Eidolon Atomic
Chapter Three: Don’t sleep

The words I hear put me in a comatose daze of listless understanding in astonishment. It is almost as if a potent drug or toxin has just been introduced into my system. Deep waves of sorrow rush over me as I drown in the accusation made clear by the men of a black and white screen of divining silver, the truth is soon to sink me like a stone, and into a depth of crushing proportion.

What these messengers of death, The Black Skulls, is it true? Is this man, a fugitive, really the one who killed me and sent my soul to be silenced by this world of shadows and darkness? These thoughts are the things that nightmares are born of, as it now seems, all of the mine are coming to reality.

The image becomes distorted even more so, like the static of an old television in the midst of a lightning storm, the man I see before me takes on the shape of something vile, but only for a moment as the image doesn’t seem to stick. Watching the screen, it is as if something is playing with the signals receiver. Showing me an enemy whose nature lacks human compassion, it is like two people are fighting over which channel to watch that show different version of a similar event, and I am only the spectator not able to decide for myself. Still affected by what I see, as it is all I really know.

The fugitive is caught in place, unable to move from his difficult position between dog’s, guns, a steep hill of knife like rocks. He is holding onto whatever strong roots he can as he faces almost certain death from below him. Jagged stones and the bones of things put in place to shred anything that falls down the steep hill. Determination allows him to hold to a feat of not falling, his strength fading fast, he is met with the gaze of the barrels of fully automatic cannons, machine guns known as Atom Rifles.

I am torn between emotions, my mind split between realities, a part of me wants to see him die, to be torn to shreds by the situation that unfolds, punished by fate and suffering slowly. However, a better part of me tells me that all is not what it seems. That certain details are not to be trusted, but this feeling, for the most part, goes ignored.

Rage takes me in the moment I watch, and in so many words, I now want so much, to see this man dead and suffering as I do.

The machine-guns the soldier use amass radiation to coat their bullets, and activate powerful chemical nature in the isotopic solutions of their ammunition. Each one of these rifles is capable of reducing ten-inch thick titanium steel blocks to dust and ash. Somehow knowing these details, I ty to imagine what they will do to him once fired, what will happen to him as he is shot to death for his crime. Though a seemingly the unimportant detail, as a slight realization, in passing. As powerful as the runner is, in strength of will and body, certain death is guaranteed, one of blood and violence and pain, and righteousness

My better judgment comes to me again as I watch him, helpless to a fate I believe he deserves. Was this really happening, is this the truth of reality, or was this simply a part of the distortion, is this all to make me, lose some piece of myself? My suspicion grows from instinct, an instinct that seems tied to my very soul, and its ability to comprehend what might be, a deception.

The Runner says nothing as he holds on for dear life, only the look of rage on his face is any indication of what thoughts he might hold. His look says many things much to his innocence and his silent rage at the crime the accused him of. Tears fill his eyes once more, and I feel a deep regret in his emotions. It seems that now, as I try to determine his thoughts and feeling there is nothing more dominant than his conviction to replace the truth. However, this is all suddenly wiped away, with the feeling of absolute nothingness.

I do not understand fully what is taking place, my feelings battle one another as I try to decide for myself what it is I see and hear. Is it a sociopath who runs from his crimes, one who kills in cold blood, then turns his tail I the face of uncertainty? This is not how my heart remembers him, how a link in memory makes certain, this is not the man I Loved.He is different, changed. Almost, evil. And in This; is a nightmare, one that I cannot escape.

I try to cover my eyes and look away, but the creature next to me becomes annoyed at my cowardice.

“Don’t be a foolish girl, you cannot be deceived by such an attempt at trickery. If you cannot sense the truth from this, then you are lost.” It says bending over to look into my face with its hollow gaze.” Something is wrong, someone now alters the image, has been since the beginning, can you not sense this.” she says, but her words fall to a deaf perception.

I wish I could run from this moment, run, and never know the truth. I keep what little remember him the way it has been; the way I remember. The fear is too much for me to bare, and in the moment, I try to escape the grasp of my captures grips, my emotions getting the better of me, but; her paws are like that of cats to a mouse, grossly overpowering.

She pulls me back into place and holds me there, keeping me from leaving, grabbing my hair as is necessary. As she sits me back down in place, she then wraps both of her arms around me to keep me from struggling, they take on the impossible dimension of something in a dream. Then it speaks once again, her voice sounding as though it where a cement mixer filled with nails and oozing horrible black liquid.

“Sit and watch the child, or be damned by your own grief.” It says, making sure to hold me tightly.

I cannot close my eyes; they are being held open by something I cannot see. The power of this creature in this place is more than I could have imagined, and it now she has me staring down my worst fears. “Why do you torture me like this, why? What did I do to deserve this anguish!?”

“You must, watch, and know, as is your duty.” It is the only thing that the monster says before restarting the motions of a talking picture, made only to drown me in my own sorrows. Things shift unnaturally once again. Details change, more soldier appear, and some trees go missing in the background, as the image loops.

The soldiers have their guns raised and fixed, each of them pointed directly at the head of the fugitive.

“Any last words, scum bag.” Says the soldier in charge, as the all slide back the hammer of their guns in perfect unison. The Necro-Fiber suits they wear filtering energy into their weapons, making them massively powerful increasing the ratio of caliber in power.

Nothing is said as the cold winter air begins to let loss flakes of snow, only the sound of the soldier suits and weapons powering up, soaking in radiation and other energy as they get ready to end another life. Only business for them it seems, these men so absent of regret.

Time slows downs as I watch this moment, watch as yet another person I care for falls to an untimely destruction. Only fate to blame, as these soldiers bring such a thing with them in large quantities. Their orders carried out and another mindless act of violence, and rewarded with patches of gold and silver.

The soldier’s fingers squeeze the triggers of their guns, however, in the last moments of this action, one they is distracted by something coming into view from the stage right side of them. A quick psychic message links in their suits, and as the first bullet fly’s on wings of atomic fire and thunder and souls, it is only at a third of this distance of its destination when three of the black skulls are dead where they stand, bullets having never left their guns as their synchronicity broke.

Confusion piles on like a ton of lead bricks dumped in a massive downpour meant to slaughter as whatever it is attacking these men are completely invisible to my sight. I search for something with the rapid movement of my eyes, anything that might tell me who or what it is that could perform such an action, and replace nothing but geysers of blood everywhere I look In the mess of severed limbs and innards being scattered about as a firefight breaks loss, not a single hint of the attacker’s identity comes forward. Not a single one.

Everything in the moments to come is chaos, as the surviving soldiers do battle with an unseen enemy, this struggle becomes unimportant, as the only bullet fired directly at the fugitive strikes him hard.

The fugitive saw when the bullet was fired, and as it sped his way, he tried his best with a heavy body to avoid making contact with the projectile with the full brunt of his forehead. He turned his head in time, just enough to avoid the bullet, causing it to glance off of his skull. The bullet makes contact with abnormally hard bone, and so to its nature of the assured destruction of things so indestructible, the bullet is shattered and explodes in the area above his eye. The moment after that, the ever soldier was engaged in combat. The fugitive hurt Dazed and confused.

In the mix-up of action in the moment, another gun is fired as the runner sits stunned. Part of an accidental direction chosen by the chaos. The irradiated bullet manages to replace its way to the unintended target, as it hits the young man in the chest, confronts directly with one of his rib bones, and is also shattered. With its shock of impact, the fugitive knocks loose from the roots he holds onto, falling backward into the deep darkness.

The Fugitive sinks fast in the open air and is overtaken by darkness instantly, swallowed by the unknown energy that fills the hole. Plummeting for a distance of a few building stories. His mind struggles to keep consciousness. Reflexes activate and take hold of his function as he naturally reorients in the air with heavy gravity, aiming his feet at the ground. He lands hard on the balls of he heels, but his knees bend like wooden struts placed underneath the uneven pressure of an unimaginable weight. This weight causes him fold directly into a roll as he now continuous down a steep hill.

He is in a freeroll now trying to use his rounded back to protect him, but this is to no avail, as it seems this hill has a plethora of sharp points of a cruel indulgence.

The deserter struggles against the purpose of the small metal mechanisms attached to his arms and legs to keep himself stable in his fall. The small metal devices on his arms and limbs no more than a half-inch wide acting like immense weights even though their size would suggest otherwise, making it difficult to move them even an inch over the harsh uneven placing of bones and jagged rocks that he rolls over, every moment of attempted correction, only making the situation much worse.

This moment seems to go on forever, every moment, every inch, like years and miles stretched by the pain he feels. As agony stretches time, in one’s mind, every instance of pain adds more rungs to the candle of burning time set to measure this moment.

Hurt and pain throw the renegade off balance slightly as every new injury is introduced to his anatomy, but he eventually learns to see past this, as he slips into a state of mind too dulled to feel pain, and absent of emotion. But; like a domino set-up of his frantic and exhausted physical state. His overpowering inertia and causes him to throw out the cuffed weights of his arms, rolling him ever faster and harder into the sharp and biting landscape.

I try to turn away as the pain is too much for me to remember, I can feel what he doesn’t feel, every moment of it as it so directly connected to my soul. He is agony, horrible unimaginable agony as what would be eggshells tear through him like a tornado of hard nails and sharp glass. I try to turn my head, but my dark companion makes sure I experience every single moment of this connection. It nearly drives me mad, but somehow, I hold myself together.

With too much damage to calculate on his body, darkness envelopes his mind in unconsciousness. Shocked and severed nerves add to the loss of feeling and awareness. As the unknown depth of this-this hill is confounding. It is never known just how deep it is, the only revolution of his body to scale the distance as he tumbles to deaths hands. Serrated consciousness or not, he knows he probably won’t survive this.

Confusion and disorientation set in, panic and remorse, the blackened earth and sky quickly take each other’s place as this young man struggles to gain some type of alertness or sense of up and down, as still, in moments of hopelessness he chooses to fight. Bone shattering shock jolts him as his body more intensely than the last moment it takes place. He rolls faster and with more inertia as he reaches the end of his climb in rapidity.

It’s at what is perceived as his velocities top speed, however, that he feels a deep, sharp, pain, punch through the near center of his abdomen, and despite this potentially fatal wound, he still fights.

As I make out what it is that has delivered this fatal wound, I see that it is a sharp bone that has now sunk itself deeply into his body, and lodged itself just below the last bone of his ribcage. I flinch as I feel this detail, and can determine almost instantly that it is a mortal puncture through his most vital organs.

I cannot help but try to cry out as I watch blood begin to pour from the hole his injury makes. The hollow bone throwing red blood every which way, as he rolls. I know that this-this is it for him, this is the time and place that he dies forever, the moment that his spirit fades, and his misery is committed to shadows. I do not know why the dead are unable to shed tears, but as I try to, I replace that the sadness almost destroys me.

Nothing falls from my eyes as I watch this bloodied rag doll of a man finally reach the base of a long lethal fall. Rolling onto his stomach as the long awaited base of the hill that had just so savagely beat him with every pound of his own weight with final meets him. His body is riddled with cuts and scrapes so deep, that they expose parts of his bone through his clothes along with the deep red tissue of his muscles. His Consciousness is shattered like a porcelain doll, and I can sense death now sets in on his body as it struggles to survive.

Tears want to fill my eyes but can’t, I want to go to him, hold him as he dies and be there as the life fades away from his body. But in my inability to act, all I can do is scream; and walk out in the deepest pit of blackness and despair. I cry out the words, as he stops at the bottom of his roll, losing blood as he sits motionless. “Don’t sleep, don’t sleep, or you’ll die.