A darkness opened, its gaping mouth amongst the countless grains of sand. As a thick, black boot secured itself among them, they all collectively shaped to accommodate the new object that had arrived in its world.
If one would look closely, one would see that the object was indeed connected to something else. A living thing. An animal. As one would look up, one would find that a long piece of flesh, covered by loosely fitting, dark blue garment disappeared into the hangings of a robe. The robe, the bottom hanging loosely in the hot, arid wind of the dessert, made of a thin but sturdy-looking material that can be assumed to be once the circulating, living skin of an alien animal, stretched all the way to where a hand comes into view. This hand was unmistakably the hand of a man: gruff, strong, very pale and creamy hue of beige.
The hand was not pure, uncovered, but on it was deeply embedded alien shapes. One would assume, by looking at it, that they were runes, letters of a long forgotten, or very alien language. The ruins existed in multiple lines, twirling each other in a never-moving dance, ending near the fingertips. Each line was only distinguishable by the separate colours that they were written in. One line was a dark, nearly transparent blue, another a pale red, another a lime, soft green. The lines all faded back into the very same cloak that one would have seen previously.
The cloak continued, covering the, what one could deduce at this stage, arm and torso. Then as it wrapped around broad, sturdy and confident shoulders, it folded abruptly into a hood, hanging off of the cloak and resting on the back of the figure. At the fold, more flesh became visible. The neck of the man, also covered in the same dancing lines of runes, very similar to the others in shape but differing in colour, fading away as they progressed. These runes continued upwards, curving around the contours of a narrow but strong jawline, going past and around thin, pinkish lips, a strong nose and two eyes.
At this point one would stop and stare at the eyes. They were enthralling to look at closely. The eyes were shaped as can be seen on a statue carved in the likeness of a king, emanating a strength, power and depth. The pupils, as were a human’s, were encircled by a pure white, accentuated by small, delicate, red veins around the outskirts. The pupil in the middle stood out like a burning sun in space. The amber yellow gave not an impression of sickness, but was naturally deep, stretching far beyond what could be seen by looking at them, a window into a soul that had no limits. It shimmered like crystal.
The black kept within its ring was that of pure darkness, just like every other black in the worlds. It sucked in all the light and heat that came too close. It absorbed everything, like a small black hole, and was converted into a profound, and dangerous knowledge. The black had no mercy. It had no feeling. It did not give, it just took. It was a remorseless black. Just like every other common black. This black just belonged to something living.
Tearing oneself away from the entrapment of the eyes, as one went higher, one would notice that the runes were no longer noticeable, having faded into nonexistence around the mouth. A hairline interrupted the mask of skin. The hairs, individually, were thick, black bristles, standing up straight and reaching upwards, held in place by an unknown force. They all uniformly gave the impression of hair. As the hair continued, each strand slowly took on the colour of a very light, faded green. Further up the green intensified but remained its light hue and faded naturally until the tip of the hair, ending abruptly, curling ever so slightly backwards, the green in full form. The entire head of hair gave the impression that it was constantly being blown back by wind, but in fact it was still, maintaining dynamics in stillness like an expertly carved statue.
The hair gave its owner a sharp look, as though he was the type of human to contain quick reflexes and a tuned mind. This impression was slightly offset once one notices the scars that littered the man's face. Each scar was cut deep, showing deadly and intense battles past. The scars had healed, leaving a valley of pink-tissue canyons. One scar in particular stretched across the face of the man from the right jawbone, across the lips, over the nose, stopping at one edge of the right eye and continuing at the other, all the way to the hair. To have survived whatever injury caused that, one would think, this man would have to have been fighting desperately for his life, sweating from exhaustion and exertion of his vast wells of power, blood splattered in a mosaic across his handsome features. Perhaps a massive beast had dug his claws in, tearing skin and flesh away like hot butter from a platter. Maybe one would be right. Who knows, really? But whichever way, once one notices this, one would avoid a confrontation with this man at all costs. As one would have slowly backed away, if it wasn't for the fact that one wasn't really there, one would have summed up his facial features, position of the eyelids, use of muscles around the face, state of the lips and perhaps contours between the eyes and on the forehead, and one would assume, along with all the other subconscious and instinctual skills kept in reserve especially for these purposes, that the man had no emotion. No emotion whatsoever. He was a blank page full of writing, but no sense could be made of the words. Not a hint of anger, sadness, thought, or even boredom. One couldn't even tell if that was just the face's resting position. This would warn one most of all that this man was not normal. That this man was a man that held hidden secrets that one should not meddle with, and at this point one would flee immediately, fuelled by adrenaline and the premonition that all this man had to do was reach out a hand and somehow kill one. Perhaps one was not too far from the truth.
The other foot planted itself in the sand.
The oblong shape unravelled itself from mid-air like a tapestry, concealing the immense darkness within. An abnormal black.
For a moment, the man stood. The heat curled itself around him, warming him but almost avoiding his contact. Even the wind knew how to heed the signs. The eyes swept across the landscape, taking in every detail.
Silence is but an illusion. The lack of sound. The lack of something cannot be anything existent in itself, but only the alternative of that which it in fact aspires to be. In this moment, as a creature stood amongst the vastness of the sandy plains, a blemish amongst the orange dunes, an alien, there was true silence. The silence of the desert wind bounding past, the silence of the sound of rustling rock fragment, the silence in the sound of small inhabitants rustling amongst the dry twigs of deceased brush patches. The man exhaled, slowly and deliberately, but for a moment it seemed as if he may have let his guard down. Ever watchful eyes retreated behind a wall of flesh, allowing all other senses to engulf the serenity, purity and peace of the moment.
The barriers tore apart, the pupils dilated, full alert, retaining each minute detail. Something in the distance stirred. The man’s eyes revealed themselves slightly. So she was here, he thought to himself. Dammit. He was enjoying himself.
Without change, the World Strider readied himself.
Everything is connected. Nothing is ever truly solitary, except from itself. While it may abandon itself, the ties that keep it to this world or any other flow, the tides of energy flow from and back between its own form and that of what it is connected to.741Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNSXyj6t6lg
The World Striders are a very special breed. Beings that are able to feel these connections. Able to touch them. Able to grasp the threads that bind them and gain ultimate freedom. These beings are able to travel along the threads of energy that connect them to other worlds. While outside The Isolated Segment there exist very few World Striders, this segment of the fabric of reality, as stated before, is special. Since the threads that connected are old, frayed and severed, there are few energy connections to and from each world. While outside an infinite reality awaits, inside the limitless is limited. Each World Strider has but a few connections, and therefore few paths from which to choose. Every being has the potential, but because of the weight of each choice that they would have to make as one that travels between worlds, their very soul rejects the possibility, instead choosing to remain grounded. The World Striders of the Isolated Segment, however, had the choice made easier for them than it would have been otherwise. Each Soul, after experiencing what there is to experience and re-learning the knowledge that there is to learn, strives to grow. Growth cannot occur, fundamentally, without challenge. A lone wall cannot be built higher without something pushing against it. The soul seeks to travel. Of course, even in a human mentality, the journey is much less daunting when less paths are presented before you. The soul, with its primal knowledge, paces itself, one step after another. The next step always starts on the current one. With less available paths, multiple beings have taken the step to travel the worlds, resulting in a multitude of World Striders. Some, however, are more than just travellers.
There is an ethereal reality that is connected to all worlds in the Isolated Segment. As the Sky is to the earth, so is this plain to the worlds. In this world, strange creatures lurk and prosper. They are creatures without souls. No ambition. No knowledge. No wisdom. Creatures that live to survive and die to perish. It is exactly this which allows them to be so heavily influenced by the ambitions and drive of others.
On the horizon, the peak of a sand dune, the distortion of great heat was warping the sky like plastic to a flame.741Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvhAaWO5jEJ
The World Strider knew what it was the moment he saw it. He could sense the being that rocketed forward beyond the horizon. The rage, the intensity, the chaos of flame and the spark of life energy. What the hell was it doing here, was his question. Wait, he knew the answer to that.
“SHAAAAADAAAAAAA!”
A scream pierced the very essence of the silence that preceded it, wiping all memory of it have ever even been there.
His diaphragm contracted, releasing the air of a sigh. Damn, Fate was cruel indeed.
This woman.
Finally a figure was visible above the horizon.
He’d have to summon a very special creature to deal with her, he thought.741Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHmR3Uw9yAd
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