might do, any small light he might summon, was overwhelmed with the darkness inside him, the darkness of the Shadow tech. He could not transcend it; it was part of him. He was a techno-mage. He was a killer. That was what they all were. He was just the most effective.
He followed the others along the currents of hyperspace. Their time was ending, and that was as it must be. They would retreat into their hiding place, hiding not only from the universe, but from themselves. They would seal themselves into a prison of their own making. There, they could do no more harm. Just as the spell of destruction isolated an area into its own collapsing universe, so they would isolate themselves into slow, ultimate collapse. One by one, they would die. And their order would pass into memory.
* * *
The fabulists had gone.
Kosh had believed them dead at first, lost in the explosion of the Centauri freighter leaving Babylon 5. Yet, as so much with the fabulists, this was a deception. Their minds worked in an intricate, cunning manner that he had long worked to understand.
In their early days, their plots, their aggressions, their deceptions had been more straightforward. Many times Kosh had been able to penetrate them. But as their techniques grew more sophisticated, and more Humans joined their number, their deceptions became more unpredictable. For the Vorlons, who had lived many millennia, it was always difficult to understand the rapidly flowing minds of the short-lived. But of all the younger races, Humans were the most perplexing; they behaved in ways that were strange and new.
Most Vorlons would not admit the failure. They had no doubt of their vast superiority over the younger races. They, certainly, were capable of their own deceptions. Yet their powers