Kyle West - Revelation

I had only myself to blame. Maybe I was as insane as they thought I was. Maybe the virus had changed me.

We passed the pink border of the Great Blight just as the sun fully rose, obscured behind layers of luminescent, crimson cloud. The light spread its fingers, igniting the entire eastern horizon with a fiery glow that belied the cold, dry air. The light illuminated the pink, alien trees that poked through the surface of the fungus like wispy hairs. Tall, pink grass waved in the wind like fields of grain. Sticky pink pools and rivers flowed toward lower elevations, bleeding through the fungus. It was beautiful in its own surreal way.

The dragon took me even lower. In one of these pools, I could see several crawlers soaking below the surface, dormant. Was this how the monsters were birthed? A flock of birds flew like a swarm of insects from a thick stand of xenotrees, spiraling toward the sun in an organic whirlwind. The xenolife should have attacked me on sight, but they ignored my presence on the dragon. Another sign of my change, perhaps? Maybe I really was one of them, now.

We flew a while longer, the sun doing little to warm the chilled air. I wrapped my hoodie tighter. I wondered if my eyes were still white. They had to be. I wondered how long it would be until my transformation would be complete.

“Where are we going?” I asked the dragon.

I didn’t know why I asked it that. The dragon couldn’t answer, so I guess I was just trying to break the silence and loneliness. The dragon gave no reaction, merely flying on in a straight line, due east. I remembered my dream, and thought, with dread, that I might be flying to Ragnarok Crater. If that was where I was headed, then I could never expect to get out alive. Maybe I was being taken hostage for some reason. But that didn’t seem right. Why even bother with that when these dragons were programmed to kill? Apparently, these dragons also had a penchant for ferrying sixteen-year-old kids to who knows where.

I got the beginnings of my answer as the dragon flew upward, above a steep rise coated in alien purple and pink. Once above, I saw the ruins of the spire Gilgamesh had shot down. It was gray, lifeless, its many roots blasted, tangled, and disconnected from the nourishing fungus. I didn’t know if it was my natural, human feeling, or the virus within me, but I felt sad at the sight. The fungus appeared to be thicker around its base — perhaps trying to heal it? Pink goo flowed from the spire’s base like blood, down to a valley in the south, where it collected in a small lake. Maybe it wasn’t merely like blood. Maybe it was blood.

The dragon drew closer to the spire. With a high-pitched cry that shook my bones, it extended its claws, alighting on the ground. It folded its wings, and knelt. We had come to the end of our journey.

I hesitated only a moment before hopping off, the xenofungus beneath my feet padding my fall. As I stepped onto the eerie fungus, it glowed beneath my weight, fading over time to its normal color. That hadn’t happened before. I couldn’t help but feel that it was its way of registering that I was connected to its network.

I tried not to be freaked out by that. I walked forward, to the spire. I gazed at it for a moment, its dead, twisting mass bewildering. What was I doing here? Was I to be punished for being part of the team that destroyed it? I turned back to the dragon, but its white, featureless eyes gazed back at me empty, answerless. The large beast gave a slight shiver, grieved at the sight of the spire. Could these monsters feel? I had always thoughts of them as unthinking beasts, caring only about killing. Maybe they were more than that.

I turned back to the spire, noticing a change taking place at its base. The roots began to twist. I took a step back as they unraveled, revealing a dark opening that led deep into the thick mound of xenofungus that supported the spire. It was just wide enough for me to enter.

I hesitated. I waited, for a moment, for something to come out. The dragon gave a low growl, urging me onward.

“Easy,” I said, beginning to step forward.

I felt fear grip me as I moved toward the opening. I had bad memories of going underground, so I was more than a bit hesitant. It was completely dark within, but it was clear that it led down. I realized, upon entering, that those very same roots could close in on me, trapping me beneath the surface. But I saw no other option at this point, so forward I went.

I walked down the slope, into darkness. As I had guessed, the roots curled shut behind me. As soon as they did, the walls of the tunnel began glowing pink, offering just enough light to move onward. The tunnel sloped, spiraling toward the right.

I began walking. There was a creepy deadening of all sound. Immediately upon each new step, the sound of any squish was absorbed by the walls. The air was cool to begin with, but as I walked on, spiraling lower, it became hot and stuffy. I was crawling into a living thing, and that thought made me shudder.

I walked for about five minutes in this way, wondering when, or if, the spiral would ever end. When at last it did, I gasped at the sight before me.

I had entered a cavernous chamber, covered on all sides by xenofungus. Before me was a wide, pink pool, strangely clear and pure. Stalactites of xenofungus hung above, dripping yet more pink slime, filling the pool. The pool could probably be more accurately described as a small lake — it stretched far, and various inlets jutted out of my sight, deeper into the space, everything glowing pink from the fungus itself. Strange as it might sound, it was beautiful in its own alien way. The surface of the fungus gleamed, like crystals.

I noticed a small island out in the middle of that lake. One person sat on it now, back to me, under the branches of a silvery tree, the roots of which traveled down the sides of the island, burying themselves deep within the lake. I called out, but the surrounding xenofungus and pool shimmered, absorbing my words long before they could make it to the island.

I would have to go there myself.

I stepped to the pink shoreline, my boots just inches from the strange liquid. It looked viscous, like water, only it didn’t move. The entire surface was still as glass. I bent down, and reached my hand toward the surface. I touched it. It was warm, and the liquid wrapped itself around my fingers. When I raised my hand, the liquid slid right off, back into the pool, joining the still surface of the pink lake. It might have been even more fluid than water. Each molecule of the stuff was obeying its own command, knowing when to stick together, and when to dissipate. Maybe, at its basic level, the liquid’s smallest components were alive .

I didn’t really want to swim through something that was alive, but I saw little choice. I believed I was meant to talk with that man on the island, and to do that, I had to step into the pool and swim to that island. I did so now, the organic goo surrounding and compressing my body. I panicked for a moment as the pool constricted around my chest, pushing the air out of my lungs. Then the pressure was released, and I could breathe again. This stuff could very well kill me, if it wanted.

I swam outward, toward the island. After a few moments, the liquid of the pool only just began to soak my clothing. It was easy to stay above the surface — the liquid pushed me upward, obviously much denser than water. Its current pushed me along, so much so that I could probably have ceased all motion and it would have carried me straight to the island. Ripples rather than waves emanated from my position, bouncing off cave walls, advancing ahead toward the island. When I was halfway there, the first of my ripples made it to the island’s shoreline. The man’s form stiffened, but he gave no other reaction.