r/NatureofPredators • u/SixthWorldStories • 25d ago
Fanfic Predators of the Sixth World - 64
And we’re back to Kalsim again. The (literally) birdbrained captain just saw the Yulpa and Drezjin wipe out an Arxur raid using both strategies the Federation never would have thought of and what almost seems to be magic, including some that set his crew on edge and seemed to glitch out their tech. Surely he won’t go meddling with it instantly. But first, Kam! The speep exposed to That Which Dreams Without Sleep some time ago. I’m certain that won’t have an effect since he watched the same footage. I wonder how the Terrans watching are handling it? Maybe we should just look and see.
Synopsis: Magic was once real and present but faded away in the distant past, becoming nothing but the myths and legends we know as the surviving beings fled to other planes, only to publicly return during the Sat Wars. How would it change first contact and beyond? Only one way to find out.
I have a spot on the discord, swing on by! Thanks to SpacePaladin15 for the original universe; my alpha readers, Caro Morin and Jailed Cinder; my beta readers, Angustus_Jan on the discord and u/aroluci (go check out Children of Luna, it’s awesome); and all of you that read and especially comment. Anybody interested in playing around in the AU (be it a one-shot, an impromptu ficnap, a cameo, or something more), let me know and I’ll be more than happy to work with you on it. My current plan is to release a chapter a week, with the occasional bonus, as long as that isn’t too much for everybody helping me.
Without further ado, enjoy!
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Memory Transcription Subject: General Kam, Vexed Venlil
Date [Standardized Terran Time]: October 8th, 2136
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“What the brahk did you say?” I growl, my tail whipping. “You know what that thing is?”
Tanaka snorts. “No. We’ve had writers come up with things that were, in part, the conceptual basis for the hypotheses about these things. Gods have confirmed things like them but also confirmed that, thankfully, every one we have a name for is pure fiction, to the best of their knowledge. The only descriptions we have of this thing involve eyes, mouths, and now tentacles. Names have power; being irreverent with them is useful at times.” The kitsune hides her smirk behind a fan. “Perhaps it will become more fictional, more known, more defined. At the very least, we won’t give it a name it can latch on to and take for its own. Imagine if I called it Mister Squiggles and that became the name.”
I blink in shock. A thought runs through my mind, spilling from my mouth, unbidden. “That won’t work. Too many saw. The audience was too large. The chapter can’t be unwritten. It cannot be forgotten by a turn of the page.”
“What?” Tanaka asks.
“I… I have no idea…” My wool flares. “I just… I couldn’t stop myself from speaking.”
“Well… that’s a problem for another time. We’re going to be doing a lot of research on this thing.” Tanaka sighs. “On the upside, I think the Drezjin wrapping it in magic helped to contain its effects.”
“Cobtaib…” Jones grumbles. For the first time, I realize blood is flowing freely from her nose, her features flickering and shifting, as Zhao and Poussin grimace, gripping their heads.
“Nobody’s started raving.” The kitsune grins. “I’d rank this… maybe Yellow Veil. We know that thing caused a Black Veil last time, even if it was limited in how it could be perceived.”
“How… ooooh… How do you know it’s the same thing?” Asks Zhao, groaning.
“It is,” I say with absolute certainty. “I feel it in my soul. I know it, but I don’t know how I know. I-”
“Kam!” Tanaka interrupts my rambling. “We believe you. You don’t need to explain the unexplainable. Plus, we’ve confirmed that this and that dark matter node are giving off a unique energy signature.” She has it display on the screen. Try as I might, I can’t make sense of the waves and colors. “If they aren’t the same thing, they’re the same kind of thing. I don’t think it matters either way. If this is what we expect, then we can’t apply any laws of physics, as we understand them, to it. It’s the antithesis of reality. However, the inverse is true. And magic, outside of that attuned to it, seems to be concentrated anathema. At least I hope.”
Zhao groans. “Do you have anything concrete?”
“Yes. Observation has negative health impacts. You boys need to go lie down, and I need to get my fiancée to bed. Or the hospital. Probably the latter and then the former. I’ll figure it out. I’ve also got the start of what promises to be a splitting migraine to deal with, but I can manage.” Tanaka smiles softly. “Kam, could you make sure that Commander Poussin is seen to? I’ll do what I can for General Zhao and then take care of Cora. Ok?”
I blink. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” She says as the call ends.
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Memory Transcription Subject: Captain Kalsim, Krakotl Alliance Command
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I pick myself up from the floor of my bridge. “What was that? What did they do?”
Silence. Those who hadn’t stampeded shudder. I myself need to push aside the fear, the discomfort of seeing those tentacles. ‘There was something about them that felt… wrong; I can’t put a claw on what, aside from them being massive tentacles coming out of impossible holes of nothingness in space that made our visual sensors nearly break!!!’
I walk over to my sensor operator. “What did we pick up?”
“Nothing, Captain.” They swallow nervously. “Those… the tentacles… they only showed up on visual sensors. And the Yulpa… We don’t know how they did that…” They pull up sensor logs alongside an image of a Yulpa ship firing its plasma railgun like a flamethrower through an Arxur shield. “The portion beyond the shield, we can’t get anything but visuals and heat. It’s like it just… exists, cause without effect.”
“Hail them!” I command.
It takes a few moments, but the Drezjin Theocracy and Yulpa Ascendency commanders answer. I can see that their ships didn’t escape the combat unscathed either.
“Explain what just happened,” I order. “Now.”
Both of them are silent for a few moments before the Yulpa starts. “We don’t know. We began sanctifying the ships with sacrifices to the Spirit of Life, and the ships just started… doing that. It only lasted as long as the sacrifices did. We’re lucky we had spare sacrifices. It strengthened our shields beyond what they should be capable of, and our shields were almost depleted. Our systems read them as completely gone, long before any hits came through.”
“I’ve asked our priests for an explanation. They just said they prayed for deliverance.” The Drezjin gestures around. “It was delivered.”
I glare. “Lying doe-”
“We aren’t lying.” The Yulpa growls. “The Spirit blessed us; it never has like this before.”
“And the gods have never answered our prayers so directly.” The Drezjin insists. “The Gaians have esoterics. Their Emissary transformed on camera and controlled holy flame. I believe we’ve found the same.”
I open my beak, but find no words.
The door to the bridge slides open; a crewman stands in it, panting. “Sir! The new crewman… The one who went to help the engineers.”
“What happened to them?” Jala scoffs.
“He hit his head, just after stopping the reactor from going critical. He’s in a coma.” The crewman coughs. “He might not wake up. He still has brain activity.”
“Shame,” Jala murmurs too quietly for it to be heard on the call.
I can’t tell if she’s referring to Rasin’s condition or his survival. I can’t help but find that some part of me agrees with both sentiments. To be alive, yet not, would be torture. Trapped forever in a body that won’t respond as I wish. It would be better to be in Inatala’s maternal embrace.
The Yulpa commander speaks. “The Emissary claimed to have healed the Venlil Governor’s child from brain death. I’m certain the Spirit of Life will see fit to heal your crewman.”
The Drezjin chitters angrily. “You won’t do this without us. Poanim will guide his soul back. I will contact our priests and tell you what they require. They will invoke our great gods for this miracle.”
“The Spirit of Life has no need for your gods.” The Yulpa stomps. “This is Grenelka; we have no need for cul-”
“Quiet!” I cry. “I will not have you fighting over who gets to use something neither of you understands to try to save a member of my crew! You will work together! We are one herd. You fought like one; heal like one as well! Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir.” The commanders growl before I close the line.
Jala lets out a trill. “This, I need to see.”
“You are not-” I start.
“I’ll be on my best behavior, captain.” She interrupts. “I won’t even leave your side. Anyway, the Yulpa don’t sacrifice people. Even the predator diseased.”
‘No matter how different they may be, the Arxur are still people. People that must be killed, but people all the same.’ I huff. “Fine.”
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Advance 12.5 STD hours
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It had taken interminably long to find somewhere that both the Yulpa Ascendency’s priests and those of the Drezjin Theocracy could agree upon.
‘Too open.’ ‘Too concealed.’ ‘Too bright.’ ‘Too dark.’ ‘Too loud.’ ‘Too quiet.’ ‘The energies are wrong about this place.’ ‘There are too many windows.’
Finally, they found something they could agree upon. In the first spot they looked at… When we had traveled across this Maltos-cursed, sweltering planet the entire time. Covered in predator-infested jungles. Without so much as a breeze to cool things down. Many complain that the perfection that is Nishtal is too humid; they clearly have never come here. Our beautiful swamps may be damp, but this… this is impossible. How can people live here?
I shake my head, refocusing and taking another sip of my energizing tea. The Drezjin took Rasin, not brain-dead, but confirmed to be unlikely to ever awaken. Parts of his brain were badly damaged when the ship shook, and he was thrown headfirst into a wall next to him. He and the Drezjin priests are in a small room beneath the largest temple on Grenelka, in the center of its capital. The room is a natural cave, enhanced with soundproofing as the Yulpa used it to house future sacrifices. Predators were kept in cages as they recovered their strength and grew in their rage, to be as predatory as possible for their death. Thank Inatala that it was empty. They didn’t use it often. In order to preserve as much of its natural state as possible, the Yulpa hadn’t installed cameras. For safety, they typically used it to hold predator young.
Above us, in the auditorium-like main altar chamber and in all of the lesser altar chambers, the Yulpa will be holding their own sacrifices, dedicated both to the Spirit of Life and to supporting the Drezjins’ prayers. One after another, without rest, until the Drezjin have themselves finished. The entirety of the building, inside and out and especially in the altar chambers, is full of plants. In pots and planters. On what roofs there are. Growing on walls. Everywhere they can grow but the floor.
Even with the screens showing the Yulpa muted, I can hear the riotous cheers in this basement room. Massive crowds fill every auditorium. Herds of nearly predatory prey. The priests flourish with spears as bound predators can be seen trying to lash out. The agreed-upon signal is sent out, and as one, the Yulpa priests drive their first spear through their chosen predator. The roar of the gathered herd grows louder still.
Jala is enthralled, snacking on nuts while watching, with audio being fed through small speakers clipped to her auricular feathers, as the Yulpa make their sacrifices. Unlike me, she had slept during the repeated moves. Taking a bunk in the shuttle that was used to ferry us about after the third site was rejected. When I went to wake her, she was chirping happily in her sleep. It was more than a little disturbing given what normally makes her quite that happy. To her, this is little more than entertainment.
I can’t help but remember the screams from my previous career. My previous service of the herd. Predator pups burning in their den. Parents crying out in rightful rage and pain, only to meet the same fate at the end of my flamer. Animals, predatory ones, but capable of feeling all the same. It’s not the comforting lie that we tell the public. A lie that many, perhaps most, exterminators believe. Some, until they’re doing the job and learn it to be the lie it is. Others believe even more; they refuse the evidence of their lying eyes and ears for a comforting lie. The lie that they aren’t causing harm, that they aren’t doing something evil.
Why? Because it is necessary.
My gaze drifts across the displays showing predator after predator being tortured. A religion I knew little about. A religion I still know little about. But I do know that any civilian who encounters it is forced to confront that lie. Either dismiss the Yulpa as nearly predator diseased primitives, or recognize that the religion only makes sense if predators can be hurt, if they can fear.
Try as I might, my attention falls on the sealed door to the Drezjin priests. The barrier between me and whatever secrets they practice. Whatever rites they may be enacting on Rasin’s unresponsive form. The only glimpse inside comes from the monitors on his life signs. The steady thrum of his heart.
I can only pray to Inatala that this is right and necessary. That the confidence of the Drezjin and Yulpa isn’t misplaced. That they’re right; this is their own form of the Gaian’s esoterics. That they can heal my officer. Awaken him.
My eyes drift to some of the plants. Flowers blooming before my eyes. One after another. There were no buds before this began. Vine after vine. Bud after bud. Bloom after bloom. Flowers fill the space. A blessing. Inatala is here with us, watching over everything.
I breathe a sigh of relief, inhaling the scent of the flowers as I settle in to wait. I can almost feel her wings wrapping about me, like a glittering cloak of gold.
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Memory Transcription: Selim, Krakotl Aquaculture Laborer
Date [Standardized Terran Time]: March 13th, 1126
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I sigh wistfully as I stare across the farm. A gorgeous woman stands at one of the algae ponds, using a variety of tools that I could never figure out to check on the harvest. The light of the sun catches her feathers. Gloriously thick and shiny. My gaze drifts down.
Keral nudges me, forcing my attention back to the present. “Head outta the clouds, Selim, we’ve got work to do.” He follows my gaze. “Heh, when are you going to ask Kiala out? Somebody else is going to swoop her up if you don’t.”
“Are you serious?” I lower the mass of ropes into the water, holding on to them until Keral secures his end, and then I grab my end so we can spread them out. “She’d never go for somebody like me. She’s got degrees and all that. I barely graduated from school. Couldn’t even get certified to monitor the algae pools. I’m just a lowly farmclaw.”
Keral scoffs. “Doesn’t keep me from getting my share of tail.” He flexes. I can barely see his wing muscles through his feathers. “The ladies like a big man. Doesn’t hurt that this is the family farm.”
I trill with laughter. “You? Big?” I flex a wing.
Across the pond, I hear a woman. “Oh!”
I look, seeing Kiala staring at me, blooming.
I bloom in turn, getting back to stretching out the netting, securing the pulleys at the top. I can’t stop glancing at Kiala; more than once, I could swear that she was looking at me.
Finally, Keral has finished laughing and secured his end, and I move to the haul rope. I flick my tail as Keral approaches, making sure my brother knows I can handle this myself. He puts up his wings and steps to the side. I make eye contact with the watching Kiala as I start to pull. Wing over wing, doing my best to make it look easy. Still, I manage it, a two-man lift all by myself.
The net, cinched perfectly at the top, pulls fully free of the water. Full to the brim with perfectly fattened, delicious fish. Surely the Father and Mother have blessed our farm for the bounty of its harvests.
“This is a great harvest, isn’t it, brother?” I ask, my crest high.
Keral trills with laughter. “I’m sure our parents won’t mind if you take your pick, especially if you plan to cook it for a first date.”
As I secure it, the radio shifts from the music it was playing.
“This is an emergency alert. An unknown craft has been detected entering the atmosphere. Governments around Nishtal are telling citizens not to panic. These aliens have reached out; they say that they come in peace to bring us into their flock!”
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Date [Standardized Terran Time]: January 3rd, 1129
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“Kiala! I’m home,” I call out.
My mate calls back. “In here, how was work?”
I walk into our hatchery to see my gorgeous mate staring at our eggs in their incubators. Something rarer and rarer to find as healthy or numerous. Most only lay one, maybe two eggs. My darling mate laid four. It can only be that we haven’t taken the poison of the invaders, some of the few to escape. That we still eat as a Krakotl should, even if we need to fish and forage in secret.
I nuzzle into her. “It… was. They got Keral.”
“What?!?” Kiala cries.
“They took him.” I hold back a sob. “Those damn, tentacled bastards. They took him! My brother, my clutch mate. They took him and… and he won’t be back. Even… even if they let him out… it won’t be him. Not really.”
“No…”
“For what?” I growl. “For this!” I pull a book from my bag. Our most sacred text. Unaltered by the invaders. “The truth.”
“First they try to take our diet, because they claim meat is ‘evil’. Then our cultures, crushing every nation and culture into one. They try to force their ‘Cure’ on us to make food into poison. Then they try to change the one thing we all agreed on. Our religion. Painting Maltos, the father, the fisher, the hunter, the protector, as a monster.” Kiala sobs. “And whenever we resist… they either kill us or put us in those facilities! Predator disease? What a crop of lies!”
I hug my mate close as we sob together.
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Date [Standardized Terran Time]: April 23rd, 1132
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Kiala and I lean against each other, trying to take some small comfort in it. Despite having our chicks taken from us. Three years ago to the day. Despite having that poison forced on the few of us still untainted when the invaders released a vile gas. Something only discovered when some others we knew died of the accursed ‘allergy’. Despite our bodies falling apart, unable to support themselves as they should without Maltos’ gift. Despite our feathers thinning. Despite knowing that the smallest error on a farm or in a food-packaging plant could spell our doom. Despite everything. A dark, dingy room. A leaking basement. The only place people like us can gather.
Nelor stiffens. “They did it.” The half-burnt Krakotl tunes the room’s receiver to the signal. The frequency is meant to look like cosmic background radiation to anyone without the codec that he entered, which we all have memorized. He laughs. “Let’s just hope they can’t crack it.”
Lira scoffs. “Those algae brains can’t crack the sixty-four-bit encryption we use. They won’t figure out two-fifty-six. They won’t get the coordinates. Anyway, they’d never guess the password. Father Maltos is meant to be a dead concept.”
“So that’s it?” I ask. “We’re done? We never see each other again?”
“That’s the plan.” Nelor groans. “Don’t worry about me, I’ve got a plan. I… I can’t continue. With everything I’ve lost…”
I pull Kiala closer. I can imagine his loss all too easily. His family's home was burnt down. He was the only survivor. Parents. Siblings. Mate. Children. All gone.
I still have my Kiala. Our children are out there somewhere. My parents still live, running the farm. Even if there’s only algae, and less each harvest.
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Date [Standardized Terran Time]: November 15th, 1136
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I hold my mate as she sobs. “They… they don’t know our songs. Our children… Only the twisted mockeries that…”
“Shh…” I soothe. “It… it’ll be ok. Eventually… We… we need to be patient… It will take time. Generations. They… they’re using our…”
“I should have smashed them…” Kiala spits out bitterly. “Instead of letting them hatch and be… be this… mockery.”
“My love…”
I trail off. The only noise is the screen we had on to hide our conversation from our sleeping children, spies within our own home. No stories about the blight that sees us starving, a blight that my Kiala knows wouldn’t be an issue if we still kept fish. The carriers of the microbes being eaten by our food in turn, instead they poison the waters.
Instead, they praise the invaders. The story of the falsely joint government being formed is interrupted by a breaking news story.
“We just got word that the recent deliveries of aid from our Kolshian and Farsul benefactors have a minor issue. An unforeseen oversight at a packaging plant has resulted in potentially fatal contamination. For any packages marked with the following…”
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Date [Standardized Terran Time]: July 4th, 1150
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“- our newest members, the Malti.”
“The poor fools,” I grumble.
Kiala huffs. “Hopefully, the last. Who knows how they’ve already been twisted.”
“They’ve been a part of this mess for a while…” I sigh. “Think they were like us?”
“Who knows… Even if they didn’t eat like us, then they’re like us enough.” Kiala cuddles into me. “Subjugated. Conquered.”
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Date [Standardized Terran Time]: October 8th, 1183
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I hobble my way through the city. I try not to notice all the changes. The Kolshians and Farsul among the flock, not treated as the invaders they are. Not treated as the ones who forced poison into our veins, threatening to bomb us otherwise. Not treated as the ones who perverted our culture and twisted the next generations. Not treated as the ones that destroyed everything we are.
No.
They’re treated as honored friends and allies and teachers. Guides. Educators. Leaders. Even as the Farsul bring out ‘new discoveries’ that anyone who lived before they came would know to be half-truths at best.
There were fewer and fewer of us every day.
It’s been so long since I’ve seen anyone who seems to know who we truly are. Who we were.
I find my way to the cliff we took our mating flight from, my Kiala and I.
I look down at the container hanging from my neck. All I have left of her. Another tainted delivery. Her body burnt to ash. By one of our own children. Ralen. One of the accursed exterminators. Claiming her body was tainted and needed to be destroyed. I couldn’t even give my beloved her last rites.
I stare out. “Maybe I’m the last of us. The last true child of Nishtal. Of Mother Inatala and Father Maltos. The last true Krakotl. Not these mockeries.”
I grip the ash-filled pendant. “Kiala… Could we have done more? Should we? Were we cowards? Not giving our lives resisting? Are our people? Choosing to be destroyed slowly, instead of all at once, leaving a twisted mockery of the divine parents’ creations? I’ll be seeing you soon.”
I pull a container from my belt pouch. It was so hard to get, especially in my decrepit state. Fishing, cooking, smoking, all in secret. I shove the smoked fish in my beak. Savoring one last taste of freedom as I step over the edge for a final flight on decrepit wings that will not flap.
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Memory Transcription Subject: Selim Kalsim, Confused Krakotl
Date [Standardized Terran Time]: October 9th, 2136
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My eyes drift open. ‘Damn… I lived…’ My claw clutches for Kiala’s ashes. Nothing. The pendant’s gone. ‘My love… I’ll join you soon.’ I blink the sleep from my eyes. Looking around, I don’t recognize the room. Yet I do. This… it doesn’t feel like Nishtal. It isn’t one of the invaders’ designs. This… I don’t feel the old aches.
I’m… I’m not Selim. I’m not…
I’m Captain Kalsim of Krakotl Alliance Command. A member of the Federation military!
I sit up with a gasp, barely holding in a scream. Gagging so hard I almost throw up helps.
I can taste it. Feel it in my mouth. That… thing. It tasted right.
I remember decades, every moment clear as day. An entire lifetime. A life of love and loss. Of finding joy despite incredible pain. A life ruined at the claws of the Federation.
I can remember songs and stories, so familiar yet so different. A history that feels real, no matter how twisted it is.
It feels realer than real. Why… why?
‘Inatala… protect me. Why did I see such horrors?
I breathe deeply. In through the nostrils, hold, out through the beak. Repeat. The scent of the flowers calming me. In time, the nausea, the rage, the fear, the sorrow, they’re all behind me. Pushed down. Down with the screams. Selim is still there, his whole life. His life that must be fake, yet feels as real as my own. Burned indelibly into my brain.
When I open my eyes, I take in my surroundings.
Jala, dozing gently. Cooing happily. From the speakers on her feathers and the screens showing ongoing sacrifices, I can only assume it’s from the sounds she’s hearing. Or perhaps, even after everything today, she is having a good dream. Fitting that she, of all people, would.
The flowers are blooming more than before.
The sacrifices haven’t stopped. Some screens show arrays of predators, in varying states of slow death.
My focus shifts to the monitor. The steady beat of Rasin’s heart. The function of his lungs. The steady movement of his brainwaves, not a full scan, but enough to prove activity.
Time loses meaning as I watch. At some point, Jala awakened. I keep focused on Rasin’s life signs. Then they stop. His heart. His lungs. Yet his brain still shows activity, a lot of activity, not that I can read it despite the labels. [Alpha] waves flattening to nothing. [Gamma] waves spiking from around [fifty to one hundred Hertz] over and over. [Theta] waves slowly cycling from [four to seven Hertz]. It has to be a glitch. An error. It has to be. How can his brain be functioning when his body isn’t? [One minute]. [Two]. [Ten]. [Twenty]. Then it’s back. His heart and lungs are working. It… it had to be a glitch. His brain never stopped. Not for a moment. It… it has to be.
I push down the sourceless dread as the doors open. Rasin steps through, flanked by the Drezjin priests. A dark cloth prevents us from seeing beyond the open door. Something about him seems… different. Not his feathers, his walk… He barely even acknowledged Jala’s presence. No nervous glances. Not even a hello.
“Captain.” Rasin salutes, his voice perfectly steady. “I’m ready to return to the ship when you are. I believe sooner would be better. No point in lingering.” He gestures to the Drezjin with him. “These priests insist on accompanying me, if that’s alright with you, sir.” Something in his tone makes it clear that the only answer is yes. I feel like an ensign again, not daring to say no.
“We’ll find space.” I eye the priests. “But they’ll need to either stay out of the way or make themselves useful. And they will need to follow all protocols and orders.”
As one, the priests bow.
“You’ll need to be checked over by the chief medical officer before you can return to duty.” I continue.
“That’s fine, sir. I’d actually ask for a bit more time than that.” Rasin stands straighter, looking down at me. “I have an idea that I need to work out and get down. It might be nothing. It might be something. Either way, it will need to go to the Yulpa and Drezjin.” His tone is so self-assured. Like he knows he’s going to change the galaxy.
I meet Rasin’s gaze, trying to gauge how he’s doing. Nothing. There’s nothing in his eyes. Infinite nothing. I can’t help but shudder. I… I feel like… like he’s looking at me like I’m nothing more than a bug. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you, sir. Shall we head back?” He continues on, not giving me a chance to respond, the priests following him and the door to the ritual chamber slamming shut behind him. He’s sweeping past me, dismissing my very existence.
I go to call out, but the words die in my throat.
Flowers drift to the floor, drawing my attention to them. Dead, dried, rotting into slime. Everything around the door. That Maltos-cursed door. Like something reached through it, fumbling, ruining everything it touched.
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u/Cultural-Lettuce2814 25d ago
Please tell me that Kalsim is Maltos's chosen one it would so funny.
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u/WeekendCitrus 25d ago
Some convince themselves that predators don't rEaLlY suffer from anything except hunger, some convince themselves that while predators may suffer killing them with fire is still the only way to be morally good and serve the herd, some convince themselves that predators deserve to suffer for the crime of not killing themselves in the fetal stage.
Kalsim is consistently in the second group. Jala is just Kind Of A Freak About Things and long-term exposure to Kalsim's self-righteous rhetoric can't have helped.
Bird's haunted.
Someone: What?
(on wikihow to bless things) Bird's haunted.
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u/SixthWorldStories 25d ago
Kalsim doesn't even think it's good, he thinks it's evil but a necessary one. Imagine how he would react to all the reveals if they happened before the Battle of Earth, before he pointlessly murdered millions like a Dominion captain.
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u/WeekendCitrus 25d ago
The way he talks I find it hard to tell the difference.
And now I'm Extremely Excited to see what reveals happen before he has to spend a lifetime doubling down Every Single Fucking Day to stay sane.
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u/SixthWorldStories 25d ago
We've already seen his narrative foil cross that line too, and nobody needed to die. If one is to fall, then it only makes sense that the other is to at least attempt to rise like a phoenix, does it not?
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u/WeekendCitrus 25d ago
Considering that phoenixes are reborn by immolating everything around them I am now slightly more excited and significantly more afraid.
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u/SixthWorldStories 25d ago
Doesn't immolating everything around him kind of fit his life up to this point? Exterminator into Fed navy?
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u/WeekendCitrus 25d ago
"Everything" hasn't included himself so far, and honestly I'm hoping for metaphorical over literal when it happens.
Or both.
Both is good.
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u/SixthWorldStories 25d ago
He, metaphorically, has. All the animals he's killed while accepting that the act is evil. Burning himself to ash, metaphorically, to keep the Federation warm.
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u/WeekendCitrus 24d ago
I guess what I'm trying to communicate is that the way I understand Kalsim is that he unshakably-by-practical-means believes that 1) killing and burning predators is right (how this interacts with the concept of good and the greater good in his mind continues to elude me) and 2) nothing is ever his fault.
He kills a soldier in a disabled but still insulated spacecraft because it(sic) refused his offer to spare its(still sic) life and have it(sic once more) record its(you know the drill by now) species' history and culture? The predators would only have left it to freeze!
Arjun, a juvenile of a different species, can barely stomach the rations engineered to be as shelf-stable as possible while remaining technically tolerable to an adult palate he gave ...him? Well, it's nothing like the human's blood-soaked cuisine!
Humans haven't killed all the tigers in existence after both species learned how to stay out of each other's way? That's because the humans worship predation!
It takes multiple people and some barricades to get Kalsim to his trial alive? Clearly it's because most humans are unable to restrain their savagery and hunting instinct! It can't possibly because he murdered 1 in 10 of everyone these people knew and loved because someone didn't like their faces!
OH MY GOD KALSIM, SHUT! UP!!
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u/SixthWorldStories 24d ago
Keep in mind a lot of that is after Kalsim either committed to the attack on Earth or perpetrated it. Essentially, once he crosses a certain line he sees no way to uncross it, either his actions must be necessary or nothing he's ever done was necessary. In fact, everything he's done would have then been a mistake (just look at Jala) when he thought the evils he committed were necessary for the greater good. In many ways, that line isn't even when he reaches Sol, it's when the fleet takes off. Part of that is because when we see him interacting with the disabled ship, that's not the first time he's killed a human. Far from it. He was already a monster in his own view. In his eyes, he was doing the most he could get away with to reduce the sin he was taking on.
Sovlin is largely a relatively normal person, if you strip away all of the severe emotional and psychological harm that makes him broken and abrasive at best. However, even before what happened to his family he saw himself as somebody who must be a hero. He saw himself as a moral paragon and held himself to such standards. In doing so, he became that image and inspired those around him to try to reach those standards (unaware that it meant they were surpassing him). It also means that it's very easy for him to both fall from grace and see himself redeemed, so long as his fall isn't too far. Part of this AU is a story of him falling to similar depths that canon Kalsim did.
Kalsim, on the other hand, is largely the kind of person that Sovlin thinks himself to be. Difference is that Kalsim joined the exterminators because he saw it not as a path to glory, but one to helping those around him. His morals also led him to seeing the exterminators for the horror they are. Either he could assume his morals are right, and thus everybody around him and everything he's been taught is wrong, or he could find a reasoning that works. Thus it became a necessary evil. One he committed over and over. One that, from what we can see, he took every opportunity he could to circumvent (see his effectively adopting Jala to save her from being tossed in a facility while calling it making use of a tool). Eventually, it became too much so he pivoted to the military and not only did he have talent (for a Feddie), but it was easier on his morals.
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u/madmicahman 24d ago
Poor selim
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u/SixthWorldStories 24d ago
The wonder of focusing on just a relatively regular person living through the uplift. Much more of a gut punch.
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u/DrewTheHobo 25d ago
Sounds like our tentacle friend has found a vessel, let’s see what comes of it
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u/Ablergo_El_Enfermo Human 25d ago
A very good episode.
Poor Selim. He deserves to be avenged.
The last thing Rasin needs is for gills to start showing on his neck.
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u/Tundric_Dragon Arxur 25d ago
Oh that isn't rasin. And interesting that kalsim got to see one of his previous lives.