Related by Lora, Twilit Majz of Many Generations
 

I will never forget the screams, the blood on my hands, the lust in my heart for more. Zygon was mincemeat on the ground. “His blood is the oddest shade of pale purple,” some dispassionate place in my brain noted. “I wonder what chemicals cause that. Clearly his cells must require something in addition to oxygen, but how could that be so? Maybe that isn’t actually his blood as I understand the function of blood. Maybe it is some other thing, like our lymph? But, surely he must need a blood-like substance.”

The dispassionate part of my brain didn’t get any more time to ponder Zygon’s alien physiology. We were beset on three sides by grenade-lobbing Purics. It was run or die.

We ran back toward the Caves of Waiting. Chaos was the rule of the moment. Organics were trampling each other and being trampled. The dispassionate part of my brain started waving my arms and ordering those around me to get a grip. It was time to organize the retreat so it didn’t add to the dead and wounded. 

I jumped up on top of a large rock. It wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done. Purics were still lobbing grenades and projectile weapons right and left, but it got the attention of the Organics in my vicinity. I continued yelling for them to order themselves, to get a grip. Indeed, a wave of order began to spread out from where I was standing, gesturing emphatically. Slowly the chaos became an orderly retreat. These beings had been at war for 10,000 years. Their whole lives were dedicated to the kind of discipline necessary to sustain the long term endeavor of constant conflict. They were all, at one level or another, warriors. They had only needed a little something to help them focus. I allowed myself to breathe a short sigh of relief.

The Organics who had joined me in offing Zygon’s murderers were still with me. They formed a ring around me as I stood on the rock. They were issuing orders to all those moving past. They were amplifying my call for order exponentially. Occasionally they looked up at me. What I saw in their eyes filled me with fresh fire. Reverence is a heady brew.

I continued scanning the retreating crowd of Organics. The Purics remained hidden in the trees ringing the clearing. They continued to lob destruction into the area in which we had been about to hold our celebration.

Our celebration. 

Somehow, in the last ten minutes my life and the lives of the Organics had become inextricably entwined in my brain.

“Impressive how swiftly long term synapse formation can occur,” the dispassionate part of my brain noted playfully. 

Some part of my being was still capable of playfulness. Perhaps that meant someday there would be hope for the rest of me. Perhaps I would someday emerge from the long black tunnel I was just beginning to enter.

In the meantime, the retreat was almost accomplished. The dispassionate part of me wanted to be the last being back inside the safety of the Caves. I didn’t know why. I turned to take one last look at the scene of rout. I was indeed the last living being standing between the wall of trees and the Cave entrance. Behind me stood my companions in vengeance, unwilling to leave me out here alone. One of them tugged at my shirt.

“We must go Lady. It is too dangerous to stay out here now.”

I agreed, but it seemed like I was waiting for something. I didn’t know what.

One heartbeat, two, three…then there they were at the edge of the clearing. Emerging from the trees were twelve tall figures – fucking Purics! They held their empty hands up. Their grey skin shone in the sun.

“Monsters that destroyed their own mothers,” one of my companions exclaimed.

“Why did we come out here unarmed,” another mourned.

“We have something for you!” One of the Purics shouted.

“You’ve had quite a lot for us today already,” I shouted right back. The heedless part of my brain was taking over big time. Pure rage was surging through ever neuron I had. It leant me a strength, an imperviousness I had never suspected was possible from me.

The bastards simply laughed. Twenty-odd Purics came out of the trees from behind the original twelve. The newcomers were carrying poles upon which heads had been skewered, dripping blood in the sun.

The dispassionate part of me started counting – 23 – one for each of the Organics who had not come back home from the genetic bank raiding party and one for…

Pon.

The bastards were laughing manically. They advanced to within a twenty yards of us then planted the poles into the ground…all except one…all except for….

“This one is especially for you, interloper!” they screamed, sprinted forth, planted Pon right where I could see his eyes, blank in death. They turned and ran for the trees. I would have fallen to my knees, I would have screamed in agony, but something in me simply froze into one monolithic shape – the shape of vengeance to come.

All but one of the original twelve melted back into the shelter of the forest. The last one took out a long, slender knife. For some reason, I knew the knife was not for us.

He ripped his shirt off, revealing a rippling, silken grey chest. He walked forward until we could see his eyes as clearly as we could see Pon’s. His eyes were ravaged, filled with despair, hatred, an anguish cold enough to freeze a hundred stars dead in their galactic tracks.

“You have taken from us that which we cannot do without. Our lives are empty, meaningless now. Our existence is at an end. We will take exactly the same from you!” he shouted, then drew the knife in a cruel arc across his own chest. His deep red blood spurted out. He spat in our direction, stabbed the knife into the ground, turned, then with immense power and dignity marched back to the trees, disappeared, having left behind a trail of blood that mingled with Pon’s, with the blood of all the other murdered Organics.

There we stood shaking, foaming, hating with every fiber of our being in the midst of the once overjoyed afternoon sun. 

“Blood calls for blood!” my companions shouted as one.
 

to be continued...
 
 

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