Chapter Seven

By the time Zim landed on Irk with Dib, some of the population was already preparing for the birth of the end of Irk, civilians, staff and drones were taking what luggage they could on their backs and arms and took space trains, ships and cabs and left into the galaxy like boats fading into the watery distance. Dib coughed harshly, he had a bad ride from Point A to Point B, vomiting into puke bags, cleaning his mouth out with some sort of hygienic mouthwash, and Zim making him clean his hands with a decontamination area of the cruiser made the ride excruciating. Zim felt like he had no time to sort his personal feelings out, because Dib needed his health to be looked after; Zim took Dib to the nearest motel in the civilian drone city and laid him on the bed. Zim envied Dib that at least his ability was relied on resting, it was amusing that Dib was now a bigger sleepyhead than before. Zim would have found this hilarious if their lives weren't on the line, and on the verge of snapping by a wild wheel.

Ah, how the mighty have fallen, the Irkens are feeling what the earth is feeling. They feel it down in their roots, we are the few who are different, spitting on my mother's holy feet. Astra inclinant, sed non obligant.

"Yes, please Zimalyon, do prattle on with your Latin," Zim said sarcastically, "I need my homework done."

Here's one for you then: curris, stupes, satagis, tanquam mus in matella; as the young ones say, Google it.

Dib let out a soft groan as he finally sat up, the lingering taste of puke was still fresh in his throat. He felt like he ate something rotten and regurgitated it to the point his stomach acid felt painful; he was rarely one to get motion sickness from flying on a spaceship, but the sky of space itself was hammering into Dib's head, trying to break him. "What's...what's going on?" he moaned, "Where are we?" Zim hastily made him drink a small canteen of drinking water. They had no time for questions as Kastron was no doubt turning direction, but it was still a small window as earth's military was preparing for it; three days wasn't enough and Kastron would charge after earth like a starving animal and greedily eat the humans down to a bloody banquet. Zim helped Dib stand up.

"Irk is going through an exodus right now. That only makes things harder for us," Zim said, "We need to see Tallest Komb and ask for any assistance to help the earth against Kastron." Dib looked skeptical, as if Zim said pigs could fly.

"Will Komb listen to you?" Dib asked.

Zim looked just as doubtful, the Tallest might've been older and wiser, but Elder Irkens were stubborn and wild; they were like ancient buildings that stood the test of time and didn't fall easily, if Zim wanted Komb to listen, it was going to end in a screaming match.

"Well, we can't just end our ride here," Zim replied and Dib reluctantly followed him out, some Irkens had stopped and stared. Their gazes on Zim with shock while some burned with hatred, but the crowd became apart as Zim stepped; it made Dib recall the stories of Moses parting the Red Sea, but instead it was Zim parting his kinds crowd due to whatever aura he gave off.

"What's he doing here?"

"Zim is nothing but a harbinger!"

"You bad omen, go back to the planet you were sent to!"

Zim pulled Dib close and ignored the jeers, some Irkens threw cans and rocks at the two but Zim shielded Dib, not minding he was being pelted by the angry crowd as they made their way inside of the palace. Komb was in the lobby, coughing and hacking as he discussed with military Irkens about the temporary ruling and plans to advance barriers. The guards noticed Zim and reacted negatively, swinging their spears, but Zim grabbed the blades and bent them like rubber. "You're not my enemy, so I suggest you stand down," Zim said calmly. Zim kicked them both down and walked to Komb with Dib; as expected, the old Irken looked ruffled.

"Ah, what an inconvenience, the government and social balance of Irk is downright collapsing in front of our eyes, and you decide to drop in for a pleasant visit," Komb spat.

"I'm not...we're not here for lunch, my Tallest, earth is in trouble with a floating castle which is not only sentient, it can drive anything mad to the point of murderous intentions and cannibalism! If we don't destroy it first, it's going to destroy earth and destroy us!"

Komb looked unimpressed, "Really Zim? Resorting to old ancient Irken folk tales to get weapons? You truly are a bad liar!"

Dib became agitated, Komb was stubborn and even worse than an ox, "He's telling you the truth, sir! Our planets won't last through the year with that thing on its way! We need every Irken soldier's on some of the strongest, most powerful ship's to slaughter Kastron out of the damn—" Komb put his claws over Dib's mouth, his silver eyes looking glassy.

"Kastron?" Komb repeated, "As in Kastronlunic? How does an alien outside of Irk know that name?"

"He was in my dreams," Dib replied, "This eye saw it, as did my fourth eye." Komb stumbled back, falling on his suit, as if a revelation struck him so hard that it left him winded. He was now staring at Zim and Dib with lenses as wide as plates.

"Nyein, nyein, nyein!" Komb blurted, "Prooctul ch'kal!"

"What's he speaking in old Irken tongue for?" Dib asked Zim. Zim sighed.

"He's one of the last oldest generations of Irkens," Zim said, "He's in shock."

Komb slammed his gauntlet and pointed to Zim, his eyes blazing, "You! I've heard and read stories about you, yet I never thought in all my lifetime that I would be in the same room as this monster!" Komb stood up and gripped his claws around Zim's neck, "Zim was bad enough, now we have Zimalyon on the planet! Get him out Zim! I need to speak with that ruthless son of a bitch!"

"Don't talk to Zim like that!" Dib yelled, "He's trying to save you and—"

"You stay out of this, prophet!" Komb shouted, "This is Irken affairs!"

Zim's expression changed as he let out an ominous growl, there was no warning as Zimalyon forced himself to prepare to speak with the older Tallest; like a demon raising his head from being below the waters. "Don't insult him like that, especially in front of me, Komb!" Zim snarled, "His affairs are our affairs!" Komb smacked Zim with his gauntlet, the blunt side striking so hard that Zim's forehead was bleeding, "Rather distasteful of a government figure to show such brutality…"

"You're one to talk, Zimalyon! You've cost this empire it's population, not just since Zim was born, but as Invader Fir, Kuls, Ruben and Xical!" Komb boomed. Zim rolled his eyes.

"I remember my past bodies...poor heirs that were not my true half," Zim glared, "You summoned me to scold me?"

"No…" Komb sighed, "I will not follow your demands unless I know that you're not lying; so we're going to take you to meet someone who you haven't seen in decades, you remember Fukuam, don't you? The first control brain, master control brain."

"Ah, Fukuam'der, I am surprised to hear he hasn't died yet."

"You shall meet his gaze," Komb said and looked to Dib, gesturing him to come with. It was hard to tell if Komb just wanted him to come because he was important, or he just wanted Zim to not have a fit by excluding him. The three with a couple of guards went to an elevator that was hidden behind a wall and Komb typed in Irken sigils into a monitor, before the elevator shook to life and brought them downwards to the underbelly of the palace, or more precisely, the underbelly of Irk itself; the tunnel leading to the old control brain was wrapped in wires with altars and maintenance workers were keeping an eye on water pressure, while a few pumped in a pink liquid bubbling from a large oxygen tank that was the size of a large water barrel. Dib could hear the soft beeping of a life support system, but once they reached Fukuam, Dib realized they were a symphony of life support monitors attached to the walls pinging in sync that it sounded like just one. Fukuam was undoubtedly the last great grandfather of the Irken control brains, the Irkens could not bear the thought of Fukuam dying in such dark times when guidance was needed, and the machine with multiple eyes with its brain inside of the tank, Fukuam was precious and of value. Dib felt a gasp escape him when Zim had kneeled and bowed in front of the dying brain being held by life support and medication, as if he was a knight bowing before a dying king.

"ZIMALYON," Fukuam boomed, an elderly man's voice coming from the twitching muscles, "After decades of giving me your back, you decide to finally kneel? I am aware of your role in all this, why must you return in front of me, to mock me, are you really so—"

"I am not here to get into one of our old spats, Fukuam'der," Zim said standing back up, "Kastron is hovering in the skies looking for a bloody banquet. Please give me permission to have an army to fight back against this gluttonous idiot."

"Permission denied."

"What?!" Zim exclaimed, "You old piece of muscle fats! The empire is tearing up, Ryda is releasing her subjects including Juxteen, and you're denying me men to kill Kastron?!"

"I shall give you your men, but you have to earn your permission...remove your rag so you may expose your back. I will make you bleed on the floor; I will decide when you have bled enough, this is our law, you will abide."

Dib scowled, and looked at Komb, justifiably aghast at the suggestion of a whipping just to get ship's to fight for them. It was barbaric and Komb was silent, not in a hint of concern, but the older Irken looked on with disgustingly sweet satisfaction as Zim pulled off his uniform and was placed and shackled by leather as Fukuam railed chords onto Zim's back. Zim bit his lip as the pain enveloped him like fire; Dib couldn't take a second minute of this, "Stop this! Stop this!" Dib yelled, "Tallest Komb stop Fukuam! Zim is in pain enough, isn't that…?!"

Komb glared, "You're merely nothing to us, boy, prophet or not, these are our laws." Dib clenched his fists as Zim's grunts of pain echoed through the entire room, the other Irkens had their lenses twinkling at seeing Zim be whipped by Fukuam. They were no better than humans who lived off the sight of suffering as if it was a fine meal. Dib felt his boots become heavy and his fourth eye burned with intensity. This was for self satisfaction; they were doing what Ryda wanted, no mercy and the pain she'll give in return would just as painful. Zim's blood reeked more pungent than the usual taste of copper pennies, it smelled like burning rust, and a musk sour aftertaste touched everyone's tongues; that stench was enough to light a fire inside of Dib, he moved in front of Zim with a swift speed and held his ground before clenching the metal chords like he was wrangling two serpents. Zim slumped in exhaustion, in a green pool underneath him. Komb furrowed in irritants.

"Blasphemous!" the old Tallest yelled, "Utterly blasphemous!"

"I could care less about blasphemy when you and Fukuam are being big dumbasses and making things worse!" Dib retorted, "If you don't stop, I'm going to pull these tentacles out from this brain fucker!"

"LET GO OF ME HUMAN! I WON'T HESITATE TO KILL YOU NO MATTER MY AGE!"

"Y-you know…" Dib stuttered, feeling the adrenaline pumping through him that it was making him dizzy, "Maybe Zim and I should just leave Zimalyon to do his duty! Let him open space and let him put revenge on you—all of you! Is that what you want out of this?! This is what Ryda wants! Ryda wants Irk to commit hurting Zimalyon because it justifies your end!"

"You shut your mouth!" Komb bellowed, "This is all nonsense! N-n-nothing but old galactic fairy tales!"

Zim glared, "You sure changed your sweet tune; you looked happy seeing me being whipped by the master control brain," he slowly got up, and walked towards Fukuam, "This brain remembers who I am, and so do you. You can't deny it now, you and Fukuam agreed to this just because you think this stops everything. My death does not stop the death of the universe; it is my spear, my birthright. I am the executioner of everything!" Dib shivered.

"Wait, wait…" Dib held his head, trying to absorb the situation, "I thought you said you weren't Zimalyon, now you are?" Dib soon came to the revelation that the Irken before him was a different Zim; they were in the same soul yet weren't perfect halves, Dib could only see it as a coin with heads and tails; one was always there, wherever it landed, it was a different design but connected by the metal.

"I thought you caught on about this," Zimalyon said, "The universal equivalent to soul mates; not exactly like lovers, but...complicated by human words. Zim and I are the same, I guess you can say he was birthed by my chaos; you can't have a tank without a gun, or you can't have a sword without a blade. Zim was...is my sword and my gun."

"But that's...that's cruel isn't it?"

"What is?"

"You're...I mean, isn't this like possession?" Dib said, horrified.

"It's not possession if I've always been there, silly human," Zimalyon replied, "Think of it, more closer to, past lives...but to be more specific, Zim is a demigod because of me, but that's by human terms."

"Let the human question this revelation and he too will slip further into madness! Zimalyon, I command you to—"

Zimalyon gripped Fukuam's tentacles, and made the metal wriggle as if he was toying with a large worm, "About my men! I spilled more than three puddles worth of blood for your hedonism, now get me pilots en route for earth."

"Barbaric star savage…" Fukuam growled.

Zimalyon kicked Fukuam's computer monitor, causing the system to grunt in pain from just the kick alone, "Is that a yes or no, Fukuam'der?" Zimalyon barked, "I can cut you from your life system or yank these bothersome limbs off, or...I can do both, if you annoy me enough." Zimalyon was cut off guard when the back of his head was struck with a heavy cart used for carrying the control brain's medication. Zimalyon went flying and impacted; he slammed against the life support monitors. Komb caught his breath in aggression, if he were human, his face would have been tomato red with rage but instead it was a hot blue. He pointed his gauntlets to outside the tunnel in a furor that only elders and seniors wielded, a sour sickly smell came from his body as Komb's face contorted.

"You destroy Fukuam—you destroy me!" Komb bellowed, "I shall give your comrades, just get out! OUT! Before I decide to order my guards to kill you both! Out with you! Out! Out! Out! OUT!"

There was a downside for being a God inside of a mortal, God's felt pain, whether it was metaphorical or real, but to feel it wrapped in mortal wool was a heavy burden even to the most immortal. Even if you drank ambrosia, you could still feel the pain of blood loss or your chest bursting open to give birth to more deities. Zimalyon felt his head was sore and pained, meanwhile his back felt like needles were stinging his skin, but he fell silent when he felt he was on a bed and his body being wrapped with bandages; since Zim's body was almost Dib's height, he could feel the gentleness of tending to his wounds, even if Zimalyon similarly hated the burning feeling of antiseptic; he much preferred being drunk to numb the pain, or even bite a coin, but with Zim asleep within this time. This would be a nice small hour to be with Dib privately, Zim had been hogging him, it felt unfair. Dib looked apologetic at his messy attempt to tie up a gauze, before settling it with a heavy medical tape.

"Sorry...I'm not the best nurse," Dib said.

Zimalyon sighed, "I went through amputations, and trench fever in my past decades. You've done much better than those that were assigned to me; I lost count of my deaths." Dib froze a bit, remembering this was another side of Zim. Dib sat down next to him after putting the first aid kit away. "You look like you never saw me before; I guess in soul but not in body. I don't know how Zim even manages…"

"H-how long?"

Zimalyon was taken aback, "What?"

"How long have you been within Zim?!" Dib yelled, his voice cracking, "I just...I don't know how to take this...a-at first I thought maybe Zim was being confused for another individual, but then you and him kept switching, and it's just—! Fuck! Why did it have to be this way?!" Zimalyon stroked his cheek.

"Zim and I are the same...are you scared he's going to leave you?"

"I just don't want you to…"

Zimalyon shook his head, "You're so naive and dense, have you ever broken a plate in half? That's the best way I can describe it to you as the details are too complex to be comprehended. I think I put in more than enough explanations to who I am to Zim; but who listens to deity known for making a river of blood?" Dib rubbed his neck, feeling guilt and confusion but yes, Zimalyon did his best to explain in the simplest ways he possibly could. Dib just refused to accept it; growing up with the paranormal, he thought it was possession but…

"Are you scared of me?" Zimalyon asked. Dib felt his brain go blank from such a question.

"A...a bit…" Dib replied, his tone coming out as a hesitant squeak.

Zimalyon chuckled, "Yet you scared Komb more than I did. No one on Irk expects a foreigner from another planet to rebel against a control brain."

"He could've killed you. I...I don't know what came over me, I just felt so heavy like stones were in my shoes and I just...h-held it...I couldn't…" Dib stammered, "A-am I becoming less human? I still feel human, but what I did—please Zimalyon, what's happening? I just have visions, right?!" Zimalyon stroked his head, noticing the human was on the verge of hysterics, "I'm just a prophet! I should be only seeing premonitions, I shouldn't be—!"

"Answer me, human, did Juxteen touch you?" Zimalyon asked softly.

"Yes...on my head…"

"He said you interrupted his feeding part way through."

"Yes…"

Zimalyon felt his head, "You humans, have a more complex brain system than us. I imagine not only is your damaged eye and the dark blood from Juxteen is giving you premonitions. I think you are becoming something like me; but we won't know till we get to that," he smiled at Dib, "If you care about the humanity in you, that compassion. It will be kept." Dib clutched his head, having tears fall onto the bed cloth. It must have been relief, the weight let go and Dib finally cracked and broke into tears. He was terrified of losing his humanity, as if one morning he'd wake up as a monster like Gregor Samsa. Zimalyon laid Dib down to rest on the bed, Dib felt sleep envelope him almost instantly. Dib felt his feet grow light within the dream realm fogged by red clouds and twisted castles.

Red was in no mood for papers once Lard Nar finally sent his set of terms to the hospital. Red barely found them worth it once he saw release my people and join us in battle were written in a Vortian cursive. Red at best, was empty and exhausted, his paranoia was played with because of Ryda. He was on the surface of a planet, why couldn't she just smite him through the hospital window? Red never felt so miserable and depressed, the lack of sleep was taking a toll on him as a young adult Irken. Red looked over at the terms, putting his claws around it, but he felt terrified to crumple it. Damn it, he couldn't just check mark no, and wallow in this bleach smelling hall prison. Red was the Tallest, the leader of Irk. When was the last time he did anything significant?! Red let out a frustrated moan before his nurse came in.

"You have a call."

"T-Tallest Purple?"

"No, the Vortian that visited you last. He says it's urgent."

Red sighed, caving in. He didn't understand why Lard Nar would be contacting him, of all times. Red pressed a button on his bed remote control and the TV changed to a transmission call. Lard Nar had his goggles glowing against a black backdrop. Red was indifferent to see this, his exhaustion numbing any sense of remark or retort till Lard Nar opened his mouth.

"Am I spooky yet?"

"No," Red replied bluntly.