Checkmate
"I cannot harm you, but I can hurt you. I can kill the things you love."
And so you can, my foe. So you are.
You have an eye for irony. When you finally discovered my Pemalites, you must have smirked evilly and decided you knew the best way to stab me. When you realized I had created my very own race, you decided to do it, too.
Copying can be quite an effective way of playing, my foe.
So you programmed your Howlers to be the polar opposite of my Pemalites. Where I gave an instinct to avoid violence of any sort, you gave inclinations to it. Where my Pemalites were peaceful, your Howlers were brutal.
But you also gave them one trait in common. Such a brilliant move, it both stunned and stung me.
Your Howlers love to play, as my Pemalites do.
Did.
Did, did, did. My Pemalites are dead and dying, thanks to you, my foe. The Howlers killed until they had nothing left to kill. Unstoppable, enjoying every minute of it. Screaming women, sobbing children, yelling men, and all your childlike creatures do is enjoy it.
It's a game, like all we do here. We both enjoy games, don't we, my foe? Always have. It's all about the game. Of course the creatures we create also have a certain fondness for games. It's a parent's dearest dream to have a common interest with their child; something to enjoy together.
Ironic to describe you as a parent, my foe.
Of course, there are the psychotic parents who can kill their children in a fit of frustration. I pray I never fall to that trap, but with company like you, my foe? Oh, it is likely. It is likely you will drive me mad enough to turn my position the one-hundred and eight degrees it would take for us to meet. It is likely.
Likely, but not probable. Does that make sense, old foe? I doubt it. Whimsical as I sound, it is the solid truth. As I watch this carnage my Pemalites and their Chee suffer, I see no way I can cause this kind of harm. Not as advanced as you and I, these creatures still feel this pain you inflict. I feel it. I, who have lost loves and lives and children, feel the simple anguish, the fear (most basic of emotion; I didn't dare quash it in my creations!) consuming all that is in my gentle creations.
Brooding over the blackening, ending strands of space time, I can see a surprising sight. Strands that are NOT darkening, NOT breaking off into nothing… Oh, can it be…?
Hope! Not for my sweet Pemalites, but for their gentle Chee.
The particular strand I see is a young, fiery Chee. A strong strand, the beginning of heartache (for my 'grand-creations' do indeed have hearts in the purely spiritual sense), stubbornness, bad decisions, thirst for revenge, craftiness, kindness, more bad decisions, a couple good ones, deception, hope, angst, love, lies…
It begins, and, excitedly, I realize, it does not end for a good long time! It ends, it must, for not even an android lasts forever, but I don't want to look that far. It is depressing, and I am depressed as it is.
If I were physical, I would smirk. These Chee, if I can guide them from here, can be planted as an early defense system…
Heh-heh. Old foe, I may have a little surprise for you, hidden in the shadows of the future.
I peered down at this particular Chee. Frightened and not understanding little one…
Had I a physical form, I would have smiled. As it stood, I gently touched his strand of space time… planting specific ideas, locations and objects in his path. Leave the planet, go to Earth, find the legendary Time Matrix…
Hide. Hide it all. Take the ideas I gave your creators of hiding and never coming out.
Lie in wait for the day Crayak strikes against Earth, and resist as much as you can until I can organize my reinforcements.
I chuckled lightly, as I sped up to journey through his long life, thinking of an interesting fact.
In the Pemalite language, 'chee' means friend. In my Ketran language, it means 'beginnings.' Humorous, don't you think, my foe?
Give me a head start, my Chee, by taking the next step from your creators.
As they spread life, you must protect it.
----
Credit to Acey Dearest for giving me a title. I was stumped…
"I cannot harm you, but I can hurt you. I can kill the things you love."
And so you can, my foe. So you are.
You have an eye for irony. When you finally discovered my Pemalites, you must have smirked evilly and decided you knew the best way to stab me. When you realized I had created my very own race, you decided to do it, too.
Copying can be quite an effective way of playing, my foe.
So you programmed your Howlers to be the polar opposite of my Pemalites. Where I gave an instinct to avoid violence of any sort, you gave inclinations to it. Where my Pemalites were peaceful, your Howlers were brutal.
But you also gave them one trait in common. Such a brilliant move, it both stunned and stung me.
Your Howlers love to play, as my Pemalites do.
Did.
Did, did, did. My Pemalites are dead and dying, thanks to you, my foe. The Howlers killed until they had nothing left to kill. Unstoppable, enjoying every minute of it. Screaming women, sobbing children, yelling men, and all your childlike creatures do is enjoy it.
It's a game, like all we do here. We both enjoy games, don't we, my foe? Always have. It's all about the game. Of course the creatures we create also have a certain fondness for games. It's a parent's dearest dream to have a common interest with their child; something to enjoy together.
Ironic to describe you as a parent, my foe.
Of course, there are the psychotic parents who can kill their children in a fit of frustration. I pray I never fall to that trap, but with company like you, my foe? Oh, it is likely. It is likely you will drive me mad enough to turn my position the one-hundred and eight degrees it would take for us to meet. It is likely.
Likely, but not probable. Does that make sense, old foe? I doubt it. Whimsical as I sound, it is the solid truth. As I watch this carnage my Pemalites and their Chee suffer, I see no way I can cause this kind of harm. Not as advanced as you and I, these creatures still feel this pain you inflict. I feel it. I, who have lost loves and lives and children, feel the simple anguish, the fear (most basic of emotion; I didn't dare quash it in my creations!) consuming all that is in my gentle creations.
Brooding over the blackening, ending strands of space time, I can see a surprising sight. Strands that are NOT darkening, NOT breaking off into nothing… Oh, can it be…?
Hope! Not for my sweet Pemalites, but for their gentle Chee.
The particular strand I see is a young, fiery Chee. A strong strand, the beginning of heartache (for my 'grand-creations' do indeed have hearts in the purely spiritual sense), stubbornness, bad decisions, thirst for revenge, craftiness, kindness, more bad decisions, a couple good ones, deception, hope, angst, love, lies…
It begins, and, excitedly, I realize, it does not end for a good long time! It ends, it must, for not even an android lasts forever, but I don't want to look that far. It is depressing, and I am depressed as it is.
If I were physical, I would smirk. These Chee, if I can guide them from here, can be planted as an early defense system…
Heh-heh. Old foe, I may have a little surprise for you, hidden in the shadows of the future.
I peered down at this particular Chee. Frightened and not understanding little one…
Had I a physical form, I would have smiled. As it stood, I gently touched his strand of space time… planting specific ideas, locations and objects in his path. Leave the planet, go to Earth, find the legendary Time Matrix…
Hide. Hide it all. Take the ideas I gave your creators of hiding and never coming out.
Lie in wait for the day Crayak strikes against Earth, and resist as much as you can until I can organize my reinforcements.
I chuckled lightly, as I sped up to journey through his long life, thinking of an interesting fact.
In the Pemalite language, 'chee' means friend. In my Ketran language, it means 'beginnings.' Humorous, don't you think, my foe?
Give me a head start, my Chee, by taking the next step from your creators.
As they spread life, you must protect it.
----
Credit to Acey Dearest for giving me a title. I was stumped…