Malefactor Redux

[Gildarts]

Finally the time had come, he met a ninja who had the most marvelous amount of speed, Gildarts could not help but to take notice. Then they were gone in an instant and to Gildarts relief, he was sure Piqui would be safe. He didn’t have to think about the possibility of a dinosaur coming close to stomping on her bullet proof box, and that gave his focus now, to finding Whompt, and to make up for two hours worth of lost time.

It took a while, and by a while, surely the sun had risen and set again before Gildarts finally caught a whiff of food trickling through the trees. With food, there would be people, with people, perhaps there was a village, and if there was a village, there might be information. The prime sauntered into the small hamlet and let his eyes glide throughout the deserted homes of whatever beings had gone on living here. There were little shacks and tents, fires cooking food. Meanwhile, the scent of burning and overcooked food, as well as flames that licked at the stones inhibiting their leap from the pit, onto unburnt earth.

It wasn’t long before Gildarts finally realized the entire place was deserted. The air however, still buzzed fresh with life, and Gildarts felt as though he had just walked in on a disaster in the making. With balled fists, he marched through the scene, his shoulders tensed and his stance appeared ready for any challenge. Yet nothing could have prepared him for this.

A towering shadow was cast over one of the tents, its silhouetted shape was vaguely familiar, it had hefty clothing on it, yet smooth bare arms. Over his shoulder, a mighty axe, and protruding from the creature’s face, were two dark spears.

The orc’s movements were rigid and starchy, his muscles flexed and convulsed at odd intervals, leaving Gildarts to believe that there was something happening within his body. Even in the circumstances, he would not have guessed that the source lay in the mind. Beyond the shadow of the orc’s shape was plastered against the flickering fabric of the abandoned tent, and within the confines of the warrior’s skull, there was a faint whispering. It was ominous, and spoke of temptation to act on the darkest sin.

Grunts of rage and ruthless bellowing howled from the beast. Gildarts did not immediately jump in front of the beast, an orc’s brute strength was one that rivaled his own crash magic, and Gildarts was not eager to clash with a situation he did not fully understand.

Meanwhile, past the orc’s ears, Whompt was feeling a struggle like nothing he had ever experienced before. Turmoil, chaos, devastation, each churned within the orc all at once and spread immense vexation throughout his entire body. Rage that the warrior was all too familiar with, for he harnessed only previously during battle and used it advantageously with adrenaline, to fight and to win. Yet now, it was battling him. Within, the swirling of emotion and thick stirring of blood, hissing with the whispers as insanity coated his insides with fire and set him ablaze with ideas of war.

“SHUDDUP!” the orc howled and clutched his head, his hammer had fallen from his grasp and sliced a gaping hole in the ground. The orc continued to growl and release all the anger that continuously built up within him as the Malefactor spoke words that appealed to him, death, murder, and endless massacre formed in his mind. It was not long before war became less horrible than murder, and blood-red became the ideal paint of pleasure.

A roar erupted from his curled lips, and bellowed out into the empty sky. There was no one to attack now and the brute knew it. Though, the orc searched frantically, he had scared them all away, somehow, they had escaped his clutches and left the town with the clothes on their backs; now he was thrashing at the empty tents of the village, “WHERE-ARE-YOU?!” Whompt’s familiar voice carried over the flat land, however, there wasn’t a particular person he was searching for, now, it became a deep and unquenchable craving within him. The sensation to wreak havoc would not die, his darkest and most deadly desire was to draw blood, to feel the heat of battle, to become the essence of war, and to experience the newfound power the monster had given him. “Well... This is a start...” Whompt’s voice sounded different now. Something about his voice had turned less savage and more dark.

Suddenly, the thrashing of tents had stopped, and the wizard heard a terrified scream, “Mommy! Help me!”

A child had been left, or strayed back into his home, hoping to collect his most prized possession. The boy had green skin and pointed ears, much like the orc towering above him. In the time it took Whompt to raise his axe, Gildarts had moved between the orc child and Whompt. The malefactor had not left the axe-wielder’s eyes glazed, like that of a bewitched man or T-rex, but instead, tainted scarlet with anger. The vessels in his sinewy body bulged outward, and Gildarts had narrowed his eyes, while his steel hand had been raised up, stopping its descent high above their heads.

There had been almost enough momentum on the swing down that would have cut through the Prime’s metallic arm, an eruption of scrapes clawed at each of their ears. Gildarts winced, while Whompt was too influenced by chaos to notice, and the child was covering his ears, cowering in fear as he shivered and realized he was inches and but a swing from death. Gildarts had placed himself in the way, and against the seething blade of the axe but the weight was becoming extremely hard to bear, Gildarts heard his own gruff voice cut through the climbing shrieks and command the green skinned boy to, “Go.”

The child scampered off, teddy in hand and tears still in his eyes, while the two Primes were left in the tent, “I always knew it had to be this way, Gildarts. E’er since I firs’ laid eyes on ya, I always knew I’d have t’ fight ya,” slowly, a smile grew from below the orc’s tusks, “And now... I can put this power to the test.”

It was strange hearing Whompt’s familiar voice pronounce such an intention, Gildarts kept his lips sealed. More pressure was applied to the axe, which had the better angle, slowly bearing down on the mage’s steel joint, with the force. There was immediate pain. It was as though his appendage was now no longer smooth as it met his skin, but serrated as though the joint of his shoulder had been sliced by a rusty knife, and had drawn blood.

“It does not have to be this way, you can fight the creature, there’s no need to let it win. No one has to die today.” Gildarts sounded wisely determined, yet his voice was stern, careful to let out any words that sounded like weakness, he did not want to give Whompt any reason to keep going or spark his unsound mind further.

“Let ‘im win? Fight ‘im? No Gild, it is I who has won today. I’ve never fel’ this way in my entire life, and now you want me to [i]renounce it? No... No I think not. Instead, I think I’ll beat ye to a pulp, an’ then I’ll find m’self someone bigger than a scrawny lil human. Always wanted someone worthy to test m’own strength on, ‘is almost fitting that you ended up bein’ my first after I fought by yer side.” Whompt’s crooked teeth boasted an excited smile, “Oh and that’s where you’re wrong, Gil’arts. Today i’s your turn to die.”

Gildarts did not protest, and nearly felt his own anger and magic swell. There was a small moment in this pause, one where their eyes clashed and static seemed to fly. The world around the two fighters grew soundless and dim, letting even the light of the fire fall away, and only these two men existed in their connected fury. One who had the will to fight and the means to destroy, the other who desired nothing more than a bloody, bloody massacre. He who had lost control of his own will. Whompt and the Malefactor wanted but a single thing, and that was a challenge. By the fierce look in Gildarts’ eyes, Whompt knew that was one thing Gildarts could offer, that he would put up a fight. At least, before the wizard’s inevitable demise.

The tent flickered in the darkness around them, yet to their eyes, their surroundings had all fallen away. Instead, Gildarts felt an increased sense of gravity pricking in his toes, there was added pressure and weight in the places where the treads of his boots slid as they met the next layer in the ground. Somewhere in Whompt, there was an obvious overflow of untapped power. His strength was only now just being summoned, and already, Gildarts felt overwhelmed. Within a blink, the world had been brought back into the light, the clash of their eyes had shifted to that of flesh, and the world was given orange-tinged color once more.


As Whompt let the power follow through in his swing, Gildarts let his magic burst forth, from him, the rock beneath the mage’s feet crackled and began to fall away. Whompt saw an opening and took it. Instead of using his axe however, the brute saw Gildarts had been struggling with holding himself upright under its force, and went in for an easy shot. Ivory tusks rammed into the wizard’s good shoulder, who felt his teeth chip in his mouth as he grated them too harshly together. The jagged slice of his flesh ripped away some of the muscle and tendons, the tusk clashed with bone before the orc tore it away. A jagged wound was left pouring from the wizard’s shoulder and pristine ivory, once clean, was now stained with wine-colored blood.

Instead of letting Whompt have the upper hand, Gildarts rammed a head-butt right back into the orc’s psychotic expression, hoping to wipe the smile of gore-induced satisfaction right off his face. Gildarts felt himself stagger back, yet Whompt seemed well planted on the ground, and did not back up, though his expression wrinkled with acute disgust.

There was grease in his eyes now -or was that blood?- Gildarts blinked and attempted to escape, it was now no longer sustainable for him to attempt to hold the axe upright against his own muscle, for, the wizard feared, that his own strength would not be enough to stop it from falling. A sudden burst of speed erupted from the bleeding man, who now lurched out of his position with a quick bounce. He let the axe fall, slicing a few hairs from his head and tearing a gaping hole in his cloak that had not caught up with his speed, then his coiling muscles thrust a heavy blow into the Orc’s leather armor.

Not so much as a struggled breath was taken from the mercenary, meanwhile Gildarts felt the knuckles of his hand throb. This enemy, Gildarts was already finding out, would be one of the strongest he had ever faced. Compared to the dragon, which had stolen two of his limbs all those years ago, the orc paired with the Malefactor would prove to be worth two.

A flash of fist burst into his line of sight. The air in Gildarts’ lungs had gone, evaporated with the delivery of a single blow, yet his body had gone flying, steamrolling into tree after tree. Thuds of hollow noise followed as hardwood smashed against his head. In the flicker between wincing blinks, Gildarts saw the orc intended to follow up on his attack, but his rampage was a bit heeded by the slow shuffling of his legs.

Gildarts clenched his teeth and tasted blood on his tongue, he had bit it, and not felt anything aside from the blaring ebbing throbs from his head. Seeing no other option, the prime launched himself from the ground into a decent sized leap and took the time to really look at his opponent. A balled fist formed in his hand, it grew with a hue of white magic as his astute brown eyes decided where to aim. His well-trained eye chose, and his body was influenced by gravity, pulling him quickly down. The wizard used this excess force to his advantage, and pulled it swiftly above his head as the fistful landed heavily on the orc’s upper torso.

A grunt of dissatisfaction came from the orc’s mouth as immediately, the thick-skinned foe did not even stagger, and Gildarts felt himself picked up by a single one of the brute’s hands as though he were nothing more than a sack of flour. The auburn-haired prime was flung into the ground with a rippling of shattering earth beneath him. “Wot is the matter, Gildar’s? Have you lost yer will to fight?” Whompt sneered as Gildarts’ torso was stomped into a few times, grating the earth below the mage’s spine into rubble.

Gildarts drew heavy breaths, and had felt the snap of a few of his ribs, which proved to  be nothing but twigs to Whompt and his newfound power. Gildarts found it within himself to grasp the orc’s ankle out of protest, for he was pinned and could to little else. But Gildarts could not lift the orc, no matter how much force he put into the point on his ankle, nothing would buckle him. “Is that all you got?”

If he didn’t do something soon, Gildarts would be the first of many of the Malefactor’s victims, at least in Whompt’s form, where the creature was nearly indestructible. The wizard attempted to lift up Whompt’s foot which was causing his broken ribs to poke into his lungs, the leaden stench of blood was all Gildarts could smell as he attempted to lift the foot upward. After a moment, Gildarts found he got about six inches upward before Whompt brought another blow crushing down on him,  a savage grin erupted on the fiend’s face, “At this rate, I won’ even need m’axe!”

After this beastly thrashing, Gildarts deliberated even standing back up again. He had been backed into a corner before, but nothing quite like this. Yet, part of Gildarts, even through the pain, felt thrilled and he too chose to rise to the challenge. Immediately a faint glow poured out from Gildarts, and it would soon take its effect, in order to stand, Gildarts had to use both of his hands on the single leg that had pinned him like a bug, one clasped on the orc’s ankle, the other, forcefully just below the knee. Due to the pressure applied to the points with perfect trajectory, the orc stumbled forward and had to readjust his footing. This gave Gildarts the time he needed to stand, and as he wiggled free from being deeply embedded in the rock, vibrations now coursed through the air.

The effect it had on the orc was not one Gildarts anticipated, Gildarts however, did not waste any time. Whenever Gildarts let his magic flow from his body, there seemed to be some kind of influence on his opponent, however, while Whompt did seem effected, the fiend’s gaze stayed steady on Gildarts while he pounded into the orc with a barrage of knuckles.

“You may have scared the orc, but you can’t trick me, now however, I’ll have to bring out the axe,” a sly grin coated the enemy’s face, and there was no mistaking the intelligence in the Malefactor’s control over the orc, who still seemed vapidly immobilized. It wouldn’t last much longer than this, but at least Gildarts stood a chance. The auburn-haired prime braced himself, and there was another crashing blow upon him. In his ears he heard This is a fight you can not win yet Gildarts knew that this was a battle that he would have to either win or die.

A shockwave of force slammed into the wizard’s scruffy jaw, it probably would have shattered, had the Prime not already been in the process of jumping backwards to avoid it. Now, however, Gildarts had given Whompt enough space to draw his axe high above his head. Gildarts had no choice but to parry this attack, and with this, a wave of energy erupted from the prime and sent Whompt hurtling backwards. Trees crackled loudly around the orc who grunted, “Good ‘un,” and took a fierce stance once more.

Blows exchanged for five minutes, and the number of trees and houses they had trampled increased exponentially. The whole village was in ruins, and fire had caught on a few nearby pine trees. The scent found Gildarts’ nose and the fire blazed with orange behind Whompt, there was no denying that Gildarts was slowly being worn down by the sheer power of the mercenary, who had a symbiotic creature at his disposal. Each had years of experience fighting, battling, and winning. This was the duel of all duels and Gildarts soon regarded the orc as nothing but a hasty ruffian, nothing like a dragon. This small hope kept the doubts of his demise at bay, and Gildarts found he could use this animalistic tendency to his advantage.

Now the two fighters danced on the flames, Whompt yelped and jumped back as the flames bit into his flesh. He as particularly angered by the fire, and Gildarts used this to stomp a few blows into his foe. Beats of sweat stung into his wounds and cluttered his eyesight, already blurry from fatigue. It was a wonder how the prime was even standing, in the face of certain devastation. His body had been ripped and mangled, tears of blood splattered most corners of his visible skin, and his cloak had been lost in the throes of battle. He could dodge some of the orc’s hasty movements, but not all of them were as predictable as Gildarts would have liked. A few slices of flesh had been nicked too close to the bone, the only part of Gildarts body that wasn’t stained with crimson was his metallic arm, which seemed to be the only one still functioning. The other laid limp at his side, a tendon had been sliced by the axe -though Gildarts was lucky the whole arm hadn’t been torn off- and it would not move. Armless, standing on a single leg, Gildarts fought through the blood and sweat that leaked into his eyes. Whompt cackled with amusement, though it seemed he was growing tired of the cat-and-mouse game that it was all too evident as to who was winning.

The orc’s laughter resounded over the fiery backdrop and once again Gildarts saw the silhouette of pure evil, and was reminded of the orc’s attempt to murder a helpless child, “As long as I’m around, I won’t let you kill any more people.” Gildarts spoke directly to the Malefactor who was possessing Whompt, hoping, maybe, to reach the orc’s logic, though that had gone out the window.

“Oh? You won’t? Mighty Gildarts, doomed to fall. Well, I’ll just have to end this quickly then, and I was having so much fun smashing your face in.” The voice, as Gildarts noticed, was once again coherent from start to finish, less of Whompt’s accent had been left behind. Leading Gildarts to believe that the Malefactor had swallowed up the individual completely.

“No,” Gildarts offered a weakened smile as the red light of fire shined on the silver mirror of the axe, “You’ve already lost. Whompt’s not an ideal candidate for you, even you know his body won’t last. It’s like the dinosaur, the ninja, and the elf chief you already took over. You consumed too much, and now once your time is used up in him, you’ll have no where else to go.”

“Is that what you think you’ve been doing this whole time, Prime?” the creature spat, too disgusted to say Gildarts’ name.

Gildarts found himself revitalized in spirit, and watched the curtain of fire grow at Whompt’s. It had been a minute, when suddenly the orc felt a punch, one that was well-centered in the middle of his chest cause him to stumble an inch backwards. Whompt’s toes caught fire, and an enraged face smoldered with more vehemence than the flames licking his feet. Meanwhile, Gildarts measured his time dearly, and hadn’t hesitated to thrust his fist into the bark of a sizzling pine. Immediately it collapsed in the direction the wood had split, and Gildarts added a little kick to steer the timber on course. Whompt was pinned to the inferno by the flaming tree. Gildarts, thought he had enough time to stop and ask, “Stop this. Now!”

Mistaken, however, Gildarts was flung back by his own log of fire and Whompt’s eyes resembled what had caused his skin to so deeply burn. “HOW DARE YOU MARK MY NEW BODY?!” Gildarts felt the soft sizzle of his blood against his skin, however he threw off the log as soon as he could, narrowly avoiding any deep burns.

Heavy, irrationally aimed swings came flying forth at Gildarts in rapid succession. Some shaved off strands of his arm hair, others drew more blood, but none were fatal enough to end the battle. Gildarts was on defense, and kept leaping backward, only invigorating the orc’s rage like a waving flag of red in front of a bull. “YOU. WILL. PAY. WITH. BLOOD.” his nostrils flared with steam.  

The swiftness of the battle had caught up to Gildarts, who was heaving in breaths just so that he would avoid the slice of the axe through the air, swings that spanned just inches from his vitals. Sure, he had caught up with the steady flow of battle, and found Whompt’s movements had become unstable and predictable, even using the fire to his advantage. But his body was reluctant to keep up. All it would take was one miss-step and-

A cliff.

Gild’s foot teetered on the edge, and his eyes slid down to their corners to catch just how far he was prone to fall as his body swiveled to avoid gravity’s nagging pull. He was forced to realize that it would be too far for him to survive, it had to be a hundred... Two hundred or more feet to the ground. The trees of the forest below looked like bushy specks of green. A knot tied in his stomach and crumbs of rock clattered past his heel.

The Prime’s organic arm reached outward, only to block a solid swing from the orc’s axe. It was enough to push Gildarts back, right off the edge his toes had grasped for dear life. Suddenly, he was all too aware of the weight of his body, and his silver fingers felt for the rock in front of him before his skin could get too comfortable with how the gust of death had brushed against him. His stomach still fluttered as he dared to open his eyes.

The curtain of black had opened to a craggily surface of stone. Gildarts got his bearings by simply looking up, and seeing by what a narrow save it had been. The gleam of silver reflected only by the moon, and yet, just beyond his fingertips, he saw Whompt’s tall beastly form towering over him. His smile too, shimmered in the moonlight, while his eyes still appeared crazed with energy for battle. The axe raised threateningly over the fingers Gildarts could not feel, and Whompt could not resist sending Gildarts off with a bang. “Looks like you’ve met your end, I would’ve liked to hear your neck snap between my hands, but, bloodshed is bloodshed, and it doesn’t matter if I kill you, or the ground does it for me.”

Gildarts felt his eyes plead desperately for Whompt to come back alive, and perhaps fight the creature that had taken over, yet, there was nothing, not an ounce, of the orc left in the  beady black eyes that reflected back at him. A sigh escaped Gildarts’ lips as he spoke clearly so that Whompt could hear him, “Sorry, friend.”

The puzzling expression on Whompt’s face was the last thing Gildarts could remember, for when Gildarts had willed his other hand to move, it agreed, and delivered a crashing blow to the rock all around them. The shaking of the earth below Whompt’s feet had thrown him off balance, but the swoop of destruction was too quick and suddenly Whompt was flung with other cube-sized rocks over the magic-wielder’s shoulders, and plunged into the abyss.

This was the least of Gildarts’ worries, and while he was sure Whompt wouldn’t be waking up from this fall any time soon, Gildarts had also blasted away his only foothold on the cliff. Luckily, he had released his grip just as the rock exploded, so that he fell and avoided being thrown from the cliff as Whompt was. There was little hope for his friend, who was falling too quickly to his death, Gildarts saw over his shoulder, that the orc and his axe had been enveloped by the distinguished branches of bushy green trees.

Gildarts was now thankful his metal arm remained intact, for it was the only thing that would stop him from falling with the rocks that clattered against his shoulders. Scrapes of metal, much like the ones that he had started his battle with Whompt, filled his ears once more. This time, it was never ending, Gildarts heard the rock slowly chaffing against his metal hand, and eroding his last usable appendage. The ride was rough, but he had slowed his speed down quite a bit, now, he would risk losing his arm by punching his fist straight into the stone, for the ground was turbulently spiraling into his gaze.

Rock was smashed and more or less, Gildarts had hooked himself into the stone of the wall. Propelled by force, however his face was smashed straight into the cliff. He heard the popping ”crack” of his nose breaking, and blood spewed down from his face as he dangled but fifteen close feet into the ground. The Prime’s face was numb, shattered by the rock, but not broken enough so that he could not move his eyelids up. Torturous agony rippled through his body, and the adrenaline that was roaring in his ears so violently had slowed, bringing back his awareness to the gentle, dulcet tones of birdsong as the morning sun began to break on the horizon. Sunlight shimmered on the victorious Prime’s arms, and was immediately consumed by the black soot and dried blood that covered nearly every inch of him.

Too weary to move, he merely shifted his eyes around and saw the ground, covered in rock shards and evenly cut cubes. Such was the destruction of his magic. He had nearly died, the idea of the though rattled him. Had this cliff not been here for him to grasp onto, he would have died. Which reminded him, with a sudden pang of guilt flourishing in  the pit of his stomach, Where was Whompt?

That also begged the question, where was the orgosynth? If the only way to get the creature out of Whompt was to defeat him, surely, Gildarts had done it. Whompt, if he was still alive, could be healed, if there was time. Gildarts soon wiggled free of the wall, though his inorganic hand nearly had to be pulled off of his shackled joint in order for this to happen. He felt his wounds slowly healing, however, this made them throb even more, since the sealing and regrowing of flesh could only be compared to molten flames resting inescapably on his skin.

The world thundered as his feet met with the ground, and wobbled beneath him. Gildarts let his eyes take over, as his body would only be forced to take a few steps forward at a time.

“Whompt?”

No answer.

But the feeling was coming back to his other arm. Gildarts searched for quite a while, tossing about the underbrush, tearing through tangled vines, and overturning rocks that looked like they could have pinned a man below. Nothing.

“Tch...” Gildarts eyes were getting foggy again, and though the sun was already high in the air, he felt as though the world was dimming. Through the mess of darkness and trees that cluttered his sight, Gildarts saw a small pile of clothing, which, as he neared, he found that it belonged to a lumpy form. Gildarts recognized him immediately, and looked at the sore wound that had been caused by a falling rock, it had caused a deep wound into the orc’s thick skull. There was too much blood, Gildarts felt his voice quiver, “Whompt.”

...

An ear had been pressed to the orc’s chest, and with the steady rise and fall of his diaphragm, Gildarts found that the orc was unconscious, though badly injured in several different areas. It was a miracle that he survived, however, now Gildarts had to think of two things, Where was the Malefactor? and if it was in him, Would it even be worth it to get him treated?

Such were the thoughts of a man who had had no choice but to battle his ally on their mission to defeat the malefactor, little did Gildarts know, that a parasite could not be defeated so easily as its host.

There was a blur of motion, which sprung from nowhere and a rustle of bushes that was left in the speedy dust of the creature. A blob of black covered Gildarts face, and soon, Gildarts found his ears filled with a whispery voice, it spoke to him of conquest, of power, of glory. It spoke to him of wars worth fighting and the immense value of friendship that it could offer by being by his side. It spoke of power, devastating power, one created by Omni himself, “All this an more.... Iffff you let me in...”

Gildarts growled, disgusted by the thought of taking a handout, he had experienced enough power for a lifetime, and he had faced the consequences a hundred times before, “You. Evil. Monster!”

“Evil? No, ambitious? Yes, of course, why wouldn’t I have them? You could have ambitions too you know, set astray by fear of your own power, fear of setting it free. You could finally live. I can abolish that fear you hold onto too tightly and give you the glory you’ve dreamed of... I can also give you control, for I too have wielded immense power, and know just how to control it. You see Gildarts, I see your secrets now, I’ve known them for a long time. You heard my voice calling to you in the forest, you’ve longed to be free of your cursse, which keeps you on the move, black sheep, running for your life, for fear of taking others down with you.

Well, you nearly killed your friend over there, and would have, had I not been inhabiting him. You might even say I saved his life... But the others you have killed, more innocent than he, they will not have suffered in vain, for you, Gildarts, are the most eligible host I have met in a long time. Don’t you see, you can’t kill me? I am immortal just as you are. But you can shield me, and use me for whatever purpose you seek. Who’s hands would you rather me be in?”

Gildarts clenched his teeth, and remained silent. The stoic man shook his head, but was directed to look at Whompt’s body. He thought of the rash spread of stories throughout the forest, of the villages devastated, and he did not think it was intentional that disaster had struck with the orgosynth’s travels, but, like the symbiotic creature had said, merely a case of misguided ambition. He thought of all the death he could prevent by just simply biding the creature’s time, and felt his head hang heavier than ever. It was still a choice. It was his choice.

A chorus of chaos called to him.

And he plunged into the darkness. [/i]