[Lord Stanley]

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

As the Ninth Chieftain raised his flashing sword for the blow that would end the life of the foul Keuja, a harsh roar ripped from the mouth of the battered creature.

“I AM THE LAST OF MY KIND!”

The Mudokon paused, just long enough to yell, “What?”

The Keuja’s writhing slowed. “I AM THOUSANDS OF YEARS OLD, MUDOKON. I AM THE LAST OF THE DEATHWORMS. KILL ME, AND MY SPECIES IS EXTINCT.”

The Ninth Chieftain felt a flash of what might have been pity. “Why should that stop me?”

“BECAUSE I KNOW HOW IT FEELS, MUDOKON.” The Keuja’s voice was much weaker. “I KNOW WHAT IT IS LIKE TO BE THE LAST, TO LIVE ON FOR CENTURIES AFTER ALL YOU HAVE KNOWN HAS FADED.”

The Ninth Chieftain’s hand trembled, but whether it was with a surge of emotion or just with age he could not tell. “I was brought here to destroy you!” he shouted. “I was summoned to ‘destroy the oppressor!’”

“HERE, YOUR OWN PEOPLE ARE THE OPPRESSORS. THEY SEEK TO WIPE MY RACE FROM EXISTENCE—MUCH AS THE GLUKKONS DID TO YOU LONG AGO.” The Keuja was starting to stagger forward, shaking the earth beneath it. “WE BOTH KNOW HOW IT FEELS.”

The Ninth Chieftain remembered. It hurt. Infinite separation from life, from his loved ones, from his Mudokonity…from his own soul. Forced to live forever, always feelingless, always alone, always fighting, never allowed to be free…

“Why are you better than me?” he asked coldly. “Why do you have any more right to live than what was granted to me?”

The Keuja was silent for what felt like an eternity; the whirring and wheezing of the Slig tanks had stopped, and when the monster spoke, it was hardly audible.

“BECAUSE THERE ARE NO RIGHTS. LIFE IS DEATH. EXISTENCE IS MEANINGLESS. YOU’VE HAD A THOUSAND YEARS TO CONTEMPLATE THAT, ATHEIST.”

Slowly, the Ninth Chieftain lowered the sword. “Perhaps I acted too hastily,” he said. “Perhaps you are not the true oppressor here…perhaps there is no oppressor…perhaps we all are!”

The Keuja tried to regain its balance. “THE MUDOKONS AND SLIGS ALIKE HAVE AWOKEN ME FROM MY SLUMBER AND ATTEMPTED TO DESTROY ME. THEY KNEW I WAS THE ONLY ONE OF MY KIND, BUT THEY WOULD NOT LISTEN. IN THEIR EYES, I AM A MONSTER. ARE YOU?”

The undead Mudokon kickflipped off the Keuja’s head and drifted soundlessly to the ground. He landed without feeling the dirt under his translucent feet, feeling a new purpose take hold of his mind.

“No,” he said. “You are not the oppressor. The Mudokons are.”

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