Lidivic hung his slim figure over the railing of a fostering balcony,
overlooking the citadel and most of the barren world beyond. Surpassing the
boundaries of Babyldel, the industrial empire he called home, Lidivic
visualized the pastures of green and fruitful lands that he’d foreseen in the
most vivid of dreams. Yet, none believed in the young man’s visions, even
though he was regarded as the most promising pupil of the prime minister.
The salt rained no more, yet the deadly white belt of the elder world covered all lands as far as the human eye could see. Lidivic did not believe that the salted wastelands occupied the entire earth. Yet, the belief of the common folk barred the path outside of the citadel—even to the prime minister, Marcus Corpus himself. None were permitted to leave, save expulsion from the citadel—or worse.
Great dunes formed the horizon; glaring hot-white in their wicked front against all travelers. Of those who had managed to venture past the gates of the citadel, none had returned. Even the massive plains of stark white earth, as difficult as they were to look at—even under a yellow sun turned red—were bare of any remnants of those who had braved the fathoms of the terminated planet.
Lidivic sulked, reminding himself that he was forbidden to leave his chambers until he had reconditioned himself to accept the vague testament of the far traveler—someone by the name of Jon Arcus.
Lidivic could recite the testament of Jon Arcus like the back of his hand. “What of it!” Lidivic tested his anger against the sound proof walls.
Who is, this ‘Jon Arcus’ to me anyway?
Lidivic preferred to occupy himself with more pleasurable things such as, the theatre and the myriad performing arts he had imagined entertaining everyone with. Someday, promised Lidivic, I will teach them to see things my way… for I am weary of their demands for dull studies, and all their idle subtleties of this pathetic theocracy of theirs!
Others! There must be others like me, he thought.
Infidels would surely side with Lidivic if he could secure the proper means of reaching out to them with his plans.
The women of the lower levels of the citadel were always willing to flaunt themselves—in fact, they would beg for any chance for change. If I told them (through the right medium) that imprisonment was true freedom, they’d beg me to lock them up and throw away the key.
To be free is to be imprisoned? Lidivic mused at this new insight.
It was a new revelation!—a new revelation for the citizens of Citibaad anyway.
Inspired by his new revelation and armed with his greater knowledge, Lidivic set out with his endeavor to rule over the multitude of Citibaad. The theocracy of Marcus Anton and the elder ministers was nearing its end. Just as his lean figure was about to exit the study( for he no longer cared about staying in his room under the orders of his elders—who had very little in the ways of wisdom, anyway), Lidivic ran into a problem that threw him back, as if he had hit a wall of stone cold reality. Every work of art—his subverting the current authority of the citadel would be an artful design—must have a title! Indeed Lidivic had plans flooding his mind. He had it mapped out already, and he knew he could create a psytocracy that would reign indefinitely, based on his knowledge of the human psyche, and his undeniable charisma.
What ever in hell’s name shall I call my new empire?
A vision of a future filled his consciousness, as if a ghastly visitor had silently intruded into the back door of his mind. His mind’s eye darkened, and he beheld in a bluish hue of pale light that the world would come to worship him and his work for a very long time.
The relic around his finger vibrated softly, and Lidivic held it to his ear to listen to the faraway sound of droning. The voice of the ring spoke within that far reaching abyss of droning and hissing quires. The ring hissed, vibrated more violently, then all at once the animation of the ring ended.
And it was with this new advice from the infernal spirits that Lidivic’s bond to the ministry was forever broken.
Deep, down and below the surface world of Citibaad, Lidivic could hear for the first time the stirring of the imprisoned alien-intelligence, Garamet. A slaughter between the ministry and Garamet would ensue his breaking the holy seal of the city.
Lidivic visualized the breaking of the holy seal, and fantasized locking all the ministers down below the city after the release of Garament. To Lidivic it seemed the best place for them. He did not want them meddling in his affairs after taking over the citadel.
Having made up his mind to visit Garamet, Lidivic prepared for a nocturnal venture into the subterranean caverns that lay hidden under the guise of the cemetery.
Gothocracy, he mused.
The salt rained no more, yet the deadly white belt of the elder world covered all lands as far as the human eye could see. Lidivic did not believe that the salted wastelands occupied the entire earth. Yet, the belief of the common folk barred the path outside of the citadel—even to the prime minister, Marcus Corpus himself. None were permitted to leave, save expulsion from the citadel—or worse.
Great dunes formed the horizon; glaring hot-white in their wicked front against all travelers. Of those who had managed to venture past the gates of the citadel, none had returned. Even the massive plains of stark white earth, as difficult as they were to look at—even under a yellow sun turned red—were bare of any remnants of those who had braved the fathoms of the terminated planet.
Lidivic sulked, reminding himself that he was forbidden to leave his chambers until he had reconditioned himself to accept the vague testament of the far traveler—someone by the name of Jon Arcus.
Lidivic could recite the testament of Jon Arcus like the back of his hand. “What of it!” Lidivic tested his anger against the sound proof walls.
Who is, this ‘Jon Arcus’ to me anyway?
Lidivic preferred to occupy himself with more pleasurable things such as, the theatre and the myriad performing arts he had imagined entertaining everyone with. Someday, promised Lidivic, I will teach them to see things my way… for I am weary of their demands for dull studies, and all their idle subtleties of this pathetic theocracy of theirs!
Others! There must be others like me, he thought.
Infidels would surely side with Lidivic if he could secure the proper means of reaching out to them with his plans.
The women of the lower levels of the citadel were always willing to flaunt themselves—in fact, they would beg for any chance for change. If I told them (through the right medium) that imprisonment was true freedom, they’d beg me to lock them up and throw away the key.
To be free is to be imprisoned? Lidivic mused at this new insight.
It was a new revelation!—a new revelation for the citizens of Citibaad anyway.
Inspired by his new revelation and armed with his greater knowledge, Lidivic set out with his endeavor to rule over the multitude of Citibaad. The theocracy of Marcus Anton and the elder ministers was nearing its end. Just as his lean figure was about to exit the study( for he no longer cared about staying in his room under the orders of his elders—who had very little in the ways of wisdom, anyway), Lidivic ran into a problem that threw him back, as if he had hit a wall of stone cold reality. Every work of art—his subverting the current authority of the citadel would be an artful design—must have a title! Indeed Lidivic had plans flooding his mind. He had it mapped out already, and he knew he could create a psytocracy that would reign indefinitely, based on his knowledge of the human psyche, and his undeniable charisma.
What ever in hell’s name shall I call my new empire?
A vision of a future filled his consciousness, as if a ghastly visitor had silently intruded into the back door of his mind. His mind’s eye darkened, and he beheld in a bluish hue of pale light that the world would come to worship him and his work for a very long time.
The relic around his finger vibrated softly, and Lidivic held it to his ear to listen to the faraway sound of droning. The voice of the ring spoke within that far reaching abyss of droning and hissing quires. The ring hissed, vibrated more violently, then all at once the animation of the ring ended.
And it was with this new advice from the infernal spirits that Lidivic’s bond to the ministry was forever broken.
Deep, down and below the surface world of Citibaad, Lidivic could hear for the first time the stirring of the imprisoned alien-intelligence, Garamet. A slaughter between the ministry and Garamet would ensue his breaking the holy seal of the city.
Lidivic visualized the breaking of the holy seal, and fantasized locking all the ministers down below the city after the release of Garament. To Lidivic it seemed the best place for them. He did not want them meddling in his affairs after taking over the citadel.
Having made up his mind to visit Garamet, Lidivic prepared for a nocturnal venture into the subterranean caverns that lay hidden under the guise of the cemetery.
Gothocracy, he mused.
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