Pariah Chapter 26: The Emissary

As Selethrim smashed through the Middle East, the world’s armies began to converge upon Salamunga’s ship, hummers and crusaders rushing through the rainfall bogs as fighters encircled them, tracking it’s slow rise into the chilly sky. Missiles fired and primed, like long fingers of flaming arrows as they touched the surface, and within its cold heart, Salamunga stood, looking silently at Zackrah, their stares weak and unsure, but their stance strong and confident. A cut had appeared on Salamunga’s arm, but no blood emerged from it. “You can’t do it, Zackrah. Not when Selethrim is on this rampage like this.”

Zackrah paused. “You may be right.” She confided, the booming of the cannons still strong in the distance. She smiled a bit, but still hid her thoughts deep within the blackness of her eyes. “You may be right, Salamunga.”

Salamunga said nothing. She merely stood there, waiting, still, unwilling to move closer as the ebony shadows grew thicker. The sun was dipping even as they rose above the horizon, the meadows long gone and filled with trench-like treads, deep and hard into the encrusted Earth. She had been ravaged, the world, as she laid bare upon her celestial throne, the heart still beating in shame of such children. The world’s spawn had spawned another crisis, and as Selethrim’s cannons destroyed city after city, only righteous fire was brought from heaven.

But it was not the Pariah who burned. Within the safety of Salamunga’s ship, they waited, silently, within their particular chambers as they prepared for a clash that they knew was inevitable. Kablos stood over Qing, a broken mess, knees bent in surrender. But, he was not the one in shame. For the man who stood supreme, was the most shameful of all. He had hurt his own kin, and had fallen from grace. He fell to base instincts, and became worst for it.

And so it was how Kablos became the creator of his own demise.

“The world is changing, Qing. Don’t ever think it isn’t.” He stared down at Qing’s bowed head, blood dripping. “This isn’t a dream anymore. We have a role now. A spot. Your mother always wanted that, so for once, give it to her. Give her something that you could be proud of as a son.” Qing stayed silent. “Are you listening to me?”

He didn’t reply. “Are you listening?” Kablos asked again.

Nothing. Kablos kicked him in the face, sending Qing on his back, then turned around and walked away, whisking himself down the long hallways into the edges of unseen corridors. Qing laid there, burning in pain, his chest rising and falling as he tried to grasp the situation. “Help me, Zackrah.” He whispered, as footsteps approached him, the clattering of her feet soft and sudden, the echoes still ringing every click as her hands, burnt and dark, were flicking at each other in sudden twitches. She carried rosy hair, pale and cold, her eyes shimmering as stared down at Qing.

“You’re never going to win against him like that.” She said, looking at his wounds, surveying the damage. “I can’t believe this. Are you really that weak to be hit by Kablos that badly? Why didn’t you try to figure it out?” She scolded him, a broken man.

It wasn’t long before Salamunga’s warship had met Selethrim’s in the Mediterranean. Despite the frantic efforts of the human military to stop them, they had come together, side by side, loudly drifting through the watery air like complacent whales, leviathans that trudged without equal as they smashed through all resistance. Electromagnetic bombs were launched, in hopes of ridding them of their technology, but even then it did nothing, and it was apparent that the Pariah were a force entirely outside of belief.

Within Salamunga’s ship, Selethrim stood, his feet firm on the ground, Hahel standing at his side, smiling as he looked at the adornments around.

It was that fateful day that two things had happened.

“Master Selethrim.” Salamunga answered, as Sambo stood beside her. “Welcome.” She bowed courteously.

“This is a lot of things you keep inside you, Salamunga. Is it really necessary?” Selethrim asked, looking at the human furniture she had acquired from her long time interacting with Tsusaimna. “Where is your husband?”

“He’s sleeping.” Salamunga replied. “Nevermind that, however. I’m more interested in why you came here.”

“Aurox’s been tracking you guys down. He’s lost your trail just outside of the system.” He spoke, as Salamunga answered.

“Aurox? How far did he get?”

“Not very far. He’s now a drifting shell, dying in the coldness of space.”

“A rotting beast.”

“Precisely.”

“And, how does that bring you to me?”

“I want to help you, Salamunga. Simple as that.” He outstretched his hand. “We will split this massive planet in two, Salamunga. A world that can be fought and taken with our own two hands, and all shared between us. For we are comrades, are we not?”

“Why should I work with you?” A missile had hit the ship’s underbody, as a small bloody scar appeared on Salamunga’s stomach, hidden by her white robes. A tiny red streak appeared promptly.

“Because you can barely control the situation.” Selethrim answered. She stood quietly, looking at his hand, before he outstretched and grabbed it, thinking carefully as she shook. So it was, an alliance was made, and in the base desire to dominate, the Pariah had become a single, unified fighting force, intent on the conquering of a planet. They had been corrupted by the presence of humans, and now, in their own misguided desires, they wished for nothing less than subject judgment.

The second thing was much more subtle. With Jormungand’s help, Zackrah and Qing were able to leave Salamunga’s ship. Escaping to France, the three of them set on a journey as they assisted Qing in finding a single woman, wrought out of 6 billion others, as a war raged in a tumultuous fashion against another world.

But something was stirring within Zackrah. A guilt that she never had there before. A belief that, even as the two behemoths waged their war against humanity, she never let go of the fact that they were doing nothing but mimicking the very things they sought to destroy. They were being assimilated into the base desires of the humans, and their emancipation as Pariah was dwindling. In her thoughts, Zackrah was beginning to fall deeper into human guilt, and slowly, she developed her own consideration for Qing.

From love, grew jealousy. From jealousy, grew an irrational basis, and even as Jormungand and Qing searched, she began to plot against them.

And so thus Zackrah, a pitiable a woman as she was, even now to be called a woman, within her confines because of her form, felt alone. As Qing searched, Zackrah stayed behind, unable to move about with the humans freely, knowing all well that with the world in the chaos that it was, she was unable to reveal them massive centipede that was her other self. Dark days spent in forgotten ruins and bleak sunsets cast over ebony forests only perpetuated the gloom that had encompassed her.

Loneliness was fatal for an attention-starved woman as Zackrah. She grew angry, irritable, and soon Qing and Jormungand began to avoid her eyes.