Todawn Begins Part 1

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One coma victim, Lynkcen, and his pursuit to survive the realities of his mind. Todawn Begins is a combination of modern-day fantasy with modern-day reality, in which both Lynkcen and his best friend, Jacob, are drawn into the madness of the Afterlife Legends, Legends which are bigger then the two of them put together. This tandem is tested when a familiar force makes its presence known and denounces what it once stood for.

Fantasy / Adventure
Stev Station
5.0 2 reviews
Age Rating:

Chapter 1

Lynkcen’s Mind…

If you could see something with your eyes closed, would you accept it? If you could feel something without touching it, would you embrace it?

DEEP WITHIN THE CONFINES of unacquainted, mountainous territory, two prominent figures, Lynkcen and his evil conscience, waged their prowess against one another. The incessant battle appeared ancient and eternal.

Lynkcen was the bearer of the venue, and anyone or anything that dared to enter would certainly feel his subtle rage. His face was as cold and blue as if hypothermia had set in. His attire needed no introduction as his T-shirt exhibited three images--his heart, his liver, and his lungs. It was as if one could see directly through the shirt and into his body.

“It’s funny. I had to kill the other guy,” a disguised voice stressed.

“You killed someone?” Lynkcen responded.

“Well, you did, actually. It wasn’t my first manipulation-rodeo. We’ve killed before…hopes and dreams.”

A thunderous clap entered the area. It rattled the floor.

“Don’t bring me into your fantasy-world of deception.”

“There will be no us. There will be only me. I will not be denied.”

“I’m quite aware of your stance,” Lynkcen responded.

“As I am of yours,” the voice returned from behind dark shadows and heavy rain.

As Lynkcen leaned back against the jagged wall, his face became ensconced with a blue liquid. There was no indication of what it was as he shifted his attention to his hands. He placed them in front of his eyes to explore what they had become. A grimace was all he could muster at the very sight of his bruised knuckles while they protruded through his skin.

“Lynkcen, you’re sad. Your blood is sad. There is a lot of hate in the world today.”

Lynkcen looked around and gained a better perspective on the location. “What is this? How did I get here?” he asked.

“You’re dreaming, Lynkcen. Well, maybe not dreaming, but you’re certainly feeling some pain as we speak.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re presently being treated for a rare type of cancer. Life is cruel.”

Lynkcen felt slight pain on the left side of his face. He lightly grazed the affected area with his fingers.

“I’m dead?”

A quick scene of Lynkcen resting on an operating table flashed before him.

“Not yet.”

Lynkcen ultimately identified the locale as speculation became obsolete. Somehow he knew they were present within his sedated state of mind, not just his mind as a whole.

“How does your eye feel, Lynkcen?”

Rife with memories from his childhood, Lynkcen created this part of his mind to stash forgettable memories deep within his lost archives. This was one area he declared desolate and barren, and the main reason it was chosen for the battle. No one or thing would be hurt or exposed to its contents, for it would destroy all that was good throughout other regions of his mind. His delightful memories would cease to exist. His passive dreams would become nightmares. Choosing not to divulge this particular information seemed valuable to his mysterious mission.

“Show yourself,” Lynkcen shouted.

Violent tremors and aggressive vibrations escalated in circular motion. Shards of rock and specks of dirt fell from above, crashing upon the significant battlefield of cynicism and mistrust.

“Are you really ready to see me for who you really are?”

Lynkcen glared toward the area the hidden voice bellowed from as his eyes narrowed. His breathing intensified while he straightened his posture. He felt a presence before him, approaching with determination and guile. But the feeling was mutual, and the voice sounded too much like his. He longed to criticize his inner judgment but eventually ceased trustingly.

“I am something more but it is too difficult and hazy to determine,” he said to himself.

“Harboring thoughts are what complete an individual. A person is compelled to strive no matter the consequences. Allow me to shed some light on our dilemma. This is so much more than a conflict. This is an inner struggle. This is a dispute over superiority and dominance.”

Lynkcen shook his head in disbelief. He sensed similar qualities and identical characteristics.

“Skepticism?” his opponent continued.

“Principles…values. You’re on my turf. You’re in my head—my mind.” There was a question of requirement demonstrating clarity within Lynkcen’s ability to respond. He fell to his knees in pain.

“I’m your Evil Conscience, Lynkcen. Yes, this is your mind. We are deep within your mind’s memories and the reflections of your past. You’ve created the conditions and you’ve set the terms. That brings us here, to your Mind-Battlefield—a place where inner struggles are waged throughout life itself.”

“You and I are all that remain. We both know who you are and what you intend to accomplish.”

“Then you know why I am here…why I am present…why I exist. You see, limits equally exist on both sides, and those limits are boundless.”

Lynkcen’s body intently gained the occupation of a higher status from within his own inconsistencies. The impact and importance of the moment was to leak between the boundaries of the Afterlife and reality.

The voice continued. “You have crossed the threshold now. You are nothing and will continue to be nothing. You’re a “One-Hit Wonder”. You’re insignificant.” A slight pause found some comfort. “You don’t think your purpose warrants my interference?”

Hoping to entice inspiration, Lynkcen summoned a great deal of pride and perfectionism as he limply staggered back to his feet. His tiresome body lacked passion and delight but only for a brief moment. This was in direct correlation with his continuous body sedation.

“I’m more than you will ever know.”

“As I am. I could be a figment of your imagination for all you know, Lynkcen. We are in your mind. No one knows what actually goes on up here. Your attic is pretty creepy.”

Lynkcen’s extraordinary, abnormal blue blood seeped from his pores and loudly fell to the ground beside his feet. The cavernous walls around them equally executed the act. His presence could not be underscored enough while essential, vital conversations whisked toward his ears and demandingly found his mind.

Sighing amusingly, Lynkcen’s conscience emerged from the dark corners. He was in body form but physically inside a typical bedroom-door mirror.

“We’re the same, Lynkcen. See your reflection?”

Suddenly, he burst through from the other side. The glass shattered behind him into hundreds of tiny jagged fragments. The mirror reconstructed itself and fell to the ground.

“How is your inner beast these days, Lynkcen?”

“You tell me. You would know, since you are it?”

“You’re funny. I’ll give you that.” He pretended an audience was on hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, a round of applause for Lynkcen-the one and only.”

“All of this is a game to you, isn’t it?”

“Why not? Look, you were given a gift that only I can help you with. That is my purpose. That is the job of one’s conscience. I’m your evil side. We all have one. Well, I wouldn’t go that far. I don’t have one because I am one. You need a teacher. Let me help you. We can disobey authority together and rule the Afterlife.”

“No. You desire to rule the Afterlife after you take what was given to me.” Lynkcen’s blood increased in flow, rapidly smothering his body. He recognized that falsification and forgery were at hand.

“Don’t fight it. Let it encompass you. Let the cancer take control of everything you love and hold dearly to your heart. That will allow you to join my team.”

“Stay back! Get away from me!”

Lynkcen’s blood reacted to the education he collected. It offered him peace and tranquility through the pain in his body. It introduced him to a world of hateful conduct and described the reasons for its intrusion. It traveled the exterior contour of his muscles in a spiraling, downward motion. It clamored for consistency. It deftly sedated much of his conscience’s criticism while examining certain proclamations.

“You were guided here by an old, feeble-minded woman who misrepresents her authority,” his conscience added. “Foolishness accompanied the naive brain-trust. You should have confided in me. There’s a vision. There’s a plan for life itself. There’s horror. There’s evil dismay that can potentially be unleashed if given the proper treatment.”

Lynkcen desperately protested his position, clutching the unforgivable wall behind him. The blood reacted and briefly detached. He coughed, almost declaring himself exhausted. But his blood had other views and beliefs. It returned and put an electric charge into his adrenaline while softly speaking to him. Clarity and safety ensued.

In the wake of that response, his conscience uttered harsh words and then cooed his own gripe, declaring scrutiny and demonstrating discontent. “I will make the greatest attempt to erase you and your so-called purpose. There is always an education to be found.” There was an untraceable revulsion in the tone of his voice that cut through Lynkcen’s meaningful and valiant heart. Resentment followed with disgust.

“No,” Lynkcen shouted. The letter “L” briefly etched along the side of his left cheek, oozing with blood. Subsequently, it morphed into a scar, leaving behind traces of sutures.

“You don’t even know why you have been chosen.”

Despite the uncertainty, the doubt and ambiguity, a tear streamed down Lynkcen’s cheek as responsibility began to flow through his body. Vague, descriptive imagery consumed him greatly, leaving him in a state of self-assurance. He felt the acceptance deep within his veins, believing the unbelievable. Gaining another moment of adrenaline and failure at once was a most contenting sensation.

“I can show you everything,” his conscience continued.

“Make up your mind.”

“Make up your mind, he tells me. We are in your mind, brother.”

“We are not brothers,” Lynkcen responded.

Briefly, another scene of Lynkcen resting on an operating table flickered before him. Four doctors primed for surgery looked down upon him with reassurance.

“You’re in good hands, Lynkcen,” a doctor uttered while gently placing her hand on his shoulder.

Returning to battle, this prompted Lynkcen to place his right hand over his right eye. The vision in his left eye became distorted. He repeated this act several times while seeking clarification.

“Haven’t you had enough? I know your fears. I know your weaknesses. I know everything about you,” his conscience interrupted.

Stuttering to get his words out, “You don’t know me. I am me.” Now he had no idea where the information had come from, nor did he think something else entirely had taken over his speech, but he eased his mind’s potential power into a sedated sensation. The walls all around them revealed signs of forced entry.

“Tears of ashes will divide, fall and inundate humanity.”

“Do I appear calm?” Lynkcen asked himself.

It was difficult to tell with the frantic beating of his heart. It was speaking to him through those beats, imploring for his resistance towards his evil conscience.

“Before you jump, Lynkcen, are you ready to swim?”

A flashback quickly transported Lynkcen back to the operating table. He became drowsy and relaxed from the concentrated dose of anesthesia pumping through his veins.

“You’re in good hands, Lynkcen,” a doctor told him.

The doctor turned to him, removed his masked and revealed his identity. With a sinister smile, there was Lynkcen’s conscience. They glared back at each other. A moment later he gently placed his hands over Lynkcen’s face and a quick struggle ensued.

Instantly, they returned to Lynkcen’s mind. The hospital gurney rolled from Lynkcen’s left and stopped at the immediate center of where they stood.

“Come on, Lynkcen, I’m just having fun with you.”

Uninspired by the enthusiasm surrounding the area, Lynkcen’s conscience raised his right hand and conjured an intangible bright light. He struck Lynkcen along his chest and harshly flung him from his drooping position. Lynkcen violently slammed against the wall as more rock fell from above. A subsequent yank and toss to the side then ignited Lynkcen’s notorious purpose. Tiny droplets of his blood splattered against the wall, leaving an outline, an imprint of his frenzied face.

“It’s getting colder, Lynkcen. Brr—you feel that?”

Drawn from a day from Lynkcen’s childhood, the elements changed their course now. The extreme temperatures brought freezing rain, sleet and snow. Each spewed from the clouds that enclosed the area they occupied. His hands locked themselves in a claw-like crippling position due to the freezing air that surged horizontally from the walls.

“It’s time,” Lynkcen told himself.

Rebelliously, Lynkcen’s conscience approached and hoisted him to his feet. He leaned forward in an attempt to invoke his arrogance, lifting Lynkcen’s chin. “Any last blessings?” he asked him.

Lynkcen loosely stood while the dirt from the walls ensconced his face. A mocking, condescending expression followed.

“Time to add more insult,” Lynkcen’s conscience continued.

Unappreciative of the proceedings, Lynkcen’s conscience gathered callous notions and reached back with his right hand. He brutally slapped Lynkcen across the left side of his face. Lynkcen’s left eye jostled in his head and the blood detached but then quickly retreated. It landed where it had departed from while tiny whispers of beneficial enjoyment escaped. There was neither a reaction nor a response from Lynkcen, and it seemed as though he wasn’t too concerned about the events taking place any longer. The fact that the battle was still trailing him, though, left an unsettling taste in the back of his mouth.

“Let the eye cancer consume you. Let it spread,” he continued.

During these few precious moments of existing, Lynkcen thought it was possible to envisage a credible entry strategy for his response that would leverage the information he had been collecting since the very start of the banter. This would allow for a competitive push and tailored reassurance toward his mind.

“I can feel you trembling, Lynkcen. I can see what is inside of you. You will waste away. A sea of destruction is upon you. You will stray.”

Lynkcen’s eyes were nearly closed now. He understood the fact that he was physically attached to his body from outside of his mind and that those effects from his body were continually plaguing him. This was a transitory lull that allowed for him to manage his words wisely and view his body as it drifted in and out of consciousness. The walls lit up all around them with electric lightning, almost as if his brain’s neurons had ignited. He was pondering, and pondering very carefully and awfully hard about a resolution he’d hoped would not lead to conflict or physical combat.

“This is just what you desire, isn’t it?”

As he absorbed the information, Lynkcen recognized he was being bribed. The enticement might fuel his cancer, he thought. Instead, a simple look around at the inside of his mind was all he needed to achieve. The grotto shifted and responded to his actions. The ground beneath them cracked and swallowed the gurney. This response solicited his affiliation with whatever he was favorably connected to.

“What? I’m sorry. You mumbled a bunch of gibberish,” his conscience replied. He pulled Lynkcen closer. “Unintelligible and meaningless speech. All nonsense.”

Lynkcen’s conscience desired separation from Lynkcen’s personality traits. He wanted nothing to do with what Lynkcen was associated with while alive. He flung Lynkcen through another wall.

“How many of these hideaway rooms do you own, Lynkcen? You can hide, but you can’t run.”

His conscience sauntered through the hole in the wall and pushed aside some of the crumbling debris. The area now featured a smooth, matte finish which highlighted the warmth and beauty of its source material. Somehow Lynkcen garnered enough knowledge to perceive this concept. More and more his conscience became irritated with the jumble of landscapes and emotions which accompanied them.

After a moment of silence, Lynkcen seemed scarcely audible once more. Was this it? Was this the end? Was Evil’s desires taking over his mind and overwhelming his potential righteous status? Was Evil going to emerge and expel its darkened light upon the Afterlife? Were intentions of ridding the world of good becoming true?

As Lynkcen’s conscience searched for his prey the temperature rose tremendously.

“My mind is both understated and elegant now,” Lynkcen told him.

Reminiscent of hand-crafted wood sculptures, each wall portrayed statutes of important figures in his life. The consisted of family members and dear friends who had tremendous influence on his life. They watched over him.

The haze settled in and around them, and it swarmed around his devious smile. A rush of sweltering heat pounded itself off the walls adventurously. Not allowing his urgency of existing to steal his own inspirational moment captured him immensely.

“Are we playing a game of hide-and-go-seek?” his conscience asked. “This is getting to be a nuisance.”

Suddenly, he spotted Lynkcen on his back, face-down, motionless; his attire slightly torn in several areas, his hands finalizing its unfreezing process. Overly pleased with what he had previously accomplished, he dawdled there for several moments, presenting a resentful but gleeful smile.

“You will fade into obscurity.”

“You’ve mentioned something similar to that previously.”

“Ah, you’ve been paying attention this whole time.”

His conscience opted to waste no time. He jerked Lynkcen from his stationary state and lifted him up so that their eyes met evenly. The wind-swept rain fell and increased by the second, and it equated to their sole personality. Remarkably, though, Lynkcen’s blood never washed away from his face.

“Sing me a song, a song of sorrow and compassion. Send rose petals from above. Summon songbirds to captivate your existence.”

Lynkcen’s conscience’s voice gained a fresh perspective almost immediately, increasing with deception and greed. He tossed Lynkcen once more through another wall as the base of their feet rattled with peril. A quick succession of loud thumps followed, trekking up the crevices. Madness with nominal repercussions seemed presently favorable with an uproar of tumultuous bitterness. It was getting dark fast. It was becoming bleaker for Lynkcen each time he was assaulted.

At this point, Lynkcen was capable of changing the landscapes and terrains of his mind with the snap of his fingers. He understood that when he was a child he had complications breathing while visiting Denver, Colorado. Although it would be tough for him to breathe, it was perfect timing in an attempt to dismantle his conscience’s plans.

At the elevation they occupied now Lynkcen’s conscience’s breathing became infrequent. It was difficult for him to grab a hold of the air quality. Somehow Lynkcen finally spun the Mind-Battlefield into his favor.

Eventually, Lynkcen’s conscience found his way through the gaping aperture and searched once more. Lynkcen was there before him, standing still in the cold, wet snow, immobile with his body wilted and with his head hung low. The wind intensified as the snow increased. For some reason the elements had the reverse effect on Lynkcen. They were merely a factor in each section.

“My objective is clear now: eliminate you and obtain what is rightfully mine,” he uttered as he approached him.

There was no response from Lynkcen. His blood dripped into the snow, but amazingly never altered its whiteness. A pallid plume of smoke rapidly rushed from an indistinguishable area in the wall and faded.

“Your mind feels the battle on the outside. The power that is preserved will destroy you. You chose the wrong you. You opted for the erroneous path. You chose the way of destruction, and now you will succumb to that annihilation.”

With a sense of satisfaction his fingers reached out to brush away some of the flakes that piled upon Lynkcen’s shoulders. He then adjusted his shirt with an arrogant smile. A moment of silence finally captured him as he examined the blood. To express his mockery and employ scorn and derision upon the situation, he lifted the palm of his hand and awaited the presence of several substantial drops.

“The Afterlife will feel Evil’s presence soon enough,” he told him. “Todawn will cease to rise. We have to get you looking good for your own funeral. We don’t want you to be late.”

He stepped back and watched with wicked merriment, all the while smearing both sides of his face with Lynkcen’s blood. He coated it with a sense of enjoyment and unjust suffering. “Pride, power, prestige, good-looks; I got it all. I will be a false deity as others will follow in my footsteps. It’s already starting.”

He stood in front of him once more, watching and waiting. “Liars, cheats, thieves, killers…it has a nice ring to it when you put it all together. Evil will corrupt true worship. It will capture the thrill-seekers. It will seek to ensnare humanity by inducing them with Its lure, persuasion and enticement. Are you breathing my tale yet?”

Lynkcen’s young eyes opened momentarily, but then quickly closed as his conscience’s back was to him. “I promise that benevolence and good-will are still accessible in some corners of the world.”

His conscience turned back to him with a haughty smile. “There you are. I knew I could haul you out of your cushy lair and expose you to the darkness of injustice.”

Of course, his conscience understood wholeheartedly that this journey, this obligation, this responsibility was about much more than individuality. He had been trained by Evil for a specific reason, a fate potentially, collectively larger than the two of them put together. Endearing his existence with what Lynkcen potentially possessed was merely the beginning.

Lynkcen emerged from his trance and seemed revived, but only with limited restrictions. His conscience shoved him several times, menacingly expecting a response.

“Fight me. Why won’t you face me and deservingly get what is coming to you?”

Lynkcen clenched his jaw and then released a long breath, never subjecting himself to strike back. He possessed a barren association with his newly acquired abilities. He was never one for revenge. His silent disapproval was almost definite. In response his conscience twirled around and closed-line him, snaking his arm out. Lynkcen’s body rotated twice in midair, landing face-down. He remained twisted and contorted.

Thoroughly enjoying his small victory, the disturbing image boded well with his conscience’s appearance. “I will leave a lasting impression on your heart,” he told him, whispering into his ear, clenching his fist.

Lynkcen’s conscience forcefully grabbed him around the neck and yanked him slightly upward. His eyes were momentarily sealed shut. The snow merged with his blood as his body heat caused it to stream down his face. His visage was alarming and frightful. The bags under his eyes captured and collected some of his blood. “Only fools travel these roads of misconception.”

Lynkcen was looked at for a long moment, his neck still tightly grasped. As he was released, a hand imprint remained.

“Nothing you do will warrant such gracious treatment.”

His conscience privately became annoyed and indignant, reacting to the familiarity of Lynkcen’s potential rank. But in regard to his connections he whispered, “Can you find forever within your pending, forthcoming, menial tasks?”

Again his strong, aggressive, distinctive voice cut through the otherwise rousing air, demanding Lynkcen fight immediately. He turned his back to him and sauntered away, glaring at the walls. He understood what they signified. “Dreams will be lost. Nightmares will be gained,” he quickly added, turning back toward him, catching his breath. “You won’t breathe without me.”

At that point, Lynkcen’s conscience smashed his fist through the wall next to him and retrieved a much needed advantage. The value of this benefit was more than he could have hoped for. He fastened a breathing device to his mouth. “Much better. See, there’s still some of me lingering.”

Lynkcen stood still and slowly lifted his head. He scanned the area in front of him, attempting to make out the route he may need to take amid the lumbering pines which cropped out horizontally from the walls. His face was ensconced with tiny streams of his blood weaving, intertwining with one another. His taciturn demeanor was unsettling with his conscience, and frustration crept up within his daunting emotions.

“The beauty of one’s mind is anything can happen up here. Every day will be the same,” his conscience continued, cynically expressing his desirable urges. “Second best is where you will place.”

Complacency plagued him now. His fingers tightened selfishly around his own neck as a much larger course of disappointment and dissatisfaction urged him to release his jealousy. He scanned the faces in his own head of the captive consciences from the past. None had gone unnoticed, and they sure as though didn’t seem to want to join in on the festivities. They must have been sent merely as spectators, to watch the confrontation as a congregation. Maybe they understood Lynkcen’s conscience’s motives and wanted to see for themselves. Maybe they were present only for note-taking for future use. Nonetheless, a vague wonderment cautioned the progression. What was the purpose of this action? Why would Evil send countless Evil Consciences to observe this intimidating chore? Was he not trusted?

Lynkcen appeared inaudible once more, staring straight forward, seemingly in a daze. His conscience walked toward him while never removing his eyes from the crowd of consciences that gathered around them. He tossed him once more through another razor-sharp, uneven wall. His rage increased, possibly because of those particular assembling consciences.

Effortlessly turning to them, he never shifted from the neck down. He spoke heavily with certainty. “This is where they say my fun begins,” he expressed to them, pointing to his chest. He bowed with an overconfident, self-aggrandizing smirk.

Stepping through the opening in the wall, he pushed aside some of the crumbling debris and paused, searching. Where was he, he thought? Lynkcen seemed to be suppressed by the obscurity, hidden away and concealed. After all, it was Lynkcen’s Mind. He understood where he could tread and what areas were accessible for a respite if a breach had commenced. Knowledge of certain penchants and inclinations within his mind’s secondary thoughts and sanctuaries created subtle uproar with his enemy.

With his eyes scanning the final foreground, he longed for Lynkcen’s presence, intoning, calling for him, shouting for his abilities. He had a power for observation. He had a much larger sense of criticism as well. He was going to finish his duties Evil had set forth for him but in his own fashion and with his personal daunting approach.

“Where are you?” he cooed.

He turned swiftly to his right while a subtle noise quickly nabbed his attention. Lynkcen emerged slowly from the rubble that lay upon him and managed to rise to his feet, still battered, beaten, bloodied and bruised. He tossed aside several sizeable pieces of rock, wiping and dusting his body free of the destructive aftermath. A high, spectral laugh floated toward his ears with astronomical speed. It entered his body, eventually breaching his heart’s boundaries. After a sudden jolt, the action fueled his recognition. It rejuvenated his appreciation, refreshing his potential talents and vigorously transforming his outer shell. A transparent side that only he could contain was revealed.

“Petty transformation,” his conscience added.

Lasting for merely seconds, his transparency faded away, as he still did not possess the gusto to maintain it for an extended period of time.

Mockingly, his conscience had a malevolent, subtle approach to the situation. “Forgive him Father, for he has failed you.” A sinister, more sadistic smile then followed. “He is not worthy to don the labeled mark you have given him.”

There seemed to be something different about Lynkcen now. His physique and appearance remained the same, but he seemed stronger and more apt to garner his impending gifts. He possessed a certain and definable charm that didn’t bode well with his opponent. A vast, massive change filled the air between them, conducting a brief survey of the area. Two never-ending, vast borders were about to converge and engage for each Afterlife-Good and Evil. The short-lived game of jealousy had begun.

Undermining Lynkcen’s appearance, his conscience spoke. “The Good will fight to survive between both worlds, reaching for places of respectable judgment and happiness. Their Ladders of Life will extend through the clouds, but will never attain their sanctuaries. Evil will lurk behind them, extending Its scornful hands upon their feet, grabbing, tugging at their heels. In the end they will succumb to the temptation and fall toward Evil’s lair. Then the consciences will make their mark and encourage others to do the same, resurging with confidence. The Fortress of Minds will fall heavily, and its Todawn will recede into oblivion. I’m going to enjoy watching the precious things humanity holds close to their hearts perish.” He coldly pointed at Lynkcen, mockingly shoving his fingertip into his chest. “And that includes you. Competition, rivalry and war are major parts for survival. Which side are you on?”

The competitive wordplay started as each took shots at the other. They’d hoped to diminish certain plans. Banter flew. Words of wisdom and imprudence were exchanged. And it seemed as though a new and fresh chapter was being written somewhere within the depths of the unknown, and behind the clefts and fissures of the unexplained.

“The air smells even more rotten than ever before.” His conscience turned toward the hole and happily watched as the crowd of consciences departed the area. They vanished through the walls, leaving behind no traces of their prior arrival. A derivative agenda had been acquired, he thought.

“You’ve given up. You’ve given up on me!” he shouted to them.

The agonizingly long confrontation finally appeared to be concluding as a level, even playing field emerged. Although the rocky terrain eased its presence into something more, Lynkcen remained confident that the pounding he received was merely an afterthought. He possessed something far greater; belief. It was belief of his mind and what he could accomplish with it.

“What to do? What to do?” his conscience said.

A hole punched through the ceiling, giving way to a bright light. Physical words began to shine through the light, creating extensive rays. They were lyrics, verses and texts of goodness and righteousness from all languages throughout humanity’s history. They were meant to attack Lynkcen’s conscience and to help Lynkcen recoup. Lynkcen peered into the trees to see any sort of escape route-perhaps a temporary detour to allow absorption of the light into his body. Could he find a way to circle back, lose his conscience in a chase, and return to the main site? “No,” he thought to himself. He needed to remain where he stood, for a lesson was to be learned.

Lynkcen’s conscience shielded not only his eyes but his entire existence. He seemed adamant, steadfast on particular issues. But by no means was he harping or stressing. His arrogant feeling bellowed from his stature, demanding some kind of expressive closure.

With his eyes closed, Lynkcen remained silent and never responded, for his transformation had briefly taken his breath away. Eventually, his noncompliance was catapulted into a screeching halt that formidably constructed before his conscience’s face. Lynkcen waited as long as he could until slightly turning his head to each side, furiously adjusting its posture. He tightened his fists and became more animated. Soon thereafter he gently opened his eyes. They glistened briefly.

“I’m too much. Just admit it. I’m overwhelming. Give up what you can’t defend. It is our time to reemerge. It is our time to ascend and succeed. We have been confined for too long. It is Evil’s time to expose its lair and churn its beauty on creation.”

“Liar. You think Evil isn’t onto your motives? I would hardly call your desires beauty,” Lynkcen responded, deepening his voice. He inwardly endorsed what was within his body.

“My responsibility,” his conscience repeated silently. “It is time for complete and utter damnation upon the Afterlife in which you will soon call home. Disaster, catastrophe, misfortune, heartbreak, tragedy; they all thrill me. My domain will seek to damage all that it can see. This ends now!” He was short, concise, though somewhat impatient. There was an indomitable presence finding him as well, allowing him to be thorough. As a result, he propelled an unknown force toward Lynkcen’s image.

Thrusting forward, Lynkcen formed an “L” with his arms. This action prompted a relentless halt, an unceasing motion. Passion and strength reached the surface of his face as he desperately attempted to eradicate the yearning that strived to plague him. Previous areas of destruction retreated, gathering and hovering above. Then, with a sense of compassion and entitlement, they flung in various, specified directions, reconnecting with the walls. A rebuilding process appeared to commence.

“The temptation will consume you. You will not make it out of here alive.”

“You’re right.”

For several moments they individually stood, steadily maintaining and holding their positions. Lynkcen grunted with pain. Survival appeared readily lost, but he also understood that his stance on all of the issues was needed. A pale, glowing shade of blue twinkled and flaunted around his arms as they shook with verve. He opened and closed his right fist repeatedly, hoping for the right amount of guidance. And at that moment he became what he was projected to be, but within his mind, of course. With an enormous amount of inspiration and urgency he inwardly transformed. Blood flowed uncontrollably toward his heart while his mind’s crevices endured much of the same.

“This will not happen.” His conscience propelled his arms forward once more, giving way to a new wave of destruction, more powerful than the last. It was intangible temptation. His predatory demeanor shifted tremendously as several solid blocks of blue ice flung toward the walls.

Lynkcen again met the force head on with his protective shield, but could only muster tiny amounts of the indiscernible guardian. He began to slide back, leaving distinguishable tracks before his view. His grunting escalated as it quickly found its way around the area. It bounced off the walls and retreated back into his mouth. He could hold on no longer.

Lightly easing his back against the wall with his head slightly slanted downward, he grunted with more pain. His teeth sparkled while he tightly shut his eyes, clutching his own boundaries. Enough force was then garnered as he released himself from the force. It vanished between them.

Grimacing with excruciating pain, he gripped his left shoulder, curtailing his breathing. In the process, he swiftly and quietly rejuvenated his body and straightened his posture. Meanwhile, the bright light garnered holes as if evil words had attacked it. The blood on his exterior lengthened with purity and awareness. It seeped and recoiled, discharging in a blue-blushing plume of spray.

The blood taken from his face earlier angered him to the fullest as a remembrance captured his vision. An action so vivid curtailed its intake and appeared before him. Somehow he felt trapped under a vast mesh of spiky wire, entangled in lies of deceit and deception. He subsequently became engulfed by what his conscience spoke of.

“Defeating me is not an option. I’ll give you one last chance.” His conscience then felt a similar treatment but with maliciousness and hurtful feelings billowing out forward.

Lynkcen ripped himself free and dismissed the criticism, acquiring a lone, gracious look. Maintaining his disposition, he then released himself from his motionless state. The two were pulled together, magnetized. And as they met, a loud, phantom-like thump followed. Briefly, they were suspended, inaudible and unable to move. A rare silence found its way between them.

Quickly, they were brought together once more, face-to-face, shielding one another’s strikes. For several moments, muted roars lingered between them, leaving them docile and inundated by the moment. Lynkcen’s blood rapidly flowed around the exterior of his body with circular motions. It attacked his conscience while he kept himself from physical encounter. He gritted his teeth, wincing. Remorse then vacated the battleground and left behind a trace of pride and self-importance. If acquired by Lynkcen’s conscience, an assumption of cruel and insensitive intention would be followed by destruction. There was a clamored for reprisal, vindictively taking on each other’s traits.

Lynkcen acknowledged his credentials and anxiously awaited his time, for he knew graceful traits were alive and obtainable. He understood the proceedings and realized what needed to be accomplished. Releasing himself from the circumstances, he allowed for his body to recoil around twenty feet. The blood that lay upon his face detached and trailed with meaning, controllably following behind.

His conscience paused to consider what he should do next. He inquired what needed tending to and received the answers he desired. He reconfirmed his suspicions about the mysterious arrival of the Evil Consciences, and what they would do if he failed. A change of heart with malice and madness found him, but by no means was he suppressing his emotions, thinking twice about what he was doing. He had prospered immensely with his own devious schemes.

Blatantly he shook his head, his eyes shifting toward Lynkcen. He paused to think, clad in his own attire now. Alertly he jumped with an upheaval-a disturbance, extending his arms away from his sides, landing with mayhem. A satisfying smile emerged with commotion and confusion.

Instantly Lynkcen dropped to his knees. A body of water spewed from a crack in the wall and surrounded him. It then seemingly merged with the scenery. It reacted to his presence, mingling with his potential accolades. There was tremendous silence fluttering over the area, hovering with a passive charge.

Lowering his head and raising his eyebrows, Lynkcen’s conscience watched the rippling effect travel toward his feet. The sound was that of an ocean washing ashore. As peaceful and plentiful as it sounded, he thought otherwise, having no interest in its concepts and ingredients. He violently smothered his ears with both hands. What was it, he wondered? What did it consist of? And how did it become what it was? With pensive and brooding awareness, it then slowly dissipated.

Although the landscape remained whole, revealing specified signs that it was actually some kind of body of water surged through Lynkcen’s conscience. Was a visitation in order, he wondered? Lynkcen’s body was gone, submerged.

In response, he treaded softly while scanning the area. All the air, all the decency in the atmosphere had escaped through the tiny openings in the walls. The dim lighting that remained from the hole in the ceiling garnered even more darkness.

“Where are you? Stop hiding behind deceptive eyes and face me.” He was even more enraged now then he had ever been. “How can one be so powerful and helpless at the same time?” He was obviously referring to his existence.

As he glanced down, tiny indescribable bubbles surfaced, almost creating a connection-a chain of representation which seemed locked away and unattainable. Almost instantly those bubbles became large enough to fill the area around Lynkcen and provide support-a cushion of wellness.

“Let me help you,” Lynkcen said.

A blue bubble slightly bigger than a person’s head hovered directly over Lynkcen’s conscience. Promptly it encompassed his head as if to bring support for his breathing. Lynkcen advised him with just a simple look that this was the only attempt he would make to forge a partnership.

He grabbed a hold of the bubble’s side with each hand and struggled to break free. He pulled it and stretched it angrily. He wanted it gone. His intentions were made clear earlier, he thought. This was just a poor attempt at survival by Lynkcen. Finally he popped it against the wall behind him. “I can see we’re done here,” he said.

Lynkcen found some semblance as the fluid around his body formed an “L”. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“You are far from freedom and comfort, Lynkcen. You will die and be what you were before you were untaught. The perfect crisis is upon your Afterlife and will shed its insight upon the situation forthcoming.”

A long pause settled between the void that separated them. The bubbles grew fainter and gradually disappeared. The scene tranquilized itself, lending him an impending victory.

He continued. “So much for your experiment…you’ve lost control. I am in command now.” He finished with a chuckle, checking the status of his certainty, placing his left index and middle finger upon his right wrist. His wicked pulse implored for total chaos and victory, and it could be heard throughout the landscape. He cleansed his face of Lynkcen’s blood, cowardly swiping and flinging it to the ground.

There appeared to be nothing now. The atmosphere, the area, it was all vacant, wiped clean of any territorial aftermath. It reverted back to an unblemished scenery. The remaining air became visibly dry and stale. All hope seemingly appeared defeated and deflated.

Something, though, remained afoot while he began to take his fear elsewhere. His bid for more retaliation escalated. As the distance gradually lengthened, something quickly caused him to halt his motion. He paused with his head slightly turned to the left. It was like he was awaiting the dramatics, anticipating another moment of emotional behavior. Was it over? Only he knew for certain as another chuckle bellowed from his mouth.

“I should have guessed it” he then followed with, breaking into a long, how-perfect-is-this kind of laugh. He knew it. His relentless imagination triggered depraved gaiety.

Nodding, he turned back to face the wall. Without any hesitation, he removed a box of cigarettes from his pocket and proceeded to have a smoke. Once lit, he tightly scrunched the box and aggressively tossed it along the wall with mockery and hatred. But who was he rebelling against at this point?

As he turned astern, there was Lynkcen making his renewed presence felt. He oozed with a purified essence. He swiftly and firmly reemerged from within the locale, fists tightening with each passing moment. The blue attar lightly dripped from his face and outfit. A memory had found him and captivated his potential characteristics, but it was far from becoming evident.

“You’ll have nothing, Lynkcen,” his conscience shouted.

The concealed body of water meshed with Lynkcen’s blood, causing a chain reaction of glistening sparkles and spectacular illuminations from head to toe. He was immersed with the sensation as it dribbled uncontrollably off him and onto the ground behind.

Hoping to form and promote some sort of deity, Lynkcen spoke fully of his reintroduction for the first time. He was changed now, and he became adamant, steadfast on the intrusion on his mind. “This is my shelter, my refuge, my asylum. If I have to sacrifice my existence to rid you of it, then so be it.”

“You are part of me as I am part of you, and you cannot escape the lure of my desires,” his conscience murmured, making it a statement of fact.

There were strong ambitions of destroying Lynkcen. His conscience stubbornly insisted he could no longer be denied by any force imaginable. With a loathsome rush of expectancy, they convened and eventually converged. Lynkcen once again used his only line of defense, forming an “L” with his arms. The blood detached and attacked. Their acumens were equally matched.

“Your will is weak,” he continued. “I will rob you of your dreams and instill nightmarish fantasies.”

“You’re gonna break my heart.”

“That’s the idea. But it’s only half of the game plan.”

“So you admit you’re after it.”

Lynkcen jumped back about ten feet to give himself some distance. They faced each other with solid, resilient demeanors. They knew this was it. They understood a new war had barely begun.

Suddenly, Lynkcen ran, and he ran as fast as he could toward his nemesis. While they neared, faint quiet whispers followed with critical hearings, circling between them. They leapt, and before there was any reaction from Lynkcen, his conscience smothered him with his malice. They suspended in mid-air for only a brief moment. That is when Lynkcen discovered his innermost desire.

Below them was the mirror, subdued with no reflection. Lynkcen’s conscience forcibly shoved him through the mirror with his powerful right hand. Their lively essences propelled them into the mountainous battleground.

“I have the home field advantage,” Lynkcen stated. His blood recoiled and attacked his conscience in various areas.

“A band-aid on a bullet wound,” he was then told. “It’s all in your head.”

Lynkcen knew he couldn’t fight his way out of this particular moment. But if he clamored for just the right amount of internal fortitude it would appear to his conscience that he had intentions. A better training was available on the other side.

Their dissension of the current project propelled them into depths of the unknown and unnamed. Means of survival no longer existed. As they continued to fall their individual structural frameworks slowly gathered the mountainous makeup, causing their continued existences to become that much weaker. They quickly disintegrated and turned into ash, although Lynkcen’s ashes remained for obvious reasons.

Was there a pervasive bleakness with inherent intangibles? Could it have ended this malevolently?

Apparently it did. Their momentum as a whole carried them to the nameless place most men dare not believe in; a place where blessed peace no longer exists, a place where justice and fairness are invaded, a place where indignant and resentful superiority reigns superlative and absolute.

And thus began the demise of their feuding rivalry for supremacy. A new journey was upon them. Survival was now an integral part of Lynkcen’s embodiment. The Afterlife was in grave, serious jeopardy.

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