GuNNhead

During one of the many sunrises I spend atop the ridge, an unknown craft rockets down from the sky, bursting through the aurora cloudline, and hovers just below it. Tac Missiles fire from it towards me. They land in the dead center of my chest, forcing my reflections to stop, and send me flying backwards down the mountain, into the forest at the base. My body smashes through trees, splintering them, toppling them over, and I finally land in the dirt and grass. Hmm, true violence. Ignorance. Not led by instinct or drive, but by choice. There is no end to such a black purpose save their own. A drive kicks in, deep within my mind. Kill. My blood begins to boil black. My veins ignite and burn with circuitry through my flesh as an explosion of light forms the outline to my armor before solidifying. A surge of gravity crushes the surrounding trees left standing to the ground. My vision blurs, shaking for a brief moment. Electrical arc discharges flow and spark the atmosphere around my body. I climb over a fallen trunk of a knocked over majestic, aged tree, and my eyes glow a deep red towards this intruder. A voice emits from the ship.

“You are the Gravity Surge.” I walk towards the craft.
“Your power has been categorized, and you are a danger to the entire multiversity.”

I have all the time in the universe, and yet I have no patience for this. A new death. I raise my hand, and focus my gravity powers. I crush the vessel, and see the blood of the bodies inside squirt out. I watch as it falls out of the sky, and slams into the desert floor. I jump down off the mountain onto hot sand, and walk towards the bleeding craft. ‘Ousniss’ is written upon the side. Doesn’t ring a bell. I begin to tear off pieces of the metallic hull, looking to see the gore within of crushed fools who thought they could dare come to my planet. There’s nothing to see but a fine, liquid paste. I smash the machine over and over, smaller bits break off with every hit. It’s as if I’m killing a cyborg, this mix of flesh and machine. For the first time in a long time, I smile as the blood splashes upon me in repeated bursts. But this small joy was not to last…

More bliss was on the horizon. An entire Armarda. All for me. From my place on the ground, covered in blood, I take to the air, bearing straight towards the burning warships entering the atmosphere. I smash through the entirety of the first one in the trilogy of commanding starfighters, explosions and fiery decompression following close behind. As the burning wreckage makes its way to the desert below, I veer towards the second ship, but am knocked back by cannon fire towards the third ship. I crash through it, stopping at the final hull on the opposite side. Most of the walls seal themselves. I stand, brush myself off, and walk towards the control deck. Soldiers pour out of their battlestations towards me. Their phaser blasts leave me… entirely unphased. A small few allow me to get close enough, while the intelligent keep their distance in retreat. The slower ones use their physical training, to no avail. Skills mean little without the power behind them. I receive a kick to the side, and punch the bestower’s entire right shoulder into a misty cloud of blood. He falls on his arm, and I step over him. The next few, still in fighting stance, their confidence shaken can barely move. I smash hit the one to my right with my forearm in the chest, and his blood explodes against the cold steel wall. The one in front, I kick in the stomach, and more splatter coats the hallway. I continue to walk, blasts flying around me once more, chasing them all the way into the control deck. Inside, they are in communications with The Network.
I interrupt their conversation of panic.

I disengage the suit, and clothe myself in a more… human attire, cloth. I adopt a flowing scarf, it pacifies my mind to feel it swirl and flow with the wind. I attempt to live among the new growth, to become one of the living, a natural occurrence upon the planet. I walk through forests, and the creatures eye me suspiciously. They’ve never seen anything like me before, and react with aversion. Can they feel the death within me? Gut them. Rip their peering eyes out and feed them their own distrusting visions. I wander for years, through forests, over ravines, with dense jungles. It is not uncommon that I become prey to creatures that still feel hunger, something I cannot do. I need not to activate the armor to deal with them. With my bare hands, their vitals splash the ground. Their hollow bodies splash against trees, rocks, and occasionally other members of their hunting pack. I, on occasion, invite these roaming packs of dinosaurs or wolves, lions, fanged elephants to encroach upon me. It’s almost humorous how little they can compete with my power. Not to say that I do not let them feel power, over the course of time, my cloak becomes tattered, and I enjoy it more. The small things in life. Their claws, descending from the hidden branches, or toe-talons leapt from the ground have torn into me, searing them with my burning blood. When not in the suit, it does not bubble forth from the wound, but simply flows, boiling still. The innards of these creatures are easily cleansed from my body via electrical charges.

Curse it all. All I have is life, and yet death is what drives me to life, endlessly, pointlessly. Am I driven to death because it is what I cannot have, or because I can find only nothingness in life, and have embodied it internally, wanting to be nothingness. A side effect of the Gravity Surge’s immense, incalculable powers. Powers that are far beyond my comprehension. No; the drive of death is the Gravity Surge’s power. My mind, my mortal mind must still adapt, and cope with these powers.

Result or cause: Does it really matter in the final analysis? My life has become something I can never hope to comprehend, a single path in a meaningless ether. And yet, it is I who gained these powers…

It is all meaningless. My powers, the cosmos, it is all emptiness and isolation. But life… it is the ability to ascribe meaning to pure and simple being. We do what we have to do.

Eventually I find myself atop the tallest summit in the land. It looks over a vast and expansive desert, but behind it, a giant forest. In the distance: mountains, snow and mountains. The contrast in these areas, so close, I become aware that it is a nice place to stand, to think. This place offers the most variety in views. As I stand atop this peak and look over my world, my Loameria, I can only think of how it all looks the same. Everything. Landscapes, they all have their elements. I hate them all. Looking over the majestic rolling mountain tops, the open plains, the dense forests, or the deepest valleys. I can only feel boredom and apathy for this planet that I had once abandoned; inadvertently caused the destruction of. It didn’t matter, life found a way. That action, however, could not restore my past. Nothing can. I am eternally as I am, anything else is a lie. I am unsure if I ever felt anything other than this abyss of emptiness. I want to believe that I must have, before the Gravity Surge, but cannot recall any instance of it. My life is a death eternal. I will die until the end of time. I do not know when that is, but I hold hope that it is soon. Days and nights flow over me.

I, however, remain dead inside. Unreplenished by a monumental duration embedded deep within a subriguous prison.

I return to the ground where my city once stood, now covered with evergreens and creatures I’d never seen before, new. Perhaps new to the universe, but it doesn’t matter. Before long they will die, and be replaced by new evolutionary forms. Maybe one day the proper elements will come into play, and history will repeat itself. If I wait long enough, will the city rebuild itself, and will it be as it was, an alternate history? No. I remove the thought from my head. A new one appears. My craft. Where has it been this long while? Has it been a long while?

I take to the stratosphere, and hone in on it. It’s easily found, untouched by the ravages of time, floating among debris. I enter into it, and check the date. Almost no time at all has passed since I entered the time/space anomaly. A few hours. It’s still in bad shape, panels missing, exposed wires. It’ll take a short while to repair itself, but still, I would like to land it upon Loamerian soil. The last constructed remnants of Loamerian manufacturing, however augmented by the effects of the Gravity Surge as it may be. The main engines are damaged, not to mention countless other odds and ends; it most certainly won’t be able to travel to other planets in this state, the Russell-Flettner drive is burned out. At least it’ll be able to manage standard planetary circumnavigation, for the time being. I engage the controls, and sparks fly out at me. It’ll be fine, just taking her in for a landing, nothing fancy.

I bring it in low across the ocean for a landing in a large meadow near where my city would be, when, up from the depths, a giant crocodile-like creature leaps out of the ocean, and catches it in its immense jaws. The hull begins to crack and cave in. I put the thrusters into full reverse, breaking off the holding teeth, backing down into its esophagus, and the engines burn out. I hear the throat of the giant beast working, bringing me down into the stomach. I blast a hole in the door, and exit the craft before the acid can burn through me. I exit out somewhere from the chest, deep below the water; yet it continues to swim, contented in the meal, barely noticing the pinhole sized opening I made for my escape.

I power towards it, and grab it by the tail. I do this with ease, and swing it once into the air, tossing it into a forest on the land. It moves awkwardly, with limbs made for the water. It tries to get its bearing, roaring and thrashing about. I toss a few gravity spheres at it, but they hardly get though its thick, scaly hide. Though they did gain its attentions, and it sees me, performing an impressive lunge it captures me in its jaws again. This time, however, I am without my ship, where I can focus my energies. I hold open its jaw with one hand, and with the other, fire the Quantum Destroyer: a steady stream of energy blasts out the back of its brains across the land, and it goes limp.

I walk down its throat, and into the stomach. There are a few shark and squid like creatures in there, burning alongside my poor craft. I blast them off, and take hold of it, dragging it back out of the croc’s mouth. Opening the gigantic maw, I notice that it landed in the exact meadow I had intended on landing in. Not really seeing any point on dragging my craft out further, I prop the underbitten jaw open, and set my craft to repair itself. Then, I head back out to explore this new old world.

My planet is trapped, and I with it, in isolation, a time dilation. Infused with my power, Kænus’ ancient, technologically adapted powers. It is, I am trapped within time more than ever now. Offworld, one would see trees springing up in seconds, and I, I can only sense this, for the time being. Time does not pass over me, however. It is focused on me. My physical form is encompassed by a leftover temporal field, and can only move at a pace imperceptible to anything, to those evolving and growing on this planet, and even to my own mind. I could play out my life innumerous times, and still, I would be left wanting, I drive myself insane over and over, in differing ways, if only to aid in the passage of time.

It will all return to its natural, balanced state with the perception of the universe soon enough. Eventually, after many strange eons within my own mind, remembering, dreaming, the crossed energies begin to dissipate. After sixty-six million years locked away within my mind, driven to insanity by my imaginings countless times, I can sense it beginning to occur. I focus my power inward, for time is the one thing I cannot control, but I can refuse to allow it my power. I force the ancient tachyons outward, refuse their hold over me. I sense it concentrating out in space as I rid my planet of them. They begin to create a spatial tempest, but as quickly as it forms, it disappears. My body begins moves synchronally with my mind. I am free once more. Able to live. Able to kill.

Rebuild nothing, for there is only nothing. This planet is mine, from a negligible birth to an infinite end. It will perish into nothingness before I. I begin to dig myself out of the silt and debris of millenia that have washed over me. Soon I feel sand move between my fingers. Rough grains stick to my helmet as I lift my head. Land, air. At first I think it’s night, until I remove my cracked, broken helmet and the sun scorches my eyes. The wind swirls around me, and, taking in the antediluvian battlescape, I launch myself into the air, seeing only blackened, dead earth upon the beach of black sands. I travel further, across giant landmasses, no longer are they all burnt, the oceans of ancient dead creatures are filled with new life. On Loameria, it seems, nature has seen fit to replenish itself using my power, left untouched for aeons.

Miles of stygian shores lead towards the true oceans of my once great planet, now reduced to a cinder.

Above me, scorched earth; smoke rises from the ground. This was all my fault with no intent. Nothing remains of my enemy. I am left alone at the bottom of a false ocean, surrounded by a burnt reminder of power gone awry. My own, my enemy’s. There can be no regret. To measure what has happened knowing not of what will… everything happens as it does… I hate time travel.

The past and future are where they should stay, ineffective to the present, but they never can be. They are all correlated, intertwined and interweaved into the very fabric of reality, no matter the plane. Time is the enemy as I drown without lungs.

I spend eternities under the water, alone, left with my thoughts of murder. There is no such escape as death for me. Seconds pass as centuries, centuries pass as seconds. I crave internally for it all to end as silt from the fallout of my ruined world entombs my immortal form. My limbs have long since returned to presence, but offer me no mobility; peace, nor piece, of mind.

The center of my brain drives towards slaughter, but I can offer no energy towards it. I am beyond drained, my powers… siphoned by the ravages of the endless passaging of time.; I sense new life evolving, growing above me. I am continually driven to death, of survival, but suppress the sinister urge, to wait. Why? I do not know. I merely allow the life to flourish on my forgotten, dead planet, for there is nothing else that I can do.

There will come a moment in that I will rise, in reclamation, for myself, Gravity Surge be damned to the Hellish dimension. Though, it is only because of it that I am privy to it. Perhaps that is why I despise my life eternal of power impossible. I want to rest, but it does not allow it, it does not end, it will not end for me until time itself ends. Then I will be left to finally die, alone, without purpose. Nothing is preordained. I think. I hope, for this path I follow, it is but a drive from beyond. If this is predetermined, my path, then when time does end, and I find who is responsible for my path, I will strangle the life out of them, and, in doing so, bring destruction to everything that ever was, is, could be, or will be. Then, if there is a next life, if time is cyclical, I will do it again in the next life, if only to see the blood flow from their eye sockets as I crush their throat once more. And I will do it not only because I am driven to do it, but I will revel in it.

… Blood and viscera of the mortals who challenge my own path I carve for myself of flesh and bone. Cracking, breaking. Destruction. Death is meaningless, and I will prove this, proof beyond life, beyond all who live, beyond all who die, all who have died by my hands. I will kill more, I will rise and kill again, of this there is no doubt.