Juryrigged > Works > Writings > Avari Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Deep in the thicket of the Forest of Neutrality, an alien hum made its presence known amongst the whistling leaves and hummingbird songs of the natural sphere. Soft at first, but steadily growing stronger, it resounded off the gnarled, ancient tree trunks until it wailed like a siren throughout the whole of the woods. But the timid deer did not cock their heads, nor did the squirrels scurry to their hollow homes or the loons take wing and fly. All of them had been audience to this music before. They were wise enough not to fear it.

The noise emanated from the very center of the woods, and it was there that a lone figure trudged. He was small - scarcely more than six inches high - and his elongated whiskers and triangular black nose twitched nervously in the breeze as he walked, ever vigilant of an unseen predator that might seize the opportunity to pounce. Still, there was a look of hard determination about him, and he bounded over mountainous tree roots and braved the brambled pits without a worry or a care. He did not keep to the path; there was no path that led where he was going. With one claw wrapped around the hilt of his stubby, razor-edged sword, he courted the dangers of the forest, dragging his angelic wings and reptilian tail behind him.

At length, the canopied depths gave way to tall grass and shrubbery, and the diminutive creature emerged into a vast clearing at the forest's core. He stopped in his tracks to peer past the lake and the Great Bell Tree that sprouted from its sparkling waters. To his joy, the modest home on the opposite shore was still there to greet him, an apple to his eye and a splendor to his heart. He smiled. The quaint little dwelling was so out of place in the middle of such an immense forest, yet it held so many memories for him that he simply couldn't dismiss it. He'd once been taught that appearances were deceiving. By now he was old and wise enough to realize that was true.

And there, sitting in the shade of the sakura tree whose lovely cherry blossoms were nearing full bloom, was his teacher. Mecha Sonic's face glistened in the afternoon sun as if covered in a thin sheen of sweat, but his observer knew that couldn't be so. Mecha wasn't human after all, nor was he a living creature of any sort - not on the surface anyway. He was a machine, his body cold metal from the soles of his feet to the tips of his ears, his infrared eyes quick and calculating, his gaze penetrating and stern. Most people would have been terrified by the sheer sight of him, but buried underneath layer upon layer of titanium and zinconite was a heart of pure gold.

Well, maybe that was pushing it.

Mecha's back was turned as he tinkered with his latest invention, a ratchet in one hand and a hair dryer in the other. The lone figure watching shook his head complacently as his smile broadened. "Back to your crafty old self already. I knew it wouldn't take you long."

He unfolded his majestic white wings and took to the air, his heart pitter-pattering with every inch he came closer to the place he called home.

The sun weighed low in the sky like a heavy medallion. Time bade it complete its heavenly arc before drooping into the western sea, yet still it lingered to drape the landscape with its golden cashmere. The scene was picturesque as the winged individual touched down a few yards behind the oblivious robot - a perfect three-oh landing.

"Long time no see!" he called out. But there was no way his voice could be heard over the hum of the machine Mecha was operating on.

Annoyance brought him to a bubble, but he mustered up enough patience to put a lid on frustration and try again. "Hey, Mecha!" he shouted.

No reply.

"Mecha, can you hear me?"

Nope.

His distemper crossed the proverbial boiling point and hissed right over the edge of serenity's pot. Hunkering down on his haunches, he sprung off the ground with phenomenal force, closing the distance between himself and his target impressively and landing on Mecha's shoulder. Grumbling, he stood tall and screamed into Mecha's ear at the top of his tiny little lungs, "YO, MECHS!"

Mecha yelped and threw up his arms, sending his tools airborne while his chair wobbled and tipped over. The world was a jumble as his face plowed the ground. With an undignified squawk, his minute assailant fell off his perch and found himself guest to a banquet of dirt and worms right alongside the stunned robot.

However stunned the robot was, he was quick to collect his wits. In a fluid motion, he scrambled to his feet, snatched his tools out of the mud, and fell into an offensive stance. Opposed by an enraged killing machine armed with a ratchet, a hairdryer, and any number of more explosive weapons of mass destruction concealed within his navy frame, the so-called student took a step back from the so-called teacher.

But his trepidation was short-lived. Mecha's expression softened considerably, and his assailant found it impossible to contain the grin which splayed across his face.

"Archie? Is - is that you?" Mecha sputtered. Shock and disbelief sent ratchet and hairdryer alike clattering to the forest floor.

"The one and only! Archie the Flying Mouse at your service. It's great to see you again," the rodent screamed over the noise of the machine. There was no chorus of angels to accompany the heartwarming reunion that threatened to take place on Mecha's lawn - only the unrelenting screech of the invention.

Mecha was apt to realize this as he leaned over and flipped a switch on the side of the tall cylindrical device he'd been tinkering with. The hum ground to a halt; the siren dissolved into thin air. For a brief moment in time, peace fell over the Forest of Neutrality.

But peace never lasts long without interruption.

With a sudden flash and the crack of a car backfiring, the machine surged to life again, its high-pitched shriek more earsplitting than ever. It gave an unexpected lurch, provoking Mecha and Archie to jump back, then began to shudder and convulse like an out-of-whack washing machine. Smoke poured from the contraption and filled their nostrils with the smell of burnt silicon as its coiled innards were cooked, and then came a noise like that of a freight train as the face of the machine shone a menacing crimson.

Mecha's eyes were saucers in recognition of impending cataclysm. With not a moment to lose, he grabbed ahold of Archie and dove for cover. "Get down, she's about to go critical!"

If the glowing orange snakes that slinked across the clearing to kindle the woods weren't testament to the destructive potential of technology, then the mushroom cloud which manifested itself over the forest certainly was.

Coughing feverishly, Mecha struggled to his knees, propping himself up on his elbows to peek over the edge of the ditch he'd flung himself into. A thick, dusty haze settled over the glade in the wake of the blast. He could make out little through the mist - certainly not the machine, for that had been reduced to a blackened crater with a few pieces of shrapnel strewn about. Grimacing, he pulled lifted himself out of his hiding place and strode over to ground zero to survey the damage.

Archie hacked and sneezed with a vengeance as he climbed out of the ditch one stubby leg at a time. "What was-" he said before breaking into a new bout of coughs, "-that thing?"

"My Radioactivity Inhibition Field Temperer," Mecha mused. "Been in the back of my mind for years now. Y'see, I designed it to neutralize hazardous sources of atomic energy. It causes radioactive material to rapidly decay into non-radioactive material. Feed it some Uranium-238, bake for ten minutes, and you'll have nothing more than a lump of lead in time for the buzzer to go off."

"Uranium?! You put uranium in that thing?"

"Plutonium, actually. Half a kilogram, heavily oxidized. Just enough for a ten kiloton explosion in a resonant cascade scenario. Thank God I implemented safeguards to make that kind of disaster impossible!"

Quite understandably for anyone who's just survived a nuclear blast, Archie could do nothing but gasp and blink for the longest time. Eventually, he managed to catch his breath, only to stumble forward woozily and collapse against the trunk of the sakura tree.

"We coulda been killed!"

"Of course, energy can't be destroyed, only converted. The RIFT cancels the radioactivity of the plutonium by transforming it into heat, which of course makes it very unstable... The heat has to be vented just right or else the whole thing is liable to explode like a hamster in a microwave, which is exactly what you just witnessed."

Mecha traversed the short distance between the edge of the crater and the sakura tree to be at Archie's side. He plopped down next to the mouse and stroked the fur atop his beady little head. "Are you okay?" he asked. For once, his voice lacked the no-nonsense quality it was known for and sounded genuinely concerned.

"Eh, I'm fine. Just a little shaken up, that's all. Hey, at least the foliage is still intact, eh?" Archie smiled, reaching back to rap the bark with his knuckle.

Mecha grinned back and gave the tree a firm pat. "Y'know, I've been astounded by the resilience of this place since the day I opened shop here. This is a place of balance. For every force of good, there's a force of evil. For every bastion of the light, there's a bastion of darkness. For every destructive thermonuclear blast, there's renewed life breathed into the woods. Suffice it to say it would take the wrath of hell to ever upset the equilibrium long enough to damage the Forest of Neutrality. That's why I chose to settle down here, after all."

"And I suppose the fact that you test all your most unstable inventions here has nothing to do with it?" Archie teased.

"Well, once upon a time, this was an incredible place to buy, sell, and trade. Too bad my brother had to stick his nose into business and dry up all the profits or I might just have retired happily ever after."

"Like you'll ever retire! You'll still be unraveling the secrets of the universe when I'm a fat old rat!"

They shifted their gaze to the sparse clouds above and all the heavenly pageantry destined to take place among them. Gloriously, they let their eyes lap up the bountiful stream of reds, oranges, pinks, and purples which adorn the sky every evening - standard routine, but no less divine.

When beholding the vivid beauty of the setting sun, one forgets the encroaching black that dwells beyond it; and would not willingly remember that this shimmering window but conceals a shuttered night. The light and the dark, opposites though they may be, have not once the towering continuum of time been magnetic; rather, they throw themselves into an eternal struggle to banish the other until at last, one side submits, leaving the victor to embrace that single quintessential spoil of war: the right to interim rulership. Then a new day or night dawns, the vanquished arises from the ashes to challenge vanquisher, and the natural cycle begins again.

It should be noted, however, that the most painful lesson in the life of any man or robot also happens to be the least visible when looming straight ahead of him, though it often makes its ugliness all too well-known in hindsight: in the common event that the light does indeed falter, the onslaught of darkness can breed consequences that neither steadfast precaution nor trial by fire can correct, can shatter bonds thought unbreakable, can perish lives thought everlasting.

But none of this was on the mind of either father or son as they stared speechlessly into the ocean of infinite black.

It was Mecha who broke the silence when he stood up unceremoniously, shifting his eyes to the debris-ridden yard and muttering, "It's never easy, is it?"

"What's that?"

"Being my son."

Archie laughed so fervently that he had to reach up and brush a tear from his cheek. "It's never boring," he finally managed to choke out.

Mecha rolled his eyes. "I'm happy you find my sympathies so amusing, Archie. Y'know that touching moment we were both waiting for before my invention had to go and blow itself up?"

"Yeah?"

"I think it came and went. C'mon, let's get inside. It's getting late, which means the grues will be out soon. The tachyon field ought to ward them off, but there's no sense taking chances."

"Tachyon field? By George, you have made some home improvements around here, haven't you?" Archie whistled, taking the crooked finger Mecha offered him and falling into step.

"By Mac is more like it! I had him jury-rig the thing a couple months ago. Smartest investment I ever made, too! Not only does it fill the order for a nigh-impenetrable perimeter defense, the grues detest the light it gives off - which means I don't have to wake up every night to their screams of frustration when they smack their primitive little faces against the barrier and wonder why they can't get through. It's win-win!"

"Sounds like a smart plan."

"I was certainly satisfied by the results! Unfortunately, the tachyon field is keyed to turn on precisely at midnight right alongside the sprinkler system. Which is another good reason to get inside: I don't feel like taking a shower at this hour of the night."

He stopped in his tracks on the charred and blackened front step of the dwelling, whose equally charred and blackened face was fronted by a dreadful-looking lawn caked with dust and riddled by wreckage. There he whipped out a key, shoved it into the lock, and murmured, "Not that the yard couldn't use the help..."

Dazzling light and warmth were their ushers once he threw open the door, surging forth to welcome them, wrapping them in a cozy embrace, and pulling them back into the humble home with diligence and a sunny smile. It was as Mecha had said: business truly had dried up. Whereas once the shelves of the Accessories Store were piled high with all assortments of hydraulics and electronics, instruments and ingredients, potteries and power tools; these days the countertops and display cases had been discarded in favor of trinkets of a more personal sort:

Pictures of those Mecha held dearest cluttered the red brick fireplace mantle, beyond which a spirited blaze gave cheerfulness and vitality to the small sitting room. Several books were stacked next to the lone leather armchair, before which a fine ottoman had been arranged with a fuzzy brown rug underfoot. Tucked off to one side between the wine rack and transdimensional coat closet was an elegant chessboard; by the look of it, a game was already well in progress. And all around, lamps were positioned to invite light into the home and evict the darkness from every nook and cranny. These were items of value, but not the material kind.

"Welcome home, Archie," Mecha grinned. He stole across the room to fix a drink.Archie, meanwhile, had discovered the secluded chessboard. Peering over the black battlements of a rook, he wondered, "Who were you playing against?"

Mecha absently fingered the stem of a cocktail glass as he reached for an olive-skinned bottle. "Me. Y'know, they say we scientists are supposed to be a logical bunch, yet every time I play a game against myself, I always end up losing! So, ah... how long are you staying?" he changed the subject.

"Who says I'm leaving?"

"Archie, when the mother bird says to her chicks, 'It's time to leave the nest and make your way in the world,' she usually intends for them to stay gone longer than eleven months, one week, and three days!"

"I see," Archie sniggered. "So, mother bird, I take it you've been counting the days then?"

"I - er - well," sputtered Mecha. He fumbled the glass and sent its contents splashing overboard. Turning on his heel to pour a second drink, he relented, "Alright, feel free to stay."

Truthfully, neither ten inches of turned back nor ten flagons of wine could depress the mountain of euphoria rising within him. His heart was doing somersaults and belting out the national anthem as he reached over for the bottle, and Archie must have picked up on this, for he was quick to ask, "C'mon, I wasn't gone that long, was I?"

"Long enough to keep me wondering," Mecha chuckled. "Speaking of which, Archie, where've you been all this time?"

"I hoped all the postcards I sent you would've answered that question for me. The Aldeans musta chopped down a forest and a half just to satisfy my need for paper," Archie sighed. "Where to start?

"I sailed from the Sea of Insanity down the Verde Coast to the swampy jungles Lir'guu, and Mount Wayward in the South. Then I set across the Azulado Ocean, the very maw of the world. It was one hell of a voyage, but I kept the rising sun aft and the North Star to starboard, and sure enough, I made landfall upon the coast of Shah. My wings carried me north to the Garland Steppes and the Aldea Forests, which were unbelievably beautiful; but the shining moment of my journey must have been when I visited Albus, the White City, capital of the Cerulean Empire."

"The Cerulean Empire?" A dark expression flickered across Mecha's face. "What made you go there?"

"It's the most breathtaking place I've ever been in my life. From the moment you walk through the Gabled Gate, you're swept off your feet by the most exquisite marble stonework in the world. Above you are towering white spires and minarets that redefine the meaning of scraping the sky. Before you, there's a sparkling fountain or a monument on every corner. Every home is a manor with emerald lawns and arched windows - the Administrator's Palace in particular is a marvel to behold. And if there was any doubt in my mind before as to the prestige of the Cerulean Empire, it vanished instantly the moment I looked down and noticed the streets are literally paved with gold."

"You almost make it sound civilized," Mecha snorted. "Actually, it wouldn't be a bad place to visit if only-"

"-if only it weren't for the history our countries shared," Archie sighed. "But what about you, Mecha? How've you been all this time? And how are my brother and sisters?"

Mecha was reaching for the wine when the question caused his hand to jump and knock the bottle off balance. It spun a few times on its rim before he caught it by the neck and planted it firmly back down on the table.

The commotion didn't go without notice.

"Mecha?"

"I haven't heard a word from Roger, or Lorlei, or Terry since the day you four set out eleven months, one week, and three days ago," Mecha said quietly. "No visits. No phone calls. Not even a letter."

Archie could have choked. He's been living by himself for almost a year now with nothing but my postcards to keep him company? That's not right, that's...

Sepulchre glared angrily down at him from its obsidian fixture high on the wall, and he glared right back at it, running a keen eye down a keen edge of the slithering sword, admiring the engraved, flaxen tributes to war, pestilence, famine, and death which defiled its golden hilt; the frighteningly real cast of a screaming skull that served the hideous part of a pommel; the serrated, sinister smile of the fuller as it curved back and forth, this way and that, trained obediently to the irrational path of the blade, its master. What alloy, when smelted, could render it that remarkable red luster now glowering at him from crossguard to cusp? Or radiate such a dark and ominous pulse that seemed damper all the light of the world, leaving him naught but a cursed soul to wander a half-life, condemned to roam the chasm of despondency until the generations of man came to an end, seeking salvation, seeking oblivion - with no hope of ever finding it?

Who could say? He'd never inquired as to when and where Mecha had attained the beast, but he didn't have to; it was obvious from first glance that the Bloodsword's origins were far older and viler than anyone cared to guess. And still it sat there upon its inky throne surrounded by inky superstition, leering over him with an evil smirk and waiting - waiting with all the patience of an imp or demon. There was no haste in its visage, no swiftness in its motives. As ancient as the stars, as well-traveled as the moon.

How compelled he was to reach out and touch it! To stroke its crisp and glimmering spine, to press his palm to it and feel its swirling energies become a part of him - or he become a part of it. He felt an abyss was about to open up beneath him, yet he still could not master himself as his wings beat and his arm moved without permission, drawn to it as iron to a lodestone-

"GET AWAY FROM THAT!"

Archie's stupor was lanced by the red hot fireplace poker of reality. He snapped back to his senses, gasping and heaving and clutching his head. What was that? he wondered vacantly - but he didn't have long to ponder before he was confronted with a new horror.

Mecha loomed over him with an insane expression plastered across his face, his fists clenched, his jaw snarling. A dementia seemed to have come over him as he steadily advanced, exceeding every step Archie took back, closing the distance between them frightfully. Archie shrank away, but there was nowhere to run; he'd been boxed into a corner, and all proverbs aside, there was no way for this mouse to bite back and not rend his teeth on the robot's armor. His heart panted with pure, distilled terror. Never before had he felt so threatened by one so close to him. That wasn't anger he perceived in his father's eyes - it was murder.

Then humanity came gushing back into his father's countenance. His knees buckled, his whole body shuddered, and he looked away in repulsed recognition of what he was about to do. When he met Archie's gaze again, he'd never been more distraught or more remorseful in his life.

"I'm - I'm sorry," Mecha breathed, placing one hand on the wall to steady himself. "I don't know what just happened. I - Archie, are you okay?"

Archie was too paralyzed with fear to reply.

"Look, Archie - if you're not feeling alright, the bedroom upstairs is all yours, okay? I can find somewhere else to sleep, so it's not a problem. Archie, I don't know what just happened. I'm so sorry if I scared you. Archie, are you okay?"

"That's - that's alright. I already took out a motel room downtown." Archie pronounced the words slowly and deliberately while trying his best to steady himself; he was still shaking furiously. At his father's bewildered stare, he mustered a meager smile. "Thanks for the offer."

They didn't talk quite as much after the outburst. As much as Mecha pleaded for Archie to stay, Archie remained adamant about leaving. It wasn't long before the chiming of the clock saw the little mouse right out the door.

Wine trickled down the wall like blood before pooling in a burgundy puddle on the floor, sticky and warm to the touch. Strewn about it were shards of a broken glass: the debris of shattered hope.

Screams - the blood-curdling wails of the mortally wounded and the countless loved ones mourning them - permeated the darkness, but they were soon overshadowed by the thunderous explosions which followed, one right after the other, bringing the air itself to a feverish boil. Fire was everywhere. From the blackened cobblestone street on which they now stood to the crown city, whose battle-scarred ruins marred the horizon, the flames leapt from every door and window, licking the sky until it glowed crimson. Piles of rubble, dust, and humanity lay strewn in every direction as far as the eye could see. Occasionally, the streak of a rocket would light up the air and bring special luminance to the endless fields of bodies which littered the ground, all of them either dead or dying.

Amidst all the terror and destruction, a scrap of life made its presence known. One little girl - one sinless, harmless, tearless little girl - found enough strength inside herself to rise to her feet and stumble out of the graveyard. With pained regard paid to the corpses of her mother, her father, and all of her siblings, she forced herself to look up into the stony eyes of her tormenter, the one who had brought such hell to her world.

"Why?" the girl choked. She sounded so pure, so gentle, each word she squeezed out a glorious epithet of innocence. Yet a sullied heart pays no heed to sullied hope.

Kill her. The vile voice commanded him - no, compelled him. This massacre was his doing. This destruction had been wrought by his own insidious hand.

The same would be true here.

Five fingers penetrated the darkness to caress her face. As she peered straight into the soul of her family's murderer, she shed a single tear, and without thought or provocation, his hand cupped her cheek as though to comfort her. Brushing away the tear with the pad of his thumb, he forced himself to look into the little girl's eyes - eyes which would haunt him for the rest of his life.

And then the hand began to glow.

Her face began to deteriorate into the haggard look of a skeleton. Flesh melted from her body, pooling around her feet and revealing patches of tendon, ligament, and bone. "WHY!" she screamed out a second time, and at that point she would have cried some more if only she had eyeballs left with which to cry. She was silenced forever shortly thereafter as the energy he had conjured in his palm enveloped her, utterly obliterating her from existence.

There wasn't a trace of her left. No mangled body to look assuredly down upon. No cold, empty eyes to stare questioningly up at him. Nothing to add to his mounting collection of the dead. Nothing to prove she had ever been alive to begin with.

Pity. He wanted to see more blood...

"NOOOOOOOOOO!"

He was upright in an instant, huffing and puffing with such violence that his entire body seemed to quake and quiver with every breath. Sleep had fled from his eyes to be replaced by much more burning, much more intense flavors: anguish, isolation, loathing, oppression, and... terror. All these negative emotions and more slammed into him as he was forced to relive the insufferable tortures, the unforgivable sins, the loss of sanity and the loss of self he had had no choice but to endure under Palladrus' cruel enslavement. His own arms entwined themselves around his body as though to cajole himself into the delusion that somehow, someway, he was not alone.

Gloom thick, vision blurry, Mecha strained to ascertain where he was when the rustling of the sakura tree answered his question: he was supine on the shingled roof of his home, where he'd lain down to rest hours earlier. Apparently, peace was exacting retribution for the ire he showed Archie by turning his dreams into nightmares. Still trembling, his eyes wandered upon the distinctive shape of Sepulchre beside him, his heart torn asunder with renewed despair.

He broke in two like a dry tree struck by lightning and collapsed.

Shrouded beneath the heavy veil of night, a tan-faced, broad-shouldered man in tall boots and dark green fatigues observed the scene carefully from the edge of the forest. Refusing to avert his eyes even for a second, he struggled blindly to lay his hands upon the walkie-talkie hooked about his belt, which he then raised all the way to his lips.

The stranger's voice was less than a whisper. "This is not the one we're after. Repeat, this is not the one we're looking for. Sire will be pleased," he uttered with a menacing smile.

He turned on his heel and disappeared into the encroaching black.