Genesis - the Battle Within (Pillars of Creation Book 1) (6 page)

Yes, Zeal had truly taught him well. Zeal was brutal for his own good. But Genesis still knew, even after years of training, beatings and techniques designed to harness his Immortal Rieft talent, that his near complete lack of psychically triggered foresight and manipulative talent infuriated his Master and brethren no end. Being trained by the best, he should have been the best, and this …
weakness
, was a massive embarrassment to his Sovereign and the other Immortals. Although a survivalist, he was still weak in their eyes, just a normal human, with exceptionally fortunate luck and good training.

Genesis agreed he was lucky – due to his weak Rieft powers he had certainly become unmatched in other areas, and he’d learned quickly that he had to be, lest he be killed. He’d learnt to move faster, be stronger and read the slightest nuances of his amazingly talented opponents. He’d honed his craft to such an extent that it had saved him from being slaughtered countless times over.

Yet, as good as he was when matched against any of the other pupils, their control and use of Rieft powers soon pushed Genesis to the bottom of the Order. In truth he
knew
he was an embarrassment to their cause, but his determination didn’t allow him to surrender. He pushed on past this oppressive hindrance regardless. He was used to the beatings and he was certainly used to ridicule and a hard life, but nothing would stop him from getting up and trying time and time again. No, he couldn’t go back, he would, as he always had, find any way possible to be forged anew and please his Master – or one day even impress him, if they were ever to reunite.

Now, in fact, he was strong and quick enough with or without weapons to battle with the other Wielders to their fullest, this was a feat for any human in itself, and through his well-practiced stealth and uncanny affinity with darkness and shadow he often got the drop on them too. He’d long since learned he had to play this as his strongest card, else – without utilising it to his fullest advantage – he would never have survived even the simplest of sparring exercises.

Over the years he became known as the Shadow, frowned upon by many in the Order, but nurtured by his Master. To the Elders’ disapproval, this art of stealth had come naturally to Genesis, becoming his ally. He attacked with the hidden hand while the other distracted in fanciful and over-elaborate moves. His blade would never come in at a simple, straightforward angle – he
became
the shadows, he came at his opponents where and when they least expected it, looking for their distractions.

Genesis smiled through his meditation at this thought.

His fighting was unusual in most measures, employing throwing blades and many other hidden weapons that were strategically placed within his robes; all utilising strikes that needed one contact only for fatality. This was his craft. It had been tempered into an art form and was his technique and tool of trade … only in this way was he able to compete with the others.

At times it frustrated him when a simple raised hand and a tendril of telekinetic manipulation from another pupil knocked his strikes aside, slamming him back pitifully. But he’d moved past those years now.

It wasn’t that Genesis didn’t
have
the Rieft or couldn’t use it; it was that the talent was so pathetically weak that he could barely perform the most basic of manipulations expected of such attributed Immortals. Even today he could still only use it to slight advantage, nowhere near the extent of his other brethren.

Yet despite his obvious weakness, no matter the mission or situation, the Shadow, the
weak human
with the
broken craft
, would never lay down, he would always keep coming … always get up, no matter what the odds.

Even with his limited healing ability he’d survived this long, and managed his Apocalypse armour transfusion and personality transplant years ago, which they’d said he wouldn’t and was a miracle. But apparently it all had meaning …

Much later in his training, the Elders had explained why Genesis was originally chosen – at the time it was considered quite unusual for a boy of his background and socio-economic class to be selected for immortality.

Every human raised into the prestigious role was selected for a specific reason, and usually had a DNA bloodline linking them to specific ancestors who had received gifts in the early stages of humanity. All of the other Immortals were carefully selected by the SINAI and Elders themselves for an attribute that was so blindingly prevalent and above the Crastepheon levels of other humans it made them stand out like shining diamonds amongst gravel. It was rare for such ones to be in poverty, and tempered like him, their bloodline should have been discovered long ago, with their households a place of prestige and nobility. It was strange indeed that Zeal had found and picked him; surely he was covered in the filth of this world and just a flicker compared to the others.

Later they had told him that even though he did have signs of talent, with high Crastepheon levels – which was likely why his Master saw him – and a slight affinity within the Rieft, his Crastepheon had apparently been severed or was unattainable through the normal procedures that Immortals undertook, which explained his living conditions. Until recently, it had seemed that he was obscured from his talent and abilities. Today, he noted absently, actually marked the day, sixteen years ago, when the true cause of his problem had been discovered.

Genesis shifted uncomfortably, his legs getting sore from remaining in one position. The shaft creaked as he repositioned, but luckily not loud enough to draw any attention …

Come on Me’lina,
he called to his Al,
what’s taking so long.

Genesis returned to his memories, ignoring his second personality as it tried gain purchase on him. Yes, he remembered the day well, bursting uninvited before the council, nearly costing him his right for immortality. He’d come to the Elders demanding answers of why Rieft manipulation was not growing under his newly adopted Master and the training regime forced upon him.

The Elders had been reluctant to answer his questions after his rude intrusion, his rebellious spirit was
unacceptable
and they were
unappreciative
of such interruptions. But he’d persisted in getting an answer. Genesis later realised they’d only told him half of what they knew, and if he’d not been so forthright even less would have been divulged.

No matter, either way they’d explained that they were always very uncertain of his training and future, seeing danger and darkness in his scarred past and in his inability to attain his Crastepheon potential and properly tap into the Rieft.

But worse still, nearly stopping the Elders from claiming him as one of their own were his constricting powers, which laid in wait along his path to immortality. This they feared more than him, they’d said. Again, only after awkward and tedious questioning did they decide to let up what they understood of his true nature, and the reason he’d been apprenticed to another after his real Master had disappeared all those years ago.

They had said his Rieft blindness was because his Crastepheon was so unnaturally high in just one area of his talent, that all other areas were almost completely blocked. This implied that he was similar to a Rider of the Rieft – a rare specimen. A Rider tapped into a harder-to-utilise source of Rieft that apparently didn’t belong to the Sacred Creator’s own divine power, which all other Rieft users tapped into for their psychic manipulation and talents, and where the faith guided its followers.

Genesis though, was different. His power was harder to see and use, and in a sense broke him away from his own talents, from within his Rieft manipulation; even the Sacred Creator’s. Despite this weakness, in essence he was supposed to be more clear-sighted in other aspects than normal users, if he could harness his Rieft properly. But, they’d explained, regardless of this fact, his talent seemed to be more
bonded
to him rather than
used
, it was not like their distant metaphysical psyche that needed to be drawn upon, but rather existed as a semiotic part of his natural-core makeup. This bond was tied very closely, apparently, to why he always seemed adept at enduring hardships while being weak in essence.

The Elders had admitted they had not seen this exact form of Rieft co-exist before and accordingly were unsure how to utilise it, or how to train him to harness it. But for now, they’d decided – way back then – it had served him well enough, keeping him alive in near impossible situations, and they concurred it would continue to help him on his path in the future. To what extent though, they were unsure, but accepted that he could be used for the faith, of course with the limitation, and as he saw it, leash, of keeping his religious personality for all his years, even
if
becoming a Divine Wielder.

Despite their many warnings, Zeal had insisted he train him no matter what the outcome or cost. Genesis was still uncertain why, but knew he owed him his life and loyalty for this. Without his Sovereign’s teaching, Genesis never would have made it this far into the Way of the Sacred.

Without Zeal he would be dead, without gaining the status he enjoyed today, long before he’d ever been issued his Apocalypse armour and immortality, and long before he’d climbed from his weakened past and proved his worth.

He’d come from an Earth colony, growing up in the slums of a filthy, abandoned Sky-platform, a Roach amongst all the other Roaches, living amongst the gutters, smog and filth, taking one day at a time and being lucky to see the next—

Me’lina abruptly cut into his meditations, “Genesis I have the lift controls, you ready to go?”

Before he could answer, the end of the shaft grew light as the lift finally whirred and moved upwards
.
Genesis, fearing the lift could return, leapt across the drop falling a couple of floors as his hands grasped the row of vents. The fall would have been impossible to stop if he wasn’t an Immortal, or still an apprentice and novice Wielder like before.
Back then
, Genesis smirked,
my mission would have just ended
.

With little strain on his muscles, the Shadow clambered inside the small opening without difficulty or concern, and continued his mission towards the ship’s bridge, pitted against an entire crew and a ship full of the greatest threat to his religion.
If only my Master could see me now,
he thought painfully
…

Slath
, it felt so damn long since his wretched Master had abandoned him.

74 years earlier

Zeal strode ahead impatiently, already worried for the boy.
This was a terrible mistake,
he thought angrily,
the boy could barely fight one Immortal let alone go up against all the other pupils.
And how the hell was he to break down his Sacred weapon and infuse the Mouziz stone, when he couldn’t even use the Rieft?

This was a mistake, the trial surely had to be cancelled; it had to be a joke, the whole thing was a farce. If only the Elders, like he’d argued many times before, would keep their noses out and let him train the boy as he needed to. Zeal heard his pupil behind him and he spoke harshly, not caring if he showed his frustration, “Hurry up boy, keep it moving,” he grumbled with little emotion. The boy fumbled up next to him awkwardly, trying hard to keep pace.

“Yes Sovereign, sorry Sovereign.”

Zeal sighed, “Stop apologising, it makes you look weak.” Zeal stopped and turned towards him severely, “Look at me boy.”

His pupil turned, eyes just like when he’d found him – lost and searching for answers. Zeal couldn’t help but give him some sort of explanation, he felt sorry for him, and uncharacteristically Zeal decided to let him in on what was going on, just this once, a bit.

“Look boy, I’m not sure if today is actually going to happen, but if it does you will be tested for the next step in your training as Weapon’s Wielder of our religion. This means you’ll be going up against at least three other Immortals, who will be trying to kill you.” The boy’s face lightened, which infuriated Zeal even more. Zeal knew the full extent of these tests.

The boy’s voice betrayed his inexperience and young excitement, “I know this Sovereign, but I’m ready I can—”

Zeal cut him off sharply, not wanting to hear the rest of it, “
No
… you are not ready boy, without your Rieft this trial is a farce, as are you. I don’t know what is broken inside of you but without your Rieft you will be massacred, do you understand?” He didn’t give the wounded boy a chance to respond, and he certainly didn’t look in his disappointed eyes.

“You were lucky to have even survived the nano-molecular infusion to your DNA boy, and by Sacred you will need your feeble healing abilities more today than ever … you may have thought my training was harsh on you boy, but today …” Zeal looked up and cursed to himself, “look just keep it moving, we have to be in the Temple by sunrise – you fight best in low light, so we don’t want you there late morning, when the shadows have shrunk.”

Zeal felt the boy’s pain and ignored it with little difficulty; he knew the boy was used to his Master’s disapproval, but Zeal had to be harsh.
But did he know why?
This question often plagued him. Did the boy know it was all for his own good, not to become close?

Zeal felt the emptiness rise from his depths, the day had arrived and the boy was still unaware, still unprepared, even all his years of brutal, extensive and minutely detailed training would most likely not be enough to keep the boy alive. This trial was one of the Immortal’s biggest hurdles, and even talented users of the Rieft often perished. But for this boy it was just the beginning of his sorrows.

How was the boy supposed to compete with multiple users anyway?
He deliberated again angrily, not wanting to dwell on his prior brooding thoughts. Sure he was an amazing fighter, and the way he utilised stealth and darkness was truly uncanny considering he was broken. Zeal unwittingly rubbed his arm where it still ached from the boy almost slicing it through in their last sparring exercise. But still he was just a well-trained human –
not
an Immortal.

No
, the boy didn’t know why, he decided, answering his prior question … how could he? Zeal had to be careful of this, and he’d ensured the boy only knew what he had to, he couldn’t be revealed, not when he was so close, not with so much still left to chance.

Zeal began muttering to himself, a sure sign he was nervous. The boy noticed it too; he looked up, concerned. He could sense his Master’s mood and had spent more than enough time around him to realise that if his Master was nervous, so should he be.

They continued towards the Temple training grounds in silence as the sun crested between the trees and brought the surreal reality of a dappled dreamland. The leaves fluttered through the glowing orange hues, floating serenely around them as they bathed in possibly the boy’s last sunrise ever.

They walked together in this way for another kilometre, through the cloned synthetic oaks, with little sign of their passing and barely a sound being made as they passed beneath the giant trees of the expansive forest.

The boy’s foot made no more sound than that of a rustling of each leaf hitting its resting place. They were both trained to almost combat perfection … and yet the difference between them was still vast. The boy’s feet made
almost
no sound, while his Master’s made none at all. Which in the world of an Immortal, Zeal reflected thoughtfully, meant the world of difference, life or death in fact.

So what will it be boy? I’ve given you enough to choose now,
Zeal thought definitively;
life or death?

Finally, Zeal led his student to the edge of the Temple training grounds, which looked more ominous than usual. The Master looked into the wide pit, disappearing far beneath them with only the tip of the tallest Temple visible through the gloomy darkness. The Master turned towards his student, measuring him one last time.

Zeal contemplated the boy’s body, which was becoming lean and carved from all the training and impossible exhortations he had put him through. Zeal even noticed, with a smile, that some of the boy’s scars – with his newly infused internal nanos healing him – were beginning to finally disappear.

But still, the boy looked as he had when he first found him, pitiful. He could feel the pain the boy’s life had inflicted, and what was yet to come. Zeal had never allowed himself to get close to a student, knowing the pain himself far too well. He knew this boy had saved him from a fate worse than death, but for it to be passed on to this young pupil … well it was more than Zeal could come to terms with,
ever
.

They had all thought
he
, Zeal, was the prophesied Trinity, but now, terribly, they weren’t sure. For the boy’s sake Zeal hoped it was
not
him … the Master had always distanced himself from others knowing what these trials might be and what he might become, but for this now to be passed on to his fractured student, how could there be a Sacred that would allow such a thing?

But this is exactly why my plans are needed
, Zeal thought bitterly.

Zeal realised that for the first time in many decades he’d grown close to, and fond of, another human. For the first time in over a thousand years he cared for another again; and it hurt, something he’d thought forgotten.

Uncomfortable with the feeling, Zeal’s face quickly hardened, losing all emotion with barely any physical effort; his words became hollow and wooden, even though he meant them as he brushed off the strange feeling.

“Boy, good luck, and remember what I have taught you. Someday we will hopefully both be alive to meet again, I will be watching out for you if I can, and please do me this final favour, when the decision comes – you’ll know what I mean – make the right choice, don’t do as I did.”

The boy looked at him puzzled, obviously not grasping Zeal’s full meaning, and Zeal not intending him to either. After a few more puzzled seconds the pupil spoke one last time to his Master.

“Don’t worry Master, I won’t embarrass you today, I will survive this and I will serve you and our faith eternally.”

Zeal laughed, a sound the boy was not accustomed to and which made him look even more puzzled, yet made Zeal laugh even harder, “I don’t care about pride boy, and your service will be needed elsewhere … but then again I may just hold you to that promise one day.” Zeal unstrapped his own Katana blade and handed it to the boy; the blade he’d used for the past eight hundred years.

“This will help you, boy. Your naming trial will begin if you survive today, and in the tradition of our ways I name you Genesis; you are our beginning boy.”

Zeal slapped his pupil hard on the back, and with his enhanced strength knocked Genesis into the training grounds.

With remorse, perched high above the gulch, Zeal whispered into the wind, “Good luck boy, like my blade, you’ll need it more than me now, I doubt you’ll survive today but if you do … well good luck …”

The old Immortal turned and left his beloved student to his fate, for he knew his own now needed much meditation. Zeal disappeared into the filtering light between the trees and was gone from this world forever.

It took Osiris a while still to compose himself, his age old losses playing on his mind. However with a strained smile he continued to explain the other classes of his Order to the disciples’ in front of him. Knowing full well the pipe dream they wanted to hear, and trying to forget the gritty truth of what horrors and dangers his brothers were often pitted against. He cleared his throat to signify he was ready to go on.

“All three of these classes, my disciples, although very different in their own right, do share one major key factor. Through the extensive processes developed by the Tel’nagara and SINAI’s enhancements, they share the long gift of prosperity and perceptivity, given only through immortality and our faith and religion. Many have been sacrificed for this ideal to be made reality, and today because of its success we still stand as the mightiest colony and nation in Terithian space.”

Again he paused, pursing his lips as he felt a shiver rush through him as his lost brothers’ faces looked helplessly up at him through his bubbling mind. He was really struggling today.

Obscurely and against sermon procedures, he felt a tingle of responsibility, and decided to open up some of the more real facts to his young listeners. It had been a long week and they had listened intently and with stout hearts. He felt they deserved a little more than his usual piousness.

The old Historian heard his own voice start for the first time since he began the sermon – a sermon which he’d given possibly a thousand times before, but this part, this he decided would be new
, new for them at least
.

Osiris continued, invigorated by his new found valour.

“Unfortunately though, this process of creating Immortals is a difficult one and not all of us are strong or lucky enough to survive the crossover or trials from mortality. And even those who do make it past these initial stages still have to go through a long and rigorous training path, which barely any make it through. 

“But if you do, if you are strong enough to make it, you will join the lower of two ranks within the Order. Yes, that’s right, firstly Wielder – lowest of our ranks – where you are governed by all above you and
again
, if lucky enough, strong enough, if possible and surviving long enough, eventually maybe graduate from Wielder into a Divine Wielder.

“A Divine Wielder, as the name indicates, is higher in rank to a regular Wielder—” Osiris heard his comm beep in an unusual pattern, signifying the SINAI’s concern with his change of direction to
its
pre-prepared outline. He ignored it and went on. “Historians are higher in rank than the lower class Wielders and govern Wielders in all combat missions. This is due to the Historians’ stronger link to the Rieft and their forecasting abilities, which gives them greater levels of judgment and calculative decisiveness over their subordinates. Only once a young Wielder is deemed ready by the SINAI and Elders, can they climb their way to becoming equal to a Historian as Divine Wielder. Until this happens, the apprenticed Wielder is under the command of an experienced Historian; deployed in the manner discerned by their Sovereign – the name one takes when one is overseeing their apprentice – or SINAI leaders.

“It seems complicated but it really isn’t. Think of it as management if you will. Upper management has apprentices and lower management report to upper management but get to govern their own teams of apprentices on the floor as well.

“Sometimes – on extreme occasion – a pupil may be apprenticed under a willing Divine Wielder’s tutelage, but this is extremely rare and has come about only in extenuating circumstances.

“The young Historians … well they are another matter entirely when it comes to training. Their path to full entitlement is quite different to that of the Wielders. Those identified for the sanction of Historian are mentored by the SINAI itself until the novice passes years of study and training, and can wield many divine words of power. To take on their own Wielder apprentice is their final challenge, and when graduating and guiding a Wielder into becoming a Divine Wielder, the Historian is finally released for the Path of the Sacred, which means they are more reliant on their own foresight and knowledge, as they are to continue in the name of the faith.