyes widened in shock. "Jason!" she exclaimed. "You're alive-"

His reply came smoothly, like it had been praticed for years, "Of course I am. You think they could kill me that easily?" He closed his mouth with a snap. Where did I get that from?

The guards and Giral were now staring, and she was running down the steps. "How much do you remember?" she asked, concerned.

"Not much... I just-" he started.

The officer broke in, addressing the Priestess, "Ma'am, who is this man?" he looked worried, his weathered face creased.

She glanced back at him, giving up a slight smile, and then addressed the others. "Captain Jason Derval, of the Terran Republic, Temporal Expeditionary Forces, Second Army. Better known to you as Allon Te'ryath, the Reaver." As her words echoed from the chambers, there was a clattering of metal. The guards had prostrated themselves, throwing their weapons away in order to kneel lower. Giral bowed to him, and She turned back to him, "Welcome back, Jason."

tag

There is more coming.

I promise!

OOC: Without further adieu, the story continues...


Welcome back, Jason. The sound reverberated inside his mind, and he stared dumbly forward. That’s impossible! That would make as old as Giral! And I’ve never been to this world before! I’m no hero- But there was a little voice in the back of his head, one that spoke in slithering tones of reason. How could it be otherwise, Jason? You know the language; you know their magic. In some of your dreams, are you not here, in this place? This woman… you know her. How could this be false? He fired back with a biting rationalism, All I know is that some paints fit the painting. What the image is, I don’t know.

The confusion on his face must have been obvious, for the Priestess smiled. “Please, leave us.” She stated to the guards, who filed out.

Giral placed his hat back on his head and bowed to the Priestess, then turned to Jason. He nodded and stepped from the room. Jason turned back to the woman, “Ma’am, what is going on?”

“Please, call me Ariana.” Her eyes dipped a little, as if she was remorseful about something. Without the others around, she went a little limp, her perfect poise dropping out into a relaxed stance. She dropped back onto the stairs and tipped her head a little, thinking. She began to fiddle with the pages of the book in her hand. As Jason watched her, he realized something. She’s not much older than me. Maybe early to mid- twenties, at most twenty-six. She no longer looked like a Priestess, but a tired young woman, and she glanced up at him. He met her gaze, and he could see the scars on her soul, through her eyes. She has the dreams.

“Ariana… what do you dream of? Do you see the battles?” He asked, slowly at first, then with decision. “Does it keep you awake?”

She nodded solemnly. “Yes. Every night, it’s something new. Sometimes this world, sometimes others… always the inferno. I see pieces of the chaos, bits of the past, but I can’t get it all.”

“I thought you placed the spell. Can’t you undo it, so we can see what it is that waits in the dreams?” This was it. She was his key to his own locked mind. I need to know this.

“I wish. I’ve tried everything I know, but I can’t get past the block.” She lowered her head again. “It’s so blurry, and jumbled…”

Jason rubbed his face, pacing the chamber. “Hey, think about this. If this was true, then we’d be older. I’m twenty-two, but this was thirty-seven years ago! I’d be in my fifties! You’re what?”

“Twenty-four, Terran Standard Time.” She recited blankly. “Don’t ask me what Terran Standard is. Probably the time scale used by the mysterious Terran Republic.” She laughed a little. “And yes, I should be thirty-seven by the timeline we’ve seen. I am, in fact, but I have not aged. I don’t get sick, I don’t get hurt.” She looked away.

Jason spun on his heel. “You can’t be hurt?” He pulled his knife, slashed his own palm. “Like this? This insanity?” He watched the blood flow stop, and the wound heal on its own.

She winced and nodded, dragging her hand across the sharp edge of a statue. Two drops of blood fell, but the wound was already sealed over. “Like that.”

“Hah!” Jason declared at nothing, and dropped to the floor with a clatter. He sat up, glanced at Ariana. “You know, this is going to sound weird… but I’m really glad I’m not the only person with the fucked up life.”

She snickered a little. “Agreed. I don’t remember much, but I know I’m glad to see you again.”

He nodded. “Same. I… I saw you in my dreams. You were always there, but I thought you were dead in the end!”

She closed her eyes. “I was in a large chamber… hung from a wall… the Republic had written me off…” She focused, trying to conjure the memory. “You came for me. I remember that now! You were standing in the doorway, there were bodies everywhere, and you told the last guard, ‘Touch her again and I do it with a spoon’. Then you shot him.” She laughed a little, then tried to stop.

Jason found himself chuckling, even as he processed it. Why am I laughing? That’s terrible! He glanced at her, she glanced back, both embarrassed to find that barbarity in any way amusing. What happened to us, to make us that callous? He tried to break his gaze, but he couldn’t. She didn’t look away. “This is right.” He stated quietly.

There was silence for a few moments, and then Jason rose from the floor to sit next to Adriana on the stairs. He sat next to her, both of them staring forward. “Who are we?” one of them asked. Neither knew which.

Neither answered.

Jason asked, “How much do you remember? Even the blurry stuff…”

“There was a war, here, in this world. I remember standing at the altar, calling upon the gods to aid us. There was blast of fire, and a ship fell from the sky. You were on that ship, and you fought with us. Giral has helped me remember this. But after that, when we went back into the portal, into your world… I remember hellfire and destruction, hope and loss, and a thousand nameless battles. I see their faces at night. I remember fighting in a great Citadel, and then there is darkness.”

Jason offered his side. “I remember nothing of the war here, but I can see the battles after. I know names of hundreds of people. So many millions dead…” he swallowed. “Everyone fought. Every race, every species-“

“Yes! There were non-humans there! They fought with us!”

“And I remember arguing with powerful men and women, trying to convince them of something… and then there was the Citadel…”

The quartz ceiling lunged into the heavens to a single oculus, and spikes turned inward. Steel on steel, gunfire and plasma, screams of the dying and the cries of the victors. Terran Marines and Shadow Knights crashing into a wave of carnage, and he stood in the center, the blade slinging around him as bodies disintegrated in the vortex of energy. She was the, bending the room to their advantage, casting a pure lance into the darkness…

The armies were parting, and a single man sat on a black throne, laughing harshly. Four stood in the midst of the bodies, heaving. The staff crackled, the blade dripped. Two marines reloaded their rifles. The man laughed at them, laughed at his own end. He walked towards the man, his boots stepping on the crushed corpses of men and monsters. The blade rose to strike down this beast-

“No!” Adriana suddenly exclaimed.

The spell was broken, and they both glanced at each other, knowing they had seen the same vision. Jason declared suddenly, “What happened there decides what happen now. We made a choice there…”

“What choice, though?”

“I don’t know.” He wanted to scream, and his voice turned bitter. “Why did we forget? Is it better not to know?”

She shook her head. “It can’t be. For some reason, we’ve been drawn together again. Something is happening, and we have no answers!”

He scowled. “I need to go back.” Not back Home, to his family and school, but to this Terran Republic. “I think the Republic holds the answers we need.”

She nodded. “It has to. There is a portal in this very Temple, one that led to the Republic during the war. I have studied for years, attempted to learn its secrets again. I can open it, but I must keep it open. You must go through.”

“I think that was how we did it.” He glanced into his memories. “That’s sounds familiar to me.”

“It does to me as well.” She glanced at him again.

He tried not to return the glance, but he was pulled into it. Something bound them. Something he hadn’t known in a long time was barely pulling to the surface. A connection to another human being, another person as cursed as him. A fellow wanderer, then, and perhaps more…

He tried to clear his mind of these echoes of emotion and thought, but they were seeping into his conscious. His features softened, became vulnerable for a moment. “Adriana… how close were we?”

There was no need for an answer.

OOC: Without further adieu, the story continues...

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