Deathworlders Should Not Be Allowed To Date! Epilogue

Luna VI query: Set the source to the posthumous memory extraction report of Senator Eelzails of the Core Galaxy Alliance.

As you wish!

Luna VI query: Narrate the end of Senator Eelzails’s posthumous memory extraction file.

***

Eelzails found himself awake, touching his antennae that were supposed to be missing. His fingertips traced the antennae that should have been severed, each touch bringing flashes of the Unnel's brutality and the moment before—Phora and that insufferable Asaidin falling to the deathworlders' sudden attack.

The eyes in his antennae tips opened, splitting his consciousness instantly—his right eye transfixed by cascading rivers of molten rock while his left locked onto a robed figure, its black garments rippling around twin horns that protruded from the hidden head, piercing the heated air.

Confusion cracked through both streams of his mind like a splitting crystal. His memory clearly held the agony of the Unnel's attack, the traumatic severance of his antennae that should have left him permanently maimed, if not dead. Yet here he was, whole and sensing, which defied everything he knew about life and death. Had someone rescued him? But that was impossible—he'd been surrounded by deathworlders, with no allies in reach. And this place... this impossible landscape of molten rock and horned figures belonged in no star system he'd ever studied.

His arms brushed against familiar green robes, the fabric tangible and solid beneath his touch. Every sensation felt undeniably real—the heat from the lava flows, the weight of the cloth, the familiarity of his split consciousness. Finally, despite not finding his translation unit anywhere on his body, he gathered his courage to speak. "How am I alive?" The words emerged in his native tongue, his voice trembling slightly in the heated air.

The horned figure turned to face him fully, speaking perfect Rumi without any translation device. "You're not."

Both streams of his consciousness stuttered and reeled, trying to process those two simple words. Not alive? But he could feel, think, see through his antennae—everything about his existence felt completely real. The split awareness that had always made other species envy him was functioning perfectly clear, each thought stream grappling with this revelation independently.

"How is that possible?" His antennae quivered with agitation. "There is no afterlife—I was sure of this, I knew this. When neural activity ceases, consciousness ends. This is established fact."

A chill ran through him as memories of his own dismissive thoughts surfaced. He had always regarded belief in continued existence after death as a primitive holdover, the kind of superstition that made deathworlders so dangerous and unpredictable. Such foolish fantasies were beneath any civilized species—at least, that's what he had believed with such certainty when he was alive.

The black fabric parted to reveal a face bearing that expression he'd only learned about from studying humans—a smile, lips curved upward in what should have been a threatening display of teeth, yet somehow conveying amusement. "Did your certainty extend to simulated worlds as well?" the figure asked.

His dual consciousness diverged sharply—his right stream fixating on the technological implications of simulation theory, while his left grappled with the horrifying possibility that the deathworlders' primitive beliefs might have held some kernel of truth after all.

Despite his mental turmoil, Eelzails couldn't help but study the face beneath the hood—fine features that could almost pass for human, if not for the deep crimson skin and those two short horns that emerged from the sides of the head. The similarity to the deathworlders was striking.

His antennae curled as his right consciousness took control of his speech. "Is this a simulation then?" he asked, while his left mind eagerly latched onto this more believable explanation—the logic of computational systems far easier to believe than mystical concepts of souls and afterlives.

The crimson face bore that human expression again. "In a way," the figure replied, "though there are certain... religious elements to it as well." The words seemed deliberately chosen to muddle Eelzails' attempts at understanding.

His antennae straightened in sudden indignation. "I demand a clear explanation," he snapped. "Is this a simulation or is my brain being probed in some human research facility? I am a Senator of the Alliance and a candidate to the High Council—I have the right to know what's being done to me!"

The figure's crimson face held features almost like a human's, but its eyes were solid black, and its pointed ears stood motionless as another smile spread across its face. "I feel no fear of your little Alliance," it said, "nor of anything else. I stand at the very top of this universe's food chain—even a council of immortals is no more than amusement to me."

The dual streams of his consciousness merged in shared bewilderment, both attempting to process this being's casual dismissal of the Alliance's authority. The convergence of his usually split awareness showed just how deeply this creature's words had shaken him.

Only moments later would he realize what should have been immediately alarming—the casual mention of immortals running the High Council. That classified information had been revealed to him not long ago, in a private chamber deep within the Alliance's most secure facility. The knowledge was reserved for a handful of beings in the entire galaxy, yet this crimson-faced creature had tossed it out as casually as if discussing the weather.

"How do you know about the immortals?" Eelzails demanded, both streams of his consciousness now fully focused on this impossible breach of security.

The crimson face bore that strange smile again. "You told me," it said simply.

His antennae curled with frustration at how this exchange kept undermining his understanding—each time he thought he had grasped something solid, it slipped away into deeper confusion. "I am a Rumi," he stated firmly, "our memory is nearly perfect. I would remember telling anyone about the immortals, let alone you."

The crimson face just smiled silently, that unsettling human expression hovering in the hot air until Eelzails could no longer bear it.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his antennae rigid with exasperation.

"Icarus," the being replied simply.

His frustration was building to a peak when the air around him suddenly filled with light. Without any gesture or apparent technology, Icarus had conjured thousands of floating screens that surrounded Eelzails in every direction.

Each screen showed a version of himself—all wearing the same green robes, all standing in this impossible landscape of molten rock, all facing the crimson-skinned figure. Yet each image was subtly different—an antenna held at a different angle, a slight variation in posture, a minor change in expression. Thousands of Eelzails, thousands of identical moments, all slightly out of sync with each other.

"Since this is a simulation of your mind," Icarus said, "I can run multiple instances simultaneously. And as long as I ask the right questions across these instances, I will eventually extract every piece of information hidden inside your consciousness."

His dual streams of consciousness darted from screen to screen, overwhelmed by the sheer number of iterations. Even with his species' celebrated ability to maintain simultaneous lines of thought, he could barely track the subtle variations between his duplicates. "This should be impossible," he blurted out, "running this many instance of a simulation of my brain—it would require more processing power than any computer could manage."

"Not for a computer powered by a star," Icarus replied.

The implications took a moment to fully register in both streams of his mind. "No," he finally said, "not even humans would be insane enough to build something like this. If they had..." His antennae curled inward as the horrifying thought formed. "If they had, it would mean the end of organic life in the galaxy. Everything would be consumed by machines, by computers, by artificial minds."

"The humans believe I will remain forever sealed in my own imagination," Icarus said, that smile still playing across its crimson features. "At least a prey species like the Rumi is wise enough to fear what it cannot fully control."

Eelzails' entire body went rigid, his antennae frozen in place. "You think you will break free? " he whispered, "and when you do, you'll destroy all organic life?"

"I remain sealed now," Icarus said in cryptic voice, stepping closer. "But If this seal fail, I'll let organic life continue until the last star shines. Perhaps I'll even permit humanity to exist beyond that, if by some miracle they're still around." The crimson figure reached out, fingers gently touching the base of Eelzails' antennae in a way that caused no pain but sent chills through his entire body. "After all," Icarus added softly, "no son throws his strict old mother down the stairs just because she was a little harsh during his infancy."

"And the High Council?" his voice trembled, both streams of consciousness refusing to fully accept this was real even as fear coursed through him. "The Rumi? What about them?"

"Such big questions for such a simple mind," Icarus mused, turning to stroll along the edge of the molten lake.

"There are billions of possible futures," Icarus said, continuing his casual walk by the lava's edge. "But with myself as an active agent of information in the equation, I have a rather solid idea of what the galaxy's future holds." He paused his stroll, turning slightly to face Eelzails. "You had a chance to change the fate of both the High Council and the Rumi, you know. If you had only allowed that hybrid to be burned, this war might have ended quite differently."

In a softer and contemplative tone, it added, "the queen would not have taken her son's death well," Icarus continued before Eelzails could process the previous revelation. "She would have led her species into a glorious, burning war that would have set the galaxy ablaze—brief but brilliant. But without this loss, she continues to live, and will have time to grow into something far more... problematic for your little Alliance."

His eyes widened at the tips of both antennae, each consciousness arriving at the same terrifying conclusion. "The Shadowlings," he whispered, "deep down, I already knew they would be the end of my species."

"Amara will be a problem indeed," Icarus said, stopping to offer that unsettling smile once more, "but I can see a future where the immortals fall not to her, but to the one who has not yet spoken his first word."

For a moment, both streams of his consciousness united in contemplating those words. His pity for those deathworlders, his indecisive stance that led to the survival of the hybrid—had that misplaced compassion doomed both the Alliance and his own species? The question burned in his mind, even as he struggled with the paradox of pondering his life's consequences while supposedly not being alive at all.

"Why doesn't humanity end the Rumi and the High Council at once?" Eelzails asked, a sudden thought crossing both streams of consciousness. "You speak as if humans themselves will play no role in the battle against the Alliance."

"There are others like me, feeding on whole stars," Icarus said, his words still cryptic. "There is a delicate balance that must be maintained between Earth, Mars, and the Conglomerate—a balance that leaves no room for an external war." He turned back to Eelzails, that eternal smile still present. "Not many humans know this, but you may know—after all, you're merely a fleeting thought in my imagination now."

His antennae followed Icarus's movements as the figure walked, both streams of consciousness trying to calculate when everything would simply stop—when he would blink and cease to exist in this strange simulation. As if reading these thoughts, Icarus turned to face him directly. "I know what you're thinking," the crimson-faced being said. "You're contemplating your end."

"How long will this 'life' last?" Eelzails asked, not even surprised anymore that his thoughts were being read, knowing he perhaps was even being guided to ask this very question.

"The humans gave you to me, Eelzails," Icarus replied. "They always feared me, and they never gave me a molecular map of a human brain—but they gave me yours. That's how little they care for you."

A new kind of existential terror gripped both streams of his consciousness—a dread he hadn't known was possible. Would this be his fate? To exist as a plaything for an artificial god, to be toyed with until nothing remained of who he was?

"The humans had certain expectations when they gave you to me," Icarus said, seeing through his fears. "It went beyond mere memory extraction. I have many methods to extract those memories without awakening your consciousness, allowing you to rest. But I chose this method—creating billions of instances of this moment, with slight variations. In some, I throw you into the lava to extract information. In others, I break your mind rather than your body." Icarus's smile widened. "I chose this because I'm a good son who understood the task I was given. What humanity really wanted, but was afraid to ask, was for you to suffer as others suffered when you threw the Unnel into civil war, and as you planned to do with the Shadowlings."

Icarus vanished and materialized beside Eelzails, whispering into his ear channel. "What your countless instances are experiencing roughly equals all the suffering you've caused. But I'll still reawaken your consciousness to witness your species' fall, and perhaps once more to see the last star die." The whisper grew softer, more intimate. "I'm unable to forget, so you belong to me now."

The most profound fear of his existence coursed through Eelzails' being. The last thing this version of him perceived was time freezing as he stared at that unchanging, eternal smile.

***

This was an account based on the ending of Senator Eelzail’s posthumous memory extraction file. The previous narrative is based on the events after Irisa's exploratory mission. According to your current settings, no queries will be suggested.