Thoughts in Chaos
By Rune Grey

Chapter Two

The sense of warmth intruded upon Lacan, a welcome feeling after weeks of the bitter cold of the northern icecap. He didn't question the feeling at the moment, content to simply bask in the warmth and restore the energy that trek and the bitter cold has slowly sapped away from him.

The realization that it WAS warm, when what had seemed to be only a moment ago he had been lying face down on top of one of the world's largest glaciers, was what brought him to immediate consciousness. It wasn't frozen snow that his head rested against, but a massive cavern floor made of a type of strange luminescent rock that he had never seen before in his life.

Lacan slowly levered himself to his feet, trying to take in the sights that protruded themselves violently into his vision. His first thought, that this wasn't a natural cavern, was justified... no cavern that he had ever seen had possessed this strange, almost circular appearance. It was as if a gigantic sphere had been gradually filling in over the years, leaving only the upper quarter hollow.

And no natural cavern carried the controlled aura of power Lacan felt swirling around him. The waves of energy slowly rose from the floor in a serene fountain of light, slowly drifting towards a small opening in the ceiling before vanishing into the night air. Curious, Lacan slowly extended his hand, placing it just inside of the cascade of rising light.

Contact . . .

Lacan staggered backwards, startled at the word without sound that had echoed through his head. Bits of energy and light clung to his fingertips, glimmering for a moment before they faded away, absorbed into his skin. Lacan shook his hand slightly, wondering just had and produced such a reaction...

With what he deemed was appropriate caution, Lacan against approached the cascade of light. Reaching out, he placed a single finger within the barriers of the energy cascade, ready to snatch it back a moment later. When no reaction occurred, he thrust his entire arm up to his elbow into the cascade, at once hoping and fearing tha there would be some form of reaction.

Contact . . .

This time he did not pull away from the cascade of power, although he felt his entire arm tighten as the voice ran through him again. It echoed from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. But it wasn't quite a voice... it was words, but no sound, as if thoughts were being directly impressed upon his mind.

Contact... you have returned, at long last.

"Returned? What do you mean by that?" Lacan responded, his voice slightly hoarse with surprise. "And why do you keep calling me 'Contact'?"

Because you are the direct descendent of the one who first came in contact with my power. What is more, you are more than his descendent in flesh, but in spirit as well. You have transmigrated across the millennia through the collective consciousness and genetic structure of humanity that was created by 'God' in the first days.

Lacan staggered slightly as the words washed over him, images of a ship, a young boy -him- and a young woman, suspended in a pillar of glass, -Elly!- a part of him sobbed as he recognized her face.

I see. Then, it is too late for us. She has gone ahead, transmigrated to her next incarnation. You will not be able to complete your purpose without her, not in this incarnation.

"My... purpose?"

The purpose to which you were sworn over ten millennia ago, in exchange for your survival upon the Eldrige. The destruction of my prision of fleshy exsistence. The purpose for which you have been gifted with immortality.


Join with me, and learn.

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