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itself around the Drazi's limbs, holding him down.

Blood seeped out from between the gray scales of his face. He was ill. As were the others. The golden skin of several Narns had turned into a crusty black ooze; a row of Centauri panted desperately for breath, their mouths dripping with mucus; some Human subjects looked healthy, but as Galen watched, one broke into a seizure, spasming so hard that he cracked his head against the cave wall, knocking himself unconscious. Even then, his body continued to convulse.

Galen found himself shaking, his breath panting in time with the Centauri. He wanted to kill the Streib butchers, to free the prisoners from their suffering. His body raced with outrage.

He turned away, pressing himself against the jagged rock, and added a new exercise to the two he was already carrying.

This was not why he had come. This was not why he had come.

Would he again kill indiscriminately?

He must find Elizar and Razeel. They must both die, and he must see it happen to be sure. He would watch as they were crushed.

Thoughts of his task calmed him, and he focused on it. He felt fairly certain, at this point, that Elizar was observing him and subtly controlling his course. By coordinating the movements of the Shadows' servants and blocking off various tunnels, Elizar manipulated him, just as Elric had once manipulated Vir through Babylon 5's Down Below. Why Elizar desired to draw him so deep, Galen didn't know. But he would follow his appointed course. And as he did, he would see his home. He must see all of it, he realized, must know the enormity of the evil that had bred the techno-mages. There would be no more secrets. For was that not what he had decided was his place-to know all that should not be known, and to bear its burden?

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