The Nallef are forced onto their knees. Knelt in a single line, side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder. They form a horizontal row of lowered heads. Solemn, downcast gazes locked onto the pellucid outdoor floors of the aircraft, suspended aloft a sea of clouds as though they were kneeling on the heavens themselves.
Their wrists were bound, and resting on their laps. Blood smeared all over bruised, lacerated flesh. Their raw naked wings wept with vermillion - and slumped against their arched backs.
Plucked, bloodstained feathers lay scattered around their feet.
It is such a tragic sight when a false exemplar of perfection suffers an existential mishap. Bested by misfortune and regression. So pitiful indeed.
I cannot seem to help myself from smiling internally at this display.
Plucking out their feathers of elegance and delivering their comeuppance felt so exquisite. It transcended words. And there was no greater pleasure.
Nonetheless, the disgusting vermillion stain on my talons now serves as a bittersweet reminder of the bloodshed and filth.
The filth, I once helped to create.
I stand from a fair distance with my arms folded, masking my expression with indifference. I lean against a white spiral pillar of the overhanging canopy. A superfluous extension built upon the outside platform of the erradise mothership. It was an unnecessary extravagance, just like the epic blunder of creation which was bled by my hands.
When I uncovered the nature of their activities, I made an example of them.
I couldn't think coherently at that time due to the bloodlust.
Afterwards, I insisted on a permanent punishment, one of extreme, unrelenting severity, because the anger inside of me was so unappeasable. And so I passed the method of execution onto my fellow co-creator because I wanted him to choose how his failed creation would suffer for eternity.
But in the end, nothing will ever suffice as a befitting punishment for what they have done.
My collaborative partner, who is unwilling to attend this spectacle, has appointed his confidant in his stead to carry out the sentence.
I cannot imagine, for whatever reason, why he would have the sheer audacity to be absent.
Humiliation perhaps?
I have ignored my initial convictions for far too long. I should have known better than to dismiss my own instincts. And I refuse to be pacified again.
Mada walks along the row of lowered heads, airing his gracefulness with the outer garment of his indigo robe gliding along the floor, trailing behind him. The blue throat whelping scrutinises every bloodied, hairless scalp with condescension; then he stops.
He brushes back a lock of black hair from his pale face and tucks it behind his curvilinear ear. He holds his hands behind his back and raises his chin while standing in a supposed dignified manner.
"You have brought great shame upon us. You were entrusted as a guiding aid to Terrian kind and wandered astray from your divine role because of your depravity."
He hides behind an arrogant façade and articulates well, but it is merely linguistic fodder.
"Treacherous acts of indecency. Fornicating with an early primitive species to then beget immoral abominations. I hereby sentence you to eternal damnation, to forever burn in divine flames."
The clouds disperse beneath the Erradise, and the ocean parts, unveiling the marine inhabitants, stranding them between walls of water. The drained ocean floor splits apart to reveal a chasm where an orange magma strip runs through and in between the temporal cliffs. Welcoming the sacrificial marine inhabitants into its infernal mouth.
A domineering roar triumphs and prevails in the firmament.
Mada bows and steps aside respectfully. The Nallef lift their somber gazes to meet the sight of an elongated, serpentine body, scaled and feathered.
Silhouetted against the solar giant. Exhibiting her enormity, with her wings unfolded and spread wide across the troposphere, her long feathers grace the circumference of Terria. Caressing the perceivable ends of their miserable planet.
She unhinges her jaw, and her mouth hangs agape.
Then a flicker of tangerine ignites at the back of her throat, swelling behind her tonsils.
"Consider this an honor – to feel her flame." Mada rejoiced.
Flames extrude forth and engulf the Nallef, desecrating their hunched forms. They refuse to vocalise any ounce of pain. What an irritating display.
Mada glances at me nervously. I grin at him. Enjoying his obvious discomfort. It may not necessarily be noticeable to anyone else, but I can always smell his potent unease.
He flinches at my expression and averts his eyes, looking back up at the beast in the sky.
His stature was always rather small and dainty. So Fragile. So easy to snap in half.
I do tend to find amusement in making my peers and underlings uncomfortable.
It distracts me from the consistent irritancies and soothes the ascension of my disdain - placating it until I feel numb inside.
The floor melts under the flames' intensity, and the Nallef fall through. Plundering in flames between the dispersion of clouds and down into the mouth of the abysmal chasm. Raining down into its unforgiving depths like dying ambers. Heading for the molten strip.
Swiftly after, the mouth of Terria closes and encrusts. The withheld walls of the ocean are released. High waves clash and sweep over the defaced. Veiling the ocean floor.
Good riddance.
I wish not to behold those lecherous creatures again.
The surge discontinues, and the flames dispel.
The serpent shifts her jaw and clicks it back into place before snapping it shut, before setting herself aflame.
Smattering into ash. Allowing the cinders to flutter as they were carried away by the high winds of the troposphere. Both Mada and myself watch the dispersal of ash swept away by nature's breath. Then someone nudges my arm.
"What is it, Ira?"
Standing by my side, he taps the back of his wrist, indicating to my biotechnical device. He has the same stature as Mada; however, he was purely astral in origin. He had an apparitional guise, which scintillates with mesmerising colorations of gold and magenta.
Fortunately for him, he does not have to contend with the constraints of having a physical body.
A freedom which I cannot attain, not while I'm still alive and bound by the chains of mortality.
I lightly press my fingertip down on my skin, holding it there until a patch emerges with a dark screen. The patch was colour coordinated to my teal-like skin pigmentation and retained its translucence. A flat horizontal line extends across my wrist, touching both sides of the screen.
Is it no longer pulsating?
Which means I have been disconnected from the motherpod.
"How long?" I snarled.
"Just now." He said.
It was disconnected when I was distracted. One might say what coincidental timing.
Who was it? Who is daring enough to try to outwit me?
I gnash my fangs together. There is no such thing as a coincidence.
"Mya-im." He reminded softly, with a developing hint of concern conveyed in his tone. His warm brown eyes reflect a withheld anxiety.
"I know," I grumbled under my breath.
This event has droned on for long enough.
"Come. We are leaving." I brush past Mada in strident haste. Ira bows to him before excusing himself, and the blue throat reciprocates while wearing a neutral expression.
I trace along the still purple line using the tip of my talon, proceeding with my assessment. The line splits into three dotted timelines. Each dot represents a chronological development of auditory change detected within the biotechnological body of the motherpod.
"You have an urgent matter to undertake – and as do I. Therefore, I shall not delay you any further." Ira shoots me a knowing look before turning around. He enacts a nonchalant wave as aureate orbs of light fuse to his spirit before he vanishes. Leaving me behind in solitude. Silence befalls the docking station. Plastered in white, along with everything else here. Flittering flecks of interdimensional residue linger where he once stood, and ultimately disintegrate.
He knows quiet solitude, and the company of a close select few was a general preference of mine. Even though I do find his presence pleasant, I cannot afford to have any more distractions.
I start with the first line at the top of the screen, and tap the white dot at the beginning of the audio timeline. I listen intently to the recording.
I catch scurrying and heavy breathing. There was nothing unusual or out of the ordinary.
I move onto the second oval placement.
"As if."
"There's no way in hell I'm going down there."
"Forget it."
A Terrian?
Their articulation is different. They also use a peculiar type of terminology. Less primordial. I wonder if Mya-im had released one of her subjects again.
I move onto the next recording and tap the third oval.
"Let go of me, you freak!"
"What? Has the suit made you deaf or something?"
This one is quite spirited compared to the other cases. Sometimes, on the odd occasion, after working extensively and confining herself within the lab for months on end, she eventually grants herself a break. Sometimes she would amuse herself by releasing her subjects into the corridors on purpose, so she could hunt them for sport. Giving them a head start and a false sense of freedom, as they would blindly flee, not knowing where they are or how to escape.
To her, it is seen as a healthy form of exercise. Recapturing them one by one, and snapping their feeble branch of hope, they so desperately held onto.
Her species is predominantly reserved and gracious; therfore they tend to use their own personal time to release the primeval aspect of their nature. As my genetic engineer, I allowed her to dictate her own working hours as long as she completed her assignments on time.
As long as the deadlines are met, then she may do whatever she pleases.
I progress onto the fourth recording; I listen to the low reverberations, and groaning alosium. I snarl at the familiar sounds. That self-righteous personality has finally roused from dormancy. It has the nerve to start a revolt against me.
Fifth recording...
"Efforts? What efforts? All I can see is..."
"Are you the one manipulating all of these cords? And the shard as well?"
The shard? This one-sided recording suggests the core has been communicating with the Terrian, whereas before, it never expressed an interest in Mya-im's subjects. Not until after its awakening, as it so seems to confirm so far.
"If you're not controlling the shard, then who is?"
"Do you know why it brought me here?"
The Terrian is not one of Mya-im's subjects? Interesting.
"Then I'm wasting my time here."
"How do you know if it's your component?"
"Can't you deal with this predicament yourself? You seem more than capable."
"Wait, what. Hold on a minute!"
"Is that your name?"
"Alex."
Alex?
They have introduced themselves. A small chuckle escapes me. There is an extended intermission before the sixth recording. Throughout the timeline, the motherpod has solely honed in on their conversations, while neglecting everything else. Overwriting previous protocols and autonomous commands. Obstructing my interconnection with the core, and devising a step-by-step course of objectives.
I can no longer instruct or interpret its thoughts and emotions.
"You're not expecting me to go out there, are you?"
"I-I can't."
"How can you guarantee I won't be killed?" Another intermission.
"Alright, I'll do it, but if I die, continue without me."
Alosium laments and reechoes, as the recording ends. That was the final audio pinpoint marked before the motherpod's disconnection.
The core will submit to me again.
It will also compensate for its defiance and undergo mandatory reconditioning. And as for the unusual Terrian, I could always use it as a new source of biological material for Mya-im - if she is still alive.
Regardless of its potential usefulness, it's still expendable.
I move down to the second line, and unlike the previous, this one is not dotted. I press down with my fingertip and hold until the line splits. It expands into an anatomical map, showing the visual layout of the motherpod's internal and external functions. As well as cosmetic features and compartments. Key parts and areas of the craft are highlighted in white, indicating what was affected during the revolt.
It also shows how far the Terrian has delved and where it has visited. Corresponding chronologically to the audio timeline.
The motherpod can retain memory and self-regenerate through its alosium biology. It was a very convenient feature at the time. Now that the core has regained the willpower to override its systems and reboot itself, it will only recover a minimal yet fragmented percentage of its memories. The core has reduced itself to a vulnerable mental and emotional state.
And while it is coming to terms with its identity, this should grant me a tactical advantage by giving me more time to prepare and accurately locate it.
Admittedly, I did anticipate a revolt, but I was uncertain as to when. Needless to say, I have been eager for a challenge of late or some form of amusement. I tap the screen, and the map closes. Underneath, where the third line is dotted, each oval mark represents a data entry in the timeline; and the last update entails a set of new coordinates of the motherpod´s trajectory...