PART IV — EPISODE III½: Rise of the Harmonic Order
Chapter 2 — The Summoned One
 |
| "The Rift Above" |
The rift above Delta Low widened until it swallowed half the sky — a jagged slash glowing with spectral blues that bled into ultraviolet flame.
Lightning cracked inside it like someone was tuning a god-sized amplifier with a broken jack cable.
Every animal on the moon went silent.
Every machine stuttered.
Every living thing felt its bones hum.
Blind Yoda Slim steadied himself on the porch rail of his creaking hover-chair.
“Easy now…” he muttered, dobro already in his lap.
“Come on out and show yourself.”
The light inside the rift folded.
Collapsed.
Re-formed…
…into a silhouette.
Tall.
Angular.
Dripping static like molten chrome.
Then it stepped through.
The Summoned One
Its feet hit the ground with a bass thud that shook dust into spirals.
Its body shimmered — part machine, part shadow, part crackling distortion.
But its face…
Its face wasn’t a face at all.
Just a floating, featureless mask shaped like an old vinyl record, spinning slowly, grooves glowing with molten blue.
 |
| “The Spinning Mask” |
A voice rose from everywhere and nowhere:
“IDENTIFY CONDUCTOR.”
Slim spat into the dust.
“Ain’t no conductor here but me, son.”
The being tilted its vinyl mask, analyzing him.
Slim felt the scan pass through him — colder than deep space, sharper than barbed wire.
“UNREGISTERED. UNWORTHY.
PRIMARY TARGET: THE HARMONICA—BEARER.”
Slim’s fingers clenched his slide.
“Well,” he growled, “ain’t that just peachy.”
 |
| “Guardian of the First Blues Force” |
A Name from Before Time
The Summoned One lifted an arm — long, jointed, crackling with feedback energy.
The air around the limb distorted like a speaker about to blow.
Slim’s heart dropped.
He recognized the signature.
The rhythm.
The pattern.
The ancient, forbidden tuning.
“No way…” he whispered.
He had read the old scrolls — memorized every whispered legend of the First Harmonic Order.
This creature was not supposed to exist outside myth.
But the rift still crackled with the same harmonic signature, confirming the impossible:
This was a Harmonic Warden.
A guardian of the earliest Blues Force sect — beings forged from pure Mojo to protect the universe’s original music.
They were not alive.
They were not dead.
They existed only when summoned…
…and only for destruction.
But what chilled Slim wasn’t the Warden itself.
It was the rune carved into its chest.
A single sigil glowing with twisting black light:
SYNCRO.
 |
| “The Rune-Bound Warden of the First Blues Force” |
Count Syncro’s signature.
Darth Vinyl’s master.
The one who had tried to rewrite the universe’s rhythm decades ago.
And this meant one thing:
The Harmonic Order’s ancient guardians were now being rewritten by the Dark Mix.
“Oh hell,” Slim muttered, “we’re in trouble.”
The Warden Speaks
The Harmonic Warden stepped forward, each footstep sending shockwaves across the desert.
It raised its arm again.
“DELIVER THE HARMONICA—BEARER.”
Slim rested one hand on the dobro’s strings.
“I ain’t deliverin’ nobody.”
The Warden’s vinyl mask spun faster.
“THEN YOU WILL BE ERASED.”
Slim smirked.
“I been erased twice already. Didn't take either time.”
He struck a chord.
 |
| "Blind Yoda Slim vs. the Harmonic Warden” |
Dobro vs. Demigod
The sound ripped across the dunes — pure Mojo, raw and righteous.
The Warden staggered backward as the chord hit it square in the chest, its form flickering like a damaged hologram.
 |
| “When the Warden Absorbs the Chord” |
But then—
It absorbed the chord.
The glow in its chest brightened.
And Slim felt his stomach drop.
“Oh, that ain’t good.”
The Warden stepped forward again.
Stronger.
More solid.
It spoke with a voice that shook the rocks:
“ENERGY ACCEPTED.
FEEDBACK LOOP ESTABLISHED.
COUNTERMEASURE ACTIVATED.”
Then it struck.
A single palm thrust of compressed feedback slammed toward Slim.
He barely had time to flip his dobro sideways and brace.
The impact hit like a meteor.
Slim’s hover-porch exploded into splinters.
The ground cratered beneath him.
His hover-chair skidded thirty feet before crashing into a dune.
Slim coughed, spitting dust.
“Well,” he rasped, “guess we ain’t playin’ acoustic no more.”
 |
| "Impact of the Harmonic Warden” |
A Message to Ella
Slim hit a hidden switch on his dobro’s neck.
A tiny transmitter popped open.
He spoke into it, voice rough:
“Ella girl — run.
They sent a Warden after you.
Syncro’s mark is on it.
You hear me? RUN.”
Static.
Then silence.
He swallowed hard.
The Warden rose over him, shadow huge and humming.
Slim tightened his grip.
“Come on then, you oversized turntable…”
He lifted his slide.
“…let’s see what key you scream in.”
The Warden raised both arms.
The rift crackled overhead.
The storm gathered again.
And Slim braced for a fight he knew he probably couldn't win.
Comments
Post a Comment