Introduction
“If Sendar stood a chance perhaps it would be thanks to the arbitrary twists and turns of a blind destiny. Or maybe someone would discover the truth about the ancient ways and compromise our peaceful existence forever. Either way, people needed a hero to shed new light on the age-old mysteries.
But heroes were scarce on a planet ruled by sex, its perception pervading every aspect of our lives, thus making Sendar unique in its kind. Better yet, the concept of using sex to curb violence had no equals in the universe, even if only as the result of an ambitious experiment.
So we sex up our lives without limitations of genders or numbers to spoil our pleasure for the more the better—men, women or both—and no questions asked. Those are our ways, which the phase teaches from early on, training us in the art of loving, the process then completed by the pledge.
The system works wonders for our well-being. Violent impulses, channeled through sex, magically disappear and we avoid all the usual conflicts plaguing humankind since the beginning of time. But today our precious way of life is at risk. I’ll try my best to thwart the danger by guiding Sendar’s new hero, or heroes as this case requires because one man alone won’t be able to stand the tide, yet even if he does, we can all just hope and pray to our gods the world as we know it won’t collapse on us…now or ever.”
Arthur Fairchild
Chapter One
First there was music. Sweet, mellow, smooth notes filling the vast emptiness lulled every other sound, drowning him in their velvety thickness, the melodies almost smothering, though new and different every time. Of course, he loved it. Or rather he had no other choice but to love it, even if he knew it was not his creation. Still, he prided himself on being the director of the exquisite tunes.
Then there were lights, thousand of colored flashes dispelling the darkness and connecting to each note, anticipating or delaying it according to the rhythm as shades continually varied in hues to adapt to a new melody. Again, not his handiwork, but he liked to watch the flickers matching the music, depicting the tune even before it became sound.
In time, he had learned to adjust to this foreign world, so different from his original one, although the lack of control grated on his nerves more than he cared to admit. And the nightmares…those he really could not stand.
When they began, he was not sure, though they closely followed the music and the lights to plague him with their horrible visions of violence, destructions, rapes, dismemberments, mutilations, tortures, murders, carnages, massacres. People always screamed in pain or terror, begging for mercy, before dying in atrocious sufferings. And even if the scenarios sometimes changed, the pitiful end never did.
He hated these unwanted invasions controlling his mind, the plunge into a bottomless black pit no amount of soothing music or colorful light could make tolerable. As before, he had no choice, powerless to stop the images however foul and terrifying.
He became afraid to close his eyes, terrorized by each visit, even trying to refrain from sleeping altogether, but there would come a time his eyes would close despite his conscious effort to keep them open to carry him into a journey of darkness, ugliness, despair, fear and dread.
There would be no getting used to the nightmares, though he could have endured them if fate had not decided otherwise. Or maybe he simply learned to seize control. Either way, he changed from the cowering, frightened spectator to become the maker of destinies, the killer, the rapist, the destroyer looking for young victims to brutalize unmercifully.
