THE ANCIENT DESTROYER:
MRALL’ORION
MRALL’ORION
The three figures looked out sadly at the endless expanses of space. On the distant optical horizon smears of crimson flame smoldered like dying coals and embers, and a promise of the nightmare that was coming in all its fury to their doorstep. It had been suggested several times amongst their people that they rise to meet the coming terror. But that was not their way, and the vast majority of the Mrall’Orion people—or the “Metrons” as the Federation Terrans had interpreted their name—wanted to stay aside, only standing to fight if such was their only option for survival. Life for them had become an endless and terrible game of waiting: waiting for their possible doom.
And the time had almost come.
“Should we tell our people now?” said the youngest of the three, who appeared to be but a boy, whose locks of blond hair fell about his ears.
The figure in the middle, by far the oldest—as his back was slightly steeple, and the white beard upon his wrinkled and wise face hung down to the neck-strappings of his star-spangled cloak—looked down at him. “Not yet, Master lla’Roy,” he said, and returned his gaze to the horizon. “The time will come soon when we must try and rouse our people; but that time is yet to be upon us.”
“But why not rise to meet it now, Master lla’Yur,” lla’Roy asked, looking over behind lla’Yur’s back towards the third figure. “Of thee, Master lla’Der? Surely thou must agree that this constant waiting around for the inevitable is sure folly?”
Lla’Der, who appeared to be a middle-aged man, with short, straight auburn hair and a curious look on his face, shrugged. “What will be, will be,” he said. “It makes little difference what space we fight in—space here is no different than space there. The difference is us. To fight here is to have something to fight for—something to protect.”
“Maybe so, but the time we spend waiting is time it spends gather power.”
The other two had no response for him, and lla’Roy had nothing more to say; so they stood silent. And waited.
-o*O*o-
After four days, the silence in the air became alive with the soft, far-off thrum of the coming terror’s steady pace and murmurs of apprehension throughout the Mrall’Orion citadels. The fires were much brighter on the optical horizon, so that it appeared to form a tidal wave of fire. And just like a tidal wave, the fear was growing in a crescendo.
Just like in any other society, rumor spread like wildfire through llan’Orion—and it is certainly to be expected. For it wasn’t only lla’Roy, lla’Der, and lla’Yur, the Generation Master who governed the Mrall’Orion, that were able to leave the llan’Orion plain of dimension. There were others—notably those of the Mrall’Roynin clan, of whom lla’Roy was born to—who could escape and travel through the little holes between the inter-dimensions and see the fires outside their walls. And word travelled from their lips to the ears of others.
And this was where there was controversy. The Mrall’Orion were, as a rule, a very peaceful people, who found violence absolutely barbaric and brainless. But they also all knew that they could very well soon have to defend themselves, no matte their philosophy.
Tlir’lla wrested his hands on the ivory elbow of his fourth story balcony, gazing out over the streets and spires of the llan’Orion capital, llan’Irll’Mri’. Llan’Irll’Mri’ was the most ancient of the entire civilization, carefully and meticulously preserved over a hundred millennia. And over all that time, while new and more modern structures and complexes were added, those most ancient were kept as they were through the ages. Tlir’lla’s housing complex was situated four hli’tors away from the capital’s heart—the Hrall’llan. The Hrall’llan was a mega-coliseum from the long-ago times where violence and battle was a common place thing. Resting in the center of the coliseum’s arena was a giant, glittering sapphire gem upon a statue block with pale white arms that spiraled up to cradle it. It was the llmne’tas’llan.
The llmne’tas’llan was the pride of the Mrall’Orion people, retrieved from a comet who met a sudden end. The llmne’tas’llan had been in its core, a huge ten thousand karat gem, with smooth even faces rubbed down into a shine by the stripping forces of space’s vacuum as the comet followed its path.
The llmne’tas’llan had been discovered no long before the Mrall’Orions had converted to a philosophy and life of peace, and was thus a symbol of the great people that they had become. The Hrall’llan around it was the oldest structure built by the Mrall’Orions in the entire inter-dimensional plain of llan’Orion. Thus, the coliseum and what lay inside its walls was their pride and glory, and a testament to their history.
From where he stood now, Tlir’lla could just see over the eastern wall of the Hrall’llan and into the western stands. They were unoccupied, and would stay that way until the new century, and the llmne’tas’llan festival. That was the side on which Tlir’lla himself usually sat, but he had a dreadful feeling that he might not have the opportunity to do so again. His neighbor below him, the kind Kyen’llas had told him of her young son, Kra’lla. Being that they were descendants of Master lla’Roy’s bloodline, they were especially gifted in inter-dimensional travel—and Kra’lla was no exception. Curious boy that he was, he had left llan’Orion to see the outside (and had met the elder Master lla’Yur himself and received a swift reprimand. It didn’t surprise Tlir’lla what the boy had seen, as he had heard of it many a time from the mouths of others. But what worried him was that his people had been so peaceful and sedentary and lax that it was a very good possibility that the great Mrall’Orion people might fall very soon. Sure, Master lla’Roy might lead those of the new, younger generation into battle to defend their home, but they would never be enough. They were weak, inexperienced, and untrained.
The Generation Masters were hardly even seen, nowadays. They spent their time in the outer sub-space ridges to watch the Prime dimension being consumed by… well, it didn’t rally have a name. It was usually referred to just as “the coming horror”, or the “approaching terror”. Some called it Species Zero, and those of the oldest generation, that of lla’Yur, called it the Ancient Destroyer, or Ghidorah. By any name, though, it was evil.
Sighing, Tlir’lla lifted his eyes form the Hrall’llan to the sky above, where fingers of gold were clawing their way through as they reached midday. Tlir’lla’s clan, the Yirn’Mrall, took care of the Hrall’llan, and seemed to have consequentially retained some of their fighting blood. If Master lla’Roy were to call, they too, would no doubt answer as a whole. But even then…
It wouldn’t be enough...
-o*O*o-
Sen’llas looked up when the door to her housing complex opened unexpectedly, but smiled upon seeing her son enter. She had not seen lla’Roy for a year, and while that was not long of a time for a Mrall’Orion, it still pained her when he left.
“Greetings, and well return to thee, my son,” she greeted formally, standing up luxuriously and walking over to meet him.
“And to thee as well,” he returned. He twisted his hand so it was palm-up on his chest, a formal gesture of goodwill, then held it out to her. She placed hers upon his, a more intimate gesture of welcome. He smiled amiably back, and their entwined hands lowered down to their sides. He led her over to the white lounging, low-backed benches cornered in a far wall, whose blue intricate stitching were tickled by the light railing out of the adjacent glass pane. Sitting her down next to him, he released her hand, and sat back, silent and unwinding. After a brief moment of quiet where she simply enjoyed his company, he finally spoke.
“I worry, my mother,” lla’Roy said softly, and when she went to reply, he held up a hand to interrupt her. “But not about those usual tings. Not of civil disputes, property organization, or ambassadorial duties—nothing such as that. There is something terrible coming our way to our homesteads. But our people have been set in their ways for so long a time… I fret that I may be unable to call them to arms when the time inevitably comes.”
Sen’llas put her hand on his. “Oh, my son,” she said with another kind smile. “Thee puts too much responsibility on thy shoulders. There is still lla’Der and lla’Yur. Thee art not the only one who could lead our people.”
Lla’Roy shook his head. “If only it were that simple, my mother,” he sighed. “Maser lla’Yur could never lead our people to do such a thing—something so controversial against our ways. Perhaps lla’Der could… But this is what is expected of me. I am the one expected to rouse our people. I am the head of my generation. We are young, and we still stand and live and breathe wit the thin blood of warriors flowing in us—and that is something we must take advantage of now, while it runs hot, and is unstilled by time. Perhaps Master lla’Der’s generation could be swayed—and I would certainly hope that my clan would gladly let me lead them. It is in the hands of my generation that everything rests—and that is not enough.”
Sen’llas inclined her head to him. “Thee did not come here for advice, that is surely not so,” she said, and he lifted his pale eyes to meet hers. “No, thee hast already made up thy mind of what path thou should take; and I cannot deter thee either way. But thee should know that despite what thee might think, the people have a great deal of faith in thee.”
-o*O*o-
The purple tint of twilight had descended when the cracks began to appear.
For days now, the dull echo of a faraway pounding had reverberated throughout most of llan’Orion. Llan’Orion is an inter-dimensional plain of considerable energy—more so than even the Prime dimension, and in some places, that energy leaked out. Species Zero had found one of those sources, and consequentially a pathway into llan’Orion.
And now it was trying to break in.
It had taken several hours until the noise had become loud enough for the citizens of llan’Irll’Mri to hear the evil beneath their feet. When the first cracks began to appear in the arena floor of the Hrall’llan, they were directly beneath the beloved lmne’tas’llan. As the caretakers of both the Hrall’llan and the lmne’tas’llan, Tlir’lla and the rest of the Yirn’Mrall were assembled to try and contain the situation to the best of their abilities. But a problem soon became apparent.
The Yirn’Mrall did not have the ability to forestall Species Zero from breaking through. Their concern instead fell upon the lmne’tas’llan. It should have been moved, but it had never once been removed from its present location, and no one wanted to be the one to break that sacred tradition. Thus, even in the wake of what could very well be their destruction, a great and intense debate swept the Mrall’Orion people: do you move the lmne’tas’llan, or not?
-o*O*o-
A day after the assembly of the Yirn’Mrall, a dozen other clans in their entirety had congregated in llan’Irll’Mri. Since then, more cracks had appeared, creating a weak special vacuum that cause the lmne’tas’llan to rattle quietly above it. The insistent pounding had risen to a sound much like thunder beneath their feet as they waited around uncertainly for either something to either come through or go away, or for lla’Roy to at some time to take charge. This sort of threat was an affair of the Generation Masters, as it was of the Prime dimension. But even so, it was expected of lla’Roy to be the one to make the final judgment.
This knowledge weighed upon lla’Roy as he gazed at the lmne’tas’llan glittering gently in the midday light. He had spread the news that all the Mrall’Orion present in llan’Irll’Mri to gather some place in the city. As if drawn there by an unspoken consensus, they had one by one began to trickle into the Hrall’llan. From his perch atop the Hrall’llan wall, he could see that the stadium was of now nearly halfway filled. But despite the shear number of people, little sound met his ears, only soft and discontented murmurs. But lla’Roy had expected as much, as had lla’Yur. The day before, lla’Yur had made it clear that, no matter what it was that he had decided, the people expected him to at least address them at some point.
In a few hours, he would be forced to do just that.
-o*O*o-
There was silence in the early dawn, deceivingly peaceful. The quiet troubled Tlir’lla, as it had not been so for several days. But in the middle of the previous night, everything had gone still, and stayed so. At first, it had risen the hope that it had gone away. But even the thought of it seemed doubtful.
Stepping out onto his balcony, he stretched with a sigh and surveyed the city, his eyes finally coming to a rest on the Hrall’llan. For a few moments, he just gazed at it framed by the early light. Then he furrowed his brow.
Raising a hand to shield his eyes from any glare, he squinted at the Hrall’llan, certain that his eyes were deceiving him, as he had only just woken from a fitful sleep. But no, his eyes did not lie. It was hardly visible, but the Hrall’llan was lightly shaking, small chips from the wall and sand-dust falling to the street. What was going on?
As the minutes passed, a soft rumble became audible, and curious people began gathering in the streets until they were packed with seemingly everyone in llan’Irll’Mri. As Tlir’lla himself emerged in the street, making his way through the numbers, he noticed uncannily that the crowd was evenly divided: those of the new generation, of lla’Roy, were all in the front, closest to the Hrall’llan’s walls; lla’Yur’s generation, the oldest, lay in the back of the masses; and those of lla’Der’s generation were sandwiched in-between. Deciding he ought to follow the trend as well, Tlir’lla came to rest halfway through the masses, and lifted his gaze up the Hrall’llan’s walls above them. Then, as if giving up its struggle, the Hrall’llan gave one last violent shake, showering dust upon them, then fell silent. Blinking, Tlir’lla lowered his head trying to rub the sand-dust out of his eyes.
Suddenly, there was an enormous thundering above and below him, and the screams of shattering rock, and of people. Through bleary eyes, Tlir’lla stared up in shock and in horror to see a massive three-headed beast flinging itself upwards and out of the rubble of the Hrall’llan’s crumbling walls.
Throughout the crowds, hands were thrown in the air, halting the descent of the falling shards that had been the Hrall’llan. With a sickening noise, the ground within the Hrall’llan split open, and Tlir’lla had to firmly plant his feet to keep from being swept off them by the suction—llan’Orion had split apart.
But despite the chaos, Tlir’lla could see some people slowly making their way into the Hrall’llan to try and patch up the hole.
Suddenly, there was an ear-splitting primal scream above him, then a thunderous explosion. Looking upwards he froze in terror as a building complex toppled down towards him. But, he was shouldered out of the way, and the building came to a halt, though the one next to it crashed to the ground atop those unfortunate enough to be in its path. Looking over, Tlir’lla’s eyes widened upon seeing that it was lla’Der who held up the building, shielding those fighting to preserve the Hrall’llan—and it hit him then that those must have been of lla’Der’s clan, Mrall’Dreyk, the telekinetically gifted. Shifting his hands, lla’Der gave them a psychotic thumbs-up, and with that encouragement, those in the building’s shadow scattered.
Within but seconds, llan’Irll’Mri had been devastated. Streets were marred and blasted, and buildings were reduced to ashes. Fire burned everywhere where fire could, and the echoes of screams haunted the air, even as they tried to fight. Dashing through rubble, Tlir’lla turned his gaze to the skies where, framed by a sky of blood, the Ancient Destroyer, Ghidorah, hung like a holy terror, each of its malevolent heads razing block after block with a concentrated energy beam.
It was destroying them.
-o*O*o-
Lla’Roy surveyed sadly the faces around him. Too few. Far too few of them. Some he knew by name, some not. Yen’lla and Krik’llas of the Nor’Mrall clan; Naru’lla of the Haru’Mrall clan; Tlir’lla of the Yirn’Mrall clan; and perhaps only twenty others.
Neither his mother, nor Masters lla’Der or lla’Yur were among them. Those few were the only survivors. They carried in them everything that the Mrall’Orion was—and once were. The Ancient Destroyer had taken the great people they once were and obliterated them, leaving the rest stranded in the Prime dimension. Ghidorah had risen in the again their fighting warrior blood from long ago.
The blood that ached and ran only for survival and vengeance.
-*o_END_o*-
