[In the middle of a snowy forest, Warhammer sits beneath an Evergreen tree 
as midday approaches.]

WH:  Though not all matters are black and white as they seem to be, the 
choices we make are.


TWHammer presents

False Martyr

A side-story of Shara�s Last Gift.


Darkon hated his isolation, with a passion.  He was used to remaining inert 
for a long time when in hibernation or meditation, but due to the fact he 
was nothing more than a few body parts on biotechnological life-support and 
a consciousness without a body to use, he found movement to be rather hard.

Though he could easily blame Innsali for being the cause of losing most of 
his body, he could not.  He was her enemy and had been for a time longer 
than she ever knew.  He had betrayed everything that they fought together to 
establish for so long.  Worst of all, he had murdered their leader and his 
closest friend.

That blasted android always seemed to know Darkon better than he knew 
himself.  He often retorted by saying that Rolf had no soul, in spite of the 
fact his soul was indeed trapped inside a mechanical body, created to be the 
first in a long series of androids named �Wren� by his former masters.

Darkon chuckled at the irony of it all.  Rolf had been betrayed by the 
government he fought so hard for and though the old �droid did not harbor 
the same feelings of malice any Kharusian would have felt, the rest of the 
androids turned against their masters without any sort of meddling on his 
part.  Rolf had confided to him that the temptation to engage in open 
warfare was very strong, yet he never divulged the reason why he never did.

Now, Rolf had been betrayed once again.  This time by the one he trusted 
most.  Darkon had his reasons.  None of them would ever have understood.  
The strangest aspect being that Darkon had alluded his turn to the Lahdam 
beforehand, yet the old android did nothing.

Now, in the present, Darkon was simply awaiting the time for his new host to 
be ready for his insertion into the body.  From all the passengers of the 
Argos, this one was the best, physically, emotionally, and mentally.  It 
would also take some time for the body to become adjusted to the Kharusian 
physiology, but he knew time was on his side.  After all, it was his forces 
that were pounding the Earth based cities into the ground.  His forces 
indeed...

�Nothing more than a bunch of mindless, overgrown insects,� Darkon mumbled 
as he allowed his mind to expand momentarily and project his �self� onto an 
untouched section of the war torn planet.

There was snow everywhere.  Snow on the trees, rocks, wood, and ground.  
Every step his semi-transparent body took left no mark on the ground as he 
stepped to the edge of the forest.  Though he would have walked right 
through the branch, natural instinct bade him to walk under it and stare at 
the bleak and cloudy gray sky.

�Just like home,� he whispered.  It was indeed like the first home he could 
remember.  Lahuph was a small hamlet on the edge of a river in the western 
providence in the central continent Sentras of Kharuse Naws.  The village 
was very small, but not so small that so that maps did not take down its 
location.  It was also a place where travelers often stopped to rest and 
resupply before heading into the western part of the central continent where 
the Onoli city of Tsetiag was.

His �parents� were decent folk.  Not the brightest when it came to 
intellect, yet what they did know was he basic principles of being happy 
with each other and their children.  The strangest thing was, he was not one 
of their biological children.

His lot was one of the most unfortunate that any Kharusian could ever 
endure.  He was a �Yik-Zerif� or �The Zerif not of Zerif�.  The Zerif were 
only known as wild, nomadic, and as savage as animals.  This behavior, 
according to ancient scripture, was caused when sons of Zerif The Strong, 
assaulted and destroyed a temple of Iorouk, the Goddess of Darkness.  As 
part of retribution, Iorouk caught Zerif and his sons off guard and cursed 
them sorely.  For the remainder of their days, any Karci or Onoli 
unfortunate enough to have the bloodline of Zerif carried the horrid curse 
of Zerif�s Wail.  It was a curse that robbed the sanity and mind of anyone, 
regardless of mental or physical strength.

Yet, once every three years, a single child would be born into every tribe 
of theirs, which did not share the same curse as the Zerif people did.  
However, they were physically much weaker than all the others of their kind 
and were usually abandoned into the care of Karce that lived on the 
outskirts of towns and villages.  Strangely enough, whenever a Yik-Zerif was 
taken into the household, they were miraculously sheltered from the raids of 
marauding Zerif.

Though he was a Yik-Zerif, Galin found himself in good fortune when he had 
been deposited within the residence of his biological father.  When he was 
old enough to understand, he was surprised when he discovered that his 
Zerafi mother had kidnapped hid father, mated him against his will, and 
Galin was conceived.  Though his father was mournful of the circumstances, 
he didn�t treat Galin any less than a full-blooded son of his own line.

There was another memory this valley conveyed to him as he saw the smooth 
and untouched snow.

It was just her and him.  They stood in the snow at the edge of the land 
that was given to them and spoke of their future together.

Galin Phorinstu?  A farmer?  It sounded strange since he had spent a good 
amount of his time reading and had hoped to be a scholar.  Yet, there was an 
appeal to doing something that required physical effort to bring forth crops 
in the mountainous region they lived in.  Though he never lost his love for 
reading, he discovered the many hours of working in the field with her at 
his side were to be much more fulfilling.

Her virtues were the things that endeared her to him.  She was a woman of 
good humor and of unbreakable moral fiber.  A refreshing break from all the 
other wistful women that seemed so... common to him.  It was not that he 
didn�t like the ordinary; it was when the beauty in simplicity was found.  
Then the usual did not seem so common anymore.  She had been able to 
appreciate those sorts of things in their simple life.  Fundamentals broken 
down into complex sub-concepts, completely making sense to the principles 
that held society together, was a favorite subject of conversation for her.

Probably, the best thing they shared was each other�s presence in time of 
suffering as well of comfort.  It wasn�t perfect, but it was worth more than 
any sort of monetary gain he could ever hope to gain, for the gifts she gave 
him were without price.

Shaking his head, Darkon returned to the present to see that the clouds had 
darkened slightly and though nothing much surprised him anymore, what came 
floating from the sky got his full and undivided attention.

A single flake of snow descended slowly to the ground.

Without thinking and full of wonder, he reached forward and cupped his hands 
together, wanting to catch it in his hands.  Yes, it was a foolish child�s 
fable that whoever caught the first flake of snow in their hands they saw, 
good luck would be granted unto that child�s family for every good wish for 
another.

The flake fluttered slowly over his palms and seemed to resist wanting to 
enter into his hands.  Darkon chuckled lightly.  Every time he tried to 
catch the first snowflake, it would always try to evade his hands as it went 
to the ground.    When the flake entered the crevice of his hands, a genuine 
smile appeared.

However, the flake passed through his hands and journeyed to the ground 
where it became one with the snowy landscape.  The smile evaporated from his 
face and his hands fell slowly to his sides.  He had forgotten that in this 
condition, affecting tangible objects with only his projection at this 
distance was impossible.  More cruel truths returned to his memory as he 
returned his mind to the ship.

It also reminded him cruelly of the choices he had made ever since he had 
left Kharuse-Naws.  Those times could not be redeemed so easily.  The past 
was as it was, the past; meant to be learned from, but never forgotten.

All he wanted to have was a family, a home, and a peaceful life.  Yet, for 
whatever reason, Ioroush guided him through the life at present.  He did not 
curse Ioroush, yet he found it hard to be thankful for all the pain he had 
gone through.  Now, it didn�t matter anymore.  He was a murderer, traitor, 
and conspirator.

However, he had a feeling that in the end, all of this bloodshed would be 
all that would be needed to end all bloodshed.  He would be justified in the 
end.  Whether he would be alive or not to appreciate the end product was not 
important.

There was no turning back.

The End

[Warhammer remains underneath a tree as he sun sets into evening.]

WH:  Fun, huh?  I was first inspired by a simple piano song entitled 
�Beloved� a while ago and this story came to life, in a sense.  You see, the 
actually scene which was inspired by the music, was only mentioned briefly 
and now I feel it would be better to let that lie until the next story.

Next, I absolutely love what I�ve turned this mediocre villain from the tv 
series into a character that, in my opinion, outdoes himself.  Of course, 
this is just my ego-centric ego talking and for all I know, this could have 
been done billions of times and I�m just too ignorant to realize it.

I am also wondering if I went too overboard with all mentions of Darkon�s 
homeworld culture. I mean, it�s going to be necessary for future chapters of 
my stories, but I don�t want to feel like I�m flooding the reader with 
information that they could not care less about.  Any and all suggestions 
for the better is definitely appreciated.

Remember, Teknoman, Tekkaman Blade, and everything that has to do it with 
belongs to Saban and Tatsunoko Productions respectively.  I get no monetary 
gain whatsoever so don�t even think about suing me. :p

Now, I need to rest so I can get to work on the next chapter.

[Warhammer makes like Rip van Wrinkle and catches a few �z�s under the tree 
before all the snow on its branches falls off and covers him.]


"Behold! I am Omlette the Danish!"
-Hamlet, from the Hamlet segment(Act 2)of the Compleat Wrks of Shakespear 
Abridged
-Warhammer (ICQ: 135153237)
http://www.geocities.com/teknos.geo/

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