The Caribbean. Haiti. The Garden of God.
Ichabod stands atop a hill in the moonlight and tries not to see this paradise. He can't help but picture friends and loved ones. They were all fighting their battles this week, and Necron had decided to run amok with Deidre and Brian Graves. It pisses him off that he can't be there to help them, but perhaps being out here with Mekare is helping them in the long run. At least now he knows more of Necron and can have a better chance of stopping him. Ichabod knows that even though they have been fighting like cats and dogs, Gladiator will only be the beginning.
Ichabod stares out at the Garden of God. To think Necron's power has already reached this. Death rages in the garden. Of course, violence already raged in the city as it had for years. Not a single blood descendant remained of the natives who originally inhabited this island before Europeans had tread on its beautiful beaches. They had thought them kindly pale skinned gods. Wrong.
But Necron did his part in the rural districts, where his work could go unnoticed. How long before his patience ran out and the bloodshed spilled into the city, increasing its already natural violence tenfold?
Mekare sighs.
Ichabod had been reserved about fighting the men Mekare had brought up from the village. The time had long ago passed when he felt he had to kill wantonly to make his points. Mekare had forced him to continue fighting with his new strength until each and every one had fallen dead.
Mekare had asked him, What is a few small sacrifices to the destiny of mankind?
Mekare had sat Ichabod down later and explained to him most of Necron, Spatter, and Brimstone's history. Most of it had appalled Ichabod, but he felt much surer with a better knowledge of what Necron might be.
Necron wants to know exactly what I'm going to do to him, Mekare. Exactly what am I going to do?
What are you good at?
Torture. Torment. Pain. Ripping people apart. Playing mindgames. Apparantly killing.
And Necron?
It would seem the same, except not quite as well as me.
You are right, and as you know the best way to fight fire, is with fire. But don't fool yourself, Ichabod. He can kill you. If you fail at this, well, Necron is insane, you're going to die.
Ichabod cringes at the words that have been in his dreams lately.
And Brian Graves?
Ah, Brian. Without Brian we're lost.
What do you mean?
There is going to come a time when you are going to have to choose. Its part of the reason you were chosen for this. The day will come when the fate of the world rests on the outcome of a battle between Necron and someone, and Brian will try to take the brunt of the load. If he does, he will fail. You must take this load for him.
I thought you said he was special like me.
Oh he is. Its going to take both of you to stop Necron. But sometimes fate rolls the dice that way. Any other time he will be fine. But this particular time, you have to take the fight, because if he does, he will die.
And you have no way of telling me when that will be?
I'm sorry.
Ichabod nods.
Ya know Necron, you think I can't defy you. How blind can one person be. Sure, you are a little above what we consider human. So what? Again and again we have witnessed the appearances of cults and religions-the dreary proclamations of apparitions and miracles and the subsequent promulgation of creeds inspired by those events. Travel the cities of Asia and Europe-behold the ancient temples still standing, and the cathedrals of God in which his hymns are still sung. Walk through the museums of all countries; it is religious painting and sculpture that dazzles and humbles the soul.
But, we are entering a time when those basic events no longer spawn religion or belief, as you would have your appearance do. We have seen in the human animal a resistance finally to the miraculous; a skepticisim regarding the work of "other worldly beings." Most humans now seek truth through ethical laws and reason.
You picked the wrong time to come to earth, dear Necron. Already your actions don't matter much in the great scheme of things. This will go down as one of the bloodiest centuries the history of the human race with or without you. What revolutions can you bring when millions have been exterminated by one small European nation on the whim of a madman, when entire cities were melted into oblivion by bombs? When children in the desert countries of the East war on other children in the name of an ancient and despotic God? Women the world over wash the fruit of their wombs down public drains. The screams of the hungry are deafening, yet unheard by the rich who cavort in technological citadels; disease runs rampant among the starving of whole continents while the sick in palatial hospitals spend the wealth of the world on cosmetic refinements and the promise of immortal life through pills and vials.
Ichabod laughs softly.
You mean nothing in this world, Necron. Take any tree in the forest and describe it in terms of what it destroys. It is a monster of greedy roots and irresistible momentum that eats the light of other plants, their nutrients, their air. But that is not the truth of the tree. Any man with the right tools can cut that tree down. Sure, you aren't a tree, but when you look at it that way, I'm no lumberjack with a chainsaw. But I do have the tools and designs to take you down Necron.
And if I'm wrong about all this, and you do matter to the great scheme of things, well, I'll change the coddamned scheme of things. Fate is real, but men can bend fate. I've done it. I've challenged fate and won.
Ichabod turns slowly around with his hands out. He looks down at himself and then back up.
I'd like to pose your question back to you. What are you going to do to me? You obviously can't kill me, even you've admitted that you're not going to. Kill my friends? Why haven't you yet? And you think that will stop me? That will only give me less to lose, Necron, and give me even more reason to make you pay. So really, your threats are falling lifeless before they travel half the distance to me. Stop running your mouth and saying I don't want to invoke your wrath. How do you know what I want?
And you think you're going to get a key out of me? I dont' even know what key you want. You want my house key? My key to the facility? My key to the Monster? The key to my success?
You are a strange guy aren't you? What are you going to do with my keys. Maybe you are a weirdo who collects them.
Mekare takes Ichabod's shoulder and turns him to face her.
Come, you must prepare.
For what?
Tonight you return home.
Ichabod can't help but smile as he follows Mekare down the hill.
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