Cam-a-cam-mal,

Pria-toi,

Gan-delah.

(White over Red, thus God wills ever.)

(DISCLAIMER: Star Wars belongs to George Lucas, Eva to Anno, and the Dark Tower belongs to Stephen King (or do they belong to the stories? Just something to think about…))

Imperial Eva or

The Rise and Fall of Darth Talan and the "Becoming" of Humanity or

The Return of the Crimson King or

20-Reapportion

STAVE

Commala-come-come,

Journey's just begun

Prelude: Walter, King, and Tower

The disembodied eyes that were blinded by the red ink of a magic imagination floated above the floor of a balcony on the center of all.

A balcony connected to The Dark Tower, it of End-World.

If the eyes could see, and they would be capable of seeing for the entity that they had so recently been removed from had the damned artist's imagination not coated them, they would have seen six straight lines of clouds in the sky over six walking paths in a valley full of roses. If the eyes had been paired with ears they would have heard the sound of hoofbeats from beyond yonder hill.

But the entity of the eyes, which was severely weakened now after the battle with those of Arthur Eld, did not need to do such mortal things as seeing or hearing. Instead they felt the presence of the mind of his second-in-command, a sorcerer with many faces that had been killed and eaten many times over.

However, only one man could permanently kill this being, and he was back in the distant Mohaine desert, again. But that was not important now. The figure approaching was to become his Dan-Tete, his little savior that would rescue him from this coffa, this hell.

What remained of the Crimson King called out to the one who goes by many names and many forms. Who now rode his horse at a gallop to his master in a form and guise many knew as Walter.

Walter raced along his mechanical steed taken from Thunderclap. The songs of the roses and the song of the Tower blasted into his mind like rap music over a boom box. It was so maddening to be so close to his objective, yet unable to enter, as he bore no sigul.

He had passed the last fire of the gunslinger that morning. The grave of that bumbler and the molten and cracked carapace of Mordred, the were-spider son of the Crimson King, had been placed on the side of the path.

He had not heeded them. He only concentrated on the lane in front of him. Except for Mordred, and he had just spit on the corpse as he passed by- the red hourglass shape on the wherespider's belly was useless now.

Not surprisingly, the steed that had started out fresh in every way except a faulty fuse and an oil change had started to become a little jerkier and jittery the closer he got to the Tower. Machinery never was any good around its power, a fact that the old ones missed when they replaced the magiks with technologiks. Damned fools. Nearly ended the worlds with a war then tried to make it better with a equivalant of cosmic band-aid.

Walter's trademarked grin was not on his face at all; he got off the rapidly declining horse before it threw him off and continued on foot. His face was instead a mask of grim determination to ignore the calls of the roses and Tower.

(WELCOME WALTER! YOU MAY BE FORGIVEN IF YOU RESCUE ME!) The Red King's voice was quite loud to be coming out this far to greet him.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm comin' ya' red hob," Walter said to himself, "Don't get yer panties in a bundle."

(THAT IS NOT THE WAY TO RETURN INTO MY FAVOR!)

Walter harrumphed and looked up at the balcony, the sun made the eyes glow as if they were balls of infernal fire, he brought out a grappling hook made of rope and a piece of junked metal and threw it up to the banister. He climbed up to the balcony to see eye-to-eye with the eyes.

(GOOD, NOW TAKE ME TO RECEIVE MY NEW BODY!)

Walter's arms reached out like a two-year-old wanting a sippy-cup of juice, his hands caressed the eyes and squeezed. But the eyes did not crunch, instead the melded into hands and traveled up his arms and continued until they rose out of his chest like the souls of the can-calah (angel: or more literally, messengers of God or Gan) with two red orbs instead of the usual one.

(NOW LET US LEAVE, WALTER PADICK THAT WAS! YOU KNOW WHAT I NEED TO HAVE, AND WHERE TO FIND IT! SO LET US GO AND MAKE THE TODASH TAHKEN CAN-CALAH UNDER THE BASE REALM OF ANNO LEAD US TO MORE!)

A little bit of Walter's smile returned; a toothy smirk, "Ah, I see, the immortal. How many do you need?"

(MILLIONS? BILLIONS? TRILLIONS? QUINTILLIONS? I DON'T KNOW, DELAH.)

Walter's grin returned in earnest, a toothy grin that would make a grown man gibber in fear, "I know just the universe to connect to one of Anno's realm then, it has an immortal as well… but really! Evangelion! I haven't seen that story in so long…"

(Todash Tahken Can-Calah- The angel of or over holes in reality. Delah- Many.)

RESPONSE

Commala-come-come,

Won't stop till we're done!