BRR, THING(S){;} STUFF STINGS

Miraculously, human world, (please do) meet the everlasting legacy of the one and only (former) Galacian Princess, Liana Rex (Knight), your blindingly fair, fairly godly, fairy godmother.

Keep in mind, additionally, that the words in this particular entry belong, in order of written contribution, to Thierry Tuck, Ernest Quinn, and Atlas Knight, based mostly on translations by EQ. The source of the material {no doubt} would be attributed to none other than LRK. Probably, Velda Rex, the emotionally conflicted queen herself, should earn some amount of credit, but we’ve no time to derail long enough to frame her uniquely influential context. Just as anything must weigh, it’ll have to wait.

Where one voice ends and another begins ultimately becomes a personalized concept; in other words, it’s a matter of taste. You’ll perceive this however best fits your current narrative. Go nuts.

Only onward may any of us march. Ever.

Planet Earth, Polar Regions, BC(E)

Magnus Rex took the throne of Galacia approximately 700,000 years prior to this entry’s timestamp.

Let’s talk and/or rehash lifespans. A galacian does well to survive 1,000 years while conscious. Isn’t this awfully hard to believe? Most of their time is spent in a type of suspended animation which slows the process of aging by 99%. Try as they might, reaching 100% remains just beyond their highly evolved grasp. For simplicity’s sake, consider {analogously} that King MR is about 70 years old.

Galacian Rulers are traditionally expected to produce as many heirs as possible. Math dictates that maximization of fertility is impossible if dutifully remaining reproductively faithful to the king/queen; therefore, in g/b culture, sexual monogamy is considered abnormal—though any queen’s king-bred kids typically experience, far and away, the most reverence in general.

The GE meddle not with natural selection. Strictly, they opt not to tamper with (in)fertility. No drugs, procedures, workarounds, shortcuts, tricks. Know all the crazy stuff humans do to force their bodies into a state which unnaturally receives pregnancy? G/B do none of that. Specimens passing on their individual genetic codes do so exclusively at nature’s behest.

Because Mama knows best.

The Galacian Ruler prior to Magnus was a female we like to call Anna. Originally clever, right? The prior King—we call him Alexander for some damn reason—must have sired at least 150 offspring by no less than 100 birth mothers. One of his offspring turned out to be Magnus Rex.

A prime example of coincidence, that.

Galacians don’t acknowledge the human concept of royalty. Among any species, certain bloodlines are stronger, sure; that’s science. Big deal. Magnus was chosen despite his lineage. MR set a new standard for balanced excellence in the realms of mental and physical capabilities. Not by a hair, either. No, Magnus put the bar out of reach. His overall superiority couldn’t be challenged. The kingdom (he still leads today) was/has been duly earned.

Magnus chose Velda to be Queen. Before she accepted the proposed union, she required that he agree to a few conditions, chiefly among them being that she would bear his first three direct descendants, a procreation project that could easily take up to thirty years to complete. Obviously, her groundbreaking stipulation would detract from his ultimate potential output. Too, ever the competitor, MR meant to break his male predecessor’s record. Mentally, therefore, acceptance of “his bride’s” terms would make no amount of logical sense; nonetheless, he bent to her will, assumedly because of an (emotional) attraction to his mate that he dare{d} not attempt to explain.

With no trouble, during their inaugural mating session, the pair conceived Severus, their firstborn, the first/former Prince of current Galacia. Velda allowed her body to recover half a decade before acquiescing to conception (easily) again. For real, by this time, Magnus had attempted to impregnate a female only twice and succeeded on both occasions. No reason to believe this fuck-beast isn’t an unparalleled reproductive machine. Their previously established cadence guided the third attempt at conception. But. This time, it didn’t work. In other words, the third time did not charm.

Uh oh.

For weeks, despite physical persistence, DNA refused to recombine. Months. A year, perhaps. Scientists were brought in to investigate the pattern of failure. Tests were administered. Quickly it was discovered, in an utter shock heard round their icy world, that King Magnus was sterile.

Imaginary Headline:

NOOOOOOOO!

Politically, this blemish worked in King MR’s favor; his approval ratings skyrocketed. The best (male) among them had a glaring flaw. It made him relatable.

Interruption: I’m strangely okay with calling my grandpa a “he,” but Severus will always be an “it.”

Still, Magnus must’ve been quietly devastated. He spent some time hibernating before reanimating a couple decades before his only male offspring reached the waking age most associated with physical prime [240]. Magnus rose determined and ready to transform his one (male) heir into the most impressive physical specimen amongst their talented ranks. Almost daily, intense training unfolded, equal parts physical and mental. Severus blossomed under its father’s direct tutelage, becoming all it could’ve been.

Meanwhile, Liana received similar education, instruction, and practice, but she logged far less of it, and nearly none was overseen by her father.

Magnus
Primary focus: molding Severus
Secondary objective: Kingly duties

Over time, and with much less experience, the {19-years} younger Liana began to gain significant ground on her older sibling, Severus. Magnus did not notice. Tunnel vision had taken hold. All eggs had been placed inside his one and only cock-wielding descendant’s flimsy basket.

Then one day a disagreement went sideways in a public place. Onlookers gathered as it ramped up before climaxing in brutally full-fledged hand-to-hand combat.

Magnus caught wind of the altercation in time hurry to the scene and observe the last half of the bout. He could’ve intervened. He did not, though. No doubt, he was too dumbfounded watching his daughter manhandle his son. This is when he realized that the runt of his would-be litter had been born first, and that his lone female offspring could become the most impressive specimen in galacian history.

Swiftly responding to this revelation, Magnus refocused his attention and, in so doing, dare we say, sidestepped a muted version of clinical depression.

[Making a longer story shorter here, by the way.]

Out of the blue, roles reversed. A single incident flipped polarity. Severus became the outcast; Liana emerged as TEoG’s prized protégé. From then on, resources were poured into her, and Sev got (some of) the leftovers. Velda did her best to comfort her eldest, but it was already broken, devastated, seething. Plus, Liana was never comfortable with the sudden shift, and her level of discomfort increased over time.

As a long-ass tale ever-shortens {for now}, by the early thirteenth century, many galacians had been exhibiting unsavory emotional instability/range, and Severus became the ring-leading, angsty posterboy. The powers-that-be/-were [The G8] met and elected to imprison the (mostly young) troublemakers in ultra fancy cryogenic 99%-suspended animation facilities newly built and designed solely for incarceration. For well over a century, their freedom was deprived. For the captive, it must have been like a nice, long nap.

In December of 1338 [or thereabouts], a major prison break occurred. Not just a few inmates. The whole facility. Pretty much everybody got out. This is definitely another story, and a big one at that. The details are infinitely complex. [Probably needs its own series (for streaming).]

Once sprung [details surrounding the conspirators have been withheld until safe to divulge], Severus led the charge away from Galacia. Almost all of them escaped entirely. Roughly 35 million galacian prisoners [emotional mutants] ran free, grouped up, and fanned out. A couple/few million were hunted down and eliminated. The rest got away unscathed.

All these many, many years later, belanockian population numbers have unequivocally eclipsed the seventy-million mark and could very well now push 80,000,000 [eighty million {if that helps}]. I guess you could say, “They’ve done okay.”

Galacia’s population now sits in the sprawling neighborhood of 600,000,000, or so it is thought. Perhaps upwards of 100 million more than that—hard to say, really. Even compared to the ludicrous quantity of human beings stumbling about all over the earth, it’s still a lot, and they’re working on strengthening their numbers, most assuredly.

Luckily, g/b {even combined} cannot hold a candle to humanity’s ridiculous population of 7.7 billion and counting. Our mortal enemies are superior to us in virtually every single facet of sentient existence, but they will never be able to overtake our two main strengths: sheer numbers and emotional depth. There are way more of us, and we are far more creative, a paramount combo which gives us enough “firepower” to win this thing; of that, I am certain.

Human, you need not become a food source. There’s a way outta this. We can do it. Together, we can win.

So, so, so many more stories long for a telling. Barely have we scratched the oh-so thick surface. However, time is of the utmost essence. Plow ahead, we must.

Encountered enough lengthy stories shortened yet? No? Okay, here’s one more. In 1581, after years of courageous planning, Liana [who looked zero days over nineteen] took a monstrous leap of faith, vanishing from the only home she’d ever known, defecting from The Empire of Galacia, earning a label akin to that of a fugitive. At first—and undoubtedly thanks to Velda’s empathetically minded {and appropriately manipulative} emphatic guidance—Magnus gave his estranged daughter some time to return on her own accord. We’ll say 40 years went by before The King’s patience wore too thin to remain sitting on his giant hands. Search parties were deployed with the assignment of capturing their once revered Princess and bringing her back. That didn’t work out so well. While not often discovered, armed with her trusty pollaxe/poleax{e} [Anomaly], she capably dispatched any who succeeded in finding her. Even gained a few {female} allies in fellow defectors. The volatile situation escalated continually. Eventually [around 1750] the mission’s capture status was discarded in favor of a “bring me her head” approach. Over the course of her 3+ centuries as a hunted exile, Liana kept count of her kindred who gave her no choice but to slay: 101.

Let’s reset the old stage.

Northern Idaho, February, 1916

Lightly clothed in dark garb against a glowing wintry backdrop, a tall, slender female figure ambles into the woods at night, her warm breath visible clearly in the crisp, moonlit air. Nearby, a river [Kootenay] audibly flows, dampening the sounds of whatever’s left (at this time of year) in terms of local fauna. Here, now, the terrain provides daily challenges. Making a living around these parts? Not a job for the faint of heart.

Not many people could thrive upon this land. That’s why it’s easy for Liana. That’s why she decided to hang her hat here temporarily.

One word to describe this female creature being: radiant.

[She’s still a female creature. You get that, right {despite the strikethroughs}?]

Also, very notably, she’s visibly pregnant, but just barely.

Spirit Lake

Of course she was attracted to this quietly loud landscape; it suited her essence quite well. Furthermore, she later mentioned to Eve Lynne that an eerie, brooding energy drew her here. It kinda spooked her. She had to know. Needed to feel it.

Nobody is claiming that LRK detected volcanic friction swelling deep beneath the earth’s surface over six decades prior to the fated eruption—also not saying she didn’t. The fact is: she wasn’t sure what she felt, thus neither can be we. She reserved her otherworldly communication for otherwise unknowable intel [spy shit] and global subjects that showcased her thoroughly confident understanding of our place within the universe.

Vaguely put, Liana finds herself busy living alone.

Reordered: busy living alone, Liana finds herself.

See how this works?. Already. Please.

After centuries of sexual repression, now she mates instinctively and enjoys newly unlocked carnal sensations, sometimes selecting partners of the human variety while, on other occasions, cherry-picking belanockian victims. Her kills are never not instinctual. She always respects the hefty cost [bodily expiration] paid by her food sources.

You better believe she will destroy any belanoc invited to penetrate her boundaries. “No witnesses.” A handful of humans were exempted from death by brain trauma. Reasons vary. She could tell which ones were trustworthy. There’s an unverified fable that, this one time, she let a male galacian go free post-fornication. Who knows??

Do not judge Li Rex poorly. Her iron-willed presence fell has fallen nothing short of angelic. Once she became pregnant with humanity’s messianic fuckhead [between us, that’s a term of endearment], all bets were off; she had been turned on. “Mama Mode” activated. There was no way she wouldn’t properly cook the demanding bun in her oven.

Reader, you must understand: LRK would have died [been murdered] were it not for carefully calculated consumption of human brains. Never did she overindulge—no—far too smart for such self-defeating malfeasance. Don’t insult me/yourself. In order to survive, she required the best possible source of calories because, without fail, she was recognized on site by The Belanoc and, on occasion, by galacian scouts/trackers, and invariably attacked sans hesitation.

Once LRK defected from TEoG, she was the prize, an ultimate conquest, a path to glory.

But at least she let emotion filter into her selective criteria for sourcing energy. For now, let’s just say that she fed on “bad guys” exclusively, okay? Put another way, if a brain didn’t exhibit obvious signs of (mental) rot, she didn’t eat it, and if a man didn’t display clear attributes of physical prowess, she didn’t let him ejaculate while inside her.

I wonder if you find it weird for me to talk about her like this.

My “mom.”

Anyway, here she is, an alienated nomad, panning for gold not because she wants money, but because she needs entertainment and derives value by/from overcoming tough odds.

Time tends to do this annoying thing where it elapses foreseeably.

As predicted, Severus finds Liana. She knew it had been hot on her trail for months. Not only that, it was able to sneak up on her. And, upon detection of its presence, though she could not see her brother’s cohorts, she knew that she was fully flanked. No way to (physically) fight her way outta this mess.

Okay, then. All in. Let’s get mental.

The following exchange represents a very recently mutated translation from long ago, during which they must’ve spoken at least four languages [possibly {up to} nine].

While panning still, and without lifting her head or diverting her eyes from the task at hand, Liana announces, “I’ve been expecting you.”

In response to the lack of a (verbal) response, she stands, tiny gold nugget in hand, turns with a fond gaze, faces her one and only genetic clone. Though relatively nearby, Anomaly is not within her immediate reach.

Severus looks disgusted, bloodthirsty, sad, uncomfortable, rough.

Keep in mind: this is their first encounter (in the flesh) in a few centuries shy of a millennium. Severus still knows who’s boss; that’s why he [oops!] it brought plenty of reinforcements [4-6 well-trained bodies].

Kindly, Liana begins her explanation. “Pause. It’s not what it looks like.”

“It never is. Explain. Quickly.”

“I had reason to believe that a human had impregnated me, so I turned to them.” It’s fun to imagine Sevy dry-heaving right about here. “For this, I take no pride. I’m mortified. And I am sorry. However, with their aid, I discovered that I am not carrying an abomination.”

“What aid?”

“They are more technologically advanced they we realized. Much is kept secret. Humans are greedy.”

“Do not attempt to toy with me. I don’t like toys. I break them on purpose.”

She approaches her long-lost sole sibling, staring holes through his soulless eyes. “The children I carry are pure, brother. I am not hiding from you or any of my kindred. I am hiding from them.”

That must’ve ensnared his its full attention. “Children,” Severus echoes skeptically.

Had to have been a dramatic pause here. This moment represented life or death in an untold number of ways. She was emotional. Must’ve felt nervous if not nauseous. One incredibly specific, brief exchange between estranged immediate family members would prove pivotal in shaping humanity’s ultimate history.

“Twins?” Severus guesses incredulously, patience thinning.

Liana shakes her head. No.

“Triplets?” Bet it almost laughed.

She holds fast. Raises her right hand. Five fingers meaning: quintuplets.

Wish I could go back in time to see his face.

On her part, this was a brilliantly manipulative mindfuck as well as a semi lucky guess, a dice-roll for the ages. It’s largely why ARK still lives; by now, I’m fully convinced that they’d have killed LRK on the spot if she had claimed to carry quadruplets or sextuplets. She picked exactly the right number to plant the seed of doubt and inspire curiosity.

This is when she realized she would need help. Enter desperation. Enter the relatively recently formed Belanoc Studies and Surveillance Institute. Enter Bessi.

After secretly hiding in Switzerland for a spell [her second stint there], LRK returned to the States at the end of 1917. Another yarn worth a spin? It’s almost as if she deserves her own serial treatment.

One day, I hope she gets it.

But right now, we gotta keep moving.

Outskirts of Chicago, late 1918

Industrial revolution swings fully. Scientific edges have been breached. The light bulb patently rides the coattails of its rocky invention—but now we can see at night! Civilization explodes, rapidly losing control of its outrageous expansion.

Three years after Einstein solidified his Theory of Relativity. Over a century ago. Can you imagine that? That’s where we are.

My, my, how times have changed.
How time changes.

At the moment, Liana resides close to the Windy City very near Lake Michigan. Elvyn has caught wind of the rumor {from her perspective}; therefore, she seeks to find her. In strategic turn, Liana wants to be found, and she remains one step ahead because she’s come equipped with a matchlessly profound grasp of her immediate surroundings atop a prodigious aptitude for pattern recognition.

It’s all very intentional.

Flanked by a troop of six “men,” Eve Lynne Quinn leads the way across the soon-to-be “streets” of a blossoming metropolitan hub. Tonight, the front end of a blizzard descends; virtually no one else is out and about. Not at this hour—it’s way too wee and far too cold.

EQ [aka “Elvyn”] has brought a team here in search of epic loot in the physical form embodied by the emotionally minded prophet known as Liana Rex. Unless faced with no survivable choice, Bessi would not kill her before extracting all her juicy bits of insider info. Converging upon her presumed location with brisk intensity, they (think they) know where she is.

So intent are they [“The Bessi Squad”] on their directional path that LRK goes unnoticed until she surprises them by standing perfectly still around a corner, halfway smirking, waiting for their arrival, on the other side of a six-foot wooden fence that could use repairs desperately.

The colorful notion of an ALERT viralizes.

All tracks (in progress) freeze. Male soldiers brace for fatally imminent combat. Liana maintains her position of odd stillness and unnerving calmness.

At the same time, EQ balances LRK’s energy by halting, self-rooting, and firmly establishing eye contact. Meanwhile, per their training, her party members execute tactically driven dispersal. Occupying the rank of second in command, Conrad drifts but remains near his mother, her protection having emerged as his primary concern.

Dual contact of feminine sightlines linger as a curiously familiar, mutual understanding becomes evident between the two dominant forces in this encounter. Via hand signals, El calls off her dogs once she realizes that she and Li should engage in a dialogue (which must’ve gone something like whatever follows).

Off agreeable body cues, Liana mobilizes at an artificially leisurely pace along the fence(line); Elvyn falls in line harmoniously. Having exchanged no words, already, these two are on the same page.

So far, that is.

Liana hugs the fence while Elvyn maintains a wide berth; as such, Elvyn can see Liana from about the shoulders up; half a foot taller, LRK can see precisely that much more of EQ. The point here is that El knows that Li is pregnant; she just hasn’t seen her belly yet. That part’s coming.

“You do not wish to see me dead,” assures the high-profile Galacian exile.

“How do you figure?”

“I carry one of yours.”

“Why would you bother saying that?”

“In this case, only because the surprising truth compels its own admittance.”

By the way, at the time, they were orally communicating through a fighting mix of Russian and Icelandic occasionally juxtaposed by the tongue you read currently; however, since (American) English is where the translation rings truest, here we are a century (or so) later.

Quick backstory: Elvyn caught a fleeting glimpse of Liana’s pregnant form near Milwaukee about a year prior. In and of itself, that’s another tale that’ll surely be told someday by anybody, possibly even “once upon a time…”

The point is that EQ, gifted mathematician that she is, has a rather clear idea in her head about how pregnant LRK should look now.

The armed troop surround their prey slowly, safely, hearts racing, hands on hilts and grips, as Liana and Elvyn’s conversational stroll approaches its conclusion, the point where there will be no more fence between them, 25 feet away.

“I’m unarmed,” Liana surrenders. [She wasn’t fibbing; she left Anomaly back at her temporary shelter.]

“You’ll have to forgive us for being armed to the teeth.”

Liana understands, smiles, nods with subtle confirmation. “Of course.” Calm, cool, collected, and confusing. Elvyn later stated that the bulk of their dialogue occurred via eye contact.

“I’m on your team, as you’ll see in mere moments.”

“Continue.”

“Until the end of this statement, you did not know that I let you catch a glimpse of me in Milwaukee.”

Elvyn’s face reveals nothing. But it’s true that previously she thought Liana hadn’t detected her spying presence.

Only a few steps from the barrier’s end—that is to say, the spot where each will catch a full-body glimpse of the other.

Elvyn’s hands tightly grip the battle-tested hilts on her epic pair of homemade, modified gladii* (named Apogee & Perigee). EQ’s a dual-wielding extraordinaire not too far removed from her physical prime.

*plural form of gladius, the primary (short) sword of Ancient Roman foot soldiers

Even having said that, and even considering Conrad, an up-close-and-personal combative beast in his own right, even an unarmed Liana could dispatch all six aggressors 99 times out of 100 and incur nary a scratch. She’s like Wonder Woman, only she exists within the realm of physical possibility.

Do you grasp the gravity of that? In the Empire of Galacia, less than 100 male warriors could best her in physical combat; likewise, less than 100 scientists could eclipse her brain’s potential. Liana Rex Knight: Galacia’s greatest resource. Lost.

No wonder two unnamed Bessi agents have pissed their pants by now. (No, really.)

Three more steps will reveal all there is to know. This is where the fencing ends. Liana emerges first, revealing her full body to Elvyn, who observes, for the first time, just how pregnant her target now appears. At this point, too, EQ’s well-trained subordinates encroach on the{ir} objective, off which the Bosslady commands with forceful vigor, “Anyone who lays so much as a harmful eye on her will be cut in half twice.”

Once can be never enough.
Oh, my, how I’ve taken that guideline to heart.

As do her soldiers in this case as they transform suddenly into uncertain statues.

At this moment, their strong bond seals itself. Based on Elvyn’s keen recollection of just how pregnant Liana looked the year prior {back in Wisconsin}, if she had been impregnated by a g/b, her baby bump would’ve been significantly less bumpy. Her budding spud must have been co-made by a human {or only maybe a fourther [unlikely]}. Regardless, Liana clarified for her new{found} friend, “Human. I’m sure.” And by then, Elvyn had no reason to support disbelief.

Sheathing her own swords, EQ instructs, “Lower your weapons. At ease. We’ve made an ally.”

Later, Liana admitted to be wholly impressed by Elvyn’s instincts.

Illegally Secret Tavern, February 5, 1920

Prohibition has been in miserable effect for less than three weeks—too long already. People were prepared. Everybody’s still pissed [double-meaning]!

We’re en route to a joint that isn’t simply a “hole-in-the-wall”; no, this dive is hidden beyond a wall’s hole under a hole’s wall. And then a couple other layers nobody can seem to recall. This establishment is buried. But then you gotta take a hundred-yard tunnel to reach the entrance of the watering hole. Worth the trouble, as legend would have it.

With mind-numbing ease, the journey was made. The pot of gold at the rainbow’s end: a busy bar, a hideaway, a sanctuary. Festive, boisterous, wall-to-wall drunks. Celebratory atmosphere. Maybe they’re all just happy to be alive, free, and (getting) hammered.

In the back corner, Liana sits in the one spot that offers a dose of shadowy concealment. Next to her, Elvyn. Next to EQ, Conrad. Next to (I)CQ, a couple nameless agents. A planned course (of multiple actions) is being devised.

Liana relinquishes a stack of journals (to Elvyn, specifically). Loaded with insider information and chock-full of scientific breakthroughs, it would amount to the most useful collection of intelligent information Bessi would ever receive. Based on her words, Elvyn wrote her (now apparently) soon-to-be famous textbook, The Weight of Untapped Potential: An Abbreviated History of Actual Civilization on Planet Earth. Based on that, and following several decades of varietous life experiences, Atlas penned A Book of Text, which is currently being rewritten/translated by Thierry Tuck. I’ve read the second draft and fuck his big tight ass—he’s too smart for you people. I dare any among your ranks to get it truly. Have I given myself away? [Queerly, I dunno whether he’ll release ABoT prior to The Existence of Anything.] Guessing is can be hard. [Obviously, this block belongs to me, EQ2! SUCK IT.]

Old Mission [a Michigan Township], July 02, 1920

Whether globally fundamental or universally local [reverse adverbial parts of speech at your behest], strong positioning can amount to tactical superiority so long as an excellent strategy unfolds reliably.

Situated near the west end of a glacially carved peninsula surrounded by fresh water, this pristine place represents a pure portrait of utter loveliness. Feels like wine country. Easy to see why Liana selected it—to reside deep in the woods beyond hugely difficult terrain. She’s tucked away, not to mention hidden as well as she could be (outside of moving to, say, Greenland).

Four escape-capable hydro-crafts [2×2] have been stashed evenly on each side of the peninsula, meaning that if Liana must flee suddenly, she need only pick a cardinal direction, tilt 45 degrees either way, and then run like the stiffest of winds. The peninsula itself spans only about 3 miles in width, and she has situated her home/base smack-dab in the middle of the landmass, so, at her top running speed, albeit nearing the end of her pregnancy, she could reach the two southernmost vessels within 3 minutes and the northerly others in under 7. Fun fact: her personal best time in a 5k run sprint has been repeatedly reported to be less than 5 minutes by a few long strides. Sounds absurd, no? Anyhow, she’s a little slow right now because the season isn’t remotely like any imagination of a winter wonderland; it’s the opposite: summer hell. And she’s pregnant with a very heavy baby.

Should the need arise, Li Rex has fully prepared herself to abandon meticulously designed plans at a moment’s notice.

That’s not exactly what happens, though. No, your savior gets himself born inside the structure his mother built specifically with insurmountable childbirth in mind. If you didn’t already possess that knowledge, then it’s not because you couldn’t have known; quite rather, it’s because you didn’t know.

Friendly reminder: at this point, everybody assumes that she must be carrying a female (in her womb) because, per historically uniform documentation, successful fertilizations of this highly particular hybrid—i.e. any offspring {procreated by a male human and female g/b} which grows a penis—all resulted in the mother’s death well in advance of the due date. It’s just too much. Males suck, apparently.

But by now Liana has blown past that milestone. If her child were a boy, then she’d have surely died a year ago (at least); therefore, she must be readying herself to birth a female, a luminoc, a valuable asset (potentially) to humanity.

Crossbreeding
male g/b, female human: no chance of survival by the mother, let alone her offspring
female g/b, male human:
– XX: 50% chance of carrying to term, 33% chance of successful delivery, 80% chance of survival (by both {mother and child})
– XY: mother dies prior to last trimester and the baby half-boy sinks with the ship

To date—as well as to the best of our collectively expansive knowledge—no other luminates [besides ARK] have been birthed.

Amid a dip in densely jagged topography considered (by maps to be) impassable, my biological mother has erected a structure, a homestead, a life. She gave it a name; a Native American word meaning something like “tumbling water.” She built all this from ground up.

As basically as possible, she lives. Her lone goal equates with fruiting (a) new life. Me. “The chosen one.” Ew, gross.

Too, she’s about to pop.

And, I’m ready to go.

Yeah, the last four hard returns {along with this one} contain my words, and mine alone.
This story reeks especially of hardship for me.
What I wouldn’t give to be able to meet LRK in the flesh.
I want to make her proud; regrettably, she’s dead.
Say hello to a recipe for emotional turmoil.

Here in time, complications could not will never avoid development.

The Cabin: “Amkalli”

In a wildly remote area roughly a long boat-ride [4-6 hours {depending on all kinds of stuff}] from the Canadian border, LRK, in no more than a few days alone, erected her highly temporary shelter, her basic house of child-bearing passage. She lived the simplest portion of her life here for the last 240 days of her 42{?}-month pregnancy.

Anybody unfortunate enough to stumble upon this place was immediately marked for untimely demise as a likely gabbing grabber of unwanted, possibly deadly attention, thus garnering unavoidable consideration as a karmically assigned source of calories. One of Li’s many mantras: maximize minimization. She wept about certain kills, namely the ones who didn’t deserve it above others of human ilk. A chance could never be justifiably taken. She really respected every life she took. The animal growing inside her exhibited a fierce hunger. Her stealthy placement was integral in the miraculous success of her unlikely child’s birth.

Sorry. You’re welcome!

Structurally as well as functionally, Amkalli exemplified a mindset touting bare necessities. Two rooms and a basement. Since nothing further was required, that is all Liana constructed. Conceptualization at its simple finest.

Tucked away in the thicket, off the beaten path, this soon-to-be “shanty” had become “one with the woods” before she ever laid the foundation. The dwelling itself? Not much. It’s only just enough. In other words, {and especially given the situation} it’s ideal. LRK knew how to succeed.

Princess Rex’s decisions never fell short of thoughtfully purposeful. Her cabin didn’t look like much because it wasn’t supposed to look like much.

What are you envisioning? The shelter itself benefited from suitable camouflage by tall trees and ample greenery among immediately wooded surroundings.

Today’s the day, though. This is it. This is where she passes the baton and it becomes history his story. On this day, Atlas will break on through to the other side and finally feel actual gravity. He’ll never be the same.

Despite your shoddy remembrance, you must know the feeling, too.

In a serendipitous development, a thunderstorm forecasts its imminent intentions to roll in and get rowdy, which serves as a welcome layer of additional insulation because none have reason to believe this won’t get noisy. You’ve never heard a g/b scream, have you? To call it “loud” means to undersell its ear-piercing power. A nigh crippling offensive tool, hyperbolically, the mechanical waves in question could collapse the physical structure of a dog whistle. G/B have been known to use their vocal range to turn the tide in a losing battle.

Galacia never lost a battle, but they will lose this war. Optimism!

Back to Amkalli. The cabin. Liana named it. Don’t ask why. Visualize it (again). What do you see now? How does it compare to what you saw previously?

Imagine a few horses tied up outside taking care of horsey business while seeming oddly on edge. The sky darkens rapidly, the hour having recently eclipsed the 19:00 mark. A muffled scream permeates the summer air. Decidedly, the horses are not fans of g/b labor-induced screaming. Another scream rattles the forest that encapsulates our location. Agony emanates from the shelter’s bowels.

Inside & Underground

If Liana did not interact with a material possession daily, then she didn’t keep it. Absurdly resourceful, this sentient being. Her place has been minimalistically furnished to a degree of efficient extremity too hard (for most) to fathom. Dust was not allowed to gather within the walls of this modest domicile.

Let’s venture downstairs because that’s where the momentous occasion shall occur.

In the cramped basement, a trio of oil lamps emit a soft orange glow in an otherwise shadow-infested, crude excuse [by “civilized” standards] for a habitable room. The floor isn’t merely dirty; it is dirt. Guess that makes it the “ground.”

On site: Liana {25 hours into a grueling labor [red-faced and sweating profusely]}, Elvyn {coaching}, Conrad {delivering}, and a stressed midwife of sorts—a humanoc [less than one-fourth]—fills a busily supportive, versatile role.

By the by, a month prior, Conrad earned credentials as a medical doctor from a prestigious university. Fun fact? That’s another story, too, probably. Ugh!

Time sucks!

Anyway. Here’s Liana, a living princess. Naked. Laboring. Drenched. Exposed. Vulnerable. Hard to imagine a childbirth more taxing than this one. For now, let’s make a long story short(er), shall we?

“Reminder”: she squeezed out a new life-form at a time before sex/gender could be detected via ultrasound, but they all “knew” she would be delivering a girl because no other instances of a successfully birthed male had been suspected, let alone documented. Didn’t even have a term for it/me [would ultimately come to be known as a “luminate” {whereas, females are “luminoc”}].

Liana had already chosen a first name for her baby girl, her exceptional luminoc, her pride and joy: Celerity. One day, I (might) hope to assign this name elsewhere, perhaps to one of my own.

Sure, yeah, despite inconsistent justification, sometimes you know when the authorial voice belongs to me.

Thunder booms and lightning crackles as Liana musters her remaining energy reserves to execute a final push, the one that would cost her the physical body she had always occupied, the selfless effort that springs her vastly important offspring free. Her screams might’ve been heard all the way in Canada if not for the unseasonably convenient, atrocious weather.

Finally, she managed to deliver. Proudly, even post-birth, Elvyn devotes her own attention to her new bestie, keeping Liana’s worn-out face as coolly wet as possible with a damp soaking wet cloth.

Imagine Conrad’s {and the midwife’s} surprise upon observing a penis. Can you? Wacky!

I know: it’s hard.

The hybrid/infant cried for five seconds before going silent and becoming almost unnervingly alert. The midwife claimed that the newborn locked eyes with her and squinted inquisitively, and she took this claim to her grave.

Though he always denied it, the moment he realized he held a boy in his arms, tears welled up in Conrad’s eyes.

This was not supposed to be possible.

Then…{sh}it happened.

Finally, still comforting Liana, Elvyn detects the strange silence in the room and shifts her body and focus in order to have a look-see at the product of the fruitful endeavor now under their collective belt.

According to Conrad, upon zeroing in on Li’s costly organic gift, his mum said nothing. At that point, what could have been said? Mouth halfway agape, Eve Lynne Quinn stares at a miracle. In her eyes, tears may have formed, but they did not fall.

For the first time ever, in the Summer of 1920, a non-female freak of nature {carrying the DNA of a human male} survived the birth canal of a galacian female.

This was—and still is—huge news.

Previously, only female offspring had made it out of the womb alive, and most of them died (along with their mothers) a year or more prior to the onset of labor.

Ish.

Before the precise midpoint of the leap year dated 1920, the existence of a luminate was assumed to be as impossible as (physically) traveling at lightspeed and/or back in time.

Elvyn takes the newborn half-boy from her own son and hands him over to his grateful mother, a mighty princess who barely clings to life in a mighty struggle. Even so, nothing but happiness exudes from her being. She glows. She did it. What a triumph of spirit. She has accomplished an “impossible” feat. She allows tears to flow. Finding Evelyn’s eyes, she echoes the room’s elephant in whimsically elated disbelief, “Is he really not a female?” Joyously exhausted laughter spreads all around.

Also captivated by the magical gravity of the event, EQ can only shrug. Tears now flow freely down her cheeks.

All four of the (fully cognizant) sentient beings in the basement find themselves neck-deep in a noteworthy degree of awestruck. Disbelief takes hold as overwhelming relief inspires hopeful glee. This is a first. This is laughable. This is a big fucking deal. This changes the game.

The swath of passed currency we’ve been exploring will surely be fleshed out in the future [unless, in your individual timeline, it already has been]. Today, suffice it to say that birthing humankind’s savior killed (y)our guardian angel.

Can’t exactly “prove” the following assertion but everyone (“in the know”) seems to agree that no other body could have delivered him. His existence is a singular stroke of brilliant luck.

It took the best of them to produce the best of both worlds, humanity’s best hope: an emotionally crippled, obscenely bright, peerlessly powerful specimen of heretofore unseen physical prowess.

Liana Rex Knight. She wasn’t merely a princess. She was a goddess.

Time can be nothing if not costly.
Someone must carry the debt.
Somebody’s gotta pay a price.

Amkalli, 4 Days Later

(Educatedly guessing here.) Severus {along with his loyal sidekick, Vilfred [plus more of their pack, most assuredly]} discovers Liana’s handcrafted hidey-hole. What they find, however, does not represent what actually happened.

Comprehensively, the property has been torched. Sevy & Co. run into the ruins of a crude but functional cabin, freshly burnt to the ground, the fireplace alone remaining intact. By the looks of things, five thick, fence-post-length wooden stakes were driven deep into the ground, pointy end up. Upon them, five tiny g/b heads have been displayed and charred to a nearly unrecognizable, blackened crisp. Also scattered about the burnt premises, they surely noted dismembered female body parts that could only have belonged to their special kind{red}, Liana Rex. Severus did not recover his sister’s head. In other words, in the name of protection, Bessi made it look like an absolutely gruesome murder took place.

“Where did they get the five little heads?” you may wonder {among a host of other uncertainties} either silently or aloud. Well, hell. That, too, must be another story (or two). Once told, surely, it’ll be linked.

Time can be a tricky devil to manage.

In the wrongly rubbed view of Sevy, it’s not merely that “inferior” humans killed his only sibling, it’s more so that they executed the action without his approval, which he wouldn’t have given. Confusion reigns! Again, forget not: this male creature in particular amounts to an emotional trainwreck. Not entirely his fault. Born that way. Molded by ancient customs. Polarized by out-of-date mental constructs and social systems. An unintentional, environmental, unstable product.

Still, SR has to die by any means necessary. In exchange for his noggin, it’s hard to imagine a sacrifice too great.

Liana’s brave leap marks the event which stressfully strained relations [human v. g/b] until her faithfully harbored fruit [ARK] was uncovered {some 57 years later}.

Liana Rex Knight
My biologically magnificent mother. 99.5 years after her tragic death, I feel her presence more and more. Really, I do. Her legacy constitutes one of my three main propellers. I want her choice work to matter. More or less, she invented proper rebellion. She deserves postmortem recognition, and I intend to make it happen. That’s right; unless I die trying valiantly, I will do my part in shining a noisy spotlight upon her memory that reveals her as a figure leaps and bounds beyond the current concept of what it means to be “Christlike.”

“She it.”

Hold my mama’s beer, Jesus; after all, she already ate you for breakfast.

[What if we’re not kidding!?]

“What’s his name, Liana?” inquires Elvyn, just once, way back when.

Proudly with affection, Liana introduces her one and only son: “Meet our Atlas.”

A name for the ages assigned by the grace of a dying breath.

Pressure sure can pack a punch.

I do not want to be followed; meanwhile, alas, you need to follow me.

What a conundrum!

Oy vey.