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* * *

OBEY

* * *

The air was thick and heavy, the red duller and darker, the voices....

whispering

and screaming

and seductively soft and

enticing

as death

itself.

They were there, near the edge, too near, tendrils lapping over on to the world of

mortals.

They wrapped around him.

Stupid, so

stupid....

He'd known they were here. He'd been to

Golgotha

He'd seen the ruins of the

Enaid Accord

He knew they were nearby

worshipped

feared

monsters

Gods

Monsters worshipped by Gods.

You will obey us.

That was their cry, the cry of the Lords of Order

But even they obeyed someone else

The beings that waited beyond this universe, beyond the gates, beyond the

doors

Worshipped by a few

cult

conspiracy

The Lords of Order sought

changelessness

....

but even they

changed.

New rulers

New Governments

Secret members who worshipped secret Gods

Bewitched by a war millennia old

the war that had destroyed

Golgotha

and the

Enaid Accord.

Sinoval could feel himself

screaming

lost

Stupid.

A warrior

a leader

leads from the

front.

They were here

waiting

close to the edge.

He did not

fear

them

But he knew what they were and he

feared

for others

For those who did know

fear.

These creatures were fear.

Ancient

terrible

death incarnate

black hearts beating in the mausoleums of stars.

So near

whispering to him

No.

Not yet.

He was Primarch

He was Sinoval

the Accursed

the Saviour.

He had the

responsibility

the

duty

the

....

the

....

the

power!

He called out his

name

and

hyperspace parted.

The door opened and

closed

behind him.

* * *

US

* * *

Sinoval the Accursed, Primarch Majestus et Conclavus, stumbled back to real space, reeling and nauseous. He fell to his knees, the welcome weight of Stormbringer at his side. Around him power crackled, burning and forceful and pounding.

He looked up, his head almost too heavy to lift.

"Primarch Sinoval, I presume?"

* * *

YOU WILL

* * *

Susan ran as fast as she could, until she thought her lungs were going to burst into flames and her legs collapse into jelly. Never in her life had she moved with more urgency.

Each step leading to the precipice seemed steeper and higher than the last.

The Well had been angry, dark whispers resounding in her mind. It wasn't as if she wanted to hear that gibberish. Death, lots of warnings about death.

And danger.

There is danger. Remember.

Of course there was danger. They were about to besiege a space station housing the most important people in the Alliance and guarded by a massive Vorlon fleet. Of course there was danger.

And where was Sinoval?

She thought she knew, but she prayed she was wrong.

There was a figure standing on the precipice, but it wasn't Sinoval.

Moreil turned sinuously to face her.

"The Chaos–Bringer is not here," he hissed, his ugly, rasping voice hitting her like fingernails on slate.

"No," she whispered, trying to get her breath back.

"He has gone ahead of us, to bring the war to the enemy."

"Yes," she breathed.

Yes, gone ahead to take on the Vorlons in single combat, presumably. God save her from all this death–or–glory rubbish.

"Then we must follow him, and spread the fire with our footsteps."

She looked at the alien, the Shadow–spawned alien, and she saw the fanatical zeal and passion in his twisted, wrong eyes. She knew why Sinoval had spared his life, and she knew he could be used, but she didn't like it, and she didn't like associating with him.

But as she raised her head and looked at the fleet arrayed in hyperspace around Cathedral, waiting for the order, and as she remembered her purpose, she made the decision that Sinoval had always known she would have to make.

Sinoval, if we both survive this, I'm going to....

She never completed that thought. Instead she looked at Moreil.

"Yes," she said.

* * *

OBEY US

* * *

No one troubled him.

No one stopped him.

No one interfered or even looked at him

Anyone who passed him by ducked to one side, pressing themselves tightly against the corridor rather than meet his gaze.

John Sheridan had acquired a reputation amongst the Minbari when he was younger. He was the Starkiller, and more than one Minbari child had woken from nightmare visions of his face in the dark. The John Sheridan who walked through the corridors of Babylon 5 was more terrible by far than all of those dream images put together.

He reached the door he wanted, a door that was unguarded, for who would want to break in here?

It opened at his touch, and closed behind him.

From here, he could see everything around him - the Vorlon ships massed and ready, the myriad jump points opening to admit the invading fleet. He should be there to defend his station from the invaders, but he was not needed.

<We have been waiting for you,> came the voice from the bone–white Vorlon.

He paused, and looked around at the beginning of the battle.

"I'm here now ," he said at last.

* * *

It is acceptable for you to hate us. It is even right that you do so.

You hate us because we are perfect, and that perfection merely reveals your own flaws. By hating us you see this, and you accept it.

Accepting your own weakness is merely the first step towards your apotheosis. You hate us, and hatred is merely a form of envy. You hate us because you wish to be us, and that hatred will be your first step along the path to becoming us.

To becoming perfect.

Chapter 4

We have never wished you harm, never wished to hurt you, or destroy you. You are our children, and we are your parents. All parents want only the best for their children, to see them grow and learn and become strong.

But as children grow they must be forced to become other than that which they were. Children are selfish and self–centred and greedy. An adult must be different.

The very act of growth is one of change, becoming different from that which you were. So it is with the growth of your race. We shall change you, that you may grow and become something better.

And then you will never need to change again.

* * *

He liked to think he did not feel, this creature of Order, of cold and passionless regimen and duty. That was what he had been told before he was.... changed, that he would never feel again.

And certainly, that was mostly true. He had felt no fear since the day he had been reborn. He had felt no doubt. Uncertainty and grief were now just words to him, or tools with which to manipulate others.