The Evil That Came

Part 20: Flight or fight

Victoria drifted into space in her pod. The vast emptiness stretched before her, an endless expanse of inky black sprinkled with a cold, indifferent sheen of stars. Lightyears away from Greg and Matilda, a crushing loneliness settled on her chest. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the already dim view of the distant nebula through the viewport. The silence of space was a living entity now, pressing in on her with a suffocating weight.

Victoria placed her hand on her mouth. "What have I done?" She gasped, a choked sob escaping her lips. Panic crept up in her throat. The desperate hope that had fueled her escape now felt like a naive fantasy. She had no plan, no destination, just a single pod separating her from the void of space. A cold dread coiled around her spine. The reality of her situation came in like a thick fog. 

Victoria looked at her coordinates and saw that she was about 2.5 lightyears from where she last saw Greg. I could go back. It would be two and a half years since I left, but I could do it. Victoria shook her head. No, that's a dumb idea. He would be so pissed, I know it. She looked at the vial. It's more like staring at it. Its viscous blue liquid swirled around in low gravity, beckoning Victoria to partake. Victoria shrugged. "At least I won't be alone." And in one fell swoop, she grabbed the vial and drank the Last Kiss. 

Victoria's vision was blurred. The vial slipped from her grasp, and the blue liquid coursed through her veins. The world dissolved into a swirling vortex of colors before solidifying into a new reality. She was carrying two children in her arms that were not her own. Dashing towards a cave, an older woman who took in the children was waiting. She looked behind the cave and watched the people chanting, "King Aryn, King Aryn!" 

Victoria could feel the urgency of this figure she was entombed by. She ran away from the caves. She rode off into her palace on a hovercycle, bobbing and weaving with the pedestrians as some waved a triangle sign towards her. A man pinged her hovercycle."Where is my son, Hyva?" The talking holographic head hovered just below her vision. Wind blowing in her wavy raven black hair, the woman answered, "Away from you, a demon to us, Puians. You disgrace us by harming another race for your gain. "

The man snapped. "We are saving the world, sister. Our world is dying, and there is no other way. You have observed those humans the same way I have. We are saving them from themselves. Open your eyes, woman! We will be their saviors! No more of this pacifist shit. We are taking what is ours!"

"Aryn!" The woman bellowed. "Do you hear yourself?! You have the spirit of Hyiid; banish it from yourself now!"

"Sister, I have the spirit of a king. I have the power. I have won. Give me my son, and I will show mercy."

"I'd rather die than let my nephew, my Vykor, turn out like you! He at least has a chance." Hyva sped up the hovercycle as she rushed home.

She got to the palace and went to a sacred room to meditate. "Vykiid, show me," she mouthed. Victoria, in the woman's body, saw her vision. It was the world on fire—the melted and distorted bodies of friends and loved ones of this woman—a glimpse of a man with brown eyes that were as dead as a moonless night sky. The world was in shades of gray. The cave...and Greg? 

Victoria could feel the ground shake beneath her, waking her and the figure from their vision of the near future. She saw the soldiers march past like a wall of iron with triangle symbols on their chests. They were beating the breastplate in rhythmic succession. Men, women, and children are being pushed out of the way by the moving horde of soldiers marching in step with each other. The blasts came then. The world, just like in her vision, turned all shades of gray, the great and magnificent buildings crumpling down like paper. Then, the silence.

The silence was the first thing that struck her—a heavy, suffocating blanket pressing down on her eardrums. The air tasted metallic, acrid with the stench of burnt metal. A desolate landscape stretched before her, a wasteland of gray ash stretching to the horizon. There were no trees, buildings, or signs of life, just the lingering ghosts of what might have been.