I see the children playing in the parks that have replaced craters from atomic weapons, attending schools in the buildings that replaced the hab-blocks we destroyed due to hive infestation, living in houses that were once runoff and pollution producing factories, and I feel satisfaction their lives are clean and healthy. What we did was terrible, but the scars have been erased and children now play where we once fought, killed, and died. Flowers now grow where blood was once spilled.

But why do I feel so dirty, so unclean, when I see those places? - Laments of Peace, New Telkan Press, 22 PC3.

Everyone in my Basic Training class had scars from the plant-life. I mean, it was the Extinction Agenda Attack years, you know? We all had those scars. We called them "Veggie-Tales" even though we didn't know why beyond "Vegetation Tales", you know what I mean, sister? I had nasty scars across my legs from where I stumbled through fire-nettles that weren't there the day before. They tore a chunk out of me, I'll tell you what, sister. At least it didn't rip off my swinging cod, know what I mean, sister? All of us, though, we had veggie-tales on our flesh. We went in with scars. We went in the walking dead. The plants were going to kill everyone and we knew it, sister.

It was just better to go down with a gun in your fist, screaming your rage out to an uncaring universe, than coughing up your lungs from honey-suckle lung like poor Debbie-Lou. She was in my homeroom class, and I had a crush on her.

She died four days before her 10th birthday.

I dropped her present in a charity bin when I found out.

I learned a hard lesson that day, sister.

It's just the way it was. - SSG Carter, interview with Dreams of Something More, Mantid Diplomat, Terran Confederacy of Aligned Systems Diplomatic Team to the Lanaktallan Systems, final days of the C3 War.

Dalvanak knew not to try to stop the blast of Hellspace energies.

He had learned much as a pupil of the Malevolent Universe.

He knew the only chance was deflection, to try to shift the oncoming tsunami of debased and blasphemous energy.

No being could withstand a surge of Hellspace energy and survive.

Dalvanak's hand went forward, his two remaining fingers on his maimed hand spread out, his hand tilted slightly as his third eye opened wide. A ragged wedge of energy, a V in front and a sloped overhead, appeared as he focused all of his might. Behind him, the Queen of Blades stepped forward and spread out her wings to cover the others.

The Visage of Fear, wearing the mask of a terrible early ruler of the Hamburger Kingdom, and the Face of Tyranny, who wore the mask of the dreaded Hamburger King, stepped up next to her, applying their powers to deflect, not to blunt, because nothing could blunt such an attack, the ravening Hellspace energy that poured into the room.

Dalvanak felt ancient injuries flare with agony. It felt as if the holy insects were covering him, biting and stinging.

Where others might have given in to pain and discomfort, Dalavank felt empowered by it, strengthened by it, buoyed by it. He raised up the pistol, firing it three times in the air, as the wedge thickened, strengthened, but still stayed flexible. Firm gelatin rather than brittle glass.

Let the Hellspace energy burn itself converting his phasic construct into layers of glass, letting the glass fracture on top of the gelatin and be shredded away.

The Face of Tyranny raised his terrible implements, phasic powers reaching out to gird each Atrekna's minds with a crown of glittering phasic energy. The Visage of Fear pulled a scroll made from carefully treated animal skin from the sleeves of its robes, unrolling it slightly and intoning the symbols and sigils that the leaking Hellspace energy brought up on the sensitive parchment. The words he intoned thickened the inner gelatinous layer, not in density, but in volume.

At the forefront the Queen of Blades shielded her chest as best she could, trusting in her open-faced crown/helmet to protect her mind. She could feel the Hellspace energies that were leaking through licking and caressing her face, but ignored them, concentrating on shielding the others with her wings. The burning, biting, pinprick agonies felt like the holy insects had been poured over her flesh, but the sensation lifted her up, strengthened her, and firmed her resolve where other Atrekna would have collapsed in agony.

The others knelt down, shielding themselves and each other, reaching out to one another without hesitation or holding back, supporting their brethren even as their strength waned.

The wedge thinned, became brittle, began to flake away. Leakage filled the space inside, grazing and flickering against the defenses of those inside. Holes began to appear, Hellspace energies flowing inside, but the Atrekna inside accepted the pain, let it fill them, cover them, used the pain to bolster their defenses they protected one another with.

With a sucking whoosh the energies suddenly pulled back into the Hellspace portals, for a split second looking like a great set of jaws snapping at the shielding as the hound's head was pulled in half and into the two portals.

They winked out, and darkness lit only by the jewelry and powers of the cult members, fell upon the chamber.

Dalvanak lowered his hand.

"Is everyone intact?" he grated out.

Murmurs came back that they one and all had survived.

A glimmering light appeared above Dalvanak, his power quickly returning to him.

The other Atrekna gaspsed at what was revealed.

Dalvanak was no longer decked out in white.

His raiment was deep crimson, edged with deepest black. The lace and embrodiery twisted and altered into runes that whispered with forbidden knowledge. The tiny seedpeals gleamed like drops of blood on the black fabric.

His flesh was a washed out gray color.

They looked at one another and found that their own raiment, their own flesh, had been warped and altered by the consuming energies of Hellspace. The Queen of Blades had heavy black dermal extrusions on her face, giving her a living mask of hard bone-like structures. The Hunter looked much the same, but his skin rippled and shifted color, attempting to mask its appearance by blending into its surroundings.

"We will concern ourselves with the changes to our appearances at a later time," Dalvanak said, snapping the fingers on his maimed hand to get attention. "Sweep the citadel. Kill any you find that do not flee from you, seek out any information crystals and gather them," he pointed at the Hunter and the Face of Tyranny. "Destroy the shield generators and the armory."

Those pointed out nodded.

He tilted his head at the Queen of Blades. "Come. We must ensure this equipment is thoroughly destroyed, so that no information can be gleaned from it."

The Queen of Blades nodded as the Atrekna of the Cult of the Defiled One spread out.

-----

Past the boundary of the damaged citadel, the Cult of the Defiled One stopped, gathering together. They held data-crystals in their pouches, purses, and shoulder-strap equipped bags. They were all altered, wearing crimson with black edging or black with red highlights. All of them had tiny figurines of the holy insects, red and crimson, on their clothing to signify their devotion to the Malevolent Universe.

At a signal, they all turned to vibrating strings and vanished.

In the bushes red eyes narrowed as unseen observers witnessed their disappearance. Hands gripped makeshift weapons, muscles bunching in anger as new prey vanished.

The watchers withdrew.

In less than ten minutes smoke began to rise from the trees. A steady stream that was soon interrupted into puffs of various sizes, streams, and blank spots. From further away more smoke rose, and the pattern repeated. Beyond those, the smoke rose and copied the others. It kept going long after the first smoke pillar ceased.

-----

The few surviving Atrekna within the citadel breathed a sigh of relief. They had survived an assault by the Cult of the Defiled One. The Great Task was damaged, but they were sure they could replicated it. Many of the scientists and engineers were dead, but they were sure that they could replicate those critical beings once they regained their strength.

Unknown to them, red eyes watched the citadel as attackers drew close.

The first warning those survivors had that the Malevolent Universe was not done with them was the nerve chilling scream of "FARM YARD!" as dozens, scores, hundreds of Lemurs poured out of the forest, storming the ground around the fortress, their fists filled with stone knives, crystal tipped spears, and clubs embedded with chipped crystal.

They stormed across the empty ground, the shard crystal weapons shattering on their skin for long seconds before finally finding weak points and slicing through furs and hide to bite at flesh and draw blood.

The bloodied and injured Lemurs screamed louder and grew more frantic, still charging.

Shields were blown apart by explosive crystals, leaving the shield bearers rent and dead on the ground, staring at the sky.

More shields were carried in, spears arcing out, arrows shrieking across the gap, looking for the small gaps where the heavy guns pounded on the attackers.

An Atrekna took an arrow to the eye, screaming as it went down. Another took one to the throat.

The gun went silent.

A hoarded missile launcher was pulled into position by sweating lemurs, one standing on top cracking a whip, all of them stripped to the waist. Tree trunks wrapped with vines were used to lever the missile launcher up.

It fired and the region around it for two hundred meters exploded as the graviton drivers, normally used in space, fired the missiles. They howled across the mile space, the VI's blinking in surprise and barely able to arm the impact fusing in time.

The missiles hit the citadel wall.

Walls exploded outward. Sections of the fortress collasped.

The Lemurs climbed over their own dead, screaming "FARM YARD REGARDS!" at the top of their lungs.

To the Atrekna it was madness. The Atrekna used the remaining weapons, remaining slavespawn, to throw back the assault against and again.

Then came the sound that every defender dreads.

The belt of crystals ran out.

The bolt locked back.

The trigger made the sound.

Click.

First one. Then another. Then the rest of the defending guns went silent.

And still the Lemurs screamed and charged.

One, then another, then a group, then a horde breached the walls, screaming their war cries.

The Lemurs ran through the hallways, screaming their war cries, killing any Atrekna they found. Hiding in the spaces in between seconds did no good, the burning red eyes of the Lemurs piercing any concealment and their bloody hands reached out to snatch their victim back into the main time stream.

They used logs tipped with scavenged metal as battering rams to knock down doors, gates, walls. They ran amok through the fortress, killing with savage glee.

In less than a week it was over.

The Lemurs faded into the forest.

The citadel, the last, sat as a forlorn ruin in the middle of a blasted plain.

The slavespawn reverted to base instinct, running off into the forest. Some preyed on others, but most were content to just much on foliage. The servitors just ignored the lemurs, their leaders marking the day the citadel collapsed as a holy day.

-----

Time went on as the sun brightened. Nearly two years passed.

Patrols and long range scouting missions found no Atrekna.

Changes occurred in the bloodstreams and limbic systems of the Lemurs.

In a clearing, where crude huts were merrily decorated, The First and Last, who had actually seen The Wise Lady with her own eyes, lay on a pile of furs. Her belly flexed and rippled as muscles contracted across the distended belly.

She cried out several times.

A smaller cry joined hers.

The gathered Lemurs burst out in song and cheers.

The Mehdik came out, holding a tiny creature up for all to see.

It was bloody. It was smeared with goop. Its little fists were balled up anger. Its face was contorted by anger as it screamed out its rage.

The others fell to the ground and pressed their foreheads to the dirt.

Many of them had round bellies themselves.

The Mehdik made sure everyone had seen the minature version of themselves and returned to The First and Last so the tiny version could be nursed.

It looked around with bright and curious eyes as it fed.

Outside, the others stood up and gathered in small groups, talking quietly about the miracle they had seen.

It had looked just like a miniature version of themselves.

With one exception.

Between the legs.

-----

Dalvanak stood within the chamber of hovering crystal, studying them.

His skin was pale, washed out gray now. His eyes were still full of burning red fire.

It had been necessary.

And he was content.

Without a word, he turned and left the chamber, silently deciding he would have raspberry jam with his toasted bread (which he had invented).

[The Universe Liked That]