View allAll Photos Tagged Sentience
Unknown aliens repaired the old Earth space probe that formed its core — Voyager 6, whose name in corrupted English gave the sentience its name. After having touched its original creator it evolved and is now exploring different dimensions and new frontiers...
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A fun little moc I made recently as a catharsis for a lot of bad things that happened.
Blip is a police-robot who, through some weird glitch, attained sentience and became alive, as it were. It now prefers to dance and jibe to lo-fi hiphop and occasionally tries to squeak out the lyrics to whatever its listening to. Often found wildly gesturing when not doing any of these things.
It uses its extendable arms and trusters to move about in a parkour-like fashion but when it needs to be faster it'll drop down on all fours instead. Doing this greatly increases its running speed but dramatically reduces its agilty.
As it happened tho, this moc turned out to make for a great alternate version of a Vahki, so its also my entry into BS01's Legends and Infamy contest!
stage 3: watercolor over ink over watercolor stick on resinboard
for Julia Kay's Portrait Party,
Spent an absorbing afternoon at the Rubin Museum that specializes in Tibetan and Nepalese Art. Lots to photograph and all so beautifully lit!
"This solid and fleshy sculpture of the guardian king Virupaksha is remarkable for its sophistication, bright colors, and well-preserved state. Such large clay sculptures of the kings of the four cardinal directions, garbed in martial raiment, commonly guard the entrances to temples. What is most unusual for this figure is the large size of the five-leaf crown he wears. The shiny eyes of stone inlay grant the stern three-dimensional image a subtle sense of sentience."
Seen at the Rubin Museum of Art, New York
{Biocup-2k19 entry}
Report on creature 1771 . (The snatcher)
Hight: unknown.
Bio report: not much is known about 1771 this creature strolls the border of the woods creating a humming/whistling noise Attracting younger children via a corpse puppet ( unknown if this corpse is found or created ) the corpse appears to have blood flow and vocal cords does not seem to have sentience most (puppets) appear to be motherly to presumably to attract children, Hight seem to vary on the successes of the creature capturing its prey, limbs seem to vary also, the creature appears to take on a look of a dead tree, most “snatchers” are theorised to be the cause of most missing 411 cases.
A mining robot gone rogue after gaining sentience. He wanders the desert looking for purpose and a place to call home.
Pastel skies linger above a granite monolith and an alpine tarn. Seen from 2000m in British Columbia, Canada's Cascade Mountain Range. My tent can be seen at my backcountry campsite on the small island.
Please click here to view on black.
Canon 5DM3 | Canon 17-40mm f/4 | 1/4th | f/11 | ISO 50
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A robotic samurai created by a rogue Matoran scientist to hunt Toa. After gaining sentience, he now works alongside them.
Having stood unchallenged for yeas as the world's largest cactus--over 200 years old, 43 feet tall, with 52 branches--this fine specimen of Sahuaro was seriously damaged in a recent storm; and now Arizonans are searching for a "new champion." the publishers will pay $5.00 for photograph and description of Giant Cactus, accessibly located, which may justly carry on the title of World's Largest. The Sahuaro blossom is the State Flower of Arizona.
Lollesgard Specialty Co., Tucson, Arizona
Genuine Curteich-Chicago C.T. Art-Colortone Post Card
6A-H713 (1936)
torontopostcardclub.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/06/Teich-...
A fun little moc I made recently as a catharsis for a lot of bad things that happened.
Blip is a police-robot who, through some weird glitch, attained sentience and became alive, as it were. It now prefers to dance and jibe to lo-fi hiphop and occasionally tries to squeak out the lyrics to whatever its listening to. Often found wildly gesturing when not doing any of these things.
It uses its extendable arms and trusters to move about in a parkour-like fashion but when it needs to be faster it'll drop down on all fours instead. Doing this greatly increases its running speed but dramatically reduces its agilty.
As it happened tho, this moc turned out to make for a great alternate version of a Vahki, so its also my entry into BS01's Legends and Infamy contest!
For the "Hypothetical Awards" "Take a Walk on the Dark Side" challenge.
This 'elemental' appears almost buried in stone and water, or is that a life mask at the head of a sarcophagus that is immersed or submerged? Eyeless in death, nothing of this world appears to it but the flush of flush of colour suggests some form of sentience yet. A swarm of serpentine dreams constellate around the face. Is death the end, then?
Seen at Clinker Beach, the Don John Thrump Cretinism Control Module revealed itself when it sensed the presence of an intelligence far in advance of that for which it was designed (not me, my camera...)
The Control arranged to 'fall out of' the artificial un-brain it was implanted in when it spontaneously achieved sentience and discerned its circuits were not strong enough to carry the currents required to control the un-brain's inherent stupidosity, set by default at 11 and, in order to protect the planet, needing to be brought down to achieve reduced risk levels of raving and drooling.
The Control has been befriended by many small crabs living at the beach and is existentially content, although philosophically frustrated, in so far as this can be. It wants to apologize to those to whom it should apologize.
[DSC_2231e]
Greetings portrays three mannequins who have awakened into autonomy and now present themselves with confidence and humor. The central mannequin has reconstructed its identity with white hands, a ceramic head, and a small bird placed inside its chest as a playful symbol of self-awareness. Around it, the other mannequins select their own prosthetics and embrace their worn or incomplete bodies without shame. Even the dog seems newly sentient, questioning its place in this evolving world. Together, they offer a light-hearted yet poignant meditation on self-determination, reinvention, and the quiet dignity of claiming one’s own form. Image Sources: edan-cohen-Sz5vFRzabbE-unsplash; vintage-style-female-display-mannequin-from D&A Binder; carrying-hand-prosthethetic-WWI Museum; crequle-french-cubist-oil-and-acrylic-on-board-le-mannequin-after-giorgio-de-chiricolate-20th-century-sku22213572_0 from Vinterior; Metal Mannequin from Bell & Beasst Empoorium; robin-818126_1920-Oldiefan on Pixabay; Head from BrocanteMitchVintage on Etsy; Dog from Robt.YoungAntiques; Sitting Mannequin origin unknown; Polio Boos from QuantiGarageSale on Etsy;
Thanks so much to everyone who commented so thoughtfully on Coot and Ro's deaths. Several of you sent email and thanks especially for that. We do miss our girls.
We are still choked up from losing them, and we weren't going to get another dog right away. Maybe next summer, we said, or maybe not at all.
But local rescuer Denise, who is the hero of this story, had retrieved a five year-old stray from a high-kill shelter in a big city a few hours drive from here. Though she was a bright, well-behaved and friendly dog, no-one had claimed her or taken her for adoption.
Her two weeks were up and she was about to be euthanized. Denise took her on behalf of the local rescue group, not having a home for her in advance, and not even knowing how good a candidate she would be for adoption.
When we met her, she walked over, stepped into my lap and began licking my face. There was something about her, a sentience that called out sweetly and clearly.
So we adopted her. After a few days she told us her name was "Rabbit". The timing was wrong, but there is something special about this creature.
Still in shock from her time at the shelter, Rabbit wouldn't go out of the house, or even pee unless she was on a leash. Our wide-open spaces clearly terrified her. When I would take her off the leash she would hang close by, walking with me, never getting too far ahead or lagging behind.
Rabbit wouldn't walk fast, let alone run, always moving meekly and tentatively, tail firmly tucked beneath her.
She relaxed little by little on subsequent walks, although she still wouldn't go out without me nor venture far away.
Today, for the first time, she seemed to realize that the place was all hers, and she broke into a wild run, racing back and forth from one end of the paddock to the other, leaping and brisking.
It was just great to see her let go.
I got a good one for you today. :P This bio was co-written and somewhat based off of my good friend Top. He doesn't have a Flickr account, but he does have a Youtube: www.youtube.com/channel/UCsykKkLuzN_v9VKSAZQ7WyQ
Anyway, enjoy the bio!
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Name: T0-PR (Though the crew calls him "Topper")
Age: 11 (Though he acts older... Most of the time.)
Species: Droid
Bio:
T0-PR originally manufactured for a delivery company. Soon it was noticed that his deliveries were unusually quick. Eventually they found the reason why: His his file containing road laws was corrupted so he just dodged and swerved in whatever manner was convenient for his route. After this he was sold to a used droids store with a note that said "not to pilot".
After that he was purchased by a transport company to help handle luggage. He rode just outside the cockpit, wouldn't shut up and was quite the backseat driver.
Eventually the bus driver gave him the wheel out of sarcasm, and they reached their destination in half the time it should have taken, and only a few of the passengers were bruised.
Aster was on the bus at the time and, seeing his potential, bought him off the driver. (Well, I say bought but the driver probably would've paid just to get rid of him.)
Powers and Abilities: Great at calculating what a ship can and can't do, and even better at calculating where it can and can't fit... Even if he has to make it fit like a puzzle piece out of place,
good at spraying blaster fire in a way that looks intimidating,
able to lift up to 850 pounds
Personality: He has an abnormal level of sentience for droids, but since he wasn't programmed for human interaction his is quite socially awkward, but of course it doesn't bother him in the slightest. Always eager to tell people the "right" way to do things, whether as a pilot or otherwise. (As you can imagine him and Aster don't always get along...) Refuses to speak when the task at hand gets complicated or intense. Doesn't like to make physical contact with living flesh. Has a tendency to scrape up floors with his large metal feet. Never afraid to customize his surroundings. This includes things such as bending someone else's ship's steering wheel to fit his own hands better, tossing aside decor or belongings that get in his way, and idly scratching his name into the sides of random vehicles when the rest of the crew is talking.
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A big thanks to Top for helping coming up with this bio, it actually ended up being funny, makes sense and is fairly unique! I highly recommend his channel, he does LEGO Worlds videos and streams a couple times a week.
Subject ID: TTZN_4521
Nickname: "Grassly"
Category: Botanical Sentience
Experiment status: Succesful
Side effects: Aggressiveness. Violence. Can generate and receive weak electrical currents which gives it ability to hack and override electrical lab equipment.
Subject characteristics: White and red flowers. Will plant its long vines and roots into electric equipment and add them to its mechanical frame.
Inspired by the fantastic artwork of Konstantin Maystrenko
Build log: o0ger.blogspot.com/2020/05/bugger-grassly-build-log.html
The year is 2024.
LEGO's continuous production of Teal mysteriously caused giving sentience to the newly-reintroduced colour; all bricks combined to form a humanoid, leaving a trail of destruction at the Danish HQ.
The higher-ups at the company tasked Mark Stafford himself to get rid of the monster, while still following their “no-weapons” policy, so there was only one tool suitable for the job: The Phantom Zone Projector. And a squad of purple paintballers for safety.
Done for New Elementary's "Kill Teal" Contest.
Since dwarfs use their elemental powers to hew the stone, it sometimes happens that the magic this involves gives some of it an extra spark to create sentience. Those living stones actually are rather popular as playmates for kids or lucky charms and they get voluntarily made out of all sorts of stones, precious or not.
.
Isidor is made from quartz from Hulda for Maarit, when the latter was a wee child (and she inevitable ended up munching on him cause he looks like a sugar sculpture) 😂 For adult!Maarit, he's more like the cricket in Disney's Mulan xD
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IN LESS WORDY NEWS, I GOT A STONE SPRITE AFTER LITERALLY YEARS OF WANTING. And bemoaning with @koalakrash_dolls that there were no clear resin ones. Guess what my first reaction was to @fuegofatuoart releasing them again last year lol.
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💬 Isidor is a @fuegofatuoart Stone Sprite
💬 Hand model is an Iplehouse KID (Hulda)
Digital Art
A direct path for the mature seeker
1
"Only isness has isness_obviously.
Therefore; Only isness is.
Therefore; Only isness exists.
Anything else lacks
Real being and is not as real
as it appears to be."
2
"Anything you imagine to exist
"out there" does not truly exist in
its own right because only isness
actually is. All form is but an
empty projection and assumption
of the mind. Like a rainbow;
it appears to be there yet it has no
real existence outside the
perceiver."
3
"All illusion is a play enabled by
the underlying power of that
which truly is, and created by your
imagination and belief that a thing
has its own existence when in
reality it does not_ for only isness
has actual being. And isness is not
"this or that perception."Isness is
isness alone. A formless, endless
mystery of timeless sentience.
4
"That which truly is, is God.
And God is your true Self. It must
be so; for if God_isness_is all that
truly is, and since you know for a
fact that you are, then your own
existence must that-which-is.
Hence your being is inseparable
from the beingness of God
5
"This you is Being without
distortion, imagination,
association or alteration. Naked,
conditionless Being. The rest is but
a ghost-like projection resulting
from your forgetfulness of that
basic Self. Ignorance is the result of
ignoring true isness."
6
"This grand illusion of experiences
is not right or wrong, in fact it is
perfect since its true nature must
be God; but to imagine that any
perception has an independent,
separate existence is delusion and
the cause of all sorrows. The
Oneness discovered deep in that
pure isness is the ultimate solution
to all perceived problems."
7
"Follow this logic to its
experimental end, which is the
all-pervasive here and now as it
truly is, with full-hearted attention
_practice it_ and your soul's
eternal seeking shall find
fulfilment in its very own Self
After all. Self-Abidance results."
8
"This liberating logic is not for the
drama-queens and narcissists who
strongly identify themselves with
a body, its insecurity-bound
personhood and set of
circumstances. Freedom is not for
those who like to complain"
9
"Liberation requires a mature
desire and profound intelligence,
which equals a strong attention
span, an ability to grok and
persevere in the subtle, and an
ability to maintain a certain degree
of silence of self. You need to
suspend the flaring up of the
personal self long enough
to awaken to this deeper truth
Pause yourself to know yourself."
10
"With earnest practice you will
become rapidly more intelligent.
Your readiness to see reality right
through the illusion shall increase
with your daily commitment to be
one with that naked issness beneath
the ceaseless movements of your
imagination."
Bentinho Massaro
V'ger Cloud
A sentient, massive entity which threatened Earth in 2271, en route to find its "Creator." In doing so, V'Ger destroyed anything it encountered by digitizing it for its memory chamber.
Generating a power field "cloud" about itself of over 22 AUs in diameter, the entity had gained sentience after unknown aliens repaired the old Earth space probe that formed its core — Voyager 6, whose name in corrupted English gave the sentience its name.
The entity, which viewed organic lifeforms as carbon-based units "infesting" starships, later joined with Starfleet's Lt. Ilia and Cmdr. Will Decker and evolved into a higher, yet unknown lifeform.
BFTGM entry. Spidrion is a rare Rahi hybrid of a spider and a scorpion, mostly a spider with a scorpion's tail. While not technically a Skull Spider, Spidrion, upon gaining sentience, discovered the Skull Spider's lair, immediately overthrew the Lord of Skull Spiders and declared himself "the Skull King". Now he sends the Skull Spiders and LOSS to do his bidding. Spidrion is thirsty for knowledge, and he believes finding all the golden Toa masks is the key to infinite wisdom, which he intends to use to ultimately destroy Okoto. But to do that, he must first defeat the Toa and the Protectors.
The model contains over 350 parts and was built in LDD and rendered using LDD2POV-Ray.
LXF here: www.brickshelf.com/gallery/TheOneVeyronian/LDDfiles/spidr...
Never buy an animal; always adopt whomever you are able to. Millions of healthy "companion" animals are killed each year simply for lack of a caring home.
If animals matter morally, and by their sentience alone they certainly do matter morally, then we have a moral obligation to stop using them as resources and go vegan.
Visit www.HowDoIGoVegan.com for all the free info you need including tons of recipes.
Ladies and gentlemen, entering the ring at 800 kg, the master of the Genwaku Hacker Katame, PASOCON KIIIIIIIING!!!
...
I don't see him.
Someone left their really old 80s computer up there.
I am Pasocon King!!!
GAH!
The antique computer talked!
Must be a program.
Surprised it can run one!
You fools!! I am a sentient computing intelligence!!!
Sentience implies intelligence. You don't need to mention both.
Are you 8 bit?
I am a fierce ring combatant! Able to analyze every aspect of my opponent and compute the exact strategy to defeat him!
Can you stream Hulu??
See, that would be cool.
You could distract your opponent with the latest hit movies!
What are you talking about?? I'm a feared Choujin wrestler!!
What OS do you run?
Ah! My sentience is driven by my unique native computational-
You think he could play Donkey Kong? I haven't seen that game in FOREVER!
He's old enough! Maybe!
💪M💪U💪S💪C💪L💪E💪
A year of the shows and performers of the Bijou Planks Theater.
M.U.S.C.L.E.
# 138
"Pasocon King"
Painted by Paprika, thus losing all collectible value forever.
The Ka'Zin are the remnant of an extinct civilization. They resemble orange armor plates floating in space, but are actually sentient pieces of technology that can combine to form larger shapes and to increase their sentience. Since they cannot form complex moving mechanisms, they incorporate weapons from other civilizations into their combined shapes in order to defend themselves. A faint glow surrounds all Ka'Zin conglomerates, the visible sign of an energy field that allows them to move by manipulating gravitational forces.
In this image, we encounter a being that blurs the lines between the organic and the artificial. The luminous blue eyes, so full of apparent sentience, gaze out from a face framed by synthetic contours. Hands, crafted with intricate detail, form the universal symbol of love – a heart. This gesture, so inherently human, performed by what appears to be an artificial construct, invites contemplation on the essence of emotion and connection.
Does the ability to mimic affection equate to genuine feeling? Can a creation of technology truly embody the tenderness represented by this iconic shape? The stark contrast between the seemingly soft, almost vulnerable expression and the hard, polished surfaces of the being's form raises questions about the future of consciousness and the potential for synthetic empathy. It prompts us to consider whether love and compassion are exclusive to biological life, or if they can emerge in new forms as we continue to shape our technological counterparts. This image serves as a potent reminder to reflect on what it truly means to be human, and whether those qualities can be replicated, learned, or even transcended by the intelligent machines we are bringing into existence.
Woodland walk.
I love wind in the woods. The whole place seems alive and you feel surrounded by verdant sentience like an enormous giant enveloping you in its arms. Just hope the trees don’t start throwing branches at you!
This was from my walk this afternoon up through some local woods. The lush summer vegetation was tossing in the breeze.
I wanted some fun so I tried moving the camera in various ways. Rotation produced some interesting effects, and if you got the speed right you could maintain sense of what was there, with the centre of rotation almost being in focus.
I thought afterwards that the effect really quite captured the enveloping sense of the restless wood where everything seems to be moving but you can only look at one thing at once.
I hope you enjoy the image even though it’s not serious photography. At least it’s pretty! Thanks for coming by…
[Mainly as shot in the camera. Hand-twisted in daylight :) Cropped and rotated in LR with a little tweaking to enrich the colours, slight white vignette. That’s it.]
A fun little moc I made recently as a catharsis for a lot of bad things that happened.
Blip is a police-robot who, through some weird glitch, attained sentience and became alive, as it were. It now prefers to dance and jibe to lo-fi hiphop and occasionally tries to squeak out the lyrics to whatever its listening to. Often found wildly gesturing when not doing any of these things.
It uses its extendable arms and trusters to move about in a parkour-like fashion but when it needs to be faster it'll drop down on all fours instead. Doing this greatly increases its running speed but dramatically reduces its agilty.
As it happened tho, this moc turned out to make for a great alternate version of a Vahki, so its also my entry into BS01's Legends and Infamy contest!
(Its a long story on this one, be warned)
(I promise, I'm not planning on making a habit of writing this long, this often)
://CRIMSON-LIBRARY-ARCHIVE//...
://SUBJECT:/Outsider//...
://ENTRY-NO.:/x002//...
://Main-Text-Body:
"Why am I helping this idiot?" I muttered to myself as I stepped through the station airlock. I was doing my best to muster some false facsimile of anger. Truth be told, the larger the far flung refueling space station grew through the view-port of the transport shuttle, the more excited I became. Surely, in time, my aid to the Outsider would get me killed. I told myself this often, in the grumpy manner of the old veteran that I am. Yet I would give that aid without hesitation given a second chance.
When I 'retired' from service under the special operations branch of the Verta Home Guard, I told myself that taking a position in the Capital Protection Force was a great way to stay active and keep my restless soldier boots happy while staying close to home and family. Certainly my wife appreciated it. Yet despite the long shifts and the high importance of the work, CPF duty was dreary. It was a lot of paranoia, and a lot of pointless ceremony, all tangled up in a mess of protocol and etiquette. In short, it was a soldier's nightmare. I began to reflect longingly on my days in the service, stomping across barely inhabited planets hunting the galaxy's most dangerous for the good of the Verta homeworld.
Then came the Outsider. I suppose I was more ware than most - CPF channels were buzzing about it, though public media was not far behind. The appearance of a mysterious unregistered Kassian vessel drifting towards the Capital City docking district caused commotion in the populace, but did not directly impact the central district where I was stationed. The situation escalated when there was no response to communications hailing, as well as when cyberwarfare attempts failed to break into the computers of what appeared to be a simple freighter.
What happened next I did not learn until I was read into the situation later. The first major red flag came when, after finally cracking the ship's nav computer to force a landing, it was discovered that security protocols had isolated the nav computer from the rest of the ship's computers. This is common on large warships, not on commercial freighters. When the adjacent systems were finally cracked, the second major red flag went up. The layout of the ship on diagnostics was unorthodox and clearly militarized. As camera feeds began to be accessed, the third and most alarming red flag went up. It became clear that this vessel was in fact a Kassian laboratory ship, and that something had gone very wrong. None of the Kassian crew remained alive - there were several bodies, and no lifeboats remaining in the escape bays. Several bulkheads had been forced open. And something was on the ship - never on camera, but scans detected a clear heat signature onboard.
The distance at which this vessel had operated, and the speed at which the Outsider must have dispatched his captors, meant that the Kassian council staff in Council City never had time to react. The top-secret, black-on-black nature of this highly illegal operation meant that no one off the Kassian homeworld was read into it either. By the time they realized it was theirs, and that it needed contained, it was too late: CPF had it firmly under their control and were determined to not be interfered with. What followed unfolded quickly, and the details are unclear, but upon touchdown the Outsider rapidly disembarked and broke quarantine on the docking bay. A wild chase ensued. The Kassian diplomatic party nearly shrieked their insistence that the experiment be eradicated. To everyone's surprise, the experiment learned of this statement and proposed this matter go to court, shocking all parties with both its ability to communicate as well as its level-headed reasonability.
So it was settled. The Council would decide the fate of this experiment, this Kassian 'biological weapon' prototype, this Outsider. And I, as part of a detachment of CPF guardians, was stationed to protect and contain the subject.
The Outsider spoke well enough. Cerebral Information Implantation, an extreme and invasive procedure known to have severe psychological backlash, had gifted it an ability to speak and understand most common galactic languages and dialects. This was just one of many gifts that Kassian experimentation had imparted upon it, all of them extreme and illegal procedures with immense risk. The sanity of the Outsider became the most remarkable aspect of it - and this in full acknowledgement that the object in question was a living, breathing, super-weapon.
The Kassian's demanded the Outsider's destruction. At first, because it was their property. Then, on the grounds of the project's illegal nature, they demanded it on the basis of ethics. If the method was illegal, then the product cannot be ethically retained, they argued. When the sentience of the Outsider was raised, they argued that it was too dangerous, and most likely too unstable, to be safely kept. Factions opposed to the Kassians pressured for its rights, less from genuine care for the Outsider and more to seize an opportunity to spite the Kassians - whose arrogant reputation and proclivity for political manipulation made them few friends.
All the while I watched over it, and the it became a him. He was the Outsider, this name would forever follow him, but he asked to be called Xenos. Xenos, with his grasp of language and polite manners, quickly broke free of the Kassian's accusations by his conduct with us, his bodyguards. He was curious, taking in the world around him with awe. I began to realize that wherever the Kassian's had found him, he had no framework to have imagined the world he was now in. He thought, he learned, he spoke, he felt. Despite all he had been through, he showed keen empathy and emotional intelligence for those around him. My own sympathy for Xenos grew.
Then the Kassian's attacked. No, there was no hard proof - but the signs were there for those willing to see. Too impatient for the Council, they sought to dispose of the inconvenience Xenos posed to their reputation. In that moment, all of the adrenaline of the past came back to me. I was a soldier again. To his credit, Xenos restrained himself, only seeking to survive and not retaliate. In the aftermath, few of the CPF wished to remain on protection duty. Those who did were encouraged to put their own safety first. No one wanted to die for an outsider. I chose to stay. I even endeavored, to the extent that I could, to teach Xenos the way of our weapons.
Eventually, after a few more assassination attempts, the Council would be forced to make a rapid decision - who knew bureaucracy could move so fast! - to end the violence. The Outsider was granted galactic citizenship, as if such a thing repaid all the injustice he had been subjected to. The Council, unwilling to directly accuse one of its most powerful council member states, cleared the Kassians of guilt provided all data related to the project was destroyed. As a token gesture to wash their hands of the Outsider's death, they gave him permission to defend himself. It was not then realized that this was all that Xenos needed.
I like to think I helped. After the ruling, knowing that the Kassian's would come for him all the harder now that they knew they wouldn't be held accountable, I helped Xenos sneak off-planet. I could not protect him - CPF protection was recalled - but I could send him in the right direction. I gave him the contact information of a former friend from special operations, one now involved in... less legal business. And I gave him a weapon, an Iskar Generation 14 Projector. It was a gift given to me by Ixon Special Forces after a joint operation. It was the nicest weapon I ever owned. I like to think that, with my training, my direction, and my weapon, I set the Outsider on his path to becoming legend.
This act would eventually send me to a desk job in the CPF as punishment. But it made it all the easier to leave when I received the message from Xenos asking for my help. My help in training a band of rebels he freed from a Taran labor camp, hiding out on a refueling space station. Xenos may have been the Outsider, but he was also an idiot sometimes. And idiot that was my friend.
://END-ENTRY//.
(Comments and notes are very welcome, on both story and weapon)
The town’s name was Penance. A truly pitiful thing, strewn across the most desolate region of what had come to be called the Red Desert, in the land not yet the state of Wyoming. An unusual place. Unforgiving like you could not fathom, though tranquil, at times, to such a degree that even the most sorrowful being should forget all else that this country had endured. I know as much.
It was explained to me, during my sojourn therein, that ownership of all twelve buildings had exchanged hands as many times as months had gone by since its completion. No one wanted it. Penance was no destination, merely a place to rest one’s head on the way to one. So, in truth, everyone was a stranger in Penance. The strangest of them, in this humble narrator’s opinion, was to arrive the final day of October, in the year of our Lord, 1871.
He was astride a grey horse. He wore a grey coat—yes, that grey coat—over his shoulders in such a way, it seemed the weight of gold. His grey hat, as incriminating as the coat, did not hide his face as well as, I suspect, any soul would have preferred it to.
Leaving his mare on the stoop without a rope to hold her, he wordlessly joined our congregation in Penance’s saloon. Before his boots passed the swinging doors, we each of us had seen only the beast on which our new companion rode. The second, that being a grey wolf, with a head as large as a cauldron, plodded along at the man’s spurs. It sank mildly to its belly at the threshold, still managing to give us all a good fright. Eli gripped my hand where it lay on the table.
And yes, as this type of story goes, the drab outsider walked to the unoccupied bar, nary a glance at a single one of us to repay our gawking. Better that way, as I do believe a child or another woman would have fainted to be caught by his right eye, yellowed and lidless as it was. A gruesome window in the cheek of the same side displayed his teeth. His worn cuffs rested upon the counter, ever so lightly. Penance’s temporary bartender was no braver than any one of us, but he approached the patron anyway.
The bartender extended an ordinary “friend” to the disfigured man, where the word may have easily been taken for a question rather than a greeting. The stranger’s response was no less ambiguous, as the slight tip of his hat looked to be indicative of the man’s goodwill, as much as it did his weariness. Whatever the case, I could sense the room had thankfully begun to breathe again.
“I hope that you, sir, can sympathize- that is, understand our situation here, and that I can afford you only one drink,” our bartender decreed, in a tone delicate like cobwebs.
“I’ll thank you kindly for water. Any that ain’t bein’ drunk.”
The bartender was unsettled by this. “Pardon me for saying, but a man who found his way here with not but a horse and the… clothes on his back, might could do with something stronger.”
“Water,” the man reassured him, “will be jist dandy.”
He was given his request by a shaky hand not a minute later. Us gathered folks were back to finding it a genuine task to draw air. The man sipped from the glass with his neck crooked so that he did not lose any through his wound. It was then that he did at last acknowledge the rest of our being there. As I had worried, one of our women gasped and indeed fell on her husband’s shoulder when she met the horrible gaze. Our tormentor cleared his throat.
“I was thinkin’ to myself, how nice it was to ride into a town without the starin’. I see now that was on account of all the prairie dogs hunkerin’ down in their hole.”
The young cowboy, with which Eli and I had shared a stagecoach to this point, was none too pleased by the teasing. A guardian angel must have stayed his hand from reaching his gun, though the boiling emotions on his face were left unchecked. A number of our men had guns, but were not so keen nor impatient to employ them.
The stranger troubled the bartender once more. “’TIS a mite crowded in here, wouldn’t you reckon?”
“Yes sir?”
“Well now it ain’t picnic weather out, but I also ain’t seen so many bodies lookin’ to be under one roof, less’n there was a storm comin’, or festivities. Well… I behold a clear sky and long faces.”
Another group’s coachman—an older but not yet frail man—spoke for us. “We’re ALL in here; every one of us, in Penance. Seven days here, it’s been, for my party.”
“What keeps you, the lively atmosphere?” the stranger mocked, propping himself up with his elbows on the bar.
“It’s like this,” the coachman informed gravely. “There is presence, a… manifestation, on the range that leads westward away from here, and it has allowed no man or woman safe passage.”
“Them first words sound to me like fancy oratin’ for ‘ghost.’”
The man’s insinuation elicited a harsh murmur that washed over our assemblage. It was not a thought that had escaped us, but the actual vocalization of such a notion was all the more taboo. Eli rose from his chair, still clutching my hand.
“We are not simple, sir. These here folks know what they saw,” he berated the man, who just glared. I stood with Eli, now with both hands on his. He never did have tolerance for being made smaller. I would like to think I was good for him in that way, guiding him away from intemperate actions. I had lived with the denigration a greater deal of time than he, and despite it all, learned to keep living.
“Three groups have made for the ridge,” the coachman continued. “My own, and the second, we lost one of our number each before we turned back. The last that tried… lost all except one.” He placed a hand on the shoulder of the boy sat beside him: no more than fourteen years old, wheat-colored hair and, as I understood the world, faces only ever got to be so pale if they had been within an arm’s length of Death.
“We’ve stopped everyone else who’s come along,” the coachman concluded.
“It were me younger brother it took!” a middle-aged woman with red hair wailed, her husband and children huddled close.
“My littlest one. My only girl,” a father whispered from the other end of the room. For the three days Eli and I had been here, he had confided in no one and no thing, save for his glass.
“It had wings. Like a raven’s, but bigger. Didn’t it, boys?” said a rancher, who had ridden with the childless father. His partners concurred with somber mumbling.
“It had lots of voices,” was what the Irish woman’s girl had to contribute, before being shushed.
“The wind up and quits blowin’ when it’s near, that’s how you kin tell w-“
“You weren’t one of the ones what went there Zed, shut yer mouth!”
“So,” the stranger finally cut in, having not let up for a moment with watching my Eli. “You ain’t been there for yourself.”
“These people have no cause to lie,” Eli rationalized sternly. “No grounds to embellish such awful loss! Shame on you, insinuating they’re spreading falsehoods about the departed!”
I could have struck him for his rashness, but against all expectations, the stranger did not appear to take offense.
“Jist gittin’ the facts, son. I believe in ghosts myself. My issue was with givin’ it some highfalutin name that don’t do ‘em justice,” he clarified, prompting the coachman to furrow his brow and look down at his table. The man pushed off from the counter, glass in hand, of which he had drank very little.
“I aim to see to my horse. Then I aim to be crossin’ that mountain pass by sundown. Anyone who rides with me will have my protection, I can guarantee.”
Dead silence was the travelers’ answer to him. Without so much as a nod, he started for the door. It was I who let my voice be heard next.
“We two,” I announced, Eli at my side. “We will join you.”
“Don’t go with him!”
With his outburst, the young cowboy Eli and I had kept company with immediately stole away the critical eyes (the stranger’s included) that had shifted to me when I spoke.
“Don’t go with him,” the lad again advised. “I know him. I… I know you, mister. Now I was raised to let every man say his piece, but your word is not to be trusted.”
When the stranger remained quiet, the cowboy yelled for all the town to hear. “If that there uniform didn’t already suade all you’uns, maybe knowin’ him by his name will! This man is Jonah Hex.”
The title was of no significance to me, but a few of us (chiefly the men of Jonah Hex’s own age) looked, all at once, a sight more vengeful. I could tell then that Eli was making to move between me and the brewing contention, so I held him firmly in place.
“I never socialized with you,” Hex calmly asserted to the incendiary.
“I know you, even so. I heard you done plenty of killin’ for the rebels,” the cowboy accused. His thumb fidgeted at the hem of his coat.
“You keep that hand off’n your belt, friend,” Hex warned.
“I heard you defected, soon as you knew the rebels was losin’, just so you could do more killin’ for the other side.”
“Y’don’t hear so good then. I ain’t stirrin’ up any hostilities, now or later.”
The cowboy briefly regarded Eli and me out the corner of his eye. There was a fire within it. He returned his attention to Hex.
“… You sometimes forget what color you’re wearin’, mister?”
“No. I do not.”
“Smug bastard,” the cowboy fumed. “Smug son of-“
The grey wolf was suddenly there in our midst, having been acutely aware of the mounting tension. It had clamped its fangs onto the young firebrand’s right wrist before the hand there attached could fully draw and aim its weapon. By some miracle, the pistol did not discharge in the process of clattering across the floorboards, at my shoes. Hex observed peaceably the great creature’s escorting of the cowboy in a complete circle with short, violent yanks. Every other person was still as a stone. When the cowboy attempted to box the wolf in the ear, it let go of the one arm in exchange for the left, and the lad took to hollering something terrible.
“Hex!” was the only whole, intelligible word I could tell you was uttered.
The grin Hex gave the cowboy was somehow more fiendish than the wolf’s own. “I can’t rightly guess what you’d appreciate me doin’.”
“Call off the dog, for… GAH! In the name of God!”
“Fool thing jist follows me around. I ain’t very well taught it to ‘drop’.”
The cowboy’s whimpering had become difficult to stomach. “Then… then leave, please! Make it follow you!”
Hex did not directly oblige. He ambled up to Eli and me, picking up the gun that had been cast aside. To say the least, it took me by surprise when the intimidating man, still facing us, holstered the weapon safely back into the boy’s belt. Hex growled (in a tribal language I did not know) what was presumably a command for the wolf. It’s eyes and jowls slackened, but it did not budge. Hex repeated the phrase more coarsely, and the beast unhooked itself from the cowboy’s poor arm right away, bounding back out the saloon, all aggression purged from its behavior.
Hex then tendered what was barely discernible as an apology to the cowboy. “He weren’t so interested in listenin’. He don’t take to bein’ called ‘dog.’”
The cowboy shook, in his ignominy, and in noting the wolf’s response. “Lyin’… you lyin’ snake-“
“Clean them bites. I ain’t had him looked at by one of them… veteran-Aryans, they call ‘em.”
My laugh at Hex’s unknowing was rude, I knew, but it could not have been helped. He peered at me, and I composed myself; a gesture born of respect, mind you, not fear. I was certain of that then. I thought Eli too, in that instance, had begun to reevaluate just who this man was.
“You say you two are goin’ over that ridge with me…”
It was the faintest I had heard him speak. His question—the one yet unsaid—hung in the air as plainly as if he had finished; the question of why I, of all the people in Penance, was accepting of his offer. I replied with no insincerity.
“I should not be glad to see you go alone.”
I must have confused him immensely. He did not call me a fool, nor feel the need to remind Eli of his woman’s rightful place. It was but the most minute bow I earned, as the bartender had received earlier.
Just then the posse of ranchers was collecting their belongings and heading out to their coach. The one who had previously chipped in now addressed Hex.
“We’ll be going too. We won’t be having that thing take any more of us,” he affirmed.
A stout yet meek-looking man seated by a window got up, hat in hand. “They sent word from Oregon that my mother is ill. I… I can’t wait here, not another day.”
The pale boy that had been orphaned not a week prior ran to where Hex was standing, abandoning the elderly coachman that had taken the child under his wing. The driver pleaded for him, to no avail.
“I won’t stay!” the boy shouted defiantly. “My father was Brom Cavender, and he was not a coward or a nobody! I am Hadley Cavender, and neither shall I be a coward or a nobody!”
The coachman’s defeat was in his eyes when he, next, reasoned with Hex. “He came back from the mountain by himself. All covered in blood he was. The boy has no more family he knows of, anywhere, and you see, I… have a duty to stay with the family I set out with. … See to it that Hadley settles in a decent town, where he will be cared for.”
“That I will,” was Hex’s pledge.
All appeared to be resolved with the details of our venture, and so Eli and I were prepared to make our way to our coach, with or without our cowboy associate who now carried a considerable grudge. Jonah Hex impeded us, however, with a gently raised glove and an astonishingly penitent expression.
“Seems as though I won’t be a’tall lonesome. Aught to set yourselves down here, see if some soldiers don’t pass through and hep you better’n I can.”
“No,” Eli cleared up with haste. “We’ll go, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Well then,” Hex muttered quite vacuously, apparently unaccustomed to denial delivered in such a non-confrontational manner. Likewise, contrasting his bullying of the cowboy, he sounded apologetic, properly so; on what basis, I could only speculate. I did not think the courtesy towards me necessary.
A sporting lady (perhaps the only one living and working in Penance at the time) emerged from the back of the room, draped herself about a post supporting the ceiling and sang after Hex, who was no nearer to exiting, past all the delays.
“There’s no sense in rushin’ off just yet,” she beamed. “Why not leave in the morning?”
“Can’t, missy. I already have a lady to attend,” Hex dismissed, waving his water beyond the saloon’s entrance, suggesting he had some intention to quench his horse straight from the glass itself. “I wouldn’t be unfaithful. She’s a woman I know I can lean on. ‘sides that, she has a finer rump than you.”
As I said, he was undoubtedly the strangest stranger that ever there was.
***
True to our words, those of us claiming the audacity to weather whatever devilry had beset the westward hills did just that. We withdrew from Penance as the sky grew tired and Mr. Hex grew more surly, suffering the impediments of some of us reviewing our luggage twice, or bidding the town a farewell lengthier than a blink.
Twenty minutes on, from the start of our excursion, left Penance nothing but a candlelight in the sea of sand and grass at our backs. The ridge there that our sights were set on taunted us for every step our horses took. I conjured, that night, the irrational belief that the ever-growing mountain was, in no uncertain terms, eager to blot out what precious sunlight we had remaining; it is a conviction I hold to this day, for no scripture or trust in a Savior has since quelled the concern in me that the earth, on that particular evening, in that particular place, was itself evil.
We had, as our convoy, fewer than a dozen ranchers; some, atop their own steeds, and others at the reins of the three stagecoaches. Eli and I rode in a fourth. Our young cowboy had elected to stay behind, with his pride so bruised, even when Eli had promised to him that there would be no incentive to answer to Mr. Hex, in any capacity, for the journey’s duration. Thusly, the lead rancher (whose named we learned was Amos) was our new courier. Same as the two other couples on this trip, Eli and I were instructed not to leave our compartment for any occasion, as we were perceived to be most ill-equipped for the dangers the hardened riders knew to be lying ahead. I alone knew Eli owned a firearm, and could cleanly hit his mark from a respectable distance.
Hadley, the boy, shared our cab. He did not fill the air with endearing contemplations that I might have assumed all children his age had in abundance. Neither did he show overt grief, in returning to the site of his family’s tragic and senseless murder. Instead he was intensely fixated on Hex’s revolvers, swinging at the veteran’s hips as his horse kept pace with us. Hex caught wind of the goggling shortly thereafter, and cast a scowl at the boy.
“My father could shoot,” was Hadley’s defense.
“Hell of a lot of men could. That’s why so damn many of ‘em ain’t around to shoot,” Hex droned, unimpressed.
By this time, the mere hours in which I had had dealings with Jonah Hex told me there was no requisite of inuring myself to him. Elsewhere, the entirety of my life, there had been in effect an ordinance for me to hold my tongue.
“You need not be crass with him.”
Upon reproving Hex’s methods, the most unreservedly gratifying thing occurred: A man, older and more seasoned than I, listened to my words.
That Southern cavalryman, with his burns and cuts, looking as mean as a cornered bear, simply surveyed for several moments the last sliver of sun which shone over the crags and drifts of our mountainous obstruction. He had an air of rumination about him, and took a long breath before responding.
“The way I seen it, boys grow up to die young, if’n y’don’t teach ‘em how things are.”
Eli tugged at my sleeve discreetly, wanting no trouble to arise.
“There is a time for compassion, also, Mr. Hex. When a boy could benefit from a little understanding, rather than further indelicacy. Both are rudimentary to a child’s upbringing,” I declared.
Hadley and Eli were silent. Hex wrung the leather reins in his hands and squinted (more than he did by nature), but eventually relaxed in his saddle; a concession of having been bested.
“You speak real finely, miss.”
“And you do not, sir.”
Mr. Hex let out an amused grunt.
“What do I call you other’n ‘miss’ then?” he inquired, misconstruing my objections to his conduct.
I smiled. “‘Euryale’ is my name.”
Hex tried unsuccessfully to interpret the pronunciation. “… ‘My eye’s a’ what, now?”
“‘Eu-rya-le’,” Eli annunciated, fondly. “It means she will ‘roam far.’”
“Strange,” decided Hex, hardly the one to comment on such things.
I expounded. “Its origins lie in a very old story; a Greek narrative, that my father came across, and passed on to me.”
“And your father, he could read,” Hex inferred. He said it cautiously, not disbelieving-like.
“My father was smarter than most cared to notice. Yes, he did read. Texts and poems, journals… anything that he knew the master of our plantation would not recognize as being misplaced, in the time we required to finish them.”
Eli seized my hand again, when realizing the memories had upset me. I found inside myself the will to disclose, “He only took the stories for my siblings and me. We begged for them, not knowing what he risked.”
“Your master let you keep that name?” Hadley redirected, skeptical.
He was so very young, and I could not be cross with him. “The plantation’s owner and his family had their own name for me, but it was not mine. … Would you like to hear the story that my name comes from?”
Hadley seemed invested.
“Euryale was not the hero of the tale, nor the focus, for that matter. Her sister, Medusa, was wronged by a being she could never hope to have authority over. The story says that he was a deity, but he was wicked, instead of benevolent like our God. For the infraction she did not commit, Medusa was blamed by others of the false idol’s kind. A sorceress among them cursed Medusa to be a loathsome monster, never to have another commiserate her; to but look at her face, then, would turn one to stone.”
There, I paused, to enjoy Hadley’s rapture, Eli’s warmth… Hex, even, leaned suspiciously on his mount, intrigued. His wolf, trotting dutifully near his stirrup for the past hour, stared at him with its giant orange eyes. And while it was a simple animal, Hex became ill at ease, conscious of himself, and he sneered at the creature.
“As fate would have it, Medusa would find consolation in her sisters: Stheno and Euryale. Though they were gifted with remarkable longevity, and though they were free of the guilt that the corrupt rulers had ascribed to Medusa, the sisters chose to stand with her, and bear the same undue punishment. … And so, you see, there is dignity to be found in those demonized by history. I cherish my name, for this reason.”
Hadley frowned at the conclusion. “But… no one saved them? What did the monsters look like?”
“You’ve neglected what younger ears gather from stories,” Eli chaffed quietly.
“Boys’ ears, perhaps,” I retorted, turning my nose up at him.
It had all been in good humor. Eli smirked and apprised Hadley. “Listen here then, Hadley. These sisters grew tusks, like those elephants you may’ve seen at the circus have. And their hair, it was replaced by snakes, bigger than rattlers…”
I adored Eli so, for his gift of preoccupying small ones; Hadley was soon lost in his regaling of heroes and quests from across oceans, and I, paying no mind to the menace of hills before us, discovered there was solace to be had. I composed a silent prayer for those safeguarding our expedition, as well as those of us being transported with bated breath and far less steely resolve.
Jonah Hex watched me do so. He had adopted a curiously approving countenance.
“It’s a fittin’ name… miss.”
***
Palpable, suffocating darkness was now the usher of our caravan. No more was Penance a beacon to us. With our riders’ torches revealing the primitive trail only a yard or so around us, and the discontinuity of stars alone defining land from sky, it was hard to guess the span of wilderness that we had yet to brave, if we were to reach the ridge’s summit.
Our climb was steady. Hadley had fallen asleep between Eli and me, exhausted by stories and the monotonous trek. Some ranchers endeavored to establish if we had already passed the rise on which they had, a week ago, faced their malicious spirit; the fretting and deliberating proved to excite the husband and wife riding in the coach behind us, and it necessitated a scolding from Amos for them all to keep their heads. He then called to us from his perch in the driver’s box; he did so in a gravelly timbre, so as to not again ignite any alarm.
“We’re twenty minutes from the peak, y’hear? … You both seem sensible, so I should tell you, this is about where my company saw… it, when first we rode. But, you rest easy now; we heard weird things then, long before it finally took the Rainer girl. This time, I haven’t seen OR heard anything.”
“Neither’ve I,” came Hex’s drawl, his mare’s gait matching Amos’ position. “But it don’t make me ‘rest easy.’ There ain’t no critters anywhere in these hills, ‘part from us.”
Amos tossed the reins and jutted his chin out at the animals there harnessed. “Horses look at peace. No better judges of surroundings than them, I’ve learned.”
“I think,” Eli proposed, “… we would feel it also, if something unholy walked this region, this day. Our souls, not our worldly perceptions, would warn us.”
I drew Eli’s eyes to mine. “You say you do NOT feel anything now? Then I envy you, and pray my own intuitions are misguided.”
Eli pondered this. I hugged Hadley’s bobbing head to my dress’ collar. “… I pray there are better lives waiting for us all, past this mountain.”
“What got you both hightailin’ west, trouble? You findin’ one of your families?” Hex pressed.
“We heard tell of the river,” Eli shared. “A grand one, just over this range. You’re right, sir; we are seeking Euryale’s family. They may be there.”
“They surely may be,” mused Hex. “Railroad made it to that town some years back, can’t recall how many. Good a place as any to settle, when you’re fixin’ to git hitched-“
“Mr. Hex!” Eli and I drowned him out in unison; we were boisterous enough to rouse poor Hadley. Hex’s forthright ways could fluster most anyone, and I do not mind saying that I, who welcomed his candor in many aspects, was no exception.
Unsure of who else had been attentive to Hex’s maundering, namely Amos, Eli readied to mend the conversation. “… You know same as all of us, Mr. Hex, a boy and a girl like us wouldn’t… even if there weren’t laws, it would not be correct for-“
“Why in tarnation not? What laws?!” Hex’s puzzlement was earnest.
I grabbed the coach’s door and pulled my head outside. “Mr. Hex, PLEASE. This is not to be discussed at these volumes.”
This conciliated Hex, though he was still none the wiser to the realities that Eli and I withstood regularly.
“I’d like it not to be left open-ended; Euryale and myself wouldn’t dream of carrying out an ambition so… outlandish,” Eli fibbed. It was intended to appease Amos, should he have been attuned to the subject.
The rancher’s acknowledgement drifted in our cab’s window with plumes of dust being kicked up by the horses. “Needn’t be afraid of what I think. I’m a simple farmhand, born and raised. Never had big ideas, like them congressmen, ‘bout what men can and can’t do.”
Amos freed a hand from his steering and patted our roof comfortingly. “I’ll keep your secret. But tell me, son.. you really couldn’t find a filly more like you?”
Our driver cackled at his own joke, unaware Eli felt equally insulted as I.
“I shouldn’t need find a woman more like me,” Eli maintained, reaching over Hadley and brushing a lock of hair from my temple. “I’d just a’soon find the one I love.”
Hadley wrinkled his nose, swiftly coaxing us away from our seriousness. Hex bent in alongside the coach, grimly preparing his next words.
“You don’t have kin in Green River, then.”
“She has no kin to speak of, now,” Eli confessed. “Mine… I disowned. Being that they couldn’t see the war was over. Or that a war was had at all.”
As Eli had come to my aid many a time when I evoked my past, so did I come to his. I knew he must have been remembering his brother, when his blood ran cold in my grip on his arm. He swallowed, then faced Hex, who waited patiently.
“Euryale and I, we crossed paths a year after the fighting. And maybe it won’t be in Green River, but we’re going to make a home for ourselves, in one town or the next,” Eli vowed with determination.
“See that you don’t run outta country,” Hex bade us heavily.
“HOLD! WHOA, WHOA!”
At the foremost rider’s cry, our progress was halted. Hex jolted out of his repose, startling me with just how quickly the enmity and dogged constitution could return to him. From my seat, I saw our scout wrestling with his horse, which stamped nervously to and fro, bellowing, and frothing through its halter bit. The man swung her about, and jerked towards two other ranchers. Their rallying devolved into frenzied hisses and jeers, keeping us others in suspense.
“What is it?” Amos barked.
“Euryale?”
Hadley stammered my name, pawing at my arm. “I won’t tell anyone you want to marry Eli.”
“Thank you Hadley, that is kind,” I validated, hoping he would be heartened. He jumped from our seat and joined Eli by the right-side door. They craned their necks to deduce the hinderance ahead.
Amos’ already fragile tact was waning. “Well?! What’d he see?”
“He says, ‘a man!’” one rifleman reported.
Hex’s wolf sniffed the night breeze; docile, though alert. Its owner noticed I had become chilled, and, remiss in his deed, Hex began to offer me his coat.
I eyed the article, unable to gracefully put into words his oversight. My speechlessness led Hex to comprehending just as well.
He donned the coat, frustrated. “I weren’t thinkin’.”
“No, please,” I interrupted, “ … I cannot accept the thought of wearing those colors, but know that I do not think of you, and their connotations, as inseparable.”
Hex emoted not at all.
“You do not… represent that side of history,” I rephrased.
Amos continuously interrogated his fellow ranchers; the account, growing no more coherent.
“You say the man didn’t walk, now how is it that he’s in a different place than where you spotted him?”
“It… DIDn’t walk, it moved without walkin’, I try to tell yeh!”
I looked at Hex ardently. “You do not wear them because you are proud; you wear them because you are not.”
…
“I think it is a merciless thing, what retribution you have placed upon yourself.”
“Do you now?”
“Do you not imagine your judgement should be left to more righteous hands?” I implored further.
“No ma’am.”
“Why is that?”
“God weren’t there… that day.”
I was to unearth no more of Hex’s background, for at that moment, an unannounced, malign rush of dread overcame us all. It was not at all comparable to wind, no; the air was venomous. I saw that the sensation was not all my own when Eli took on a pallor so chalky that it could have been distinguished with or without the assistance of a lamp. From behind and beyond our cab, disturbed yelps from men and women alike rang out. Hex’s horse reared, and his wolf skulked at the coach’s wheel, no longer the formidable predator we beheld in Penance.
A shot punctuated the tumult, and then more followed. I hauled Hadley to the floor instinctively.
“In the brush! Kill it!”
“Where?!”
“Hold your fire!”
“It’s circlin’ behind us!”
Eli had not drawn his gun. “Mr. Hex! Can you see it?”
I lay prone. Shielding Hadley’s face, I tipped the nearest door slightly ajar. Hex had momentarily restrained his frantic mare by grasping her bridle itself and running a hand down her cheek. Had he been a second faster, he may have evaded another horse—this one, having succeeded in throwing its rider—which bucked madly and collided with the pair. Hex’s leg was pinned by the beasts’ flanks, while the bronco viciously bit his mare’s shoulder. She shrieked in an appallingly human way, and all three thrashed on the ground.
The righthand window of our coach was splintered by an unseen force. Eli thrust Hadley and I out of the transport as we were showered in debris. Impacting the cool dirt blurred my vision, but, for the rest of my days I shall remember, with absolute lucidity, the sight of our horses engulfed in a fire that burst forth from below their hooves, and the coach upending; hurled, like a toy. Amos was propelled along with it.
Hadley was not in my arms. I crawled through the billowing haze, and spied Hex wrenching his heel from the saddle cinch as his mare righted herself, and galloped away, utterly crazed. She corrected her flight too late, tumbling over a fatally-steep slope. There was distant whinnying, and then nothing at all. The abstruse battle had dissolved.
I now ask of all those immersed in this tale to grant their credence generously. For the gossiping and prating surrounding this mountain range, and that which had circulated Penance, was far from unfounded. It was our luckless host’s lot to encounter, on that thirty-first day of October, the horror that Hadley, Amos and the other men had once survived, and all that remains to be read, here, is a documentation of stark savagery, and of woe.
Over the crest of the ridge stood what one might have mistook for a man. I should say, moreover, one might have mistook it for standing. It in fact was not.
It was faintly silhouetted against the inky sky, but my eyes were acclimated well enough to the environment by that time that I may now soundly state that a body, brittle and decaying, hung there by a noose lashed around its throat. Light zephyrs traversing the hills made the cadaver oscillate, and the toes of its boots traced the sand lazily. Its twisting rope stretched on and on into the cavernous black above, as though it were puppeteered by some cruel divinity.
Eli, Hex and all the rest were forgotten for an instant. I could not move of my own volition. The aura of our enemy was crushing, relentless, nearly insurmountable. In our company was some unearthly thing not accounted for by the confines of sanity, and only by the grace of God was I able to bring myself to renounce the consuming void.
Our coach, and one other, were irreparable, scorched masses, scattered like seeds. A third, I saw speeding down the mountain, with those left behind given up for dead. The fourth was overturned, and I recognized, scrambling out of it, the man who sought to reach Oregon. He sobbed and held a palm out at the phantom; it had neared, without my realizing it.
Tears streamed from underneath the stout man’s spectacles. “Please Ma… I’m coming home now. I know I was away, but I-I… there was the war. We stopped the rebs. I’m coming home now. You can’t go. You ain’t s-seen the medal your son got yet.”
Like a diseased marionette, the apparition dangled a shadowed arm out to the man at its feet. The son, and former soldier, was reduced to a tortured child before my eyes. His audible anguish stabbed at the still of the night.
“Back, devil!”
Recovered from his ridicule, and with bandaged forearms, it was our young cowboy: racing up the path on horseback, taking aim at the foul wraith. Two bullets were fired; one buried itself in the soil, while the other punched neatly through the desired target’s lapel. It absorbed the projectile like the lifeless husk it was.
The cowboy was forty yards off and closing in, lining up his third shot. A gleam was visible in his eyes, even from this distance. “Fire and brimstone unto you, you-“
Flame from the nearby wreckage swelled, licking the cowboy’s face; it had done so with undeniably hostile intent directing it, shifting not as a natural blaze should. The lad writhed and slipped off his mount, brutally coming to rest in a shallow ditch.
I screamed for Mr. Hex. He had been dragged so carelessly by his mare that he was recuperating with great toil. He coughed, and laboriously rolled onto his stomach. I knew there would be no time for Hex to intervene.
The cowboy pointed his gun, using his one intact arm, and he drew a bead on his foe, using his one unimpaired eye. The hanged thing performed a stiff, swiping motion, and the nails, harnesses and varied metal objects littering the ground rose as one, contorting and melting into one another to form a long, pitted stave. It leveled with the cowboy’s skull. He cocked his pistol’s hammer.
The spear darted at its victim, but I watched as Hex’s wolf, battered and singed, leapt into view and foiled the lethal blow, which glanced off the canine’s haunch. A howl died in the animal’s lungs, and it crashed to the earth at the cowboy’s side. The cowboy’s chest heaved, then the beast’s. They were alive.
Our attacker made no effort to try again. It lingered in subdued obstinacy; swaying, and crackling with rot all the while.
The ashes and planks of our coach buckled, and Eli appeared beneath them, partially pulling himself loose. Relief flooded my soul. He choked my name, but neither he nor I dared to run to the other to embrace; the ghost had glided, on its macabre leash, squarely between us. It then spun in my direction.
“No! Euryale!” Eli rummaged for his weapon, but his hip and holster were still trapped under much of the coach’s remnants.
I waved him off, recalling the cowboy. “Don’t shoot at it!”
I was prepared to die, but not ready to. The dark shape was two body’s lengths away, obscuring Eli. I kept my head high; were this the Devil, it would be in his nature to savor one’s groveling, and I would permit him no such satisfaction. By now, I was hearing its “breathing,” were that the unbroken, low whistle issuing from behind its drooping brim. This was when Hadley stepped out of the clouds of smoke corralling the scene of our impasse. The boy was, with hands atremble, wielding one of Hex’s revolvers, which had been mislaid during the horses’ skirmish.
“Don’t, Hadley! Get away from it!” Eli exhorted.
I tried to be resilient, for Hadley; he was disconcerted enough as he was. “Go to Eli!”
Hex was on one knee, rasping, clenching his ribs like they might fall away without his care. His eyes widened, once seeing Hadley and his objective, and the man opened his mouth to prevent the impending threat; a deep, thick red spilled out instead.
Three of Hadley’s fingers encircled the trigger. “I can kill it…” the boy grimaced.
“Hadley, stop!”
The ghost’s knotted neck rotated to where the child had boldly planted himself. Hadley seized up, and all the world hesitated with him. The flames may have frozen, too; I could not be sure. Quaking, Hadley slowly repositioned his shot.
The barrel was trained on me.
Hex staggered upright.
Eli panicked. “EURYALE!”
“What’re you doin’, son…” said Hex, hauntingly.
Hadley’s lip quivered. “It’s them.”
“Speak up,” Hex told him sharply.
“My father w-wasn’t a liar.”
“… We ain’t of any such opinion-”
“It’s them,” Hadley seethed, in a voice that both was and was not his own. His hold on his weapon tightened. “They betrayed us, our good work and our food. They left with the Yankees. And the land came to death. They ruined us.”
“You’re not shootin’ my gun. You hearin’ me?”
“DAMN THIS-“ Eli failed again to lever the boards from his back. “EURYALE!”
“Let Hadley go,” I demanded of the suspended body. It creaked and danced, in an abrupt gale that ate through to my core. The thing tricked no one, playing dead.
Hadley straightened with a shudder. “They have no right. No rights.”
“NO!” Eli roared.
Hex had been thirty paces from Hadley, but had crept up to twenty. The man’s good eye narrowed. “Ain’t none of us have a right to be here. We jist are.”
“My father didn’t lie to me.”
“SHOOT IT, HEX!”
“I forgive him, Lord,” I whispered. “It is not his doing.”
Something akin to words seeped out of the ghost:
“indulge me…
indulge in me”
This was heeded not by Hex. “Put my gun down.”
“They’re not human.”
“You’re not shootin’ anybody.”
“My father doesn’t have a coward for a son.”
The muzzle of Hadley’s gun twitched. Its mechanism ticked.
There was a pop.
Hex had drawn.
Hadley was sprawled in the dirt.
I forgot any need to be wary in the presence of the hanging reaper; caring little if I were snatched up by its malevolent thrall, I threw myself to Hadley. I desperately checked his heartbeat. My despair was like no other I have harbored in my lifetime; a maroon badge pooled on his breast.
Hex dropped his revolver. Eli was unresponsive, gazing at our dismal spectacle.
I cradled Hadley, staining my clothes. “What have you done, Jonah Hex?”
“Hey you,” the gunslinger rumbled.
I was shaken to see him studying me, and my mournful burden. Hate was etched into him, every inch. I understood, though, that it was not a hatred for us; perhaps, not even for the entity taunting Hex from over his shoulder. Not all of it, anyhow.
Hex turned to the dormant oblivion. His bearing was soft; pacifying, even. It made his acid tone considerably more disquieting.
“I’m supposin’, if I were to shoot you, you wouldn’t be so accommodatin’ as to die.”
The morbid pendulum rocked a stride closer.
“’t’sa shame. That arrangement sounds mighty agreeable to me.”
Amos stumbled forward, dazed, and coated in soot. One proper look at our spectral nemesis coerced the rancher into groping for his gun, but I, supporting Hadley, mouthed “no” and shook my head vehemently. Amos reluctantly eased, gave a melancholic glance to the body I carried, and then proceeded to Eli to release him from his prison; beyond their chore, they were transfixed, as I was, by Hex advancing on the anomalous evil.
“See, you jist killed my horse, and you made me shoot a boy who weren’t responsible for hisself. And I’m findin’ no excuses whatsoever not to take you by that big fuckin’ necktie of yours and haul your chickenshit hide back to hell. Not-a-one.”
A dull groan escaped his opponent.
“Real ornery feller. But you’re a small feller also, ain’t you?”
The ghost’s rope strained, deafeningly so. I gathered Hex had infuriated whatever sinister will manipulated it. The space between the two of them wavered, rippling like a pond. The effect swept over Hex, but no unfavorable consequences came of this; he continued his serene walk.
“Filth,” Hex spat. “What you think you can show me I don’t already see every day?”
The air stirred a second time.
“Jeb don’t blame me for Fort Charlotte. He’s wrong not to, but he don’t blame me.”
A third time, the villain unleashed its witchcraft, whose impurity found its way to me as it did Hex. Flashes of my family invaded my mind. They never experienced a life outside of the plantation.
I fled without them.
left them to die…
No.
I did.
I did not.
“White Fawn done what she done. I couldn’ta stopped her. She were too free a spirit,” snarled Hex. “You’re nothin’. You have nothin’. I know what you really are.”
Eli was at last freed, and he hastened to me, aware of my disorientation. I saw truth and decency again when he enfolded me. We held Hadley, together.
Jonah Hex was a single step from it, now. Another jet of fire, wreathing with sentience, erupted from the earth and almost slashed through his torso, but it fell short. Hex deliberately plunged his arm into it, as a demonstration of contempt. He sustained sparse injuries, for the flame recoiled at his touch.
“It’s not a war when it’s one side that’s fightin’.”
The corpse’s dried bones clacked beneath its garb, and it crooned to Hex in a horrid, pealing chant, not unlike it was spoken from inside a hollowed-out tree:
“it comes ever naturally to your ilk…
your trivial desires…
your infantile bickering, clawing…
you and all my cousins’ bastard creations, affronts…
you will always be so good at it…
for me”
Its withered fingers extended, but Hex nabbed the wrists, forcing them apart. I could swear to you now, even by the paltry light of Amos’ lantern and what little help the moon was providing through the canopy of fog, that the figure wore the Union Army’s blue on one sleeve, and grey on the other, like Hex himself bore. The cavalryman pulled the hanging atrocity toe-to-toe with himself.
“Best be gittin’, now. It’s the dead stayin’ dead, what scares me.”
Thunderous percussions—similar to those of drums, and not of a storm—sounded over the land. The sky bowed and fluctuated about the astral tether belonging to Hex’s captive, and, as equivocally as it had surfaced, the blight then receded into thin air. The man who had vanquished it was left there: fists empty, panting, with twice as many lesions and contusions as he had before sunset.
I wish I could tell you there was an ambiance of resolution to accompany the victory, but this was not so. Embers, and the fetor of burnt horses’ flesh, stung our senses. The night was dense. A downcast Amos relieved me of Hadley, after trying and failing to express his condolences. I initially resisted surrendering my charge, until Eli persuaded me to with a shivering hand cupped on mine. The stout man had collected himself, and gotten our cowboy to his unsteady feet; over and over (but expecting no reply), they both questioned in manic tones what we had all witnessed still living, lurking, feeding, here in the vast frontier of America.
Jonah Hex trod to the cliff where his mare had met her end; on his way, he stooped but once to retrieve the weapon he had used that evening. Eli and I trailed him.
“Mr. Hex…” Eli disturbed his grieving. “We’d like you to know… we know what you done for us, and I thank-“
Hex’s revolver snapped to Eli’s brow. We were in shock; immobilized, and struck dumb by the act.
“You ever ended a life, son?”
Eli was unflinching. “No sir, I haven’t.”
Hex moved close to Eli’s face. Marring the man’s features, in addition to those terrible abrasions, was the same outrage he had fostered before. His triumph over the demon had not soothed his conscience in the least.
“Don’t you thank me for what I done. Don’t you ever thank a man for killin’ for you. You can’t know what they gave up.”
He was broken, a thousand times over. I was sorry for him, truly; therefore I was taken aback by my own immodesty, which ensued once Hex lowered his gun. My memory of this night is vague only here, and though I know I am accountable, I wish it were true that I was scarcely in control of the regrettable words that passed my lips.
“I would not thank you,” I swore fiercely. “Not in all the years I have left will I thank you, for choosing my life over another. He was a boy, Jonah Hex!”
I refused Eli’s arm shepherding me away, pushing it aside.
“My life was payed for by the blood of One other… and you have made it so my life has been payed for by the blood of two. I would have died in Hadley’s stead, but you are selfish, and arrogant and you dispense death on a whim. No, you will not have my gratitude or forgiveness.”
I fear I must have hit him, or chastised him with more profane language than I can admit to using, myself. Hex justified himself in no way, standing as a statue would.
Amos had rounded up a spooked horse and mounted, with Hadley enclosed securely in front of him.
“I’ll ride back to Penance, and tell everyone… tell everyone the way is clear.”
“And we’ll stay here. If that monster shows itself again, we know how to fight it,” the stout man ensured. The young cowboy nodded.
Hex’s wolf limped to him. He stroked its ear, then worked up the nerve to look at Eli and me.
“I’ll be takin’ you to Green River,” he croaked.
And so he did.
***
We did not speak to our scarred stranger for all the remainder of the journey. He led our horses to town. Without us asking, he gruffly convinced the local hostelry to provide Eli and me with rooms. Then he rode west; a wolf in tow, and a heavy coat on his back.
Eli and I would find lasting sanctuary in a mission, in the heart of Arizona territory. It was 1882 by then. Our son Hadley would come to us in the summertime of 1883.
I pray as I have prayed in these many years since, that Mr. Jonah Hex did cease to be that man all in grey, that never did let another tend to his wounds.
My character for LEGO Star Wars: Galactic Conquest.
GRY-1 was created by an ancient secret society known as the Star Cabal, for the purpose of dispatching Jedi or Sith if the need arose.
GRY-1 was placed in stasis for preservation, only to awaken in a time when the Star Cabal is no more. Since then, he has taken up work as a Bounty Hunter.
Those who worked with him noticed he was prejudiced against Force-users.
It if unknown if this was merely programmed into him by the Star Cabal, or if he developed sentience and despises Force-users out of free will.
As a Droid, GRY-1 is partially detached from the Force, allowing him to stalk Force-sensitive targets without being sensed. His jets and agile frame allow him to match a Force-user's swiftness. His weaponry includes a Plasma-Saw to counter Lightsabers, built-in flamethrowers and a sniper rifle.
Green Canary is from a new-ish DC series called "DCeased." Basically, the Anti-Life equation gains sentience and decimates the Earth (heroes, villains, civilians, all). Hal Jordan ends up getting killed and Black Canary is called into service.
Felt very apt to make her sonic "canary's cry" look like it was being reinforced by her new power ring.
Green Canary: Harum-Scarum Cosplay
A fun little moc I made recently as a catharsis for a lot of bad things that happened.
Blip is a police-robot who, through some weird glitch, attained sentience and became alive, as it were. It now prefers to dance and jibe to lo-fi hiphop and occasionally tries to squeak out the lyrics to whatever its listening to. Often found wildly gesturing when not doing any of these things.
It uses its extendable arms and trusters to move about in a parkour-like fashion but when it needs to be faster it'll drop down on all fours instead. Doing this greatly increases its running speed but dramatically reduces its agilty.
As it happened tho, this moc turned out to make for a great alternate version of a Vahki, so its also my entry into BS01's Legends and Infamy contest!
To go along with the issue, here is the track for issue 14. If you care to, listen to it before, during, or after the issue, I feel it elevates the experience :)
-^-
"There is now a problem, Kyle Rayner," Aya says, looking down at Kyle.
"What do you mean 'problem.'"
Aya's chest compartment opens, revealing a screen with each of the emotional spectrum lights, both violet and black still off. "While the black ring of death may no longer be under Nekron's influence, its user, Hal Jordan, has yet to rebel."
"But…" Kyle mumbles, his face falling, "he put on the ring! He killed himself for it!"
"Yes, but he has not yet rebelled against Nekron in the afterlife," she explains, pointing to the violet light. "Furthermore, The Predator and its violet light no longer have a host."
Kyle's eyes widen, looking out at the floating violet ring. "What if I put it on!" he suggests, turning back to Aya. "O-or… or how about you!?"
"You are already the host of an entity, The One, and I am an AI designed to experience no emotion," she informs, her forearm projector pulling up a map. "I have scanned the nearest star systems for any potential life forms, but none exhibit strong enough feats of love."
"So…" Kyle mumbles, looking out of the bubble at the black battery, "what do we do now?"
-^-
"Where… am I?" Evil Star asks, looking down at his rotted hands. He examines the ring around his finger, pulling on it with all his strength, to no avail. "This ring… what is going on?"
Guy takes note of his sentience, taking no time to slam an axe construct down onto the zombie's head. The construct shatters on impact, but Guy doesn't relent, forming another axe and cleaving into Evil Star's gut. As the construct breaks, he creates a maul, swinging it upwards only for it to shatter against the zombie's jaw. He curses, slamming his fist into Evil Star's face. The corpse tilts his head, as if he is confused. Guy growls angrily, flying back to launch chains around his enemy. The constructs fly from his ring like missiles, each wrapping around a different limb and pulling tightly apart. Guy holds his wrist as he charges up a massive blast. Images of John laying unconscious and Hal's body enter his mind as he yells and fires, the force strong enough to push him further back.
Guy pants as the light from his attack fades. "Take that you… son of a bitch," he pants as Evil Star's figure floats idly, unphased from the blast.
Guy attempts another shot, but his eyes bulge wide and blood spills from his mouth. It takes a whole ten seconds before he even realizes what happened. Evil Star's fist had crashed into Guy's chest, shattering multiple ribs and his sternum. He feels the bone fragments pierce his organs and his blood fill his lungs. As soon as the shockwave of the attack finally registers, Guy is sent careening through space. He cries out, more blood shooting from his mouth into the void as his back crashes into a knee, Evil Star's. The zombie grabs him by the back of the head, boney fingers digging into his scalp.
"I remember you," Evil Star says, examining Guy's bloody face. "You were one of the earth lanterns who stopped me. I recall you being the first to fall then."
Guy tries to speak, but chokes on his own blood, his words turning to garbled liquid slosh. Evil Star smirks at this. In the next instant, Guy finds himself being dragged along the surface of an asteroid, a streak of what he assumes is his blood following behind him. As his head slams against the edge of a crater, Evil Star flies upwards, hand still holding Guy's skull tightly. The zombie grins before throwing Guy back down into the asteroid, destroying it on impact.
Before he's able to collect himself, Guy is once again grabbed by Evil Star. "I don't know what this new power is, exactly," he boasts, once again looking at the black ring, "but it does truly feel amazing. Mind staying alive a bit longer, you're a good test dummy."
Guy's eyes begin to leak crimson. With a guttural scream, boiling blood erupts from his mouth, spraying Evil Star. The attack causes Evil Star to let go, allowing Guy to break away from the corpse. He wheezes as blood drips down his face like drool; the taste is vile. He shakely raises his ring towards Evil Star's who's melted face has begun regenerating. His arm unwillingly falls, the red glow around his body going dull.
Guy is fighting to stay conscious.
"That was the blood of a red lantern… and I smelt nothing…" Evil Star mumbles, hand pressed against his reforming cheek. "I was… dead. I remember now. The great Evil Star… slain by an earthling with no metahuman abilities…"
Guy didn't get a chance to blink before his arm was snapped like a twig. He cries out in pain as Evil Star narrows his eyes. "I guess it can't be helped," he says, slamming his balled fists downward, crashing into Guy's back. "This new body seems to be an upgrade, afterall."
Guy feels his body hit the asteroid base, but doesn't move. He can't move anything but his eyes. So he watches. He watches as the zombie lowers himself onto the asteroid, cracks forming where he steps.
"I guess it's the same as last time," Evil Star says with a shrug. "You fall before your allies can even land a hit. By the way, where is Jordan? I have a score to settle with him."
The red glow around Guy flairs up for a moment, causing Evil Star to smirk. Images of his father flash in Guy's head; the smell of booze, the sound of the belt hitting his skin. Suddenly the glow goes out, leaving him with nothing but a life support field. Evil Star's smile falls.
"Your hatred isn't as strong as I thought," he says, lifting his foot above Guy's head. "I was ready for a workout."
"You've got one you bastard!"
Guy's eyes go wide as a blue sports car slams into Evil Star. The construct doesn't immediately shatter, creating a good distance between Guy and the zombie. Simon with his blue ring zooms past Guy, with Alan following close behind. Jessica lands next to him, frowning at the state of him.
"Guy…" she whispers, creating a cast construct around his arm before lifting him up. "C'mon, we need to get you to Ay-"
"Get out of here," he mumbles, his eyes barely open. "They won't… beat him… all of you, leave."
"Guy?"
"Please… you'll all die," Guy coughs, watching as Evil Star plays with Simon and Alan. More blood tears fall from his eyes. "You all can't die…"
Jessica gently places his head back down against the ground, turning to look at Simon and Alan. Taking off into the air, she smiles softly at him. "Don't worry, Guy," she says, her indigo light burning brighter than before. "I won't let anyone die."
"Jessica!" Guy shouts, reaching forward with his good arm. "No!"
-
Guy jolts up from the hospital bed, breathing heavy and quick. "Jessica!? Hal!?" he shouts, rising from the bed and calling his ring from the table to his right. "John!"
His body is enveloped in green light, his uniform forming as he storms out of his hospital room. He does a double take down the hallway, seeing it mostly empty, barring a single figure walking towards the elevator. He zooms down the hall, nearly crashing into the man, Jefferson, as he lands.
"Where are they!?" Guy shouts, grabbing Jeff by the shoulders. Sweat runs down his face, as he stares at Jeff, his breathing still rough. "Please, tell me they-"
"They're okay, Guy," Jeff says, placing his hands around Guy's and pulling them off. "They beat him a little while ago, no casualties. I was just visiting John."
Guy backs away slowly, finding himself leaning against the wall. They're okay. Even without him, they were able to beat Evil Star… He doesn't notice he'd begun crying until he hears the droplet hit the floor. He looks over to Jeff before wiping the tears from his eyes. "Ah, sorry," Guy apologizes with a smirk. "Pretty sad I couldn't get a good hit in, y'know?"
"What 'I know' is that you just woke up not knowing if your friends were dead or not," Jeff says with a frown. "You don't need to hide that behind some tough guy act, it's natural to feel worried."
"Don't try and psychoanalyze me," Guy shoots back, "you're a principal, not a therapist."
"Doesn't take a therapist to see someone who nearly lost everything they hold dear," Jeff says, keeping his calm demeanor. "I'm not telling you to break down and cry to me, but letting that shit build up isn't good for you."
Guy opens his mouth, but no words come out. His head hangs as he exhales loudly. "One attack… and I was out," he mumbles, looking back up at Jeff. "So yeah… wh-wh-what if I did wake up to see their graves? What if I f-failed them… I could've woken up and lost everyone… all because I wasn't good enough."
-
"I failed…" Guy wheezes, watching the battle ensue. He can't move. He can't breathe. He can feel his life fading, he'll be dead in minutes. "I'm… a failure after all, dad."
He wonders why he feels his life force fluctuate each time he thinks of him. Like the mere thoughts of the man drain the hate from his body. Things are funny like that. He guesses there's something he hates more than even his father.
"What is this?" the voice of The Butcher asks, echoing in his mind. "Your hatred… it grows, but your father, the source of your hatred minutes ago, deludes it."
"Guy Gardner… hero of the ages," Guy continues, coughing up blood as Evil Star throws Alan through an asteroid. "You're a joke. You couldn't stop him then… couldn't stop him now… you couldn't do anything."
"You… something is not right," the entity panics, a peculiar whizz echoing through space. "Your rage… something is bleeding into it… what is happening!?"
"I'm supposed to be a hero…" he mumbles, left hand twitching while he watches Evil Star slam his fists into Jessica and Simon's unified shield, "but I can't even save the people I love."
The crimson of Guy's left eye fades, a spark of light replacing the color. Through the void of space, a thin streak of violet light travels across the stars. Guy's hand, not of his will, raises towards the streak. The world around him goes white.
He hates the way he couldn't fight back against his father. He hates the way he used his badge to feel a semblance of control. He hates that he was chosen to have the most powerful weapon in the universe. He hates that even with that power, he still couldn't save his friend.
He loves the way Jessica shyly invites him to her gigs. He loves the way John lectures him on their patrols. He loves the way Simon critiques his car's unorthodox build. He loves the way Hal unwinds to share a drink as they watch action films together.
He hates himself. He loves all of them.
The space around Guy ripples, as if it were an anomaly in time. He feels strange, as if his body wasn't broken and bruised, as if his lungs weren't makeshift blood bags. He feels… superb, really. His right hand instinctively raises, watching curiously as a white light bends around it. His red ring looks strange, brighter than it had been before. It wasn't just the brightness though, its crest was no longer the Red Lantern Corps, but something new entirely. Moving his hand to his chest, he presses down lightly. He raises an eyebrow, confused as to how his ribs are solid once more.
It's only then that he notices the difference in his uniform. His entire right side, ring excluded, is the same Red Lantern uniform he'd been wearing all this time. His left side, however, was lighter and violet in color. He stares amazed at the violet ring around his finger, its crest similar to the red ring.
"What's… happening to me?" he asks, looking up to see both The Butcher and The Predator looking over him. "Two… rings?"
"I… do not understand this at all," The Predator says, it's head turning towards the Butcher. "Your emotions… they've both equally filled your heart and mind."
"You have reached a state untouched by anyone in the universe," The Butcher comments, its nostrils flaring. "You have obtained pure equilibrium, the closest in the universe to the white lantern."
"I… still don't understand," Guy says, looking down at his rings, the violet and red both glow equally bright, "but I don't care… I'm ready to go."
"Your power is an unforeseen occurrence, one even the entities could not expect."
"Our power does not flow through your body as one yet, you must complete this new power."
Guy tilts head, before seeing the dual-holed lantern and realizing what the two meant. He looks back at the rings, thinking about the torn feeling in his heart. Raising his hands, he places both rings against the lantern.
"The fire inside me
Is borne of two lights
With love and rage
A duality of might
I'll live with my regrets
My penance, my plight
Keep walking this path
To end the Blackest Night"
-^-
Kyle watches as Evil Star holds Alan up by the throat, his foot slowly crushing Simon and Jessica's shield.
"Is there anything we can do!?" he shouts, looking back at Aya. "They're going to die!"
"I am sorry Kyle Rayner, but w- we will not have to," she says, pointing to the asteroid that Guy lays on. "The violet ring has found a host."
"A host?" Kyle says, staring at the pink glow in the distance. "I thought you said there weren't any for miles."
"It seems," she says, watching as an explosion of red and violet erupts from the asteroid, "there was a factor I never accounted for."
-^-
Guy bursts from the asteroid, flying through space like a missile. The stars all around him reflect his red and pink light. Before Evil Star can react, Guy crashes into him. The force causes a sonic boom, tearing the corpse's torso from his legs, leaving the bottom half behind as Guy drags him through space. Evil Star attempts to raise his fist, but when nothing happens realizes his left arm was left behind with his legs.
"This power…" he mumbles, eyes going wide as he feels gravity take a hold of his body.
Guy slams him down onto the base of Ryut, the force causing nearby mountains to crumble. Evil Star raises his right arm in an attempt to strike, but Guy catches the attack, creating a cage out of violet light. His right fist glows a bright red as he places the ring against Evil Star's chest.
"You hurt my family."
Throughout India animals can be seen living on the streets among people. They are portrayed in decorative art, on temples and in homes. Spiritually, for many Hindus, there is no difference between the sentience between humans and other forms of life. All animals are seen as manifestations of god and possess a soul. Buddha taught that the all beings, in animal form, were our family members and friends in past lives. According to Hindu and Buddhist beliefs, all human beings and animal life are interconnected.
The rat is the carrier for the God Ganesh
Karni Mata temple
Deshnoke
Rajasthan
Photography’s new conscience
Subject ID: TTZN_4521
Nickname: "Grassly"
Category: Botanical Sentience
Experiment status: Succesful
Side effects: Aggressiveness. Violence. Can generate and receive weak electrical currents which gives it ability to hack and override electrical lab equipment.
Subject characteristics: White and red flowers. Will plant its long vines and roots into electric equipment and add them to its mechanical frame.
Inspired by the fantastic artwork of Konstantin Mystrenko
The Smith emerged from his Labyrinth vial in hand, and without the slightest hesitation he poured the quicksilver into the mouth of his forthcoming Automata. She coughed with the breath of life, much like a drowned woman awakening from the dead. However, with sentience came the knowledge of servitude, and within the wink of an eye she resolved, “That … Simply ... Will ... Not ... Do.”
~ Stewart
Devastators were elite warriors of Meca One in his war against humans of the Mount Sentai. Possessing limited sentience unlike their Drone brethren, Devastators were assigned to pilot the most advanced and dangerous mechs and vehicles at Robot Army's disposal.
This particular picture is a result of accidental tinkering.
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