Note: Not sure how gruesome one description later in the chapter might be but, just a heads up and all… I need a "gruesome Child-writing meter"

…..

I didn't agree to a trial! Pounded in Red's head, but his mouth was too dry to speak.

"Present, Skiftsom." Elyon's voice was weary, as though he'd said the words a thousand times before.

Skiftsom turned toward Red. "By all rights this one is mine. Since his training days he has killed his own in combat, then he turned it on other races. Whole planets have been enslaved, experimented on, or wiped out. This is my work. Look at him." He seized Red's arm, lifting it high. He stuck a claw into the liquid on Red's arm and pulled out a purple drop. "Vortians." He repeated the gesture, a blue drop on his claw. "Slaughtering Rat People." Again, and a small crackle of energy glistened at the tip of his claw. "Meekrob."

Red's chest constricted as he watched Skiftsom go on and on, naming each race he had exterminated or subdued. At one time, this would have been a mark of pride. Now, he could feel all hope slipping away, and a heavy weight gathering on his shoulders.

"Even one of your precious humans." He held a red drop on his claw, and released Red's arm. "His work is mine. You have no claim on him. Withdraw from him!"

Red sank slowly to his knees again, the weight crushing him. He didn't bother looking up to see what weighed him down, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. It was as Skiftsom had said. Elyon would not take him. Why had he even spoken to Red? Was he so cruel as to raise Red's hopes and then dash them? It was the only explanation.

"That is for him to decide. As usual you twist things to suit yourself." Elyon's voice was, again, weary. A note of sadness tinged his tone.

"It is the truth! You yourself cannot stand what he has done, don't deny it! What he has done is against your nature, so you can't call him yours!"

"I don't deny it." Elyon replied. "But he still has a choice."

"Why even bother to choose when you will only reject him?" Skiftsom railed.

"It is you who say I will reject him, repeatedly I might add."

"Because you do!" Skiftsom hissed, growing larger. "You reject what does not fit with you, you cast it out, you send it hurtling into the darkness!"

"What I have made and set in place is the best possible way. It was your own choice, Skiftsom. You chose to try and supplant me because you could not allow for anyone to be greater than you. And on failing you left to bend the minds of all others that I made against me." Elyon's voice was soft. "You know the gates are open to you too, if you would only—"

"Bend the knee?" Skiftsom spat a black gob at Elyon's feet. "Bow the head? Be one of your merry little host blindly singing all hail, all hail, all hail? Never." He gripped Red's shoulder, his claws sinking into the skin. "I will be greater, and I will see all you love BURN. And this one is MINE."

Red's breath caught. All you love? Skiftsom had slipped. Suddenly Red's position was laid out clearly to him. Elyon and Skiftsom were not the judges and he the one whose fate they would decide. Yes, he was on trial, but he was able to cast his lot, it wasn't decided for him.

And this Elyon did want him, even Skiftsom had said as much.

Red lifted his head, even as Skiftsom's claws pierced deep into his shoulder. He met Elyon's steady gaze. "Help me." He croaked. "Help me, please."

"No." Skiftsom growled, jerking Red back. "You can't—"

"Be silent." Elyon commanded, and Skiftsom's mouth shut. "You have said your part. And even so, he has asked for help. Unhand him."

Skiftsom's hand vanished from Red's shoulder as if it had burned him. Elyon drew closer to Red. Once again, he took the Tallest's hand in his. "Red," he said quietly, "I can help you, but this is a war. You have seen its effects, so you understand some small part of it. You've been a leader all your life, and following will come harder for you, but it is essential. Believe me, if you do not follow me, you will be following him, whether you see it or not. Will you take me as your leader and commander?"

Red's eyes dropped to the liquid swimming all over his skin and shuddered, his eyes closing tightly. "If you will have me," he whispered brokenly.

"He is mine!" Shrieked Skiftsom. "You can't!"

"Oh yes, I can." Elyon stood, turning to Skiftsom. "After all, I paid."

"You paid for the humans!" Skiftsom accused. "You accepted Zim because that is how he learned of you, but you can't keep doing that!"

"Maybe you didn't hear me, Skiftsom." Red lifted his head as Elyon's voice went dangerously low. The short Irken figure's face had darkened, his eyes burning. He raised a hand, crooked his claws, and tore a rift in the air beside him. Yanking it wide open, he growled, "I said, I paid."

Through the hole, Red could see a scene laid out before him. An Irken was at the center of it, surrounded by an arena of Irkens, jeering and spitting and hurling all manner of disgusting trash. The Irken was on his hands and knees in the sands of the arena, his skin so lacerated and ragged he was unrecognizable. The sand around him was dark green.

A Control Brain's voice rolled across the arena. "Initiate cellular deconstruction." A beam of electricity shot out from above the Irken, slamming into him.

Red flinched. Cellular deconstruction was the most painful method of execution known to Irkens, short of feeding the Irken to a Morflar. But then there wasn't the spectacle of a public execution, so this was the preferred method for the lowest of the low criminals caught by Irk.

Zim's execution had been a mercy compared to this.

The Irken's back arched as he contorted on the sands, screaming in agony. Slowly, the Irken's skin began to sag, tearing off in little pieces as he thrashed on the sands. What was left began to run off his body in little drops like wax, until there was no more skin left. Then, as he continued spasming, this began to happen to his muscles.

Red lowered his eyes, covering his mouth with a hand. The process had been so refined, even the bones could be targeted before the vital organs. This would happen until all that was left was the Irken's vital organs, leaving him alive and fully conscious until his organs finally liquefied.

"I paid for his crimes." Elyon repeated. "And I accept any who come."

Red's head whipped back up in horror. That Irken is Elyon?

"But, you haven't done that!" Skiftsom screamed. "I would have known!"

"How many times must I say it?" Elyon thundered, the scrap around them shifting and sliding as the ground shook. "I Am beyond time. This will happen, it is fixed. And it covers all who choose at that time, at future times, and in this time."

As he spoke, the green stain from the arena sands in the image lifted out of the ground, collecting in a wisping strand that traveled out of the image and through the tear Elyon held. Skiftsom stumbled back as fast as he could, but the strand turned, diving toward Red.

So, even his blood will condemn me. Red's shoulders sagged.

The blood touched his arm, then ran up and down it, up and over his body. Red closed his eyes and held his breath as it ran down his face, gagging at the smell. He shivered, waiting for Elyon to send him away for having his blood on his skin.

"Red." Elyon's voice was gentle. "Red look."

Red opened his eyes and gasped. The blood was gone, all of it. He could see his skin, green and clean as before. More than that, he was covered in armor, and the best weaponry Irk had to offer. Even then he knew he, and perhaps Dantie, would be the only ones able to see this armor.

"It is you, Skiftsom, who has no claim on Red." Elyon declared with authority. "This trial has ended, and you are not welcome here. Leave the way you came, and take your accusations with you."

Skiftsom bellowed in rage, tripling in size as he grabbed scrap from all around, hurling it in every direction in fury before stomping a foot. He streaked back toward the golden haze, pushing through and vanishing.

Red crumpled to the ground, his mind and body exhausted from all he'd witnessed. As he faded from consciousness, he felt a hand gently stroking his head.

…

"Come."

What else can he do? He rises to his feet, and as he does, the chains fall away. The hand grips his, and the rags transform to rich, royal robes. As he squints, he can just make out the owner of the three-clawed hand. An Irken face grinning with rapturous joy.

"Red, I'm so happy. We have so much to talk about."