Exile chapter two prt 2

    For only my sister would craft her shade-gate in this manner, for these colors had been my chosen mantle since my “self-imposed” exile.  Moving slowly through the prismatic dome, I found what I sought, a crystal coffin, amplifying her mind, and keeping her terribly damaged body alive as my poor, weakened and tortured barely alive sister remains in limbo.  Deep in the inner recesses of the mind where she alone had learned to penetrate, she spoke, not in words, and images, and feelings, but in the language of our kind, as natural to us as I guess your mothers tongue would be for you humans, it would almost be as if you yourself had lived through the thought or memory, it becoming your own, as if you yourself has been the one experiencing the event.
    I wished she had spared me that pain. To watch the fall of an empire, even one as corrupt as my own, the brutal torture executed on our noble families, though probably no worse than a thousand incidents inflicted on you and your races over the ages;   yet your infantile realms coming together with allies and aid from far flung worlds, all of you sickly envious, pathetic fools deliriously drunken on the impossible hope of stealing our secrets and the twisted desire for our power over the mysterium that you may yourself become petty masters over lesser races.  How much did it pain you to see your sad little dreams of becoming the new dragon masters crumble before you, as they fed on your living flesh like the vermin you were, when you awoke them from their sleep?  You never came to destroy the evil of my race, as you told your allies; you came to commit genocide slaying my society in its drunken drug-induced slumber, the religious stupor that took place every Fall Equinox.

  How foul you young kingdoms have become.  You even destroyed your own allies lest you’re true intent be discovered, for not everybody came to become tyrant-kings desiring to set up a new regime where they were the unholy pawns of chaos did they?  So they had to go, quietly, during combat so that no dangerous questions would be asked.  What chance did you have of ever winning, for even our youngest child is taught the ways of our dark realm?  In a world where minds and souls are as tangible and vulnerable as ours, every house hostile to yours, seeking to rise in rank, or keep yours in its place, all the while awaiting that singular moment of weakness, when they can claim the right of casualty, called “death by stupidity”, we are taught in the many ways to build ourselves safe places within our minds where we can hide away, so no one can ever force our secrets from us.  In the end your whole armada was defeated by a simple trick taught to every child.
   So in your wrath you destroyed our world with your peregrine-like ships, you learned very quickly by those fool enough to try, that the rape of our woman was a terrible idea, as our woman are taught to take their violator and savage their mind and body beyond repair nor recognition. Death is but a dream, possible but only a dream.  Death, a quick death, is your only possibility for there is no guarantee of safety, in death, nor even un-death.  For that which has been undone can be remade, though never as good as the original.
    We are taught from the moment we are able to speak, to understand the nature of our world and how to sing our slayer down into death with us.  Trust me,  after you have seen a beloved member of your blood slain, and then resurrected with their slayer that they can continue serving the house as a revenant or vampire or some other bungling night creature you learn your lessons well.  Survive at all cost.  For death is a transitory thing.
    Yet here she was, my sister seemingly beyond repair, her body racked and ruined, she seemed hopelessly damaged, but between us I could bring her back, if only I had the power to transfer us both out of this place, but the journey here, and the coffin-rig maintaining her life would be a lot of mass to transfer at one time, and I am just too weak, my rapid trip through the mysterioum leaving me in my current state.
    Oh you ravagers of worlds be thankful I was not here, be thankful I and only I had the facility to allow myself to exit this world, though I may still be in luck, before I left I bestowed  a smoking mirror of black shadows and darkness to my mother which possessed the power to transmit the passer anywhere in time or space, it nearly killed me fashioning it, nor did I ever receive any recognition, nor did I expect any, we lived in a different kind of world than you carnivores apes who hide behind pretty words, political correctness, tolerance, sensitivity, and diversity, as you stab the person in the back, giving it a twist for good measure, kicking them on the way down.  
    When the reality is your not much more than a step away from becoming some parasitical species, living under a bridge, and killing others of your species for shoes, shoes, By the Great Maker’s sake, shoes.  That’s so much worse than anything we would do, and we kill each other proudly for being stupid.  

Once eons ago when our power was not what it was today we ruled countless worlds, planets and planes like you cannot begin to imagine, and we ruled them all,  like the merciless overlords we were, believing our might made it right to do so, behaving as if it were god’s will we ruled in our righteous techno-theocracy, believing in our own myth, forgetting that under a few situations even we may still die.  Taking what we wanted, destroying what we didn’t, enslaving whole races because they had gifts which made them useful, or destroying whole planets, races and worlds.  People's doomed simply because they were universally contaminated, we called it cleansing, to quote a friend, "convert or fall forever", I guess you would call it culling the herd, and if a whole race was defiant, or antagonistic, then far better to sacrifice that world to our dark gods than seek to shepherd them to true civilization, our civilization.  How lost we were.