A/N: The final chapter – can you believe it? A couple last issues to address and then the second blow hits Warren and sends him into an emotional maelstrom. Without further ado…

Chapter 39

Ta'uii stirred. Awareness was contained within a single ignited node. Determine status. Energy levels dangerously low. Power flux likely. Expenditure unjustified to awaken more fully. Conserve. Ignore. Return to standby.

Then another energy flux, more potent. The node reignited in protest, as did another adjoining node. A malfunction? Intruders? Ta'uii assessed reserves against the power requirements for a brief system diagnostic. Too costly. Internal scan? Energy expenditure within acceptable limits.

Diverting precious reserves to an internal scanner near the irritated nodes, Ta'uii performed a short-burst sweep. Intruders! Odd beings – in this dimension and yet not of it. Unwelcomed. Not of the Creators. Trespassing. Attempting to stimulate with incompatible energy.

Ta'uii recalled a similar jarring from its slumber. Those intruders included one of the Creators' creations – a being of compatible energy. Without proficiency, the tiny being attempted unification, but the creature's Ura was conflicted. Was it being forced? Was it guilt from bringing the unworthy within? Ta'uii could not know. It mattered not. Attempted unification was sacrilege under such conditions in spite of the need to replenish power reserves. With regret for opportunity lost, Ta'uii had dealt with the blasphemy, sparing no one.

While the current intrusion had not crossed into the blasphemous, it was irreverent. Only the Creators or of their genesis were allowed inside. The interlopers were neither. Despite energy levels hovering at critical levels, the eradication was necessary, but costly. Another dip in reserves. If a valid conduit did not come soon, Ta'uii would go into total shutdown and thus forsake its guardianship. That was unacceptable.

###

General Gtar-Cro was troubled. Ztar could feel it empathically. "We believe this is more than it appears on the surface."

"How so?" Ztar prompted, tension clutching at his chest. The General had come to Imperial palace on Sat'rey to personally report, which likely meant Gtar-Cro had learned something disturbing, and in this case, it was regarding Archangel. The Emperor barely had time to settle from his return trip from Tchutchka Centrus when the head of Military Intelligence arrived.

"The timing and nature of the information gained. My interpretation is that someone besides us wants Archangel cleared of the Tchutchka allegations."

Ztar jerked with surprise. "Explain."

Gtar-Cro fingered the controls to bring up a holographic image of a male in typical Etagllot security garb. "One of the captives from the Raix raid – Security Head Jmaricz. He apparently transferred to Raix Two just days after the Tchutchka incident. Prior to that, his sanitized memories place him at another Etagllot facility. The specifics of that other location have been wiped in keeping with Etagllot procedures. However, hints of recent involvement in planning a subject acquisition were found amongst the memory fragments. Our telepath uncovered clues that lead her to believe that the kidnapping target was Archangel and involved three operatives being sent to Sector Four."

Sector Four included Tchutchka Centrus. "And so a potential link between Archangel's assailants and the Etagllot falls into our hands…evidence that strengthens our case. Does seem serendipitously coincidental."

"Indeed, but while it is not undeniable proof the three men were Etagllot operatives, it does put their presence and motives into deeper question."

"Perhaps enough doubt to stave off a Full Order against Archangel." Ztar looked inquisitively at his general. Something wasn't sitting right with the man. "Yet you are suspicious of the retrieved memories."

"Actually, our telepath raised suspicions. In her second probe, she found a small contradiction in the timeline of those memories – a snippet that would place the security officer in two locations at one time – Raix Two and his previous assignment."

"She is certain of the timing? That can be tricky to pinpoint," Ztar noted. He was all too familiar with the often elusive determination of time as linked with memories, especially fractured ones.

"That is many times the case. However, in this instance, it is a memory of a specific news clip broadcast only on Raix Two during the time the officer was supposedly at the other location. We've already verified the report did not spread to the comnet newsfeeds."

"And thus our security officer had to be on Raix Two during the broadcast. We know this other facility is not on R2?"

"Our telepath is highly skilled and adamant that the trip from the other location to R2 entailed many days of FTL travel according to the officer's memories. Most of those recollections are in tact as they pose no security risk to the Etagllot."

"So we're left with a conflict. That usually means planted memories." Ztar was becoming as uneasy about the intel as his general.

"Precisely. More than that, the planted memories were skillfully created to appear as if they were remnants missed by Etagllot telepaths during sanitizing. If not for the news report, we would have no evidence that the recollections were not the officer's own. Whoever performed the memory manipulation is quite talented."

"As is your telepath apparently." Gtar-Cro smirked oddly at that, Ztar thought.

"She is."

"She found nothing else to question the validity of planted memories of other facility, the kidnapping plot, or this man's involvement?"

"Nothing."

"And nothing in the minds of the other captured Etagllots that contradict?"

"No, my Emperor. Aside from the news report, nothing challenges the suspect memories."

"And the memory of the news item…she believes that is genuine?"

"She does. The officer's reactions to the broadcast match his emotional profile."

Ztar understood what their telepath meant. Strong emotional reactions carry the signature of their owner that is impossible to replicate in false memories even by the most skilled telepath. Memories do not reside in isolation and those with accompanying strong emotions weave threads to other memories, usually to those of similar nature. A trained mentalist seeks analogous memories within the subject to compare against the suspect memory as an authenticity check – not unlike running a comparative DNA analysis.

"What was the news story?" he wondered.

"A local child died in an incident involving a skimmer being operated recklessly. The officer had a sibling that was killed in a similar accident when they were both young."

"Do you believe there is evidence to link the three men to the Etagllot?"

"Coupled with what we have learned of their background, I believe we have an arguable case."

The whole situation felt oddly twisted. Ztar laid the facts out mentally and looked at them from different angles. This possible manipulate reminded Ztar of the other maneuverings of events MI had been uncovering. Then a possibility emerged. "Perhaps their telepath was leaving a calling card," Ztar proposed.

Gtar-Cro looked thoughtful at the suggestion. "What are you thinking, my Emperor?"

"If we take the newscast out of the equation, the balance of the memory implants appear to be just as you said – sanitation remnants. Fragments that under normal circumstances pose little security risk to the Etagllot. And nothing to raise questions as to their validity, if what our telepath says is accurate. That is the work of a highly skilled telepath. To leave such an obvious conflicting memory is contradictive of that skill. Our benefactor has shown himself. The question is why?"

The Emperor's fellow Turzent nodded slowly. "Our benefactor has also provided us a choice. Erase the contradicting memory and turn our captive over to the Tchuts as evidence supporting our contention of a thwarted Etagllot kidnapping attempt, or leave it and discard the gift." General looked uneasy at that assessment. "But why the calling card? And more puzzling, why such a convoluted exercise? Certainly, there are more straightforward methods to getting the charges dismissed."

Ztar nodded almost absentmindedly, his mind filled with questions. "The calling card? Perhaps a test of our integrity or a show of power – maybe both. And if the Etagllot want Archangel free – want it intensely enough to sacrifice one of their own facilities – to what purpose? Their methods are puzzling. With their resources, they could conceivably snatch him from a Tchut facility if he was incarcerated."

Gtar-Cro leaned in once again. "There was a limit to their sacrifice, my Emperor. Their head researcher and two senior assistants were not among those captured. Neither did we recover any significant research data."

"Perhaps forfeiture of that facility wasn't much of a loss. Perhaps it had served their purpose."

Gtar-Cro braced himself. "We found evidence the head researcher as Hercjell al'Verta."

Ztar's spine stiffened at the name and his anger flared. "Again? Damn the gods! Why is it that woman keeps surfacing only to elude us? We are being taunted!" Then he quickly reined in his emotions.

Gtar-Cro waited for the strong reaction to subside before offering another possibility. "Or someone is trying to keep us focused in a certain direction."

So many variables to be weighed and analyzed – Ztar needed to step back and digest all they had learned over the weeks concerning the entire situation.

"General, I will give you a few days to consider what we've learned while I do likewise. I want a report on your conclusions, speculations, and recommendations." Gtar-Cro acknowledged with an upturned hand. In that moment, Ztar came to a decision he knew the General would not like. "I want your telepath to erase the contradicting memory and then you will turn him over to the Tchuts with the understanding that he falls under terrorist protocols."

The General's trained neutral expression fell away. "But if they discover-"

"They won't if your telepath is as good as she appears to be."

Gtar-Cro was not happy and it came through empathically to Ztar. He watched as the man determined his response. "I am uncomfortable with that decision, my Emperor."

"I will not argue the point. Do as I command," Ztar ordered with a touch of harshness in tone and body language. Then he softened his demeanor and voice. "General…my friend. We both know Archangel is innocent. I choose to use the gift given to us by the Etagllot even if we cannot yet surmise the reasons or ramifications. It may be foolish, but it gains us time if nothing else. Stjarmas'de believes Magistrate Nzonzdri intends to move to a Full Order despite Archangel's performance during questioning – a move to force our hand over his traveling companion. They hope we will entice her to submit to questioning if enough pressure is applied against Archangel."

Gtar-Cro nodded and protested no further. "I will make the arrangements immediately."

"Have another telepath check her work."

"Of course. She is quite impressive, Emperor…a powerful, well-trained mind."

Gtar-Cro's face invited inquiry. Ztar raised his eyebrows. "Her name?"

"Migiun."

The name immediately registered with Ztar. "As in Migiun from Ymoz?"

Gtar-Cro's eyes twinkled slightly. "A little gift for you today. I was waiting for the right time."

"Gift is right!" His heart rejoiced at the news. "She risked not only herself but her family to help Archangel and me escape. How did you find her? When?"

"She was recovered as part of the joint raid with the Par-Sen on Li'Onso Si within their territory."

"Which took place about six imperial months ago, correct?"

"Yes."

"And her recollections of Ymoz?"

The military man smiled appreciatively. "You're skills are without equal. She recalls nothing of your time at the facility."

"Part of me would have liked her to have remembered me," he said allowing the disappointment to come through. "And her family?"

"Safe as we can keep them from a distance. We will maintain a security veil around them for another few months. Migiun is comfortable that the Etagllot likely have larger concerns than a lone telepath lost in a raid."

"I'd like to meet her and give Migiun the opportunity to fill the memory gap from my mind."

The surprised look and empathic jerk he received from the General was rewarding. "You're certain you wish to do that, Emperor?"

"I am. It would be a small payment on a very large debt."

"Then I will coordinate with Sukja for that meeting."

Ztar pushed back from the conference table indicating his desire to wrap things up. "Meanwhile, you and I have mysteries to mull over. As typical, the motives and maneuverings of the Etagllot leave us perplexed." He stood and Gtar-Cro followed suit.

"Sometimes more so than others." A questioning gaze fell on Ztar. "There is nothing more then, my Emperor?"

"No, that will be all today." Ztar cocked an eyebrow, but Gtar-Cro only nodded acknowledgement. Empathic senses whispered of things bothering his old friend that had nothing to do with the Etagllot. They rose and moved toward the door of Ztar's office. Gtar-Cro hesitated as his hand reached toward the control pad. Finally, the hand dropped and he swung back toward Ztar.

"My Emperor, about Neu…"

"Neu is to lie quietly. Have your bridge crew's memories been modified?"

The face of his faithful supported was strained. "As you ordered, yes. And the ship's logs have been wiped. Do you wish the same for me?"

Ztar shared a gentle smile. "I trust you."

"Then what did I see because what my eyes tell me should not be. What was that power? The black ship? Who is the winged female? Is Archangel more than I believed? Sensors read him as Human and her as Sat'reyan…"

"Archangel holds to his Human heritage. The female is as she appears and her power is apparently great. As for the black ship, that was as much of a surprise to me as to you. We need to find out more and I leave that to you."

Gtar-Cro's eyes locked onto Ztar's firmly. "What you ask me to believe is that an Esserru lives." Ztar nodded. "Are there more?"

"I do not know. Her existence must remain secret – Archangel was firm. I vowed to him the knowledge would stay with me."

Gtar-Cro sighed deeply. "As you explained earlier. I understand. Which brings us to the real reason for my personal visit."

Ztar's stomach clenched as he knew without doubt what was about to be asked.

"If secrecy is indeed vital, if the existence of a long-thought extinct race must not be revealed, then I should not know. The telepath who sanitized my crew's memories is waiting for you to do likewise to him." The man steeled himself. "You must do the same with me. Your vow to Archangel cannot be broken."

Ztar felt the sting of moisture in his eyes. His dear friend and stalwart supporter was granting permission to erase knowledge from his mind to give Ztar the chance to keep his pledge. He laid a hand on the broad shoulder. As much as he detested the thought, it was an offer Ztar would not pass up. "Are you certain?"

The dark Turzent eyes never waivered from Ztar's. "I am. I will not be the reason your oath is broken. Do not ask me to carry that burden."

"You are a man of great honor and loyalty, General Gtar-Cro of the Royal Court of Ztar. I will not forget this sacrifice."

The General stood tall at the praise. The man would be fully aware of the memory gap and that Ztar was responsible, but he would not recall what Ztar took from him. And so with a heavy heart, the powerful telepath gently erased most of Gtar-Cro's memories of Neu. He left knowledge of the barely detectable ship sitting in a mountain valley as that ship was not new knowledge and he left awareness of the black spaceship. Ztar wanted Gtar-Cro to pursue that ominous mystery. The telepath was then summoned and the procedure repeated.

As his old friend departed, Ztar reviewed the challenges they faced. Etagllot. Deepening unrest in the Commonwealth. The possibility that someone was manipulating events as far back as Ztar's rise to power, perhaps even earlier. The black ship at Neu. Eshaaru. And last but not least, Archangel. What had the man gotten involved in and how did that tie into the mysterious black ship? And what of the information broker called Tider and the long search for a legendary library that until recently Ztar believed was only myth? A search, according to what MI was uncovering, had been going on under their noses for hundreds of years.

Then there was the report voicing concern over unusual activity at the heart of the galaxy. Ztar had already commanded resources be directed at confirming the findings and begin researching methods to overcome any subspace interference resulting from the energy flare shockwaves. That was all he could do for the moment.

Ztar sighed as he returned to his desk. He looked at the surface spread before him. On it rested his PI, a few personal mementos, a secondary computer interface built into the desktop, a snack plate Sukja had brought him that he hadn't touched. It could be anyone's desk. What made it the desk of an emperor was not the visible, it was the unseen…the burdens, problems, challenges; the triumphs and glories lying upon it.

He picked up the holo-pic of Jharda and him taken on their getaway after she told him she was pregnant. Ztar smiled at the memories and warmth spread in his chest. He loved her fiercely, as he did their unborn child. The Empire must continue for their child's sake and for the sake of all the children of his realm. They deserved a safe, stable home. If Ztar ever had a reason for ensuring the strength and continuity of the realm he built, it was now. For his child.

Setting the holo-image back in its place of honor at the front of his desk, he felt a renewed drive and determination. He would eradicate the Etagllot. He would take whatever measures were necessary should the Commonwealth situation grow worse. He would extend his reach beyond the borders of the empire and welcome deserving worlds into the fold, but only if they strengthened his infant imperiocratic kingdom. That and more he would do for the people who called the Turzent Empire home. That he would do for his unborn child who one day would be king.

###

Warren jolted and his eyes shot open. He was breathless and sweaty – a bad dream. But even as he tried to grab the fleeting images, they slipped away. Something about Apocalypse, that much he knew. The lab? Metal wings. Sinister laughter. That was about as much as he could recall, but the emotions were strong. Terror and dread.

It'd been some time since his mind had conjured a nightmare about the ancient, god-like being and the atrocity he inflicted. 'Why now?' Rubbing his face, he concluded it must be all the upheaval and tension. Volu was taking them back to Earth after his feral episode and Warren's decision. The last several days had been extremely difficult. Ettwanae rarely emerged from her room, Flint was sulking, and Gatebi seemed torn between anger and understanding the decision. Volu had been the most accepting, maybe more fully appreciating the danger he posed.

Another issue made the slow passage of the days difficult. Warren still felt…off – as if something hadn't quite resettled right after Volu shocked him back to himself. If you asked him to describe what was wrong, he wouldn't be able to. He hadn't said anything to his shipmates or Volu. Whatever it was, he reasoned, would work itself out once he was back on Earth.

Lying quietly, he let the feelings and adrenaline from the dream dissipate and tried to ignore the fact that he had to pee, but nature wasn't going to be denied. With a groan, he swung his legs over the bed and rose to sneak through Flint's room to the toilet. Thankfully, the teen slept like the dead. Volu, in her ever watchful state, gave him just enough light to navigate. Washing his hands after relieving himself, something looked odd even in the very low illumination.

"Volu, could I have more light please?" he requested softly.

What he saw next stopped his heart and stole the air from his lungs. He blinked hard. 'Can't be.' Squeezing his eyes shut and reopening them, he held his hands out again. Nothing had changed. Blood turned to flowing ice in his veins and the universe imploded to encompass only the dreaded sight before him. His mind refused to accept, refused to move beyond numbed shock as he stared. Then like an explosive shockwave, all that it meant slammed into him and he swayed under its impact, grabbing the sink as an anchor.

"God, no!" The exclamation escaped around the choking tightness in his throat and pounding in his chest. All the air vacated the room – he was suffocating and felt faint. Sucking in deep breaths, he seized onto the one explanation that would make the horror go away. 'Dreaming. You're still reaming. Wake up, War!' Closing his eyes again, he shook his head to loosen the nightmare's hold. Reopening one eye, he looked down at the hands clamped onto the sink edge in a death grip. No change. His heart lurched painfully in his chest. The room whirled nearly causing him to drop to his knees, but he held on.

Warren couldn't bring himself to look at the face in the mirror-like surface above the sink. In desperation, he reached out to the heavens for mercy. 'God, please, not this, I'm begging you. I'll do anything – anything; just don't let it be real. Please, don't let it be real…' he implored with every fiber of his being, pushing the plea out to the deity – any deity that might listen. 'Not now, not again. Have mercy!'

Risking a fall to the floor, he raised up his hands. 'A dream…just a bad dream. Not real.' Slowly, fearfully, he reopened his eyes willing the horror to be gone. It was not. In front of him were two shaking, deep sky blue hands.

'No!' His mental scream sliced through to his soul. Forcing himself to examine his condition, he turned his hands over and under. Sky-blue color completely covered them. He followed the pigment up the wrist, forearm, but then near his elbow, it faded and the rest of his arms were a normal skin tone. His eyes were riveted to the transition point. Hope. A sign that the transformation had only gone so far. But how far elsewhere? He wanted to know, yet didn't. 'You need to look,' he told himself. 'What are you going to do? Stand here the rest of the night not looking?' he argued with himself. 'At least the wings feel normal,' he allowed himself that much reassurance.

With a deep inhale and intense dread, he forced his eyes to his reflection. The face that stared back at him had gone pallid and its eyes were wide, but it was normal. 'Not blue!' And the wings framing his golden-haired head were still fully feathered and of pure white. 'Just the hands. Thank you, God!' The wash of tenuous relief swept away the little remaining strength in his legs. Warren sank to the floor as tears formed and blurred his vision. 'Please, no further…I beg you,' he prayed. Blinking the tears away, he closely examined the hands that seemed to belong to someone else. 'These hands do belong to someone else – to Apocalypse's creature. Means only one thing, the nannites are active.' As he thought the words, his stomach roiled. 'Am I changing back? Can't do that again…can't! A nightmare. Not real. I won't let it be real!'

He groaned, pulling his wings forward to encase him. Uncontrollable shudders racked him. Bile rose in his throat. 'You will not have me! I'm Warren, not Death!' Thoughts raced to horrifying images of becoming the ruthless killing machine. The metal wings, intense blue skin, the feather blades of death… He lunged to the toilet barely before losing his stomach juices, the bitter taste causing him to heave again. Leaning over the Eshaar'ne's version of the porcelain god, he prayed fervently. Tears traced his face and his body trembled as he begged, made promises, and bargained with his god. He couldn't go back to that. He'd come so far over the past couple years; made so much progress in relearning to love himself and believe in his own worth. In the space of a few moments, all that threatened to crumble.

"Warren?" came the tentative voice. It was Volu, of course. It actually surprised Warren she hadn't spoken sooner. "Warren, what is wrong? I sense your distress. Are you ill?"

'She can't see me in here, thank god!'

"S-something I ate," he offered lamely. There'd be no fooling the Eshaar'ne for long – no missing the blue hands. And what if the transformation was working its way toward the rest of his body? Would he soon be blue all over? Would he lose his precious wings to the metal monstrosities? His stomach wrenched again and offered the porcelain god a dry heave.

"Please, what is wrong? What do you need?"

He spit the bitterness into the toilet and with shaking hands wiped his mouth and sweating face with the imperial version of toilet paper.

"What is happening?" Volu queried again with more distress.

Gathering himself as best he could, he eased back slightly. Warren suspected Volu wasn't quite buying his explanation. With skills developed over the years, he dug deep to calm himself and find steadiness amongst the maelstrom. Drawing in a shaky breath, he exhaled it slowly. Another inhale/exhale – a tad less quivering. A third followed. Pushing back further, he rested on his haunches. Looking to his hands, his heart skipped a beat. Were they less blue? He squeezed his eyes closed and whispered. "Please, please, please…" and after an eternally long half minute, he peeked. The blue was definitely fading! 'Yes! Keep going, come on!' He watched in soul-felt relief as his natural coloring returned. When the last blue tinge faded, he fell backward against the wall. 'Thank you, God! Thank you, a thousand times, thank you.' Tears of a different kind trickled down his face. He could breathe freely again.

"Warren, please answer me. Your bio signs are chaotic." The voice was softly urgent. "Shall I wake Ettwanae? Flint?"

"No!" he said too loudly and winced. "No," he repeated much more softly. "I'm feeling better. Has to be something I ate. Didn't settle right. Just need to get back to my room." On shaky legs, he rose, thankful that at least it didn't sound like Volu had scanned him deeply enough to detect the nannite activity. With each step he took toward the bedroom, he felt a bit stronger, physically at least. Mentally was another matter. Crawling atop the soft mattress, Warren pulled in upon himself – back against the wall, knees up, wings forward to form their protective sheath. He snorted at the irony of his shield for the enemy was within it.

'Now what?' he asked himself. 'What if the transformation doesn't stop next time? What woke the nannites? Did they receive some sort of signal? But they didn't fully activate – what does that mean? Have they been damaged?' He squeezed his wings closer, trying to find reassurance within their comforting softness. He focused on the silky pleasure of feathers against his bare skin. With a trembling hand, he reached for a wing edge, grasped it lightly, and trailed down from the arch to as far as his arm extended. He compared that feel to the memories of the bio-steel wings he had endured for…how long?

'How close was I to losing you just now?' Thoughts of his precious feathered appendages being stolen a second time drove terror to his core. 'Blue skin I can deal with, but the loss of you?' he asked, stroking the feathers. 'Don't think I could live through that again.' His throat constricted, making it difficult to swallow.

The metal wings had given him flight, true, but it had been cold flight without feeling the subtle caresses of the wind, without the sensuality of riding the currents. Mechanical. Almost dead. The bio-steel sensations had been mere echoes of what his real wings could feel. His soul had known the difference and tolerated the cruel replicas for what they provided, but they couldn't make his heart sing with joy and were a barrier between him and the spirit of the firmament.

'You knew this could happen…knew the threat was only lying dormant.' He'd understood the nannites could reawakened, but shoved the knowing into the background to cope – ever-present, but not completely in his consciousness. If he hadn't, he would have lived in constant anxiety, always afraid something would set them off. Only once since they originally went dormant was there even a hint they may have activated – when he nearly died of the Wynnar-Qxani virus. Yet that hadn't rattled him. After all, no sign of blue skin or steel wings; probably not the nannites at all. Probably what he now knew as Source energy.

'What changed?' If the nannites were starting to stir, his life was about to become very uncertain. Would they morph him once again into the steel-winged avatar of death? Would they find the darkness in his soul as before? Would he be strong enough to resist? Would he want to? He did feel psychologically stronger than he ever had, but what weaknesses would they exploit to lure him into succumbing to Apocalypse's will?

Many questions. No answers. Fear clamped down tightly.

"Warren," the female voice interrupted. "are you still ill? I detect unusually high levels of-"

"I'm fine," he cut her off, but gently. "I just want some privacy."

Many seconds of silence followed as the ship obviously evaluated. "Very well, Warren. If you need me, call out." An odd sense of withdrawal passed through the room.

He had to find a way to get out from under the nannite threat. Others who tried to rid him of the infestation, even the vaunted Shi'ar scientists, had failed. There was one more hope, yet he'd already told Ettwanae that he couldn't continue the search with her. His feral side was almost as frightening as the nannites. If he indeed turned feral, he'd put her and the others in danger. Willpower couldn't overcome blind, animal instinct.

Then another horrifying thought hit. What if he transformed and turned feral? 'Oh, god!' There'd be no stopping him. The devastation he could render… Chills raced through him. If that happened on Earth and not within the confines of a ship in space? On Volu, the victims would be few, but on Earth or another inhabited planet? He couldn't go there – couldn't even begin to imagine the death and destruction Apocalypse's creature would wrought in a feral rage. His stomach returned to its churning.

Perhaps he should consider the ultimate sacrifice. End it now. Step out into the vacuum of space and be done with it. That'd be best for all concerned. Even if the nannites somehow prevented his death, he'd be adrift in space, and everyone would be safe. Yet suicide seemed the easy way out. Warren rarely embraced easy. 'You're tough, buddy. Tough as they come. Look what you've overcome! Life has shitted on you so many times and you're still standing. You've finally got yourself together – you going to throw it all away?' But it wasn't just about him, it was about innocent lives that could be destroyed if he transformed into the Horseman of Death and lost control.

In his mind's eye, the balance scale materialized that he had used many times to weigh the pros and cons of a major business decision. This time, though, that scale would balance the ultimate decision – life versus death.

He considered how much he'd accomplished since returning home from Sat'rey – his renewed commitment to Worthington Industries and how that company was stronger than ever. The company was on the right track and flourishing under his reign…an industrial juggernaut, but with a heart – Warren's. If he died, that would be gone. Add weight to the right pan. The scale dipped down in life's favor.

Yet he had a committed Board and skilled senior staff who believed in his vision for Worthington Industries. They could carry on without him. An equal weight he set on the left side – death's side. The scale tilted back to level.

Warren had broadened his charitable foundation's reach and was making a real difference in the lives he touched through it. The scale dipped down for life. But again, the Foundation's Board was solid and dedicated. His legacy and mission would endure. Add a weight to the left pan.

He and his financial resources were helping keep Xavier's school – the man's dream – afloat, not to mention the X-men operation. That was a huge money pit with no source of income aside from Xavier's investments and Warren's very deep pockets. If he wasn't around, his successors could decide to cease the support. Weight to the right.

On the other hand, he'd set up huge trusts for the school and X-men organization that would help ensure their continued financial solvency long after he was gone. Weight to the left.

Ztar. No small thing he'd done there and Warren was whole enough emotionally to finally be proud of the part he played in the Emperor's salvation. Ztar no longer needed him. He would survive Warren's death. Left weight.

Ettwanae. Her search would go on with or without him. They couldn't bond to make that search easier, so what did it really matter if he was along or not? Left weight. Yet he added experience and leadership to the search. And he and Ettwanae together could conjure an impressive power. And his battle skills were also of value. They were perhaps safer with him on the team. Add a piece to the right.

Eradicator of the weak. Harbinger of death. Apocalypse's most feared horseman. His favored creation. The one with the strength to wrest himself from the supermutant's clutches. 'But you really didn't, did you?' Warren admitted bitterly. 'The transformation is only lying dormant. Waiting. Was this small stirring of the nannites a reminder? A warning?' He swallowed as shivers raced down his spine. 'Oh, god. Why me? Why?'

Uncontrolled, the Death persona could kill thousands. Death controlled by Apocalypse would kill thousands. One very large weight to the left. The scale dipped sharply. It was not looking favorable for life. A moan that was more a growl reverberated deep within his chest. He didn't want the result he was seeing. There had to be more he could add to the life side of the scale.

"Where there is life, there is hope. Always remember that." Charles' words came to him so clearly it was as if the man were in the room. Firm. Powerful. Unwavering.

Charles was right. There was hope. Warren had overcome Apocalypse's control before despite being an emotional basket case and injured to his soul at the time. He was much stronger now in body, mind, and spirit. The nannite's power would be far less…Apocalypse's allure a pale shadow of what it was. No. Warren could fight off Death's mental hold. He was certain of it…maybe.

The right side of the scale hung a bit lower, but not enough. His potential to wreak havoc in a feral rage still loomed. Could he fight the nannite programming to kill under the influence of primal instincts? Doubtful. That was an issue he hadn't faced the first time he was Death. Back then, he hadn't had a feral episode since his teenage years. But in the last two years, he'd had three such incidents, and if being around Ettwanae was triggering his feral brain even when he wasn't going through a 'hard' molt…

Warren squeezed his knees tightly to his chest as the scale tilted back to the left – death's side. Something had to balance the scale at least to neutral. Some reason why he shouldn't do the sensible thing and permanently end the threat he posed. His mind raced desperately to find one more weight to add to the argument for life.

The transformation had stopped, reversed even. He was stronger, more mentally sound than before. He was isolated in space for the most part. Volu would do what was necessary should he become uncontrollable. He could warn them, tell them what must be done if the worst happened. Warren added weight to the right.

He examined the scale floating his mind. It still hung too low against him. Potential loss of countless innocent lives against the loss of one. 'Pretty hard to balance that,' he told himself in defeat. 'You should do what is necessary – what is right. The ultimate sacrifice. If there's even a chance you'll revert to Death, end it now. How could you possible justify the risk of not?'

Sacrifice. Suicide. The words sliced like icy daggers. Then with surprisingly swiftness, anger flared from somewhere deep, perhaps as deep as his soul. 'I don't want that! I don't deserve that! I've worked too fucking hard for it to end in martyrdom.' He jerked in realization of what he'd just told himself. 'Drives home how far you've come, War ol' boy. Listen to you…thinking you deserve a fair shake – that you deserve better than the shit life has handed you. Far cry from what you believed just a couple years ago.'

He let that settle and relished the feeling of worthiness he had fought himself to know again. 'To hell with what should be done. What do you want, Worthington? A chance? Are you ready to throw everything away? Are you willing to die because you may transform again? Isn't that a little like sentencing someone to death because they might commit murder?'

With a deep breath, he dropped the wings to open the cocoon and extended his hands in front of him. No sign of blue-toned skin. He felt no different inside or out from a few hours ago. Perhaps it was a fluke brought on by all the tensions of the past weeks, the constant nagging need to take Ettwanae to bed, channeling vast amounts of Aru energy to escape the Dark Ones, along with the feral incident. He could hope. Where there's life, there's hope.

'I'm not willing to give up. Maybe that's selfish and dangerous and irresponsible…but I want to live. I want to choose life. I. Choose. Life.' The right side of the scale bottomed out.

Nothing changed from when he started his interstellar mission. Goal? Get rid of the nannites. Best strategy; maybe his only hope? The vast reservoir of knowledge called Etxan'Ir. Tool of choice – Ettwanae.

He remembered what he'd told her in the very beginning – 'consider yourself being used for my purposes… I can be an asshole…I can be cruel. When I want something bad enough, I am stubborn and sometimes even ruthless.' That sentiment had softened over the past weeks, but now he'd need to reassert it. Etxan'Ir holding a cure was long shot, true, but the situation had turned from simple desire to desperation and he'd take long shots over no shots. Oh, he'd tell her and the others the dangers if he went feral or turned into blue Death – it was the right thing to do. And if Flint and Gatebi wanted to ditch for their own safety, that was perfectly fine. In fact, he'd prefer it – fewer people to worry about if the worst happened.

Decision made. He was done with self-sacrificing and putting his needs aside, at least this particular one. 'Time to be the badass Flint says you are!'

In the morning, he'd gather everyone and explain. If Ettwanae and Volu wanted to find their people as desperately as he wanted a cure, they'd risk keeping him aboard. If not, honesty may backfire and they'd kick him off. 'Don't think that will happen,' he reassured himself. 'She's already risked much to find them; don't think she'll let this get in the way. And Neu proved I'm an asset.'

"Volu?"

"Warren, are you feeling worse?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm feeling better. I've made a decision, though. We're not going back to Earth."

There was a long pause. "You have decided to continue the search with us?"

"I've decided a few things, including staying the course and finding that damn library."

"Ettwanae will be very happy." The tone was flat.

"And you?"

"I am confident I can deal with any future mental lapses. If you endanger anyone, I will do what is necessary," the ship affirmed.

'You don't know the half of it yet,' he warned silently. "Understood. We'll talk more once everyone is up." Volu may be his biggest hurdle. She may view him as too much of a threat. He put his odds at 50/50 of convincing her otherwise.

Rising on much steadier legs, Warren headed to the galley – he needed something in his stomach. As he sat at the table munching a zante and sipping coffee, he contemplated how to tell everyone that perhaps without warning he could turn into an uncontrollable, highly efficient killing machine without scaring the shit out of them.

### finis ###

A/N: There you have it – the final chapter of Soulbound. Warren's journey is far from over and many questions remain unanswered and mysteries unsolved. If all goes as I've envisioned, the next book of the series would wrap everything up, but…

Not sure if posting of Book Five will begin at all. To be honest, I've been disheartened by the limited number of people who chose to review Soulbound, despite a small but loyal readership that jumped on every chapter posting. Words of encouragement are truly needed. Writing a novel is a big undertaking, requiring enormous commitment by the author (that'd be me). Writing a series of novels requires an extraordinary amount of time and creative energy. If readers are not moved enough by the story to post even a short review, I must ask myself if the expenditure of time and energy is worth it.

In the real world of publishing, when people don't buy a book, the book is cancelled. Unlike traditional publishing, I don't have sales figures to go by – I only have visitor counts, which is vague information at best. On this site, reviews are far more revealing as to the level and depth of interest. With so few reviewers, I'm left feeling that the effort put into Soulbound was misdirected…that the readership levels aren't sufficient to justify continuing the series.

As such, this series is on the verge of being cancelled.

However, you do have a chance to save it – post a comment to let me know that Book Five is something you want to read. Silence will seal its fate, telling me not to bother.

With that said, I do extend my thanks to those who stuck with me through 39 chapters. And to the cherished few who have reviewed, my deepest and sincerest gratitude.

Xrystofer, my steadfast supporter…you kept me motivated when no one else did. Reading and reviewing a novel takes commitment, just as writing it does. Know that I fully understand that and appreciate the time you dedicated to doing so. Each insightful review renewed my writing muses and gave me reason to persevere through the seeming endless rewrites and editing. I could count on you to point out both the positive and areas where I could improve. Your critiques often helped me see areas I need to work on. Thank you is simply not enough, but all I can offer.

Louisestarfly – my loyal reader turned friend who encouraged me in so many ways beyond this venue. The little details you would point out, the questions you raised, or emotions expressed, all left me feeling so rewarded as a writer. You never fail to make me laugh and lift my spirits. Thank you for your heartfelt support!

Winchester-grl44 – had lost you for a while and was so happy when you returned. Hope you continue to enjoy the rest of the book and I look forward to your comments as you read your way through.

Along the way, we did lose Focus SJS, but Focus, if you do read this endnote, know that your early words of encouragement were greatly appreciated.

May life bring you many happy stories.

Echo Dancer