[Dark Saint Alaick]

Hugo's head shook sadly. "Perhaps not. You can see--I have tried everything. In itself, it is great. I can see that. It is, objectively, the most important thing on earth. But the other way--What can I do? Tell me that. You cannot tell me. I can destroy. As nothing that ever came before or will come again, I can destroy. But destruction--as I believe, as you believe--is at best only a step toward re-creation. And what can I make afterwards? Think. Think, man! Rack your brains! What?" His hands clenched and unclenched. "I can build great halls and palaces. Futile! I can make bridges. I can rip open mountains and take out the gold. I am that strong. It is as if my metabolism was atomic instead of molecular. But what of it? Stretch your imagination to its uttermost limits--and what can I do that is more than an affair of petty profit to myself? Man has already extended his senses and his muscles to their tenth power. He can already command engines to do what I can do. It is not necessary that he become an engine himself. It is preposterous that he should think of it--even to transcend his engines. I defy you, I defy you with all my strength, to think of what I can do to justify myself!"

The words had been wrung from Hugo. Perspiration trickled down his face. He bit his lips to check himself. The older man was grave. "All your emotions, your reflections, your yearnings and passions, come--to that. And yet--"