Chapter V:
Nowhere to Run, and No Reason to Live ~Sirroco
Sirocco looked around at everyone else in the warzone-sandpit-thing. Astra was gone. Sirocco sighed, looking his body over.
Well, it's all over now, he thought to himself. A darker thought was the next to cross his mind: And that means there's no need for me anymore.
He had realized that, without his old body, he was merely a worthless piece of machinery created to help finish the fight with Havering. A waste of life, with no purpose. He also realized that Stormside, back on Turkess, was no longer his home...he was now a discarded creation of the battle against Havering, and Zolott was his home. He was as mediocre as the planet he was on: a freakish patchwork of various parts belonging to other things.
"I belong here," he thought aloud as all he once knew was blocked out by the belief that he was nothing.
The battles on
the Genesis had left his body weary;
now, with these realizations, his soul was weary as well. As he walked away in
a southern direction, he looked back at the crater...he turned away once more,
and walked off.
He walked down
an empty street, only passing the occasional villager. The stars twinkled in
the night sky, and his red cape flowed behind him as he walked. The fact that
it was night was probably not the only reason the streets were deserted; it
probably also had something to do with the four skeletons clothed in light armor surrounding him, the armor depicting
a black dragon standing atop a mountain of skulls silhouetted against a full
moon on their shields surrounding him. This man was Eversor
de Syforthe, the ruler of the
"Hello, sir," he greeted, hiding the hatred that was boiling inside him.
The drunkard responded, "Well hello Siffurth! How's ya been doin'?!"
The man was obviously quite drunk, slapping his leg and laughing hysterically.
Syforthe smirked, and held up a hand with a ring on each finger, each of the rings having a four-foot long, razor-sharp silver claw attached to it. He snapped his fingers, and suddenly the armrests of the drunkard's chair came to life, developing into hands and grabbing him. Syforthe thrust the same hand into the air, and the arms flung him into the air with surprising force, sending the screaming drunkard into the dirt at Syforthe's feet.
"Wot the...'ow the hell did I end up over 'ere?!" the drunkard shouted in disbelief.
The malicious sorcerer bent over, grabbing the drunkard by the hair and lifting him up. "You dimwitted alcoholic fool," Syforthe hissed, his forked tongue pricking the drunkard's nose as it darted out from between his lips.
The drunkard's eyes widened, and he begged, "Please, Mistah Siffurth...spare me life!"
Syforthe chuckled, replying, "I'm so sorry...wasted lives like yours don't belong in my kingdom."
With that, Syforthe widened his eyes, the pupils disappearing. The drunkard screamed in fear. Syforthe quickly cut him short with a powerful punch the stomach, sending the poor man flying backward. He then froze in midair, and a twisting black-and-green portal opened behind him. Unable to control his own body, the drunkard screamed...it was the only thing he could do as he was grabbed by a skeletal hand and dragged into the portal, a pair of red eyes watching him all the way.
Syforthe waved a hand in dismissal and sighed, muttering, "Just another victim of the Nether..." before continuing down the street.
Before long, Syforthe came to an old hut at the end of town. He knocked, and a small slot in the top of the door opened, two eccentric-looking eyes staring back out.
"Who dares knock on Melida the Witch's door?!" the owner of the eyes challenged.
"Eversor de Syforthe, the ruler of this kingdom."
"Oh really? I didn't expect you so early, Lord Syforthe! Come in, come in!"
With her response, the old witch shut the slot and unlocked the door, opening it and allowing Syforthe in. The sorcerer entered, looking back at his skeletal minions from inside the door. "Wait for me outside," he told them as Melida shut the door.
With his words, the red globes floating in the eye sockets of the skeletons' skulls turned blue, and the skeletons froze in place.
Back inside the hut, Melida walked over to her bed, sitting down and gesturing to the old rocking chair in her small home. "Have a seat, sorcerer," she said as she sat.
Syforthe did so, and sat in the chair. Not being one to bore himself with mindless babble, he asked, "Melida, tell me...what is it you know about the ones I seek, the Unsouls?"
The old hag took a pipe from the desk beside her bed, and had a long draw. She breathed out cerulean smoke as she began, "The Unsouls...well, for starters, I know that they are an ancient race of demon who act as Hell's personal legion, scattered about the Alter-Realms and coming here when their demonic masters see it to be so."
Syforthe listened intently...this was his obsession. "Go on, go on..." he urged the old woman as he listened.
Melida continued, "An Unsoul is born when any one particular villainous mortal dies. The mortal is cast into Hell, and, if evil enough, they are prepared for reincarnation. The evil their soul has is extracted and made into a genuine soul in a mockery of Heaven's soul creation methods. The rest of the soul is then discarded into the Realm of Nothingness like a useless by-product, and an Unsoul is born, its body being a physical projection of the pure evil soul within. Unsouls are extremely powerful, and, unfortunately, extremely rare. The Archangels eventually destroyed the main creator of Unsouls, Kara Zim...now there are only a select few lesser demons that create Unsouls. The Archangels make quite sure that Unsoul production stays at the horrible low it's currently at. All those damned heores, too...it's become all but impossible to find an Unsoul."
Syforthe nodded. Suddenly, the hut began to shake violently...
"What in the name of Diablo?!" the witch yelled, speaking the name of one of Hell's most powerful demons.
The hut suddenly
seemed to be dropped, and rather violently at that, both Syforthe
and the witch having to grab something to keep from slamming into the ceiling.
Their wild ride eventually came to a stop...the portal closed above the
Sirocco looked up as the last traces of sunlight disappeared over the mountains in the west. Night time was coming; he would be wise to have someplace to rest. As he scanned the horizon, he found a cave, which had some sort of light coming from it.
Looks like there's someone already there...ah well, I'll just visit them, he thought as he activated his thrusters, jetting off toward the cave.
Before long he arrived, landing and entering. Inside he found a piece of a strange structure covered in blue feathers. Sirocco walked up and touched them, discovering that they were some sort of synthetic material. He entered through a large hole in one of the sides and found some rather high-tech equipment, but no one home. He kneeled beside the various devices, examining them. He then ventured over to a table with several gadgets atop it.
One in particular caught his interest. It was a small computer chip, with a label. It read: "Martial Arts Program Version 1a."
This got Sirocco thinking...if he was going to survive alone on such a strange and harsh planet like Zolott was, he'd need more than just his wind magic and energy gun to survive. As he looked the chip over, a voice caught him by surprise.
"Hey, put that down!" the voice yelled.
He glanced quickly in the direction of the voice to see a bluebird. However, this was no ordinary bluebird. This one was the size of a human, and stood like one. It could also apparently talk like one. The 'bluebird' was dressed in a white lab coat, and was apparently the owner of all the advanced technology. Sirocco nearly drew his gun, but noticed the bluebird was unarmed. It would hardly be honorable to harm an unarmed person...besides, he was the intruder here.
He turned, and spoke. "Hello Mister uhh..."
“Bluebird," the bluebird interrupted.
Sirocco smirked; he could have guessed that himself.
Bluebird continued, "Now, what are you doing in my lab? I know it's not technically mine yet, but until I can get out of here it's going to be my temporary workplace. Did you need shelter or something?"
Sirocco nodded. "Yeah, kinda...but I'm also interested in this little chip here. What's on it?"
Bluebird replied, "Oh, that? Well, it's a program I've been working on. It's a form of advanced martial arts designed to utilize the fighting capabilities of a robot. I don't want to hurt anyone, but I figured I might need to protect myself, so I designed it this morning. I haven't tested it yet, but judging from my calculations it should be quite an effective defensive tool."
Sirocco nodded, glancing down at the chip. "Sounds intriguing...mind if I tested it for you?"
Bluebird gave Sirocco a strange look. "You look more like a cyborg than a robot...you sure you even have a place to put a chip?"
Sirocco blinked, thinking. Then he nodded. "Yes, I have one."
He then reached into his cloak and opened a panel on his chest, revealing the central processor of his body. There was a socket for a computer chip.
Bluebird stroked his chin in thought. After a few minutes, he nodded to Sirocco, saying, "Alright, I'll let you test it out. But remember, friend...come back here when you're done testing it. There's a chance I might need that chip later!"
Sirocco smiled and walked over, extending a Protoss hand to Bluebird. "Thanks, pal...oh, and the name's Sirocco," he told Bluebird as they shook hands.
Bluebird nodded. "Nice to have met you, Sirocco...remember to bring it back, alright?"
Sirocco nodded. "Thanks for the chip," he said as he ran out of the cave and jetted off, eager to test his new powers.
"I sure
hope he brings that chip back," Bluebird muttered as he watched the
strange man named Sirocco fly off into the night.