Cyril’s space ship landed softly on the silver turf of Heaven, nothing was crushed underneath it despite Cyril’s worry that it had. He could have sworn he felt a squish. Oh well. After checking to make sure nothing had been squished despite the feeling he had felt his thoughts rushed back to him. Thoughts buzzed about his head. Were the children of Seraphim, no longer hidden from the Ix, safe? Were the Ix keeping them alive to better track Cyril? Or keeping them around to blackmail him? The latter would make sense if the Ix remembered him as he was- an ancient, fierce some warrior and did not know he was no longer the fierce warrior had been. Damn Cynric. Cyril could only pray that they did not sense his weakness from the link he shared with the children. It was likely they did not as they only had enough time to point them in his direction and leave without Cyril noticing. If Cyril had noticed he would have traced the Ix to their base and currently they would be in an awful, unholy fireball which used to be their spaceship and / or base / or home planet. That was what had happened last time. When Cyril had safely acquired the children he had left them in a safe spot to burn down the fleet of Ix returning home. 500,000 died in the empty void of space or the roaring hellfire their ships had been reduced to. Cyril was not proud of his actions, though he knew if he had a chance he would have done it again. The children returned to his mind and for the first time he truly realized a few were dead and the rest were captured. Cyril was failing. He fell to his knees and bowed his head, weighed down by the gravity of the situation. His entire race would be beyond help if those children died, and no amount of time travel would help. Time was in flux and whatever the outcome would be it would be permanent. Cyril stayed on the soft turf for quite awhile until a soft wind blew over him. Clouds, stained all sorts of colors by the minerals which floated up with the water, gathered at an unnatural speed and lightning illuminated the sky. Thunder rolled across the rolling plains. Cyril finally looked up and saw that the lightning had struck what appeared to be the beautiful cliff and waterfall given the name the Stairway to Heaven. No wind was blowing anymore but the misty, gray grass beneath him bent towards the Stairway. Cyril’s mind was filled with a tremendous presence. The planet was guiding him towards the cliff, it willed him there. Cyril got to his feet and trudged tiredly to the cliff. Each step was forced, Cyril knew what lay at the end of this road and he dreaded it. Strange woodland creatures edged from the forest with spindly legs and striped white fur, watching and understanding. Cyril climbed to the top and when he reached it his heart fell to his feet. Lightning struck again and briefly, only for an instant, Cyril’s four wings were seen for the first time since arriving in this universe. In the center of charred ground was a weapon. Hilt-first a three headed, leaf bladed, silver pike was imbedded in the ground. The blades were gilded with fine sapphire and it shined dully in the dark. Cyril was compelled to step forward and take the three-bladed pike, a huge gust of wind blew outward and the clouds cleared slowly. Thunder rippled without lightning one last time and the presence left Cyril’s mind.
“T-this isn’t mine to take.” Cyril whispered, but the grass and flowers reached up and seemed to reassure him. But then the grass and flowers reached up and in a semi-distressing they pulled him down into the ground. The world flipped and rolled and he was thrust forth from the ground, but no longer the ground of Heaven. He was on the silver moon that orbited around Heaven and contained only one massive, sprawling structure. The Silver Palace, where the stars were a bit closer and the Lord of the Seraphim resided. Cyril’s new home. The planet had just given him the Clouded Pike, the weapon of the ruling Lord of Seraphim. Cyril was king of Heaven. The Silver Palace was a place unfamiliar to Cyril as only the Lord and his select few guests can enter. He had been here only once, the one time the ruler before him noticed him he had immediately invited him here. Cyril never went past the reception room but not many got that far to begin with. He hadn’t understood the Lord’s interest in him at the time, but now he knew why. Heaven was said to speak exclusively to the Lord and his Prophet (should the position be taken. It isn’t always taken and is actually kind of just a fancy name for assistant with no perks other than a slight, but sometimes grudging, respect. The planet’s presence is also always felt by the Seraphim and occasionally long-term occupants but doesn’t actually say anything) and give out foresight. The Lord must have known Cyril was something special because of the planet.
Again he felt Heaven prod him towards the Palace. This time Cyril complied willingly, despite being uncomfortable at taking the position he was still curious about the Palace’s contents. It was said to be infinite, and Cyril guessed it was time to find out. Cyril entered through the huge double doors and walked into a beautiful, icy hall. The hall contained a long, so very long, table which lead to a brilliant marble and gold throne. Behind this throne and all along the walls were doors of all shapes and colors. Throughout the ice walls were white streaks. He could not tell what made them, but they all led to the throne in a mind-boggling design which pulled at your very soul. Cyril walked to the throne and felt a presence on either side of him. Cyril rubbed the arm of the throne reverentially and sat down slowly.
Cyril gripped tightly to the arms of the throne and the pike clattered to the ground, energy flowed through him and electrified every molecule in his body. He jerked violently as neural explosions ripped through his brain and it felt as if everything he had ever known was being picked apart and expanded. Cyril, breathing heavily, leaned back into the throne suddenly exhausted. He felt the entire moon and planet below as if it were the back of his hand. It was a part of him and he felt he had unlimited power here. Cyril felt that if he willed it the planet would pull itself apart and turn itself inside out. That if he willed it so every life on Heaven would extinguish that if he wanted he could make the grass grow, make the wind blow, and make the clouds rain and lightning and boom with thunder. Cyril held complete and utter dominion over this planet and it was exhilarating. Another feeling hit him as he slowly adjusted to these new senses and feelings. A familiar feeling slapped him. Loneliness stabbed at him and he felt empty. The planet was no longer teaming with life as it used to, wildlife had disappeared and Heaven’s beloved angels were gone. Cyril’s beloved Seraphim were dead. Cyril wept upon his throne of marble and the empty hall echoed his sobs. Cyril was failing. Cyril was losing both his sanity and his precious family. Even with so much power, possibly more than he had ever felt before, he felt the crushing sorrow of his situation. He felt as if this was too much for him, that it would consume him and that life would march on without him. Why, even now it did. For him time seemed to be still in the solid halls of the Silver Palace, but outside people marched on. People outside are loving and losing and hating and walking and thought absolutely nothing about the lonely Lord in his palace. They thought nothing of the new star in the sky which would turn out to be a planet. Nothing.
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Eventually, Cyril tore himself away from the soul-wrenching sadness and left the moon and the Silver Palace. He returned to Heaven, pike in hand, and arrived at this newly acquired spaceship. Cyril finally got a good look at it. Upon receiving it he had had not much time at all to examine it and the way here was like a snap. It was a large, 10 foot by 5 foot, grey capsule. It was at its manufacturer settings with no adornments or unnecessary extras. Time to fix that! Cyril entered and saw the sterile white computer interface and neat control panel. This too would be changed! He approached the computer interface
“Computer, show desktop themes.” The compute silently showed a list on the main screen of desktop themes. “Bubbly.” Cyril announced and the area around him changed and morphed into an airy and light blue, bubbles floated about. No, that wouldn’t do. “Gallifreyan Mark 3, sub-Coral Organic.” Cyril enunciated, he wondered how many themes it really had. The ship turned into almost an exact replica of the TARDIS that Makoto and Artik were flying. Wow. “Hmm,” Cyril stroked his chin. “So many to choose from!”,
“Repeat request?” The computer asked in a monotone, androgynous voice.
“Um… Classical Era Theme, Sub-42 Study.” Cyril announced, this theme seemed to be promising.
The room turned into a large room. It was made completely of old wood and had a nice warm ambience. It looked exactly like a study complete with bookshelves covering every wall, a large mahogany desk, and a lit fireplace. There were three arched oak doors leading to anywhere Cyril wanted them to lead. In the center of the large and very spacious study was a time column with a hexagonal control panel similar yet completely different from the TARDIS. “Perfect!”.
“Thank you.” The computer replied in a slightly smug voice. Cyril frowned. “Computer, change to voice setting 84.” The computer made a warm and slightly abrasive humming noise in response. Cyril smiled brightly at his spaceship. It was perfect! Now to check out the rest of the ship. Cyril approached the nearest oaken door and rubbed his hands together, this would be the moment of truth! Hopefully Porunga had not failed him. He opened the door with a slight creak and peaked into the next room. Cyril smiled grinned happily. There it was! Storage! “Computer,” Cyril stopped. He would have to rename his ship soon. “Computer,” Cyril resumed, “What is the current room count?” A small computer screen on a wall flashed to life and displayed the number 2. “Now, how many rooms can you make?” This time a complex equation flashed across the screen and Cyril examined it closely. He smiled in triumph after a moment. As long as the ship had enough power the number of rooms could be potentially infinite. “Excellent!” Cyril walked out into the study (or control room) and outside of the ship. He stood on terra firma and turned to look at the ship. On the outside it had not changed at all, still a 10 foot by 5 foot gray capsule. Cyril rubbed his chin and examined it thoughtfully. Now what could he make it look like? “Computer, can you hear me?” The ship buzzed and hummed in affirmative. “Project outside appearance options please?” The ship beeped and options scrolled across the surface of the gray capsule. “Ooo! Let’s try ‘Dragon’!” The ship hummed and shimmered and in a flash of light a large dragon appeared. But it was all a bit hazy. A message appeared to the side of it.
“European or Oriental?”
“European.” The ship became clear and a large green dragon shifted about in front of him. “Erm.. where’s the entrance?” The dragon leaned down and opened its mouth. “…Oh. Go back to manufacturer’s default. We can decide this later.” Cyril entered the 10 foot by 5 foot gray capsule and it dematerialized with a warm, yet slightly abrasive, humming sound.
Word Count: 2,042
