Razan Desoram
I'm going to be honest with y'all. The only reason I even considered posting this is because I'm stuck. I haven't touched this for a couple months, at least, and even then I was only writing about a sentence a week, if I was lucky. I need input: suggestions, opinions, critizism, encouragement, threats, bribes, anything to get my rear in gear on this. What you see here is every last bit I have. This is, of course, a rough draft, and my primary goal is to complete it before I go back and flesh it out, tweak it, and add some polish. I do intend to publish this some day, hopefully soon, so I won't be posting a final version.
Oh, and if something confuses you or makes you curious, feel free to ask. Chances are I can offer an explanation, or at least extrapolate one. Let me know if anything got wonked on the way here, too.
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Prologue
We attacked their home-world. They were ready. As I exited the portal, I fired a powerful surge of spectrum energy in all directions except directly behind me and below me, instantly killing thousands of dark-harts and pushing back millions more. My brethren came out right behind me, fire berserkers channeling their rage into devastating blasts and lethal slashes, juggernaut armor-wearing light energists floating forward incased with sophisticated spheres of energy shielding and discharging the equivalent of fully-automatic solar flares, and many others using their respective energies to their greatest ability. We slowly pushed our way forward, with me drawing as much energy through the Infinite Armor as I could without warping or breaking the local reality matrix. The Stabilizer Capes I had collected thus far helped, but it was still next to impossible to move forward.
My brethren would have been killed if I hadn't done it. I surged forward on my own, until I was directly above their fortress. I used the most devastating technique all energists have. I self-destructed, even an energist that is completely drained and on the verge of death could destroy a spherical area the size of New York State. I had enough life energy to staff a war clinic by myself and still have a zero percent mortality rate. And life energy has the highest-yield potency of all energies. As soon as my mate, Kay-Lune, realized what I was doing, my brethren began opening portals back to Spectera, our home world. Kay-Lune had to be dragged into the portal by three dark energists. Even with their higher physical density they had trouble getting her into the pull of the tunnel. The fourth one got tail-smacked into the portal before he could get a firm grip.
I went out with a bang strong enough to literally rip the planet's reality apart. As a result, fragments of the Armor and most of my other equipment was scattered to various other dimensions. As for me, I was dead. Well, sort of. I had obtained something called the Death Essence long ago; the only reason it could not consume me was because I had too much to live for and protect. Naturally, killing myself left me vulnerable to it. I became trapped in the Essence's form, and though I was still stubborn enough to maintain my identity and keep my own essence from being overrun, I could not control it reliably. I had to take the role of a 'grim reaper' for an indefinite time. It would be awhile; I knew that much.
Kay-Lune soon had a son, my son, and decided to raise him in her native dimension. The dark-harts would be crippled for quite some, after all, and any attempt they made in their current state could be thwarted by her. But they would recover eventually. I am Ragan Desoram, and my legend is ended. But Razan Desoram's has just begun.
1
Razan sat against a tree in the city park, thinking. His dark blue scales and blue eyes went well with his black shirt and pants, and his short hair, which went with the trend, was blue as well. Dragons from his dimension lacked horns and were humanoid in shape, but like most they could breathe fire and their claws were to be taken seriously in a fight, especially if they had room to spread their wings. Most never need to fight though. The world was mostly in peace, with dragons and humans getting along quite nicely as a whole, and magic filled in any holes modern technology couldn't.
So why did his mother want him to learn how to use a sword anyway? Not to mention that old draconic martial art centered on using various claw-like weapons. Vampires may make other people a little uncomfortable, but the Clans make sure to contain any members that have lost enough blood to go into Blood Lust. There hasn't been an incident in over 200 years now, so he hardly has to know how to defend himself against an angry and fearful mob.
Then again, neither of them had the usual sensitivity to intense light that forced most vampires to wear veiled hats and full body clothing in the sun. He found it odd, but she would never tell him why when he asked, so he never did. Then there was her hair. Nearly all dragons have a color of hair similar to their scales and eyes, but her hair was grey, and dragons don't get grey hair even when they age. She doesn't dye it either, though that is what people assume.
"Hey, Razan! Why didn't you tell me your birthday was the fifteenth?"
"You never asked. Besides, Stan, I didn't want you to worry about getting me anything."
Stan was a pretty average human: brown hair, five foot ten inches tall, lightly tanned skin, non-vampire, and a junior in high school with decent grades. His parents weren't exactly rich, though, and while they could get by their own, they had to keep a close eye on their money. Stan was a nice guy, and he could befriend just about anybody except maybe unstable serial killers and Mr. Freeze. Even Mr. Freeze would have trouble not feeling warm and fuzzy, though.
"Nonsense," Stan said, sitting down next to him, "I might not be able to get you a cell phone powerful enough to play World of Warcraft after clicking on all the ads on a porn site, but I can at least get you this."
Razan took the offered present and cut the string holding it shut with a claw.
"Is this what I think it is?" he asked, raising an eye ridge to the folded light-blue fabric inside.
"Yep. The Incredible Bed-sheet Cape of Kewlness."
"Heh. It has to be "Kewl" if it can survive a lightning strike and thwart chocolate stains with impunity."
Stan had found this "bed sheet" when he was little. So far it had remained completely preserved despite going through his 'active' childhood.
Razan looked at his friend as he asked, "But, why this? I know how important this is to you."
"Yeah, but I figured you needed it more than me."
"Oh? Why's that?"
"Well, there's gotta be a reason your mom is ninja training you. Sooner or later you're going to meet Mr. Evil Samurai, and you could use a piece of indestructible fabric when that happens."
"Hmm, when you put it that way I just can't decline such a generous offer. Thanks, Stan."
2
Razan passed through his front door and immediately headed upstairs to put his present in his room. His mother was heading for the stairs as he reached the top, and she quickly sensed a powerful energy signature coming from within the package in his hand. She immediately stopped him and asked what was in the box.
"Uh, just a late birthday present from Stan," Razan replied, surprised by her sudden interrogation.
"Let me see it."
"Wh-"
"Now!"
He quickly handed it to her, realizing that something about the present was alarming her. She quickly opened it and her eyes widened considerably. She knew what this was; a Stabilizer Cape! The Electricity Cape, to be precise. How had Stan acquired the thing in the first place? It would be best to ask him directly. She handed the Cape back and told him to put it under his bed, automatically adjusting her tone and posture to relieve his suspicions at the subconscious level. He did as he was told, and after he left, Kay-Lune tapped into her energist powers, using one of the abilities all energists have in some form or another, the element step.
An element step uses the energist's energy-type as a medium for high speed travel and, as such, most variants cannot be used when that energy isn't in abundance. Depending on the variant, that energy has to be present at different locations, usually either at the starting and ending point or linking the two.
Kay-Lune shadow-stepped to a secluded corner in the apartment complex Stan lived in. She stepped around the leafy plant covering her sudden appearance and walked up to his door, knocking hard enough to slightly crack the wood.
As soon as he opened the door Stan knew he was in trouble. Razan's mom pushed in immediately, moving as though the furniture itself could unexpectedly try to kill them at any moment.
"Umm, w-what brings you here, Mrs. Desoram?"
"I wanted to ask you about the present you gave my son"
"um ok..." [Damn, how'd she get here so fast? I just got back from the park a few minutes ago!]
Kay-Lune picked up on Stan's thought and realized too late that she should have waited to avoid unnecessary suspicion. [Might as well just keep him off balance, then]
"I teleported, now where did you get the Cape?"
"I found it when I was little in the..." [Wait, did she just say she teleported!?]
"Yes, I did. In the what?"
"the... the backyard." [Is she reading my mind?]
<Do I really need to answer that?> Kay-Lune projected her thought to Stan.
[holyshitholyshitholyshittacosholyshitholyshitholyshitwtfzorzholyshitholyshitholycowholyshitholyshitholyshit...] Stan's brain couldn't handle much more shock. His thoughts had already degraded into the incoherent chaos present before the mind overloads and basically reboots.
"Oh, and don't forget brush your teeth before going to bed."
The unexpected change in topic left Stan crumpling toward the floor.
[just under twenty-seven seconds ... haven't lost my touch.]
3
Kay-Lune left Stan's apartment worrying about her son. After he had recovered, Stan told her everything he knew about the Cape, including why he gave it to Razan. She knew the dark-harts would try to kill Razan before his dormant energist powers awakened, and the only reason they haven't tried yet is because they were crippled by the devastation wrought by Ragan. Dark-harts increase their numbers quickly, though, and they've surely established a new fortress by now. Razan will awaken in a few years at his current rate, but stress and excitement can accelerate the process significantly. An attack could come any day now, and they'll likely send an assassin. He wouldn't even know he was under attack until it was too late...
Razan sat down under the tree in the park again, thinking about his mother's odd behavior. She seemed to recognize Stan's present, and she was certainly surprised to see it. Then she acted like nothing was wrong. He trusted his mom, but she was definitely hiding something from him.
Razan was abruptly pulled from his thoughts when he was yanked up by the throat and slammed against the tree, his toe claws barely touching the ground. His attacker looked human, until you noticed his skin, hair, and even teeth were literally black. His eyes, however, shone with evil, red irises, and the whites were laced with red lines too thin to be merely blood shot. His right hand held a black sword that seemed an extension of his body, and his left held Razan against the tree with unnatural strength. He suddenly shifted to the side and threw Razan to the ground a few feet away, where he gasped for air. Taking his time, the dark man walked over to Razan and pulled back his sword to stop Razan's heart forever.
Thinking fast, Razan blew a quick fireball into his face, catching him off guard and causing him to step back, covering his face. By the time his would-be killer recovered, Razan was on his feet in a ready stance, claws fully extended in front of him.
"Ha. You gathered your wits faster than I had expected, but you won't survive for long," he taunted, crouching down to charge. A moment later Razan slammed into the tree behind him, his back bruising severely and his wings breaking in several places. His opponent stood where he had just been, with his open hand still extended at draconic chest height.
Razan slumped to the ground gasping in air. There was no way he could fight in this condition; he couldn't even stand! As the black figure closed in for the kill, however, he felt something click into place, like a key turning in a heavy lock he never knew was there. His entire body was suddenly charged with powerful energy, back and wings healing to perfect health. There was new-found power coursing through his mind and soul as well, enhancing every part of him. He tackled his opponent blindingly fast and slammed his face against the first tree, sinking claws deep into his arms. Razan wasted no time biting his neck, intending to make his foe pass out from blood loss.
The stuff flowing into his mouth definitely wasn't blood, but he drank the odd liquid anyway since it had much the same empowering effect blood had on him. The dark man was growing weaker rapidly, but he showed no signs of passing out. Within seconds he simply dissolved into black mist with a high-pitched shriek, a surprised Razan sucking in the mist.
4
Kay-Lune had appeared soon after Razan killed the dark man, whisked him home, and silenced his questions with her own muteness. They were home long enough to gather a few things before Kay-Lune opened a portal to the Shadow Fortress on Spectera. The first thing Razan noticed exiting the portal was the colossal size of the Fortress. Its grey walls were several miles long and reached over a dozen miles towards the void of space in a perfect square arrangement. As they walked towards the door, Razan wondered if it was even possible to breathe on the roof.
"It is. The atmosphere here is considerably larger than back on Earth, just like the planet itself."
"The planet's bigger? Then why isn't the gravity any different?"
"Because Spectera is made entirely of a matter imitating substance called energen. It's not as susceptible to the laws of science as normal matter."
They entered the Fortress through a large double-door and joined the slight crowd inside. Razan was amazed at the diversity of the people; he saw both humans and dragons mingling with what had to be elves, dwarves, various aliens, cats, wolves, and -he glimpsed for a moment- a few snakes with arms (naga, he thought momentarily. Nearly all of them had long, grey hair, and most of those who didn't also had unusually colored hair.
"What's with all the grey hair?" Razan whispered, leaning closer to his parent.
"Shadow Energists have grey hair unless they're low on energy. Then it turns to their natural color."
"Hey, Kay-Lune! I thought you weren't going to be back for a few more years." A man with finely striped black and white hair walked up and gave her a quick hug before falling in next to them.
"I wasn't, but a dark-hart warrior attacked Razan. He awakened and managed to kill him."
"Hey, not bad, blueberry muffin. You just might avoid being a complete failure yet."
"I'm not a muffin..."
"But you're blue. Therefore, I can call you anything related to blue and still be cool. Like blue ba-"
"Zeken!" Kay-Lune cut him off with a motherly tone; the scary kind.
"Oh-tay, I'll be on my bestest bewhavior now. I pramwis!"
"I swear," Kay-Lune shook her head. "You're a 300-year-old child."
Razan couldn't believe what he just heard. "Three-hundred?! But He's... How..."
"I'm 317 next month, actually. It's amazing what immaturity can do for your health. You really should try it sometime."
"No, you shouldn't. Besides, it's being a half-energist that gives him his longevity.
"Ah, here we are." Kay-Lune stopped at a door near the center of the fortress. All the doors Razan had seen were automatic sliding doors, but this one seemed to be nothing more than a simple knob set into the wall. As far he could tell there wasn't even a door.
"Confused, blue cheese? That room is protected by about a fifth of the entire fortress's automated defense system and roughly half of the V S-equipped secondary armors. V S stands for virtual soul by the way. That knob is in a different spot every day. Shows up on ceilings and floors, too. It's the only legitimate way into the pocket dimension attached to it. The Library Terminals are too important for anything less." Zeken had a distant expression; not hard to do with his foggy irises.
"Library Terminals?"
"I'll show you in a moment," Kay-Lune said, "now grab the knob and hold on tight." Razan grasped the faintly glowing handle, and everything else dissolved into a silvery fog.
5
[What the hell!? Isn't the portal supposed to form before I go through!? Gah, I think I'm gonna hurl...] The knob hauled Razan through the fog-like energy between dimensions at what he estimated to be about mach ninety-kajillion. After about ten seconds, he reached the Shadow Library Terminal Sub-Dimension, and then promptly fell over. When he managed to sit up, Kay-Lune appeared suddenly, and then promptly fell over. While she was recovering, Razan looked at his surroundings. They were in a square room fifty feet long, with twenty feet on both sides occupied by a variety of advanced armors worn by metallic, humanoid figures and a solid covering of automated weaponry on the ceiling and most of the walls. Only the ten foot sections of wall behind and across the room from him were clear of turrets. A gently sloped block extended from the far wall at about waist height. [That must be the Terminal itself...]
"That's supposed to happen by the way," Kay-Lune said as she sat up.
"Huh?"
"The trip here is supposed to leave visitors completely disoriented. It makes unwanted guests die faster." She got up and walked over to the Terminal still wavering unsteadily. "Stand in the center of the room, please." Kay-Lune began to rapidly trace symbols on the Terminal with all ten claw tips, apparently 'typing' something into the console. "Take a deep breath, relax, and clear your mind as much as possible." Razan did as he was told, while a circle extended from the floor around him until it was twice his height. "Your Integrated Library Access will now be fused seamlessly to the energist portion of your brain," Kay-Lune said ,"You will experience a rapid intake of essential novice-level information, and don't worry; your undergarments will be cleaned immediately after the procedure."
[... Calm...burbling brook... peace... wait why would they need-] Two plates extended to the sides of his head, molded to a perfect fit, and began putting the ILA in place. Razan's thoughts were suddenly occupied by the flood of knowledge pouring into his brain.
[EnergistsCanNaturallyManipulateEnergyDirectly/PureEnergistsHaveEnergy-based Bodies/HalfEnergistsHaveTheirEnergy-basedBodiesFullyIntegratedWithTheirMatter-based Bodies...EnergistTechnologyIsEnergy-based/Energy-basedTechnologyOperatesWithEqual EffectivenessOnAllScalesWhenResourceRequirementsAreMet...EnergenIsTheMostEffective KnownSubstanceToUseWithEnergistTechnology...EnergenCanBeAlteredToExhibitDifferent Properties...]
After several minutes, the stream of information finished, and Razan became aware of his mother standing over him waiting. He was lying down near the entrance and his nearly shoulder-length hair was drawn back in a long, narrow, and stiff oval of leather-like energen.
"That hair-tie is part of an old energist tradition. The length of an energist's hair indicates his or her level of training. The Belo-fi is used to regulate hair-length and can be used as an alternative indicator if your hair has to be put at a different length for any reason."
"Wait, I already knew that somehow."
"It was part of the novice-level information you just received. That information rapidly fades from your accessible memory, but you'll learn it faster and easier than if you just had to learn it all normally."
"So, I basically have to relearn it."
"Yes. It's time to go now."
After a considerably gentler ride back, Razan and Kay-Lune walked to the primary armor room, with Zeken in tow. Every energist has a set of armor that is bonded to them even more seamlessly than their ILA. If an energist's armor is removed, it can be drawn toward them without fail, even across entire galaxies and from other dimensions. It must be made exclusively by the user from energen ore. It grows as they grow. It is injured as they are injured. It dies when they die.
Kay-Lune turned to her son outside the door. "All I can tell you is to make it as you think it should be made. You can't try again, so do your best."
"In other words: use your own style and don't screw yourself over, blueberry."
"Um, thanks... I'll keep that in mind, Yodel-master," Razan said with a slight grin.
Zeken's eyebrows furled briefly in confusion, and then arched in pleasant surprise. "Hey, that's a really good one! You catch on quick, don'tcha?"
"Occasionally," Razan looked into the room, took a slow, deep breath, and said "Well, here goes."
6
Razan exited the Armory after laboring ceaselessly for days, wearing a complete set of grey armor with a sword hanging on the right side of his belt by a strip of surprisingly flexible metal. His feet were clad in metal, toeless boots that switched seamlessly to extremely small-ringed chainmail at all his joints and halfway to his knees. His tail was covered in miniscule joined loops with several solid bands dispersed along its length. Razan's belt was made of thick plates covering mail and rings ran between his boots and belt seamlessly. More mail reached up to the bottom of his body piece, just below the ribs, and the single plate covering the dragon's chest and back split to reveal overlapped ringlets with every breath. His wings were covered in mail that hugged their surface perfectly. Open fingered Gauntlets left his clawed fingertips exposed, and chainmail stretched up to plated shoulders. Razan's open-faced helm fit his head perfectly.
His mother and Zeken were gone, but a raven-haired human wearing a black cross was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He looked over as Razan appeared, examined him for a moment, and said, "Zeken wanted me to wait here, so I could meet you. Said your name was blueberry muffin, which with him means the name he made up for you. I'm Kaleun." With that he offered his hand.
The young dragon gripped the proffered appendage, careful not to poke it with his barely exposed claw tips. "I'm Razan, pleased to meet you."
"Likewise," Kaleun said in draconic, his accent flawless, "I've been learning draconic and need the practice, so is it alright if we speak in your native language?" Razan was surprised by how fluent he was-no easy feat for a human's tongue-and, switching languages, asked him how he managed it. "The Library contains the knowledge of how to speak billions of languages and dialects with all kinds of mouths, muzzles, beaks, and other vocal devices with a natural accent. But I still need the practice, in case I can't access the Library when I need to calm down a mob of angry dragons or something." Sensing Razan's puzzlement, he added, "The Library can be accessed from any dimension, but inter-dimensional turbulence can cut off the signal.
"Anyway, your first teacher awaits. Once your basic shadow training is complete, you'll start training in the use of other energies with a teacher from the corresponding fortress. I'll be your dark energy trainer, by the way. All in all your training should take about a year."
7
Razan exited the portal in an alley, his transformation matrix active and set to human. The locals would undoubtedly freak at the sight of an eight foot tall winged lizard. His grey hair now reached his mid-back, indicating his fully trained status to those who knew of such things. His lightly tanned features were a translation of his draconic traits; to anyone who knew him, his human form would seem oddly familiar, particularly his nearly unchanged blue eyes (the pupils had changed from slits to circles). He wore cargo pants, a plain t-shirt, a leather belt, tennis shoes, and a light coat reaching down to mid-shin, all of his clothes gray. Under the sleeves of his coat Razan wore energen bracers, ideal for deflecting bullets, swords, knives, arrows, fireballs, axes, boomerangs, magic missiles, and most other melee weapons and small projectiles.
[Alright, now to see how things are going on this Earth.] "This Earth" was actually home to more than just an information-age human civilization. The four other races; elves, nagas, dragons, and lycans; were hidden from the humans.
Elves were technologically superior to humans, having developed cloaking and teleportation technology a few years after the human automobile caught on. Their clear-minded, logical thinking has enabled the elves to leave virtually no trace of their existence. Most now resided in the Canadian wilderness, elven cities hidden by their design as well as cloaking devices.
Living on islands in the Pacific, the nagas were masters of magic. Their thin bodies and smooth snakeskin made them natural swimmers, and their dexterous hands wielded complex magics with ease. Their island homes were hidden by powerful spells fueled by carefully monitored volcanoes. The nagas' skills with magic are comparable to the elves' technological abilities.
The dragons, although less talented with technology or magic as their respective masters, excelled at putting the two together. Draconic products, made with naga-prepared spells and elf-made parts, were used by all three. Most lived with either the elves or the naga for convenience, though many resided in small communities in areas with harsh climates, like Antarctica.
Lycans were actually humans with natural magic in their genome. This enabled them to shift their bodies to a wolf-like form and back. Even in human form their senses were incredibly sharp, and they possessed unusual strength and agility. The lycans helped the other three races stay hidden by living among humans and sending word of scientific expeditions and whatnot in their areas. In return, the lycans received the best medical care and universal insurance policy in the world. A lycan's car never broke down for long.
Razan walked out of the alley and down the street to a nearby mall. What better place was there to learn of current events than a mall with two TV stores, several newsstands, and thousands of teenage females? With his ears, he could listen to nearly all the gossip from the central food court while he remotely tapped into the Teleshack's cable TV for the news and listened to the radio stations for more news.
[That smell...a dragon!? How did he get here, is he crazy!?...] Razan quickly located the source of the distressed thought, looking at a man in his mid-twenties with an outward appearance of deciding where to get lunch hiding his tracking of Razan's scent. The dragon in question watched the lycan meander in his general direction, Razan's constant gaze catching his attention. [Why is that man watching me? All that grey is creeping me out.] Razan cracked a smile at that. [He's smiling... like he just heard a joke...] Razan silently chuckled. [Is he laughing? What's he finding so funny? Damn, he's creepy!]
So what if I am? Razan mouthed, the man just beyond the adjacent table. At his priceless expression, Razan gestured to the chair on the other side of the small table, waving the lycan over with his other hand. The man sat down slowly, eying Razan suspiciously.
[That dragon's scent is all over him. He knows. Probably some kind of "hunter of the paranormal" that found himself a dragon. Shit.]
"Well, that's a rather pessimistic assumption. Quite frankly, my decidedly loose definition of 'normal' makes that an unfulfilling hobby at best."
"What?"
Razan continued in a low voice. "One: 'That dragon's scent' is mine. Two: Yes, I do know. Three: I don't hunt the paranormal and didn't have to 'find' myself. And Four: What does fecal matter have to do with anything?"
The poor lycan looked torn between passing out, having a heart-attack, and bludgeoning his face with his own brain after ripping open the back of his head and seizing the aforementioned cranial jewel. "W-what?"
"Things aren't nearly as bad as you assume. Take a deep, slow breath. Think of flowing water. A gentle waterfall. An attractive young lady is massaging the tension out of your shoulders." Razan waited for a moment. "Better now?" The man nodded, his eyes closed. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Razan Desoram," he said, extending his hand.
"Sam Wickston," he replied, shaking Razan's hand.
"I believe some explaining is in order. I am here to...," Razan trailed off, his expression distant, "hang on... ah, I'm going to have to cut this short, a military vessel is investigating 'unusual electromagnetic, thermal, and sonar readings' in the Pacific. I apologize, but I need to keep an eye on this in person. Keep watching the news." Razan rose hurriedly and went into a small, nearly empty antique store, leaving a confused Sam in his seat. The dragon found a sheltered corner and, after quickly tracing the radio signal, shadow stepped into the cargo hold of a battle ship.
8
Razan took a moment to change his coat into a globule of energy and stow it in his belt before shadow stepping into the ocean below the ship. He latched onto the boat's underside, one of his many energy devices pulling oxygen from the water as he inhaled and dissolving his gaseous waste as he exhaled.
[They're heading straight toward the naga capital city, slyv'siren. If this ship gets much closer, it'll 'disappear' with all its contents. I'm gonna have to butt in and make sure nobody does anything millions of people will regret.] After a few minutes, Razan shadow stepped onto the deck, immediately acting like he belonged there. As expected, the attention of the busy crew members slid off of him as readily as it would slide off of each other. The unnoticed intruder walked over to the port railing and called down to a surprised, sea-green naga in his own serpentine language, "Might I recommend a more peaceful solution? Like introducing yourselves? I won't let you or them kill each other." Meanwhile, the crew took alarmed notice of Razan spouting an eerie tongue, and the naga regained his wits and muttered a quick spell to appear on the ship behind the captain, currently in the bridge, ready to sink his venomous fangs into the leader's neck. Razan appeared with his folded right hand whistling past the captain's neck to slam into the snake's upper lip, forcing him to instinctively fold up his fangs and pull back violently. A cord of dark energy was quickly used to bind the serpent's length in a nice coil before he and Razan appeared on the deck as the other naga boarders zipped over the railing. Nineteen clear-blue containment fields popped into existence, bringing their stunned expressions to the center of the ship's deck.
Razan proclaimed, first in English, then in the naga tongue, "If there are any hostile or intentionally provocative actions, comments, tones, and/or gestures by anybody, at any point in time, the consequences will be immediate, unpleasant, and exponentially worse each time." His words could be heard on the ship's intercom as well. The captain suddenly rushed out of the bridge, spotted Razan, and began yelling, "Who the hell are you, and what are you doing on my ship with those-"
"Naga," Razan supplied.
"-And... how did you make those bubble things?" [And how did he appear and disappear like that? What kind of technology is he packing? Who sent him? Who sent those 'nagas?' Why?] The captain's thoughts were as loud and demanding as his voice.
"I am Warrior Razan Desoram," he said with a slight bow, "I am here to encourage diplomatic action and discourage hostile action from all involved. These 'bubble things' are double sided energy barriers; I made them by hand. That would be shadow stepping; it's done by using energy as a transportation medium. Energy-based technology. I sent myself. Other Nagas, I expect. You were heading straight for their capital in a combat vessel, and they're very untrusting of humans. That's a very good fish-out-of-water impersonation by the way." The naval officer closed his mouth and continued to stare.
The tied up snake chose this moment to make his own demands, not quite yelling, "Release us, human, or we will make you suffer."
The "human" kneeled in front of him and, folding his body until his face was even with the serpent's, said quietly, "What make you so sure I'm human?" The disguised dragon released a puff of smoke to the side and flashed a fanged smile at the startled naga.
"What are you, then?" he asked in a low voice.
"An energist-dragon hybrid. And your people's only hope for establishing lasting peaceful relations with humans. I won't allow anything less to occur, I promise you."
"That's impossible, and you know it."
"Never tell an energist something is impossible; we have a habit of proving such statements wrong."
"We shall see." [This guy knows nothing of humans. He's just going to get himself killed.]
"My best friend is a human, and I'm far more difficult to kill than you think."
Razan stood up before the naga could respond and walked over to the captain who was examining one of the barriers and its contents. When he noticed Razan, he said, "I never introduced myself. I am Captain Robert E. Jacobson of the Battleship Javelin." Captain Jacobson shook his hand, then continued, "I must admit this situation is beyond me. I need to report this to Washington, a-sap. I'm going to have some trouble getting them to believe me, so would you mind coming with me?"
"Not at all, but I suggest one of the naga accompany us. They'll probably panic if I go with you without explaining things and having a representative will help reassure them and reinforce your credibility with your superiors."
"Alright," the captain grunted. Razan walked over to the same naga, explained the situation, and removed the dark energy bonds.
9
"Sir, I need to speak with the President immediately, this is extremely important."
"What is so important, Jacobson? You're not talking to anybody but me until I know what this is about."
"With all due respect, sir, the President needs to hear about this before anybody else, including you."
"Jacobson! I am giving you a direct order to report! Unless you'd like to be court-marshaled, I suggest you follow your orders! Now!"
"Captain, let me handle this, please," Razan sighed at last. Jacobson handed over the Radio mike immediately, clearly tired of trying to deal with the demanding General. "The Captain is correct on all counts, General Nalax. This-"
"Who the hell are you! Do you have any idea how much shit you just got yourself-"
"General Nalax! You will not treat an Ambassador like that again! You're lucky I know you were ignorant of that little fact."
"Ambassador?! From where? Antarctica? That's the dum-"
"We are finishing this conversation face to face, General. One moment, please." Razan shadow-stepped into Nalax's office in Washington, D.C. The General had just taken a breath to shout a reply that suddenly caught in his throat. Obviously, he didn't believe Razan was serious when he had said one moment. "Hello, General Nalax. I sincerely hope President Vickman has more sense than you do." Razan immediately turned and exited at a brisk walk. By the time the General recovered enough to call security, the deceptive pace had brought Razan halfway to the oval office. The secret service did get there first, but were somewhat surprised when he completely ignored several rounds embedding themselves in his chest and forehead; one guy even raised an eyebrow.
[This man clearly isn't human. We have to evacuate the Whitehouse immediately. A tactical air-strike would do the trick, but we have to try smaller explosives first.]
"You're rather violent-minded, aren't you?"
"What?" The other eyebrow followed its brother. [Where's a nuke when you need it?]
"A nuke?! I would be the only living person in Washington after that!"
"Huh?" The other agents started edging away from their coworker, seeing the open look of guilty shock on his face. [Holy Shit! Can he read minds?]
"Watch your language. I've got soap and I know how to use it!" The agent let out a strangled sound and passed out in shock as a commanding voice sounded from the Oval Office.
"What's going on out there?"
"President Vickman, I am Ambassador Razan Desoram. Due to present circumstances I had to circumvent the system to speak with you immediately, and, unfortunately, my unconventional methods gave your security quite a fright. I-"
"Mr. President, this man is extremely dangerous. We need to get you out of here immediately."
"I am only dangerous to my enemies, and, as is apparent by the absence of-." When Razan detected a dark-hart assassin, he wasted not an instant. The shadow warrior burst through the door so quickly the splinters were smoking and, with his left hand, swiped his sword over the President's head, cleaving the suddenly visible assassin's hands from his arms. As the black hands and daggers dissolved into mist, Razan continued his spin while leaping sideways into the air, neatly driving the narrow blade through the dark-hart's head and into his chest with a quick thrust. A heave sent the dark being over Razan's shoulder and to the ground, his weapon still embedded to the hilt. Before anyone else fully registered the movement, a bright light was already destroying the assassin from the inside. President Vickman turned around just in time to see his would-be killer dissolve to short-lived dark mist with an eerily quiet yet deafening shriek. "Well, I was going to point out the inactive status of my weaponry as evidence of the lack of my enemies," he continued, sheathing his sword, "but, apparently, the 'speak of the devil' concept decided to rear its irony-loving head before I even got to that point." [They always ignore their better judgment when I'm involved, like they're trying to impress each other or something. 'Hey, I'll bet you a million ration units I can kill that important guy with the Son of Ragan himself just beyond that door!' The smart ones can probably buy their retirement thrice over!]
10
"Senator Phillip, The Nagas' view of humans as violent, hateful, and irrational is no reason to meet their expectations. I suggest you use your negative emotions to fuel your reason. Prove them wrong. Take on a 'I'll show them their own foolishness' attitude if you have to!" {It's been a month, and this guy has been sabotaging the negotiations from the start! At least the president and most of the naga and human representatives recognize his spewing of poisonous crap for what it is: indicative of neither species' behavior!} Razan was carefully shielding his thoughts, lest an ambassador or two receive anything negative. Energist empathy could and would work both ways. Razan had sensed a repressed fear in the Senator's emotional state at every meeting, and it twitched every time he looked at a naga, heard one speak, or was about to launch another verbal assault on the "hell spawn" across the square table.
That twitch became a convulsion as Senator Phillip's angry response formed, "I don't care what that slime thinks about me! Those things aren't going to get me with their lies and-"
"Get. Out." Razan vanquished all sound then dug its grave.
"You- You have no right to-"
"I have every right!" he roared, as only a dragon knew how, an orange-red aura swirling around him, "I am here to keep these discussions peaceful and informed! If you wish to act like a child trying to convince his parents the monsters in his closet are real, then you will do so elsewhere! 'No, daddy, I know it wasn't the wind!' Enough! This is an adult conversation, Tommy, and until you prove otherwise, you are an irrational child with no right to be here! Get Out, before I ignite your backside and throw you in a lake!" As he visibly calmed himself, the aura faded, and Tomas Phillip numbly drifted out of the room in a shocked trance. Razan watched his exit, his suspicions confirmed by the way Tomas resonated with the comparison. "Do not think badly of him," Razan said quietly, "I suspect his behavior was influenced by repressed childhood trauma."
Tomas slumped onto a bench in a small garden, forgotten memories replaying themselves in his shaken mind.
The child of five stares at the walk-in closet, suddenly awake at a screeching noise. They're coming for him again! His only defense is the knowledge that monsters don't dare strike when an adult is near. He screams the entire way to his parents' room, his sobbing form careening onto the bed in a trembling mess. Don't let them get me! Dammit Tommy, I told you, it's just the branches right outside your window sliding across the glass in the wind. Go back to bed. But, I know it wasn't the wind! Why don't his parents ever believe him? Go back to bed they say, but that's just what they want! Terrified, he slowly returns to his room. He doesn't sleep until the next night.
[He's right. I'm acting exactly the same. I need to see a shrink before I even think of setting foot in there again.] His course clear, Senator Philip called his aide to take the negotiations off his schedule and set up an appointment with a psychologist, preferably one with experience dealing with repressed emotions.
"Razan, can I ask you something?" One of the Junior Naga Ambassadors slithered over as the other ambassadors were preparing to leave.
"It is always your right to ask, just as it is my right to answer or not answer as I see fit."
"Ss, right. How is it you knew our language before you ever met us?"
"Linguistic redundancy. In dimension R4, the Wyverdi language is identical to your own."
"What are Wyverdi?"
"They're a mountain-dwelling race. They basically resemble Naga with wings, though they're not big enough for much more than a gliding fall."
"They can fly?"
"No. But a Wyverdi isn't as likely to go splat if he falls off a cliff as, say, a Naga is. Tis a handy talent to have when one lives in a very vertical place."
11
[Ah, the legendary and dreaded press-conference. The President was quite relieved when I insisted on coming along,] Razan mused.
"If you will all please hold your questions for moment, I would like to introduce the third-party mediator, Warrior Ra-zan De-so-ram." President Vickman used the sharp formal annunciation, as he had been instructed, and Razan took his place at the podium.
"Since many of you are wondering, yes, Warrior is a title like Mister, and my name has two pronunciations, a formal, which you heard, and an informal. So, any questions?" True to their reputation, the members of press immediately erupted with 'Mr. Dezzeran's and the like, until Razan indicated a reporter in the front row.
"The President said you were from a 'third party.' What party was he referring to?"
"The Energists of Specterra. I have emailed a web-site link to each news agency. The link goes to a site with additional information. Malcolm Smith."
"What is the purpose of the negotiations?"
"Primarily logistical. No human laws currently apply to Nagas in any way, and Naga laws pertaining to humans are somewhat obsolete. Ultimately, the intent is to minimize the bloodshed and discrimination. Caroline Rellip."
"You seem to expect friction. What is this friction likely to be?"
"Things like culture shock at the least, an assortment of hate crimes at most. Anything large scale and I call for backup. Derrick Wilson."
"Backup, sir?"
"As powerful as I am, I cannot be in a thousand places at once without being overly dramatic. Bob Quincy."
As the conference dragged on, Razan realized just why the President was so relieved.
12
In a downtown bar two men, one at least forty years older than the other, were discussing the current speaker at the Press Conference shown on the place's television.
"Sam, you think that guy on TV's a dragon?"
"Yes! He smelled like a dragon, he said he was a dragon, and now he's settling issues between races, just like dragons did so long ago. He is a dragon."
"His scent is overpowering, he's probably wearing a concentrated formula. You know how he would get the ingredients. Besides, even with the best of tech and magic, that kind of disguise just isn't possible."
"Have you even been watching? He's not from this world, maybe where he comes from that is possible and maybe-"
"Bullshit."
"But-"
"Bullshit."
"You're-"
"Bullshit!"
"Well, that explains a lot!" Sam rose to his feet.
"Sam, I'm warning you: drop this!" His Clan Master did the same.
"Woah guys, hey, no need to beat the crap out of each other. If it helps, I know blueberry muffin up there, and yeah, he's a dragon. A blue one.
"Heh. That hit-with-a-brick expression never gets old."
The Clan Master managed to gather his wits and sputter, "W-What are you talking about?"
"Aw, don't play dumb with me, fuzzy nuts," Zeken said playfully, "My hearing is wuh-hayyy better than yours, and, like Razan, I already know 'bout the whole smeal, okie dokie?"
"Ah, really now. Well, perhaps we could continue this conversation somewhere more private?"
"Oh, Sure! We can go to the house Razan bought. Follow me!" Zeken declared, flinging a finger to the heavens and added in a dramatic, British-accented growl, "to the drrrrragon's lair!" He charged out the door, loosed a bellowing war-cry, "WAHHHHHHHHH," and left an awkward silence and two stunned werewolves in his wake.
"Uh, Clanmaster Argus?"
"Yes, Sam?"
"Do you think he's on something?"
"I fucking hope so."
13
"Any questions, dude-erkinmahkens?!" Zeken hyper-smiled as his head jerked between Sam and his Clanmaster (who had introduced himself as Jonathan Argus) on the couch opposite his chair. Sam glanced to the far seat of the sofa and, at the occupant's nod, leaned forward in his seat.
"Not about your... riveting explanation, but I'm curious. Does your hair color have anything to do with your personality? You mentioned it signified an Energist's energy type, but I noticed Razan's hair was grey, and his demeanor seemed almost bland, while yours is black and white-sonic energy, you said-and you're, well. Loud."
Zeken gazed at the ceiling's edge as he answered in a surprisingly calm voice, "Not exactly. Energists of the same type do tend to have a few similar quirks, but it's because of the way we work with our particular energy, our craft, if you will. It's basically a case of our job routine influencing how we act elsewhere, like a custodian keeping his house exceptionally clean because he keeps his workplace clean, or an office worker arranging the supplies in his home office the same as in his cubicle at work. As for me," Zeken grinned, "Being eternally thirteen years old and seemingly on super-crack made from shrooms grown on the bodily waste of a God of Insanity by demon chemists in the meth lab of Hell version 2.0 has nothing to do my energy type. If I weren't an Energist, I would simply be less loud and not have a ton of cool abilities and sound effects to back up my inherent zaniness.
"Like a passive psychic-class empathic sense!" He looked at Sam like he just gave Zeken a warehouse of gold for his birthday. Sam was terrified by his face-breaking smile alone. "Since you're wondering, Sonic Energists tend to become more emotional, harmonic, and/or poetic. The first was so redundant it didn't happen, but now I enjoy singing, even when there's no one to freak out by bursting into song and dance like a musical."
Sam silently prayed he would escape this house with his sanity intact. "As interesting as this is," Argus said, "we have to get going."
Zeken nodded. "Of course. Your role has long been to inform others. I'll not keep you from your sacred task any longer. May the moon light your path, wurs'vocka." He rose and moved his right hand forward and to the side until it was in line with his opposite shoulder with a slight lowering of his head.
[wolfman-friends? He knows something of werewolf language and culture. A true friend-of-moonchildren.] Clanmaster Argus returned the gesture and replied, "And yours, fef-nas'wur," as Sam imitated his movements.
When they were several blocks away, Sam broke the silence, "Did you get the feeling he was aware of everything around him, like if something happened, he would know immediately what to do about it?"
Argus was silent for a moment before intoning, "He is a highly trained warrior, an elite commando capable of handling everything from laundry day to doomsday. His mind is free of doubt and denial and never slows. His heart never gives up, even if it is shattered into a thousand pieces. His body does not go to its limits in times of crisis; it shrugs them aside. All of his being is honed and strong. He appears weak, only to astound friends and foes alike with his strength when it is needed."
Sam frowned slightly before asking, "Isn't that an old quote? Something about the perfect soldier?"
Argus nodded. "It is. During the Dark Ages, a Clanmaster from Britan said that to describe a perfect martial artist."
"Hm. A clan teacher showed us that in middle school. My friend said the moral of the story was to remember that twelve-packs come in soft, flat cardboard."
"What?"
"He was playing off the six-pack abs concept. It was his way of saying, 'don't prey on the weak, someday one of them will kick you in the ass hard enough to give you brain cancer.' That's what I used to say, actually."
"If the times weren't so uncertain I think I would be laughing right now."
14
Seslas frowned at the human man behind the two-way mirror. "Razan, what does the word 'terrorist' mean?"
"It generally refers to an angry, hateful dipshit that tries to blow up everybody and everything they don't like or is in the way of them or their 'organization'. They tend to be the result of a crafty, but also dipshitty, individual who twists and abuses a religion to make a group of religious fanatics with a bad habit of wearing explosives and/or driving vehicles of all kinds into buildings. Terrorists are the main reason not to underestimate stupid people in large groups. The official definition is, 'somebody who uses violence, especially bombing, kidnapping, and assassination, to intimidate others, often for political purposes,' though I think that refers more to the leaders of terrorists than it does to the underlings." Razan frowned as the man spat in the interrogator's face. "It's been several hours now. I think I'll have a little chat with him myself. Mr. Jackson, I suggest you turn off the mike and use this one before I begin."
"Why?" The technician frowned at the zebra-striped cylinder Razan set on the table.
"I don't want to damage your equipment. Or your ears." Razan winked.
Mr. Jackson decided he didn't want to know "Alright. How do I hook up this thing? There's no cord."
"Just touch the domed end to the port and stick the flat end on the glass."
Mr. Jackson did as he was told, and the microphone came away with a retractable cord plugged into the audio equipment. "Oh-ho, that's cool!"
"Indeed," Razan said, "Now let's see how I do." He went to the other room and caught the questioner's attention. "Officer Thompson, let me have a crack at him. Take a coffee break."
As Thompson left the room, Razan sat down at the table and smiled. "Hello, Gregory Richard Kempton. I am Warrior Razan Desoram, as I'm sure you know. Can I call you Greg?" Greg continued to glare with his arms crossed not moving at all. "I'll take that as a yes. Do you anything about the vampires of resonating dimension twelve?" Razan sensed his curiosity rise minutely, but his composure was unchanged. "I'm sure you've heard about vampires in some context, but RD twelve vampires are quite unique. They're made in two situations: they're born vampires, or a vampire sucks somebody dry." Greg quirked an eyebrow ever so slightly. "They originated long ago during The Demon War. Because the RD twelve vampire aspect originated from blood demons, vampires have a few tricks of a magical nature up their sleeves."
Greg let out a single, small laugh. "You expect me to believe any of that?"
Razan smiled. "Not yet. Anyway, one of these tricks is the blood gaze. It causes a feeling of terror through direct eye contact. The victim is frozen with fear and unable to look away. At greater intensities, the victim will back away, but still cannot look away. If eye contact is broken, sanity returns, and the victim is immune to the blood gaze for half-an-hour or so." Greg was smiling, clearly enjoying Razan's story. "It's also a very good interrogation tool, as there is very little permanent effect, and the victim will do anything the vampire tells them to." Razan gave a toothy grin, his fangs clearly displayed to Greg. A little worm of doubt and fear formed in his mind. "Oh, and did I mention I'm a vampire from RD twelve?"
Razan's eyes suddenly widened, their blue color replaced by shining red. Lines of fire spider-webbed the whites, and demonic power emanated into Greg's mind, banishing all rational thought. He began to tremble, unable to look away or even blink. "So, do you belong to any groups that have any desire to harm the Nagas?" Razan's voice took on an otherworldly quality, boring into Greg's soul.
"Y-y-yes!"
"What group is that?"
"Th-the Protectors of H-H-Humanity!"
"Who is the leader?"
"I-I don't know."
"Expain."
"We meet online, using aliases the leader's username is Fatherly uh, protectors and guardians dot com my username is manchunks that's one word password rollbowler type in moo goo foo within fifteen seconds to prove you're me Please stop looking at mepleasepleaseplease!" Razan closed his eyes and leaned back. When he reopened them Greg was looking at him in shock and confusion.
"I'm sorry I had to do that, but the good news is you won't have to go through this again. I have everything we need."
"What the fuck was I so afraid of?" Greg put is head in his hands.
"Your fear. The gaze magnifies existing feelings of fear to massive proportions. It doesn't work on the truly fearless, and those with courage can sometimes resist the effects.
"And try not to worry too much about your future." He lifted his head to look at Razan. "Since I have a reputation of being uncannily right, I'm sure I can have you sent to an Energist for therapy, rather than death row or prison."
"Why would they let me go? I threw a Molotov cocktail at a foreign ambassador," Greg muttered gloomily.
"It's very good therapy. Besides," Razan grinned wryly, "Your therapist will be near you at all times until he or she deems you a changed man. A friend of mine is town, so I'll ask him about it." He pressed the first two fingers of his left hand to his ear, a grey earpiece with a mike appearing as he said, "Zeken? ... Would you mind doing some type nine-b therapy? ... Thanks, I'll let you know when I get everything ready." The com device vanished as he lowered his hand and said, "Before I go, I should warn you. Zeken is extremely hyper, mischievous, and often annoying. He will probably drive you to insanity and back, but keep in mind that he's over three-hundred years old and has extensive training and experience. Trust me; he knows what he's doing.
Greg eyed him warily. "You sound like this is going to be worse than the alternatives."
"Oh yeah, Zeken is much, much worse than death. But it will give you another chance at life, and that's worth going through hell and more."
15
"I still haven't figured out how sentencing me to therapy is even legal," Greg sighed. He felt the judge had shown more mercy than was actually permitted.
"Simple," Razan said as they waited outside the courthouse, "This 'therapy' is considered as severe a ruling as a life sentence or death row. It doesn't stop at all until it's done for good, and I wasn't kidding when I told the judge it'll be the most punishing experience of your life. And that's not just because he's the one doing it," he added, pointing over a shoulder with his head.
"Gee sauce on Willikers tacos! Ya got me that time," Zeken said with an exaggerated stomp-and-arm-swing of false frustration. "How'd you do it this time?"
"You forget my keen sense of smell," Razan said, turning around, "Anyway, this is the 'lucky' guy right here." Zeken instantly stepped to Greg's side and, after a quick farewell to Razan, led him away with an arm on his shoulders.
"We're gonna have so much fun together! We'll stay up late, bake brownies, jump off of cliffs and out of planes and cars, go swimming in a volcano, break the sound barrier in an office chair, watch movies and really big people's girlfriends, bake more brownies..." As they made their way down the street, Razan smiled, knowing he was probably serious about doing all that stuff.
Suddenly, one of Razan's remote sensors notified him of unusual readings from a major Naga city. The city was on a volcanic island and used magical means to draw power from the magma, both preventing eruptions and supplying the raw energy needed to power the city. The thermal energy of the volcano was spiking unnaturally, as though being added to artificially. "Shit," Razan muttered, shadow stepping to the city's main gate. "There's a problem with your volcano," he called up to the guards, dashing through the magic barrier the instant it changed from red to blue.
A moment later Razan dashed down the long, steep tunnel leading to the magma pool, drawing his sword as he neared the chamber. As he expected, a dark hart Weaver had reversed the collection spell and was sitting in the air above the lava, pumping his own energies into the magma. Standing on a stone platform a few hundred feet above the lava, Razan decided on a direct approach, leaping down and impaling the unsuspecting intruder through his head.
The subsequent fall into the lava should have finished off the unbalanced, unshielded dark hart, but its effects were dampened by the foreign energies. And he was much more powerful than a typical Weaver, as Razan discovered when he was launched into the rock ceiling by a potent blast. "Surprised, dragon? Don't be. I'm a Shifter. And you're dead!" [Lulz, i r so originalz.]
{Great. A new type. And he thinks like a super villain forum noob. Dammit, I'm getting a headache already.} Razan extracted himself and alighted onto the platform where the Shifter was waiting. "You always switch between talking in first and second person? Anyway, get on with the gloating monologue and tell me what a Shifter is already," he said, beginning to circle.
"Certainly, oh greatest of the noob cakes. Simply put, I'm all of the above. I can 'shift' between all other types. I can even combine types to increase your odds of death." [Roflcopters, niggah!] "Like this." His robes melted into an armored leotard as he grew to eight feet tall and formed a giant, two-handed mace in his hands. "Zoomer and Juggernaut, speed and strength. You don't stand a chance!"
Razan stood there with a blank expression. "You look like a gay evil paladin." <Skin-tight platelet armor?! Oh, this is fucking golden!>
The Shifter immediately went into a berserk rage, charging in and swinging with near sonic speeds. [Killkillkilldiemurderdeathmutilaterippwnownsmashsquish...!] As Razan dodged the furious hail, he held his breath, his face turning red, then blue. The Shifter didn't notice, even when the fire-breather put a hand over his mouth and nose, holding them shut. The fight lasted only a few minutes, ending when Razan let out a colossal plume of white, liquid fire right into the dark hart's face, the gargantuan blast vaporizing a chunk of the platform along with its intended target. Hearing the tell-tale death shriek, he let himself fall onto his back.
After Razan spent a couple of minutes lying down re-inflating his lungs, he put away his sword, repaired the collection spell, and walked back up the tunnel. Naga authorities in form-fitting crimson robes were waiting at the entrance. After a quick explanation, they dispersed, except for a middle-aged officer. "You have a question, officer."
The naga jumped slightly and said, "Uh, yes, I do. I can't help but notice you're a little young-looking for someone with experience in politics, and I was wondering how old you are, if you don't mind me asking."
Razan smiled. "I am nineteen years of age."
"You're yanking my tail!" he paused, "Right?"
"Nope," the gray teen said with a shake of his head, "Truth be told, I have access to a loop hole in the age/experience rule, a telepathic database filled with the knowledge and experience of Energists that's been around for a few billion years. We call it the Library." The serpentine cop didn't make any sort of response. "Coincidentally, that brick-to-the-face look is in there, too. Apparently, Energists get that look a lot."
"Uh. Right. My, uh, question was answered."
"Yes."
"I'll... be going then."
"Indeed."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
As the stunned officer slithered away, Razan felt his neck prickle painfully. {Ni'vozl'e! What could possibly be generating that much energy? It's coming from... Antarctica?}
16
"Command isn't going to like this."
"Oh, really?! I think they'll love to hear about this! 'Hey, command, you know that little piece of unidentified metal that generates vast amounts of energy and the experimental battle cruiser that's supposed to run off it? Yeah, we just crashed it in the middle of nowhere, on a planet in the middle of nowhere, in another frigging galaxy! And we've broken the only jump drive with enough range to get there!' What went wrong anyway?"
"That thing's output spiked to ten times more power when we jumped. I told them it was too unstable! But what do I know? I'm just one of the most distinguished scientists of all time; what do I know about sources of immense power? Fools."
"I know, Nevlo. Let's see what we can salvage, alright?" He waved a three-fingered hand toward a large, smoking heap of charred and twisted metal.
"Alright." Nevlo stood. "We've done enough whining for now."
The two aliens were roughly humanoid in appearance, with long, digitigrade feet and dark, leathery hides. They wore identical, full-body gray jump suits and helmets with metallic devices attached to their forearms and clipped to their belts.
As they approached the wreckage, a blip marked as a bio-form appeared on their proximity sensors. When they spun around another blip appeared right behind them. "HOWDY!" Zeken yelled, wrapping his arms around their shoulders. "Y'all needin' sums assiss-er-tance?" he asked in an exaggerated Texas drawl.
"Zeken, even if they had the means to translate from English-which I doubt-their technology could not possibly decipher your Texaneese dialect," Razan scolded. Approaching the terrified pair, he began the standard procedure for discovering the language of others. "Noodle flowers drawing constipated confections," he said over and over, switching languages each time and watching for recognition. As they were clearly late space-age, he ran through several galactic standards until Galcom-7B changed their stares from frightened to baffled.
"W-What?'
"Ah, good. Now that we can understand each other, I am Shadow Warrior Razan Desoram. This is Sonic Warrior Zeken Johnson-"
"Yo."
"-And we are here to render assistance, which you seem to need."
Nevlo took a breath before responding, "I am Nevlor'riccin Xek'dralzifrr'rim. My companion is Rixannzeroq Felmnic." He paused. "You... are not locals?"
"No. We are from further away places than you are. From the looks of things," Razan said as he turned towards the ship, "You were trying to use some of our damaged technology to power a jump drive."
"Your people made that artifact?!" Nevlo's eyes widened in shock.
"A long time ago, yes." Razan peered into a hole and froze. "As a matter of fact, that thing is a fragment of the most powerful thing the Energists have ever made." He looked intently at Nevlo. "We can send you back home, but the fragment stays with me."
Rixa stepped forward. "B-but command will have us court-marshaled if we return without it!"
"Fear not, newfound friends!" Zeken boomed in a deep, overly-heroic voice, "I shall accompany you so as to explain the situation!"
"There, see? You guys'll be fine. Well, I have a press conference in half an hour, so I'll just grab that fragment and head off," Razan said, ducking into the downed vessel. The two aliens were tense, but said nothing. After a moment Zeken cleared his throat theatrically and said, "All-righty, here's the plan: I'll patch up your ship right quick, make a few modifications to the propulsion and power systems, and drive y'all back home. Sound good?" They simply motioned their agreement and went inside to find seats as Zeken began telekinesing shredded bits of hull back into place.
17
"Mr. Desoram! You've insisted all your meetings with the press be in public parks and accessible to the general public, despite the threats to your welfare made by various extremist organizations. Why is this?"
From a temporary stage in New York's Central Park, Razan replied, "It is important to have an 'any question can be asked' policy with this sort of thing. As for the 'threats,' I AM QUITE CAPABLE OF HANDLING ANY HOSTILE ACTIONS TAKEN AGAINST MYSELF OR THOSE WHO ATTEND THESE EVENTS, AS THAT SNIPER WILL SOON FIND OUT." His voice began to carry unnaturally well; even the man in a high window overlooking the park could hear him clearly. He had already begun taking the shot, and kept his composure as the finned bullet leapt from the gun and tore through Razan's chest. The hit-man began to lose it, however, when the massive hole healed in seconds, the chunky spray reversing direction and moving back into place. When the shadows in the room reached out and immobilized him, he felt like crying.
{That should hold him until the police arrive.} Razan grunted and gave himself a shake before continuing. "I apologize for the interruption. Does anyone in the general public have a question?" A well-dressed, middle-aged man raised his hand. "Yes, sir?"
The man cleared his throat. "I've been a doctor for over a decade and have spent most of that time working in the ER. As a medical professional I would like to know: how did you heal so quickly and effectively?"
Razan smiled and leaned on the podium casually. "Well, it's partly thanks to the fact that I saw that shooter set up nearly half an hour ago. I had plenty of time to prepare myself by building up my life energy. This boosted my recuperative ability drastically and actually made the bonds between my cells highly elastic. Life energy isn't really my specialty, however. If it was, there would have been no splattering, and the damage done by the bullet would have been healed nearly the instant it was inflicted." Razan paused. "You're all rather stunned right now, so I think it would be best to stop here. Good day, everyone." With that he hopped off the stage and headed towards a nearby alley to Step away to the Canadian Wilderness.
18
So that is your son.
Yes.
And you wish to give him that toy of yours.
I wish to give him the Leech dagger. It is no toy.
A weapon as weak as that is a toy. I could easily destroy it.
Then why haven't you?
...
Because I can still overcome you, despite my-
Enough! Why don't you just shut up like those before you? You're as good as dead.
Ah, but I still have reasons to live. And you're trying to change the subject. My son will receive the dagger, and we will have to bring it to him.
Or I could just kill him. It would be effortless.
You know better than to give me that much motivation to seize control. You know I could.
...Unfortunately.
So it's settled: we go give my son the dagger, and you won't try to kill him.
...Very well.
19
Within a city hidden deep in the Canadian Wilderness, a simple, single-roomed structure stood. Several elves sat around a simple table of sung oak, discussing current events. Most were old enough to show it, faces worn and wrinkled by centuries of exposure to the elements. Even the youngest had streaks of silver through his clay-brown hair.