THE HUMANITY DECISION

Immodicus Furor

Chapter One

Occulte stared into the eyes of his enemy. Their gazes did not waver from one another. Occulte drew in a steadying breath, driving his nervousness from his mind. He let all emotion dissipate from his being. He had figured out long ago that the only way to win every battle was to go into it with nothing but cold calculation on his side, with no expectations except that he would do his best. Anger would only serve to cloud his judgment, so he allowed himself no satisfying rage. Fear would make him timid and weak, easy prey for his competitor. So not an inkling of the pitiful emotion was allowed near his mind.

He brought his thin, light blade up near his face in a battle ready pose. He could feel the cold of the unforgiving metal close to his skin. He could see the sharp edge, which he knew could cut through any armor with no problem. He could sense the sword’s spirit… it was not a weapon, nor was it a tool. It was an extension of his body, a part of him. He would use it as he would use any of his limbs; accurately, precisely, and with deadly efficiency.

Occulte’s enemy made the first move. He came in with a powerful, melodramatic overhead slash, a snarl leaping up from his throat. Occulte sighed. It would most likely not be a long battle. He brought his own sword up, throwing off the momentum of his enemy’s blow by rolling onto his back, his legs extending upwards with a power and precision born of thousands of hours of intensive training. The enemy’s breath exploded out of him as Occulte’s legs impacted his solar plexus. His inertia carried him far over Occulte, to collapse spectacularly with the hard stone floor five meters away. Occulte brushed a few imagined specks of dust off his black trenchcoat as he stood.

“Do we really have to continue this pointless battle?” Occulte asked in his cold voice that chilled most people’s blood. “I do not wish to have to humiliate you further.”

His enemy merely growled with rage in response as he stood. Occulte’s dark, mirthless eyes penetrated through his enemy’s pupils into his soul as their gazes locked once again. He sensed fear. Like any predator that had that true hunting instinct, Occulte knew exactly when to strike. He took his opportunity, flying in with what appeared to be a wild side strike.

The enemy threw off the poorly executed blow with ease- but Occulte had never intended the strike to deal any damage. While his enemy’s concentration was centered on the blades, Occulte had brought his thumb to collide incredibly hard with a nerve cluster on the man’s neck. Besides serving to damage the tendon located next to the nerve cluster, it caused the man incredible pain, bringing him to one knee in surprise. The battle’s remaining length was numbered in seconds at that point. Occulte’s open palms slammed against the man’s ears, causing him to drop his sword as he collapsed against the ground. With one last kick to the man’s temple as he fell, his opponent was unconscious.

Occulte threw down his sword, yawning. This morning’s wake-up battle had been particularly pathetic, so as usual, he had high hopes that his instructors had matched him up with a superior opponent for his after-supper battle. Not that it really mattered; Occulte never lost. In the last three years of his training, he had fought more than two thousand battles, against the same number of opponents. Not one had ever managed to best him.

Thus he no longer expected much from these pointless little spars. At least chess still held some minor challenge for him.

He headed off from the combat room, towards the eating hall as usual. He could still remember when it had been a lively place, with more than three hundred adolescent Possibles filling it. Now there were less than thirty… ninety percent of the original group had been dismissed as not being worthy of the title of Possible. The thirty left were varied in race, ranging from Caucasian to African American to Japanese and Russian. Fifteen years prior, virtually every child born under the criteria of the Prophecy had been kidnapped, adopted, bought… whatever the Fulfiller had decided was necessary to acquire them was done.

The Prophecy was a source of great debate amongst the Possibles; largely because everyone tried to interpret it so that it meant that only they could be the Chosen it referred to. Occulte glanced up at the main wall of the eating hall, where the Prophecy was etched into the stone. No one even knew who had delivered it to the Fulfiller; and anyone who asked disappeared for a while, to re-appear much less inquisitive. The Prophecy was short, and all of the Possibles had long ago memorized it.

Upon the last hour of the last day of the year 1989

He shall be born. The one who will hold humanity’s

Very fate within his hands. He will have withstood

A lifetime of trials at the hands of the Fulfiller, the

One destined to aid in the completion of this Prophecy.

On the dawn of the new year of 2005, his extraordinary

Power shall emerge in a contest against a fellow friend

Of the same raising as himself. This Chosen One, wielding

The Power to change, create, or destroy his reality, and

Being the only Immortal human, shall decide what course

Humanity’s future shall take: He may decide to take the

World for his own, using his might to conquer and to

Unite the peoples of Earth. If he decides to let the Earth

Go free, a fate shall befall it that will forever wipe

Humanity from existence. Humanity’s Decision is his:

Survive with no freedom, or cease to exist and yet keep

Their liberty. May his choice be the right one, for

Everyone’s sake.

Of course, Occulte was far too cynical to believe in the poorly written excuse for a prophecy. His belief was that the “Fulfiller” had abducted them all to create his own personal army. Either way, he would find out shortly whether the Prophecy was true or not; the New Year was rapidly approaching, less than a month away. He figured that as soon as no one became a god, they would know the truth, that it was all a lie.

Occulte was distracted from his thoughts as he heard the very soft, familiar footsteps behind him.

“Hello, Jeremy.” Occulte whispered just loud enough for Jeremy to hear.

“Damnit,” Jeremy muttered as he leapt over the table to sit across from Occulte, “how do you always hear me coming?”

Occulte merely smirked, pressing a button on the table that activated the virtual chess set. Little symbols on the LCD screen built into the table were used to represent the pieces.

Jeremy was one of the very few people who were a match for Occulte in chess. No one else ever beat him. Occulte desperately wanted to spar Jeremy, but he had never accepted Occulte’s challenges. Jeremy did not like sparring any more than demanded by the instructors- he didn’t like combat. Jeremy, Occulte believed, would be a great challenge; someone so great at chess would have to be good at combat. Besides, he had sparred against pretty much every other Possible, and none of them had been able to beat him… but Occulte could respect Jeremy’s wishes, and therefore did not press the issue too often.

They were about half-way through a pretty intense game when Occulte felt a familiar sensation. He glanced towards the one-way glass built into the wall of the eating hall. He didn’t know how, but he could always tell when someone was watching them.

*****

The old Fulfiller stared out of the glass, observing the thirty or so Possibles. He was filled with a sense of pride every time he looked at them. He couldn’t help but think that these were his creations. He had molded these young soldiers for their entire life, had taught them everything they knew. His instructors and combat trainers were the finest in the world, and yet they could no longer even get close to matching the intelligence and ability of these children.

The Head Instructor walked up to the glass beside the Fulfiller. “Staring at Occulte again, are we?”

The Fulfiller laughed. “How well you know me. I just sense something from that kid… I just know he’s going to be chosen. Now all I have to do is to make sure I’m the true power behind the throne before he gets to taking over the world.”

“Heh. What if he doesn’t like you behind the throne?” the Head Instructor asked only half-jokingly.

“Not even an immortal is free from harm.” The Fulfiller responded with a smirk.