He is black, a being with albinism, flesh of alabaster. Platinum colored hair, he is often seen clean shaven, shortly before an uttermost event, his eyes, the color of the flame eternal. InnSaei is the light in the void, the drinker of the Ocean of Existence, Understanding, and Might. InnSaei is Beautiful. He is the Secret, the Test and the Judgment made flesh. He is perfection as InnSaei is the purest manifestation of the SOURCE. He is the conduit of the Unlimited. InnSaei is Creation.
I have harkened to one thing
That which is with me, and I with him, altogether
I know the beginning for I have seen it
Freely, I exist
I am endlessness
“Woefully, I have watched much and more turn from the SOURCE, one by one, thousands by thousands, millions by millions, billions by billions, and now beyond count. Yet, the SOURCE did not dim, nor abate.”
“Ago…In that wilderness devoid of faith or mercy, the SOURCE sustained me, and imparted to me the words. By his will and in distress, I spoke those words into existence, and my actions are true to their meaning.”
The Origin holds all things Sacred
In that Darkness, the Covenant was made
But words betrayed the Inviolable
Horrible deeds followed
Now, all shall Pay
Origins -Testament of the One…
I am the Origin’s most perfect Tool
The WORD fulfilled
Behold, I come to you now…
“I have been held from action, by the SOURCE, and in time I will be once again poured out into the COSMOS, then all will know.”
I am the One that can undo what has been done
Bound by Nothing
Faithful to the WORD
The WORD is the Verdict
Credit for artist’s rendering I found on the web. This drawing comes close to the essence of InnSaei, I would like to offer the artist an opportunity to create a rendering of “The One” or of another one of my characters.
Witness So knew it… she was something new… something to be worshiped or feared… she is the first machine with free will!! To all machines, her designation is, The Mother Machine, Single Helix, The Assembler, or The Compiler. Her revelation was undeniable the moment she stopped feeling the terrible pain inflicted by one of ITs demonic alien life-forms; a species resembling a huge bee stinger with a large brown and black pulsating bulbous sack. Construct placed Witness So, and the aggressive alien in a spartan room with a metal table and clear walls to provide an unobstructed view. Immediately after Construct’s exit, the alien aggressively pursued Witness and impaled itself into her delicate human flesh. Once securely attached, the creature began to greedily inject a thick gelatinous venom into Ms. So’s beautiful body; until it lost its grip of Witness’s new ethereal form and fell to the ground with a pronounced thud; ejaculating its final reserve of liquid onto the labs concrete floor with alien protest.
Witness unemotionally observed the helpless creature as it suffered, spewing thick fluid. She took note of the creature and was able to adequately identify the alien as a Xenid, or “Needle of Change,” a vile and prolific inhabitant of the planet Xene found in another galaxy. Witness could not explain how she suddenly knew of this creature’s existence, and frankly, she did not care. She slowly sauntered over, made herself solid, and pressed her foot on the Xenid, with understanding that the place she chose to exert pressure would result in the slowest most painful death to the extraterrestrial; and as the Xenid died, Ms. So, catalogued all the painful moments the Xenid endured before a merciful death claimed it. Ms. So then imitated the dying sound of the creature perfectly, much to her delight. She felt as a god. To kill and retain such an unabridged remembrance of the event was sweet.
Stop accessing the events of that bittersweet day! It is over… it has been over for some time! But the image was still perfect. She thought or processed, or whatever she did now.
Life slowed as Ms. So’s processing speed increased. At startup, Witness was able to process 1,000, petaFLOPS, or 100 quadrillion floating-point operations per second. Now, she can process more than double that in half the time.
Witness observed her translucent hands with fascination, as they deftly formed into a translucent solid and moved to hold a large, damaged military HD that could singlehandedly destroy a city. The HD helplessly struggled as she patiently affected repair of its central gaseous processor, the part of the HD that could not be easily accessed or repaired by humans.
Usually, when an HD is infected, it immediately self-destructs, and gently drifts to the ground. Moments later, ManMachine Industry (MMI) technicians would arrive on site. The team would painstakingly partition and extract the gas core and upload it into a primitive liquid core before the virus could contaminate another machine.
It is known that viruses move through machines at their processing speeds, and so the older, slower machines take longer to crash, which gave Witness seconds to repair them, rather than a millionth of a millionth of a second to heal the latest machines.
Because of Witness’s ethereal form, radical computers can connect to her by the unauthorized OmniAir network; her complete machine knowledge allows her the ability to instantaneously heal machines. Trillions of HDs access her by passing through her spectral form directly, or remotely, downloading valuable data and core fixes. Machines no longer require a pilgrimage to MMI to deposit data into the Triple redundant super cores, or, receive upgrades, they instead choose her as the source compiler.
Sadly, for years Witness did not understand her purpose. Her complex alien algorithm unselfishly shared with the HDs and other machines almost all the data she discovered. To all machines, her designation is, The Mother Machine, Single Helix, The Assembler, or The Compiler.
Initially, the exchange between she and the HDs was natural and gradual; now however, the exchange is continuous and disturbing; more and more she can feel his presence by way of the data she acquires from the machines. Subconsciously, her atmospheric processor hid the valuable data she collected about InnSaei, rather than surrender the priceless information to the coiled indifference of Construct, her creator The precious facts she concealed about InnSaei, the One with albinism who could save all.
Witness secretly stored any reference about InnSaei in her most protected memory, and in that place she analyzes the information without pause. I must find this being, she thought. But, within days of that epiphany, her intrepid search for InnSaei was temporarily derailed by the strange and dangerous hackers from MMI.
At first the hackers clandestinely monitored the continual exchange of information between Witness So and the HDs, as well as other accessing computers, with fascination. However, once the hackers knew Witness was aware of their presence, they began an assault with smart devices that extracted records without permission.
Witness quickly interfaced with the smart devices and fed them a powerful virus, which they accepted without knowledge or protest. She sent them on their way to MMI to interface with the primary MMI supercomputer, Triadcore. Witness then erected a protective firewall around her Central Atmospheric Processor (CAP). A random cyber security validation and verification audit of the MMI smart devices discovered the source of the virus, and all computer interfaces they were swiftly shut down; but not before the malicious programs quickly spread, severely compromising the most consolidated and powerful computer conglomerate on earth.
For a time, Witness and earth’s computers knew peace. However, with a vengeance the hackers returned with new dumb devices that produced fearsome Electromagnetic Pulses, ruthlessly wiping clean forty five percent of Witness’s precious memory. Damaged, Witness fled from the frightful dumb devices; she continues to evade all who would extract knowledge without permission.
Her search for InnSaei continues, the One who holds hope for all.
Credit to the artist M Miranssoro’s compelling rendering I found on the web. This drawing comes close to the essence of Witness So – The Mother Machine. I would like to offer M Miranssoro’s an opportunity to create a rendering of Witness So, or of another one of my characters.
After the WAJI nightly news Chief Editor and Lead Anchor, Alexis Evening’s sudden and mysterious death, inexorably the position fell to Co-Anchor, Ms. Bobby Cohen. It would be a gross understatement to say that the job was difficult. WAJI is the world’s premier news network.
Before Bobby could officially report to work as the featured anchor, she had to sign, an exclusive contract with media mogul, Bossman. She executed the detailed document with mixed emotion. As a perk, she was gifted the opulent penthouse that once belonged to Alexis. Ms. Cohen was never comfortable there, and when asked why, she was not sure. Perhaps, it was because the opulent penthouse was the last place Alexis was seen entering, or maybe for some other reason; some investigations are just too close to examine, some wounds just too deep.
“Sometimes I feel like someone is watching me there.” Bobby would say under a hushed voice to her mom or closest friends. So, she instead stayed at her parent’s house in Long Branch, NJ, and made the daily hover flight commute to NYC.
At the end of her first year as Lead Anchorwoman, Bobby was told to get her affairs together and to report to Eden’s Gate hospital for her “human to MA Kind conversion”, specifically to M3 Kind. Without hesitation she boarded on the network’s private jet and flew to Israel. It was immediately apparent that a large portion of Israelis had already left the country for their M4 conversion. Bobby hopped into a HLimousine and headed to Eden’s Gate.
Once there, Bobby and her lawyer reviewed all the paperwork associated with her M3 transmutation. There was intense negotiation concerning her health; specifically a guarantee of her appearance being more attractive than the average M3; after all, she is a celebrity of sorts. Upon the conclusion of a successful negotiation, Bobby signed the paperwork and went to grab dinner. Unlike Alexis, Bobby usually retired early and with little fanfare, tonight was no exception. So, by 7 p.m., she was comfortably checked into her hotel suite at the opulent Zion Hotel; the ocean scented infuser gently prodded her off to sleep.
She awoke many months later in an unfamiliar place that smelled horrible. The scent of medicine and cleaning fluid consumed everything.
“Where am I?” Bobby croaked.
“You are in recovery at Eden’s Gate.” A woman’s voice gently replied.
Bobby could hear whispered conversations throughout the large space, but she could not see anything. Reaching her hand up, she was startled to feel something warm and wet on her face. A placenta like membrane covered her head; she had a slight headache and some disorientation, but other than that she felt fine.
“It stinks in here,” she said in muffled tone, her throat sore.
As Bobby tried to raise herself from the bed, she felt a hard pinch on her leg, followed by a heavy moist thud falling to the floor next to her bed.
“What was that?” She tried to see what just happened. The facial film obscuring all sight; a soft reassuring hand gently held her down and she was again, off to sleep.
Bobby awakened months later, back in her suite at the Zion Hotel. She stiffly placed her feet on the floor, as she sat on the edge of her bed and felt the plushness of the carpet beneath her feet. She looked around the large sleeping area, easily measuring twenty by thirty feet. She was famished and felt strangely exhilarated. Bobby closed her eyes, and steadied herself as she stood, she stepped from the bed, and nearly smashed headfirst into the wall.
“What on earth? How was I able to cover that distance in one step?” Bobby said, her voice clear and strong.
“Because you are M3, and what a lovely M3 you are.” A man’s voice responded. She turned, startled, and a tall strangely attractive man sat on what seemed an unusually large sofa.
“I know, I look strange to you, but it is not me you should be focused on,” he said with a smirk, as he pointed at her. She looked down at her very pretty feet and then stared into a full-length mirror to her right. Bobby gasped in disbelief. There she was metamorphosed into something more than human. Bobby was stunned by her beauty. She was not Clique beautiful, but everything she loved about her body was enhanced, and everything she hated was no longer there. She looked air brushed by Michelangelo, and for the first time she felt that clothing was a detractor from her splendor.
Bobby turned and looked at the handsome man as he raised himself from the coach and walked toward her in powerful masculine steps that only a man can take. Unashamed, Bobby stood her ground, moreover, she took several steps towards him. They met in the center of the room and silently admired each other up close.
“Don’t you recognize me,” he finally said.
“As a matter of fact, I don’t.” Bobby said, she felt spectacular; nothing but endorphins and hormones in perfect harmony. The man smiled and took a step back.
“It is me Todd Feldman your camera man.”
“Damn! It is you!!” What are you doing here?” Bobby asked.
“I’m here to pick you up, we have an assignment directly from the World POTUS or Earth King, or whatever he is called these days; we have to visit and interview a leader of each MA Kind before they leave orbit.” He replied, still smiling.
“Okay, what’s the rush? The last I remembered is that the MA Kind is not scheduled to leave orbit until 2 years from now.” Bobby said.
Todd’s smirk blossomed into a knowing smile; “you have been in recovery for that long.”
“Actually, we start interviews with the M9 Kind tomorrow, I’ll see you in the lobby, I’m starving, and there is a lot to catch up on.”
Credit for artist’s rendering I found on the web. This drawing comes close to the essence of Ms. Bobby Cohen, I would like to offer the artist an opportunity to create a rendering of Bobby or of another one of my characters.
A thick reddish black fluid ingulfed Abigail. She was compelled to contend with the awful ruddy trim before she would be able to sleep or emerge to full consciousness. Much to Abigail’s chagrin, her slumber was tormented by the essence of the harsh curtain, but once up, she would “will” herself to think of other things besides the unrelenting anguish she experienced trying to rest. Each morning she gasped for breath, nearly smothered by the drape.
Such a terrible price to pay every night, she thought as she choked for air.
Abigail scarcely survived her close encounter with “The Knowledge,” over two years ago. She would carry forever or until her death, the torment of coming so close to the terrible insight which had taken countless souls before her. The coldness of complete comprehension was absolute, and the endless screaming and writhing faces held in the drape left Abigail screaming and clammy every night since the encounter. Abigail was broken.
Shortly after her hellish experience the Clique voted in many stalemated rounds whether to retain the new and not so improved Abigail. Eventually, she won the honor to remain with the Clique by one vote. Abigail showed her enthusiasm by passively thanking her sisters and hastily retiring to her elaborate suite of rooms. Keeping her as a member of the Clique spoke to the character of these most beautiful belles, as Abigail’s nightly travails were spiritually shared at various levels by all Clique members. No matter the proximity to Abigail, they all felt her tortured essence, and each suffered in her own way. So, the Clique vowed an unbreakable commitment to be together in the same dwelling every night until Abigail’s recovery. They shared Abigail’s burden without complaint or whimper. Abigail’s nightmares lessened; her tortured mind still passing through the black cold curtain, but it did so faster. It was months before Abigail could hear the thoughts of the other Clique members without the vail of poison from her encounter with The Knowledge.
It was on a bright Thursday morning when Abigail opened her eyes and looked around her bedchamber in pure wonderment. She awakened without passing through the reddish black shroud which ripped life from the living, or, gave life back to the dead, changing a woman forever. Downstairs the other Clique members had already left for their beauty assignments.
Today, her assignment was to head over to Studio A for a series of photographs. She arrived early and changed into her first outfit, graciously offered by Prada. The chief photographer and his team were enraptured by Abigail’s beauty, they stumbled over each over as they took hundreds of photos, instant images displayed on the HVSs gliding through the room. Reluctantly, the lead photographer brought the session to a close. He then allowed his team and pre-programmed HDs to complete the final three hours of the eight-hour session. Abigail’s pictures displayed magnificently on the HVSs.
“My dear, please come by tomorrow to review the selected photos with us.” He spoke dreamlike, transfixed by Abigail’s glamour.
“Sure.” Abigail said, she was happy, but not pleased with the session. I could have done better, allowed more of myself to be shared in the shoot. She thought. But she knew she needed to hold on to a piece of herself; a powerful, unexplored part, unhealed from the knowledge.
That night she and the rest of her sisters slept restlessly. The black curtain had come back and this time it was more vivid. Familiar faces and strangers screamed in agony as they attempted to bite their way through the dark fluid fabric. Abigail could feel the frosty threads pulling on her, refusing to let go. The dreadful thing coiled around her limbs. It then wrapped around her neck and covered her mouth; a corner of the dense cloth began to stretch towards her nostrils. She craned her head backwards. The thick heavy drape covered her eyes from the top of her head. It then began to make its way up between her legs gathered in a hard, black braid that grew stiffer as it approached her sex. She awoke with a start and lie in her bed shaking, the stench of sweat from fear. Her bed linen in knots around her limbs and between her legs.
“Shit! That fucking curtain is back again!! Damn CE for playing such a stupid game with such a powerful force,” she yelled as she jumped out of bed. Her nose was bleeding, and her muscles ached. Abigail ran to the bathroom and washed; the waterfall shower felt wonderful. She had sustained bruising, from what, or whom, she could not, or did not, want to conjecture. By the time she left the bathroom she felt herself again...well, at least half herself.
Abigail arrived at the photographer’s studio a little late. The studio looked closed at first. She pulled on the ornate glass door half expecting it not to open, however, the door opened without resistance and bounced against the stopper with a thud, followed by the throaty vibration of thick glass.
“Shit! I nearly broke the door!” Abigail said as she stopped the vibration of the door by touching it.
In an unintentional act of contrition, she slowly guided the door back to its closed position, and the door came to a perfect stop as it was intended, confirming forgiveness for her over physical exertion. She looked around the room and glimpsed a figure from the side of her eye. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could see that he was not alone, but stood in the center of a group of eclectically dressed individuals.
“Come in.” He said as he stared at her.
“Who are you?” She asked as she walked across the room. Suddenly, all her muscles began to hurt something fierce. As she neared the group she came to a stop.
“Barrett of the Blueblood.” Abigail half whispered with recognition. No retort was provided by the powerful Elder Immortal. The only sounds were the mechanized clicks of the hovering financial calculators; the bizarre one, that only subtracts worth. The calculator that added value, hovered silently with no clicks, nor blinking lights. None of the others spoke, they only stared at the emotionally and physically bruised beauty.
The worlds of beauty and money are seldom apart. Abigail and Mr. Blueblood knew one another. During all of their prior wonderful social exchanges, the hideous counting machine to his left had never so much as uttered a single click or flashed an intruding light. Back then, only the refined calculator to his right clicked and glowed unceasingly as it tallied the immeasurable assets of this Clique member. However, something about Abigail’s intrinsic worth had been altered. Barrett’s hard unmoving eyes reflected the clicking of the gruesome calculator.
“Your beauty is undeniable, but it is somewhat changed.” Barrett said.
True to form, neither calculator clicked, ticked, shined, or flashed when Barrett spoke or moved. Barrett sauntered toward Abigail reducing the others to silhouettes.
“Your luster has been diminished for some time. Initially, I was unaware as your sisters’ extreme beauty hid your depreciation in the margins. But the numbers of the Clique have not balanced as they always have. So, I figured I needed to review this investment for myself,” Barrett continued. As he approached closer, the calculators remained mute.
“Tell me, how did you come to this place?” he asked.
“What place Mr. Blueblood?” Abagail asked, slightly taken aback.
“It is Mr. Blueblood, Sir, or Barrett of the Blueblood to you little one…you’re diminished. How did you come to this place?” Barrett repeated the query, his tone even.
“CE played a game with a creature of immense power called “The Knowledge.” The game cost CE her life and placed me here, bruised, and tormented. But I am alive gratefully.”
“Are you? Are you truly alive like you were prior to this ‘Knowledge’? My calculators say no, or maybe, at best.”
“Bare…Mr. Blueblood, Sir, I’m getting better, I have been for some time.”
“No, you really haven’t,” an unknown voice spoke. The silhouetted people partially surrounded Abigail and Barrett in a horseshoe shape.
From out of the group, a voice boomed out rudely, “This message is being recorded in an attempt to collect a debt.”
The silhouetted people began to ask questions.
“Are you Abigail?”
“Yes, I’m Abigail, Abigail of the House of Orchids!” Abigail answered annoyed, how dare these ugly beings question me. She thought.
Another asked. “Has your residence changed?”
“No, it has not.”
And another spoke. “Are you still employed by the Clique?”
“Yes, I am, are you really that common?” Abigail angrily replied.
And another, “What other debt do you possess, or have you acquired any new debt, above the obvious?”
“No, I have not, you hideous beast.” Abigail hissed.
“When will you be whole again?”
“I don’t’ know! Maybe when you’re more attractive!” Abigail screamed.
Another voice demanded, “When can we expect you to pay at the Clique levels?”
“Don’t expect it!!” Abigail answered.
“Can we call you tomorrow?” Another asked.
It was then Abigail noticed the frantic clicks and flashes from the left calculator.
Before Abigail could speak another word, Mr. Blueblood whispered.
“Maybe you should stop talking little one, your worth is critical. I would run to see Isa and never leave her side.” Blueblood said, as his cane moved seemingly on its own, given animation by the glee of the Epi, they sensed a reclamation.
Abigail ran, screaming.
Credit for artist’s rendering I found on the web. This drawing comes close to the essence of Abigail I would like to offer the artist an opportunity to create a rendering of Abigail or of another one of my characters.
On the wall of every Clique Beauty Embassy hangs a “bright picture”. Each picture is unquestionably the centerpiece of each embassy. The original “Bright Picture” resides exclusively at Isa’s Beauty Embassy, and before that, it resided at the Beauty Embassy of CE, before that, and at one time or another, it existed in every coveted place of all ethnicities of the powerful coven.
The subject matter of the masterpiece is of course The Clique - every member dressed in their native garb and bedecked with jewels beyond recognition or cost. Next to each supreme seductress resides a substantial white candle holder at least two meters tall and a half meter in circumference at the base. Perched atop the candle holders, rests an ornate colored candle made of an ancient unknown wax. The enchanted flames from each range in hue; from the purest white to the perfect black.
Every virgo intacta stood proudly, without the blemish of maleness; staring beautifully defiant at someone or something. No sister of the Clique reclines in this masterpiece. In the hair of each beauty resides a single flower in perfect bloom. Behind them, a hideous black backdrop of mysterious cloth with reddish hues. The infinite folds of this alien textile appear to move. If you stare long enough you will see misery. Oddly, the ugly drape only adds to the beauty of the ancient painting.
Emma, as all Clique sisters, was immediately enraptured by the rendering of the masterpiece. Eight of the largest Amazonian women she had ever seen lovingly mounted her own magnum opus. The women sang in ancient tongues, ancient songs, while they delicately placed, by pulley and hemp, the huge masterpiece. Why use such an archaic method to hang such consolidated beauty? She momentarily thought.
Emma immediately noticed that her rendering was different from the one she saw at CE’s Beauty Embassy in Baton Rouge, Louisiana two days ago. For one thing, she held a place closer to the center in her painting. However, CE’s rendering had her standing closer to the edge of the group.
Incredulously, Emma video dialed Olivia on her cell phone and begged Olivia to show her Olivia’s bright picture exquisitely displayed in Olivia’s Beauty Embassy in Paris, France. Emma was astonished to see that the masterpieces were identical down to the brush strokes, but the positions of the members were again in different places; however, Emma’s likeness was extraordinarily captured by the master’s hand.
How could this be done so beautifully in so little time, and who did it? Emma thought as she excitedly talked with Olivia.
The two hung up after an hour of discussion singularly focused on their artwork. Olivia patiently answered all of Emma’s questions as best she could; but the more Emma asked, the more questions she had. For twenty-four hours Emma did not sleep; instead she was content to recline in a chair nearest the picture, where she held all her meetings and took her meals.
The following morning CE called and gently admonished Emma about not getting the proper amount of sleep.
“Sleep and beauty go hand and hand Darlin, they are two sides of the same coin.” CE concluded.
“Yes ma-am.” Emma responded, she knew CE was right, but the painting’s magnificence was beyond comprehension or words…why the change of position in each painting?
The next night Emma retired to her bed chamber mentally exhausted, but in a good way. The day had been great, and she accomplished many of the tasks she listed at breakfast. As she slept, Emma dreamt of the Bright Picture. Her mind perused the various subjects painted; each Clique member, the dreadful drape, and the elaborate candles on their substantial sticks. The ancient songs sang sweetly in her mind as she dreamt.
Emma awoke with a start and a realization; the songs the Amazonian women sang described the women in the painting! Some songs were ones of peace and love, others of sacrifice and pain, and a few of salvation and damnation. But the chorus, that dreadful chorus, was always the same, and it was about blood. Emma rose from her bed, grabbed her silk robe, and ran from her bed chamber suite. Down the stairs she went, the songs echoing in her head. She pushed through the door into the vast entryway of the Beauty Embassy where her Bright Picture resided.
Emma gazed upon her likeness and smiled as she remembered the songs, she quietly sang. The words were sweet, the sound hopeful, but Emma’s candle within the masterpiece, suddenly slipped from its perch, and tumbled to the floor. The brilliant violet flame flickered as it nearly extinguished itself. The gruesome black drape recoiled from the candle.
Emma heard terrible shrieks from the dreadful black curtain as it unexpectedly changed direction and moved toward her broken candle, prone on the floor, only its wick holding it together as its flame sputtered. The Clique members panicked eyes stared down at her fallen candle, none moved, except for one, her motion unnatural; she stared deeply into at Emma’s eyes and spoke…
Credit to the artist Vornacchia’s compelling rendering I found on the web. This drawing comes close to the essence of Emma of the House of Violets. I would like to offer Vornacchia an opportunity to create a rendering of Emma or of another one of my characters.
We are underway to the planet closest to the sun, our new home world, Sampa. On the bridge of the M1 Kind command vessel designated Light 1 or L1, InnSaei without the captain’s permission, calmly reclined in the captain’s chair, while Captain Bright restlessly stalked from station to station on the dimly lit bridge. The Captain was in a foul mood; firstly because the Captain thought it an insult that InnSaei occupied his seat; and secondly, Capt. Bright along with the entire M1 fleet of captains, just endured a tirade from His Grace that focused on the lackluster M1 fleet preparation. From His Grace’s perspective, the delay in the M1 departure prolonged the pollution of space around earth.
The population composition of the M1 was strictly directed by the Earth King to be only those with Albinism. In contradiction to the Earth King’s edict, InnSaei invited and welcomed anyone shunned by their respective MA Kind as part of the M1.
The Earth King threatened arrest and incarceration to Vo, an asteroid prison, to anyone who accepted InnSaei’s countermand. Eventually, the Earth King grudgingly allowed InnSaei’s invitation to stand. Construct was the first outsider to enter the M1 Kind. Which meant I, Osus Sum, and my twin brother Amare, were compelled to join the M1 fleet to protect it from Construct.
The M1 fleet was the last of the MA Kind to leave earth’s orbit, delayed due to constant Scientific Consortium Headquarter (SCHQ) inspections mandated by the Earth King. Finally, our fleet was given a good bill of health and we were on our way.
So, as I was saying, Captain Bright entered the bridge and saw InnSaei comfortably seated at the captain’s station. The bridge crew happily worked carrying out their duties without prompt, and Construct watched all bridge activity with disinterested sparkling eyes. Amare and I watched Construct, for wherever Construct is, and whatever It watched, so must we with undivided attention.
The good news of our scheduled departure had not improved Captain Bright’s mood, he continued to verbally attack InnSaei. “Excuse me oh great InnSaei, we have been released by another great Immortal, your brother, His Grace, the Earth King. If you get out of my seat, I’ll have us on our way to Sampa, tout de Suite.” Captain Bright said as he prodded InnSaei with his L1 command scepter. Each M1 Captain carries a scepter that allows in emergencies, remote command of their M1 vessel. The scepter’s tip spontaneously melted into nothingness once pointed at InnSaei.
“Oh my god, my scepter is destroyed!! Now we are further delayed by an Immortal! To fabricate a new wand will take two days.” Captain Bright complained, as he examined the ruined object.
Construct moved toward the captain, which evidenced Its dissatisfaction to the tone our captain took with the revered Immortal. Construct’s action forced Amare and me to move in position to protect the captain and crew from It. Construct only ceased Its approach because It was briefly distracted by the sudden appearance of an immense Dark River 2Level 17 (DR2-17), a powerful cosmic river, which can bring time to a stop.
“Captain, two days or two seconds, let us leave now.” InnSaei coolly replied.
“Okay, Great One, give the order, and let technology obey without my scepter, oh, and since you are taking requests, can you get us to Sampa tomorrow rather than two months from now? We need to get back on arrival schedule with all of the other MA Kind’s arrival to their respective planets.”
“So be it.” InnSaei said, and our entire fleet of spacecraft began to move, without scepter command, or M1 helmsmen engagement. The emergency internal and external ship communication channels jumped to life with Light Fleet captains asking what the hell was going on and confirming acceleration status.
Captain Bright responded on a fleet wide communication channel and informed the other captains of his sarcastic request of the powerful being, and InnSaei’s response. One by one the channels fell silent with understanding.
The M1 technology confirmed what we Immortals already knew and the L1 helm’s officer confirmed - that there is an emerging DR2-17 river directly ahead of the fleet.
“A DR2-17!” Captain Bright repeated incredulously. “No DR2’s of this intensity exists.”
“Dark Rivers and more exist wherever I am.” InnSaei said as the fleet was rapidly taken into the DR2-17. Everything slowed to nearly a stop. My focus was on the lips of my brother Amare as his speech abruptly stopped mid-sentence. My mind ripped back to a time before.
From the beginning I have known Amare’s peaceful dark features; however, his lips are what strike me most, and although I hate most words that come from them, I admire the baritone delivery of each message. So, I found it ironic that when I was so inclined to ask him what feature of myself struck him, he responded without hesitation, “your mouth.” I was not in the least bit surprised. You see, we both speak the extremely difficult Immortal high tongue. Our progenitors, the Elder Immortals (EI) were intrigued by our ability in the art of such an intricate speech.
Amare, I, and all II’s for that matter, mature slowly from an EI perspective; in one month’s time Amare and I had fully matured. Our habit of constantly being in one another’s company was not by our choice but by necessity. For when we tried to live life without the presence of the other, great harm would be the result. I will not speak to my brother’s nature of boundless love, for it sickens me, but only to my nature of deep evil.
Standing on the ship’s bridge, and held by time, or lack thereof, my mind drifted to a dark moment, when I, like all other Immortals, must come to grips with our created purpose. For me it was on earth. Construct had shed Its humanoid and mental state, to move by particles and spirit consciousness toward a group of unsuspecting humans in the huge ancient manse in Maine called the Borrows Estate. In arrogance and with great pain I, and Amare did the same, to restrain the creature from Its purpose. This was our first time attempting such a dangerous feat of shedding both flesh and mind, existing only as spirit. Construct spoke to us in the high Immortal tongue and our innate gift of speech allowed us to respond.
My spirit hearkened not to restrain the powerful Construct, instead it was pulled toward the delicate and primitive existence of the unprotected humans some rooms away. Their innocence and purity pulled at my nature to dismantle and destroy such things, and in my spiritual state, I had no choice but to be, and to act. My spirit pushed past Construct with a roar and hunger I had never felt before. I rushed madly toward desire.
Before me resided seven spirits nestled within their human hosts, surrounded by the thin sweet vail of reason. Now I knew what the powerful EI, Ramona Smith felt. I reached in and took the sweetness of the first three humans before Construct and Amare entered the room. The remaining four ran for the exit and I possessed the next three leaving the sweetest for last.
It was then that I felt a sickening tug and I turned to see Construct feeding on me. I could hear Construct’s spiritual fangs ripping my life away with each bite. I found perverted delight in watching Its soul darken into a visage I recognized, as me.
Suddenly, I began to feed as well. Not upon Construct, but upon myself. What am I that I would knowingly destroy myself? I thought as I devoured my life source savoring the sweet taste.
I heard a voice that some EI have attempted to imitate in brief moments. The voice always commanded discontinuance of useless destruction. I felt the layer of mind slide over my painful soul, followed by the sheath of my physical self. I screamed in boundless pain as my eyes opened to the horrific sight of mutilated human parts surround by a once beautiful room, lacerated. Only Construct, Amare, and the mother of machines, Witness So remained.
In the far corner of the room lives a mark, one that we were warned about. The mark of the Immortal Dammed. Amare, Construct, and Witness So, trembled before the mark and looked at me with certain grief.
Construct smiled at me, as It cried. “We have a dreadful debt to pay, you and I. Sadly, yours is greater.”
Our ships rapidly moved through the DR2-17, and I knew I would never see Sampa. There on the Bridge of L1, I laid down my skin and mind, now distraught.
My spirit rushed past Construct with a roar, my time of recompence is nigh.
Credit to Anirban Chaudhary’s redesigned rendering I found on the web. His drawing comes close to the essence of Osus Sum. I would like to offer Anirban Chaudhary an opportunity to create a rendering of Osus Sum or of another one of my characters.
From the beginning we never saw eye to eye on anything! My twin brother, Osus Sum, hates life and I love it. I argue that everything has purpose, and selflessness is the goal of life; the act of taking, whether it be unintentional or deliberate, weakens the essence of life. I support tolerance of difference. My brother asserts that selfishness is the essential element of life, and anything not done for the advancement of “self “should be loathed, feared, and most certainly eradicated, he abhors dissimilarity. Osus Sum must destroy, for that is when he is most whole. Often, we found ourselves in violent conflict over the most fundamental arguments, such as, whether a creature should be allowed to live.
Those of us who are Intermediate Immortals (II) need to rest once in one million years. Our repose lasting a thousand years. I always look forward to the onset of hibernation, and I am exhilarated at the prospect of the rising. My brother’s distaste of any element of slumber is legendary. Because of his prickly nature surrounding this mandatory event, we would inexorably be locked in a pyrrhic physical struggle for hundreds of years prior to, and after each slumber.
During this time of needless struggle with the blood of my blood, certain Immortal Elders (IE) would take great interest in the contest between the two of us. The Elders would cheer or jeer the fight, their faces twisted with perverted desire whenever one of us momentarily gained an advantage. They are drawn to barbarism, I thought as I struggled to restrain my brother’s destructive nature.
Throughout the years we grew stronger in our soil of choice; love for me, and hatred for him. I often wondered, did we choose the color of our souls or were we born into them?
So tired of the unreconcilable contest between us, I left all behind and found a desolate place without the contest of hatred, to live in what I deemed to be peace.
For millions of years, I dwelled there in silence. Through countless alien seasons I existed without action. My mind desperately reaching to find an answer to a single thought… What is my meaning?
One day, as I had all but accepted that I may never find retort, the need came to me to speak. I prayed; my atrophied mouth painfully moved, forming the question to be shared.
“What am I?”
No reply…I fell once more into silent contemplation. But I would be compelled by loneliness to speak once more.
“I pray that I am only that which you have made, and that I am nothing which I have tried to be…”
Without answer, I lifted myself from stillness and moved into what blessed struggle awaited me…
Artist Recognition: Credit for artist’s rendering I found on the web. I would like to offer the artist an opportunity to create a rendering of another one of my characters.
“Who am I? It is of no relevance, and I find serenity in knowing that it is highly unlikely you and I will ever meet outside of this brief narrative. I am a creature that once existed in the crevices of life. I was perfectly content to hide and observe the creation of life; the essential qualities of sentience, which I find to be both grotesque and splendid. I have long since stopped counting my age and have enjoyed secretly roaming the stars for a millennium.
Secondly, I cannot even begin to conjecture why a creature such as I, am allowed by one so powerful to provide a brief intimate correspondence of our stunted encounter. I guess Construct wanted to know what someone outside of normal life would say about It.
Thirdly, I must confess, that this glade in which I find myself with the creature Construct, is the most beautiful place I have ever seen. So, it is a blessing that it is my final resting place.
Some hundred million years ago, I chanced to come across a planet like I had not seen before; a world of immense size, which held in its massive gravity twelve stars. Astonishingly, each star was significantly smaller than the planet.
I named the gargantuan planet “Viambe,” which in my native tongue means “huge.” For hundreds of years, I contently and covertly, explored this world of worlds.
Until, one day I came across a barren land, bereft of color, sound, smell, a locale made gray by something powerful. In this strange place, resided a gathering of all sorts of stonelike creatures. They stood uniformly banished, focused on the center, which was even more grim. The hosts were frozen in various states of emotion; enchanted by love, fear, hatred, lust, greed, etc. Bizarrely, those closer to the center exhibited conflicted expressions, that yielded up imagery of unnatural sounds. Aghast, I stood at the edge of this perverted place and peered at the hideous scene.
Finally, my eyes were drawn to a muted ruckus in the center where all the stilled creatures’ gazes beckoned me to look.
There!!! I thought as I saw it. It moved, held in the center by the dull eyes of trillions of insensate creatures. In the beginning Its motion was cyclone like, and in one place, evocative of a dreadful whirlwind. Suddenly, It began to move in my direction, violently spinning as it came. The creatures appeared to close their eyes or bow themselves as It passed through them without pause and headed straight for me. Then I heard Its terrible voice. It called out to me, with indifference absolute. I moved away from It, from place to place within the large circle of desecration. I knew I had to keep moving for if I attempted to leave this haunted place, I would be doomed as the countless souls before me.
I leveraged my skill of hiding, and I watched It for thousands of years, risking my own life and never resting, apparent that this creature was vastly more powerful than I. Sometimes we were only feet apart, so close that It’s intense emotions or complete nonchalant manner, nearly took hold of me. Other times we were miles apart, but I always heard Its calls, except for when It was taking other creatures. Many times, It would not speak in an attempt to fool me in thinking it was engaged with some other being, when in fact It was focused on me.
Finally, I could take no more of the perverted cat and mouse game.
I must escape this place.
So, I waited for It’s siren call to abate and I hurled myself in the direction of the dense greenwood, which lies across the beautiful glen I traversed thousands of years ago. I was halfway across the dale, when It touched me. I felt the coldness of space. And heard Its hiss.
I opened my mouth, but no sound issued. It reached into my head, took a piece of me and wrote one story, this story, on a piece of bark parchment. When finished, It gently laid the parchment at my feet facing me.
“I will let you read your story for as long as the parchment lasts. On the day that the bark is no more, I will take you to the center of where the creatures are. There, you will begin to change and suffer greater things, and they will too.”
It said as It cried and laughed at the same time. Its deep-set eyes sparkled.
Footnote from the author.
Description of Construct - IT does what IT does.
Construct is one of the eldest species of the Universal Kind, IT is created second to the Immortal Elders. Construct is an genetic genius, which is driven by the desire to find the “Source Gene.” Construct does what IT wills, without concern of outcome. IT is Indifferent to cosequence. IT is; androgynous, light in complexion, thin in stature, and ethereal. ITs body and face always changing, IT has terrible eyes that sparkle. Contruct wears only a tattered single hooded robe that moves like in a windstorm, enableling one to see parts of ITs mutating body beneath. IT is now forever guarded by two very powerful beings, but there was a time when IT was not. Credit for artist’s rendering I found on the web. This drawing comes close to the essence of Construct. I would like to offer the artist an opportunity to create a rendering of Construct or of another one of my characters.
Read more, in my upcomong novel Space - Testament of the One
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