Engulfed in Fire (Pigs at a Bar 3)

Ilmierel closed his eyes. Meditation was the easiest way to enter the Paramount. The Paramount was the quickest way to travel to other places throughout the universe for anyone who possessed that knowledge and understanding to access it. Ilmierel was one of those people. Often, he would just travel by spaceship, but to receive clearance to go to a planet that was not logged in the Database, formally known as Mother, was much too time consuming.

Before, Ilmierel did everything he could to hold back information from his favorite creations, because he was sure it would benefit them in the long run to live through the advancements in human technology and evolution on Earth, but now everything had changed. With the galaxy in a civil war and the affects drawing nearer to the small rock near a star (they called the Sun) he felt like he had no choice to go to them and warn them of the events soon to come.

In order to reach the High Plane, Ilmierel had to stop his heart and release his mind and body from its corporeal bonds. For a man like him, this was not difficult, just slightly more time consuming. It would be easier to step inside an Ascension-Pod, but those also required clearance. So, Ilmierel was left to release himself the old fashioned way. The way he originally learned how to do it.

Within 30 minutes, Ilmierel’s body shut down. His heart stopped, the synapses in his brain stopped going off, and his body went up in flames.

Ilmierel opened his eyes. Nothing was visible. All around him, he was surrounded by the purest most cleanest of whites. He thought about his most recent experience on Earth. How he had awoken his latest creation, Isma’il. He remembered Isma’il’s struggle to walk with the gravity of the world pulling him down. He also remembered Na’im entering the room and acting like he was in the presence of a god.

No sooner than that last thought came into his mind, he was staring a wooden door, the color of blood. Ilmierel knocked lightly on the blood red door. He heard the shuffling of a person’s feet. A few seconds later, the door opened. On the opposite side of the door stood a short bearded man no older than 24 years old. His hair was short and messy and he wore black leather boots, black pants, and a puffy scarlet shirt that matched the color of the door.

“You grew a beard,” Ilmierel said, smiling. “That is good, yes?”

The man in the scarlet shirt grabbed Ilmierel by the collar, pulled him into the house, slammed the door closed with one of his legs, and pushed him against the wall. The expression on the bearded man’s face was not pleasant. It was full of anger and hatred. Only once before had he seen Ilmierel and that was one of the most aggravating days of his life.

“How dare you show your face to me,” the bearded man said. “You left me on this miserable planet with an insane lunatic that practices a false religion. And you didn’t even care to tell me that I can live forever? That town you left me in, 50 years later chased me out for being a witch because I never aged! Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand.”

“Because you couldn’t if you tried,” Ilmierel said. “Besides, I am here to tell you everything. I trust that you will not harm the growth of this planet’s inhabitant’s minds. Even when I created you, you seemed to be a trustworthy man. I just couldn’t be sure. Now, I have no choice but to share my knowledge with you. Now, Isma’il, let go of me and show me to your parlor so we may talk.”

 Isma’il let go of Ilmierel. “What about Na’im?” he said, gesturing toward his parlor. “Should he not be apart of this conversation?”

“Na’im should not be allowed to see me. My guess is that he still believes me to be a god, which is absolutely ridiculous. I do not enjoy being around him. He makes me uncomfortable. No, I do think you should tell him what I tell you.”

The two men entered the parlor and took their seats facing each other. Isma’il took in Ilmierel’s newest look. The first thing he noticed was that he was no longer wearing armor, but wore a light tan robe that wrapped around him instead. His white hair had grown down to his shoulders and his face was much more stressed.

“So,” Isma’il said, “you never told me your name.”

“My name? My name is Ilmierel.”

“Is that a common name among your people?”

“No, but it is not like I am the only one.”

“What is it you came back here to tell me?”

“I came here to tell you about what is going on in this galaxy.”

“Galaxy? What’s that?”

“A galaxy is a group of suns that have many worlds, such as this one and other ones in it.”

“Okay, what is going on in this galaxy?”

“The galaxy has broken out into a civil war,” Ilmierel explained. “Many people believe that we should invest our resources into finding a way to bring people that are not like me to different galaxies. They believe that people like me are trying to control them and keep them from having free will and doing what they want. Truthfully, that is not what we believe. We do not actually think it is possible, yet, to travel to another galaxy by any easy means.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Sooner or later, your world will become apart of this war and your race will join our enemies. When that day comes, I will need you to let me know so I can come here and give you all a different perspective on what is going on and try to have you fight their wish to have you join them.”

“How would I contact you?”

“I am going to teach you how to be like me. I made you human, which means your brain is susceptible to change, easily. Soon, you will possess the abilities to do what I can do.”

“What can you do?” Isma’il said, trying to sound like he still understood what Ilmierel was talking about.

“Through the great knowledge I have obtained over the time I have lived,” Ilmierel said, “I have learned how to manipulate the matter around me to do as I wish, I have learned how to persuade people with that matter manipulation by striking different wave lengths into their ears to make them believe what I want them to believe and control lower class creatures. Of course, my people can only use this matter manipulation on a low scale, which is why we invented new sciences and technologies to help us perform greater amounts of manipulation.”

“Why do you not just use those sciences and technologies to convince your enemies to stop fighting and believe that what you say is the truth?”

“My kind prides themselves in not being gods, but protectors and creators for other types of life forms that cannot reach our potential. Letting them have free will is key to not playing god. Besides, we couldn’t if we wanted to. Our enemies have found a way to cut us off or shut down our newest inventions meant high scales of manipulation.”

“Great, when do we get started?” Isma’il said, now very interested. A loud booming sound came from the front door. Ilmierel gestured toward Isma’il to get down. Isma’il ignored him. Getting up, Isma’il got on his knees and reached under his couch. Pulling out, two swords, he tossed one to Ilmierel. Ilmierel caught it and silently ran to the right side of the parlor’s entry way. Isma’il silently ran to the left side.

Two soldiers in steel armor looked into the parlor. Ilmierel struck both men with a bolt of lightning
that traveled through the two of them. Both men fell to the ground, helplessly. Isma’il shoved his blade through the closest guard. Ilmierel did the same.

“What the hell was that?!” Isma’il whispered.

“Matter manipulation,” Ilmierel said. “I will teach you soon. Right now, we must focus on getting out of here.”

Ilmierel led the way back toward the front door. Another soldier came into view. Striking the man with lightning, Ilmierel ran up to him and shoved his blade through the man’s heart, gently laying him on the floor.

The continued to the front door where they found two more soldiers standing guard. Ilmierel handed Isma’il his sword. Clenching both hands into fists, he opened them quickly to reveal small balls of lightning. Cuffing his hands together, Ilmierel combined the two lightning balls causing a large bolt of lightning to shoot through the two soldiers, scorching everything it had passed.

Taking back his sword, they continued through the front door, out into the town. Outside, they were greeted by a militia. Many wore uniforms, some wore armor such as the men who had entered the house, and some looked like ordinary men. One man took a step forward. He held a torch in his left hand. The man wore clothes just as ordinary as a peasant, except for the sword on his left side that was tied across his chest with a leather strap and sheath.

“Pity,” the man with the torch said. “I was looking forward to burning your house down with you inside. I guess we don’t always get what we want.”

The man through the torch into a window on the second floor. Instantly, the house began to burn. Within minutes, the entire house was engulfed in flames, smoke filling the air. Ilmierel tried hard to think of what he could do to stop the militia from doing anymore damage without making a scene that would sooner get him killed for witchcraft.

“Ilmierel, do something!” Isma’il yelled.

“Quiet, I am thinking!”

“Well, think faster!”

Only one idea came to Ilmierel that could be viewed as a complete accident. He could force Isma’il’s house to fall over on top of all of them. The only problem
Ilmierel saw with that would be that Isma’il couldn’t protect himself. Ilmierel would have to jump on top of him and shield him from the fire and debris.

“Anything?!” Isma’il said.

“Maybe…” Ilmierel hesitated.

“Do it!”

Focusing on the make up of matter behind the house, Ilmierel jumped on Isma’il and brought them down to the ground. The matter pulled down with the movement of Ilmierel’s body. The house crashed down on all of the soldiers and Ilmierel. Ilmierel felt the heat of the flames on his back. Now focusing on the matter around him and Isma’il, he bent the air’s matter into an invisible shield against the fire.

“Explain to me why I just did what I had to do,” Ilmierel said.

“You want to talk about this now?” Isma’il said. “We are under a burning building on the verge of being crushed and you want to talk about why I am being attacked?”

“Unless you have something else to do until this fire goes out.”

“Good point. I suppose I have been in town too long.”

“What town is this?”

“London, England. This country is quite interesting. Right now, they are at war across a huge piece of water called the Atlantic Ocean.”

“What is the year here? This world goes by a different date system than the rest of the galaxy.”


“So, Na’im must be 1,765.”

“You know, Na’im has not changed a bit since you last saw him. He refuses to leave Istanbul in case you come back for him. He believes that because you set foot there twice, that you must appear there again.”

“He definitely got that wrong. Poor man, I wish he could just see the truth that I am not a god but an ordinary man from another world. I even told him that and he did not believe me.”

“Hey, Ilmierel,” Isma’il said, changing the topic. “Do you think you could make this fire go out faster?”

“Give me a moment.”

Ilmierel adjusted himself so he could move his hands. He made a fist with one and opened
this other. Concentrating on the fire, its movement and consumption of air, he slowly made a fist with the other hand. As Ilmierel closed his hand into a fist, the flames became smaller and smaller. By the time he had closed his hand into a fist, the flames with almost gone. Clenching both of his fists at the same time, all the fire and all the smoke disappeared.

Isma’il pushed Ilmierel off of him. The two of them laid in the debris of the fire for a couple of minutes. Ilmierel was very surprised at Isma’il’s way of accepting everything he said. He was impressed with his ability to just go with what was going on and not ask questions. He was the exact opposite of Na’im, which he liked very much.

“C’mon,” Ilmierel said, standing up. He pulled out a robe similar to the one he was wearing and offered it to Ilmierel. “You need to not be spotted. Wear this and put the hood up.”

Isma’il stood up and took the robe from Ilmierel. Unlike Ilmierel’s, the one the Isma’il had was brown. Putting it on, Ilmierel wrapped the right side across the front for Isma’il and buckled it on the side. Isma’il pulled the hood up and crossed his arms inside the huge sleeves.

“Lead the way, Isma’il,” Ilmierel said pulling his own hood up.

“Where are we going?”

“Take us somewhere that is far away from other people. That way, we will not be spotted during your training.”

“Why can’t we just turn into that white light like you did last time you left?”

“That white light was a piece of teleportation technology aboard a spaceship far above us in the sky.”

“I am going to pretend I know what teleportation is and is a spaceship a flying ship rather than a ship that goes across water?”


“Why can’t we just go there?”

“I did not take a spaceship here.”

“I know the perfect place for us to go, then.”

Matthew Weitzel

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