Pessum Ire

Be sure to read Triumvirate before this.

I do not know how long I have been what I am. I do not know how long it has been since I became Infectos Essun, the Corrupter. I am beginning to forget where I came from, or who I was. But the more I think about my past, the less it matters to me. I begin to realize that there is only now. The present is fueled by the past, as the future is fueled by the present. And I know what my past fuels.


I fly through the Void, following the anomaly I felt on the human world. More and more am I finding the cold, black, empty nothingness comforting. Perhaps the isolation helps me heal in some intangible way, perhaps it makes me whole again. Perhaps it is the darkness that pleases me. These thoughts, however, are ephemeral in my consciousness. I realize that I have arrived at my destination.

I am spit out into a verdant forest, with great trees rising from the ground on all sides of me. I care not for the towering majesty of these huge trees. At my presence, they become sick and rotten, disintegrating as if they are being set upon by an insatiable pestilence. The leaves turn black and fall, and eventually the trees crash down as well, no longer able to support themselves. That was how I enter the village: with a swath of black, infected trees at my back.

The villagers must have somehow gotten word of my existence, because horns start blowing as soon as I emerge from the forest. The village itself seems to be completely ready for battle. Arrows fly toward me as villagers charge with wooden clubs and spears. Of course, none of these weapons have any effect. The wooden weaponry decays quickly in proximity to me. The wielders soon follow suit. Some of them begin to vomit out all the substances in their bodies. Others rot so much that they simply turn to dust within seconds. The effects vary from person to person, but soon enough, all of the village's militia lay in various states of disease and decay. I walk past their corpses and enter the village.

Walking past the cordon of bodies, I am greeted by an odd sight: All that remains of the village's inhabitants is a man, with his young son of perhaps eleven or twelve cowering behind him. As I study the man's weapon, I realize that he must be the anomaly I felt. He carries a sword. An actual sword, made of metal. What kind, I cannot tell. I do know, however, that it takes a very unique kind of person to acquire such a weapon in places as remote as this. Which isn't to say that it gives him any advantage against me. The pathetic weaponry of humans cannot leave so much as a scratch upon me. The man raises his sword-

-And slices a diagonal gash across my midsection. I reel back in shock, amazed that this human was able to wound me. My tainted blood pours from the wound, and I realize my mistake. That was no ordinary sword. It could only have been the Blade of Thunder, Object 270. The Objects despise me, and I know only They would have the power to wound me the way that man did. Angry at my own oversight, I shift my gaze to the man's eyes. Upon seeing into my own, he begins to shake and convulse violently. I calmly walk up to him and wrap one of my hands around his throat. Lifting him up into the air, I squeeze tighter and tighter. The man's throat becomes gangrenous, and the disease spreads through his body quickly. He perishes within moments, and I toss his corpse aside. My wound begins to heal slowly as I face the boy. I am startled to realize that I can still feel the disturbance that I did before. It is obvious to me that the man was not the source of it.

It was the boy all along. As I walk toward him, I register that he is unaffected by my corruption. He stares up at me, shaking in fear. But his fear comes from my appearance. My gaze is not destroying his mind, not driving him mad. At that moment, I know what I must do. I extend a hand to the boy, in my best impression of a fatherly figure. Tears roll down the child's face as I speak.
"Come with me," I say. The child recoils at the sound of my voice, shivering even more vigorously. But after a few moments, the child takes my hand. Upon touching me, the boy's skin begins to harden, and his hands start to sharpen into claws. The boy looks up at me in horror, but the look of fear is soon replaced by one of acceptance and understanding.
"Your new name shall be Pessum Ire, the Destroyer," I speak commandingly, "and together we shall bend existence to our will."

"Yes, my Master."

To be continued in Infectos Essun.

Part of the series Ieiunitas, Infectus, Talius.
Last modified on 2009-05-23 19:35:38Viewed 7778 times

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