Date: Sat, 17 Feb 1996 21:50:53 -0500
From: Vctr113062@aol.com
Message-Id: <960217215051_146994012@mail06.mail.aol.com>
To: jevans@MIT.EDU
Subject: Winter 2/16


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	"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" shouted the shadow who had once been a man. He made a
slashing gesture with his hands; the snake-demon and the armored devil
responded with a dual attack. The blunt side of two radiant blue claws
crushed hard against my abdomen. A different set of sharper claws dug into my
back, slicing through the thick fabric of my uniform as effortlessly as they
pierced my skin, yet purposefully stopping short of puncturing my vital
organs. The living shadow made another gesture, as if grasping an invisible
object, and his creatures moved to restrain me. They each held one of my arms
spread apart, low enough to force me to my knees. 
	"Don't EVER call me that again!" snapped the living shadow, whipping a
backhand strike to my face. I became limp, allowing the stinging impact to
flow through me. "I'll let you off easy _once_, but say that again and orders
be damned I'll KILL you!" He lashed out again with his other hand. One of my
teeth came loose. A detached part of myself marveled at how a single word
could provoke so much rage. The human shadow's breathing was intensely
labored, and a growling animal quiver underscored his voice. "My name is Noob
Saibot. Remember it."
	"'Noob Saibot'...?"
	"Don't ask. Don't even think of asking."
	"Less than a minute ago you were advocating the opposite. You said you would
answer three questions, so here they are: Are you a ghost? Were you once a
Lin Kuei? Are the stories about you true?"
	The rakshasa's ears flicked forward. Saibot's solid black head lacked facial
expressions, yet I could tell from his posture that he was taken aback. "What
difference does it make?"
	"Because if you are a rogue Lin Kuei, then you're the first who has lived to
tell about it."
	"Oh, I see. You think you can restore your clan's honor by assassinating me,
is that it?"
	"No."
	He stared at me, if his featureless visage had eyes to stare with. "Never
mind. Start over. I'm in charge here, and I'm going to answer what you
_should_ have asked, you blithering idiot.
	"Welcome to Limbo, Sub-Zero. No, you're not dead yet, but just you wait.
	"Limbo is the infinitely recurring no man's land sifting within the great
void between worlds. It is a vast Moebus strip, eternally twisting upon
itself." The strange phrases he used nagged at me; they kindled a memory that
darted beyond my conscious grasp. "You're trapped here, forever. Your soul
can't leave without a living body to carry it, and nothing mortal survives
here for long. If you perish in Limbo... well, I'll let you guess what
happens to your soul. Don't say I didn't warn you."
	Saibot casually unearthed a human skull from the sands and dusted it off.
"For every path into Limbo there is a way out; however, some roads are more
accessible than others. My friends and I can leave anytime we want, and if
you don't come with us, there's only one other route: you'd have to climb
down the canyon, cross Blood River, and scale the other side.
	"Of course, you could take the quick way down." Saibot gracefully pitched
the skull over the edge of the precipice. I never heard it strike anything
solid. "Trouble is, once you get there you're not in any shape to climb back
up. Anything else you'd like to know?"
	"How can you withstand the sunlight?"
	"Haven't you listened to a word I've said?" snapped the living shadow. "This
is Limbo! You are inconceivably distant from your home, and the precious Sun
it orbits! Shandra, rip some sense into this imbecile." The rakshasa lunged
forward. There was no warning growl, only the slash of claws carving deep
welts across my cheek and lips. The attack came so fast that I did not feel
it until it was over. At least now I could breathe freely, through the rents
in my mask.
	The rakshasa placidly licked my blood off its paw. "Good kitty-girl. Nice
kitty," Saibot praised, rubbing the cat's neck. Her ears swiveled back, and
her tail lashed from side to side. "Shandra is one of the best. She's all
fury! I couldn't ask for a better escort. 
	"Now, back to business. You need to get home. We'd like to help you."
	"This is what you consider 'help?'" I spat through bleeding lips.
	"Shandra!" The rakshasa's claws dug three shallow gashes on my right
shoulder. "I shouldn't have to waste my time on threats, Subby, but there
ought to be something in you worth salvaging. You are supposed to be one of
the Lin Kuei's finest," he sneered, inflecting a heavy dose of sarcasm in the
words. "Even though you failed Ultratech."
	"Shang Tsung is dead."
	"You didn't kill him, did you?"
	"A technicality."
	For a moment, he appeared ready to sic the rakshasa on me once more. Then
his stance shifted a little, the only visible evidence of his change in mood.
"Fine. Cling to your silly misconceptions. See if I care. It's all beside the
point, anyway. Without us you're doomed. You can't escape on your own. Do you
think crossing Limbo is some pleasant nature walk? Death waits for you in
that canyon! Seven obstacles bar your path. Even if you could get past the
first six, the seventh is always an inescapable trap where only that which
you have loved can save you. So tell me, Subby, how's your love life?"
	There was no point in providing him with an answer.
	"I thought so. That's why you should join us. We can get you out. Ultratech
will have a place for you. You'll learn to like us. We're all one big, happy
family." I heard a faint hissing sound; it was drool from the snake-demon,
dripping on the fabric of my uniform and slowly eating it away.
	"I reject your offer," I said, and let loose all the Power that I'd been
gathering during the last minute. 
	The Ice coursed through my blood and out of my hands, enveloping the two
demons that held me and freezing them fast. They would remain paralyzed for a
few seconds before their natural warmth dispelled the effect, but for the
moment they were like statues. I used their hold on my arms as a gymnast's
grip upon parallel bars, bracing my weight for a full forward kick with both
feet. Despite Saibot's insubstantial appearance, my strike connected with a
very solid jawbone. He went down. I refocused the power to coat my own wrists
with a slippery film of cool water, at the same time working the thumbs'
metacarpal bones underneath the palms. My hands slid free.
	"Sha- Shandra!" Saibot choked, still flat on the ground. With a high-pitched
scream, the golden rakshasa charged directly into another blast of Power. The
Ice temporarily nullified her momentum, immobilizing her in mid-spring. It
wouldn't hold her for long, though. To make matters worse, the other two
demons were returning to life, and Saibot was clambering back to his feet. I
dashed past all of them, sprinting along the precipice.
	"Fool!" yelled Saibot. "Do you really think you can run from us?" A
high-pitched, mechanical whine and a heavy, lumbering tread dogged my heels.
My inhuman pursuers were gaining on me. I looked directly ahead and saw
nothing but flatland and bones. Beyond the precipice's edge was a sharp,
nearly vertical slope of layered rock. There was only one option.
	I leaped over the side.

*****************************************************************

	There was no way I could have avoided the path that the Lin Kuei chose for
me. Resistance, even suicide brings their wrath down upon one's friends and
family. I didn't have much in the way of friends, and I cared nothing for the
parents and uncles who treated me like an oblation, but I did have a little
brother, born scarcely a year before my Test. It wasn't his fault that his
home village was the property of killers. It is unfortunate that I wasn't
present for most of his childhood, though that was because I didn't want my
proximity to endanger him.
	He was a strange one, and still is.
	Blessed with a genius intellect, he could fix anything. Figuring out the
inner workings of a mechanism and correcting its flaws was simplicity itself
to him. Furthermore, he loved to design "experiments" and carry them out. He
ran errands for farmers, assayers, tailors, and others in return for old
pieces of metal or glass. What he couldn't barter, he scrounged from garbage
cans, recycled junk, and his own inventiveness. 
	I remember the first time I entered his makeshift "laboratory." I'd heard
about him being absent for long periods of time; when asked about it, he'd
make excuses or say that he was "just playing," though none of the children
his age reported having seen him. (It's probably just a stage he's going
through), I thought, but to quiet my lingering doubts, I tailed him unseen.
His trail led far from the village, to a rotting, abandoned old shed once
used to shelter livestock during the cold months.
	Inside, cloth-covered cinder blocks supported rows of glass bottles. Several
decanters held cooking ingredients or other chemicals. A collection of
pressed leaves decorated one wall; a cryptic chart of boxes filled with
English letters and Arabic numerals hung on the other. In the corner was a
haphazard pile of thick textbooks. One such book lay flat open, to a page
covered with English writing and diagrams filled with small crosses and
hyphens. The sentences were indecipherable. I knew most of the words, yet
they were peppered with unintelligible phrases like "pH balance," "litmus
test," or "free-floating ion." Little brother was completely absorbed in
measuring a dense, colorless liquid with the consistency of heavy syrup. A
protective shell of thick plastic was strapped over his eyes. He peered
closely at the open book's pages for a moment, then filled his container to
the brim, completely oblivious to my presence. It was rare for villagers to
be more than semi-literate in any foreign language - yet here my brother was,
reading Hell knows what in textbooks from Hell knows where, carrying out its
cryptic instructions because Hell knows why.
	"So this is where you've been disappearing. What on earth are you doing?" I
demanded, taking away his vial. "This is oil of vitriol! Do you realize how
dangerous it is?" I dumped the vitriol into a rusty bucket nearby. "Does our
family know-"
	"Aaah!" he shouted, turning away as the bucket erupted in fury. I moved to
interpose myself between the stinging wave of liquid and my sibling. The
thick cloth of my uniform shielded me from the worst of it, except for my
bare arms, which suffered minor acid burns while protecting my eyes. 
	Little brother snatched a clean cloth from atop a pile of cinder blocks and
applied it to my arms, carefully padding the corrosive droplets off. "Never
do that again!" he admonished, severely. "That was a rinse bucket, big
brother. Don't you know what happens when acid and water mix?"
	Only twelve years old, and he chastised me like a schoolteacher.

*****************************************************************

	The whistle of the wind quickly drowned out Saibot's expletives. 
	My only chance was to insulate myself against the upcoming impact. Huddling
in a fetal position, I willed the Ice to completely encase me in a sphere,
save for one small airhole near my face. Through that hole, I sent layer
after layer of the Ice to reinforce the exterior of my cushion. The Power
obeyed my mental commands as a paintbrush obeys its artist. I deliberately
made the orb soft, more like packed snow than true Ice, though I'd never
attempted anything like this before. All I could do was focus the Power and
hope.
	The sphere landed upon a mid-level slope and cracked into chunks. The
violent jolt bounced me away and further down. I involuntarily skidded across
loose stones, increasing momentum as the drop suddenly became steeper. To
slow my fall, I dug my hands into the hillside and hung on, even though the
skin on my fingers was being scraped away. At last, the land leveled somewhat
and my battered body came to rest. I rolled onto my back, dizzy, in pain, and
exhausted from summoning so much Power in such a short time.
	A bolt of lightning cleaved the sky in two. Thunder roared in its wake.
	I must have fallen through the low-flying clouds I'd seen earlier, for they
covered a sky that had changed hue from orange to deep turquoise. The
thickening clouds swirled in a tremendous spiral pattern, like foam on an
ocean whirlpool. Droplets of fresh rain splashed on my face, washing away my
blood. The gentle shower increased to a torrential downpour in a matter of
seconds. More lightning flashed, coloring everything blinding white for a
split-second. The whiteness gradually faded except for one small patch,
blurred by the water that splashed freely upon my eyes. 
	Squinting, I made out a floating figure dressed in white, ornamented with
patches of blue and gold. His wide, cone-shaped farmer's hat cast a broad
shadow over his face, pierced by the electric shine of his unearthly eyes. He
appeared to be a mortal man, but even a dullard could have felt the crackling
aura of his Power. Through my Talent, reinforced with nearly two decades of
practice and discipline, I can summon and control fragments of the Power. He
_was_ Power, pure cosmic energy assuming physical form solely for the sake of
convenience. Some people would call him the god of thunder. I consider him an
uncontrollable force with an affection for rainstorms, which may well be the
same thing. Given what he was, I shouldn't have been surprised that he
survived Shang Tsung's Tournament. 
	~Raiden would speak with you, mortal.~
	His words impressed themselves with perfect clarity, despite the hiss of
falling rain and the rumble of background thunder. It was a level of
communication far more direct and unambiguous than common speech.
	"I am listening." My own voice was so torpid I could barely hear myself. It
didn't matter; Raiden understood. He lowered his levitation until his feet
hovered a few centimeters from the muddy earth, while I inched into a sitting
position and examined my wounds.
	~A dark time comes upon us, Sub-Zero. You played a significant role in the
setback of Shang Tsung's evil schemes; now, you are one of the few mortals
who can thwart his current plans.~
	"Shang Tsung is dead."
	~No longer.~
	"I saw him die less than half an hour ago." The cuts on my hands were
superficial, and the claw marks on my face and shoulder were shallow. The
greatest danger they posed was the risk of becoming infected, which is
especially high when one deals with animal scratches. I used the cloth of my
uniform to staunch the bleeding while I gathered more Power, psychically
drawing upon the plentiful rainfall. The Power is not itself water, but my
Talent is such that I need to use water as a medium. I can usually extract
what I need from humidity in the surrounding atmosphere, though it requires
more effort in dry climates. Rain or any other nearby water source makes
matters easier.
	~Time flows at constantly varying rates amidst the dimensions. Minutes here
can be hours, days, or weeks in worlds such as the Mother Realm, the land you
call home. As for Shang Tsung's death, you saw a great many warriors die in
his blasphemous Tournament, did you not? You yourself died. Yet his unnatural
thatamurgy brought a you and a handful of others back from the grey kingdom.
Has it not occurred to you that he must have learned that spell from someone
else, someone who could resurrect him in turn?~
	As a matter of fact, no, it hadn't. 
	~Shang Tsung is merely the servant that goes before his master, Emperor Shao
Kahn. Shao Kahn is the supreme ruler of another world, the Outworld, and he
wishes to conquer the Mother Realm as well. He has invoked the ancient rite
of challenge. Preparations for another Tournament have begun. You are needed.
You are one of the few mortals with a prayer of winning Shao Kahn's
Tournament.~
	"I never pray." Carefully, I willed the Power to coalesce upon my scratches,
cleaning them and coating them with a thin film of Ice. Maintaining the
elemental bandages would be a slight drain on my psyche; however, it would be
much worse to let the wounds bleed, or become gangrenous.
	~If you accept Shao Kahn's challenge, I can bring you out of Limbo. Once his
Tournament is ended, I shall return you to the Mother Realm. You have my
word.~
	"And if I'm not interested?"
	~Then I cannot help you. Limbo is ruled its own gods, inhuman primal forces
whose existence predates your kind by millions of years. The Divine Sanctions
forbid me to interfere with the interior affairs of another god's world. If
you are unwilling to become a champion of the Mother Realm, then your fate is
a matter internal to Limbo. This meeting between us strains the boundaries of
the Sanctions. I may ask your aid only once; refuse, and you will never have
the opportunity to recant. The fate of the entire Mother Realm is at stake.~
	I finished dressing my wounds and turned toward him. "Why should you care
what happens to my world?"
	 His face and eyes were empty, expressionless.
	"Do you think I've forgotten the Tournament in which we so recently
participated? I remember you, Raiden. You weren't interested in the fate of
the world. You didn't give a damn about anyone or anything but your own
glory. Your opponents were like toys to you, playthings to abuse and destroy
for the fun of it. At the start of our match, I heard you shout to the
heavens that you were bored with mortal competition, and thirsted for battle
against other gods. Then I killed you. Moments before you died, you cursed my
name.
	"No, I don't think you intend to help me escape Limbo. All you want is to
have me in your clutches, so that you can exact revenge. Your story sounds
like a pack of lies."
	~I cannot lie. It is not within my power.~ No emotion of any kind colored
his speech. Here was an immortal being who controlled the heavens, yet
claimed to be incapable of something the lowliest street pickpocket could do.

	"Convince me, then." I unsteadily teetered to my feet. Though Raiden hovered
close to the earth, his tall frame towered above my head. My neck was
starting to hurt from looking up. "Tell me the truth: why are you so eager to
save my world?"
	~If the Mother Realm falls under Shao Kahn's control, he will wreak genocide
upon it. The suffering will be epidemic. He will absorb the souls of all
living things and use them to propel himself into more conquests, and more,
until he has sucked the universe dry, for the thirst within him can never be
quenched.~
	"And you pretend that you can't tell lies," I sneered.
	~Shao Kahn's threat is quite real.~
	"Even if it is, why should you care?"
	~My concern for the Mother Realm and its inhabitants is genuine.~
	"Is that truly your only motivation?"
	When I received no answer, I turned away and began to descend along the
canyon's slope. Before my fifth step, a jagged streak of lightning shot down
from the sky and pierced the ground in front of me, causing it to erupt in a
shower of dirty water and mud. 
	~Do you think to walk away from a god?~ An arrogant crackle of the Raiden I
remembered tinged the reprimand. 
	"Yes, I do, and you cannot stop me - unless your speech about 'Divine
Sanctions' was indeed a lie." I resumed my downward trek.
	~Come back here at once!~
	I did not slow down.
	~Wait.~ 
	I did not look back.
	~Please.~
	The word sounded so bizarre, coming as it did from the mouth of a god, that
I stopped in place.
	~There is another reason for my personal involvement.~ The flashes of
lightning ceased, as did the pervasive echo of thunder. Only the hiss of
falling rain remained, and even that lessened to a modest shower. ~I am
afraid.~
	"You? Afraid?"
	~Yes.~
	"Why?"
	~When Shang Tsung invited me to participate in his Tournament, I feared
nothing. I agreed to enter his domain and fight under his rules, without
fully understanding what that meant. It meant accepting the weaknesses of a
mortal, vulnerability, and death. Now that I know what it is like to suffer,
I do not care to repeat the experience, though I may have little choice in
the matter. I am a god of the Mother Realm. Its fate is my fate. The Mother
Realm's inhabitants are as much a part of it as the earth, sea, and sky, and
so they are a part of me as well. There was a time when I did not know that.~

	Beneath layers of hardened skepticism, past thick walls of distrust, a small
part of me rebelled against my cynical tendencies and gave him the benefit of
the doubt.
	"Seek out Smoke, of the Lin Kuei clan. Ask his help. Tell him that I sent
you; he owes me. Mention the name Pyre, and he will understand."
	~As you suggest. Will you come and fight for the Mother Realm?~
	"No. What has the Mother Realm ever done for me?"
	~Do you prefer to perish, body and soul, in Limbo?~
	"It is not that simple. In my line of work, survival is a credit to one's
skill, and I have vowed not to share that credit with another. That is why I
shall never accept your offer. I shall find the way out of Limbo on my own,
or not at all. No one, _no one_ shall trade me rescue for a piece of my
honor. I will not allow it."
	~Shang Tsung resurrected you. You owe your continued survival to him.~
	"Shang Tsung has no honor," I admonished, allowing a hint of warning to
enter my voice. "He had his own reasons for reviving me, none of which had
anything to do with concern for my welfare. I owe him nothing."
	~He has not forgotten the role you and the Tournament's other survivors
played in his downfall. Heed my warning: Shao Kahn has granted the sorcerer
more power than ever, which he may use to track you down. Even if he does
not, you cannot survive here for long. You will eventually tire, and those
who fall asleep in Limbo do not awaken as living beings. Death resides upon
these inhospitable grounds.~
	"Perhaps."
	~Farewell, Sub-Zero. I would wish you luck, if the wishes of a god had any
meaning upon another god's world.~ His luminous form became brighter,
uniformly white, until its sparkling outline diffused into nothingness. The
shower had lessened to a drizzle. Soon that was also gone. The swirling wheel
of clouds remained in the sky, blotting out the sun.

*****************************************************************

	Smoke began my Lin Kuei training as soon as my burns healed. Through hard
work and experience, I learned many things: how to strengthen my muscles and
stretch my endurance, how to move unobserved, how to utilize my body as a
perfectly controlled weapon, and how to kill. When one numbers the vital
organs in a person's torso, and tallies all the different ways they can fail,
it is a marvel that any of us survive another day. All one needs to do is
disrupt the delicate balance, and the victim's body will poison itself into
oblivion. 
	Killing wasn't as hard as I thought it would be.
	Physical exercises are tedious. No-quarter sparring can be dangerous. Moving
silently is not as easy as it looks. Invisibility is a subtle art, requiring
a different approach in the context of a thousand changing circumstances. But
the actual killing? It's little more than a motion with a knife, or a firm
twist of another's head. I don't know why I thought it would be so difficult.
Perhaps I expected to feel something, the first time I assassinated a man. I
didn't. I've never had any true "feelings" since my Test. Despite the
reputation I have earned, I take no pride or satisfaction in my work. There
is no one whom I care about. I have a familial obligation to my younger
brother, but that is not the same thing.
	Just once, I would like to laugh. I'm almost certain that I used to. I wish
I could remember what it was like. Even if joy and passion are forever denied
to me, I would settle for knowing pain. I do not mean ordinary physical pain,
of course, but rather what it is to be lonely, or sad. Isolation has been my
way of life for so long, I cannot recall any other state. Though I can
project rivulets of super-chilled water from my hands, my eyes have been dry
for as long as I've been what I am. Whatever the experience of heartbreak may
be, it cannot be worse than to have one's heart frozen stiff and still,
forever. 

*****************************************************************

	Limbo is a grotesque place.
	The canyon's side flattened into a mesa, though I estimated that I was still
a good distance away from its bottom. There was no wind, yet the cloud vortex
above moved fast enough that my eyes could track its counterclockwise spiral.
The sky seemed to become a darker shade of blue with every passing second.
Matching the decrease in light from above was an eerie crimson radiance from
the ground. Most of the land was a dusty or gravelly reddish-brown, riddled
with bright maroon cracks and patches. Heat as well as light escaped the many
crevices, evaporating the rainwater from my clothing. These rifts were quite
narrow, so that the greatest threat they posed was that of tripping over
them, yet they made me uneasy.
	Surrounding me was a wide, barren stretch of flatland. A thin line of mounds
formed a landmark at the mesa's far edge. Quickening my pace to a steady jog,
I fixed my attention upon the gap between two of the tallest hills and set a
straight course for it.
	Halfway there, I felt the ground tremble beneath my feet. Something massive
lay ahead. The closer I approached, the heavier the tremors became. By the
time I reached the mounds, inhuman screams and roars filled the air. The
shrill outcries were loud enough to make my head hurt. Creating a pair of Ice
earplugs helped a little.
	Now I was close enough to see that the mounds were not formed of earth or
rock, as I'd previously assumed. They were huge stacks of dead carcasses.
Here and there I spotted what might have been human remains, but most of the
bodies belonged to large animals. Many of them were relatively fleshless.
Forked sticks emerged from the two mounds in front of me, propping up two
long-skulled, quadruped skeletons the size of elephants. From what I could
tell, the sticks were in turn supported by the tremendous piles of bone and
tattered flesh that lay heaped around their base. A handful of small fires
crackled here and there on the mounds, sputtering and giving off slight
plumes of smoke. There were no carrion feeders present to feast upon the
macabre spectacle. Even more strangely, none of it gave off any stench of
decay. Perhaps I should have been grateful for that, but it only made me
apprehensive.
	Climbing over those mounds might not be wise. I couldn't trust them to hold
my weight. If my footing were to give way, and I fell within one of those
enormous piles... Shaking my head, I stepped up to the only clear passage
through the grisly heaps, and beheld what was making the earth quiver.
	Two great dragons clashed, biting and tearing at one another in the gully
framed by the monstrous graveyard. Both were covered with gaping tooth and
claw wounds. No quarter was asked or given. The air about their struggle
rushed like the whistle of a hurricane. 
	They were colossal. A man would have to stand on tiptoe to touch their
ankles. The flesh of twenty oxen could have been their breakfast. Both
dragons were wingless, walking upon their crooked hind legs and balanced by
their lengthy tails. One dragon, colored dull ochre with splashes of royal
purple, had diminutive forelegs and a head half the size of his body. Its
sharp-toothed jaws could have crushed a house. The other dragon's scales were
a patchwork of cyan and aqua, while its wide, flat head and folding fangs
resembled those of a poisonous viper. As the long-jawed dragon lunged
forward, the viper-dragon turned its head aside, flaring a hood with white
markings resembling a stylized skull. Superimposed upon both dragons'
physical presence was an overwhelming concentration of Power. Even Raiden's
daunting manifestation paled in comparison. These beasts were more than
monsters. They were gods in their own right. 
	The long-jawed dragon lost ground to its opponent, and the clash shifted to
one side of where I waited. Beyond the warring creatures, more corpse-piles
formed a sloppy far wall with a wider opening. Past that, the ground sloped
downward and changed texture from rocky to sandy. Before I could study the
view further, the viper-dragon staggered back into my line of sight, its hips
bleeding from fresh injuries. The long-jawed dragon swung its great tail like
a bludgeon, scoring a low rent along the far wall before it struck the
viper-dragon. In retaliation, the viper-dragon's own tail snapped forward; a
keen-edged keratin blade shot out from its tip, drawing a gash across the
other beast's thigh. The long-jawed dragon bellowed a confused cry as it
tipped over, crashing heavily upon the ground. Shockwaves from the collision
unbalanced me as well. By the time I recovered my footing, so had the dragon.
	I considered traveling along the outer wall of corpse-mounds for a time, in
search of another opening that wouldn't put me in peril of being crushed like
an insect... but I hadn't seen any other gaps when I'd approached. They'd
have to be very far away, if they existed at all.
	(~You will eventually tire, and those who fall asleep in Limbo do not awaken
as living beings.~)
	Raiden's warning remained fresh in my mind. No, I didn't have time to look
for an alternate route. I'd have to get past the beasts somehow. Judging from
how quickly the dragongods moved, how much territory I'd have to cover to
safely clear of them, and my fastest running speed, I estimated my chances of
avoiding them if I were to sprint across their battleground. The odds I
arrived upon were in my disfavor. There had to be a better way.
	A plan formed in my mind. It would test my command of the Power further than
ever before, but I'd learn much in the process. If I survived, of course.