Re: Epic Clash Round 3 - The Ascended City
06-15-2010, 10:55 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by suomynonAyletamitlU.
Spender hung in midair.
His head hung, too. It wasn't guilt, though. It wasn't agony, not quite. It was more along the lines of rage... no, fury.
He spent a modified Analysis coin just to check. He, and Thomas, and the babes, had they been conscious, they all received the same knowledge about the people sitting there. Of the four--well, seven--of them, only Spender knew the reasons behind the data.
"Greg," said Spender suddenly, not caring which persona was in charge. "You're an educated man. I'm sure you're familiar with the philosophies of early humanity, the ones questioning why an omnipotent ruler would create an imperfect world."
"He is," relayed Bern, compelled by his anger to stay in charge.
"In the EDF we have come into contact, from time to time, with entities of godly power--which we rate as X-rank threats. Many of these entities create their own universes within their 'domain'--sometimes large, sometimes small. However, they are all 'planned' universes--nothing exists except that which was created. Everything, the smallest detail, was created on purpose, even if what it becomes, through the process of time, and life, is not what was intended.
"These are, of course, very small things, in the grand scheme of things. Generally, not even a full planet, as they don't know or care about the details of the inner workings of a world. Sometimes, these worlds are copied directly from something which exists, but even then, their contents are vetted."
"However, we have come across living organisms in those worlds, which require those worlds to continue to exist. If we are forced to destroy the X-rank being in charge of those worlds--if it becomes a nightmare--we may be forced to kill innocents on a scale you cannot conceive of."
Bern tensed. Only his own hostages stopped him from striking Spender at that moment. He was inwardly deciding where to drop them off before Spender began again.
"Obviously this presents a problem of official policy. We cannot, as a matter of policy, be cruel. Therefore we learn, evaluate, and try to determine what value those people have--to each other, to the greater universe, to themselves--before we determine what to do."
"The data in front of you. You do not know what it means." Spender put his hands in his pockets and turned full on to face Thomas, but his eyes were closed, and tightly, and his head was bowed. "It means that this world is an imitation--that it is created, rather than that we were brought to a place that had existed before the Overseer arrived. And it shows that those babes in your arms are 100% human... facsimiles."
"Genetically, memetically, you might even argue spiritually, they are human. However, they are mere copies of something that existed elsewhere. The people in your hands exist somewhere out in the multiverse, and those," his eyes opened, and a fury poured out of them that Bern could not believe, and he could barely stand to make eye contact. "Those are bait."
In instants, Berns face went through confusion, anger, and several other emotions. After a moment, Greg's eyes replaced his. "So what you're trying to say is that they were put here merely so that we would feel reticent to kill them. However, what you're advocating is still the murder of innocents. Even if I were to accept the theory that they are fake--"
"No, they are not fake. They are actual, living beings." Spender turned away. "So were those twisted wax visages in the arena--and so were the rock creatures in the bent world. Just like the wind on your face is real, those humans are real."
Spender's voice was hard enough that Greg very nearly backed away, but he knew he could not afford to. "Is that your opinion as a soldier?"
Spender reached up to his collar and dislodged a coin from it. Wordlessly, he took the coin, and pressed it into Thomas' hand, without forcing him to drop his cargo; when Greg shifted his burden, he found that on its face was a golden gravestone with silver filigrees. He also found that Spender had disappeared.
He hesitated, then found a safe place to put down the unconscious children, before activating it.
The four of them all felt it--it seemed like they were frozen in time, but they found their minds in a graveyard, one which the spell implicitly informed them was millions--no, billions of gravestones large. Upon entering, each of the four of them was given exactly one flower, each a different color, one that soothed their own hearts; the spell informed them they would have to come back to gain another. Each had names and faces, and signs to indicate the circumstances of the death.
For all that, as the four looked around them, but they could not see a single grave, save only the half dozen or so fresh graves before them, which did not have at least two flowers on it, and many had many more. All of them were the same silvered golden blooms.
They looked at each other, but could not find words. After a few moments, they each placed a flower, and as they did, they were each sent back to their own collective mind.
Greg regained the captains chair just in time to hear Spender's percussive barrage start again, somewhat more distantly.
It had no music to it at all.
Spender hung in midair.
His head hung, too. It wasn't guilt, though. It wasn't agony, not quite. It was more along the lines of rage... no, fury.
He spent a modified Analysis coin just to check. He, and Thomas, and the babes, had they been conscious, they all received the same knowledge about the people sitting there. Of the four--well, seven--of them, only Spender knew the reasons behind the data.
"Greg," said Spender suddenly, not caring which persona was in charge. "You're an educated man. I'm sure you're familiar with the philosophies of early humanity, the ones questioning why an omnipotent ruler would create an imperfect world."
"He is," relayed Bern, compelled by his anger to stay in charge.
"In the EDF we have come into contact, from time to time, with entities of godly power--which we rate as X-rank threats. Many of these entities create their own universes within their 'domain'--sometimes large, sometimes small. However, they are all 'planned' universes--nothing exists except that which was created. Everything, the smallest detail, was created on purpose, even if what it becomes, through the process of time, and life, is not what was intended.
"These are, of course, very small things, in the grand scheme of things. Generally, not even a full planet, as they don't know or care about the details of the inner workings of a world. Sometimes, these worlds are copied directly from something which exists, but even then, their contents are vetted."
"However, we have come across living organisms in those worlds, which require those worlds to continue to exist. If we are forced to destroy the X-rank being in charge of those worlds--if it becomes a nightmare--we may be forced to kill innocents on a scale you cannot conceive of."
Bern tensed. Only his own hostages stopped him from striking Spender at that moment. He was inwardly deciding where to drop them off before Spender began again.
"Obviously this presents a problem of official policy. We cannot, as a matter of policy, be cruel. Therefore we learn, evaluate, and try to determine what value those people have--to each other, to the greater universe, to themselves--before we determine what to do."
"The data in front of you. You do not know what it means." Spender put his hands in his pockets and turned full on to face Thomas, but his eyes were closed, and tightly, and his head was bowed. "It means that this world is an imitation--that it is created, rather than that we were brought to a place that had existed before the Overseer arrived. And it shows that those babes in your arms are 100% human... facsimiles."
"Genetically, memetically, you might even argue spiritually, they are human. However, they are mere copies of something that existed elsewhere. The people in your hands exist somewhere out in the multiverse, and those," his eyes opened, and a fury poured out of them that Bern could not believe, and he could barely stand to make eye contact. "Those are bait."
In instants, Berns face went through confusion, anger, and several other emotions. After a moment, Greg's eyes replaced his. "So what you're trying to say is that they were put here merely so that we would feel reticent to kill them. However, what you're advocating is still the murder of innocents. Even if I were to accept the theory that they are fake--"
"No, they are not fake. They are actual, living beings." Spender turned away. "So were those twisted wax visages in the arena--and so were the rock creatures in the bent world. Just like the wind on your face is real, those humans are real."
Spender's voice was hard enough that Greg very nearly backed away, but he knew he could not afford to. "Is that your opinion as a soldier?"
Spender reached up to his collar and dislodged a coin from it. Wordlessly, he took the coin, and pressed it into Thomas' hand, without forcing him to drop his cargo; when Greg shifted his burden, he found that on its face was a golden gravestone with silver filigrees. He also found that Spender had disappeared.
He hesitated, then found a safe place to put down the unconscious children, before activating it.
The four of them all felt it--it seemed like they were frozen in time, but they found their minds in a graveyard, one which the spell implicitly informed them was millions--no, billions of gravestones large. Upon entering, each of the four of them was given exactly one flower, each a different color, one that soothed their own hearts; the spell informed them they would have to come back to gain another. Each had names and faces, and signs to indicate the circumstances of the death.
For all that, as the four looked around them, but they could not see a single grave, save only the half dozen or so fresh graves before them, which did not have at least two flowers on it, and many had many more. All of them were the same silvered golden blooms.
They looked at each other, but could not find words. After a few moments, they each placed a flower, and as they did, they were each sent back to their own collective mind.
Greg regained the captains chair just in time to hear Spender's percussive barrage start again, somewhat more distantly.
It had no music to it at all.