I place a silver thread of Alosium at the frontal base of one of my horns. It slithers and curls around the upstanding bone, exploring its structure. It clings eagerly and germinates multiple minor branches. Producing new threads. They grow to a decent length as they stretch and slither down to the side of my cheek, inspecting the texture of my skin before piercing through. They borrow deep inside. Worming through tissue and amongst cartilage. Touching bone, spreading further in, latching onto my cheekbone. An expected tepidness trickles down from the side of my face after the introduction of a penetrative sting.
The clinginess of the growing branches provokes discomfort through its adhesive invasiveness as it writhes behind my wall of flesh, aspiring for oneness. Its parasitic nature provides an advantage through a platonic intimacy, by connecting to me on an emotional and mental wavelength, pairing me with the essence of the Reshilomed. Thus, my biotechnological vessel becomes connected to my consciousness. Static crawls over my knuckles and continues to linger. Persisting. Obstinate. Refusing to be calm since my encounter with Rotaerc. The alosium strand squirms, reacting to the element's agitation. I hiss at its sudden spasm. Baring it. I consent to this tolerable discomfort for the sake of gain. I can feel every strain of movement as if it were my own.
I sit down and bring my legs towards me, to then cross them. Sitting comfortably within the heart of Reshilomed. Immersing myself in its brilliance. I visualise the location coordinates in the Motherpod's last data entry before systems went offline. The flawless, multilayered outer rims rounding the flat circular body of the craft partially disconnect and instigates with an unhurried rotation. A concentration of sibilating air shoots out from behind the semidetached revolving rim, and the craft begins to levitate.
The biotechnological parasite understands and complies with my desire. A partial amount of light is extracted from the surrounding azure and rounds into a three-dimensional sphere. I hold and raise the globe in my hands as it homes in on a particular formation of land in the great sea. Précising its location, and concentrates near the eastern southern coast, where a sparse population of the Nallef's seed has taken residence in the mountain region, hidden from the eyes above. I tap on the area shown on the map. Narrowed down through data accuracy and memory recollection. The method is as reliable as you make it.
A fairly large screen appears and wraps around the wall, exhibiting a view into the stellar scape.
Bestrewn around the planet's perimeter are celestial crafts of astronomical proportions, engulfed and powered by divine fire. Suspended in idleness and in close proximity to one another along the periphery of the exosphere, forming a flaming planetary ring. This extravagant grand-scale fleet is operated by the wingless Nallef and serves as a protective measure against unwanted or overly curious visitors. For the moment, it appears as though they are conserving their energy. Observing terrestrial activity from beyond primitive reaches. They are an invested waste of flesh and worth sacrificing. A pathetic excuse for a first line of defense.
The strand of alosium strains within my cheek. It knows my thoughts – and my target.
The craft thrums and jolts, as Reshilomed bores into the feeble flaming cincture. Ramming into one of the unmoving vessels. Divesting their chance to react. I envision Alosium teeth protracted from the rims shredding through their architectural-inspired exterior, and gorging on their exposed innards. Creating a scattering rush of riven detritus during Reshilomed's predatory bombardment. Using its maw to masticate and grind them into powder. It proceeds to ram into the second, third, fourth, and fifth craft in a perpetuated frenzied motion. Sundering the cincture. From the exosphere, the craft dives into Terria's depths, plunging through its atmospheric levels in an accelerated downward spiral. Ploughing into the stratosphere.
Received by a burning windflaw. Humidity melts into my skin. The soil is dry, cracked, and full of thirst. The mountains come into view, broadening across the expanse, having considerable range. Nephilim are dotted along the mountain paths. Spread out thinly, and meandering about in lesser numbers. Parched plantation neighbour minor hills of unstable rock and loose grit. Trees with arched stems, feathered leaves, and ringed timber are propagated throughout the tilted terrain.
My Reshilomed resumes revolving in high altitudes in the troposphere, and begins to draw in the clouds through its self-generated kinetic pull. Accumulating. Increasing its measure of mass. Then enshrouds itself within the circulating aerial collation. Overcasting the horizon. Casting the land in shadow, and beclouds my view of the flaring plasma star above. Two nephilim approach me, slothful and gruff. Their height is not quite on par with mine. Their scleras are bloodshot. Pupils fully dilated; where depravity glistens. They hunger for carnal pleasures. Itching to indulge.
The first nephilim has a bloated, overhanging gut and curvature of the spine. Overgrown coarse facial hair and yellow crooked teeth. Their greying crown is thin and receding on top. The elder limps towards me. He is the boldest of the pair - yet not so bright. The second nephilim has shown reluctance by choosing to stay where he is. He possesses a cycloptic eye and a pair of small curved horns. His unwillingness to take the initiative and assert himself signifies a lack of confidence. The young stand back to observe the old. He is squandering his position. If we were engaging in proper combat, the pair would have been ground fertilizer by now.
I scowl at the elder who dares to grin at me - showing his shrinking, discoloured gums and rotting incisors. I direct my focus back to the darkening overcast invading the sky. I raise my hand and form a fist. Thunder bellows with vicious ferocity, followed by a flash of purple. Lightning strikes my fist. I bring it down. Caging the erratic element inside. The captured electrical dynamism rages in an ongoing burst of vehement strikes between my fingers, yearning for release.
I relax and slightly uncurl my fingers before extending an open palm forward. Electricity surges forth and strikes the elder's chest. Therein moments, he collapses onto the ground as a singed, insignificant husk. The cyclops turns on his heels and withdraws, fleeing from further engagement. By allowing lightning to shock my fist, it has bestowed me with a much-needed charge. I can feel its fury throughout my entire body. I step forward and reappear as a flash of purple light before the young fleeing nephilim. He stumbles to a halt. I slash his eye open with my talons, and fresh vermillion bleeds from the four horizontal lines. An enraged cry ensues, and in a fit of anguish, he lunges towards me. I hurl him over my shoulder, for him to land unceremoniously onto his front. I crouch down beside him and grab the back of his head to ram his face into the dirt, muffling his pitiful wailing.
This is where vermin belong – in the dirt.
"Not that you will comprehend my words, you simple creature; but do consider this as an act of mercy since I find your display of cowardice somewhat comical."
He squirms furthermore. I leave him to it and cocoon myself in an instantaneous purple coruscation. I reappear again, but miles apart, near the extensive base of the mountains.
I amble across the hard, torrid loam. Reshilomed tails my course of movement while overwhelming the majority of the yonder, rendering it dark and bleak. Fire rages, soaring to greater heights. A thick perceivable haze of heat haunts the wreckage site. The indisputable remains of the Motherpod. Strewn remnants of destruction are melting into boiling liquid, yielding to the vindictive inferno. Smoke arises and suffocates the air while carrying a burning pungency. The lab and all that was contained within are in flames. Including the genetically engineered alosium sub-variant of the wingless nallef, who were begotten from my blood and the wa-omme's biology. They were an undisclosed prototype. Not even Rotaerc was aware of their creation. Unless I have the seed, starting from scratch is inevitable. If the seed has indeed miraculously survived the crash, then I will not need to entertain the notion of beginning again.
I see shimmers of gold trailing away from the crater.
Ira.