VERSE FOUR

Avatars of Light,

The Illuminating Stars

Even from afar

It is a beautiful sight

---

According to what Amara told Oberon after the test, of the nineteen members from Batch J who went into that room, ten walked out; three, including Oberon, were injured and had to be transported out, and one…Cabel was contained. Five people did not exit that test alive, six if he counts the state that Cabel was last seen.

Amara also told Oberon that Shayan was alive and stable. Comatose and unresponsive, but alive.

The doctors are unsure as to when or if he’ll ever wake up.

Is what she told him.

As for Cabel, the Outer has complete control over his body. It’s been destroyed beyond what would be survivable if they ever found a way to remove the entity from his body. So for now, the Outer has been put into a state of suspended animation and will be used in further testing.

According to some of the other members who visited, the ones who managed to get answers from TWO about the test, the Outer they faced wasn’t even a true Outer; it was a parasite that latches onto hosts and uses them as vessels.

The test itself was to see how well a participant could resist direct Outer contact, and if they failed to resist, the second part of the test was to see how easy the lowest of their race are to combat and kill using modern means. It was a survey to see how far Chromerus has come since the war with the Outers began almost three decades ago.

All of these revelations made Oberon sick to his stomach, but more than that, they made him furious. However, he feels foolish for being angry, and childish for his naivety. Elio warned him about these surveys, and while this one far exceeds anything his brother had told him, Oberon should have expected terrible things to happen to at least some of the participants within the program.

Oberon lies in the bed of the medical ward, staring at the ceiling. The final day of testing is today, but his body aches; it is all but destroyed from what he had to do to ensure his group survived. Will they still force him to participate, or will he suffer the same unknown fate as the other dropouts?

The door to his room opens. Proctor TWO enters; he starts to sit up, and then another figure steps into the room: the Professor. The lanky man stops at the foot of Oberon’s bed and stares at him for a long moment before speaking.

Do you want to drop out?

Oberon hesitates for a fraction of a second before responding, directing his response at TWO.

Is Batch J continuing?

TWO nods her head once.

Without another word, Oberon forces himself to stand, pushing through sore muscles, wounds barely staying closed through arcane means, and a mental lethargy like he’s never felt before. He stumbles, limps, then walks right up to The Professor, holding his gaze through the mask with determination, hopefully showing beyond any looks of pain on his face.

The Professor turns and walks away.

You have one hour. A security officer will escort you to the final room at that time.

Oberon places one hand against the bed to steady himself. Calling after The Professor, as TWO goes to follow him out.

Final room, sir? Not three?

Without turning, the Professor responds.

Mr.Aurum, this one test might alone be too much for those who remain. But if people get through it, I promise you, the results we gain will be the first steps of incredible change for us all.

Oberon calls out once more, directing his question to either TWO or The Professor.

How many of us are left?

Neither respond; they both exit the room and turn down the hall out of sight, leaving Oberon alone in his room, with minimal time to prepare before the scientific survey comes to an end.

—

An hour isn’t much time to prepare when you’re as injured as Oberon was and still is, especially not when facing a task as potentially monumental as whatever this final trial might be. Regardless, Oberon now forces himself to walk without showing any major signs of discomfort or pain. The security officer escorting him has not said a word; instead, they both pace down a narrow corridor toward a large vault door in silence.

The officer stops a few yards away and gestures for Oberon to continue, and he does. The door opens as he gets within a few feet of it, revealing the interior. A little over one hundred or so people meander in the space. Most hang in cliques or groups separate from others; the other Batches from the program must all be present. There are so few now. He scans the room for Batch J instinctively, then pauses as he realizes all other Batches are present.

Brother.

A hand is placed on his head, a faint prickle of static energy frizzing the edges of his hair. He smiles.

I was just coming to look for you.

Oberon turns to see Elio; he looks tired but gives a weak smile nonetheless.

And I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it.

Oberon turns to face Elio, just as Elio begins to walk past him deeper into the room. Oberon walks beside him as he talks.

“I expect to see you at the end of all this.” That’s what I said. I meant it.

Elio chuckles.

So you did…and it’s good to see you again. I’m glad you’re here.

Oberon scans the room, searching for Elio’s batch and his own. He spots Batch J, and Amara feels a surge of relief and excitement, but he does not spot anyone he recognizes from his brief scan of Elio’s fellow Batch D members. Oberon looks up at Elio, confused.

Your Batch didn’t make it? Not one?

Elio’s face darkens, his jaw tightens.

The last members of Batch D, beyond myself and one other, dropped out five days ago…as of today, I am the last.

Oberon stares at Elio for a moment, then a thought crosses his mind. He steps in front of Elio, cutting him off.

Did you fight the parasite, th-the Outer?

Elio nods his head.

Oberon takes a step back in disbelief. He knew Elio was strong, but to beat that thing alone. Oberon had to risk his life; many others in his Batch did die just to immobilize the entity, yet here Elio stands, having not only faced it alone, but, to Oberon’s knowledge, defeated it, as Elio has little to no abilities capable of restraining or entrapping.

Oberon prepares another question, but someone leaps onto his back.

OBI!

Amara’s voice is like music to his ears. He can’t help but smile. He turns his head to respond.

Hello Amara.

He watches her gaze shift from him to Elio, then back to him.

Who’s the big guy?

Elio responds before Oberon can.

Leaving. But Oberon calls me Elio. Good luck on the test, you two.

Oberon calls after Elio.

Brother!

Elio stops and turns; the look of exhaustion is gone. Elio stands strong for his brother, for his brother's companions, for himself. Oberon continues.

See you at the end.

Elio smiles.

You most definitely will.

A voice booms across the room; that of the Professor.

Congratulations to everyone present. You’ve made it to the end; this is the final test of our survey, and I am proud to say the results gained thus far have been extraordinary.

Tension fills the room, as a vast mix of emotions permeates from the many people present. The Professor continues as the ten Proctors walk up to stand behind him at attention.

We have had some unfortunate losses, and some undesirable dropouts, but for the sake of our tomorrow, and to honor these individuals, the program must continue!

The room begins to whirr with energy from all sides. The Professor continues as the participants all scan the room for the source, for any clues as to what this final test will be.

In a moment, pods will rise from the floors. You will enter them. The final test will begin at that moment. I’d wish you all good luck, but I know now that the candidates who have made it this far operate on a level where luck becomes little more than a bonus to the exceptional prowess and aptitude possessed on an individual and group level. So I will say instead, I look forward to your perseverance.

The Professor takes a step back, then raises both hands and the floor begins to split.

As said, an array of essentially caskets rise from the ground. Mechanical pieces move to open the glass coverings from the front. Each pod is connected to something beneath the floor by large tubes. They look uncomfortable and cramped, but at this point, comfort is a non-factor; Oberon wants to go home, and so does everyone else.

The room moves, people enter their pods, and as they do, the glass covers seal around them. Oberon looks at Amara, gives her a warm, reassuring smile.

When all this is over, I think I just might join that guild. If you’ll have me?

Amara wraps her arms around Oberon, pulling him into a tight hug. Oberon feels that twisting of fate from Amara’s abilities blanket him. She speaks into his chest, voice muffled.

I can’t lose you too. Whatever this is, we gotta make it out, okay?

Oberon pulls Amara away and looks into her eyes.

Shay isn’t gone. You haven’t lost him. And you won’t lose me. See you at the finish line, Amara.

Amara holds Oberon’s gaze for a moment, searching his face for any signs of doubt, but he presents none. Oberon can’t let her see weakness now. Not when they’re so close to the end.

The other members of Batch J stand around the pair as Oberon takes them all in and gives a nod of approval. Without a moment's hesitation, he steps into the nearest pod and calls out to Batch J.

I expect to see all of you when we get out of this! Shay is waiting for us!

The members of Batch J smile and laugh, then they start to disperse and walk to their pods. Amara is the last. She takes one more look at Oberon, gives a tight-lipped smile, and walks away.

Shay is waiting for us.

Oberon closes his eyes and collects his thoughts as the glass cover on his pod hisses closed.

When his eyes open, he’s back in that bedroom again. The smell of cooking food is still present, but the man and woman are no longer around him. There’s a scream from outside the house; a horn blows. A voice in a language he barely understands screams.

Outers! Outers from the Stronghold are advancing!

Footsteps come rushing into the house; the Boy hears muffled talking between what sounds like the Man and the Woman. It’s rushed, panicked, and occasionally loud.

The Woman comes running into the room and looks at the boy. Her sketched face veils fear with a facade of calmness.

Come now. We need to go.

The Boy is lifted from the bed and hefted into his Mother’s shoulder. Cradled gently close to her body. She spins back toward the door and walks into the main area of the house; there the Man waits. He stares through a crack in the door, looking at whatever is unfolding outside.

Through the slit in the door, the Boy watches human soldiers adorned in full-body suits, wearing sleek crimson armor, rush toward the town center. Another of them calls out as they wave forward. This one wears more elegant armor and has their helmet replaced with a beret.

We have the hilltop on our side; don’t let them past the outskirts. All units advance! Civilians remain in your homes!

The figure sprints ahead, joining the charge. The Boy’s father closes the door, turns, and puts both hands on the shoulders of the Boy’s mother.

If what they’re saying is true. We’ll be executed for not resisting occupation. We need to leave. Now.

Mother nods, tucking the Boy in closer, resting his head against her collar. Father opens the door, and they run.

The Boy watches his home grow distant behind him as Mother and Father sprint away from the town center. A massive explosion of dark violet energy sends debris of stone and wood scattering in all directions. Over three hundred square feet of the town is destroyed in an instant.

A portion of the crimson-armored soldiers from that area crawl from beneath rubble; others stumble through smoke, a majority don’t move at all. Shapes begin to take form in the smoke, moving with swiftness from soldier to soldier. First a few, then many. The Outers have already breached the town's exterior defenses. Whatever plans that fancy soldier had enacted were far too late.

Mother presses her cheek to the top of the Boy's head and whispers to him as they continue to run.

Everything is going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.

Something flashes before the trio, a lightly armored humanoid shape. Crimson armor gleaming. Smoke swirling around their body, eyes as white as snow. They bolt ahead faster than the Boy can track toward the encroaching Outers. Another flash, a feminine form obscured in smoke sprints ahead, her form also a blur, but the Boy catches a scent. Roses.

A roar of charging people carries in the wind; a new force of the crimson soldiers come sprinting from the opposite end of town, following behind the two warriors who seemingly appeared from nowhere. Father grabs Mother and pulls her toward the open door of a house, just before the stampede of soldiers crashes into them.

Quickly! Inside!

They pass through the doorway, and Father slams the door shut behind them.

—

Oberon opens his eyes, the glass before him foggy and covered in a dark violet substance. His mind is cloudy, his thoughts ephemeral. It takes everything in him to keep himself awake. Through the glass, he sees the Proctors and the Professor pacing through the room, observing the many pods and their occupants.

Oberon’s eyes grow heavy; darkness takes him once again. This time, he is not taken to that place; he does not see through the eyes of the Boy. Instead, in the voided space being made in his mind, a small mote of violet light starts to fill it. A voice reverberates through his psyche. Spoken in a language he’s only heard in his dreams.

Is it freedom you seek? Then let me in; I will give you access to a wellspring gods wished they could tap into. You will be unrivaled.

Oberon forces his subconscious to manifest an avatar for himself in this space. In some ways, the intangible has become alien to him. To properly interact, he needs to feel like he’s truly there and not just an existence within his own mind or wherever he is.

Oberon steps forward toward the light, letting its glow illuminate him in the darkness.

Who are you?

The light pulses, glowing brighter.

What do you mean by freedom? I am free.

The light grows in size, changing from a steady flare to a roaring inferno.

Are you, Malak?

The light engulfs Oberon.

—

Malak opens his eyes to dust and debris filling the air. He lies pressed beneath the crumpled form of his Mother. He shakes her, cries, and screams; finally she moves. Coughing and pushing herself up to give him room to move. Despite her clear pain, she smiles at him.

You’re okay. Mama is here.

She scans the ruins of the house they had just run into for shelter, searching for something. Father is nowhere to be seen. Malak spots someone coming through the dust, a figure. He points, tugging on his mother's clothing to get her attention.

A lumbering figure paces forward. Malak is grabbed by his mother and pulled behind her back.

Through the settling dust cloud, the lightly armored crimson soldier emerges. Something is very wrong about them, their eyes are consumed by flashing arcs of iridescent lightning, similar coloration coursing visibly within veins beneath their skin. This soldier's vision is locked onto Malak and his mother.

A dark mass leaps forward from behind a collapsed wall, aiming straight for the soldier. An Outer, one of the symbiotes; Malak’s parents told him about them, about all of their kin. By Outer standards, they are fodder, the bottom of the barrel; however, by human standards they are monsters. Beings capable of infesting a host if available or forming a body of congregated miasma; they prefer the former, but as the war has progressed, most have settled for the latter. This symbiote falls under the first sub-category. They have a body, that of a deformed crimson soldier.

The Outer wraps its elongated arms and legs around the torso of the soldier's body. It pulls one arm back and swipes it down the body of the soldier. A massive rip, or rather a lack of substance, becomes visible as a chunk of the soldier’s body vanishes and starts to ooze dark green blood.

The soldier mumbles under its breath.

Filthy creature. Humanity is beyond the paltry abilities of your kind.

The wound begins to close; roots and vines shoot from either side of the tear and start to knit closed the gap in the soldier's body.

I am the pinnacle, but soon-

Before the Outer can react, the soldier’s free hand lashes out faster than Malak can track; it palms the Outer by the face. The gauntleted hand glows with superheated energy before a loud boom of overpressure spreads across the area, briefly deafening Malak.

The Outer falls to the ground. The soldier places a boot on its body.

Soon I will be the benchmark.

The soldier looks toward Malak and his Mother.

Are you alright?

He steps toward them, arms raised in a show of peace.

The body of the Outer twitches, and the soldier’s head snaps toward it as an invisible wave hits them square in the face. Where once there was the head of a man, now blood pours out.

The soldier’s headless body collapses in a heap.

The Outer cracks, twists, and rises. The head that was destroyed, now replaced with a swirl of violet sludge taking on various shapes but mostly remaining as an amorphous mass. The Outer lets out a screech that to Malak sounds like a victory cry.

Malak is pushed further back from the Outer by his mother as it looks in their direction. It starts to wrench and hiss, then without another moment to waste, it darts toward them, tearing apart the merged arms and rearing back to attack.

A heavy blow to its chest sends the Outer flying back and tumbling across the ground. It lands on all fours, digging its hands and feet into the ground. The momentum of the impact causes the Outer to slam into the body of the soldier and roll over it.

Father steps forward, tearing free the last of his tattered shirt. Malak always knew his father was a strong man; being Half-Outer, Half-Giant, he was always larger than most in the town, and his might is on full display now.

The dark miasma coiling around his father’s striking arm and forming at the fist gives him the appearance of a gladiator with one armored sleeve. He bolts forward toward the Outer, as it recovers and rises back onto its hands and feet, crouched on all fours, rearing back onto its haunches.

The Outer's legs buckle and fold, compressing like springs. It leaps forwa-

An armored hand clasps the Outer by the leg mid-lunge and slams it into the ground with enough force to shatter what little remains of the structure's flooring. Father slides to a stop as the once-dead crimson armored soldier bends, twists, and rises sloppily back onto their two feet. His head is half-formed of flesh, while the other is a slowly roiling mess of vines and roots.

The soldier holds the Outer down as it twists its torso around 180 degrees to face its recently resurrected adversary. Both of the Outer's arms merge into a lance and spear the soldier straight through the chest.

The soldier places their hand on the Outer’s sternum, the gauntlet glowing far hotter than before. Mother shields Malak with her body, and Father shields Mother with his. In an instant, the world goes white and all of Malak’s senses for a moment cease to function.

When he can see again, there is only a crater where the Outer once was, earth and stone turned to glass. The soldier stands at the center, half of the face still inhuman. It looks toward Malak and his parents.

A voice speaks to Malak, no. It speaks to Oberon.

So long as you cannot remember who you are and why you struggle. You can never be free.

Malak looks down at his hands. Oberon stands where Malak once was shielded. The memories of this moment start to fade away, melting like fresh paint under a blazing sun. The world beyond turns into the same childlike sketches as his parents' faces. This is where his memories end, memories he didn’t even know he was missing. His beginnings.

Freedom comes with a price. Yours is Innocence.

Oberon is back in the darkness, staring at the violet light, standing mere inches from it. He looks at his hands, clenching them into fists, before returning his gaze to the light once again. An edge to his tone as he addresses it.

You never answered my question? Who are you?

The light dims and morphs, taking on a humanoid shape that appears to be a 1-to-1 of Oberon.

Change.

The entity extends a hand.

Oberon stares at it; he hesitates for a moment, then reaches out toward the open hand before him.

—

Oberon opens his eyes within the pod once more. The fog and violet substance crumble away. He pushes open the glass of the pod and slowly rises. Around him is heavy solemn silence and stillness.