深淵の縁で

At the Edge of the Abyss
Part I

James McCloud made his way cautiously through the stone corridor. It was, in a word, strange, but more than that. There was light, a strange glow that gave everything a bluish tint, but no source for the light. It simply was.

The spatious stone corridor kept spiraling gently down. Its walls were intricately carved, depicting several images that archaeologists would no doubt ogle and swoon over. Whatever the case, James paid little attention to them, and continued onward, downward, inward. There was no other way Scott could have gone, so he had to be down here, somewhere.

Through it all there was a constant feeling of discomfort swirling around the fox's mind, a feeling of something very wrong, but...

Oh who was he kidding? He didn't have a clue, about anything.

He let out a frustrated sigh, and stopped for a moment, try to collect some thoughts.

Footsteps, from behind, closing in fast.

"Hey! Hold on!" that was the wolf's voice.

James turned around to see him round the bend of the gently spiraling corridor. When they were close, face to face, he spoke.

"What do you want?" the fox asked in a cold voice.

"For starters: a little less stupidity from you." Wiley answered gruffly, coming to a stop next to James, "Do you have any sort of a plan to deal with this guy?"

"Well what about you?" James retorted, not having an answer of his own, "For that matter, why the hell are we even on the same side? What does Rick see in you that he'd work with a filthy scumbag like you?"

"I'll be honest, I'm still trying to figure that one out." the wolf confessed with a shrug, "But as long as I've got this chance, I don't plan on wasting it."

"Chance for what, exactly?"

"To survive."

"Care to explain?"

"You said it yourself: I'm a coward, I'm scared out of my mind." Wiley explained, speaking in a sincerity he never knew he was capable of, "That's why I ran from Harrow, why I stowed away aboard Cerberus to slip away. That's why I tried to run from Rick, that two-faced bastard friend of yours. But now, I'm afraid of what'll happen if I don't face this Cerinian psycho down, and end him now while I can. That's why I'm here."

"Are you looking for sympathy?" James asked. His voice was still bitter with the wolf, but possibly subdued, "Because you're not getting any from me."

"Not sympathy." Wiley answered, shaking his head, "Just some acknowledgement that we're gunning for the same target, and that having an ally here is way better than another enemy."

James took a long, careful moment to scrutinize this person he was talking to. This wasn't the same cold-hearted stoic he'd first encountered aboard the Amity, or the isolation-crazed mess he was when aboard the drifting Cerberus. He'd changed, or at least, the image he was projecting had changed, and his actions seemed to fit.

After a while, the fox simply let out a sigh, telling Wiley, "I trust Rick, and he seems to trust you..."

"So, do we have a truce?" the pale wolf asked, extending an open hand.

"I'll do the mission: find Scott, deal with Harrow." James reached out, and held the other's hand in an iron grip, with a steeled gaze to match, "But when that's over and out of the way, I'll figure out what to do about you."

"That's all I'm asking for." Wiley responded, maybe just a little more relaxed.

"And that's all you're going to get." the fox released his hand, and was about to proceed onward when–

"Then it's a good thing that's all we need." That was Rick's voice, but neither of them heard him approach.

Both James and Wiley turned to look up the sloping corridor, and there was Rick, standing with his hands resting in his coat pockets. How in Lylat could anyone move that quietly?

"Took your sweet time back there." Wiley observed, speaking again in his usual snark, "What was the holdup?"

"Just taking care of some last-minute details with Cassandra." the raccoon answered in a vague half-truth. Wiley didn't need to know any more, no now.

"Rick, I..." James began to form some kind of apology, something to explain his earlier actions, but found himself unable to form the words for it. The fox just sort of... trailed off.

"It's alright." Rick filled in, giving him a knowing nod, "We've got work to do, and we need stay sharp."

Without another word, the three of them continued further down the gently sloping, gently curved corridor, further and further underground to an unknown fate.

\

/

Under less stressful circumstances, the scene outside the main viewport would have been enchanting. The gentle curve of Titania's horizon still held a deep red glow from the sun, interrupted by the great dark spot of the moon Oberon. Everything else was dark, with only the horizon glow to tell the difference between sky and ground.

Captaion Otto Jäeger paced around the Schwarzwind's bridge, restless. He had anger underneath, but it was controlled, focused, harnessed. Although, it would have been harnessed, if Cooney had not been yet again relegated Schwarzwind to park-and-wait duty. As it was, the most the otter captain could do was stay alert, stay focused, and stay ready.

Rachelle Cooney was here on the bridge too, leaning against one of the bulkheads. She seemed to handle waiting in a much different way

"Captain!" the crewman at the sensory station barked, his voice sounding like a gunshot in the tense silence, "I've got something coming in fast, a cruiser."

"Boost the shields, power up systems to full combat readiness." Jäeger ordered, his voice focused, sharp, and ready.

"Aye Captain."

The crewmen executed their duties, and Schwarzwind responded while the low rumble of ship systems reverberated through the bridge.

The older otter stepped up to the bridge viewport, joined in silence by Rachelle Cooney. Both looked out side. In the distance, descending through the dark sky like a firebolt, was the telltale sign of a craft going through atmospheric reentry. It was close, and more curious was when its downward trajectory arced toward Schwarzwind.

"Can you get an ID on the ship?" Captain Jäeger asked over his shoulder.

"It's..." the sensory operator stopped for a moment, then looked up to his captain, almost disbelieving what he spoke, "Cerberus?"

At that word, Rachelle took a small gasp, and her eyes widened in a very, very rare display of surprise, however subtle.

In another instant, the entire space lurched, and the shields immediately outside flashed white as it took the brunt of a massive particle shot: Cerberus's main plasma cannon.

Captain Jäeger was already staggering away from the viewport through the bridge, spouting orders to his crew, "Bring the guns to bear and open fire! Prime missiles and get a lock..."

The otter continued on as space shifted and swerved, moving as Schwarzwind maneuvered in combat.

Rachelle stepped away from this, getting Peppy and Pigma on her comm. She got a response almost instantly.

"Rachelle?" Peppy's voice asked over the channel, "What the hell is going on–"

"Hare! You and Dengae get to your ships, now!" she ordered, and shut the channel off.

Her voice felt far more angry than it should have. She was frustrated, mostly at herself, for letting something like this be possible...

"I can be persuaded to aid you, on certain... conditions."

"Name them."

"First: I will go with you personally to Cerberus, and restart the ship myself."

"Done." she agreed with a curt nod.

"Second: when you have what you need, I keep the ship."

"Why?" Rachelle asked, perplexed by Noire's odd request, "What use do you have for it?"

"That is no concern of yours." Serge waived the question away, "You want my help: those are my terms."

She should have known better than to trust Serge! This was one thing they seriously did not need now, and she let it happen!

She took a deep breath. Didn't need this anger, not now, keep the focus...

Rachelle tried to contact Rick on the surface through the comm, let him know what was happening topside, but there was no signal.

\

/

The downward spiraling corridor seemed to keep going, on and on, down and down. It was probably just an illusion, brought on by the sheer monotony of the unchanging, ever curving, ever descending. The only noticeable change they felt for sure was the temperature, which grew more and more cold as Rick, James and Wiley continued the descent.

After some time, when their breath came out in visible puffs of mist, the endless curving slope finally began to level out, and straighten out.

The corridor opened to a very large, very open space. It was lit with a similar eerie blue light as the corridor before, but there were clear sources now. Dozens of bright pints of light, held up by ornate columns in a circular arrangement at the center.

The space was definitely a natural cavern, an underground lake that stretched for hundreds of meters, and a roughly dome shaped roof overhead formed from the natural stone. The tranquil still water reflected the column-lights and cavern roof perfectly, like a vast mirror.

There was an island in the center of the still water, but it was artificial: a perfect circular platform built out of stone. This platform was joined by a single narrow stone bridge, stretching across the lake until it hit shore, where the bridge became a path of smooth paved stones. The path wound toward the entrance archway, away from the lake shore, and toward the entrance where Rick, James and Wiley had just emerged.

"Whoa..." Jame's voice, however quiet, still echoed and reverberated across the huge stone expanse, with the ring of it lingering for several seconds afterward.

It occurred to him that the might blow the element of surprise. Then again, if Harrow was psychic, he was probably well aware of their approaching anyway.

James and Wiley brought their weapons to a ready position, moving along the path in a manner much like soldiers in combat: scanning, positioning, analyzing, deciding, acting. Rick was similarly alert, but in a more passive sense, quietly eyeing the space as he moved through it.

For all intents and purposes however, they appeared to be alone. There was no sign of Scott, or Harrow here, anywhere; no sign they could immediately see, at least.

By some unspoken group consent, the three continued down the path toward the bridge. Being the most conspicuous feature of the area, it seemed as good as any a place to start.

As the party stepped onto the bridge, a series of those strange lights, similar to the large ones atop the circle of columns, lit up along the sides of the stone bridge. It seemed as if the bridge was aware of their presence, and lit the way to accommodate them.

This only made the trio more tense, knowing that their position was very likely compromised. It felt like the ideal point to strike an ambush, but on the other hand, the sheer openness of the space made a surprise ambush impractical. Anything short of a sniper would be seen long before they became a threat. Even then, a sniper would have considerable difficulty finding a perch from which to strike from.

James, Rick and Wiley continued across the bridge, constantly aware, constantly alert, waiting to hear something that might be a sign of where Harrow was. Still, this didn't stop them from speaking...

"We do have a plan here, right?" James quietly, almost under his breath as the trio moved.

"There's a plan." Rick confirmed, giving a small nod.

"So? What is it?" the fox pressed.

"I can't tell you."

"And why not, exactly?"

"The plan requires you both to be oblivious to its details."

"Oh, well, that's just brilliant." James hissed, rolling his eyes.

"Cerinian psychic shenanigans, kid." Wiley indicated, tapping his forehead.

"Because Harrow's going to get in our heads, and..." the fox began to realize, "Riiiight..."

Seeing the understanding dawn on him, the raccoon gave James a knowing little smile, confirming without words the thoughts he was thinking.

After a short time, they soon neared the central platform, a perfect circle some thirty meters across. At the center however was something else: a large hoop, about five meters across, held upright. It looked like it might have been some kind of gateway, but there wasn't anything on the other side of it, just the other half of the platform–

Harrow was there.

The Cerinian was just standing there, directly in front of the circular gate-like structure, arms crossed, greeting the trio with an impatient stare, as if to say, "What took you so long?"

James and Wiley immediately brought their weapons up, and were about to open fire when, without any words, Harrow simply stepped backward through the hoop structure. When he did, something unexpected and utterly bizarre happened. The area inside the hoop blurred, shimmered, and made visible "ripples" where Harrow went through, very much like disturbed water.

The ripples died down, the shimmering ceased, and the blurriness became clear once again. Harrow wasn't there anymore. He was gone.

"What the hell just happened?" James asked in a quiet, but still very astonished voice. "Where did he go?"

After a few silent, tense moments, Wiley stepped toward the hoop structure, very cautious, moving slowly, but deliberately. When he came within arm's reach, the wolf reached his hand, very carefully, through the hoop. His widened, and took in a small gasp of breath, as the area around his hand started to show that same shimmering, rippling blur.

He pulled his hand back quickly, and for several moments, he just stared at it, flexing his fingers. "I've... never seen anything like this before."

"You two need to follow him through." Rick told them as he stepped up, scrutinizing the... portal? Apart from his voice becoming almost a deadpan monotone, Cooney didn't seem the least bit fazed by the strange happenings.

"What about you?" James asked him, "Aren't you going in?"

"Yes, but I'll join you later..." Seeing that neither of them understood how that'd work, Rick looked to the fox, saying, "It's part of the plan."

James just gave a grumbling sigh as he looked up at the strange gateway structure, weary, uncertain, but also determined.

"Look, Jim, you're just going to have to trust me..."

Looking straight ahead, through his habitual steely eyed gaze, the fox simply gave a slow nod, and tightened his grip on the assault rifle in his hands. Then, in deathly silence, James McCloud stepped forward, into the gate. His form was overtaken by the shimmering, rippling blur as he crossed the threshold, and then disappeared entirely, exactly as Harrow had before.

Wiley went forward to follow, but paused just a moment, saying to Rick over his shoulder, "I sure as shit hope you know what you're doing."

Then the white wolf followed suit, disappearing into the strange gateway's shimmering mist.

\

/

When James stepped through the "gate", his vision was overwhelmed by a bright, white nothing. In his ears he heard a ceaseless, almost frantic whispering of countless voices, all speaking at once, but none speaking in a language he recognized.

He couldn't be sure how long that moment lasted; a few seconds, a few minutes, more? What he did notice is when the voices quieted down, when the whispers faded into the distant background. At the same time, the white nothing in his vision cleared, showing instead an endless pale gray horizon in all directions. There seemed to be a thick mist around his feet, covering the solid-feeling ground for as far as he could see. The flat gray void also had at many points what looked like ancient, broken ruins. Their architecture looked similar to the Krazoic structures seen earlier, but made with a much more pale stone, like marble.

He couldn't help noticing how eerily similar this place looked and felt: like a dream, an illusion.

But this was real. His body was here. he could feel the ground beneath his feet, could breathe in he air, could feel the grip of the assault rifle in his hand. He had everything on his person that he took with him: rifle, sidearm, knife, spare magazine clips, even a few grains of crusted Titania sand that shook off with each step he took.

Strange as this place was, this was no time to lose focus. Harrow had to be here, somewhere...

James approached one of the nearby structures, rifle up and ready, eyes alert.

When he came closer, he saw there was a body on the ground, slumped against the broken wall. It was a terrier, with dark fur, wearing a khaki colored flight suit. A sword lay on the ground by his side, by his empty hand.

"Scott?"

The fox rushed toward him, and checked for vitals as soon as he reached him. There was a pulse, but it was erratic. The terrier's breath came either in short shallow gasps, it or it was long and drawn-out. His eyes twitched beneath his closed eyelids, like he might've been dreaming, only the dream was a nightmare.

"Scott!" James said as he shook Scott's shoulder, desperation in his voice, "Wake up, dammit!"

The terrier stirred at this. His breathing became steady, and the rest of his body eased out of its twitching state. When he looked up at James, his eyes had opened, but they were wrong. Instead of the hot-blooded vigor typical of Scott, there was instead a blank ghostly sterility. Then a pair of pale blue points slowly lit up inside his eyes, and the terrier's vacant gaze fell upon James.

"I told you: you were too late." Scott uttered, is voice tired, weary, and devoid of emotion.

James could only stare slack-jawed at what was happening. He'd seen this before, but it was the stuff of his nightmares, like when he "saw" Captain Soyuz, not something real. So, was this place actually real? Was all this really happening? It all felt real enough, but it was also wrong, very wrong.

"You simply couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?" a new voice said, nearby.

He knew this voice. It was the one that had mocked him inside his head on more than one occasion now, in dreams...

The fox shot to his feet, and trained the assault rifle in his hands on the direction of the new voice: Harrow's. The Cerinian was just standing there, arms crossed, leaning against the broken white structure, and looking at James with a sickening look of disdain. He'd wipe that smirk off his face, once and for all–

Right before James could pull the trigger, right before he would've unleashed a deadly torrent of blaster-fire, he felt something small and hard press against the small of his back: a blaster barrel?

* Blam! *

A shot rang out, loud, directly behind James McCloud, making his ears ring like a bell. When he looked down, where there should have been a gaping exit wound, there was nothing, and no searing pain either.

Then there was a dull thump, a clatter of a fallen firearm,and a couple of grunts. James flinched and turned behind him, where he saw that suspicious pale wolf, locked and grappling with Scott on the ground.

"What the hell are you doing!?" the fox demanded, nearly raising his weapon up.

"Saving your ass, that's what!" the wolf spat back, trying to work Scott into a joint lock, "This bastard almost blasted your spine in two!"

James scanned the ground, and found a loose handgun on the ground: an Aran arms HC-670 high-powered blaster, Scott's sidearm of choice. So it was true then, Scott had nearly killed him, and this... murder had just saved his life. But that couldn't be right, Scott couldn't have been in his right mind, not the way those bizarre lights in his eyes were, are, and the way he spoke–

"Don't just stand there gawking!" the wolf shouted, struggling against Scott's ferocity, "Give me a hand with him!"

James shook his head, working to regain some composure in the situation. They could restrain Scott at least, knock him unconscious for now until, everything could get sorted out–

He stopped, having heard a quiet footstep behind him, and far too close for comfort. The fox whipped around behind him, assault rifle raised and ready to blast Harrow full of holes–

It wasn't Harrow. It was Chakori, crouched in a combat stance with her knife in one hand, but with a pair of eerie blue lights in her slitted feline eyes.

In that split-second of hesitation, the ashen leopardess leapt at James, closing the short distance between them in an instant. He managed to bring the rifle up to block the knife strike, redirecting her momentum off to one side. She'd grabbed hold of the butt-stock with her free hand though, and wasted no time using it as leverage. Chakori hacked with her heavy kinfe at the fox's hand holding the rifle's barrel, but he let go before the blade found its target. Nevertheless, it gave Chakori the opening she needed to yank on the butt-stock, and claim the rifle for her own–

James gave the rifle up, but not without a backup plan. Just as Chakori pulled the weapon's trigger one-handed, the fox redirected the rifle barrel away from him with one arm. Then he drew his own knife from the scabbard on his belt and made a slash at her arm. The blade cut, not very deep, but enough to force Chakori to drop the rifle.

Before James could grab hold of the falling weapon though, Chakori had already dropped down and spun into a low sweep kick, knocking the fox off his feet and onto his back with a dull thud.

The leopardess dove down after him, cleaving the air with her knife with McCloud as her target. James shoved himself to the side, and Chakori's blow flew right past his ear. He grabbed hold of her wrist and made a slash at her arm, intending to disabler her weapon hand. Chakori slammed a knee into his kidney, interrupting the fox's blow and forcing him to release her. James rolled out and away, but not before Chakori landed a long slash down his chest and stomach. It wasn't a deep cut, didn't feel like anything vital, but it leaked a steady stream of blood. The fast movement of close-quarters combat would only make it worse.

Back on his feet, the fox backed off, putting pressure on his wound while his clothes and arm were steadily being soaked with his own blood.

"Chakori, it's James. You remember me, right?" The fox tried reminding "You hooked Vixy and I up back on Cerberus. You embarrassed the heck out of me when you did it too."

She simply ignored his words, and came at him again.

James fought back as well as he could, dodging, blocking, redirecting. He didn't want to hurt Chakori, not if he could help it, but there wasn't much choice. The best he could do would be to subdue the leopardess for now, but that would be far easier said than done. Chakori was a far more experienced martial artist than McCloud, and didn't seem to have any qualms at the moment with gutting him...

He started to realize something.

This –Chakori under some sort of influence– was what Scott saw and had to deal with when he came here alone. This must have been what changed Scott into the ghostly blank husk under that same influence. It was something Harrow had done, and could do again.

And then it dawned on James just how dangerous being here, in this strange otherworldly place, might actually be.

\

/

Harrow left the fray of combat to reflect, to observe, to meditate on the situation.

The thralls will keep the two intruders occupied for the moment; they'd break soon, or they'd die. It was regrettable, but they'd forced his hand and left him with little choice. He'd spare their lives if could, but both were stubborn and strong-willed. Even Makita, who had been easily broken and manipulated before, had strengthened his resolve greatly, and with far more than the simple drive for revenge. He must have met with someone, and had his path altered...

Interesting.

The other one –the pilot McCloud, warrior of the stars– seemed simpler at first. His will was relentless, stronger than any of the others, but he couldn't bring it to full strength here. Confusion and disorientation had dampened the engine of his iron will, and there was nothing on which for him to focus. The fact that he was fighting a former ally only added to his discomfort. So long as he remained in this state, he would break.

All a matter of time now, a short time.

The core of the recent problems should emerge soon. Harrow had lured them here, caused very many issues for this threat, and given them plenty of reason to pursue. This was intended. Once the center catalyst of the threat emerged, a solution would emerge in the moment alongside it. There was no need to construct complex plans for an unknown threat; better to improvise in the moment with what is available...

Harrow felt another presence approach from behind, at an easy walking pace. This mind was different: calm and composed on the outside, but meticulous and calculating beneath the clean surface. In some ways, this mind resembled the processes of the computing machines: clear, concise, absolute, with a memory like an archive, and an ever-alert awareness. Further beneath the flurry of this one's active analytical mind though, there may have been something deeper, something darker, perhaps?

"I know you're there." The Cerinian finally said aloud, sensing the presence approach close.

The proximity made reading the thoughts easier, and Harrow briefly skimmed through the recent memories occupying the forefront of this one's thoughts. 'Richard Cooney' was his name: an agent, a spy, liar, a manipulator, a saboteur...

He turned around, slowly, and saw the raccoon standing a few paces away. He was quite calm, with his hands resting in the pockets of his knee-length coat.

"You are the one who has been hunting me, the one who set these terrible events in motion: the Meddler." Harrow observed.

"That's right." Rick replied with a nod, and stepped closer, "And I've been anxious to finally meet you face-to-face."

"Well, we've met." Harrow observed, matching Cooney's gaze, "So what exactly do you hope to accomplish now, Meddler?"

"What about you?" the raccoon questioned, "Most people don't go to the extraordinary lengths you have without a cause, so what's yours?"

"Why do you care?" The Cerinian was skeptical. Rick's intentions were tangled, muddled in the complexities of his thoughts, but it wasn't far-fetched as to what his reasons likely were. "You came in pursuit of 'justice'."

"I came in pursuit of answers." Rick corrected.

"Hmph." Harrow scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Cooney simply continued on, unfazed, "I know you were meant for better things than this, Haran."

"You know nothing." Harrow snapped back, startled. How could he know that name?

"I know you were about to named the Guardian, 'Cerinjyan' of your clan on Cerinia. I know you were exiled for the murder of a colonist, and I know the trial and decisions behind your exile were controversial. I know that in your exile you trained under Serge Noire, and then made a mercenary of yourself."

Everything the raccoon said was true of Harrow once, but how? Where did he learn of all that? The Cerinian probed his mind further, searching through the archives of his memories. In a few moments, the answer presented itself.

"So, you've spoken with Khesýra, or 'Cassandra' as she pretends to be now." the woman's name came out sounding bitter when Harrow spoke it, and she deserved no less.

"I did," Cooney said with a nod, "and she's very worried about you, as am I now."

"Is that so?" Harrow questioned, almost in a mocking tone, "You should be more worried for those you brought with you."

"I trust they can handle themselves." Rick dismissed with a shrug, "This is between you and me."

His nonchalant attitude was false, a mere mask, and Harrow said as much, "Your sarcasm and false apathy betray you."

"And maybe that's true, but I still just want to talk with you, to understand what it is you're trying to do." the raccoon insisted, "My curiosity far outweighs my anger, surely you can feel that."

Harrow clawed into Cooney's mess of a mind, with every intent to unravel the lie he was spinning.

His thoughts were many, and all happening simultaneously. Some portion of his mind was always making environmental assessments, always aware of his immediate surroundings and making notes of what may come in useful. Another portion of his thoughts operated on a somewhat larger scale, keeping track of other events, of other people. These were simply automatic processes for Cooney, the mechanical act of thinking and keeping track. Harrow needed to go deeper to find the underlying emotions that drove this Meddler, that motivated him to hunt and pursue...

There was anger, though it was more like a disgusted resentment, and it was buried. Richard Cooney stored away his hatred like a mere item in his archival mind, disregarding it, but still holding onto it for future reference. This wasn't a motivating factor though. The anger was locked up, kept away so not to disrupt the smooth and efficient mechanisms of the Meddler's analytical mind.

There was the insatiable inquisitiveness that Cooney insisted was his motivation; a desire to understand the unfathomable, a sort of morbid interest. It did dominate the forefront of his mind, almost overwhelmingly so. Such inquisitive behavior and desire for knowledge however was simply a means for Cooney though, not an end. Knowledge as an end was typically the driving force for bookish scholars, not for a Meddler who dares to lie, to manipulate, to take others' lives into his hands and send them into impossible and unthinkable tasks.

Beneath all that, connected at the center of this churning maelstrom, Harrow expected to find a desire for power, for control over others, as it was for Garmir, or perhaps even the mere thrill of trickery, as it was for Serge. While the trickster's thrill certainly was there, and was highly indulged by Cooney, it was not a base motivating factor...

And there it was.

It was the genuine desire to protect the lives of others, the 'Inner Guardian' as it is sometimes referred to by Cerinians. Cooney's skills and talents at trickery simply were more befitting of a manipulating Meddler than a more direct archetype.

Perhaps, at the core, they were not so different from each other after all, only the means by which their Inner Guardians manifested were different. So perhaps, as another who has had to do unthinkable acts in service to his Inner Guardian, he could understand why he did what he has done.

Harrow retracted from the raccoon's mind, and the two of them were stood eye-to-eye in reality once more. The Cerinian looked on Cooney, showing him something he hadn't shown in a very long time: respect.

"So, you want your answers, Meddler?" Harrow said, and made a wide gesture around the space, indicating the wispy white dream-like realm where they stood, "Look around: what do you see?"

"It's... a very strange place, one that I don't really understand." Rick answered, gazing out across the white void.

"This place –everything you see here– it is a vessel that contains a Power." Harrow began, speaking in a calm, solemn tone, "The Saurians call it 'Krazoa', my people call it 'Cerin', both words translate into your language as 'Spirit'. Yet in all practicality, no word is truly sufficient to describe what is housed here and in similar places. It is something far older than my kind, or the Saurians, or those who live in Lylat. This Power has the capacity to transcend mind, space, and even the flow of time itself."

"What does this have to do with what you've done?" Rick asked.

"Everything." the Cerinian said plainly, and turned his back to Cooney as he explained, "In this place, through the Power that dwells here, I was given a vision: a glimpse of the future."

"And what did you see?"

There was a few moments where there was nothing, just silent stillness between them. Then Harrow's head dropped down low. When he finally spoke, it was in a grim, trembling voice, "I saw... the end of my people..." the agony in his words, it sounded as if he was being wracked by some hidden torture, "I saw my world die!"

Harrow turned back around quickly. His face had contorted into a furious snarl, and his eyes gleamed bright, like a pair of pale blue headlights–

Rick's vision flashed white for an instant, only for his senses to be overrun by an avalanche of terror, of fear, and of anger, and outrage. Then there were the screams, so many of them, hundreds or more all crying out in what sounded like their dying throes.

Images flashed through his vision now, too fast to see much detail. Some were of people, running, or fighting hopelessly, dying, or worse. Some had fires, and there was the smell of charred flesh, and the sting of electricity in the air. There were other things, some strange objects that Rick couldn't recognize, angular... what the hell were they?

Tell me, Meddler, if you had foreseen this happen to your home, to your family and friends, would you not do everything in your power to make sure it did not happen? Would you not go to any lengths necessary to stop it? Would you not be forever haunted by these vivid images of death and destruction if you did nothing?

Author Notes:

I had originally meant for this chapter to be longer, hence the "Part I", but like many things it swelled, and I felt like I wanted to encapsulate this part in an easily readable size, and finish it all up later. The climax climax is coming! I promise! It'll all be in the next part!

As always, your feedback is most welcome.