Partitions of Reality: Rise of the Oblivion Chyldren

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1 Δεκ 2013 (πριν από 3 χρόνια και 4 μήνες)

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Partitions of Reality: Rise of the Oblivion Chyldren

Written by Justin D. Hill



Alpha Reality, Two of Twelve:


“As you all are aware, we have once again conformed to zoning areas for the r
esearch of
Xanthian radiation.

The zones have been quite

successful, but we cannot stress enough that all
personnel maintain a perimeter of fourteen miles behind the edge of the X
-
zones.

As we have been seeing, the Xanthian is able to react to our unique presences and use our own
radiation to adapt.

The evidenc
e presented in con
firmation of this fact is solid;

many new types and species of
Xanthian have been propagating.

We ask that all civilians please take extreme caution when outside the barrier, as free roaming
Xanthians have been reporte
d and located in sev
eral areas. They are
showing an adaptive
capability to the low frequency radiation used by the engines.

For all of those located in such areas, please do not consider your separation from the H.O.M.E.
strongholds as a sufficient reason not to report suspic
io
us activity that you may notice. Y
our
freedom is yours to protect and we will provide a non
-
invasive unbiased approach to protecting
your means of living.

All outstanding governments are as usual offered our full cooperation in all matters which will
ass
ist in protecting and preserving the

well
-
being of your communities. W
e highly appreciate
your willingness to allow us use of these zones, and appreciate their efforts at remaining peaceful
with one another.

All information discovered in our research
,

as w
ell as with the Oblivion Chylde communities and
our work efforts
,

is

as usual available from any device ca
pable of wireless information. S
imply
use the browser to
connect to ‘O
-
C
-
P
-
N
-
dot
-
H
-
O
-
M
-
E’

and our technology will do the rest.

Please do not allow sim
ulations to startle you, they are merely projections and cannot harm you
despite how real they might feel.

Information from Luna
-
site one determines a substantial increase of X
-
radiation by point
-
fourteen percent every week, and as we drift closer towards
the field generated at the galactic
poles we can expect that
number to increase drastically. W
e will be adjusting the engines as
appropriate.

The evening report has been brought to
you by the H.O.M.E. community. I
f you would like to
reschedule your issued
time you ma
y do so verbally at this time. Y
ou may also select to continue
browsing the O.C. Network, or ask for th
e main console for other uses.”

The projection shows a lovely woman after a moment, surrounded in nothing but comp
lex
cybernetics and circuitr
y. H
er eyes flash many colors like a kaleidoscope
,

and her lips and
fingernails do the same. S
he smiles at you, blinking once or twice.

Then the multi
-
toned female
voice

like thousands of women speaking perfectly as one

continues.

“Every voice i
s important
, especially yours. H
ave a wonderful evening.”

The simulation bursts into billions of sparks and lights around the bathroom as J.D. Harnesworth
spits his toothpaste into the sink and rinses his mouth.

“Can you believe all this came from the Wrigbens and Mc
Claney?” Mattie, his wife and mother
to their two children asks, leaning against the bathroom doorway.

“Aren’t you afraid of that thing going haywire and cutting you right in two??”

“Th…The door?”

She leans away, looking into the tiny gape notch in the
center of the frame.

“No, I trust J and
JJ;

they designed these, didn’t they?”

“Pretty much, I guess, Corey is pretty sharp too, I’m sure he helped.”

“I don’t see their circuitry failing anytime soon…the stuff builds itself and upgrades itself for
crying o
ut loud.”

“I guess so.

Short one in bed?”

“About that…”

“Oh no…”

“She just can’t stop thinking about her brother.”

“He’s a good kid, it’s no wonder he evolved.”

“She’s convinced she has to now, too…so she refuses to sleep because the O.C. don’t need to
sle
ep.”

“How long’s she been going at it?”

“Poor dear, three days, but she’s got such conviction.”

“Three…Mattie, what the heck?”

“You stop it.

Let the girl fight her biology, she will get sick of it soon enough and let it go.”

“That’s fine, but I’m gonna go
nudge it along in a mild inconspicuous way.”

Mattie smiles softly, moving in behind him and brushing her fingers over his neck and chin.

“Thank you…”

“It
is

pretty close…isn’t it?”

“Not the shave you big dope.

Go put our baby to bed.”

“Oh…oh...right.”

On
the living room couch, eyes sagged and drooped, bloodshot and worn

though perked
wide

sits the young girl of nearly seven.

The holographic projection of the television
documentary on the Oblivion Chyldren has her reeled and drawn in with a brilliant wide g
aping
smile.

J.D. can’t help but chuckle.

“Still not tired, sport?”

“Nuh
-
uhm.” The little blonde bounces.

“Guess you must be an Oblivion Chylde then.”

“Ya think?!”

“Well, you know how close I am to them, so how about we use the
super
-
secret

way of finding
out, the same way your
cousins
did when they were the first ones.”

“YEAH!”

“Okay, it’s a little tricky at first
, but then it’s all downhill,” h
er father says, coming around the
other side of the couch
and sitting down with her. He folds

his hands in his la
p in the shape of a
triangle.

“Sit like this, and lean back on the couch, close your eyes, and picture a pyramid in the dark.”

The girl quickly adjusts herself to do this, a wide grin on her face as the television responds to
her fathers’ next command.

“Silence mode.” And then, “Dim, seventy percent.” The room darkens softly.

“Okay, now
focus

on that pyram…” Harnesworth silences and grins, his daughter is out cold,
snoring and drooped to one side.

“Atta girl.”

Once she is in bed, he returns to his, snugg
ling in with his wife.

“How long?”

“Didn’t even get the TV off.”

“You snake.”

“SSsssssSSSSSssssssss
...
” He breathes out under her neck and ea
r, making her giggle and
squirm. She grips

his arms and pull
s

him closer.

“Better behave...
I’ll make boots.”

“Boots
?”

He grins.

Tonight will be his last night as a normal human.


Meanwhile in Wales:

Greenfield village near Holywell, of Flintshire.

Mya

Thompson watches out her window, down the lush green and light woods as the village
men fire round after round into a s
mall group of large mutations.

The front line is mostly comprised of officers in the government and
soldiers;

the clack of
gunfire is not a comfortable omen for the previously unarmed government.

It is nearly ten minutes before the O.C. operative can be se
en streaking through the sky towards
the small skirmish from the direction of Snowdonia.

Mya’s son is close in age to the Harnesworth
girl;

he peers out at the streak of light moving from
the horizon as it curves down and collides brutally with one of the
large beasts
(
which used to be
a stray dog
)
.

The boy

s eyes widen comically as the O.C. and Xanthian skip a few times into the denser forest,
leaving impact clouds and greener
y like confetti in the air.

A

huge rolling cloud of dust

emerges

from the forest
nearby.

The impacts are like cracks of thunder as the Xanthian screams and wails, roaring out and
snapping its teeth and claws ferociously in the battle.

The armed humans continue pelting the other few creatures with bullets and explosive canisters,
forcin
g them to remain mostly still while trying to reform from the injuries.

Mya recalls her visit from an O.C. visitor nearly a month previous.

When the O.C. emerges from the woods it is in a flash, and straight for the small group of
Xanthians being kept unde
r cover fire.

The battle is difficult to follow as the super human gets
involved;

parts and pieces of Xanthian
entrails

begin to fly out from the rumble, forcing the normal humans to fall back for fear of
contamination by the Xanthian radiation.

It is too
late for

two of the government soldiers; doubled over, they

begin to split their uniforms
in growth.

Several of the weapons target and begin filling the changelings full of hot ammunition.

The battle is over in several more moments as the two changelings a
re smashed together by two
columns of light, then crushed together into a tiny block of meat and dropped to the ground.

The bodies fume and decay swiftly, emitting a foul dark mist of miasma which is quickly
obliterated by the low frequency anti
-
Xanthian e
ngines.

The humans are given a brief scan by the O.C. to ensure that a new Xanthian general has not
been created, and then the O.C. is gone over the horizon once more.

“Momma, how come the monsters always go out there instead of into the village?”

“You
know that big glowing globe made of metal that the super people put up?”

“Uh huh?”

“That makes a kind of energy that makes it painful for monsters to come too close.”

“Why don’t

they put those everywhere?”

“Well they do, honey, they put them everywhere tha
t we have to live, but it’s hard to make them
because of some of the kinds of things inside them.”

“Oh.

What kind of stuff?”

“School stuff.”

“Yuck!”

Mya giggles and pets her son gently as her husband emerges from the group of soldiers and
makes his way up
towards the house, allowing her to breathe a sigh of relief as he holds his
weapon into the air to signal he is fine.

This is far from the first time that she has had to feel nervous, and the mutations were getting
worse.

The tree line was a death sentence

to anyone but a Chylde, and for weeks the beasts were coming
closer and closer to her home on the edge of the village.

“Timothy, go get ready for dinner.”

“Okay.” The boy bounds off to do as he is told, and Mya looks to her left forearm, tracing the
invis
ible marking left by her visitor.

The decision was becoming fairly obvious as

compliance
necessary
.


When her husband finally gets back to the house, Mya is setting the table in their modest, but
respectable kitchen.

“They’re getting bigger.”

“I saw that.


The conversation was complete, and the family ate in silence until finally Mr. Thompson sits
back and stares at his wife.

“What is it?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re spacing…don’t play with me, Mya, what is it?”

He had her pegged after such a wonderfully long
marriage
.

“I had a visit from an emissary of Entropion nearly a month ago.”

The silence prevails through the next few
bites;

both her men’s eyes are locked on her until
finally the smaller one breaks the silence.

“What’s a… amnistery?”

“Emissary, honey.

What did he

say?” Her husband leans in, interested to have his question
answered.

“She…it was AmyTheist.

She brought me answers…”

“About your dreams…”

“Mmhmm.”

“Okay?”

The family breaks for a bite together.

“Her name is Malba…and apparently she might have some
information that ExoGlyce can use to
perfect the engines and a few other things, too.”

“So you’re…one of them?”

“That sounded abrasive.”

“What’s abrasive mean?”

“It wasn’t abrasive, sweetie…I was just asking.”

“What’s abrasive mean?”

“Well you had a bit of

a tone. What if I am?

Would it be so bad for Tim to grow up in a place
like Dome
-
One?”

“Mama…”


Really?

Dome
-
One?

I wouldn’t get to play with my friends anymore.”

“Dad?”

“God forbid…we needn’t worry about you getting infected or mauled…how horrible.”

Tim
growls a little under his breath, he wasn’t used to being outright ignored like this.

“Stop being abrasive!!” He demands, forcing their attention and silence mid chew.

The adults laugh softly, looking down at him and without missing a beat they ask togethe
r.

“What’s abrasive mean?”

The stink
-
eye they received was camera worthy.

After a short explanation on the word and its uses, the conversation was permitted to continue.

After washing up for her as she had cooked, and giving her time to collect her thought
s he would
return to the table, their son still staring at her.

The three sat quietly before the youngest spoke up, again accepting the responsibility of breaking
the insufferable silence.

“I want you to be a super person.”

He was admittedly skilled in his

responsibilities.

“I concur.

I’m sure I can find some way to be useful over in the dome.

Especially that one…”

Mya sighs fully, then smiles.

“I shouldn’t have been so worried about what you would think.

Guess there’s only one thing to
do.”

She looks down
at her forearm
again;

the soft lavender glow glistened from elbow to wrist as it
hadn
’t before.

Her men perked curiously, not seeing what she saw.

As she traces the symbol, their eyes widen in response to the glowing lavender being revealed.

Around her arm

little twinkles and sparkles of light begin to flutter until freezing in place
brig
htly. They then make

a lateral movement in many directions to form circuitry and
illuminations of different colors in Psiforce.

Her eyes go into a sporadic flutter of brigh
t colors and flashes as the gauntlet of Psiforce
solidifies
,

and the back of her forearm sprouts lines of light that move apart and then parallel
upward after a hard angle.

The screen identifies Mya, illuminating her nervous and vascular
structures, S
he is

gently lifted
from the chair to hover as the rectangular screen whirls into her abdomen and splits up and down
into two screens of Psiforce that map her muscle tone and all other bio
-
patterns in a smaller
window that appears to the right of her head.

Timo
thy’s fac
e was wide in surprise and awe.

He went without blinking as the procedure
incorporated his mother’s physiology into Oblivion’s databanks.

When the scan is complete, her Psiforce burns away her clothing and body, replacing the
majority of her flesh
, muscle tone, and veins and blood with what appears to be circuitry in the
shape of the former biology.

The circuitry is in truth organic compounds of Psiforce which behave as an enhancement, shield,
and defensive m
echanism to the original organs. It prov
ides

nourishment, oxygenation, and the
other needs of the body.

The burning effect on a molecular level is caused by Psiforce photons
that are pre
-
programmed to distort the atomic properties of the electrons they attach to.

The
change causes bursts of ener
gy millions of times more powerful than previous, causing the
original molecule to shift chemically into the Psiforce component entirely.

The effect is a sudden surge of evolution in her cellular structures which behave more like a
machine than an organic,

despite the fact that she is still entir
ely comprised of human genetics.
Only this is

on an evolutionary scale which dwarfs the previous leaps of humanity combined.

For Mya the world is gone, instead her mind is being bombarded with a very precise maelstr
om
of information, memories, and access into areas of existence that only

a decimal of intelligent
life will experience firsthand in this way throughout the cosmos.

Galaxies where other Chyldren exist, dimensions beyond tangibility, the knowledge of what t
he
Xanthian really is and how her dreams play into it.

The entire history of Malba
-
Aurora Vam’paero is archived into her mind, as well as the hundreds
of previous realiti
es she has been part of already

and the possibility of billions more to come
according

to ExoGlyce, who in truth is now Nexxyz, and the older sibling to Malba.

The process requires that billions of human years be combined and compiled i
nto this brief
initiation. W
hen everything is said and done she feels that she must catch her breath, but
there is
no pull of her diaphragm.

Her husband and son stare at her as she lowers onto the table, on her hands and knees in nothing
but a skin tight cybernetic circuitry that is paper
-
thin and skin tight.

Her body is flawless, her
hair is a shimmer of colo
rs wafting weightlessly as if in water, color moving from root to end in
swift patterns like a psychedelic kaleidoscope.

Her lungs pull finally
, but it does nothing for her. T
he light
-
headedness will keep her trying to
breathe even though it is not necessa
ry any longer.

“Honey?

Are…you okay?”

The air just off to the side of him pulls in suddenly, as if

there were a bend in reality. H
e can feel
a distinct pull of gravity towards it before a flash of energy brings two O.C. fully enveloped in
full body Psiforc
e, unique to them in every way as Mya's is to her.

One of them is clearly Entropi
on.

The other is almost wicked clownish and school
-
girly.

Their faces shift, pulling the masks away in energy for Entropion, and a simple fade for the girl
with him.

“Mr. Thom
pson…I apologize for the intrusion…I have been hoping to see her icon illuminate
since AmyTheist activated her tetrahedron.


“Why don’t you guys get here that fast when there is an attack out around here?”

“It’s been six minutes, sir… the average response
time is half that, but we’ve been
forced

to
disperse from the Luna site lately as well.

Activity is picking up everywhere…your wife can help
with that.”

“It was nearly half an hour just an hour ago when we had those wolves and that dog.”

“No sir, the Offic
er you saw was the second on the scene…the first was maintaining the insect
and flight capable mutations along the perimeter for a quarter mil
e…some of us move very
quickly.

Allow me to introduce us.”

“Everyone knows you…you’re Entropion, right?”

“And I’m
Blinki.”


“Hard to take you serious with that getup.”

“She intercepted over a dozen attempts on you by ins
ect and bird mutations earlier...
less than
what was it, Blinki, four inches?”

“Four point
two, three, eight, seven.”

“How far away did you throw the P
si
-
hatchets from, again
?


“Three
hundred and sixty two yards, on the longest toss.”

Mya’s husband is speechless.

He knows full well this informa
tion is more than likely true. H
e
hadn’t even realized there were birds or insects, aside from the crawlers that

were fairly obvious.

“How is that even possible?

I believe you, but how?”

“Operatives such as Blinki and I can move on a higher molecular level than other beings.

All
O.C. are capable of it, but not on our levels.”

“The commander here borderlines moving f
aster than the speed of light. W
e are sure he can do
it, but are not sure about what it might do in this construct of existence with what we know in
sub
-
quantum physics.”


“Sub…quantum?”

“Technically it’s more like four “subs.” And where things get so smal
l or big it doesn’t matter
anymore and are warped to swing back around…tough to put into human language, it deals with
all dimensional properties, which number in the hundreds and contain thousands of ordinances
each.”


“Bloody sixes and sevens...”

Mr. Tho
mpson shakes his head in wonder at Blinki’s explanation.

“Oh, hi Mya…welcome back, I wasn’t sure you were going to respond to the summoning in this
reality, though you typically do…you seemed less adamant this time around.

Glad to see I was
wrong, we found

something new in your data encryptions when exposed to a new form of
Psiforce.

Let’s get your family transported and get to work.”

“Yeah…just give me a minute…that’s…that’s a real rush J…every damn time…it’s such a
rush…”

“Oh right…you don’t like all that

sensation of movement.”

“Gawd no.

It’s horrid.

Every…time…”

Jaisen chuckles heavily, moving to Mya and laying his hand on her shoulder to t
rigger a change
in her Psiforce. It is

less provocative and hugging, more like her clothes that had been burned up
a
nd stored in memory, though slightly changed and crested with O.C. symbols and circuitry that
shimmers with colorful movement.

“Where is the little bugger?”

“What?”

“The general what’s been antagonizing my family for three months.

I have a score.

One of th
e
soldiers that went down today was a mate.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not

as sorry as this thing...t
here you are.”

Mya’s vision fades suddenly, in her mind there is a projection of the forest beyond the meadow,
and her mind races over the trees and down into them.

He
r mind swings around a rotten tree with
a very dark haze around it.

Inside she can see the pulsation of the Xanthian General spreading
into the roots and infecting the ground around it.

Her mind snaps back to her suddenly as she slides off the table and ma
rches firmly towards the
front door.

“Gonna be great to have her tracking enhancements incorporated in the arsenal again.”

“You said it, Blinki.”

“Think she’s gonna march the whole way?”

“Firm and mean, put every
thing down as it comes her way...T
im’s gonna

love this.”

“You know my name?”

The boy pipes up, intrigued.

“Oh yeah…you got some greatness in your future buddy boy.”

“Can I go watch, Dad?”

“Er uhm,

s
he’s really gonna…”

“You got it James.

She’s gonna b
eat the tar out of that thing.”

"Literally..."
Blinki adds.

“You talk like we are familiar.”

“We are.” Jaisen smirks, turning to follow Mya out of her house and down the meadow.

Tim is
in close heel behind the Psiforce
-
shrouded man of several types of blue, many lightning bolt
patterns incorporated into his design.

“Can I come too?”

“Yeah, I’ll protect you, kiddo.”

Jaisen calls out ahead at Mya, alerting her of his plan, and r
ece
ives nothing but a wave off. She is
a

woman on a mission as

she vanishes into the forest. A
n eerie silence follows as Entropion and
Timothy trot up to the woods edge.

“Kinda creepy.”

“Yeah, it’s quiet.”

Suddenly a screech rings out but is silenced midway.

Then another.

Another.

Silence.

“My mom is pissed.”

Jaisen’s brow
rises

sharply as he looks to the child.

“I wouldn’t recommend that language around your parents.”

“Uh
-
duh.

We goin’ in?”

“Jeez kid, nothing
fazes

you in any reality, does it…Let’s go in.”

Ja
isen crouches, allowing Ti
mothy to climb up onto his back.

Psiforce then surrounds the boy
like a back carrier, enveloping him entirely as Jaisen’s armor solidifies as a clear

half
-
egg over
the boys back. This

protect
s

from all directions and keep
s

Tim imm
ediately next to Jaisen at all
times.

Jaisen rises and begins to trot into the foliage, noticing a few bird carcasses fizzing away into a
miasma cloud, then a path of scattered rat remains doing the same.

“Guess we know what the screeching was…”

“What?”

“T
hose used to be rats.”

“Mom did that?”

“She sure did, bud.

She’s never been too violent, but when it comes to you and
your

Daddy…
whoa

boy.”

“Yeah.

Once she made a bully crap himself.”

Jaisen laughs in response, but his laughter is cut short b
y a hellacious

roar from ahead.

The
sound is like a shockwave and nearly knocks him back, making Timothy slap hands to ears and
make a face.

Jaisen is airborne in no time flat, leaping hard right out of the canopy in the direction of

his
visual marker for Mya.

As he com
es back through the canopy

and crouches in a soft landing

(keeping Tim’s wellbeing in mind),

both boys


eyes widen in surprise as they see Mya fire
harpoons of light by the hundreds into the last mutated wolf, tear it into pieces, and drop the
remains into

a pile with the rest.

“Whoa.”

“Indeed.”

Mya marches to the tree, which begins to cover itself in thorn
-
like growths and even begins to
move and shift
its

branches.

“It’s…the t
ree…” Jaisen says breathlessly.

“That’s the first time I have even considered that
plants could be a general…”

“What’s a general?”

“They control other Xanthian mutations.”

“Like an army general?”

“Exactly.”

“Okay.”

As Mya closes the gap, the trunk opens and launches root
-
like tentacles
at high speed towards
her, but the roots smash firmly into an invisi
ble Psiforce barrier around her. They
begin to cover
her, wrapping around the circumference with whip
-
like speed until she is completely surrounded.

“That’s not good…
it’s trying to adapt…”

The roots peel away suddenly in a rush but one is caught
fiercely

by an illuminated hand,
revealing a blinding light from underneath
. A

sudden flash moves up the rooty tentacles at swift
speed and right into the tree, making it jerk and twitch sporadicall
y until

it starts to dry out and
smoke. It releases

a high pitched screeching sound as the energy pulsates through the tree
-
fibers
like electricity.

“Never mind…she’s got this.”

The tree catche
s fire as it twitches and jerks. T
he light recedes from Mya and

wafts of brilliant
aurora surge off and around her, namely at the hands where she has a firm grip on two fistfuls of
thin root in one hand and a thick one in the other.

The aurora flashes and wisps violently around her and the tree
,

as the flames grow mor
e fierce
and hungry from the center where the tentacles leave the trunk.

She releases the tentacles and leaps back towards Jaisen and her son, her armor peeling away i
n a
slow movement of light. T
he Xanthian burns and begi
ns to tarnish the flames with its
irradiated
sludge
, making a disgusting putrid olive colored flame and smoke.


Contamination
?”

“Less than one percent, systems are already compensating.”

“How much radiation did it absorb?”

“Minimal, I initiated the aurora in time to block the drain.”

“I mi
ssed you.”

“My family comes first this time, Jaisen.”

“Yes ma’am.

I remember the promise you made James.”

“First.”

“Let’s get you settled in the dome.”

“First…Jaisen.”

“Okay, Mya…”

“Okay.”





Xanthian reality:


The galaxy is in ruin...
many

galaxies

are colliding together in a massive retraction, causing
mayhem and chaos amongst the maelstrom.

Trillions of species of intelligent life has been compressed together, and endless war presides
over the reality.

Not a war of living beings, but the reconstru
ctions of all souls compiled in a
dimensional aspect similar in nature to Oblivion’s design, though far more simplistic in terms of
reality and existence.

The Xanthian can access this part of itself at any time, as its own existence is bound by the laws
of

the former existence it has consumed.

Presences of personifications whirl within the seemin
gly endless storm of punishment

caused
by countless galaxies whirling
about one another and colliding

before reforming in an endless
sphere of destruction, larger
than the observable universe we call home by nearly forty times.

Space is not silent here, but an unwavering roar of explosions and chaos, accented by horrible
screams and wails that only get louder the closer you travel to the center of this omniverse of
pain and suffering.

To make things worse, Xanthian essences populate and wreak havoc throughout the maelstrom,
dragging intact renditions of consciousnesses to the ce
nter for intricate observation.

It’s

not
known what exactly occurs at the center, only tha
t the consciousnesses are entirely broken and
unintelligible when the center spews them back into the
turmoil

surrounding it.

The only beings capable of travel here other than the Xanthian and its endless supply of victims,
information, and more recently a
s a response to evolution against Oblivion…entertainment…are
the OniDamhmus.

These ultimate consciousnesses are incapable of existing serenely within the third dimension of
any reality other than the Xanthian reality, as a simple thought from any of the th
ree would
produce enough ene
rgy to cause a release

powerful enough to produce a density capable of
devouring the entire dimension.

No other being has the ability to wander into the Xanthian reality and maintain a physical
essence, let alone defend from the

Xanthian construction
s in representation of itself.

Within this
Xanthian horror reality, reside the extremities that await their doorway into Oblivion

s dominion.

Even the OniDamhmus usually will not risk entering this particular dimension of the Xanthian

reality, but iJo’Ciou’ OniDamhmu has received a mental connection which has spurred him into
action.

Oblivion has no idea why one of her prodigal sons has entered this domain without s
o much as
an alert sent to her.

His brothers have noticed the absence o
f his conscious density within the
ZephyrreztarrE, our existence, and hav
e alerted her to the situation.

No one can track him, as he
is too deep within the reality.

All they can do is hope that the tether provided ironically by Jaisen McClaney will do its
job
even that far into the depths of the abyss, and pull his core essence back to Oblivion’s center
before any real damage can be done to him in the event of the unavoidable danger the being
faces.

iJo’Ciou’ s
t
eers through the
tumult

as fast as he can towa
rds the presence in his mind.

This is not
the reaction of an event that he can understand, all he knows is that this beacon is a cry for help,
and he
must

respond.

He will sacrifice his own conscious essence in effort to comply with this
beacon

s originato
r if he must.

At several points he is met by waves of Xanthian extremities, and astoundingly his focus remains
pristine as it has never been before, he battles and slays the creatures with ease as he makes a
direct bee
-
line towards the beacon.

As he approa
ches, the Xanthian realizes what he is after and pulls away, parting the
furious
turmoil

into darkness and separating it and iJo’Ciou’ from the rest of the dimension.

The beacon goes dark with the surroundings and iJo’Ciou’ is lost within the silence, but
surges
forward tow
ards the last known direction. It’s
something that is lost to him in moments, and
forces him t
o drift in confusion and panic...
not for his own safety, but for the one who has sent
the beacon.

In the silence, he searches his mind for the p
resence, trying his best to divert the shroud and
make his way through it.

It does not seem to be working, but the Xanthian has perked more interest on this kn
own enemy
of unknown proportion. T
he distance between himself and his target was diminishing desp
ite the
control of reality.

Defiance within the Xanthian construct…impossible…apparently not…

Despite its best efforts, the Xanthian cannot defer the OniDamhmu from reestablishing the
connection with the beacon, and pulling himself from the darkness and in
to her presence.

Reality shifts again as he enters her personal Hell, reserved as a promise to Turbulance during
the final moments of his freedom from this enemy.

Vam’paero bodies and parts drift freely in silence as he enters a place of illumination, a li
ght so
pure that not a single Vam’paero cannot be seen.

Their faces christened in the familiar designs of their race and royalty, but slashed and tattered,
corrupted and decayed.

At the center of this grotesque graveyard, sob
bing and weeping can be heard.

Soft screams and
d
rawn gasps of desperation join the cries,
until being shattered by a horrifying scream.

iJo’Ciou’ identifies the voice from his memories of Turbulance.

Slowly he approaches the source of the screaming and crying, the memories of her have
never
been

so hard to identify with as when

seeing her in such a state.

She holds one of her great grandchildren in one arm and the upper torso, severed from the
abdomen of another of her offspring in the other
, an older in appearance body. T
he eyes of bo
t
h
are lifeless.
Vam’paero blood stains her tattered imperial gown
.

She drags

herself away from the
older and towards
another of the many bodies

near her, still clutching the decaying infant in her
other arm.

She is missing a leg, and the other is horribly
mangled, tho
ugh she still tries to

use it.
H
er back is
torn and shredded, exposing much of her grated body to iJo’Ciou’.

The trail of blood smears in all directions as if there was a firm surface between the bodies that
she was dragging herself
on in every

direction.

The path can be seen amongst every single body
for miles, as she visits them all endlessly to cry for her destroyed family, mingling her flowing
blood with their old and coagulated blood.

iJo’Ciou’ moves towards her, but his voice cannot be
heard.

Nothing he says can find her ears, and she can only scream
and wail for her family amongst

hundreds of thousands of them in every single direction...eviscerated.

When he closes the gap and curls down to place hands on her she looks up at him in terr
or and
scrambles away at first, screaming and
crying out in absolute horror.

Her injuries
hemorrhage

and spurt as she kicks and scrambles away, but then her eyes widen

she stops to stare at him in
disbelief, unsure if she has been truly presented
with him,

then:

“Tu…Turbie
...
What have…What have you done?

Our…babies…my beautiful family… WHAT
HAVE YOU DONE?!”

iJo’Ciou’ tries to respond, but again his voice has no sound...his heart breaks as he stares into her
pale and opaque eyes as Malevolance, mother of all

Vam’paero begins to weep and swat at him,
then more violently in a rage as she starts to reform and heal.

Within moments, iJo’Ciou’ is forced to defend himself against this woman who he cannot help
but love, despite having no personal attachmen
t to her.

S
he cannot be blamed for her reaction,
iJo’Ciou’ shares many of her husband’s features, as well as memories.

Her talons slash at him fiercely, but can do no legitimate
damage;

his unique physiological
structure programmed by her own Oblivion is far beyon
d h
er own even at her pinnacle.

iJo’Ciou’
is forced to restrain her for her own safety.

Accusations and roars of hatred pour from her through fits of cr
ying and screaming, which echo

through the vast nothing
-
but
-
floating
-
corpses as the only sounds that can be

heard.

Tears of blood for her babies, accusatory words of hatred for the way Turbulance offered them
up to the Xanthian so carelessly.

The scene carries on, uninterrupted by the Xanthian, as it feels that iJo’Ciou’ is doing it a justice
with his presence.

She is being tormented further, by her own unknown descendant, how
perfectly gruesome and poetic for her Hell.

Finally Malevolance is rendered to nothing but sobs and tears again, wailing and clinging to
iJo’Ciou’ and saturating him in her blood.

He rocks

her, holding her gently and trying to comfort her, telling her that he will take her away
from this… that he will get her out alive, that the torment is over.

His words are voiceless again, maddening torturous silence when he needed voice the most!

The tw
o remain embraced and rocking softly, the debris of death tumbling weightlessly amongst
them, sometimes twitching and spasms in terrifying displays of false life.

When iJo’Ciou’ forces her to look into his eyes, he initiates a form of speech that she would

have
thought long gone, his thoughts pour into her broken and chaotic mind, as hers fill his.

His Turbulant energy triggers

a connection with her as only Turbulance could.

The truth pours through both ways, and the two scream in unison as flashes of the p
ast ru
sh
through each other’s minds. S
lowly iJo’Ciou’s voice comes into audibility.

When the dual scream ends, the bodies are cast away violently, leaving the two in darkness,
bathed only by the cyan light of iJo’Ciou’ which is dim and gentle…the first
warmth
Malevolance has felt since being imprisoned here nearly fourteen billion years ago.

She now understands who this pers
on is, and how he has found her;

she knows what Oblivion
has become and how she and Azrael struggle to end this terrib
le reality.

In

turn, her would
-
be
savior is still in the aftermath trauma of everything that Malevolance has been subjected to while
in the prison reality.

She is not
dead;

she has
not been bled for information. S
he has been kept in full preservation and
tortured by her

family committing suicide all around her again and again, killing each other and
themselves, blaming her while she is trapped in the maddening silence, and then left to only her
own voice after the last body falls.

This has occurred for longer than he has

existed in Oblivion’s existence by trillions of his own
years, shattering the true time of presence, as the Xanthian controls "time" here.

His cheeks are lined in blood tears in moments and his eyes fade fully black, there is only one
phrase that repeats
in his mind after each memory fragment, in her voice.

Now the voice says it again as she holds him, gasping and gurgling blood from her mouth as she
begs him for release in his mind.

“Please…it…won’t let me…die…please, my child…so familiar you are to your
grandfather…please…end my suffering…”

“I have only just found you…I can bring you back home…I can get you out of here…please…”

“I am broken beyond repair…please, I have no desire for the fight...just…release me…” Her
words break into sobbing as she clenche
s her grip on him.

“Please…Oh please…I cannot live with these memories…please…do it…let me go…set me
free.”

She repeats her plea again and again breathlessly between sobs, staring into the eyes of such a
close resemblance to her husband and their first bor
n.

iJo’Ciou’ struggles, staring back and shaking his head softly…the memories of her, so lively, so
full of energy and joy, so caring and soft…memories of her holding his would be aunts, uncles,
cousins, and other offspring to her family as infants and tod
dlers.

People like him…he never got
to experience it first hand, her motherly grace.

He was no longer simply a protocol, a program with a directive… this was
his family floating
around him. H
e possessed memories and knowledge of her that until now has been

stripped away
while she was tortured, stripped her of everything she was that his memories told him.

Her mind was linked to his in a frozen moment in a place beyond the Xanthian reach, and he
knew everything she felt, how her pain and misery could never b
e described in words.

As she begs, and pleads with him in this mental world, she gasps suddenly, eyes widening and
searching his while his tears run freely.

“You…”

she gulps, clinging to him firmly again as he lays her back slowly and the bodies fade
back
in around them.

“Make me…proud…baby…you… you kill that…thing….” She gasps and gulps again, forcing a
slight smile to him…the first she can remember.

Her eyes flutter softly and iJo’Ciou’s voice
cracks in pain as he whines and nods his hea
d to her. A

sharp

shlink


sound echoes as he pulls
the energy blade back into his forearm, having corrupted her essence with a rare form of Psiforce
radiation.

He swallows hard and hugs her.

“Grandmother…I’m…so sorry…”

“Tell your mother…I love her…as mine…


A
nd with that,
Malevolance’s body shifts and begins
to dissolve away from the gash of his blade.

The Xanthian at once recognizes what has happened now that the two have begun to move again
.
E
nraged by the release of its capture
,

it begins to animate the bodies around him
, mutating and
changing them into sentinels.

As Malevolance wisps away and fades, fragments of her essence twinkle out and into him,
making him flash softly in her distinctive color of energy.


iJo’Ciou’ stares blankly at his hands, sobbing softly for her
as the Xanthian surrounds him in
thousands of grotesque renditions of his own would
-
be family.

Electricity spirals around him a few times before suddenly from cyan they shift to a horrible dark
blue, with black radiation beginning to pour out around him. E
nergy blasts outward from him,
knocking the ring of Xanthians back slightly, forcing

it to reconsider for a moment.

iJo’Ciou’ clenches his fists as a roar of hatred booms from him that rumbles the space and
vibrates through the entire m
ass of Xanthian sent
inels. H
is energy darkens yet again and he
pulses violently with powerful radiation lik
e a slow but immense heartbeat.

iJo’Ciou’

stretches out as if standing. T
he beat pounds once more furiously as his eyes shift from
darkness to vacuum, now sharing the ch
aracteristic of early third dime
nsional Xanthian
phantoms. H
e roars again, this time in a horrific an
d beastly tone, something awful

and
monstrous

the closest Xanthian sentinels are obliterated entirely in the shockwave of dark
energy moving with his roar
,

and spew o
ut over the tumbled “survivors.”

The OniDamhmus brothers within the ZephyrreztarrE quake suddenly with a dark tuft, and draw
the attention of Azrael and Oblivion as well as themselves.

eRi’Zanu’ and aZu’Arli’an
project the new energetic informat
ion from their brother clearly, and
Oblivion can find no form of radiation seepage.
The information is clean and us
able…a clear
presence of iJo’Ciou’ is now undeniable
,

and through his consciousness they cannot help but feel
some legitimate concern for how

this situation appears.

His body ripples and swells at first, then begins to rot away, allowing the skeletal structure in this
reality to readjust and apparently mutate. His skull cracks horribly and plasma dark energy spills
out from him like blood, caus
ing a
wafting
vaporous release
as black electricity spi
ts and cracks
around him.

His jaw tears and elongates, sprouting skewers of fangs in multiple rows as his face stretche
s into
an almost draconic skull.

J
agged
,

bone
-
like projections
emerge
around the c
rown like a shield for
the exposed and dark royal blue g
lowing brain matter. He is then

sealed in energy whi
ch
stretches the span of the

n
ervous system and can be seen th
roughout the length of his body.

The
energy is
especially
focused
into the long tail that is manifesting and growing
outward from his
lower back. The tail splits

off into six more tails that end in torturous claw
-
like blades, three on
each end.

The entire time his tail is forming, his r
oar is painful while terrifying. T
h
e Xanthian cannot be
sure how to react at first to this odd turn of events.

The energy
was clearly of Chaos, and there
in should be able to be manipulated while in this
realm. Perhaps the Xanthian has achieved its ultimate goal, and this was worth seeing th
rough.

An end to this confusing partitioning and projection of Oblivion

s realms, where time and space
seem to mean nothing

in accordance to information. C
ould this be the moment where
it would no
longer
be necessary to consume these separate reality fragm
ents one by one
,

by the trillions
,

for a
single part of one percentage? Is this insufferable existence finally within the final throes, and
can
the pain of these living creatures


chaos be over?

The Xanthian can practically taste the solemn solitude of non
-
existence at hand…no more agony,
pain, suffering to exist. No chance

of its presence ever to return.
With Oblivion’s realm
swallowed up, the Xanthian will have successfully consumed every living dimension capable of
breeding chaos, hatred, and the other w
icked natures comprised of what it has become, and
destroy it all in one final moment.

Freedom…Peace… Finally.


As iJo’Ciou’ goes into the final stages of transformation, his entire spinal column has sprouted
layer upon layer of dark energy into spines of
armor which pulse and throb with royal blue
energy. His skull is oozing with the glowing plasma and gnashing

all four mouth pieces together;

the teeth are in rows which slide and vibrate back and fo
rth rapidly inside the tracks. T
he
skeleton has become muc
h less humanoid.

Dark matter shields cover

the vital energy sources located throughout the core and in the limbs,
with massive growths of sharp edges and spines. The feet are separated into three pronged
graspers ended with wicked talon and edges, while th
e hands and forearms have done similarly.

At finale, the shoulders under the scapula areas shoot out the
dark blue energy into three spik
es
which crawl into root along the upper spine and under the arms for support.

The spik
es then swell, split, and knuckl
e together as the blue energy begins to pulsate between
the groves until they split and unfold, changing and swelling where necessary in order to stretch
into three sets of energy wings nearly four times the creature

s length on each side.

The sudden sprea
d of the

wings comes with another roar. T
his time there is no pain, but an
obvious digital pattern in the almos
t prehistoric or demonic roar. B
lack electricity flails outward
in time with the shockwave of its roar which moves rapidly out in a spherical exp
ansion across
the sentinels.

As the field moves past a sentinel, the black electricity seeks it out and begins to insta
ntly drain
the energy from it. W
hen the energy is depleted swiftly the sentinel is obliterated like gas or dust
and pulled towards the On
iDaemon
,

where the molecular remains are consumed by the energy
around the beast.

The Xanthian can feel the gravity instantaneously at its
core;

the Daemon has absorbed
thousands of information nodes which lead towards the core.

The information i
s put into

effect
immediately. A
s the Daemon turns to face the source of the
energy, a small star brightens in the distance and the Daemon vanishes suddenly in appearance,
moving through the reality at such speeds that the Xanthian cannot track it.

The star swells i
n size as the Daemon leaps towards it, warping the space in its wake so
fundamentally that the chaos ridden
frenzy

is forced to expand violently
. It

scatter
s

outward and
ruin
s

the entire stock of information waiting to be assimilated.

As the Daemon moves
through the star, space ripples outward from the impact and as the
Daemon is propelled into a deeper dime
nsion of the Xanthian reality. T
he rift ruptures
dramatically and detonates. The entire dimension will be
rendered to shreds by

the aftermath of
the Da
emon’s movements alone.

Back in the ZephyrreztarrE at the core dimensional rift, space rumbles and vibrates firmly
around the four observers. All systems indicate that the structure of the dimension will hold fine,
as torrents of energy and information are

being stockpiled into Oblivions central control.

The Psiforce construct around them cannot hold a solid color, and the circuitry rewires and forms
new conduits continuously in hopes to compensate.

His brothers, mother, and great uncle can only stare dumbf
ounded at the display and the readings
that are coming back.

The Daemon strikes a dimensional wall and the energy reaction is volatile, forcing the

Daemon
back towards the rift. H
ere
,

space can be seen in ruins from the angle of the Daemon’s path. The
crac
k widens and stre
tches, tearing away slowly, then bursts open into a gaping chasm. It crosses
dimensions in a surprisingly beautiful display of colors and visual effects, the object of any
abstract painter or photographer’s dreams.

As the Daemon rushes the

wall once more, the horizon of this opposite polarity event horizon
seems to fortify itself with several shades and hues of energy in anticipation of the next and more
potent strikes of violent energies.

To its surprise, the Xanthian can actually feel whe
n the Daemon sinks its hooks and talons into
the barrier. The tail spires slam into it as well, bending and hooking inside the barrier walls and
keeping the beast there as the Xanthian produces more energy to push the creature away.

Perhaps allowing this t
o transpire was an error of much more magnitude than was calculated.

The creature snaps and gnashes its mouthparts and talons at the barrier, tearing gelatinous shreds
into it before it could hea
l itself back over fully again. The
beast roars and projects
a fierce beam
of
black energy plasma
from its maw
,

which causes a furious ripple out around the atmosph
ere
of the dimensional barrier.

The blast actually tears through partially and fires an excruciating painful radiation into the core
dimensions of the Xanthian reality. The Xanthian responds audibly in a roar of
agony
, which
pummels the Daemon relentlessly with energy, powerfully enough
to begin tearing and burning
away at the creature’s body.

A sudden surge of energy rushes from the vast horizons of the dimensional wall at blinding
speed until centering at the Daemon, suddenly increasing the power o
f the blast exponentially.
T
he Daemon i
s burned away first at
the wings, then through the non
-
skeletal energy cons
tructs
and essential energies.

A
s the skeletal structure ruptures and the tail ends break
,

the Daemon is
flailed for a moment before tumbling out towards the dimensional tear.

It wr
ithes and struggles for a moment, but the radiation burns away the res
t of the body shortly
after. This

forces iJo’Ciou’ out as
core

energy and directly through Entropion
,

in order to be
reintegrated into the ZephyrreztarrE.

The Xanthian has lost an incalc
ulable amount of information, and gained nothing vital in
reaching Oblivion’s core. It will not make the mistake of taking prisoners again.











Epsilon re
ality, early enhancement levels. Less

than
one

dozen Oblivion Chyldren wi
ll exist on
this planet

Earth:


Near the Mayan Empire landscapes and ruins…

Only Wrigben is
aware of his tie to Nexxyz. H
e will not reveal this truth until he has deriv
ed all
the information he needs, information

that he could not have searched for previous to this unique
connec
tion.

Rochelle is with him, and both Jaisen and Corey are helping Harnesworth clean up the riffraff
throughout the United States as silent vigilantes, while keeping watch
ful eyes for Xanthian
mutations

(
even though according to tradition they will not be a
ppearing f
or another half decade
at least).

“The temple is over there, I’m pretty sure, honey.”

“We aren’t going to the temple, babe.

What we are after hasn’t been found by science yet.”

“Oblivion sent us here, then?

I don’t remember seeing an ordinance.”

“No…just call it a hunch, alright?”

“I don’t like this secretive crap.”

“Woman, please…can we just move?”

“Woman?

Excuse you?”

“Yes…Woman…as in

my

woman…as in the woman I love very much and plan on making a
beautiful da
ughter with in the near future. C
an
we please focus on what needs to be done and you
just trust me without grilling me for details please?”

She sighs, tapping her finger on her arm lightly, as they have been folded since he started his
response.

“Fine.

Talk to me like that again though, and
I’m gonna trap your frozen behind under three
layers of bedrock, though.”

She glares firmly.

Before Jason can give a witty retort, his peripheral catches a golden shimmer off in the distance
behind his wife.

Nothing registers on his visual mapping.

This wo
uldn’t be a problem had he not been noticing them for nearly an hour, and they had
already passed a few places where a glitter had been previously noticed with nothing in the dense
forest to show for the shimmer.

It started to set in that the dense vegetat
ion was quiet and had been since he started noticing the
shimmers.

Nonetheless, he needed the information stored in this jungle, and he continues on, following the
memories of the Nexxyz as they guide him to a fragment of the history of planet Earth.


Chic
ago, Illinois.
The slums:

Gunfi
re can be heard in the distance.

Corey leans away from looking over Jaisen’s shoulder as
his friend hacks into several bank accounts of t
he local big business honchos. T
hanks to
Harnesworth and his supreme detective skills, t
here is a list of forty of the richest men in
Chicago.

“I’m gonna go check on that.”

“Yep.

Kinda busy here, still on countdown anyhow.”

“How long?”

“Four minutes until molecular enhancement, ninety before molecular relocation.”

“What?”

“Speed and porting.”

“Gotcha.

Okay, how many on the list?”

“Another thirty
-
two.”

“We need better equipment.”

“We’ll get it with this eighty mil.”

The conversation was no longer verbal, and hadn’t been since Core
y announced his departure.

H
e utilizes his strength enhancement,
and leaps onto the building acting as cover

for Jaisen’s
electronic “theft,”

then lunges towards the direction of the gunfire.

Hopping building to building, and using short bursts of flames to stabilize his direction and
landing in order to keep quiet
, he
reaches the edge of a rooftop

and sees a crowd of people
gathering around a man who is on the ground.

There is blood pooling around him, but the man is
alive.

“Damn…got a bleeder, witnesses galore.”

“Conspiracy theorists sometimes flock in groups.”

“Yeah,
not much choice in the matter, this guy’ll die well before any red
-
n’ whites get here.”

“Especially in this neighborhood.”

“Damn, I forgot…yeah, alright.”

The crowd is startled backwards as a burst of flames hits the ground over the downed victim,
Corey’s
face is covered in a nifty ninja mask with a black flame stitched into the back.

“This man needs a hospital…
who has a car?”

“What the hell is you apposed
-
a be?!”

“Who… Has… A CAR?!” Corey engulfs in red and white flames for a moment, making
his
trench coat

ruffle and billow. H
e leans down and burns the gunshot in the man

s lower abdomen
shut, making him scream out in some pain.

“Sorry buddy, had to do it…you’ll die without.”

“Nah…nah man it’s fine… th…thank you…but what the hell are you man?”

“A friend.

Whi
ch way did he go?”

“He gone man, hangin’ out an Olds window…”

“What color Olds?”

“I dunno mayne, yella or something…”

“You got shot…by a dude….ha
nging out a yellow Olds window. Y
ou poor bastard.”

“Mayne,
sh'up

mayne.”

“You got a car pullin


up here, they’r
e gonna get you to the hospital.

I’m gonna go get your
flower mobile.”

“You crazy nigga, that fool light you up too.

All them fools be like that, it’s the generation.”

“Yeah…that’s what pisses me off most… MY generation…You get well, I’ll get the asshole.”

“God bless you mayne, I pray fo’ ya safety.

Crazy ass cracka…”

Corey checks himself curiously, looking for exposed skin.

“Anybody gonna know you ain

t black, mayne…”

“Ah
-
hahaa…funny, aintcha boy?”

“Not as funny as that goofy face.”

“I have a mask on.”

“Ez
zatly.”

Corey chuckles an
d pats the man on his shoulder.

“You watch yourself after you heal.”

“Thanks again mayne, much love, much love.”

Corey leaps off in the direction his new friend pointed out, making for the building
tops again
and leaping through. H
e tries

to find the suspect car until finally he hears tires squeal in the
distance.

“That better be you!” He roars, lunging towards it with purpose, clearing three or four buildings
easily and falling towards the street.

A beige Oldsmobile speeds into the

distance.

“Gotcha.”

Corey leaps and bursts into flame, soaring through the air and suddenly slamming down onto the
roof of the car hard enough to shatter out all but the windshield glass.

The
cars swerves hard left, then right, fishtailing as the driver
and passenger a.k.a. “gunman”
hoot, holler
, and scream

interestingly ladylike in tone.

As they pull off and get out of the car quickly, the gunman pulls his piece, screaming out in
surpris
e to find some crazy vigilante
-
out
-
of
-
a
-
comic
-
book man in black on t
he roof.

His gun is kicked away swiftly and then his face receives a foll
ow through.

Corey drops as if
sweeping, but strikes the man in the face once more and sends him to the ground before flipping
backwards towards the driver and landing in front of him
as he starts to run away.

Corey is like a cinderblock wall as the man hits him and bounces off like a super
-
ball, but Corey
hooks his collar and spins, swinging the man back and delivering several devastating
blows to
the gut and midsection. He

then sweeps

and pins the man in a swift looping leg motion lit by
small flames of his movement.

The man groans and receives one more blow, this time a palm strike to the forehead that knocks
his cranium to the asphalt. It

puts the man out like a light without filamen
t.

The gunman is struggling to his feet towards his piece, but he doesn’t m
ake it

four steps before
his friend is suddenly slammed against him and the two roll towards the curb.

Corey marches to them, his coat flailing in wide gaping steps until he drags t
he driver over the
gunman, and delivers one final blow to make sure the man stays out.

He looks at the windshield,
smirking and aiming his hand.

Enhancement key two, level three…cinder burst activated.

Two bursts fly from his palm, blowing out two person s
ized holes in the windshield before he
leaps to a building top, hangin
g his head over the edge. H
e pulls back the mask and awaits the
police and ambulance to collect their perp
etrator

patient packages.

After “cleanup” starts, Corey makes his way back to Ja
isen, who is nearly finished with the
hacking tasks.

Throughout the night, Corey and Jaisen will drain every single ATM in the city with a mock card
tied to a false account holding all of the siphoned funds.

The funds are then distributed throughout the po
orest parts of the city, with a warning of silence
and a symbol of a tetrahedron of red blue and green with the letters “O.C.” in the center.

Their next stop will be to Molly Cohen, in order to restore her memories from previous
realities…





Meanwhile in

the jungles of the Aztec:

“I keep getting the strangest feeling we’re being watched.”

“Glad I’m not the only one.”

“When can we get out of this jungle?

We’ve been here for weeks and I really want a hot
shower.”

Jason stops walking, looking at a large hill

in the light foliage in the distance.

“There it is.”

“Thank gawd.

You said this is the last one, right?”

“For this continent, yes.”

“Why do I get the feeling you just want to keep taking naps, and all this information crap is just
you messing with me?”

“D
amnit Rochelle.”

“I’m kidding, Jeez.

I see your bio
-
patterns when you’re doing it, and when you’re unconscious…
I know you’re not messing with me, and I am very supportive of what we are
doing;

I know how
important it is.”

“Sorry…”

“We’re both really stres
sed and sick of this jungle… this is Jaisen’s thing
...
this
survivalism

crap.”

“Survivalism?”

“That’s what he calls it.”

“Shoulda known.”

“Surprised you didn’t
.


“I tend to focus on the import…”

“Oh shut up and let’s get this over with.”

“...’kay
.”

As the
couple approaches the mound, Rochelle raises her hands and focuses on the hil
lside.
S
hortly
there
after
,

the greenery and gravel begin to pull away, rolling and separating in a very
organized mannerism in order to form a

tunnel down under the hill.

Jason disappears inside.

“I’m not going in.

I swear I keep getting blips, and I’m gonna watch for Nullies.”

“Okay, baby.

I’ll be back when I’m back…if

anything

gets hairy just get in here and seal
everything up.”

“I can handle a few Xanthians without you.


“That’s my girl.”

“Better believe it.”

Inside the mound, Jason’s body begins to cover in bright glowing emerald ice, allowing him to
see into the chasm and make his way f
or the hidden treasures below.

The
y’re the

ruins of a lost
civilization, which he ca
n see clearly in his mind through a steady

but rapid

playbac
k of the
geographic history. T
he information is archived through him and into the Nexxyz in order to
categorize this reality and its energetic key elemental composition, including the life form
ev
olutionary progress as well as the radioactive principles of Psiforce.

Everything that the culture witnessed, structured, learned, and believed is all swarmed into his
mind like a vortex of information, and then his body falls limp into darkness within the

cold
tomb.

His consciousness is returned to the Nexxyz Omegaland, and he is able to take his time going
through the information, comparing it to other realities, and even applying the findings to those
which could benefit or require it for other tasks.

Fo
r Jason
Wrigben, reality is not back
-
to
-
bac
k and one after another like

the rest of this
existence, including Oblivion herself outside her core

essence which remains stagnant. Instead, it
is

as many different “screens” or conduits along a singular timeline

which revolves

around him
on separate layers...
like a corkscrew of galactic information around his consciousness as the
singularity or event horizon.

Existence itself can be viewed in all of its partitions by Nexxyz and Nexxyz alone, and since his
consign
ment of souls with Wrigben, he has been aligning his personal conduits of existence into
a very sy
stematic and organized layout. From this,

he can sample from many at once and move
between them at will, concurrent to one another.

When his physical body res
ts, his consciousness awakens in a different reality until the trigger is
initiated once more.

Using this technique, the later realities will be able to reach out into the cosmos
i
n order to
contact previous Earthen civilizati
ons, both human and non, and

v
isitors from other worlds as
well that have structured the human growth and mentality with confusing arrays of religions,
each of a similar but different standpoint.

Throughout reality partitions such as these, Nexxyz will work as Jason Wrigben in order to

prepare the ultimate protocol enhancement for the Xanthi
an War that is inevitable. T
here are
only so many realities left to consume by the Xanthian until it is no longer bound by radiation
within any given layer of the third dimension.

Nexxyz must work di
ligently, sometimes allowing the sacrifice of his loved ones as well as the
entire planet and galaxy for research sake, in order to propa
gate the Oblivion Chyldren
army...
which will be necessary upon the day that the Xanthian invades reality in a full scal
e
assault.

He is haunted by the day it came for his father, and left with his entire species, reality, and
existence other than Oblivion, Azrael, a handful of refugees, and himself.

Can he arrange these humans into an evolutionary pattern strong enough to
take on that which
his entire race could last no longer than a day against, even despite their vast and wide dispersal?

Or are his and his sisters’
, uncles’, and a few other secret resistance members’ labors all in vain?

Can the human race outlive the Xant
hian, and our own hateful mannerisms which invite the beast
into our world, with the help
of the Vam’paero survivors? O
r are all realities destined to be
swallowed, assimilated, and destroyed in order to render eternal silence within existence a
nd
mutate i
t into nothingness?


To be continued...