Disclaimer: Let's see . . . I'm fifteen years old, I don't have my own car, and I'm going to Burger King after my prom this weekend. Yeah, I own "Andromeda." Ha, ha.

A/N: After finishing Chapter Seven, I just had to keep writing, to sort of explain all of the stuff that's happening with Agrona, The Book, etc. So, enjoy and please, please review! Love ya!

Title: "The Girl Who Hated All"

Summary: When the Andromeda comes across a very young, and very strange, girl, they have no choice but to allow her to come with them. Harper soon discovers her secret; unfortunately, no one believes him . . .

Genre: Supernatural/Horror

Rating: PG-13 for language and supernatural occurrences.

Chapter Eight

Harper ran down the hallway, towards his bedroom. He could literally feel his nerves rattling excitedly in his stomach. God, he did not want to go back to that (room?) Place, but he had to. He knew that something, or someone, was there in the darkness. Someone that (maybe) could help him.

But help him do what, exactly? Kill Agrona? Get everyone to believe him? What exactly did he want?

He arrived at his bedroom and stared at the closed door. Who had closed it? He couldn't remember closing it after leaving the room earlier. Something was in there, waiting. Waiting.

Iluzija . . .

He could feel warm blood trickling down his back. 'Iluzija,' he thought. 'What does that mean? And who put it . . . there?' he asked himself, grimacing slightly at the memory of what he had seen in the mirror; the letters had been etched in so deeply, how could he not have felt it?

He shook his head, clearing his mind, for the time being. He glanced to his right, and then to his left, to be sure that no one was around to drag him back to Med Deck . . . there was no one; just a quiet, empty hallway.

Harper took a deep breath and opened the door. His room appeared to be exactly as he left it: the covers flung messily over the bed, the light off . . . nothing had moved.

He stepped inside and looked around the room for something, anything, out of the ordinary. He looked down at the floor where he had fallen and saw something shiny glistening back up at him. He stooped down and reached his index finger out to touch it . . .

He felt something cool and wet on the floor. He knew exactly what it was the moment he touched it: blood. His blood. Whatever carved that word (Iluzija) on his back definitely did it when he had blacked out earlier.

Harper groaned inwardly. "Come on," he muttered, irritated. "Of course when I want to talk to the Voice, I can't. But it can happen all it wants when I don't know what the hell is going on."

He stood up, rubbing at his temple. He could feel the effects of his slow blood-loss already; he was feeling slightly dizzy. The light coming from the hallway was fading from bright to dark . . . and then back to bright again.

'Wait,' he thought, 'maybe that's why it's not working. I need to be in complete darkness.' He stepped towards the door and closed it. He took a step back and waited for

Iluzija Iluzija Iluzija

something to happen. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. It was as though he was waiting for his death to arrive; only it seemed so much more terrifying.

Završetak . . .

Harper jumped at the sound of the Voice. 'What?' he thought. 'What did you say?'

Završetak, it said again, clearer this time. Do you really want to know?

'I-' Harper paused in his reply. 'Know what?'

Sve, replied. Everything.

Harper nodded. 'Yeah, I want to know it all. Everything. Sve.'

Another shot of pain went flying up Harper's spine, causing his body to stiffen once again . . . and then fall soundlessly to the floor. You shall know everything.

Do you know what Agrona is? the Voice asked.

"Yeah," Harper replied. "She's a frikin' demon, is what she is!"

No, the Voice snapped. She is not a demon. She is a gatara, a sorceress. She was brought up this way by her mother and father. Her mother tried to teach her to use her powers for good, to help people on her planet, but after she left, the father taught Agrona how to use her powers for evil.

"Wait, why did her mother 'have' to leave?" Harper asked.

I'll get to that later. Now, do you know what the language Serbian is? The Voice paused, signaling to Harper that it was not a rhetorical question.

"Umm, it sounds familiar . . ."

It is an old Earth language. From the country Serbia.

"An old Earth language?" repeated Harper. His mouth would have been hanging agape if he had not been immobile. "But . . . how?"

Mykenae was first populated by people from Earth, if you can believe it, the voice replied, sounding calmer than it had at the beginning of the conversation. And the people from Earth happened to speak Serbian.

"Than, is that why she chose me to hate? To want to kill more than anyone else on the Andromeda?"

Slow down, slow down. We shall come to that in time. There was silence until the Voice continued its story. When the people from Earth came to the planet of Mykenae, they began to . . . change. Something in Mykenae's atmosphere was alien to the people who had arrived. And they changed. Some changed on the outside, physically; their eyes became brighter, their skin's color faded, and their hair became so brittle that if one was to simply touch it, it would crumble and fall off.

The Voice paused, letting Harper take in all of the information, and then continued. But others changed not on the outside, but inside. They began to have pesnièki genijes, or muses, if you will. In these muses, they saw themselves killing everyone around them, but, in these muses, they had not laid but a finger on the other persons. They had done it simply by chanting a simple odmor, or spell:

The Voice began to recite the spell in an eerily smooth tone: Svi æe umreti. Svi æe trpiti. Svi æe tražiti milosrðe napamet. Which means, "All shall die. All shall suffer. All shall seek pity from me."

"And what, exactly, did the spell do?" Harper asked, although he believed that the answer was pretty obvious.

It killed. At the beginning, there had been nine people living on the planet. In the end, there were only two: a man and a woman, which is how the planet got populated. Harper, the Voice added, its tone dropping to a deeper pitch, if there is one thing to remember, it is the beginning of that spell. It is the only spell that begins with those three words: Svi æe umreti. If you hear Agrona beginning to recite that spell, all you have to do is say, Craft the spell in the fire; Craft it well; Weave it higher-"

"-Weave it now of shining flame; None shall come to hurt or maim. None shall pass this fiery wall," Harper began to recite the poem along with the Voice, "None shall pass, no, none at all. I've heard that before."

There was silence. The Voice seemed to be either shocked by what Harper had said or it wanted Harper to continue.

"On Mykenae, I heard it, well, saw it, written on a tree. And I read it . . . I don't know how I remembered that . . ."

Harper, the Voice said, suddenly, did anything happen upon reading that poem. A flash of light or-?"

"Yeah, actually, there was this . . . weird flash of red light. What . . . what was it?"

You have been blessed. Agrona cannot kill you with The Spell. Not that spell, at least. But the blessing will wear off, Harper.

"In how long? How long do I have until it wears off?" Harper asked, hurriedly.

I do not know. Days, weeks, maybe it has already worn off, I do not know, it said again. And there is no real way to see if it has worn off. The amount of time varies per person.

"Okay, so should I just recite the poem again? Then I'd know for sure-"

No! The Voice nearly screamed the word at him. No, it said again, calmer this time. You cannot recite the poem more than once. If you do, your death will be worse than if Agrona had placed The Spell upon you.

"But, I just recited it before; nothing happened then," Harper argued.

In order to be blessed, one must say the entire poem, not just the last three lines, the Voice explained, sounded flustered. Harper, listen to me; Agrona's desire to have you dead is increasing each moment. She loves to torture others, but she will become bored with that soon. And if you do not watch her at every minute, she will kill you. And, believe me, there is no heaven after she kills you. There is no light at the end of the tunnel. There is something more horrible than you could ever imagine. But if you do not keep a close watch on her, you will not have to imagine the horror, you will have it.

Harper took in the Voice's words, feeling the hairs on his arms rising and beads of sweat forming on his hairline. Now, the Voice continued, you wanted to know about Agrona's mother and why she had to leave?

Harper tried to swallow, but found that he could not. "No," he said. "No, I think that I could understand why she left. Her child and husband were evil."

That was part of it, yes, but another reason was to learn more about The Spell. She wanted to find a counter curse for it. Something to spare the lives of those who received The Spell. And she succeeded. But as soon as she discovered the poem that could reverse The Spell, Agrona used The Spell against her. And before she died, she inscribed the poem upon a tree. And, unfortunately, only two people have ever read that poem. That would be you, Harper . . . and me.

"But, who are you?" Harper asked, nervously. "Who are you and how do you know so much about this?"

I am Fearghas. And I am the original inhabitant of Mykenae. I am the one who killed the others. I am the creator of The Spell.

Harper gasped suddenly, feeling himself being pulled back into reality. Warm light splashed onto his face and he bolted upright . . .

Harper's eyes snapped open and he saw that he was sitting on the floor of his room. "Oh, my God," he whispered, clutching at his back. It felt as though it was on fire. His shirt was damp from the spilt blood and he felt even dizzier than he had before.

He stood up and was immediately thrown off-balance. The rapid blood loss had caught up to him. He reached out for the door and threw it open. He staggered out into the hallway, bent over slightly, his hand upon his burning back.

'I gotta get to Med Deck,' he thought. He was using the wall to keep him upright by leaning his left shoulder against it as he stumbled down the hallway. He rounded a corner . . .

And saw Agrona standing about three feet away from him, a smile plastered upon her face, but pure wickedness shining in her eyes. "Hi there, Mr. Harper," she said, cheerfully.

"H-Hey Agrona," Harper replied through gritted teeth. He tried to hold back a cough and grimaced at the rusty taste of blood that the cough brought up with it.

"What's wrong, Mr. Harper?" she asked, the same sweet smile upon her face, the same wicked look in her eyes. "Why are you walking so funny?"

Harper opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a hacking cough . . . and the horrid taste of blood.

"Are you okay? You're coughing a lot . . . and bleeding." Harper took a step back from Agrona. The way her eyes had flashed when she had said the word "bleeding" . . . it was inhumane.

"I know," Harper replied, taking a step to the right. "I fell down. I'm going to Med Deck right now."

Agrona took a step to her left, blocking Harper's way. "Are you? That's good. Trance'll get you all fixed up." Her eyes became smaller and her smile faded slightly. "We wouldn't want you to die. Not like this. That'd be baaaaaad."

Harper took another step to the left and, as quickly as he could, walked straight ahead. Agrona did not make to cut him off again, but as soon as he got past her, he began to cough . . . and cough . . . and cough . . .

He stopped walking and, doubled over, continued to cough. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Agrona standing there . . . smiling.

He brought his hand up to his mouth, trying to sustain the coughing fit that had come over him. He brought his hand away and saw red (blood) covering his palm.

He stood upright. The coughing fit had ended, but he could feel the blood slowly draining from him. He continued to stagger down the hallway towards Med Deck. He turned his head and took one last look at Agrona.

"We wouldn't want you to die, Mr. Harper," she said, the same sweet smile upon her face, the same evil look in her green, green eyes. "Not yet. That'd be baaaaaad." Harper picked up his pace and continued to walk down the hallway.

Finally, he arrived at Med Deck. "Harper." He barely heard Trance call out his name as he entered the room. Everything had gotten dark (like the Place) and quieter.

"Harper, are you okay? Lie down . . ." He staggered over to an examining table and climbed onto it. Without thinking, he laid down on his back and

Oh God Oh God, my back is on F I R E! Oh shit, God, make it stttopppp . . .

shouted out in pain. His own voice sounded so distant, so faraway. He quickly flipped over on his stomach.

"Harper, is it your back again? Here, let me see . . ." Trance lifted up Harper's shirt. She grimaced slightly, but remained composed. She grabbed some gauze and quickly applied pressure to Harper's cuts (slashes) in hopes of stopping the bleeding.

Harper's body jerked as soon as the gauze touched his cuts (slashes) and cried out in pain. "Harper, Harper, shh, it's okay."

'No, it's not, Trance. There's a killer on board and she wants to kill me kill me kill me, God, why won't anyone help me?' His mind was racing; all he could think about was Agrona, smiling at him, smiling at his pain, smiling . . .

Trance removed the gauze that she had been using and grabbed another piece. There was so much blood, she did not know how so much could still be coming out . . . the cuts (slashes) weren't very deep; not deep enough to cause so much to come out. Even she did not understand what was happening.

"T-Trance," Harper groaned, turning his head slightly to look over at her.

"What is it, Harper?"

"Do you know what Svi æe umreti means?"

Trance stared at him, puzzled. "I . . ." She shook her head. "No, what does it mean?"

Harper shook his head as well. "Just . . . if you hear someone saying it . . . stop them."

"Stop them? How, why?"

"Just promise me you will."

She nodded, but was still confused by Harper's request. "Okay, I wi-"

The rest of her promise was cut off; Harper closed his eyes and was enveloped by darkness.

Don't forget, Harper, the Voice said. Don't forget Iluzija.

"I won't forget. I won't forget. Illuzija. Iluzija."

Never forget it. Your life is dependent on it. Iluzija.

"I'll never forget it. I won't." Harper's thoughts were shut off as he slipped into a deep form of unconsciousness.

"Trance, what did you call me for?" Dylan asked as he entered Med Deck. "Does it pertain to Harper by chance?"

"Actually, it does," replied Trance. "You sent him here earlier. Did you see what was . . ." She paused, throwing a quick glance to where Harper's body was lying. The bleeding had ceased, but there was still something amiss, and she could not figure out what it was. ". . . what was on his back?"

Dylan nodded. "Yes, that was why I sent him to you. He could not have, well, would not have, done that to himself, so how did it get there?"

"I don't know. There doesn't appear to be any knife incisions. But-" She shook her head in confusion. "-I don't know, there's something . . . different, wrong, with him. The marks will go away, but there's something . . ."

". . . different about him," Dylan finished, to which Trance nodded. "I know, but I can't figure out what it is. How is he?"

"He's unconscious for the time being," Trance replied. "I don't know when he'll wake up, but he's stable."

"Well, when he wakes up, alert me so that we can figure out just what is wrong with Mr. Harper," Dylan instructed. Trance nodded again and he turned and left the room, looking quickly over at Harper's unmoving body. Trance was (of course) right; something was terribly wrong with Harper.

As he exited the room, Dylan thought about that word that had been inscribed upon Harper's back. Iluzija, was that what it said? If so, what did it mean? And why had someone cut (slashed) it into Harper? Why Harper?

His mind was filled with unanswered questions. Questions, he assumed, would remain unanswered until Harper awoke. And when he did, would Harper even be willing, or able, to tell them the answers? And would they want to hear them?

To Be Continued . . .

A/N: Chapter Eight is finished! I'm so happy! Ahem . . . anyways, as always, please review. And I must give credit where credit is due (again): I got the main idea to use Serbian as Agrona's language after learning about Serbia in my History class. Blah, blah, blah, again, please review! Thanks all!