"Man is by nature a social animal; an individual who is unsocial naturally and not accidentally is either beneath our notice or more than human. Society is something that precedes the individual. Anyone who either cannot lead the common life or is so self-sufficient as not to need to, and therefore does not partake of society, is either a beast or a god. " - Aristotle
The Blackened One
Chapter 1
The Wild Woods pt. 1
Atoms. From electrons, neutrons and protons they become the building blocks of life in the conventional sense where physics and reality are married. These atoms come together to create all the layers of the atmosphere. The elements of hydrogen, oxygen and other elements can create the ideal gas mixture for Humanity and all other life that may exist on those planets. Nature, however, dictates the ratio of each element lest it may be poisonous to humans.
Friction. When two surfaces rub against each other for any given time. It is friction that ignites the meteor. Air molecules that resist the meteor as it grinds through the atmosphere. From friction comes heat.
And heat is one of the quintessential and universal forces from which all matter exists in time.
It is heat that wakes him; thawing his mind and body, and from his mind electrical impulses are sent throughout his body. Neural pathways that have been created and reinforced throughout his life are once again populated with activity. As he falls to the earth he is coming out of his slumber like a drug addict on acid. Many memories and the dream still fresh collide in his mind leaving him disoriented-but not for long for he must commune with the magnetic field the planet generates.
As the meteor cracks from the stresses of gravity and air resistance, multiplied by the speed of descent, chemicals react with the oxygen the very moment it makes contact with suitable atmosphere and sets the meteor ablaze. From the outside to within the core the heat travels as the meteor falls and breaks apart thus increasing the amount of fuel to be burned.
Combustion is quick.
Behold, a falling star bearing life in spite of all the trials and tribulations. Hear ye, life continues to fight against entropy. A testament of Nature's will to survive by any means necessary! Fear it, respect it.
And so The Blackened One awakens with the heat of creation once more! The heat seeps into the core and jump starts his crude life support system. His body ignites from within the meteorite as the external flames consumes oxygen and in this way he breathes. He becomes one with fire.
He reaches out with his will and feels the magnetic field form along the surfaces of the earth, but he suddenly detects numerous streams of electrons dashing downwards from random points in the sky below his position. The disruption of information makes him wary for there are now many distortions in his mental map. As a few seconds pass he goes below the altitude from which the electron streaks spawn.
He needs to know where he will land.
Though if it were in the middle of the sea, he could manage. It would just be another Tuesday for him.
The streaks of electrons intensify in quantity and quality, unfortunately he is unable to gather more information. The electron streaks connect with his meteorite and as these energies are channeled through him, his mind becomes filled with haze-the mental map is gone.
He is unable to gather more information from the planet's magnetic field.
Suddenly, the meteorite impacts a remarkably study surface.
The meteorite shatters.
As it fragments, air is drawn in from the vacuum within the meteorite. For the first time in a very, very long time the man is exposed to breathable atmosphere. The contents within his stone capsule are shattered from the impact. His body, no longer aflame, flails wildly as he falls faster and faster. Before he opens his eyes he impacts a wooden object and a loud crack echoes through the surroundings.
Get up.
…
…
...
Move.
Compelled by his instinct and experiences, the man awakens.
Dark color.
Wet.
Cold.
It's mud.
He lifts his head and with arms he pushes against the surface of the world.
Green blades.
Wet.
Green blades intersect with mud.
Grass.
The man looks towards the sky. He takes note of a peculiarly shaped hole.
Trees…
…
Safe.
Breath, air.
Wet.
He looks up again and opens his mouth. His mouth is covered in pitch. He rinses out his mouth but still tastes ash and smoke. As the man observes his surroundings his mind is still swirling slowly towards a fully awakened state struggling to catch up with his body.
No light.
Wet from sky.
Hole in leaves, burning.
The sky roars, echoes.
He looks around trying to piece together his trail.
Smoke, embers.
Wet.
Humid.
He spots the remnants of his meteorite cluttered in many small craters scattered near each other. He rises from the mud and takes two hasty steps. He slips into a deeper puddle of mud.
He silently scolds himself.
Wet.
Wet.
Wet.
Mud.
Slip.
He steadily rises again. With large strides and heavy steps he safely makes his way to his meteorite, progressively heating the mud contacting his skin in preparation for hiding his secrets. As he reaches a large fragment jutting from the ground, he look up at its tip, then to the ground in a daze. The apex of the curve facing him.
The man steps around to see the opposite side, takes a stance and headbutts the fragment. It fragments further and now they lay in mud, their curvature allowing them to collect a minute amount of rainwater.
Under the cover of darkness and the brief flashes of lightning, he pushes the fragments into the ground while heating them. In doing so he forces more heat to transfer into the ground. He quickly smashes large portions into smaller portions so that a single hand can sink them into the ground. Mud and water expedite his task, making the earth soft as he expand the space between atoms with his heat. He doesn't stop until the elbow touches the earth, he will retract his arm and repeat.
In half an hour he will have buried the largest portion of his meteorite, sparing no concern for the rest. The embers are now extinguished.
Through all of this, the storm was loud and merciless-the man never stopped.
His mind took a while to catch up though.
Now he is fully awake.
With the exception of lightning, it is pitch black in this forest. The torrential downpour nullify all other sounds. All things considered he worked in preferable conditions. With his body covered in mud and earth he smells like the forest. Even his privates are caked in mud for he is naked, though he had to clench his gluteus maximus at certain moments.
Food.
Satisfied one instinct, the next emerges. Despite the fact of barely being able to see one foot in front of him, he must hunt or die of starvation. The only silver lining are the flashes of light from lightning. With that in mind, he moves through the woods for prey he can ambush. It takes an hour of climbing, observing, exploring and waiting until he finally hears the sound of mud splashing and bushes rustling from below his branch.
There are people gathered. Their tools for hunting, they brandish. Parents and children stride through the alien prairies, passing on experiences. A daughter asks, "Mother, why not kill the prey we freely see? We can have food aplenty and our silos will be aptly filled."
He wrestles with his prey.
Leaves block out the flashes of light.
Thunder roars and echoes through the forest.
Water runs all over the earth.
Blunt forces beat on his thighs, but he is unmoved.
The man snarls like a predator.
The Mother, aged and weathered, pours forth her wisdom. "Because we are not bound by instinct. We are not feral. We must be aware of what we do and the impact of our actions."
He bites down on something hard.
It breaks.
His prey continues to struggle.
Hooves beat loudly against the tree trunk.
Another antler is caught in the man's mouth and is crushed in the darkness.
The daughter recalls past lessons and then thinks of their Leader. She asks, "But Mother, why does Leader behave like a feral animal? If we have mastery over ourselves, why does he indulge in his instinct?"
He throws his prey against a stone, briefly illuminated.
Relocated, he has.
Flashes break through these other leaves and branches.
He charges.
His heart beats faster and faster in anticipation of the kill.
A primal joy rushes through him as his mouth opens.
"Because it is his nature." The Mother sagely nods her head and shoulders a family heirloom: a HT-78e scout rifle. The elder Pathfinder looks through the sturdy scope and sees her quarry: blue skin, short peach colored fur, six legs and a narrow head. The digital lens reads "1246m". She aims upwards to compensate for gravity. "My grandmother would love to have this gun again. Her great grandmother didn't have scout rifles this good back in her day."
He bites through his prey's skull and spits out shards of bone. He hits the skull again against his knee and more cracks form. He tears away the skin and the skull fragments slide off unto the bloodied bark, down to the redenned mud.
"Katia," the Pathfinder begins, "it is because of his instincts that we're still alive. His instincts, tempered with wisdom and experience have lead us this far. He instilled in our ancestors the warrior spirit and to this day we dip into each other's fires so we may never burn out." The daughter became contemplative.
He sits on a surface in the darkness, his thirst and hunger are quenched.
His prey's blood drips from his lips, splattered on his face and body.
In his hands are new tools shaped from antlers of his kill, knapped and ready to kill and work.
Inside this cave, he recalls his past experiences.
As the rain and thunder echo into the cave, his hands shake.
The elderly warrior leans against a wall looking outwards into space. On a Observation Deck, he waits. The elder looks at the man's shaking hands and then at his own shaking hands before gripping his shoulders by crossing his arms across his chest. War has changed them both. But for the sake of their future, they made these sacrifices.
His hands shake in the darkness as the rain and thunder echo into his mind. The wild man sits and meditates in spite of his madness. He learns the tempo of the rain while his hands shake. His hands were shaking as he was burying his meteorite. His hands were shaking as he stalked and wrestled with his prey. He feels the rough edges he knapped as his hands were shaking.
The leaves shake with him as the gusts of wind rush through the woods
Inside the humid, damp cave he stares out.
He does not blink once.
A few hours later the downpour subsided and he rushes out of the cave and now moonlight pokes through the scattering storm clouds. Some time later the sun brings another dawn. The morning light greets the nocturnal cowl as they both dance across the sky like lovers, gently gliding in transition. The morning dew is greeted by many small mammals and creeping things of the earth. Rainwater's scent fills these wild woods in the first morning of Spring. The bustling wind heats up beneath the branches and coils in pockets before finding a way out.
"How long?"
"Two-hundred-and-seventy-six years."
The elder nods.
"The next generation is ready."
"Then I shall taste their fire."
The Leader walks out of the Observation Deck leaving the elder to continue polishing his trusty sidearm with delicate care. Every wipe of his cloth is nostalgic as he recalls his exploits with his family. He mutters to himself the Pathfinder's motto, "We always find a way home." Though he did think of the planet he was raised on, he always thought of the Mothership as his home and Humanity as his family. He muttered to himself again, "We're all we have left." Despite all obstacles in his path, he overcame. Lived long enough to marry and procure offspring to carry on their legacy and increase the population thus increase their chances of survival. As he reflects on his life, he heard the doors open.
"Yosef, you're going to miss the Inauguration Ceremony!"
"Alright woman I'ma commin'."
Some chuckling is heard as the two leave the Observation Deck together hand in hand.
The man reaches above the trees to survey the immediate area. The morning sun is reaching it's zenith as noon comes closer. Crisp, mild wind calmly blows and the leaves barely rustle. Some scattered clouds here and there with big expanses of clear, blue sky. He sees many mountains and hills both near and far. Atop this mountain tree he looks towards the horizon and east of him is a castle, but to him it's just a dot.
It's a Romalian castle...
Now he descends from his branch, stealthily grips and swings from branch to branch and manages to eat a couple squirrels and birds along the way. Miles away from the crash site, he digs a hole at the base of the same tree he climbed. Gone is the mud, leaves and twigs and now replaced with ash to cover his body. For today, the Blackened One sleeps.
Author's Notes: For fuck's sake formatting was not cooperating with me this time.
Review Responses
xXgabeXx : I would say I'm sorry for disappointing you that the mystery man's name is not in this chapter, but I would be lying. Huehue. It's not very fun if I made the mystery cheap and revealed it so soon. ;)