The Distortion

The young man walked the streets of the port town of Barka. Wearing a turban over his head and neck, the bare skin of his face—an olive shade—glistened under the bright sun with a few chestnut hair strands slipping free of the cloth. The headpiece was an iconic clothing for this part of the world which was oppressed by an omnipresent blazing disc in the sky. Rare were the days where the clouds dared to spoil the sun’s reign of terror over these lands.

As a response to this sweltering climate, he wore a pair of tunic and baggy trousers, both fairly oversized—he’d rather not have his clothes constantly plastered to his body. The tunic he donned reached slightly past his knees and aside from his brown boots, his whole attire was in beige. A one-handed scimitar was strapped to his waist by a belt, which should normally give off an intimidating air, even more so when factoring in his tall stature—despite being far from bulky. His outward appearance should have kept anyone from approaching him.

That wasn’t the case at all. All the townspeople loved him as he greeted everyone he encountered with a wide smile stretching from one ear to the other, exposing his flashy teeth. The elderly appreciated the kindness he readily showed them, the abled workers thanked him for the service he provided to this village while the kids aspired to be like him one day, sword in hand slicing things. That was the image they had of him at least.

He was like the ideal figure to them, “Uncle Laith is so cool”, “I want to become like uncle Laith when I grow up”. At first, he found it very strange that he reached the stage where he was referred to as “uncle” by some as it made him feel old. Then again, it was much better than being referred to as “kid”; it had a patronizing feel to it. And then there was the more formal appellation “Laith Ibn Ibrahim”. That one made him giggle each time he heard it. In fact, his entire journey thus far was rather funny, as if his age moved in the opposite direction to that of the world around him.

Rather typical of the Distortion now that I think about it, Laith thought.

The Distortion. That was the term people chose for the metamorphosis the world had underwent on that memorable day. Its cause? Still a mystery. Its full extent? No one had a full grasp on it. Each day, ground-breaking revelations were uncovered, and humanity still had no idea what was awaiting them.

The most notable achievement was the world once again regaining some measure of stability—relatively speaking—after a decade of horrors, conflict, and struggle. Civilizations had crumbled overnight leaving nothing but ruins to bear witness to their previous grandeur, provided there were any traces left at all.

It was then that humans realized the shelter that a civilized society had provided, and the Distortion had stripped them of it. It laid them bare naked in a world of terror. Every single day was a fight for their lives, whether it was against the forces of nature or amongst themselves. Evidently, such circumstances would inevitably bring the worst impulses in mankind, theft, murder, rape, treachery, treason… atrocities all committed in the name of survival.

Laith had witnessed it all, lived it all…survived it all.

And he came out of it a different man, drastically so. Or rather, he survived it because he was already a different man. Long gone were his school days, his teenage years spent in the dull comfort of the classroom. Laith still remembered them, but they were just that: memories. Mere vestiges could be traced back to that dawdling nerd because out of that boy something extraordinary was born: a knight.

Although not the first one that would come to mind.

Not the one in a shining armor rushing to save the princess locked in a dungeon by the evil witch. That one, awesome though it may have been, was ultimately incompatible with who he was. Laith belonged to a different category of knights, an order commonly known as the counterpart of the former, if not its archnemesis altogether. An Arabian knight, or as it is spoken in the original tongue: “Fares”.

It all felt surreal, and of course it eventually got to him, filling his head with glorious fantasies being the fanboy that he was—one the mere vestiges left of the carefree boy. To him, being a Fares was commensurate with epic battles fought on the fields of war, a theater of mighty soldiers bathed in crimson. And while the experience of the battlefield was definitely intense, “epic” wasn’t exactly how Laith would describe it. Granted, he only experienced it a couple of times—nowhere near being a veteran—so the fated battlefield might still take place.

For now, Laith had to settle for being a mere city watchman—a police officer of sorts—rather than a soldier. He wasn’t really in his element, but there wasn’t much room to complain. After all, his “grand vision” would likely be a trigger to a “grand tragedy”.

Thus, he was content with his current status which entailed simple everyday jobs like patrolling the streets, catching urchins, securing the perimeter of the port or doing bodyguard duties. Today was the latter. He had a rather important assignment on his hands, and he was pretty nervous about it. He was to escort an important figure in the village to a specific pick-up location. His rendezvous point was near the center of the town.

As Laith was heading towards his destination, he passed by the humble residential quarters. An array of simple houses with the characteristic domed roof made for a clustered area with quite narrow alleyways.

Although not as clustered, and certainly not as loud, as the marketplace; courtesy of the raucous merchants of course. It was as if there was a competition with the fishermen at the port, both sides undergoing an intense battle of lung power. Whoever was loudest would be declared victorious and handed an award.

Ultimately, it was the poor citizens who would be awarded a pair of bleeding ears. But hey, what can you do about it? It was an iconic trait of the small, but fervent, town of Barka.

After a few mandatory—utterly pointless—stops by some shops, Laith finally arrived at the house…late. An incorrigible habit of his. The person he was supposed to meet had already left without him. Fortunately, he didn’t get very far as he could still be seen when standing in front of the house.

Laith caught up to him quickly, but he hesitated to announce his arrival right away. A combination of nerves and shame made it a little harder to start the conversation. He eventually mustered his courage and talked to the man.

“Apologies for being late, Mayor Wahid.”

The person Laith was tasked with escorting was the mayor of this town, the most notable figure around this place. Wahid wore a white caftan with a sand-colored turban, both made of the finest silk—the prestige of his rank had to show somehow. The winding wrinkles and his grey hair bore witness to his old age, which had him lean on a cane.

His outward appearance—that of a stingy old man—could lend credence to Laith’s worries at first. However, that impression was misleading. The mayor was certainly not the strict or the imposing type, which made Laith’s concern completely unwarranted.

It was simply a nuisance he could never get rid of. Whenever he was assigned a task, however minor, stress would get the better of him, triggering the embarrassing grumble in his stomach. Luckily, that inconvenience wouldn’t last forever and as soon as he engaged in the task at hand, the discomfort began to dissipate.

“Ah no worries young man, I was just going to get some provisions for the road, it’s a rather harsh one, but you already know that.” The mayor smiled leisurely.

“Couldn’t agree more. Thankfully, I’m rather accustomed to the desert and all that comes with it. So you let me worry about the trip.” Laith said, easing up a little.

“That is comforting to hear. Although I can’t help but envy you a bit right now. Asking for your particular set of skills would be a bit unrealistic, but I would have hoped at least to be brought back at a younger age.” Wahid sighed.

It was a strange occurrence, one that Laith still found uncanny, no matter how many times he met people with a similar case. Before the Distortion, the mayor had lived and died in the twentieth century, before Laith was even born. After the Distortion, one was contemporary of the other, both walking the same ground at the same time.

Mayor Wahid was not the only case where a man or woman, previously dead, was now among the living. The terms “alive” and “dead” were all relative to which time period one took as a landmark. The Distortion had it so people from different eras and places would collide in the same age, ignoring the previous temporal continuity.

“Well, I’m sure I can speak for everyone when I say this, we’re all grateful that you were among us. After all, if it weren’t for you this small village wouldn’t have found stability, your presence alone helped provide a peaceful atmosphere.” Laith affirmed.

“Oh, you are giving me way too much credit; it was a collective effort really.”

Laith was not being hyperbolic, or overly polite, or sycophantic. He wasn’t simply flattering his escort just out of respect or gain; it was genuine and factual. Mayor Wahid played an essential role in the establishment of this village, from what was just a single community that struggled to hold itself together due to continuous arguments, treacheries, and fights.

He had a very special aura to him that, in a way, everyone around was subject to it. He helped everyone overcome their anger and fear, come together as a single unit in order to coexist and build an entire village—basically from scratch—which became a shelter to whoever sought one. You could easily tell he was a Pacifist, which wouldn’t be as apparent.

While striding across the streets, and since meeting with the man personally, Laith had had something bothering him—aside from being so nervous about the assignment—but he was hesitant to ask directly. Well, he was accompanied by no fool and the mayor had noticed that his bodyguard had something on his mind despite him rambling about random issues all along.

“It’s okay young one; you can ask me whatever it is you’re thinking of.” The mayor interrupted his own chatter.

The comment caught Laith slightly off guard as he kept quiet for a short while before he finally decided to speak his mind.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but this is about your job. You’re going as an ambassador to our neighbors, right?” Laith asked.

“Yes I am.” The mayor nodded. “I believe you are aware that I am somewhat of a foreign-affairs vizier to the sultan, despite my residence here.”

“How are they like?” Laith asked, ignoring the mayor’s reminder.

“You mean to ask about our sultan and the opposing king?”

Laith nodded eagerly.

“I was under the impression that you knew them.” The mayor raised an eyebrow.

“Only from history books, and even then…” history was not his forte at school.

“Huh…I’m surprised you of all people would ask me this. I assumed you may have had the chance to meet them, in one of the battles I mean.” The mayor caressed his long beard.

“Nope, never did meet any of them. We were always told to keep out of their way when they approached. It was deemed ’extremely’ dangerous for foes and allies alike.” Laith answered, scratching his head.

“If their fighting is anything like their presence, that would be the wiser approach. Sitting across the table from either of them makes me reevaluate my worth as an ambassador…” the mayor said, getting a chill just recalling the meetings.

Laith cocked his head. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Well, these sovereigns of olden times are…intense. I’ve had the chance to meet leaders in my time—before the Distortion—but nothing quite like those two. They conduct themselves in such a manner that compels you to choose your words with extreme caution, which leaves very little room for negotiation.”

“Aha, now I’m very excited to meet them.” Laith had a sparkle in his eyes.

Hearing about world-renowned figures from before the Distortion being brought back to life ignited Laith’s interest to see them in person. Some of them he heard about here and there, never imagining he would come to coexist with them. And yet, it was a possibility, a very likely one considering his current affiliation with the sultanate.

“I don’t think exciting is the right word for it, young man.” The mayor sounded troubled. “While I agree such an encounter would be noteworthy and memorable, it’s certainly not something to be thrilled about. I merely uphold conversations with them, and I feel like an ant, in peril of getting crushed at any moment. I could only imagine what it would be like if you crossed them on a battlefield.”

“Sorry mayor, but you’re only feeding into my curiosity.” Laith flashed his teeth, a wide smile stretching from one ear to the other.

The mayor was surprised by Laith’s genuine and honest response. Wahid couldn’t help but chuckle. “Ah, I almost forgot how the youth can be, always brimming with energy. If I was your age, I would have probably reacted the same way.”

“You make it seem as if you’re dead, mayor.”

“Hmm, it’s not entirely false seeing as I was already dead before you were born. You may as well be walking beside a revenant from the past.”

“Or you could also look at it the other way around, in which I wasn’t even born yet when you were alive. So, you’re now walking beside a time traveler.”

“Strange world we’re living in, I tell you.”

“Heh, that’s an understatement Mayor.”

As they finally reached the exit of the village, Laith had ordered two camels to help them reach their destination. It was mostly for the mayor as Laith didn’t really need a mount to get him through this short trip. He was already well equipped with the right affinities to sustain the harsh environment that was the desert.

The same couldn’t be said for Mayor Wahid whose age and physical condition were not particularly fit to venture in the desert on foot, even if it wasn’t the longest of trips. The scorching sun and the blazing sands made one feel entrapped within the clutches of the heat, slowly sucking your body dry.

The view could be considered charming at first, dunes of sand as far as the eye could see, an ocean of beige with motionless waves. However, after the first kilometer, that view could grow dull, not to mention deceiving. Mirages proved to be quite troublesome for the mayor since it was hard for an elderly to not give in to the tempting images.

Luckily, he was in good hands. Laith remained in good shape and was able to provide the necessary support…which included physical defense. Apparently, his bodyguarding duties would prove vital to this assignment. Laith hadn’t fully dismissed the likelihood of coming across hazardous beasts, and his suspicion came true.

“Okay Mayor, I will need you to stay calm.”

Mayor Wahid instantly paled. A sudden warning ironically wouldn’t warn people so much as scare them.

“Something wrong young man?” he asked.

“Nothing I can’t handle, no worries. I just need you to keep your cool. I don’t mind if you’re scared, just don’t panic. Whatever happens, just stay quietly still. Trust me.” Laith said calmly as he stepped down from the camel.

He had been noticing strange movements in the sand for some time. The first assumption was the occasional shifting sands. Upon further inspection, the pattern didn’t fit. It was a relatively small lump of sand stealthily shadowing them. If not for Laith’s keen observation and careful piloting, it—whatever it was—would have already caught its prey.

“I’m sorry to do this mayor, but it seems like we’ll have to act as bait to lure this thing into showing itself.” Laith said, cautiously eying the trail of sand.

“Are you certain that is the best way?”

“Unless you want this thing to follow us for the rest of our trip, which I don’t recommend. I’d rather deal with it once and for all, don’t you think?”

“Whatever you see fit young man.”

“Good. Now slowly climb down from your mount. I’m afraid we will continue this trip on foot since they will flee as soon as it gets dangerous for them.”

Mayor Wahid had no choice but to obey. He was obliged to put his faith in the hands of a capable man. After all, Laith was assigned as his escort partly for unexpected incidents like these. The townspeople—and the sultanate as a whole—entrusted Wahid with politics, it was only fair that he would do the same with them when it pertained to their area of expertise. It helped that Laith oozed confidence and composure, most likely reflecting his competence.

“You’re doing good mayor. Now stay close to me.”

Come out now…any time.

The beast showed itself. A two-meter-long scorpion, with a bulk that matching its size, unborrowed from the sand. Armed with huge black pincers and a tail curving back over its body, the creature sent chills down the mayor’s spine. His eyes sunk in the depths of his sockets and his feeble body could barely bear the weight of gravity. Wahid had never seen a scorpion this big before, and neither had Laith for that matter.

I know animals had to forcibly adapt to the new world around them, but this is a new record.

No time to admire the specimen in front of him though. Laith had a duty to uphold: ensuring the safety of the mayor. Whipping out his unusually large scimitar, he leapt forward. Since the scorpion showed itself, he needn’t worry about it sneaking past him and attacking the mayor. Laith hurled his blade at the beast’s tail. Getting rid of the stinger, source of the poison, was his priority. He wasn’t likely to lose to the beast in a physical contest—he’d shame his title of Fares otherwise—but the poison would pose an issue.

Best not risk knowing how deadly it was.

The scimitar was usually a one-handed weapon, and thus there were certain proportions to be respected. That wasn’t the case with Laith’s blade who chose to personalize it to his own taste. Yes, he actually prioritized the aesthetic side of things over well-established norms. He insisted that he look “badass” while doing his thing…go figure.

Luckily for him, it didn’t prove detrimental. Large as the blade was, Laith had no difficulty weaving it with maximum efficiency, a testament to his strength. As the weapon connected with its target, the hardened plates protecting the beast’s body were a lot tougher than Laith had anticipated.

Barely an inconvenience.

A different kind of swordsman would have probably had a hard time disposing of this particular scorpion. Not him. He ripped through the plates with a loud crack, brutally severing the tail from the body. His raw strength allowed him to cut through rock on previous occasions. At his best, not even steel stopped his blade from cleaving its victim. One of the perks of being a Fares.

Now that the poisonous threat was dealt with, the pincers were next. Laith was the kind of warrior to take battle very seriously. His bright and cheerful eyes burned ablaze whenever he engaged in a confrontation. A spark would ignite his spirit and turn it into an untamed flame that wouldn’t fade, not before the opponent was down.

Perhaps the scorpion had sensed that wildfire rapidly spreading, threatening to consume him next. He quickly burrowed under the sands to vanish from its assailer’s sight. Smart…but futile. Laith wouldn’t give the beast even the slightest window, hauling it right back up from its hole by its severed tail.

There he was, a single man with a wiry build holding up a giant and flailing scorpion with a single arm. While still in the air, the scorpion lost the first pincer to a resonating slash before getting smacked to the ground whereupon its second limb was sent flying.

The oversized scorpion looked tinier and tinier as the fight progressed, reverting to its natural size. And the natural course of events was for it to get stomped on by an oversized foot. Or a scimitar in this case. Without further a due, Laith rammed his blade straight in the black beast’s head, blue blood splashing out. He stood over the beast for a bit, staring at it with calm eyes, the fire slowly disappearing from them. He calmly withdrew his weapon from the corpse, shaking the blood off of it. He acted in such a serene manner that could very well be mistaken for arrogance. Except it wasn’t, it was simply confidence in his ability to finish the job he was tasked to do.

Before the Distortion, such battle against a similar beast—not that it existed—would have been insurmountable, even for someone who chose this line of work. However, Laith didn’t choose this line of work, it chose him. And that was what made a difference in this battle. Laith didn’t grow to be a Fares; he was born as one. A gift that was always meant for him.

His Incarnation.

It was by far one of the most interesting modifications that occurred after the Distortion. Unlike the many other worldwide disruptions that surrounded human beings, this was something that affected them on a fundamental level.

People had quickly realized they had distinct affinities in specific areas that was too natural for them to just ignore or even resist. It felt like something integral to their very being. The sensation was as if the individual became the actual embodiment of a specific way of life and not just inclined towards it. It surpassed even instincts and reflexes as behavioral patterns.

In his case, Laith first began to notice that he was much stronger than he used to be—physicality was never his forte, much less when he was fifteen years old. Whenever he picked up a tree branch, he felt he had a natural aptitude to use it as a long weapon, his first instinct being to swing it in an arc.

Why he acted that way wasn’t even on his mind, he just did. Laith was a swordsman. The knowledge came from within, like a baby who would naturally tend to stand on his feet. As for the exact name of his Incarnation, one would never mistake part of his identity, and the Incarnation was at the core of it. To not recognize it would be akin to losing knowledge of using your limbs.

Evidently, the augmentation wasn’t restricted to physical prowess. Other cases found that their intellectual faculties to be the dominating trait, giving birth to Scientists, Artists and many more Incarnations within the same realm.

Whichever the case, and no matter how strange some of the Incarnations turned out to be, nobody was left out. There were no exceptions when it came to unlocking Incarnations as every human being present in this new world acquired it, so long as they had hit puberty.

However, there was one restriction that people had come to figure out over time: The Incarnation had to be true to one’s own identity, the latter encompassing multiple facets from cultural background to genetic heritage and all that came in between.

While some types of Incarnations affected most people from all across the world—seeing as those same Incarnations grew to be universal—other Incarnations could only be found within a specific group of people. Laith could never be a Samurai or a Viking, no matter how much he fantasized about it.

To better assimilate the concept, Laith viewed Incarnations as classes in a video game where each character was assigned a specific and unique set of abilities that distinguished him from other classes. As for the abovementioned restriction, it was fairly similar to how some classes were restricted to specific races. Laith wasn’t sure how well the analogy held up, but it seemed quite accurate so far. Even more so when you factored in his inhuman strength—by erstwhile standards.

In fact, people weren’t initially convinced that this phenomenon should be deemed special or given a fancy name. After all, the concept of talent and genius in certain areas had always existed since the dawn of time. Some always believed that each individual was gifted one way or the other. That was until they started witnessing themselves capable of achieving astonishing feats.

Laith’s latest bout with the giant scorpion was proof of that. That was but a small display of what he was fully capable of. Laith had broken the limits of his own capabilities as a human being. He had finally achieved what was once considered superhuman. The best part? He knew he only scratched the surface of his true potential as an Incarnation. He hadn’t seen it or confirmed it, he just knew it.

The time for him to step inside that realm simply hadn’t come just yet.

“You alright mayor?” Laith asked, glancing back.

Mayor Wahid nodded. The old man had surprisingly kept his composure, as best as he could. Laith had imagined his escort to cause him a lot more trouble than expected, but the dangerous encounter was resolved smoothly.

“I commend—and thank—you for remaining calm. Not many people can do that.” Laith admitted.

“Young man, the beast you have just slain is nothing in comparison to the meeting I will attend to in a few days.” The mayor sounded snarky. “Still, I owe you my life. You have my thanks.”

“Ah, don’t sweat it.” Laith wiping his forehead. “That’s why I’m here to begin with.”

Laith then gazed upon the wide and stretching horizon, shading his eyes from the sun. “Although…we still have to walk the remaining distance…on foot.”