A/N: Second part of the "Drax" arc. I own only Drax and the ideas in this fic. Oh, and the new alien species, though they were inspired by the mention of the Nightmare Child in the series four finale of Doctor Who ... on we go with the chapter!
Out There
Drax was missing most of his life's memories.
He was about 14, or was it 15? He wasn't sure which, but he knew that psychically at least, he was in his teens. He lived on the planet Nexicorn, home of the Nightmare Feeders, or Dream Feeders, depending on what side of the planet you happened to be visiting. There wasn't a difference between both groups in terms of ability, it was just that one preferred working with nightmares, the others with dreams. His father always told him that this was due to the universal balance, and did not mean that those who preferred working with nightmare were evil, and those working with dreams good. It just happened that the peoples of the universe needed both to function properly. The only reason they chose to separate was that it made their jobs that much easier.
Drax had taken this in with a nod, not particularly bothered about it, for he never really had the grasp over either that would dictate with group he would belong to. All Nexicornicans had talents with the guiding of dreams (or nightmares). It was something to do with the way they had evolved apparently. There weren't really that many Nexicornicans left, not since - roughly 500 years before Drax's birth - an evil time travelling alien became jealous of their talents, and saw to destroy the majority of the citizens. Drax's father had been a child at the time, only in his 50's, but he remembered it. The same evil alien had saw fit to steal Drax away as a baby. He had only been returned to his home planet a year - or was it two - previously, his memories wiped of everything up until that point.
They had also changed his appearance. No longer did he have the healthy golden sand like complexion of his people; with the same glittering eyes, and long thing fingers; now he looked very odd indeed, with thick brown hair, which fell stubbornly in front of his eyes - which were a bright blue rather than the blacks or greys common amongst Nexicornicans - and a pale, peachy-pink complexion. To put it fairly, Drax looked more like one of the humans whose dreams he was meant to be able to guide, than his own people.
None of this helped him amongst people his own age, all of whom considered him to be a freak, as well as ugly - though they also did remark, in sneering little voices, that for a human he would be considered quite attractive, it was a 'pity' that humans weren't worth the ground they stood upon. At least, in the eyes of the Nexicornicans. Friends of his father often cursed the evil alien that had done this to him, telling Drax that he had nothing to be ashamed of. Drax was confused, he had never, for what he could remember, felt ashamed of the way he looked, or his usual past. They all connected in with the dreams after all.
It was really his father who was ashamed of him, hiding him away from the rest of their world, limiting his contacting with the rest of the people. Drax often spent his days roaming the attic of their home, looking out of the window down into the street, watching them wandering by, living their own little lives, caught up in their own little dramas, never once sparing a thought for the freedom they had. It was this injustice that he often wrote about in his dream journal - something which all Nexicornicans kept, and that his father insister he followed suit.
"Safe behind these windows, and parapets of stone," he muttered as he scribbled down the words, "gazing at the people down below me. All my life, I've watched them as I hide up here alone, hungry for the histories they show me. All my life I've memorised their faces, knowing them as they will never know me. All my life I've wondered how it feels to pass a day, not above them … but part of them," he wrote, pausing as he realised how great a secret he had revealed. This was not his biggest secret, but it was big enough. He stood slightly, his journal and pen still in hand, and moved over to sit on the large window still, using his knees and legs to rest his journal on as he wrote.
"And out there, living in the sun. Give just me one day out there, all I ask is one to hold forever," he muttered, looking back from the window to write in his journal. "Out there, where they all live unaware. What I'd give, what I'd dare, just to live one day out there," he muttered, sighing wistfully as he added a full stop. "Out there among the millers and the weavers and their wives, through the roofs and gables I can see them. Every day they shout, and scold, and go about their lives, heedless of the gift it is to be them. If I were in their skin, I'd treasure every instant," he said, his scribbles taking on rather jagged movements.
"Out there, strolling by the Seine," the Seine being a popular marketplace not long from where Drax stayed. "Taste a morning out there, like ordinary men, who walk freely about there," he muttered, feeling particularly bitter. "Just one day, then I swear I'll be content with my share," he promised, underlining the words as it to emphasise their meaning. "Won't resent, won't despair. Old and bent, I won't care!" he added, his scribbling become furious. "I'll have spent one day out there," he finished. He stared down at the words for he didn't know how long, the black ink looking back up at in coldly, revealing none of the emotion he had felt while writing them down. For some reason, this annoyed him more than it should have.
He sighed, rubbing at his eyes, and yawning slightly. Another thing which set him apart from the rest of the Nexicornicans was that he very rarely slept, and when he did sleep, it was for relatively short periods of times, never longer than four hours at the most. But this was one of the important times where he needed the sleep. So he dragged himself to his bed
xXx
Burnt orange skies … silver leafed trees … fields of deep red grass capped with snow … the Shining World of the Seven Systems …
"He's like fire and ice and rage … He's like the night, and the storm in the heart of the sun … He's ancient and forever … He burns at the centre of time and he can see the turn of the universe. And … he's wonderful."
Planets burning … fires raging … species dying … screams for help … begs for mercy … harsh cries raging out across the galaxies, across time … brutal ... metallic … EXTERMINATE … a most terrible choice … screams echoing … then all gone … within a second.
"We're the resistance, the last hope"… "are you ready to break free?" … "To be a shooting star" … "a tiger" … "defying the laws of gravity" … "are you ready to be Champions" … "if you join the bohemians, there's no way back to GaGa Land" … "outcast forever" … "no longer a member of the Cons-Human Race" … "Rock 'n' Roll is anything you want it to be" … "it's sex" … "it's style" … "it's rebellion" … "it's freedom" … "Make your last thoughts 'the Dream'" … loud screams of pain … cheers of triumph …. "Anyway the wind blows."
Drax sat bolt upright in bed, breathing heavily.
It was always the same, every time he slept. He had these dreams of a different time, of a different planet, with the same two people. Well, he felt it was the same man, though he had so many different face, it felt like it was the same man. The dreams showed him such images, of beautiful planets and of terrifying times. Of oppression and of freedom, of hope in the worst of times. He couldn't understand why they always featured these two people, and why he felt so connected to then.
He shook his head, dismissing the thoughts, and standing. He felt well rested now, or at least as well rested as he could possibly get after that dream, so he moved from his room in search of a drink, feeling the need to hydrate himself. He padded quietly along the shadowy corridors of his house, it never really felt like home to him, just a building he happened to live in. Halfway down to the kitchen area, he overheard his father's voice, speaking lower than usual, and sounding annoyed. He frowned, finding himself curious, and knelt in front of the door, listening attentively.
"I don't understand why I have to keep him here, oh Great Leader," his father snapped. "He asks too many questions, and is never happy to make do with the answers I give him," he sighed, sounding as though the world were resting on his shoulders. "It's getting harder to keep him content, Great Leader." Drax's frown grew, not wanting to hear anymore as he slowly got back to his feet. As misfortune would have it, he stumbled, pushing against the door, causing it to creak open. His father stormed over to the door, wrenching it open, standing in the doorway in such a way that meant Drax couldn't see behind him. "Drax! Why are you out of your room boy?" he demanded.
"… I had a bad dream father," he said, his gaze dropping to the floor. He never could look his father directly in the eye. "I thought a drink would help to calm me."
"You are a Nexicornican, Drax. Nexicornicans do not get bad dreams," his father reminded him. "Not unless you deliberately gave yourself one, would this be the case boy?" he demanded once again, staring at Drax unblinkingly. Drax's gaze remained firmly on the ground.
"No Father," he said. "You know I'm at the bottom of my class for nightmare creation, as well as dream manipulation," he said, in a forced embarrassed tone, knowing that although deep down he knew he wasn't particularly bothered by this knowing, he knew it was something his father felt that he ought to be rightly ashamed of.
"Indeed," his father said. "Well run along and fetch your drink," he said, "then straight back to your room," he instructed. Drax nodded, wandering along to fetch himself a drink. At least, he gave his father that impression. He instead waited a few moments inside the kitchen area, before sneaking back to the door, this time making sure not to stumble as he moves near it, listening carefully once more. "He hardly sleeps Great Leader … he's too much like him!"
"The time is at hand," a rasping voice spoke out. Drax frowned, finding the voice familiar but not being able to place it. He supposed that perhaps he had simply overheard the voice as one of the rare visitors to the house. "He is psychically mature now," the Great Leader said, "we shall use him to our advantage. We shall destroy the Doctor," the Great Leader spat the name out as though it were the most foul of words, "by using his own weapon: time itself!" There was a long pause. And then.
"Bring me the boy."
xXx
For his credit, Drax's father was unsurprised to see Drax standing at the other side of the door, simply ordering the boy to follow him. It was that Drax was highly suspicious of everything that was going on that evening, but his curiosity - which his tutors had often told him was a very unattractive part of his personality - lead him into complying with his father's demand, though something in him was screaming at him to take to his heels and just run.
He always was fond of running.
But instead he forced himself to follow behind his father, as calmly as was possible for him. He was taken to a large Gothic style building. He found himself amused, of course an scene of great importance would take place in a building like this. He remained silent as he was frogmarched into the building. "Great Leader!" his father called. "Great Leader! I have brought him."
"Excellent Doca," the rasping voice of the Great Leader spoke. "You shall be rewarded greatly for your efforts in our cause." There were the sounds of heavy footsteps, as the Great Leader revealed himself from the shadows, causing Drax to frown deeply for another time that evening.
"I know you."
"I would say that was possible Drax," the Great Leader laughed cruelly, causing Drax to step backwards, as though unnerved by the man. "Oh, do I scare you little boy?" The Great Leader smirked. "Quite right too," he laughed once more, the laugh echoing in the large room. Drax stared at him.
"…What do you want with me?" he asked, his head titling to the side, continuing to stare at the Great Leader. The Great Leader smiled widely, looking at Drax as an snake-oil salesman might a potential customer.
"Dear boy," the Great Leader said, his rasping tones taking on a slick nature, "you have been Chosen." A low murmur of awe went coursing around the room at this, with Drax turning as if to follow it.
"What do you mean, Chosen?" he asked, turning back to face the Great Leader, who happened to be staring at the boy unblinkingly. "Chosen for what?"
"To lead all Nexicornicans back to their place of glory!" the Great Leader bellowed. "To give our people their true place amongst the stars!"
"I was rather under the impression that your 'place of glory' was at the bottom of a dank pit," an unfamiliar voice echoed in the hall. "Or do you honestly think that pitiful excuse for a child can give you what you never had?"
"The child is no ordinary child!" the Great Leader snapped at the newcomer, a man in a smart looking suit, who was followed by a blonde female, who was wearing her own smart suit. "He is no Nexicornican child!" There was a long silence, as Drax turned to look at the Great Leader with a pale face.
"…What?" he asked softly, his voice making it sound as though his heart was breaking. "But … "
"Come along boy! Did you really believe that evil aliens altered your appearance?" The Great Leader scoffed loudly. "All we did was steal you from your parents, and then accelerate your age so that we wouldn't be waiting around for you to become useful to our cause."
Drax stared. "Tha… That's not true!" he yelled at the Great Leader. "Father! Please … tell me it isn't true …" he begged, turning to the Nexicornican he had believed was his father. He didn't answer him, looking at the ground. Drax stared for a few moments, before taking in a deep breath, forcing himself to remain as calm as he could. He nodded eventually. "That would explain my dreams then," he said, in as even a voice as he could manage.
"Dreams?" the newcomer stared at him. Drax nodded up at him, wondering why he felt as though he should know this person, wondering why there was a feeling of being similar ringing in his mind. "What type of dreams?"
"Don't answer that question!" the Great Leader snapped at Drax, who quite rightly ignored him.
"Of different planets, and of different times," he told the man. "I dream of war, of ice and fire and of rage, and of such hope, the Shining World of the Seven Systems," he said, closing his eyes briefly as he allowed himself to remember the images in his dreams. The man stared, as did the blonde woman accompanying him, as a long silence fell on the room, with all eyes slowly turning to face him.
The man smiled, a slow, long, dangerous smile. "His, I assume?" he asked the Great Leader, sounding amused with the situation. The Great Leader nodded slowly, annoyed that all of his careful planning had been destroyed by a boy who couldn't keep his mouth shut. "Fine. Lucy, get the boy, he's coming with us," he instructed her. Lucy smiled.
"Of course Harry," she said, reaching forward and taking Drax by his hand. "What's your name dear? " she asked him, smiling down at him as one might as small child.
"Drax," he responded. "At least, that's what they said it was," he shrugged. "I don't know whether I can believe that anymore."
The man - Harry was what Lucy had called him, but Drax felt that it wasn't his true name - laughed slightly. "Oh, how like him, to name his son after his fallen friend." Drax blinked, staring at the man.
"You know my father?" he asked, before correcting himself. "My real father?"
"Yes, I do," the man replied, still smiling that somewhat dangerous smile. Drax swallowed nervously.
"What do I call you?" The man's smile grew wider.
"I am the Master."
