Chapter Ten: Source Point Conception — Part 9

The Warrior Past Subtext, Memory Transference: Part 7 . . .

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For eight years Jun remained with the Bugs, living off the Gash and learning their ways of survival and their unique approach to physics. The Bugs responded to the hum of a glyph, late into that eighth year, and Jun rose to its call. Jun’s father was fighting against somebody, and he had been hurt. Though she could tell he wasn’t in immediate danger, she knew that without her presence, he might soon be dead. By now Jun could cross the planet’s surface just as the bugs did, by flying fast and hard over the surface in a cloud of plasma. She returned to the temple of her birth, flying straight into a city at war. Taking no time to fathom the politics that led to such horrible confrontations, Jun sought out her father. One thing she was certain about was who was the cause of the war. The Bugs, after all, had kept her up to date on Zon’s newest conquering overlord. Imus Chen, it would appear, was bent on taking control of the entire planet.

Imus Chen chose to take over the city-state of New Amazonia, and his soldiers must have mistaken the temple for a garrison. Priests, unaware of the war and not ready for confrontation, were struggling to stay alive while Master Alon, working with other pole bearers, beat back the foot soldiers before they could break the front gates and sheltered interior hallways. Within seconds, Jun was in the melee, sword drawn and ready to kill. Eight years with the bugs had toned her body and sharpened her mind. She would not be taken down by a common foot soldier, nor by a dozen of them.

At fifteen Jun was a better fighter than the horde assaulting her, and her sword cut through flesh almost as easily as it passed through water. The bodies she left around her were a dark contrast to the shadowy pool of blood forming under her feet. Every soldier dead bought the temple another moment of life. Jun saw their sacrifice as one of miscalculation. The misunderstanding would be corrected eventually, but in the meantime, Lord Chen’s troops would die as quickly as Jun and Alon could kill them. An arrow slammed passed her head, missing her only because her reflexes kept her out of its way. Her plasma cloud had long diminished, as did her ability to fly.

Alon fought almost exclusively to keep his daughter safe. He had no idea why Jun had come, or how she had arrived from the Gash so quickly, but there was no mistaking the blue skinned young lady for the daughter he had lost so many years ago. For reasons beyond his grasp, Jun had become death to those that opposed her, the kattas of religion merged with the teachings of the Bugs, becoming implements of survival in battle. If he’d known that her thoughts were focused on the safety of those still living and hiding in the heart of the temple, he might not have feared the darkness he felt building within her. It was energy like no other, separate from hate, distinguished from love. It had no true emotion behind it, and yet Jun was an unstoppable wall of pure will, and all who came near her could feel the strength of it. After what seemed an eternity, the bodies stopped coming. For the briefest moment there was absolute quiet.

Jun had been forced back into the master hallway, where she could hold her ground more easily. An arrow was useless in the curved hallway. There was no way the enemy could work their way behind them. The temple was designed to withstand the worst of sieges. Standing on a carcass slashed from cheek to chest, Jun looked down the far hall, her mind piqued with adrenaline. The strike of hooves matched the pounding of her heart — slow, weighted, and purposeful. Even before she could see him, the sound of a man whose presence made her hands tremble seemed ominous.

Lord Imus Chen entered into sight at the edge of the hall, his eyes landing on Jun, whose sword was still drawn and soaked with the blood of his soldiers. Jun sliced the sword from his hand before he could raise it to kill her, sensing the intention in the barest beginnings of his motions. Chen smiled, seeming to enjoy the clang of his sword on the floor beneath him. He observed the bleeding stump of his hand, and then looked back at her, as if such an injury were without consequence. The dismembered appendage turned slimy and oozed up the horse’s leg, entering through an opening between his pants and boot. Within moments the bodies of Chen’s soldiers were doing the same. While his soldiers merged with him, Chen flexed his hand, popping the knuckles, testing sensation. The horse was skittish, the entire experience making it nervous. It had reason to be, as Chen had a preference for horseflesh.