The Martians

PERSEUS MANGAL-GRAH

Perseus stiffens, his muscles tensing as the voice materializes, its giggle child-like but with an undercurrent of malevolence that chills the air.

When the form fully takes shape before him, a shiver runs down his spine, the scene around them seeming to darken, the shadows growing deeper as if drawn to her presence.

She's a girl, no older than thirteen or fourteen, swathed in a gown of such deep black it seems to absorb even the darkness around her. Her eyes are voids, black pools that reflect nothing, set in a pale face that's almost ethereal in its starkness. Her hair, long and dark, falls to her shoulders, and from either side of her head, two horns protrude, giving her an otherworldly, demonic appearance.

As she giggles, the sound is like the tinkling of glass in an empty hall, cold and echoing, her hand covering her mouth in a gesture that's both playful and sinister.

Perseus's mind races, the air around him thick with the unsettling power she radiates. How could this child, with her youthful appearance, harbor such immense, power? The question echoes in his mind, as he watches her.

Perseus, both fearful of the girl and irritated by her incessant giggling, finally breaks the silence. "Who are you?" he demands, his voice a mix of authority and apprehension, "Are you one of the World Enders?"

The girl stops her giggling, tilting her head in a gesture that seems almost confused, then, the laughter returns, lighter, mocking. "No, silly," she chirps, speaking more to herself than to him, "But wouldn't that be something. Little Anastasia, a member of the high families - an almighty."

She turns her attention back to Perseus, her expression shifting to one of mock seriousness. "I'm merely a servant," she explains, "serving the esteemed..." She pauses, her dark eyes narrowing as she points at Perseus, "Wait.. Why am I talking to a dead man?"

Perseus's frown deepens, his face a mask of irritation mixed with a begrudging acknowledgment of her audacious confidence, which he fears is well-founded. Even with the torrent of power coursing through him, victory is uncertain. His life force ebbs away, and he senses the urgency to hurry, to extract any last scrap of knowledge before his time runs out.

"What do they want? Why do they go from planet to planet, ending species?" he demands, urgency lacing his words.

The girl's smile turns dark, her voice dropping to a chilling tone, "How should I know? I get orders, and I carry them out. Things like motivations or reasons are irrelevant to me."

Perseus muses silently, realizing the child is but a pawn, yet what he's learned might still be of use...

His thoughts are abruptly interrupted as the child's voice cuts through his contemplation.

Her face darkens, the playful facade slipping away to reveal an ominous seriousness.

Her voice, once light, now carries a weight of displeasure as she speaks, "The pocket dimension from which my pets spawn was a gift from my almighty lady, and your son closed it, put a lock on it. That wasn't very nice, you know?"

Perseus, seeking to unsettle her, taunts, "Why didn't you try to stop him then? Was it fear?"

She scoffs, waving him off with an air of nonchalance. "Give me a break," she retorts, her tone one of lazy indifference, "Hard work requires so much effort you know, and I'm fundamentally a lazy person. Your son was no threat to me, but it would take more than ten percent of my powers to beat him. That's too much work."

She goes on, her eyes narrowing with a mix of amusement and calculation, "Besides, I could sense his life force burning. It's always best to let things play out naturally."

10%? Perseus thinks, his mind reeling at the implications. How strong is this child?

He shakes his head as if to dispel the creeping dread. Then, he poses another question, his voice steady, "What are your orders?"

The girl's face lights up with a return to her playful demeanor, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ah, that's a question I can answer," she chimes, almost gleefully.

But then she pauses, her expression turning pensive, her finger tapping against her lips. "But should I?" she muses aloud, her voice a whisper of uncertainty, "I don't know if I'm allowed to say anything. I slacked off and didn't attend universal conquest classes. What to do, what to do?"

Then, as if struck by a sudden, brilliant idea, her face brightens, her eyes narrowing with a cunning glint. She claps her hands together and leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I'll tell you," She says, a smile playing on her lips that doesn't reach her cold, dark eyes, "since I'm going to kill you anyway."

Perseus feels his throat tighten, the weight of her words like a noose.

"You will try," he manages to say, attempting to infuse his words with cold defiance, but they come out weak, hollow.

The girl giggles, the sound both mocking and laden with promise of doom, before she begins to speak.

She speaks, her voice carrying a grave, almost scholarly tone, "The high families have designated some planets as defiant, those that house descendant species of the now extinct first men—the Homo sapiens. These species will never yield to anyone or anything, and so, the high families want them exterminated. They have no need for a universe with rebellious species."

She pauses, her eyes glinting with a dark pride, "And so, servants like myself are tasked with the great cleansing."

She waits for a response, her eyes boring into Perseus, seeking acknowledgment. But Perseus is silent, his mind frantically piecing together the tapestry of doom she's just woven, trying to comprehend the scale and the horror of what this means for not just Mars, but countless other worlds.

The girl pouts, her face showing exaggerated disappointment. "You could have at least answered," she chides him, her tone mockingly hurt, "That was a lot of work, you know?"

Ignoring her complaints, Perseus's voice carries a desperate edge as he inquires, "What about Earth? Has your great cleansing taken place there?"

The girl averts her gaze, her face momentarily betraying a flicker of something dark, as if she's guarding a terrible secret. "I don't want to talk about it," she murmurs, her voice suddenly guarded.

But then she turns back to face him, her voice dropping to a sinister whisper, "Is that where your family is headed?"

Perseus remains silent, his silence speaking volumes. She interprets his quiet as affirmation.

She shakes her head with exaggerated, almost theatrical vigor, her voice laced with a chilling mirth.

"No, no, no," she intones, her words a dark prophecy, "It's better for them to die here than go there. You're lucky I'll kill them after you. You should thank me for that, you know. I'm saving them from that godforsaken planet."

Perseus is consumed by confusion. Whatever the girl is hiding must be significant enough to unsettle her. The doubt gnaws at him, making him question the wisdom of sending his family to Earth.

Yet, the stark reality is clear—no future exists for them on Mars but death. He chooses to gamble on the unknown; whatever has happened on Earth, there's at least a sliver of hope there.

His gaze hardens as he focuses on the girl, his voice resolute, "I'll take my chance. You'll only get to my family over my dead body."

The girl's response is a nonchalant shrug, her voice flat, "Okay."

In that instant, Perseus channels the full, fiery force he has borrowed, his body igniting with a radiant, unstable energy. He feels his life force blazing, a supernova within, as he launches himself at her.