With pleasure.
But Edulf is not prepared for Alastor’s worst. He screams as Alastor’s jaws pop and snap wide open. Alastor feels the slithering sensation, like someone pulling something out of his stomach and up through his throat. The tentacles spin out and reveal their barbed ends. They lance forth, almost of their own volition—so eager to feed are they—and embed themselves in Edulf’s neck and chest.
Alastor’s first feed sends orgasmic waves spilling forth from his chest, shocking his limbs with a pleasure more intense than any he has ever known.
When he is finished, there is little left of Edulf but a withered husk.
Alastor turns his attention to Hrogar, who has gone white, his eyes bulging with terror. Alastor steps toward his old friend, who begins to weep. They are standing face to face now. They survey one another for quite some time, each staring deep into the other’s eyes. Alastor sees fear in Hrogar’s eyes, but also something else—something he can use.
He places his hands on Hrogar’s shoulders, and Hrogar kneels. Alastor puts his hand on Hrogar’s head gently, like a doting father, and speaks:
“It is well, Hrogar. Rise and join me, old friend. We serve a powerful god, and a new day dawns. See for yourself.”
The great burning eye of the world has opened at last, far out among the misty depths of the horizon. The rays of dawn bathe the clouds and sky in glorious ochre, and Alastor basks in the warmth.
ONE - The Return
The night sky over Hastrom City was tranquil. Over the generations the sky had grown clear again as the land reclaimed the city, and the factories, having surrendered their incessant rumblings, crumbled to ruin. On a night like this, one could cast one’s eyes upward and see an infinite sea of twinkling pinpricks, strewn across the sky like chaff blown from an open palm. Upon first glance it all looked like chaos, but to those who knew where to look, there was the arrangement of stars known as the archer, his bowstring drawn taut for all eternity. Perhaps tonight he hunted for Ursus, the great bear in the sky, from whom this world drew its name.
For as far as the eye could see, crumbled asphalt spindled out in all directions. And all along these roadways, sentinels of every shape and color stood watch, noting the passage of skittering shadows with their plastic headlamp eyes.
One such steel husk was now the home to a clutch of robin’s eggs. The mother robin hopped from side to side in quick jerks, seeing to them as best she could in this fouled wasteland. But when a foul claw struck out from the shadows below, the mother’s worries for her children were needed no longer. The insidious sound of smacking jaws and the frail pops of tiny unformed bones filled the air. A lusty belch was followed by chattering and misshapen words.
They moved within the shadows, always mindful not to be seen. Their bent backs were pitiful. Their limbs, marked with all manner of flesh-consuming plagues, were bent and deformed, and would be all but useless save for the bony claws at the ends of their fingers. Their faces were runny and malformed, a remorseless deity’s joke.
Over the city a red eye opened, and a mote was expelled. It streaked across the sky, enveloped in orange and white. The fell creatures that dwelled among the shadows cast by Hastrom City, having long forsaken the wisdom of older ages, believed it was the coming of a new god.
In some regards they were correct.
As the falling star entered the atmosphere, its wreath of flame disappeared. The ship settled into a hovering pattern, easing over the land like a god hand. It revealed itself to be a starship—not that the creatures below had any knowledge of such things. It roared above them, edging toward cruising speed, causing the autos below to tremble in its wake. The fell creatures pointed at it with their crude flipper-like arms, and they began to ululate in their foul language.
Alastor caressed the navigation orbs, steadying the course of his great ship. He studied the broken landscape, making note of the number of creatures below. Their veil of shadow provided no refuge from the all-seeing eye located on the bottom of his ship. For sport he turned on a searchlight and rained down pitiless white light on the creatures, searing their filth-encrusted eyes, casting them into scrabbling fits of terror.
Within moments he was crossing over into the urban honeycomb that was Hastrom City. He noted that a great wall had been erected, encircling the heart of the city, and he was pleased to see a complement of watchmen patrolling. He chuckled as one of the guards split the head of one of the fell creatures with a bullet from a high-powered sniper rifle. The soldier waved, and Alastor waved back, feeling foolish when he realized the soldier couldn’t see him.
The ship passed over a pyramid-like building in the middle of the city, much like those found in the center of the Fulcrum stations, and slowed to a glide over a landing bay. From his perch, Alastor perceived the people below as ants scrambling to and fro. As the ship eased down, the ants grew larger and morphed into men, yet their movements and aspirations still seemed ant-like as they clamored to meet him and his Lord at the landing bay.
Alastor would not need the ramming head of his ship for this incursion. Already the men were gathering to receive him, jostling for placement in the great reception. Landing struts groaned from lack of use as the ship landed on Eursus as lightly as a bird on an oft-used perch. The entire ship’s frame shuddered, and a readout in ancient characters let Alastor know that the landing process was complete. He turned from the console and faced his master, who reclined in the enormous commander’s chair. Alastor bowed his head and spoke:
“My Lord. We have at last arrived. Are you ready to meet your subjects?”
“Indeed. Let us introduce these men to their new ruler,” Abraxas said, his words almost haughty, and certainly celebratory.
Already quite the king.
“What was that, Alastor?” Abraxas said, rising from his chair. Alastor remembered to mind his thoughts as he surveyed Abraxas’s formidable frame. Since his rebirth, the old one had come to resemble the Tarsi that he once was, though his skin was still hairless. It would take some time to become accustomed to this new Abraxas. No longer encased in the ruined prison of his own body, he could now lash out at his servants at the first sign of displeasure. Not for the first time, Alastor worried that his master no longer truly needed him now that he was free to interact with the physical world. He was going to have to play his cards with all the guile that he possessed.
“Pardon me, sire?” Alastor asked, his face a mask of bewilderment.
“You have grown quite strong, haven’t you? Your thoughts are harder to read as of late, but I can still sense the color of them, Alastor.”
“I assure you that my thoughts are only of the ways in which I can continue to serve my great Lord. Seeing you in your true form, I almost feel unworthy, mighty Abraxas.”
Alastor took a knee, feeling the air around him compress a little, squeezing his body.
And of course, there’s that, Alastor thought, as Abraxas’s power crushed his body, just enough for discomfort. Alastor could feel the vast wellspring of his master’s power, and was humbled. And then the invisible claw withdrew, and Alastor was able to move again.
“Forgive me, my Lord. I meant nothing. I am simply weary from our journey.”
“Of course, my son. Shall we?” Abraxas motioned toward the exit, and Alastor nodded and massaged stiffness from his shoulder muscle. Abraxas moved toward the door, and Alastor took his place behind him.
****
Alastor could feel a static charge in the air, could smell the acrid-sweet aroma of ions that heralded a coming storm. He took his place behind his master, careful to keep one stride between himself and Abraxas, and together they made their way down the ramp to meet the welcoming party. A cadre of Alastor’s finest soldiers spread out to form a line behind them.