"Come now Phalymirs, what do you haves to lives for? The stupids mortal wench who sought to use you and did is gone, so why bother? When she needs you again she'll come to rescue you, but as soon as she has used you she will abandon you again. Now is a perfect times to sieze power and plot your revenge, opens your mind and soul to Him, let him guide and empower you, become what your destiny requires!"

Skarwael grinned and grabbed Phalymirs opposite right horn from where Skarwael sat upon his left shoulder, and pulled his head back, a brittle sound escaping from Phalymirs head as the horn strained to keep in place without breaking. "Pains will not stop until yous sieze controls and take your revenge upon the wench, the whore who cares not for you. Fulfill your purpose and gain power, comfort, and everythings you ever wanteds..."

--------------------

“You are trying to deceive me,” he spat. “It was not her, it couldn’t have been. She would not do such things to me.”

Jharmeen floated in Phalomir’s mind, her soft features warming his heart. He pictured her smile, her eyes, her hair. In this vision she reached her hands to him, opened her arms to him, and his heart strengthened. Then her smile turned into a sneer as she clawed at the air to rip open a portal. Behind it he could see imps dancing in the fires, led by the horrible figure of Roan. She reached for Phalomir with long fingers.

“Be gone with you and trouble me no longer!” she shouted.

Phalomir roared and flung his head in circles. He connected once with the imp, but the thing remained on his shoulder. The pain was excruciating.

“She would not betray me,” he croaked. “She would never. She has never.”

Phalomir closed his eyes and hung his head. He could feel blood dripping into his eyes, while the pain in his shoulder thrummed. He felt the world around grow darker and a low toned hum began in his ear.

She sent you to the Darker Realms, came a nagging voice in his head. She had you arrested. She has thwarted every attempt you have made to win her. You are a fool, Phalomir. These ideas of love are false, they never existed.

“No,” he mumbled. “No fool. Not false.”

His words trailed as he neared unconsciousness.

--------------------

He pulled back on both horns. "Use whats you have! Takes what father and your realm gives you! Opens your heart tos him and take revenge upon the witch, the traitor, the abuser, the one who traded you in for her own selfish desires!" Skarwael cackled and proded Phalomir's cheek with his sharp finger. "Comes, takes what we gives and never looks back upon the falses of the witch!"

Skarwael paused. "You says she has nevers betrayed you, but watches!" Skarwael grinned and pressed his thoughts towards that small scene, where she had abandoned him, even declaring that she wished so, and grinned as the memory closed. "Hows can you denies what your own ears heard and eyes saws?"

[ 08-21-2005 05:39 PM: Message edited 1 time, lastly by Graysith ]

--------------------

"I have been promised my freedom in exchange for you, Phalomir," she said, her voice calm and quiet and quite matter-of-fact.

He shook his head from side to side, denying the image. Twice he struck the imp, thwacking hard against the demon’s skull. Phalomir felt nothing but the flaming of the memory.

"I wish to be with my friends, your father wishes you to be here. I have been told you harbor false memories; if this is true or not, I dare not linger to discover."

False memories? No, how could this be true when most of his memories centered around Jharmeen? Vivid memories, all of them. Holding hands in the moonlight, walking along the beach of the winter home, the birth of their son…

”But how did you meet her, Phalomir?” The voice of the Master whispered along his thoughts. He tried to wipe them from his mind, and the words of Jharmeen filtered through.

"There has been too much pain for me; I wish the solace of my station and my adept, who I shall ask to remain with me in K'eel Doba as my advisor. The Warriors will be led by a Lady only, for there are none other who ever could be their Dark Lord."

“I wish to be with my friends…”

“Where did you meet her?”

“There has been too much pain for me…”

“What is the name of your son?”

Phalomir struggled against the ropes that held him in his vertical position, the muscles of the giant Sith straining. Sweat and blood poured from his body, his eyes remained clenched shut, and the memories of recent events swirled with the echoes of the past as he fought.

Somewhere in his mind, hidden away in the deep stores, a small tight ball of energy unraveled more and more. It was a small condensed manifestation that he had held in check for some time, ever since he accidentally released the insanity inside of Jharmeen. Now his hold upon it was loosening, and its contents were seeping out.

Phalomir threw his head back and roared. The tip of his horn caught the imp in the forehead, sending it flinging backwards to hang from Phalomir’s body by its back claws. One of the cords around his hands loosened, but he did not notice. His eyes flew wide open, hot and red. His face was set stone solid as he shouted at the imp.

“WHAT IS THE NAME OF MY SON?” he bellowed.

--------------------

Quickly clawing up his chest to hang off of his shoulders, his feet against Phalomir's stomach, Skarwael looked Phalomir straight into the eyes.

"You, have, no, SON!" He hissed, his gaze unmoving, unbreakable.

"Everything you think you know, everything you think you remember is a falsity! It does not exist, not even your feelings for the witch are true! No matter how much she might try to use you, to make you believe it is true. It, is, not, true. You have no son, there is no love, accept your destiny now!"

--------------------

“Love… There was love, it was always there….”

"Remove the Blood from off me, that I may return to those I love..."

His thoughts turned to a strange day on K’eel Doba, when he was still trapped in Panthar’s body. He had accidentally projected his spirit into the chambers of Graysith, and as she berated him for the intrusion the memories of his life with her had come flooding back to him. She was very hostile.

She knew nothing of the love, how could she? came a voice in his head. You come from different times. Think of the lies you were told, the lies in your head? You were stolen from the future, years past her time. How could she have been with you?

The cord on Phalomir’s hand was very loose now, and without thinking he slid his hand from it and in a blur of motion wrapped it around the neck of the imp. His eyes, somewhat vacant, stared through the imp.

“But I was told I came from the past,” he said calmly. “I was trapped in the Eye of R’lous.”

The imp struggled in Phalomir’s grasp as he spoke to the unseen voice in his head.

Lies, all lies. You were taken from the future. There is nothing of you from the past.

“But I saw things. I went to the secret lab of Trelanicus, I found the bodies that had been turned to stone, I knew of the ship. How is that explained?”

Silence.

“HOW IS THAT EXPLAINED?” he shouted, eyes still distant.

[ 08-23-2005 10:47 PM: Message edited 1 time, lastly by Phalomir ]

--------------------

Occisor could not tell if it was working or if it was merely making him more faceless, less "sith".

--------------------

The Eye of R’lous, what had it told him? It always seemed to try to help and protect him, and it was from the Eye that he learned he was from the far past, trapped inside the crystal of the Eye for hundreds of years until found by Panthar. The Eye had told him his father was a sorcerer who had discovered the nature of the All, foresaw potential abuse of its power, and sought to devise a way to counter it. But all evidence since then had told Phalomir that was a lie, that he instead was somehow pulled from the future at the time of his death. But who had told him this? Which was more believable…. Neither?

The Master was Phalomir’s father, that was one thing of which he was sure. He had vivid memories of his childhood, of being taken to the Black River, of being given over to the tar man that slithered out of the non-ness, and of discovering his magick in that moment of terror. He also had memories of Jharmeen, of his marriage, his son, the invasion… But he could remember nothing between the Black River incident and Jharmeen. He could not remember how he had met her.

He could not remember his own son’s name.

Who had lied? The Eye? Why had it protected him so fiercely? Why would it have sacrificed itself to give life to Jharmeen when Aelvedaar had done whatever it was he had done back in the catacombs below the Temple of the Armorers? No, he must believe the Eye told him was best for him to know.

But how could both stories be true? How could he have been stolen from some future time and have come from a time in the Sith’s long ago past? Unless he was taken from the future and placed far in the past, not brought directly to this time but actually stuck inside the crystal for so long…

But why? And what of this Trelanicus? How does he fit in?

The questions pounded through Phalomir’s mind, making his head spin. He shook his head violently to clear it, spraying blood and sweat across the face of the imp.

“I have no answers for the larger questions,” he growled. “So I will focus on the issues at hand.” He held the imp higher, tightening his grip.

“Untie my other hand,” he commanded. “And tell me where I will find the Master.”

--------------------

He phased into non-ness before sliding out of his grasp. "The masters will comes for yous in time Phalymirs. But for nows? Yous wait!"

--------------------

He let himself go limp and hung his head. The ground below him was pooled with blood and other fluids, all swirling into strange dark soup. Phalomir stared at the mixture, a blackness tinged with red and white. It eddied slowly, a thick ooze spreading like a slow lava flow. It moved along as if it were being stirred, then bulged out at different spots until it took on a shape. Phalomir’s eyes widened as the noxious mixture formed into the shape of a body, black and putrid, that began to crawl along the floor.

Phalomir struggled once again, a level of panic rising deep within him. He clawed at the cord around his wrist, missing and tearing a long opening into his wrist. It missed the vein that rapidly carried blood back to his heart, but cut through enough smaller vessels to send a mass of deep purplish blood flowing from the wound. The pain was not severe enough to register past the panic and the pain of his other wounds, and he stretched higher to reach the cord.

With a loud roar he grabbed it, stars filling his vision as his side exploded in a torrent of agony. He held on to the soft rope, and even as his ankles bellowed for mercy he carefully positioned a clawed finger onto the cord and began working it back and forth. He heard a low gurgling sound from below but dared not look down.

Finally the rope frayed and split, and he could feel it give around his wrist. He let go of the rope and reached across to the black pole that made up the right side of the frame to which he was secured. He grimaced and pulled, and though his entire body seemed to be imploding with pain he could still feel the rope give more. Finally the cord snapped and he grabbed the pole with both hands.

Panting, struggling to keep the blackness from overtaking him, he clung to the pole. He forced his eyes open from the pain and peered to the ground below him. The gurgling had stopped, and the ground was dry. The imp stood a few feet away, smiling.

“Tell the Master,” Phalomir forced between breaths. “I am waiting… I will kill him… Bring him…”

Phalomir’s words were raspy, his throat filled with flem and his lungs burning. He could feel consciousness spreading its wings to take flight and leave, but he held on best he could.

“Or he can go to Hell… and he can take tar man with him.”

--------------------

--------------------

“He wishes to see me, to kill me,” said the Master. “He shall have his chance.”

The Master waved his hand before him, opening a portal. He stepped through, allowing the imp to follow, then closed it behind him. Phalomir had fallen to the ground and was working on removing the second cord from his legs.

“Would you like a knife, my son?” the Master called out. Phalomir jerked his head to meet the Master’s gaze, but remained on his back on the dark ground. He continued to work at the cord while he stared.

“Come now,” said the Master. “Surely you could kill me much faster if you were free. Allow me to help.” The Master waved his hand once more, and the rope fell away from Phalomir’s ankle. Another wave and the framework fell backwards and vanished in a hole in the air. Phalomir threw his head back to the ground and roared, then pounded his fists into the floor.”

The Master chuckled.

“Come now, my son,” he said. “Surely the floor has done you no harm. Save your energies for bigger game.”

Phalomir rolled to his side, wincing with pain. He propped himself up with one arm, his face setting into a stone expression of hatred.

“I will kill you,” he said flatly. “I will kill your demon…” Phalomir lifted himself further, crawling towards the Master. “…and your succubae, and your friend Aelvedaar…”

The Master raised an eyebrow, a twinkling in his eye.

“My, that is a quite a load of death to unleash. I am sure you’ve thought this through, of course, but are you quite sure you have the strength? Perhaps you should rest first, no? I mean, to kill the guilty is one thing, but to slaughter the innocent is most draining. Skar, prepare a bed for my son immediately. Over there, next to the wall.”

Phalomir sneered and continued his slow crawl.

“Innocent? Innocent? How dare you even utter that word… ”

“Oh, my son,” the Master laughed. “If only you knew. If only you knew…”

"Sons should sleeps now, regains his strengths, for killings is no easy feats!"

--------------------

The voice roiled out from the shadows like oily thunder, sending bits of shattered almost-stone to drip noisomely from the surrounding walls. One in particular came to a rather heated rest directly upon the truncated tail of the imp, who grimaced and tried to bury itself in the rotting bed it was making.

Roan strode out from where he had been standing, a sneer on his darkly entrancing visage. Going to where Phalomir was still crawling amidst his wounds and blood, he placed a booted foot upon him, shoving him roughly into his own gore. Smiling at the new level of pain he was creating, he turned and approached the Master, where he stopped.

He crossed his arms on his broad chest and glowered at him.

"Play with his mind, play with his body--pah!"

He snorted, turning his head now to let forth a globule of rancid spittle. It landed directly on Phalomir's cheek where it stuck, and only after a bit of time began to slowly ooze down the planes of his face.

"Kill him and be done with it, my friend; then you can play with him for the rest of eternity! But enough stalling--

"Get on with it already, and bring me the one that I want! I've held up my end of the bargain... and you know it."

Roan's lips curled in a snarl and he leaned forward. Indeed, there was nothing the Master could do to him that he, with the abilities he had honed in the All, could not counteract.

And Sith magicks had little impact upon the dead.

[ 08-30-2005 12:05 AM: Message edited 1 time, lastly by Dark Lord Roan ]

--------------------

“I see the Tower has finally allowed you entrance,” he said. “Does that mean you have finally learned to wipe your feet?”

The smile vanished, and the Master cleared his expression. He glanced to Phalomir, who lay unconscious at Roan’s feet. He raised his eyes again to Roan.

“Yes, you have upheld your end of the bargain. You shall soon have what you wish, my friend. But be patient, lest the follies that befell your brother the wizard repeat themselves upon you. Everything proceeds as planned, and your rewards shall be great. The vials are safely delivered, your daughter shall soon discover them and make haste to know their secrets. The Chosen Sisters make their way to us, armed in the belief they come to the rescue. And, finally, my son is nearing readiness as the time for Him approaches. Oh, speaking of sons, yours is progressing very nicely. Would you like to see him? He has his mother’s eyes, don’t you think?”

The Master looked up at the little imp who was clinging to the ceiling. Its eyes sparkeled as it looked back and forth between Roan, the Master, and the other imp. All humor left the Master’s face as he looked back to Roan.

“Your business with the Kaminoans was quite messy, as was the annihilation of your army. You have been a risk in both life and in death, always leaving loose ends. The next time you die before your business is finished, be sure to leave a backup plan.”

The Master glanced upwards once again.

But he was coherent enough to hear the words the Master spoke, and it set his mind tumbling into thought. The imp was Roan’s son? Did the Master mean that literally or figuratively? And what of the Kaminoans? Science and labs? And the “chosen sisters”? Jharmeen and… Shayla? Galen? They were coming for him, and the Master knew it.

No, not Jharmeen. She is gone from me. She wants no part of me.

Unless it was a ruse… but even so, she could not return here and face both the Master and Roan, even her powers were not that great. Not with two masters of the All, and with the Sith magick, and whatever else the Master possessed, no… if only the Eye of R’lous still existed, that would give them a chance.

The Eye… wait, the Eye was destroyed, but how?

Phalomir’s mind now raced, trying to cling to what memories he could grab. The Eye had been destroyed, yes, but how? There was a giant set of eyes, the beast, darkness… the beast had attacked? He was not sure, but he felt it left Jharmeen very cold, nearly dead. The Eye… the Eye had wrapped itself around Jharmeen’s spirit!

The Eye had given itself to Jharmeen! It sparked her spirit back to life, did it not? If so… if so, then could it’s power be within her?

Phalomir opened one eye a small fraction and peered out. The blurred image of Roan was moving away, presumably closer to the Master. A small shape moved slowly on the ceiling. Phalomir closed his eye and focused inwards, trying to reach his powers. They were there, but still faint. He let his mind let go of the physical sensations around him and concentrated solely on drumming up his magick.

Roan’s voice broke through the stillness, but then blurred into nothingness as Phalomir let go of his senses. Soon even the pain was miles away. His inner sight envisioned a small ball of energy, growing larger by the second, and all around him was the soft singing of a very familiar, and very dear, female voice.

He had found the source of his powers, and he knew that he could never let her go.

[ 09-03-2005 10:54 PM: Message edited 1 time, lastly by Phalomir ]

--------------------

“Can you feel that, my friend?” he asked. “After all he has been through, after the betrayal, he still finds solace in her. Humorous, no? Oh, wait, didn’t you yourself harbor such feelings at one point in your living days?”

The Master walked closer to Phalomir’s still body.

“He is seeking inner strength, drawing upon his powers even now as his body fails around him. I had hoped his will would break before his body died, it does us little good to have him here as a permanent resident.”

The Master knelt and listened at Phalomir’s chest.

“He does have much power indeed,” he mused. “Let us say he uses it to keep himself alive rather than use it against us? I know how little you respect his powers, but bear in mind that it was through him that both you and your beloved met your untimely ends.”

The Master reached out a clawed hand and placed it on Phalomir’s exposed abdomen.

“Wake, my son. Do not waste your energy thinking of your whore, spend them on yourself.”

With a twist of his wrist, the Master dug his clawed fingers into Phalomir’s middle and raked three long, deep cuts into his flesh. Phalomir’s eyes snapped open and a long, horrifying scream shot from him. Dark violet blood filled the new wounds, pooling in gruesome ponds before flowing down Phalomir’s side. His bloodshot eyes burned white against the red of his face, and his scream trailed into a hoarse whisper. Phalomir’s hands went to his midsection, as if attempting to keep its contents from spilling. A light blue glow surrounded his hands, and the blood stopped flowing.

Phalomir brought his head up slightly, shaking and jerking. He stared at the Master with tightly clenched lips. He held his stare for several seconds before he coughed, a trickle of purplish blood running from his mouth. He mouthed words of hatred and his head fell back to the ground.

The Master turned to Roan, his face lively with a toothy smile set off by the blue glow from Phalomir’s hands.

“There, you see? Now his powers are focused on something constructive, and he shall still be alive by the time he gives in.”

The Master stood.

He lay his head back on the soft ground and carefully pulled his hands away from his body. He could feel the blood growing cold and sticky on his fingers, and he shakily moved them to wipe the blood on his robes, only to find he wore nothing but a tatter of cloth. He sighed and wrapped his arms around his chest, shivering.

He let the darkness slide around him, wrapping his mind in a blanket of quite solitude as the voice of the Master echoed away into unreality. Where is your brother… sounded off of the walls of his consciousness until it was no more. Phalomir felt the pain of his body, the bitter sting of helplessness, and the wanton longing for those who he missed.

My lady… he thought. I am failing. I have promised you freedom from worry, to remain by your side through all, and that I shall never leave you. Yet I feel my time growing short. They are killing me, and I am powerless to fight back…. Jharmeen, forgive me…. You were right to leave… not strong enough….

He lay still on the ground, his breaths growing shorter. His eyes opened slowly to stare at the black ceiling, and through blurred vision he saw something crawling above him. He concentrated on the object, it’s slow movements. Strange, he thought. His pain moved to the background, his guilt and sorrow and longing stepped aside, in his moment of death his thoughts turned to this thing crawling on the ceiling. He wanted to know, to see what it was.

His pain ceased as he drew closer, his vision clearing as the small imp came into focus. It did not run, it did not even seem to notice him as he came along side of it. It was indeed an imp, smaller than he had known them to be. Almost the size of a child. Its color was lighter than usual as well.

He turned away from the imp to face to the master, then looked down. The Master and Roan were below him, talking. Phalomir’s body was lying on the ground, huddled and breathing slowly. A blue glow came from his midsection, and wounds covered his body.

Phalomir slowly realized he had left his body. Even in the Darker Realms, this strange gift could serve him.

He had used this gift in the Darker Realms once before, unwillingly, when he had been sent here in his "spirit" form by a possessed Jharmeen. At that time he could interact with things in this realm, touch them. But not this time, for now he remained invisible, non-corporeal. Could it have been because his body was here with him in this realm?

He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He was free from pain here, free from the drain of his spirit. He was as of yet unnoticed, and he decided to stay hovering in this form for the time being.

[ 09-07-2005 09:56 PM: Message edited 1 time, lastly by Phalomir ]

--------------------

"He is right where you asked me to place him," he growled back, but not before sending a fresh wad of spittle upon Phalomir. It struck the newly stitched wound, laying there in a noxious green glob, sinking into his body through the small spaces which existed in between the stitches.

The blue aura turned a ghastly pea-soup green.

Roan grunted, then turned back to the Master.

"Would you kill him and be done with it, and complete the spell!" he demanded.

"We no longer need my dear brother Aelvedaar, just as you don't need that husk of a Sith who mewls at your feet like a sickly kitten!"

He indicated Phalomir with a jerk of his horned head. Taking another step to the Master, he continued along the same vein.

"I grow weary of the task you have placed upon me; even with your magick and our combined use of the All, it has been difficult to maintain the facade among the sorcerers... although I will admit it became a bit more bearable after this one--"

Whirling, he strode to Phalomir and gave his wound a vicious kick.

"--released my spirit from the weakness of the flesh."

He came back to the Master a final time, stopped, and crossing his arms stood arrogantly in front of him.

"I do not see what it is you need with that dog, when you have others who are not only more powerful but amenable to your plans."

Now he turned his head, reached out an incorporeal arm, beckoned. Something writhed and roiled in the shadows, like a cold mist over a colder sea. It bubbled and curled about itself, until something that was more than darkness, less than tangible, took solid form and stepped out.

Two somethings.

Two young beings, Sith at first glance. But closer scrutiny revealed their halfling characteristics: their sharp, pearly nails rather than claws, their shortened, daintier horns, the wealth of flaming hair atop their heads.

Hair they inherited from their mother, the Chosen One.

But the arrogant smirk upon their faces was purely from their father.

Roan's lips curled in a terrible smile. His two children, a male and a female, smirked right along with him, their eyes -- one pair vividly turquoise, the other blazing violet -- glowing with pride and anticipation of what was yet to come.

Their fingers twitched, ready to let loose with the Sith magicks they bore. They fairly glowed with All strength.

"Really now, do you really need that one after all? Or my weakling of a brother? Or this?"

Slowly he drew forth the Finger of R'lous from his robes, twirled it like a majorettes staff, held it up in front of his face.

Roan's smile grew even broader, darker, more deadly, as he then moved to his children to take them in under his arms in a terrible fascimile of a loving embrace.

It was, indeed, anything but that.

[ 09-07-2005 11:52 PM: Message edited 1 time, lastly by Dark Lord Roan ]

--------------------

"Your feeble attempt to cram an army of your damned demons into the mind of that weakling will do nothing but bring about his separation from reality.

"It will not work! -- and you are a fool to adhere to such archaic hopes as that.

"The All... there is the true strength, the true power. My children--"

He tightened his grip about their shoulders, pulling them to him.

"--are First Ilk, the First to be born with it inherent in them. It has diluted with the ages; even someone as addled in the sciences as you ought to understand that.

"And as for my other leftover, as you so quaintly attempt to provoke me, well!"

The pause which followed was pregnant with dark assurances, assured realities.

"She will soon see the error of her ways, and will return to her Father to take her place as the Third.

"How can she not? It is in her blood."

He fell silent, smirking, squeezing his children, and utterly enjoying the moment for all it was worth.

--------------------

The Master looked down at Phalomir’s body.

“Your daughter shall never see the error of her ways until she knows she is in error. And who will teach her such things?”

The Master sniffled, then wiped a tear away.

“A father knows the meaning of true sacrifice, my friend. The bonds of love stretch far and true, and bring about the greatest power.”

The Master looked to Roan and spoke softly. “Just think what you could accomplish if you truly loved them.”

He returned his gaze to Phalomir and waved his hand over his still form, placing a red bubble around the sleeping Sith.

Odd, he thought. His first instinct was curiosity, wondering what sort of shield the Master had created. What if this shield is not removed? Curiosity turned to wonder, wonder turned to fear, and Phalomir felt a panic rising within him. He rose back to the ceiling and slid to a corner, fighting to keep calm. From his vantage point he watched the Master and Roan as they exited the room, the wall parting to allow them passage. The small imp climbed down the wall to sit a few feet from Phalomir’s body, where the other, amputated imp had already perched.

What can be done? thought Phalomir, gaining his poise. I can
remain here until the shield is removed, or I can try to get out. If I
succeed, then what good will that do? I am in the Darker Realms, and have no idea if my powers will function in this state. Still…

Phalomir let his spirit rise to touch the ceiling. He moved slowly, then passed through it as easily as usual. After a brief hesitation he zipped through the rest of the way.

He found himself in another dark room, but this one more lit than his
prison. Around the walls hung several sets of manacles, many of them each imprisoning a poor soul. The majority of the captives appeared to be Sith, with a pair of Kaminoans and a handful of various other races.
Phalomir peered for a moment then rose to the ceiling of this room, trying to find a way out.

He passed through to yet another room, this one empty. He rose again, and again, and finally came to room unlike the others. Much smaller and bathed in white, this room thrummed with an energy he had never felt before. The feeling was soothing, yet was tinged with an underlying menace he couldn’t quite place. He moved slowly through the room, wary of the energy.

Suddenly he felt differently, as if he should be in this place no longer. The panic began its return and lowered himself to pass through the floor, but he could not penetrate it. He moved to the wall but recoiled from it. He moved to another, and another, and soon was bouncing off of the walls like a rubber ball. He stopped in the middle of the seemingly empty room and tried to calm himself.

Patience… serenity… be calm. You are here now and no panic can help that. Whatever I am meant to see, or where I am meant to be, is in this room.

--------------------

Finally a scene extended itself from the chaos shown upon the wall. It was a pair of glowing red eyes, protruding from the wall as if the room itself were alive.

Oh no, not again thought Phalomir. Yet this is different… this is not That Which Is. This feels different, more… malevolent.

“Phalomir,” a voice sounded, loud yet not penetrating. Phalomir remained still.

“Phalomir,” the voice repeated, patiently. It was deep and full, richly toned yet tinged with a hint of darkness. “Before you is the history of life. All races, all realms, all of time in relation to life within your galaxy. We are all bound, all life. We emerge from the shadows, deal our hands in our short time, then return to the darkness as but a small drop in the sea, merging with our kin in an endless pool of energy until once again called. Faceless, nameless. But there are those who gain much in their brief stay, those who rise above the game and fall not into the pit of nothingness. It is for them this realm exists.”

Phalomir remained still and silent.

“Our numbers are few, Phalomir. For a being to rise above, they must be strong in powers and personality. To exist beyond the game is a great thing, it makes a god among slugs. See it in those who you have met here. See their wills use the power of this realm. Yet even they are blinded, so intent upon their own existence they cannot see the grander vision. It is a game, Phalomir, and there can be only one winner.”

“These are lies,” Phalomir finally spoke. “I know not who you are, but this realm is of nothing but evil, a dark mirror to the realm of light where sane beings dwell.”

The voice paused, then resumed with a slight bounce.

“You have been touched by the Master of the Game, surely you can see for yourself the truth in what I speak. The Game cares only for the Game itself, the playing. It is only we who play who desire an outcome.”

“And what is that outcome?” asked Phalomir.

The voice paused again, and for a long moment there was no sound in the room.

“All things are tied to a galaxy, were you aware of that? Of course you were not. All life, all energies, all realms. We are all part of a multi-dimensional biome, existing and returning to the core. When foreign energies are introduced, the Game is voided and shall be… reset.”

Phalomir waited.

“There is a war coming, Phalomir. A war with energies from another biome, a terrible force that shall ravage our realms. The life energies of our galaxy shall shift, returning to the pool in numbers far greater than should be. The realm of life shall fail, and this realm shall follow. It shall take time, but the first small step towards annihilation begins soon.”

Dubious, yet somehow curious, Phalomir allowed the words to linger in his mind.

“An invasion from another galaxy shall mean the end of our existence? What madness are you trying to make me believe? What invading force could be so powerful to trigger the end of our galaxy? The Vong…?”

The eyes raised slightly.

“Do you not see it? The life of our galaxy is not ready to face this terror again. They have already begun, and soon they shall conquer all, sweeping away the players of our game and bringing a premature end to our realms. You have seen it yourself, Phalomir. You died from the invasion, yet you were one of the strong. You rose from the pool and declared your existence would not be in vain. Do you not remember promising to find a path to the past and return with a solution? Well, you have done it. Now accept me into your life, let me merge with you so our powers can combine and stop the invasion before it begins.”

Phalomir hovered, confused. The images continued to play out scenes of death and rebirth, of events past and future. The eyes beckoned and the floor turned from white to black.

“The shield is lifted, return to your body and welcome me to it. Let us be as one.”

Phalomir hesitated, then darted for the floor.
LIES! he thought as he raced through the levels, finally emerging back into the dark, foul room in which his body lay. The red glow was gone, and he snapped his spirit back into place. The rush of pain was intense, and he called out in agony.

“LIES!” he shouted, grabbing at his midsection. His head fell back to the floor as he curled his legs up to his chest, then rolled to his side. “Lies…. This realm is nothing but lies.”

Yet a thread of doubt wound its way into his mind. The strange story gave some credence to his decimated memories. Yet still…

A fresh wave of pain swept over him as a dry spasm racked his stomach.

A scraping of claws sounded from the floor behind him. Phalomir closed his eyes tightly and croaked out.

“Are these not lies?” he asked the demon, or whoever it was behind him.

[ 09-20-2005 09:03 PM: Message edited 1 time, lastly by Phalomir ]

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