• Chapter 9: Adeiazo Solum the Nightmare-Bringer

    The green moon shined bright in the silver sky as a yellow robed man made his way through the shrubbery to the large fortress that stood in the emerald moonlight. He opened the large double doors without difficulty and walked inside. The doors closed behind him, shutting off any form of light allowed in the foyer. The man’s eyes shown violet in the darkness as he walked casually to the large doors in front of him, as if he were in a completely lit room. He opened the large—yet many times smaller than the first—double doors, and stepped inside the dimly lit room. He stood in the shadow of the dim lights and bowed. “He found out his name.”
    “So he had not died?” replied the man sitting at the end of a long table that stood, hidden by the darkness, in the center of the room. Six others sat with him, their eyes shining different colors. “Interesting. He may actually be useful, then. Tell me about him.”
    “He is resourceful and strong.”
    “What else?”
    “He has determination set in his eyes. It seems that he would not give up until he gets what he wants.”
    “I see. Is he so strong and determined that he could prove a threat?”
    “His strength is but a fraction compared to our strongest, sir. He is a mere insect against you. But he may be too determined for our good.”
    “Then we should break his determination. Which one of you will be the one to break his determination?” announced the man, waving his hand over them.
    But they did not answer. They knew that their leader makes all of the choices. Nobody questions him, nobody dies. They all lowered their illuminating eyes, fearing and respecting the power that their master holds.
    “Ezekiel,” murmured the man, his brown eye flickering to a man with red eyes. “Locate Nocturn Umbras von Shwarze and see if his determination could falter.”
    “Yes, sir,” muttered Ezekiel, his voice crisp and cool like the air that surrounded him. Air to make the ghosts appear. The avenging ghosts that died for this fortress. Yes, the master chose this place for this reason. It was so haunted, filled with tragic tales. Ezekiel vanished, the only indication of his disappearance being his red eyes vanishing.

    Later…
    Nocturn dried his head with a towel as he walked out of his bathtub. The Chamber had made him feel like it had been years since he’d showered. Years of training was brought to his head in just one day with the Chamber. He wrapped the towel around his waist and slipped his gauntlet where it belonged. Brushing his teeth and filing his solid fangs, Nocturn slipped into his pajamas, which consisted of a yellow t-shirt and black pants. “If I have to be among the humans, I guess I should learn to be one of them,” he said as he looked at himself in the mirror. The gauntlet and his black sclera were the only things that could strike him as inhuman.
    Nocturn placed his cell phone on the nightstand by his bed and looked out the window. The sky was stained with the light from the streets. The acid rain made tiny black specks on his window where the droplets collected. An armored truck with the biological signal drove down the street, sirens blaring around it, warning of the hazards of staying outside for too long. Six minutes to be precise.
    “And how did this happen?” muttered Nocturn, turning from the window. He fell on the bed and looked up to the ceiling. “So this was my past life, huh? It sure doesn’t feel right.” He closed his eyes.
    An image of a pretty, short woman flashed in his mind. He quickly sat up. “That girl. That short, brunette woman who shows up in my memories.” Then he remembered Aeulus. “And that boy. That green haired man who I hate for no reason. Did he really kill me? The Reapers only told me that…”
    “Aeulusiò di Aria. He was the Usurper who left you with no memory. He killed you, and we brought you back. You want revenge, Nocturn remembered the mystery man saying.
    Nocturn lay back down and clutched a clump of the blanket. “Have I killed the wrong person because of my hatred?” He felt his black magic rush through his blood and essence. He saw his skin suddenly turn gray and then back to its pale white color. But there is nothing to do now… He closed his eyes, but sleep had not come. Instead, he just heard a scraping sound from outside the room.
    Nocturn got on his feet and walked out of his room. The silver moonlight poured through the windows, bathing the darkness with a pale, ghostly light. The raindrops outside created shadows in the ghostly white, making it seem as if millions of souls were marching in Nocturn’s living room.
    The scraping sound came again. This time, it sounded above the sound of rain outside. Nocturn walked to the window and looked out. The streetlamps hung low, illuminating the dark streets. Cars stayed motionless by the sidewalks. Their owners ran for cover from the toxic rain.
    The sound of metal clinking with stone came to Nocturn’s ears. He moved his eyes to the direction of the sound. It took him a while to find it, but he found the source of the sound. A man with white, jaw-length hair and a pointed white goatee stood kneeling on one knee on the top of a building, looking down at the streets. He looked like a crow waiting for its prey. His back was covered in shadow, making it seem as though the black scarf he was wearing was made from darkness and not fabric. Then he turned his head sharply, his red eyes staring directly at Nocturn. The air between them rippled and the windows seemed to bend as the difference in their powers strained them. The white haired man rose on his feet. He was tall and gangly, the same height and width as Nocturn. Nocturn could hear him whisper, his voice cool and jagged: “There’s the infamous Nocturn von Shwarze.”
    Nocturn took a step back from the window. The man vanished. “Damn,” muttered Nocturn. “Where did he go?”
    “This is a very good dwelling for a Dieu de la Mort,” remarked a voice from behind.
    Nocturn spun around to see the white haired man sitting on the black couch, his right leg crossed over the other. “Who are you?” questioned Nocturn.
    “A man from between,” was all the man replied. His red eyes flickered from place to place.
    “Are you a Usurper?”
    The man did not reply, instead leaning back into the couch and looking up to the ceiling. “Tell me, do you remember anything about your life before Monday?”
    Nocturn clenched his fist. “No. Why do you care?”
    “Interesting,” said the man with a teasing tone, as if he knew something that Nocturn did not.
    “What is it?”
    “Oh nothing,” chimed the man. He got up from the couch and picked up a black lance that was hidden in the shadow of the moonlight. “Except, what would you do to regain such memories?” he inquired stopping next to Nocturn. He set his red eyes on Nocturn’s scar. “What would you do to erase the mistake?”
    “What mistake?”
    “The mistake of your death, of course.” The man pointed at Nocturn’s scar. “Aeulusiò di Aria had done this to you, hadn’t he?”
    “How do you know?” snapped Nocturn. What if he did not try to kill me? What if I killed the wrong man for the wrong reason?
    “I am in league with the man who told you,” whispered the white haired man, as if he were telling a secret that not even the floorboards should know. “And he sent me to continue your little memory trip.”
    Nocturn’s eyes looked straight into the man’s. He could detect no signs of treachery or deceit. “How am I supposed to believe that?” questioned Nocturn uncertainly.
    The man looked out the window. His red eyes glimmered in the moonlight. “Do you have a reason to believe otherwise?”
    Nocturn shook his head. Maybe this is my only chance to truly remember who I once was.
    “Well? My name is Ezekiel Stepletine, by the way.”
    “What do you have in mind, Ezekiel?” whispered Nocturn hesitantly. Ezekiel’s mouth widened into a slithery smile just as one of the armored trucks passed by, its alarms lighting up the living room with a blood red light.

    Later…
    Red eyes stared into Viola’s own eyes as the creature grabbed her by the waist with one of its gigantic claws. It lifted her effortlessly, its stinking breath blowing Viola’s hair away from her face so it could see the fear in her eyes. Viola struggled to move, but it was no use. The creature opened its mouth and moved Viola towards its dagger-sharp teeth. She closed her eyes as her head entered the darkness of the creature’s mouth. It lowered the teeth and bit hard.
    Viola got up from the floor with a yelp, beads of sweat pouring down her face. What...where am I? she pondered, out of breath. She looked around, her vision blurred, her chest heaving with every gulp of breath. She was in the familiar white cell of the aerial prison. How am I still alive?
    “You finally woke up,” muttered a voice from ahead. Viola squinted through the darkness of the cell to see the familiar pale white skin of Adeiazo Solum. His arsenic gray eyes looked erratic, contradicting his staid tone. “You gave me quite a scare,” he murmured.
    “How did I end up here? I thought you…”
    “Svapna Magic,” interrupted Adeiazo, “is virtually uncontrollable when the conjurer is not in complete tranquility. I only took you back to the airship.”
    “But…”
    “Now tell me what I really want to know. Where is the Arsenal?”
    Viola tilted her head. Aeulus took it from us, didn’t he? “You have it already. One of your own took it.”
    Adeiazo shook his head and reached into his robe. He took out a silver ball which looked like the Nocturnal Arsenal. He rolled it towards Viola, who picked it up. It was the Nocturn Arsenal. “It is a fake,” said Adeiazo. “And you were there when it was found, so you must have an idea of where it could have been.”
    “I don’t,” muttered Viola, holding the ball in her hand and turning it.
    “Do not toy with us, woman. One of your Reapers died trying to retrieve you.”
    Viola’s eyes widened and she felt a sickening shiver running up and down her spine. A Reaper died. This never happened since…since the last civil war. Thousands of innocent lives were lost in the long cold months of the war.
    Reapers and Elites, polar opposite beings. They have power unrivaled by any power in the universe. They could shape reality themselves when at full power. Their magic can crush entire planets. Their intellect can put even supercomputers to shame. Their abilities make them nearly invincible. A civil war between these two powerful factions, especially at the advancement of ability since the last civil war, could easily destroy both the Paralleliux and the Earth.
    “No…” murmured Viola, realizing this. “This couldn’t happen…”
    “Where is the Arsenal?” inquired Adeiazo, standing before the iron bars of the cell.
    Viola looked up at him as if he were death’s pale body waiting to take her into his cold hands. Death would take a lot of souls if the civil war goes out of control. She backed up to the wall. Adeiazo looked at her with cold, uncompassionate eyes. “Where is the Arsenal?”
    “I don’t know!” snapped Viola, shaking with fear and anger. She threw the ball against the floor. “I thought this was the real Arsenal!” But Adeiazo kept his cold complexion. He turned and walked down the corridor. “What are you going to do now?” yelled Viola, sticking her head out between the bars. Adeiazo walked down the corridor, his arsenic gray hair swaying with every step he took. And then he disappeared into an intersection.
    Viola sat back against the wall and took a deep breath. Her mind played millions of noises at once as her Muzyka magic attempted to stay at equilibrium. “This won’t escalate into a civil war. It can’t. All of that pain and suffering from the last one can’t possibly just happen again.” She felt her throat where the creature in her dreams bit into. Adeiazo accidentally created an illusion in her mind to make the image seem real. What really happened? Did she just faint without a fight? Or did Adeiazo just beat her until she fell?
    She got up on her feet and stretched. She paced back and forth, easing her tormented thoughts a bit. A cool breeze touched the back of her neck as she passed the single barred window. Viola looked outside and fear took her over again. Nothing but the gray clouds and the garden of the airship showed outside. They were flying again. She stumbled back, hitting the metal bars of the cell. “Oh no…” she murmured to herself. “No, no, no!”
    Adeiazo came back several moments later. “So you do not know where the Nocturnal Arsenal is, do you?” he whispered.
    Viola shook her head, looking down to the floor, murmuring “No” over and over again.
    “What a shame. I had to convince the others to keep you alive. But since you are of know use, I will have to dispose of you before the Reapers catch up to us.”
    “And how are you going to do that?” questioned Viola, looking up at Adeiazo with tear-stained eyes.
    The slightest hint of remorse appeared in Adeiazo’s eyes for a split second before being lost into emotionless again. Adeiazo opened the cell and walked inside. He closed the door behind him and walked up to Viola. “I have many ways to kill you,” he said.
    Viola looked at his black fingernails and then to his face. “What are you going to do?”
    “I’ll just kill you swiftly.”
    Viola looked back down to the floor. She felt her heart thud against her ribs as Adeiazo picked her up and made her stand on her feet. He took out a small pistol from his robe. With a flick of the wrist, it morphed into a dagger.
    Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump. Viola’s heart pounded as Adeiazo pushed her to the wall. She looked into his eyes for any sign of hesitation. But there was nothing but a stark void in his eyes.
    Thump, thump, thump, thump. Adeiazo pressed the blade against Viola’s side. Viola closed her eyes as Adeiazo pressed the blade harder against Viola’s side. So this is it then. This is how I die. Well, at least I get to see…him again.
    Thump, thump, thump. The blade ripped through flesh and essence spilled out of Viola’s side. Her blood rushed to the wound, trying to regenerate the lost skin and muscle, but Adeiazo’s blade was coated with obsidian, the blood-clotting substance for Paralleliun bodies. Viola felt sick as the blade went deeper and deeper.
    Thump, thump. Adeiazo pulled the blade from Viola’s side, and Viola felt limp to the floor. He wiped the black essence off the blade and placed it back in his robe. He turned and walked out of the cell, closing the door behind him.
    Thump. Viola looked at the floor as she felt the cold hands of Death pull her heart away from the world. The light that always illuminated her eyes died as her heart stopped pounding. The shock from the wound stopped it, and the last bits of blood went through her veins in a final attempt to rejuvenate her. The corners of Viola’s vision darkened as Death’s grip pressed harder on her. The darkness covered the light, and then Viola slipped into the unconscious cold of death.

    Later…
    Adeiazo stepped out onto the garden of the airship and looked out into the horizon. There was nothing but dark clouds covering the sky. They were headed for New York City, where the Nocturnal Arsenal was last said to be spotted. If that Viola girl had told them more, they would probably have found a more specific area. But she refused. And so she had to die. She is nothing but a cold mass, just like Reaper Blixt, who died so easily under Exitius’s blade. He brushed a gray bang of hair from his eyes and walked to the edge of the garden and looked down. The Hudson River was vaguely visible. They were getting nearer.
    “What did she tell you?” inquired a voice from behind.
    “Nothing. And so I had to kill her,” replied Adeiazo without turning around.
    “Really? I knew she would have been useless for us. I should have taken her to be my queen, just as I had planned.”
    “Queen of what?”
    “Why, France. When we take the world from the humans, of course.”
    If Adeiazo hadn’t thrown away emotions, he would have laughed like a madman right now. “And who said that you could be kind of anything, Ignus?” he questioned starkly. He turned around to see Ignus looking at him with a baffled expression in his face. “You were just to sabotage the Dieu de la Mort.”
    Ignus took a step towards him. “You said that I would get to take control of a portion of the world.”
    “I said no such thing,” murmured Adeiazo, looking into Ignus’s eyes, which widened.
    “You tricked me then!”
    “I have,” whispered Adeiazo. “But you have willingly joined us just for a girl and a few acres of soil. You’ve tricked yourself as well.”
    Ignus bared his teeth and lay his red eyes on Adeiazo’s, as if he was a wolf giving a warning of its bite. “I do not like to be deceived.”
    “You are the deceiver.”
    “You are going to pay for this dearly!” roared Ignus. Pillars of flame erupted from his fingernails as he lunged towards Adeiazo. The Elite stayed still as Ignus closed the gap between them.
    Ignus swung his arm wide to scorch Adeiazo’s face. Adeiazo quickly ducked and kicked Ignus off balance. He pulled the blade which he used to kill the girl and pointed it towards Ignus’s chest. Adeiazo willed the blade to morph into a halberd, which impaled Ignus’s chest just as it came to be. Essence spilled onto the floor and evaporated into the air as Adeiazo and Ignus stayed silent in the garden. “You are a fool,” snapped Adeiazo, the slightest hint of irritation overcoming his usually stark Hispanic accent, “for believing that you can defeat a Usurper Elite without even thinking up a strategy.”
    Ignus opened his mouth to say something, but instead shuttered as essence spilled from his mouth. His red eyes dimmed much like how the girl’s eyes dimmed when she was stabbed. Adeiazo removed the halberd from Ignus’s body and let the latter’s body fall limply to the ground. He morphed the halberd back into a small dagger and placed it back in his robe.
    He turned back and, resting his elbows on the rail, looked down to the blinding lights of the Manhattan Harbor. Two distinct scents filled his nose. Two Reapers are near, thought Adeiazo. And it seems I will have to get my hands dirtier.

    Meanwhile…
    Nocturn jumped from roof to roof. Every puff of air he let out was a white cloud in the black morning air. The moon hung at the horizon, and the sun rose behind him. His sword, sheathed in its scabbard, thumped against his thigh as he ran across a roof, and then jumped over the gap between it and the next roof. The acid rain had stopped falling, but his blue hair was still mopped against his forehead with all of the moisture in the air. He lifted his nose to the sky, following the scent of multiple species of flowers, vines, and trees. The airship was getting closer and closer to its landing point.
    Nocturn jumped over another roof. How could he trust Ezekiel? He’d asked his question since before he got this quest.
    Ezekiel sat back down on the couch and looked up to the ceiling. “There’s a very important person in a Usurper airship headed this way. She has the information that is crucial for the survival of the Dieu de la Mort.”
    “What information?”    questioned Nocturn back in at the Suite.
    “The whereabouts of the Nocturnal Arsenal. The Usurpers got hold of a fake one that we have planted in the sewers: the place of your ‘death’.”
    Nocturn remembered the shock of sudden realization and memorization when his brain refreshed all of the images of fire and death from Monday. “And the Usurpers are coming back to find the real one?”
    “The Usurpers have caught the girl of whom I am referencing to extract that information from her. Hopefully, she could be very willful and won’t tell the Usurpers.”     Ezekiel got up and looked at Nocturn with anticipation in his eyes.
    “And what if she did tell the Usurpers?”
    Nocturn’s eyes widened and focused on Ezekiel’s lips as he said: “You must kill every single last one of them. Including the girl.” They barely exchanged anymore words before he set off to find the airship, hoping that the girl had not told the Usurpers what they wanted. Jackson Heights was the target area. He was within the outskirts of the city.
    He hopped on a streetlamp and looked down at the street. It was completely empty, save for a few cars that were ruined in the acid rain. The airship cast a dim, rainbow-colored shadow on the street, hardly visible with the untrained eye. He hopped down to the street and ran down the street, staying close to the shadow that indicated the airship’s path.
    After crossing many corners and avenues, the airship started to descend upon Traverse Park. Nocturn stopped at the sidewalk and watched as the invisible ship (not completely invisible in the enhanced vision that a Paralleliun could utilize) touched the grassy ground of the park. After a few moments, the front hatch opened and a pale man holding an umbrella with dark gray hair and equally dark gray eyes stepped out and walked down to the street. As he walked, the Usurper let out immense amounts of energy that only a Usurper Elite could hold.
    There is no way that he could not sense me, thought Nocturn as the gap between him and the Elite grew. But then the Elite disappeared, so Nocturn walked into the airship.
    The interior of the ship was completely white, with white tiled floors and cells lining the walls. There was an intersection at one point, and the immaculate walls made the hall look like it would go on forever.
    Nocturn passed many cells until he reached the end of the hallway, which was about ten minutes away from the bow of the ship. To his right was an empty cell, but to his left was a silhouetted figure, concealed by the shadow created from the contrast between the dim morning light and the darkness of the cell. With his sword, Nocturn quickly sliced the bars and ducked into the cell. He felt the body that lay on the floor. He felt long hair and soft skin, so it must be a woman. Is this who I am supposed to be looking for? pondered Nocturn. He knelt to pick up the woman. The smell of blood filled his nose. It was metallic and sickening. Gagging a little, Nocturn felt around the side of the woman until he felt the horrible moistness of blood on his fingertips. Blood. She was wounded.
    “Damn it,” whispered Nocturn as he took out a flask from his robe pocket. It was filled with a colorless liquid. He took the top of the bottle and moved the bottle to pour a drop of the healing liquid on the girl’s wound. He looked at the blood on the floor and went dizzy. The bottle slipped out of his hand and cracked on the floor. “Damn it again,” snapped Nocturn as he watched the clear liquid dissolve into the ceramic floor. He looked around. He was a hemophobic, meaning that he has an extreme distaste of blood. Injections, surgeries, nose bleeds, paper cuts. All of those things make him wary.
    Nothing from behind. No noise from anywhere. It was safe. Nocturn picked the girl up and carefully placed her on his shoulder. Then he made for the exit. Please, let her survive, thought Nocturn’s inner-conscious. He was not sure why, but his heart started to thud against his ribs as he carried the girl to the exit.
    He looked at the girl’s face. She had tanned skin, auburn hair that was long and curly, and the face and body of a petite twenty year old human. Her skin was deathly pale, thought. Maybe I could just try to sustain her for a few minutes, thought Nocturn. He closed his eyes and willed his blood to rush through his veins up to his nose. His blood pushed against the essence in his nose, and he made it pour out through his nostrils. The black wisps crawled through the air and entered the girl’s pores. Her skin regained color.
    Paralleliuns can give off essence to as a life support for traumatically weakened individuals. It does not entirely resurrect an ally, but merely leaves them in a coma. Of course, it depletes massive amounts of essence should it be used for too long, so it is highly recommended not to.
    Silver moonlight bathed the bow of the ship. “I thought I sensed something,” murmured a chilling voice. A thin figure appeared, blocking Nocturn from the exit. His energy signature was familiar. “Two Reapers in one area. How troubling and convenient.”
    Nocturn unsheathed his sword with his left hand and held the girl with his right claw. “You are an Elite, right?”
    “Adeiazo Solum. I am an Elite,” replied the Elite. In the blink of an eye, Nocturn teleported closer to Adeiazo and pointed the tip of the blade at Adeiazo’s neck.
    “Good. I was kind of worried when I saw the wound on this woman, and that her attacker left without a word,” murmured Nocturn.
    “Hmph. You are quick to make judgments of people, aren’t you, Reaper Umbras?”
    “I don’t like Usurpers,” replied Nocturn simply. He swung his sword towards Adeiazo’s face. A hand grabbed Nocturn’s stomach and threw him against the wall, making him drop the girl next to him.
    Adeiazo swiped the smoky essence from his arm where he blocked the blade. His arsenic gray eyes set on Nocturn.
    “Damn,” muttered Nocturn.
    “A simple swipe of the blade will not finish me,” murmured Adeiazo. “I am a Usurper Elite. Or have you already forgotten that?”
    I never fought one before, answered Nocturn in his thoughts.
    Adeiazo raised his index finger at Nocturn. “If you want to be a good Reaper, you should learn to analyze your opponent completely before attacking. I’ve already figured out that you are reckless and narrow-minded when you fight,” he pointed out emotionlessly.
    Nocturn replied with an involuntary grunt. He had never been hit so hard before. That he could remember.
    A silver orb of energy appeared before Adeiazo’s finger. “Now. Let us just dispose of yet another nuisance today, shall we?” The orb of energy exploded and a ray of silver light flew from Adeiazo’s finger. Nocturn stared wide eyed at the spear of energy as it sped towards him. What did I get myself into? thought Nocturn as the gap between him and the ray of light closed. Why did I have to get myself into this?