As silent as an unspoken promise, the Doomseeker slipped into Snake Mountain and homed in on its creator, moving swiftly down stony corridors. It hugged the walls and evaded light sources, making its home in the shadows.
In a dark room, Tri-Klops was bent over a random gathering of circuits and wires. Sparks snapped and popped as he tinkered with the inner workings.
The Doomseeker hovered and waited for its existence to be acknowledged. After a few minutes, Tri-Klops tossed a tool down and took a breath.
“Report.”
The Doomseeker’s sleek green exterior seemed to throb once as a small projector appeared from within its twin pupils. A holographic projection blazed into life in front of Tri-Klops. He scrutinized the projection.
He clenched the muscles in his jaw. In the holorecording, a gray-haired, dark-skinned man bent and tossed a bundle of sticks onto a small fire. Unaware that his movements were being captured, the man seemed at peace. He wore a patch over one eye.
“Dekker,” Tri-Klops said.
Once, a long time ago, there was a fight, and Dekker lost an eye to someone he trusted. And he had soon repaid the man who took his eye by taking a pair.
Tri-Klops touched his Veyesor. “Coordinates.”
The Doomseeker linked itself to Tri-Klops’ Veyesor and provided him with the information he needed. Tri-Klops allowed a small smile to shift his lips.
“Got you, old man,” Tri-Klops said, and left his worktable behind. As a final courtesy to the floating Doomseeker, he said, “Your job is done.”
The faint glow behind the Doomseeker’s twin eyes extinguished. It promptly shut off and dropped to the floor, its circuitry fried by the preprogrammed phrase. Its job was truly done.
Within a minute a sleek, jet-black Wind Raider that Tri-Klops had once salvaged from a firefight was flying from Snake Mountain.
It was the thickest part of a slimy, moonless night. If not for the night-vision afforded to him by his wondrous Veyesor, Tri-Klops may have slammed into a tree or mountain, but he flew effortlessly and without incident. He had made several modifications on the Wind Raider over time. It moved soundlessly, gliding unnoticed through the sky. When he arrived at the coordinates, he cut the engines and glided until he was close enough to land.
Stealth was the key to winning a battle.
Dekker had taught him that.
He covered the remaining distance on foot until he found his destination. Dekker had built a small hut here on this nameless island. There was not a soul anywhere to be found. The old man had always favored his solitude, and it seemed as if he had found it.
Tri-Klops watched Dekker from a distance with his far-seeing vision. Surveillance of your enemy was the key to winning the battle.
Dekker had taught him that as well.
As he watched, the cold anger that burrowed in his gut rolled over and over. It had been a long time since he had been a student of the old man’s. Back then it had been just the three of them: Dekker, Duncan, and Tri-Klops — the master and the apprentices. He had been content to learn. And he had learned. But somewhere his own ambition became too great, and other opportunities had stepped forward.
There was a fight. Tri-Klops took Dekker’s eye. In turn, Dekker took his. Duncan — the favorite pupil — had taken the other one. But even though Duncan had held the blade, it was really Dekker who had struck through Duncan’s arm. Their twin retribution had left Tri-Klops helpless and weak until he built this Veyesor he wore that gave him greater sight than either of them.
Now he saw everything. With his Doomseekers the entirety of Eternia was visible to him. Nobody could hide from him.
Nobody.
He moved closer and stepped from the shadows. Though one-eyed, Dekker’s senses had not dulled. He turned to Tri-Klops immediately and he froze. The campfire burned between them, illuminating them with a cold yellow that the night seemed content to swallow.
“How long did you think you’d be able to hide?” Tri-Klops said.
Dekker was silent as he took the situation in, and then he shook his head. “Boy, if you think I was hiding from you, then you
didn’t learn a damned thing.”
“I owe you an eye,” Tri-Klops said, and pulled the sword from his back.
“You’ve got three. How many do you need?”
Tri-Klops moved a step forward.
Dekker spread his arms wide. “You going to kill an unarmed old man?”
“I’m going to put down a wild animal that should have died years ago. But I’ll be fair. Here.” He tossed his sword to the ground between them. It’s sharp tip sunk into the ground. “There. Equal chance. You get to it first, I’ll be the unarmed one. If I get to it first…”
Dekker snorted humorlessly. “Sounds like a fair fight.”
Neither moved. Tri-Klops watched his old teacher, watched the wrinkle of panic in his eyebrow, the dilation of his pupils, the way his fingers twitched. He watched.
Then Dekker moved for the sword.
Tri-Klops’ Veyesor spun. The red eye clicked into place, and a surge of energy burst from the black pupil.
He was walking to retrieve his sword before Dekker’s body hit the ground. He knocked the dirt from its tip and slid it back into its sheath on his back, and then nudged the old man with his foot.
“This was never a fair fight,” Tri-Klops said.
The Wind Raider was slicing the air back to Snake Mountain.
Something gnawed at him. His mind kept taking him back to when he was a student. Dekker’s lessons ripped through his mind. He couldn’t shake them. Lesson after lesson. But he kept coming back to one in particular: Paranoia was the greatest asset in a battle.
He banked the Wind Raider hard and returned to Dekker’s final resting place.
The campfire still burned, but Dekker’s body was gone. Beside the fire, there was a sheet of metal. Tri-Klops knelt down and examined it. There was a scorch mark on it.
He looked where Dekker’s body had fallen. There were markings in the dirt: words.
“NEXT TIME I FIND YOU FIRST,” the message read.
Tri-Klops dropped the sheet of metal. He kicked dirt over the fire and let the night reclaim the world.
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