Posted by davidludwig
Feb 08 2012

Idris – Eden

Idris watched the parade of bodies coldly, but closely. If any of them were still alive it was a small matter; in their condition they were no longer of use as agents of Prophecy. Thirty bore severe electrical burns; nineteen had fallen to a combination of small arms fire and a high-frequency blade; the other forty feathered ridiculously with arrows. Flint Foster had been a speed-bump on the way to the true Reclamation of the world. Now his daughter seemed determined to be the same.

Turning out to the starless night, Idris raised a hand to the golden mask known to the world as the face of Prophecy. Years ago Idris would have sought shelter from the biting wind which buffeted with the weight of the storm to which it was herald. But this cold was worldly and paled in comparison to the chill of the grave, the fires of damnation. Idris could barely perceive temperatures in Eden since being restored to life by daemonic masters.

Restored to life, but not fully to form. A burnt-out socket served as constant reminder of the right eye lost to Flint Foster’s blaster that day so long ago. A single shot made without breaking stride and Idris’ life was ended ignominiously. Even Agent Foster had been unable to stop the doomsday device, but by triggering it early he had left the Reclamation incomplete. Was his daughter about to similarly force their hand prematurely?

No matter. Idris turned back as the last useful Prophets emerged from the silvered fortress into which they had carried the casualties of the day’s fighting. Eden was on the brink, and it was too late to prevent the final completion of the Reclamation started so long ago. A lifetime ago. Inside that fortress was true and final death, something Idris very much doubted the young Nadine Foster was prepared to face head on.







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