In The Buried Face Of The Gorgon

The face plate was non reflective; a dark empty hole where a face should have been. And the voice that emerged from behind it sounded like it had been dug up, a dusty dead thing that reverberated with the noise of a deep cavern. He barely remembered what he had been before that mistake had stolen his identity and let his old self slip beneath the dark surface of the still water of the past.

The man before him was a man with a code; and that was dangerous. Zark, that was this individual’s name, and what was he? What was this outfit that he wore? Out here in the depths of space, in the ruins of this decadent culture, and here stood a knight? It made no sense to him.

‘I understand that you are The Gorgon. That you are the one who has been moving through these villages and destroying them. That your soldiers have been killing people with no reason, and leaving destruction in your wake.’

‘What of it?’

‘Is that why you hide your face?’

The Gorgon rose, he signaled for his soldiers to lower their weapons.

‘What are you here to do, Zark? What is that you think you and your friends are going to achieve? I let you walk in here because you are no threat, and I will let you leave for the same reason.’

‘You know it’s funny, whenever a person walks into a room, wearing armour, carrying a sword, people think that that is the threat they are bringing. I feared you were smarter, but hope you were more arrogant. Why would I walk in here with you having greater numbers, and expect to win. You’re looking in the wrong place.’

‘I do not believe you and this cheap bluff tactic.’

‘Check with your security – see what is happening in your main stronghold. Your maturation chambers are gone; your hives are gone; your time-gates are decimated; we have knocked out your central command so your web is torn.’

‘How did you do this? How did you expect to get out of here?’

‘We are a billion raised swords with blades sharpened by oppression. And leave here? We were never here.’

And the holographic ghosts, sculpted in hard light, were zipped back up into the bees buzzing at the heart of them.

An interference pattern glitched through the skin of the empty mask. The Gorgon’s voice churned like a circular blade in the back of his thoat.

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