Eventually they gave up.
The experiments failed while the fear in those above grew.
All the while Rex could feel the power of the Ortrix increase although he could not locate it. It was not quite the same power as those below possessed.
And tension grew. And hatred grew. And Rex's heart felt heavy with more grief than he thought he could handle.
All Torim were born with great power
But those below hummed with it, exuded it like a bright light from their being.
It may have been an evolutionary trait, or simply that these were the Torim that embraced the power, revelled in it.
The power was similar to that which you posses. It understood all things it touched, and embraced all it understood.
Those who possessed it strongly would not fight when the others cast them down.
"And here they wait".
"How many times have I died?"
"And why is it, that with time and space bending to my will, I still keep forgetting stuff like this?"
The power of the Torimbalo is not meant to be used by consciousnesses such as yours. The effects can be unpredictable.
"So who is the Torimbalo for then?" Rex asked as he wandered around the base of the enormous stone hut.
It is not a tool for anyone's use. The power was corrupted and shaped into the Ortrix.
"Maybe I can stop that happening," Rex replied.
It hadn't been particularly smart, in hindsight.
He wasn't sure what he was going to do once he found him, but as soon as he'd realised Jones was the source of the ripples he felt, he began searching him out.
Reaching out with his mind, silencing his thoughts, he'd focussed on the energy. Groping around like a blind man in an unfamiliar room, he touched something.
He did not like what he found.
Violence, anger and misery hit him like a storm. Amongst the mielstrom he could make out something else familiar, a power and strength of will he recognised.
He recoiled at once, but the damage was done. Jones had felt the touch. Before he could withdraw, his being exploded with pain and light, then darkness as a thousand savage terrors were loosed on him. With effort he clawed his way out back into his Rex shell, back to the safety and comfort of solid body and flesh brain.
"That was a mistake," he said as he tried to catch his breath.
If the sensation of unmaking the rock was like a kiss, then this felt like someone was nibbling his ear.
In the moment before the pain set in, destroying the rock was exhilarating. The influx of power from unmaking something was intoxicating.
Since that moment, he could feel something similar happening over and over but further away, like ripples reaching him at the edge of a pond. Again and again something was washing him with power, but small, subtle and incremental. Unlike the power from the rock, this came with no guilt.
He wondered what it was.
"Jones," replied his companion to his unspoken question.
His heart froze at the mention of the name.
"'Jones' what?" asked Rex, dreading the answer.
"Jones has learned to unmake," responded his companion, and Rex wanted to throw up.
The sensation he was feeling had been there since he was vapourised, but he'd only noticed it since his experience with the rock.
"And he's been doing it all this time?!"