《The World of Arcadius》


 Chapter 1-1 Darkened Grove

    The leaves glowed a purple satin color, dampened by the bright light filtering from above, and the floor beneath him was soft and giving, just like damp mud; dazzling, dark brown, it reflected purple. Every time the sun brightly illuminated, spots gave off a hint of dark red, slowly presenting him a secret. He could not decipher what the dancing light displayed: a bit of red liquid splattered on the dirt, the grass, the trees. He could not remember the trees being black and did leaves look soft like cloth, purple too? His eyes, when had they opened? He questioned, tasted his chapped lips, pain pinched his stomach, his vision flickered.


    He was unable to move his limp body from the sitting position it was in, his back against a black tree. He could move his eyes and he strained his sight at the scene before him. A meadow lit aflame by the orange glow of a waning sun with pink here and there; it lay just beyond a grove of black bark trees that to him sparkled, outlined in orange brilliance. He observed the plants and leaves surrounding these trees are a normal green. Surrounding him was purple. Why was green normal again? But there was a lack of time for more thought as his eyes began to droop.


    Once again, he was surrounded by the lone embrace of darkness. It provided no warmth, but it accompanied in a place where he had no one but himself. And the darkness. Time seemed to pass but it also seemed to stand still, a numb feeling making him unable to think, cramming his head''s finite space with nothing but emptiness. Hours, years, decades, centuries, a second, he could no longer tell how much time did pass.


    Conscious without thought, his body slowly moves, taken across a sea of sludge, his mountainous foot anchored to a moving island that clashed and clanged with an eruption of noise. Its mountain erupted, molten sludge penetrating his sole. Time begins again as he counted the waves that splashed against his body and the growls and barks that the mountain sludge emitted as its heat smothered his foot. Feeling the pull on his body, his heavy eyelids began to open but this time with conscious effort.


    The sky was black like the darkness that envelops but not complete as it had shining little lights in its midst. Surrounded by dark purple leaves shining on black skeletal branches the sky seemed just out of reach behind those tall unseemly limbs. A tug took his attention and he strained his neck upward and forward to look at the small creature slobbering over his foot. Its eyes open wide momentarily as it realizes the supposed meal is moving. Its piercing teeth let go, a purple mass darting back into the bushes, four legs stumbling underneath. Glowing orange, eyes stare out from within. And next to the bush but off in the distance toward the meadow, pink glowing lights began to sway. They burst, a faint popping sound as the lights left the meadow and went adrift into the sky. They sway here and there until they coalesced into a stream that softly landed on the black limbs of the trees as a slight rustling distanced itself. The glowing eyes have disappeared.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    He let his head rest against the ground and shut his eyelids tight. Lights were nestled above him, pink bright lights the size of a finger. He refused to accept their existence. What he thought were pink flowers in the distance were, he peeked an eye open, hairy little balls. He quickly shut his eye and tried not to think about the glowing purple grass he lay on. The cool wind racing across the land urged him to shiver but he made sure to remain stock still. A collection of soft suckling noise starts above, a gentle despair that reverberates through his very being. He could feel a tear, escaping his right eye, sliding into his ear.


    The warmth upon his face pried his curious eyes open to the blinding light on his face. He glanced away but felt a small pressure in response. Crossing his eyes, he looked at the dimming light, at the figure poised on his nose. A small ball of pink fluff with thin translucent legs and arms and a regal face jutting out. The small face, with its pointy chin, porcelain skin, and prodding eyes, raised its head toward the sky. He stared at that dignified face until a silence settles between them. There is no more suckling, no noise but the wind.


    "You explode. You kill our homes. You bring sorrow. You are darkness. You desecrate the light," the face solemnly spoke then looked down on him with scorn. "The light shall be taken from you."


    Before he could ponder how the little person could speak so loudly, a pair of tiny beautiful hands dug into the bridge of his nose, the fluff now brighter than ever. Knees bent, translucent thin legs gripping his nose, the face opened its mouth, warm liquid sprayed across his brow. Red engulfed his vision as he felt his forehead turn into grains of sand, a guttural scream leaving his lips.


    He sprang up and ran into a tree just as needles pulsed through the end of his skull. His face flattened, he struggled to get back up. He could hear a buzzing, no longer a mellow gentle suckling, but a swarm of sound. Extending a throbbing hand, he grasped a furry little thing, let go, and grasped again to find a sturdy tree. Pulling himself up, grabbing the end of a branch to stand firm, his eyesight dissolved before him, fire burning where his eyes once were. He could feel them bumping into him, all over him, soft little things that delivered mist and pain.


    He plunged his leg forward and pushed his way out of the swarm. His thoughts jumbled as he tried to pull the cotton being away from his nose, unable to grip with enough strength as piercing pain kept rushing his head. He was running, or shuffling, the light dangling on his nose as it continued to poke and prod his face, releasing a fine mist onto his forehead as it did so. Every second was a shock of pain followed by liquid fire coursing through his veins. The throbbing filled his ears, the heat burned his heart, he felt his foot slam empty air. And he was falling.


    His head slapped a rock, pressure strong enough to quench the light, and his body slid into a pool. He felt his body descend beneath the shallow water, slowly beginning to submerge. His sight was gone, the pain was gone, and then he was gone as well.

 Chapter 1-2 Natural Trove

    Chirping in the trees, a well traversed path, a bright sky to illuminate his morning stroll. Moursh was happy. No longer did he have to fight the same wild game, hunt down mysterious rumors of treasure, carry out eccentric quests, fight over scraps, or group up with those self-proclaimed adventurers: damned jack-of-all trades. That life was over. He picked up the bucket he had left hidden by his marked tree. Now he was a man of presence. This job he had now was said to be dangerous, more so than scouring a hagar¡¯s den, which he found hard to believe. He had seen those ragged nails rip apart men, but he hadn''t seen or sensed a bit of danger since he started this job.  Life was good.


    "Moursh!" Moursh heard a yell down the trail he came. "The boss say you take your time and the Light Priestess will be¡ª".


    "I''m going. I''m going. I don''t want to be hung either," Moursh spit to the side and kept on strolling. He took a glance forward and saw a cliff side, roots sticking out, liquid droplets dripping from the end of each. That liquid was his goal. He raised his left arm and swung the wooden bucket behind him only to notice a small opening on its side. He put the bucket down and walked up to a gurgling stream. He stuck his hand, searching and prodding for clay. He collected a handful and brought it back to the bucket.


    "Light Priests," he mutters under his breath as he fills in the slight leakage potential. "I haven''t seen one of them since they left back to the capital. Except for the one holed up in that church, they''re all gone. They come offering protection and leave as soon as they have what they want. Well they won''t be having all of it."


    He smoothed off any excess clay from the bucket and looked forward again. There he could see roots dipping into holes full to the brim with Life''s essence. Rejune they called it and one hearty gulp would make a dead man walk. A barrel would wake an army. Just what he needed. After all, the Light Priests would not protect the town and they refused to provide them any aid against the beasts of the Dead Lands. The fairies are protection enough, he clicked his tongue. A good number of monstrous creatures still managed to avoid the fairy grove to cause them trouble. Their numbers only grow while the town guards only dwindle, death after death. The church can bring them back, sure. If only that priestess wouldn''t charge an arm and leg.


    As he neared the pools of Rejune, Moursh lightened his steps and carefully placed himself behind a tree. The fairies kept every living¡ªand dead¡ªcreature at bay with their presence, anything that came too close. They protected the Rejune. "Well they would if they knew it was welling down here," Moursh snickered but searched warily for any stray pink lights before making his way to the pools.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Looking up to the plateau, as he always did, Moursh saw no fairies, but, instead, a white figure standing on the edge. He felt its stare down to his stomach, a chill through his blood. But upon squinting, he realized the figure was his imagination, the pale stump of a tree. He shyly laughed at himself and unkinked his body. He quickened his pace, traversing the leaves and sticks and brambles as quickly and quietly as possible. He was almost to the pools of Rejune when he noticed. One of the pools was a pearly thick color, a complete contrast to the clear water like substance just neighboring it. A splash of liquid from the unique pool sent him stumbling. His face contorted; nothing could live when covered in Rejune. Taking more than a sip was courting death. Being dunked in it, naturally, you had to explode.


    The white figure stood on the edge. Behind it, the remains of the fairy grove. Black trees fell onto themselves with a snap, pink little things strewn all over the floor; they no longer gave off a glow except for the suns morning illumination. Sharp fangs glint and traverse the grove, shadows that inspect and prod the little bodies, caressing them with their snouts. These four-legged creatures, who proudly rippled their shaggy dark fur, gulped. Each fairy swallowed lit the pointy crystal on their forehead, a wave of white flashing lights in that dead grove. But they were not the only visitors. Small humanoid creatures, red and yellow in flesh, the tallest as high as a grown man¡¯s waist, carried clubs and sticks that they swung at each other, fighting to take what the black beasts left. And the fairies that met their end in the hollows of the trees did too become nourishment for foul beasts. Dull dirty wings slammed into the dead trees, pecking and piercing to find their treat. Smaller colorful ones shared their pink bounty with hidden outstretched hands who preferred scheming to clubbing. And as the fairies disappeared the center continued its purple glow, a marking of arrival.


    The white figure narrowed its eyes as it stared at Moursh who had been paralyzed with fear. It contemplated ending his life, but it decided to ignore him and instead focus on the task at hand. Extending its bony hand, it clenched. Black smoke formed and gathered into a ball that darkened and darkened until it seemed as if it was no longer a ball but a hole.  The hole dropped, and the white figure vanished in a puff of white smoke.


    Moursh was gathering his wits, slowing standing himself up, when a black bur crossed his vision, a vertical black line that slammed into the mysterious pool. He was only able to yelp before he was sent flying, rolling into the brambles and twigs he had so carefully avoided. He shook his head, looked, and saw a white pale hand pulling itself out from the pool.


    "Dan! Dan!", Moursh sprang up and screeched frantically as he ran. "Call the light priest! Call the light priestess! It''s a damn ghoul."

 Chapter 1-3 Smugglers Awoke

    When he awoke, a breath of fresh air, born again to the world that had just tried to dissolve his existence. If not for that screeching sound he heard as he pulled himself out, his coughing fit would be bearable. He wheezed and leaked out a pearly white liquid, a puddle forming after he slipped out of his night residence. He wiped the cream off his eyes with the back of his hand and, more than fresh air, he was born again when light blinded his eyes. Forearms flat against the ground, he looked in the direction the screeching sound had come from.


    "Where am I!" he wheezed, outstretching his right arm as if to try and stop the wide blurry figure from leaving his vision. But the blurry movement didn¡¯t stop, and he instead waited for his vision to clear whereupon his right hand came into focus.


    "I don¡¯t remember having this." He stared at the three black lines on the back of his right hand, each shorter than the one before it, as he grasped the little body still clinging to his nose with his left. He pulled it off and felt an itchy relief sweep across his nose. He stared at the little body, now covered in pearl goo, and shivered.


    "Looks like you lost the light," he said as he threw it to the side and inspected his right hand. The lines were distinct on his pale skin, the way the sun was distinct to the sky. And it pulsed and vibrated and then released black fog in puffs. He jumped back, forgetting that he couldn''t escape his own right arm, and fell into one of the clear pools. It was searing hot, leaving a tingling in his skin, throat, and eyes. But only for a moment, as it was over in the next instant. He splashed out and looked at the clear liquid and then at the lines on his hand. They were darker.


    He stood and walked over to the pearly liquid he had come from. It was thick and when he stuck a curious hand into it, he felt nothing but a soothing cool softness. He then looked at the other pools and one by one he timidly placed a finger into them. Each time there was a searing pain followed by dull ebbing. He jumped into the last pool back first. His back lit up, a tingling that disappeared as soon as it started. The worst pain was his rear end hitting the bottom. The inside of his knees scraping the edge came second. He hissed and looked at the three lines, or should they be three holes. He poked the lines but his skin was there. He let out a sigh.


    "I just want someone to tell me what''s going on," and he gazed down at the still liquid. He stifled a gasp. His pale white skin seemed reasonable, but his hair was a dark white and his eyes were dark red. He almost thought there was a head in the pool but he knew that was him. He couldn''t remember if his face was supposed to look different. All he could do was accept this was the face he had. The corner of his eyes stung as they threatened to overflow. Why couldn''t he remember anything? He let his head fall back and hit the rocky textured wall. With a sigh he closed his eyes and then sprung them open. Above him, black roots were protruding from the cliff''s side. He looked at how high the cliffs edge was and then he looked at the black roots. He turned his body around to stare straight at where he had fallen from.


    "First, how am I still alive? No matter how thick it may be," he reached over and gave the pool of pearl cream a hard slap. "It shouldn''t be enough to have broken my fall. At least I feel it shouldn''t."


    He then stared at the distance he had fallen. "And second, I may remember nothing, but there is no way roots from those black trees can reach this distance." If they were trees. They were black to being with. Nothing was making sense and he needed answers. He remembered the fat man running away when he awoke. He could start there.


    But he shivered, looking at the pink little body on the ground as he did. Instead, he melded with the pool and looked at the sky, lazily watching the clouds pass by with his recovered eyes. His eyes. Another mystery.


    "Boss, there it is. Look, LOOK! You see, I would never lie to you."Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    He turned his head immediately to the noise. There before him, walking out of the woods he had paid no attention to, were three men. The biggest of them quivered, a bucket on his head, and hid behind the man that led them; his waist was more than twice the length of the solid man standing forefront. The fat man wouldn''t stop trembling and that put him on edge. What was he scared of.


    "He looks like a young man to me. Is this an ambush Moursh, your friend here going to take a dagger to me, eh? I¡¯ve Dan with me, eh, he''ll wick you clean, and your friend, any second," Boss boomed not once turning to Moursh. Instead the Boss stared him straight in the eyes, a stern but short figure, hands behind his back. He forgot how to utter a word under that solid gaze, a heavy pressure settling on his shoulders. He was in trouble but what for he didn''t know.


    The third man, Dan, was tall and lanky, he stood a head shorter than Moursh. "Stop shivering Moursh. Boss is only joking, stunning as that thing may be, those are the distinct blood red eyes. And there can''t be anyone that devilishly handsome. I won''t allow it."


    Dan grabbed the bow from his back, strung it, and reached for an arrow in his quiver. Moursh gulped. It was one of Dan''s special arrows, famous for sucking in any liquid they hit: it had left husks out of full-grown men. Dan drew his bow toward the ghoul and there he noticed.


    "Boss," he whispered, aghast. "Are those the roots? They ca¡ª"


    "Yes, looks like we won''t be collecting Rejune any time soon."


    "I don''t think there will be any more Rejune," Moursh uttered as he pointed a shaking finger at the little pink fairy next to the ghoul''s feet, barely visible when covered in paste. ¡°A fairy?¡±


    "A dead one. Couldn''t believe you Moursh. I didn''t want to believe you, " Dan released his arrow which the ghoul sprang away from. "Who would believe a ghoul to still exist. Around a cozy fire with a hot drink in hand, maybe, but not here."


    The arrow hit its mark true, piercing into the flesh right above the knee. The skin around it quickly began to crackle as the ghoul dropped to his knees.


    "It''s as strong as the grannies say," Dan remarked as he drew his bow, an arrow already aimed at the ghoul¡¯s head. "I can''t believe it."


    Boss released his posture, presenting hands engulfed in orange flaring flames. "But there lies the disgusting waste only an envoy of death can make. And there lies the protection of our future covered in that waste. We won''t let that thing leave alive."


    Boss steps forward with his left foot as he spreads his right arm backward to then swing forward, letting loose a torrent of flame.


    The ghoul grasped the arrow shaft with both hands and, scrunching his nose, drew it out, pain making his vision dance. The arrow came out from under his leg, his teeth unclenched, and he quickly flung it to the side. It had felt as if his body was contorting into the arrow.


    As he pressed his marked hand onto the wound, he was hurled into a pool. His mind again lit ablaze. Contorted screams became a stream of bubbles. The water boils, it burns, and he''s covered in heat refusing to be quenched no matter how much he squirmed and jerked with every lick of pain. The fire had enveloped him completely, a red orange flame that fiercely caressed his body.


    The light dimmed, followed by a somber sensation enveloping his very core, and his right hand grew cold. That sweet relief wrapped itself around his arm and then his body. Soon the flames were but a distant memory overlapped by the ebbing of his pain. Enwrapped in darkness the pain disappeared, he stretched out his arm and carefully pulled himself out of the pool and took a deep breath.


    "Look at that, nothing but a pretty pink. You could mistake him for a fairy, " Dan remarked and chuckled as a bead of sweat traveled down his face. He forgot to let loose his arrow.


    The ghoul is covered in smoke, a cylindrical darkness that travels his body, entangling him and returning his skin to its original pale color. He looked up at the three men, worry and sorrow trembling across his face as he took a step to stand. For a moment, Dan was bewildered, surprised at the emotion in the ghoul¡¯s face; he began to lower his weapon. He couldn''t kill such a defenseless creature, not when it so closely resembled a human.


    "Plea¡ª" began the ghoul before his face was slammed in by a wooden bucket.


    "Don''t let him speak or stare at his face unless you want a curse on you," Moursh screeches as he picks up a rock and hurls it wildly. He sprints on to the next rock he can see. Dan shakes his head and aims his bow, enraged at the fact he was seduced by the ghoul''s sorry state. Next to him, Boss releases a torrent of flame, one after another, complemented by the whizzing sound of Dan''s arrows.


    "We may not be able to kill it," Boss declared as the flames at his hand began to sputter, each torrent smaller than the last. "But we must hold until that Light Priestess can come to our aid."

 Chapter 1-4 The Earthen Stone

    "I sent the boy before I found you Dan," Moursh huffs as he bent for a rock.


    Dan stiffened, "You sent the mute to call her!" He grasped for his last arrow before he decides to take out his dagger instead.


    "I''m sure he can get the point across," Boss says as his last torrent of flames dispersed before it even reached its target. Dan poised himself on the balls of his feet, dagger in hand, while Moursh picked himself up from the ground he had tired himself in. They all wore ragged expressions, the Boss especially as he fell onto his back, the last flame on his hand extinguishing. They looked at each other and then at the inferno Boss had created.


    A scorched trail ran straight from where Boss lay to the scorched black base of the cliff he had relentlessly burned with his fire. A clouding fine vapor arose from where the pools lay, red orange fire ringed, and in some burned, the pools. Most ominously, the roots burned a dark black fire, crumbling into dust, lost in the wind. And the ghoul stood in the middle of all this, scorched, not a single piece of pale flesh remained on his body.


    Moursh gave a hearty laugh, relief flooding his face as he fell onto his knees.


    "Look at that! Looks like there''s plenty body left to make us heroes. Moursh, the ghoul slayer. Much better than hagar survivor, I''ll tell you that."


    "Looks like nurturing my flames for decades was not a waste," said Boss as he turned his head to Moursh. "I tell you, as the actual Ghoul Slayer, my prestige can only grow. I''ll make sure to outline my heroism against the last ghoul in existence."


    "I doubt that. I''ve never seen a whole body be left by those flames of yours Boss, standing even," Dan muttered, suspicious of the ghoul that to him was only covered in soot.


    The black matter on the ghoul began to dissipate, smoke adrift left in the wind. The ghoul fell to his knees, metal bits cutting his leg, but no different than when the flame bombardment had begun.


    Dan took a deep breath, "I''ll finish it here." He sheathed his dagger, slowly grasped his last arrow. The final opportunity they had for in his mind only death awaited in failure.


    "What! I can''t see from here," Boss wore an exasperated look on his face as he propped himself onto his elbows. "Damn it Moursh. Why wear such a joyful look on your face if the thing isn''t a pile of ash and bone."


    "The thing looked dead to me," replied Moursh as panic drenched his face.


    Dan took a final breath. He could risk getting closer, for all he knew, he could even take the arrow and jam it into the ghoul¡¯s defenseless face. But he could feel it. The wind coursing through his hair, the heat on his back, his partners panicked blabbering, the roots¡¯ ashes, the sunlight reflecting off the ghoul¡¯s cheek, the strange markings on that hand; it all went numb. The arrow was already lodged in the ghoul''s head, his arrow was already flying, he had already let loose, he had already drawn. His arrow would hit true, his hands were guided by a presence greater than him. He only needed to take action. A blessing had willed upon him.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "Is this why I have no more beggars outside my shop?"


    Moursh turned, and Boss looked up, to the figure that suddenly spoke behind them, delight spreading their grins. The slim figure was robed in a sturdy white, a startling color completely covering the figure from hooded head to hidden ankles. The boots were of the same color and would be just as vibrant if not for the dirt that dotted them. A golden wide sash ran from the knee to the waist it encircled, the hem of the wide sleeves and hood a golden sheen, and on the ample bosom a golden necklace.  A pale chin and pointy nose, almost as white, peeked out from the shadow of the hood. Cherry lips were vibrant, and sparkling blue eyes shone brightly. Blue curls escaped and shifted in the wind.


    "Light Priestess, you''ve saved us¡ª" Moursh began before a stone spear jutted out from the ground, piercing his neck, gargled noise to finish his sentence. Red rain splattered all over Boss'' face as Moursh was hoisted up, his toes skimming the ground.


    "What is the meaning of th¡ª" Boss managed to yell out before a rectangular hole his length and width opened beneath him. His body fell through and his earth tomb slammed shut. Muffled screams quickly ended as a beautiful pale hand clenched into a fist.


    "I had given up all hope, " the white robed figure said before taking a look at the ghoul, focusing on the marked hand. "But it''s finally time." She looked up skyward, a silent prayer leaving her lips.


    Dan had noticed none of this. He began to serenely draw his bow, his face relaxed as if he had all the time in the world. He paid no mind to the stone spear that suddenly appeared in his left shoulder. He continued his shallow breaths, completely focused on his target, ignoring the pain as the spear crumbled with his adjusting movements. His right leg was punctured, forcing him to take a knee, breaking the spear in the process, but it was with grace that he did so. A third spear took his right elbow and let loose the arrow into the ground. But he craned his head forward as if to draw the bow with his teeth. A final spear erupted beneath his head, ending all futile attempts he had tried to make.


    "Really, blessings are such a pain to deal with."


    The white robed figure took quick jubilant steps towards the ghoul. Passing Moursh and Dan, who both leaned against a rocky pillar with their heads craned upward, was a sparse cloud of white dust trailing the happy skips. Arriving, the figure drew back her hood and gave a final pat to the white remnants on the black robe. She extended her hand downward, an offering the ghoul shied away from.


    He ignored the hand and instead stared at the black stark boots. A crimson sash flickered before his gaze and his eyes followed it up to the waist. Only a little higher, a blood red necklace holding three floating lines, as on his hand, hung. Purple curls caught his attention and he drew his head further upward, greeted by a startling calm face, a warm smile, and soft blue eyes. He had not felt safe since the time he awoke to that lonely twilight grove.


    "Who are you?" the ghoul timidly asked.


    The woman took her hand back and suddenly took an extravagant bow. Hoisting herself up, she raised her left hand upward, twisted her wrist, supercilious fingers pointing upwards, and squished her right fist against her chest. She gave him a dazzling bright smile.


    "I am Alison, the witch of the Dead Lands, the last daughter of Death," Alison exclaimed proudly before regaining her posture to point outward. "And the boy quivering behind that tree is Arcadius."


    The ghoul took a deep breath and let out a sigh. He was definitely not safe.

 Chapter 2-1 Questions Not Answered

    The ghoul wrenched his leg away from a root, paying close attention to Alison who walked ahead of him. The sun was in the pinnacle of its life but even it had trouble illuminating Alison who disappeared into every shadow she ambled in. The forest was vibrant with life, foliage providing a green sea for the eye. Animals would appear in the distance, a sudden rustle in the closest bush, chirping in the trees, and the sudden tremor as a giant shadow walked in the deepest and darkest of trees. Alison paid no mind to any of this, a sense of safety surrounded her which he made sure to stay in. He hurried, her figure disappearing and appearing amidst the clump of vibrant trees and heavy brush they passed.


    "Where are we going and why is there no clear path to it?" asked the ghoul as he pulled his leg away from another entanglement.


    Alison stopped walking and turned toward him. Hit by a beam of light, her faint presence is finally illuminated since they entered the woods. She gave him a beaming smile and giggled.


    "I told you, I will answer all your questions when we reach a safe location. And the safest locations are not easy to get to."


    "How can I trust you?" the ghoul asked, tension crossing his face.


    Alison gave him a mischievous smile and continued her distorted trek through the woods. A sigh quietly followed as the ghoul made his way forward.


    Alison was not the only thing that would appear and disappear. The ghoul and Alison were followed by Arcadius, a youth who seemed only a few years short of adulthood. He wore a red tunic, a color that would be easily noticeable if he stayed in anyone¡¯s line of sight. He walked more than a few steps behind the ghoul, averting his eyes whenever he was looked at: his jittery hand caressed the pommel of a dagger sheathed at his waist.


    The ghoul would look back from time to time, eyes sharp to any sudden movements. The first time Arcadius disappeared, his blood pumped wildly as he crouched and swung his head around, trying to see where the boy had run off to, eyes searching for a sudden fire. But soon Arcadius would come back, a look of reluctance and dismay plastered on his face.


    This continued. The ghoul would look for Arcadius, a wall of trees and foliage filling his view with no red tunic in sight.  A sudden rustling behind him would reveal a red color in the corner of his eyes which he accustomed to ignore. The three continued this way: Alison flickering through shadows, a calm and gentle pace; the ghoul  followed the nonexistent path, stumbling and falling; Arcadius went and came, never sure if he could escape. And then it was evening.


    "We''ve arrived," Alison exclaimed as she hopped into the clearing. The ghoul stumbled out and slammed into the ground while Arcadius deftly pulled himself away from a bramble¡¯s grasp; sweat drenched his face and his tunic shone a deep dark red.


    A grand open space surrounded by trees tipped in orange, the setting sun providing a soft glow to the structure that lay in the middle. Sorry white pillars ringed the simple two-story brick building, one rising half its intended height to the sky while the rest lay as broken ruins. One wall fell a long time ago, blocks of decay covered in moss. Other walls were charred black and many windows were smashed. The remnants of a fire could be seen on what remained of the pointy roof, but, other than that, it stood well. What was eerie were the multiple swords left embedded in the ground between the pillars and the building.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Alison turned and sprang towards Arcadius, startling him. Nimbly grabbing his hand, she led him to the right side of the clearing where the trees lessened and turned him to face the sunset.


    The ghoul picked himself up and crept closer to Alison who pointed off into the distance.  There, under her finger, were lights and not the lights he was so afraid of. Lights that gave off the warmth of company, lights that gave off the sense of life, lights that danced along the river.


    He could see rows of tightly knit houses, each illuminated by its own individual lamp. Farther down he noticed a bustle of people, the night life where people gathered to smile and chatter inside crowded rooms. Even lower, he could see what appeared to be boats, illuminated by the parade of children who ran amuck with vibrant sparkles in hand.


    He watched in awe, mouth slightly agape, the vibrant life that he suddenly yearned to be a part of. He could feel safety coming from the town, from the group of people that danced in the dawning night.


    Alison grasped the shoulder of Arcadius who gave a shudder to her touch.


    "Ark, squint your eyes, and you''ll faintly be able to see your town. It''s across the river but there should be a boat to get you across. I think I left it last time I was here."


    Arcadius gave a start to her last words and gave Alison a questioning look.


    "Oh right. Your sister''s medicine," she said as she took vials from within her robe. "Make sure she takes a drop every other night and in time she will be as norm. And keep these safe, I won''t be able to get anymore. Take care not to waste them needlessly."


    Arcadius hand quivered as he grasped the glowing vials of Rejune, never having held more than a few droplets in his life. Even those droplets had been miracles he would never imagine receiving. He looked at Alison and shook his head, questions surfacing in his eyes.


    Alison looked toward the ghoul, the first faint hope she had waited so long for, and then took a long look at Arcadius. She gave a deep sigh and for the first time that day, her smile disappeared. She gave the ghoul a quizzical gaze.


    "I can trust you won''t disappear if I leave you here alone? If I remember correctly, there''s only one boat and we''ll need it later ourselves. Plus, there''s the festival taking place. Ark will be seen immediately if he goes without¡ª"


    "No! You said you would answer my questions when we''ve arrived to safety! ''We''ve arrived'' you said," the ghoul interrupted, curiosity threatening to overflow into madness.


    "Ask."


    "Who am I?"


    Alison then regained her smile and turned to leave, the orange sunset dyeing her robe in coats of fire and setting her hair aglow. She clapped her hands once. A harsh grinding sound emitted from within the ruin, a powerful wave of dust rushing out. He fell into a coughing fit, his body hitting the ground reflexively to avoid the scattering dirt.


    "I don''t know. But you may find an answer inside," Alison said as she lowered her sleeve away from her face.


    With that, Alison led the coughing Arcadius back into the forest, in the direction of the ember river.


    ¡°What is a ghoul?¡±

 Chapter 2-2 Home of the Forgotten

    The ghoul was alone once again. He rubbed the grit out of his eyes and looked at the town getting brighter as the sun set. He pondered whether to follow the departing figures, a longing for company that could be fulfilled in that town. But the pain curiosity dealt him was too great to ignore and uncertainty a constant companion. So, he propped himself on one knee and stood up. With one last glance, he firmly turned his back and walked toward the ruin, leaving all the light behind him.


    Ahead of him was the now dark structure that invited no one to enter it. The crumbling walls, pitiful pillars, and swords that signaled of a horrifying past made sure of that. He steeled his resolve, all sense of dread in his stomach hardened by the resolute aim to gain an identity. He began his slow advance with care, his eyes anxiously sweeping the edge of the forest. The sense of safety had left with Alison.


    "I can trust her. I know I can trust her. I have to trust her," the ghoul whispered to himself as he pushed his chest against one of the fallen pillars¡ªhis head only just able to jut out. He took a concerned look at the many blades that littered the ground between him and his dreary destination. "If I can''t trust her¡­"


    He pushed that thought out of his head and came away from the pillar. The sun had completely set, darkness reigning free where the moonlight did not reach.


    That¡¯s when the whispering began, a soft sound simple enough for him to dismiss it as the wind. He made his way to the black wooden door of the building, carefully treading around the blades whose hilts seemed to swing just ever so slightly with the wind. He maintained as much distance between each blade as he could, but each seemed to always be a hair¡¯s breadth away from his pounding heart.


    There were all kinds: small and large, thick and thin, curved and straight, gold and bejeweled. All coated in the same dark brown gritty matter which diminished each blades adornment.


    The soft whispers became more audible, but there was only him and the swords. With each nimble step they became louder, the whispers¡ªunintelligible hushed screams that called for his attention. He swiveled his head toward the exit Alison had taken but she was long gone. Too far to turn back and too dazed by the sound, he quickened his pace, coordinated stumbling toward the door. The whispers were now an insect perforating his ears: buzzing and hissing.


    It was only a stray glance when the sound inside his head stopped and a single blade entered his vision, moonlight catching the hilt. It was no bigger or smaller than the others, but¡ªwhere the others were ridiculously decorated¡ª this one lay bare. A simple black blade with a plain hilt and pommel. He looked at the ominous worn door he was headed to and then at the darkness that had calmed the rash of sound in his head. Clouds passed overhead, moonlight shining off the blade, flickering. He crept closer, tentative steps. He had waited a whole day for answers, what were a few more moments?A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Almost as if in a trance, he went closer, only just able to feel the chill that swept through him. There was a cool night wind blowing but icy daggers now bit down to his bone, sending shivers through his body, clamping his arms against his chest.


    He stopped moving forward and thought about turning back; there was no need to satiate curiosity that didn''t pertain to him. But the whispers began again, now a soothing sensation that urged him on. He got closer until he was only an arm''s length away, the thumping in his temple now louder than the soothing voice. He makes to grab the glistening hilt with his right hand; faint black clouds emit to enwrap the sword.


    A shriek blasts out and he stumbles backwards, black mist dissipating. He had lost his footing, a cold sting across his leg a reward for curiosity. He struggles to stand up as another inhumanely long shriek pops through him. His ears go numb, a dull throbbing drowning all other sound.


    "What was I doing!" the ghoul shouts as he gathers his wits, questioning his actions. Once up, having ignored the cut on his leg, he makes to kick his staunch opponent when he notices slight movement at his feet. A single blade, this one as peculiar as the others but with an added streak of vivid crimson crawling down its body. A trail, droplets, nothing: blood quietly absorbed into the blade. It gives another shake and then a wild rattle as the loose hilt jiggles in place.


    His chest went empty and his eyes widened as the blade slightly moves upward. It wriggled against the earth, every action getting it closer to freedom. The ghoul frantically pushed it down and lunged toward the black door, each thump reverberating through his ears, an imaginary puncture tingling in his back.


    He got to the door, slammed through, stumbled and fell into a gaping hole, real points picking and prodding his body as he rolled down a flight of stairs. The trip longer than what it actually was, the world dancing in his eyes, he slammed into level ground.


    "I shouldn''t have trusted her. I shouldn''t have¡­" moaned the ghoul as he squirmed. He settled on his back and examined his leg, the slight cut nowhere to be found. He claps his hands together, relieved to hear the sound. He focused and heard for any shriek but no sound came from above. He looked at the stairs travelling upwards into the darkness. Everything besides the stairs was in darkness. Any idea of exploring left him and his curiosity dwindled to a drop. Only his uncertainty grew.


    Suddenly, blinding fires erupted erratically around him.


    "We don''t have all night," a calm voice echoed.

 Chapter 2-3 Festers Worry in the Curious

    Arcadius glanced at Alison as she cast a cloak of darkness around them: eyes shut tight, breath slow and steady, hands clasped together. He made sure to pull carefully on the oars so as to not bother her. The boat eased forward, their presence a slight shadow moving through the water. His eyes peered behind him, at the brilliant place they would have to pass through. Buildings that acted as warehouses and common shops lined the river bank, a few open to make merry. From there, a wooden pier extended outwards into the river where multiple ships were docked. He could hear singing and the occasional shouting but mostly the joyous cries of celebration. He imagined no one would pay attention to the comings and goings of the river. Not on this day.


    But even so, Alison had decided to accompany him back to the town. He turned to look at her, at the calm face and poise she maintained while faint shimmers of darkness emitted and spiraled around her to settle as a clock over them. She did not seem to be phased by the day¡¯s happenings: the ghoul, fairy grove or the smugglers.


    Arcadius shuddered. It¡¯s not like he had taken a liking to the smugglers. Boss never gave his name and tended to grunt rather than speak. Dan liked to braid and comb his long hair and would sometimes force Arcadius to help him. Moursh liked to talk and talk: about the battlefield, his tales of heroism and sometimes the improvised dishes he made with the simplest of ingredients. Actually, today he was supposed to tell him the dish that got him so big and strong. Big at least.


    But now he was gone. All of them were and she had done them so without the simplest explanation or concern. Ever the calm face.


    Would he be gone like that as well? There was a ghoul she was protecting, and she lied about being a light priestess. A ghoul! There was no way she would let him live. Is this why she came? He turned to look back at the pier¡¯s lights as he rowed. He could feel his heart flutter and his lungs contract as they struggled to breath. If she was going to do it, he didn¡¯t want to see.


    "I''m done."


    He turned to look at Alison, her sparkling blue eyes gazing right into him. He gulped. He could never tell what went on behind those jewels. He averted his eyes. She had no such problem.


    "Are you wondering why I came with you?¡± she said, leaning back into a comfortable position. ¡°The Dead Lands are a hostile place to be traveling at night. You¡¯ve come many times a day but during the daylight you hear nothing but the animals that roam with the sun. It is at night when foul beasts come out to hunt.¡±


    ¡°It is obvious Ark. You need not ask the question. You would not have made it home.¡±


    His hand slipped on the oar and the boat swayed and Arcadius adjusted himself to keep the boat afloat. Composing himself, he took it closer to the opposite bank, pushing and pulling the oars more robustly than before. There where the ships were, he made for the deepest shadows. But as they crossed the ships, his hands stopped and the boat shifted in place. Hands clammy at the sight, he now noticed the lone figures that wandered about.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°I could have left you the boat. But not everyone has the joy of celebrating this day.¡±


    There were those that ambled, flask in hand as they grunted against the guard duty they had been stuck with. Another leaned against the railing of his ship, yawning, his droopy eyes looking at the children that ran by, a smile crossing his face. But what made Arcadius'' heart shake cold was the figure on the grandest of ships. On the quarterdeck of the gallant vessel stood his very fright: a dark green coat fluttering gently, a black iron mask reflecting faint moonlight, and yellow cloth obscuring any hair as it draped to the shoulders. He knew who it was, the employer that had asked for a smuggled barrel of Rejune.


    He knew not if it was a man or a woman. But that person looked out into the river, eyes restlessly sweeping back and forth as if expecting something from the nothingness.


    "It takes only one person to start asking unanswerable questions. Although, I imagine that person would have done more than asked questions." Alison remarked. ¡°Do they know you worked with the three smugglers?¡±


    He frantically shook his head from side to side, shivering at the thought of his most definite fate without Alison. He looked toward where he thought the fairy grove lay, still bodies in his memory.


    "Good, then no one will know you were there. You did well to come warn me quietly." Alison craned her head forward at the children running amok. "We won''t be able to land here without being seen. Take us around and get us to the river."


    Arcadius'' eyes almost bulged out at her words. As of now, their boat was close to the ship farthest from the bustle of noise. Alison asked him to travel around the ships, under the gaze of the restless figure, and go into the river that cut through the middle of the town. The river they were on was lined with its own shops and taverns but that river! That river would be bustling with life the farther they went in, they would surely be seen.


    "Doubting my power? I think you know by now I''m much more than a Light Priestess. As long as you don''t touch anyone and I stay on, no one will be able to notice our presence. But those kids, I have a feeling that, as soon as I get off, one of them will come jumbling out. And I''m not in the mood for anymore premature death today."


    Arcadius lowered his head. He had forgotten that Alison was not who he thought she was. Not who the whole town thought she was.


    The Light Priestess, ordered to stay to oversee the transportation of Rejune a year ago. The Light Priestess who never left her home except to visit the church. The Light Priestess who looked upon the deceased''s family with cold indifference as they begged and cried for help. The Light Priestess who went out of her way to hunt down smugglers who dared steal Rejune from her stock. The Light Priestess who handed you a knife when you asked to buy Rejune, an arm and a leg she said. The Light Priestess who was not a woman but a monster cloaked in white.


    The Light Priestess who was adored as a goddess by the most zealous believers who prayed and wailed outside her home. And the Light Priestess who had taken his life when he was so close to death. But a Light Priestess none the less.


    He tightened his grip around the oars and pulled one arm to turn the boat. Head turned back, he made sure to avoid the ships as he caressed the river. The boat moved forward, merging with each and every shadow behind the ships. It was when they reached the largest shadow that he felt a tug at his pants. He faced forward to see Alison pointing upward.


    A jarring creaking groan came from above as heavy footsteps walked toward them. He watched as a squat mound of flesh appeared next to the stoic green watchtower who continued to overlook the river.

 Chapter 2-4 Dread at Realization

    "Ma''am, we''ve search town. No wher¡ª"


    Arcadius flinched as a large thwack resounded against the harsh garbled voice, thick skin furiously bruised by the fist that came upon it.


    "David, dare say that again," boomed a voice from under the iron mask.


    "I sorry. Captain. Only Captain," said David as another fist slapped his face, never flinching. "Smugglers hired, not returned. No one, seen them return."


    The black mask nursed her knuckles, "Well if someone had seen them they wouldn''t be good smugglers."


    "Hideout. Found, money."


    Arcadius held his breath.


    "Something must have occurred. I don''t expect them to survive in that forest, not at night. But the Rejune.¡± She took a moment to brood. ¡°Take some of the men on an expedition¡ª"


    "Hideout, different scent," interrupted David, a fist already prepared to slam into him. "Light Priestess, missing."


    The mysterious ma''am lowered her hand and turned to David, the boulder of muscle.


    "Of all days, we chose the worst. The fat man accompanying them; you need only poke him before he spews. But we wouldn''t be here right now if that was the case," she crossed her arms and bowed her head, pondering; she no longer expects from the river. "Gather the men. We leave at first light. There are other places with Rejune and we just need to find out where they are as we did with this one. That Light Priestess, if she hasn''t found us by now then it''s only a matter of time."


    "The scent, was male."


    The black mask turned to David, "Then make someone else gather the men. Find this person, David, and make sure to wring out everything. And remember, there will be no trail."


    And with that, David was out of sight, only the heavy creaking footsteps to signal his departure. The green cloak stared out, no longer at the river but at the fleeting moon scarce behind heavy clouds.


    Arcadius looked at the figure for a moment. He then similarly stared at the distant moon and thought just how rotten his luck was. His days got progressively worse and worse. A sprinkle of happiness kept him going but he wants to be as far away as the moon is from him. He took a deep breath and lowered his head to meet Alison''s pointing finger with his nose.


    "They''re talking about you, Ark" she whispered, a wicked smile on her lips. "Well, I''ll make sure that man won''t find you. At most, he can only search the town and if he goes into the woods, well, they grow more dangerous as we speak. But really, making me do all the work." Alison scolded him as she urged him to row.


    Arcadius rowed the boat as he shook his head. He was of importance to Alison, he knew that, but every display of affection was overshadowed by his looming future. He took another glance at the moon and sighed. Even it is fixed in position, unable to refuse night after night. Just as he was unable to refuse her. It''s the way things are. It was the price he had agreed to.


    "What do you reckon, a mountain dwarf or a really short man? If he''s a dwarf, I wonder what he did to become exiled from his home. And if he''s a short man, I need to figure out who augmented his body to such lengths. Nasty piece of work." Alison''s eyes widened. "Maybe he''s Bay''s spawn; the garbled voice, the heavy breaths, the nose of a canine. Really, disgusting."


    Arcadius gave Alison a smile and nodded just as they reached the river¡¯s mouth. Saint Pure was the name of the river, given by Lord Gleam shortly after the discovery of the fairy grove. It was to represent the cleanliness and purity of the town that Lord Gleam so strongly worked to achieve. But before the fairy grove was discovered, the town''s prime commerce was elemental jewels. Precious rare rocks embroidered or filled with an element: little jewel bracelets held together by shifting wind, a translucent pearl filled with lightning, golden necklaces tinged with flames, belts made of sparkling colorful rocks, rings emitting water, the list went on.


    Elemental jewels created the town and allowed for prosperity in the Gleam family. However, rocks could not hold the elements on their own. It was the Gleam''s concoction that did the trick; brush it over a jewel and the elements could be imbued. But the concoction left toxic and acidic waste when made and that went into the river. Over time, the river became no more than a green gloomy thick pollution that oozed out into the larger body of water. It reeked, a strong smell that made the nose burn and itch and kept any sane person away from its bank. It wasn''t until the 6th Gleam, Adfinis Gleam, that efforts were made to return the river to its natural state. The best water elementals were gathered, and they worked day and night, except for Suorndai, to separate the water from the impurities. After a decade, only half the town enjoyed the grandeur of a pure river. But with the discovery of the fairy grove, Gleam Town would depend even less on elemental jewels. Or so they had thought.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Arcadius now rowed across the still toxic part of the river. He scrunched his face as he felt the stench seep into his nose. It tightened his throat, prickled his nose, and made his eyes water. A few men and women suffered the same fate on the river bank. They lifted and waved their hands above them, a sphere of river waste floating upwards and into the large barrels behind them. And until sunrise they would work on separating the water from the waste, a task harder than first imagined. Once finished, each barrel would be full to the prim with toxicity, the lid shut, and sent off. No one knew where the barrels went afterward except for their direction: North.


    "It''ll be a good long time before this river is completely clean," said Alison, using the hem of her robe to cover her nose. "So, row a bit faster Ark, I don''t know if this boat was made to resist this putrid irresponsibility."


    Arcadius tightened his arms and pulled harder. He had no intention of knowing what touching the river felt like. Stories spread and none of them were good.


    "You know, I''ve heard bathing here will have your skin gain an invincibility no armor blacksmith''s work could ever live up to," Alison smiled at the thought. "But I have seen no one come out after jumping in. That doesn''t necessarily mean the rumors are not true. How about it Ark, want to take a quick dip? I''ll hold your hand."


    Arcadius furiously shook his head. Invincibility or not, it didn''t matter if he was dead. Alison laughed at his vigorous shake and they continued onwards into the other half of Saint Pure: clean and fresh.


    Establishments began appearing on each side, three or two stories high, crowded against each other to form a tight array of brick and wooden grandeur; however, far enough from the river bank to be separated by stone pavement where a multitude of people walked, each dressed in their finest garbs of sunset. Dark shades of purple and blue covered the men, and rich folds of orange and red vibrant among the women, all illuminated by the interval of pole lamps protruding from the wooden rail that ran where stone and water met. Black and yellow were rare to appear and only as a pair.


    Where the stone pavement widened farther, groups of people mingled around stalls of food and play, scent of spices and meat thick in the air. Voices rang out as children ran plenty between, joy and loss at every game they made. Crowds gathered around those who danced with the elements and those who captured them, cheering and applauding. Bridges of the most intricate and colorful design that wood could take connected the opposite sides. Laughter and happy talk came from above when Arcadius rowed under. Lights shined from groups gathered to march in festive mood, these holding drinks and banners of red and purple; the biggest banner a white adorned with gold. Buildings with window lit panes showed a rabble of comfort inside; food and plenty going around.


    But Arcadius only lowered his head and Alison said nothing as he simply rowed, navigating the river carefully. They passed the festival in a blur without so much as a glance given to their invisible selves and finally activity lowered to a silence; the river bank was now made completely out of stone and elevated to the height of two tall men.


    Grand houses stood tall, white splendors that glistened in the night light, and lonely streets were paved with vibrant marble that showed no stress from time. It was oddly clean and empty space abounded. Few windows showed light, residents unable or unwilling to participate in the nights celebration; others were occupied with activity that never dulled for a day of rest.


    They were now up-river and it was much more spacious than the clutter of buildings down-river.


    The boat swayed under the darkness of a splendid stone bridge. Arcadius stood on the stone bank and squirmed his eyes toward Alison who had not moved from her seat, the oars now at her feet. His day had finally come to an end, but it seemed as if Alison¡¯s was just beginning. His questions only grew in number but no answers came. They never did.


    "Ark, I hope you can make it back to your sister without being seen. I would take you, but I have matters to attend to. I''ll be seeing you," Alison said.


    Arcadius held the vials in his pocket and frantically waved his hand to Alison. He carefully showed her the vials and pointed to them. And then he pointed to himself. Alison looked forward, eyes focused on something beyond what they saw, and took what seemed an eternity to respond. He almost turned to leave not expecting her to answer. She never had.


    "The bargain we made. Yes, it will soon be time for you to keep your end of it. Be careful Arcadius and keep away from the light," Alison declared as the boat began to move away. She lay in the most comfortable position and slowly vanished from his sight.


    The boat disappeared into the clearest river, not even the slightest ripple to prove she was there.


    Arcadius tightened his hand around the vials and carefully put them in his pocket. He stepped out from underneath the bridge and looked at the moon. He gave a final longing sigh and patted his face. Making his way up stone stairs to the marbled street, he made his way back home.

 Chapter 3-1 Greetings to the Citizens of a Dead City

    A myriad of sputtering orange lights struggled against the darkness, unable to fill the shadows that persisted between each flame. But it was enough to reveal what hid below the empty forgotten ruin the ghoul had unceremoniously entered: a space littered with stone structures silent expect for the crackling braziers illuminating damned buildings felled by the pressure of time. On and on the ruins spread, the occasional edifice ascending into the dark. There seemed to be no roof; instead, a deep abyss spread above as wide as the sky and draped at the edge of illumination. Debris of former grandeur barred the way into the darkest of darkness.


    It was a sensation of abandonment and confinement that pervaded as far as the eye could see. What could have once been the resounding joy of many people was now crumbling and forgotten, home to nothing but remnants of a past. A grand city destitute of life except, in the distant horizon, a looming pyramid shown dimly: a giant purple flame burning gently at its peak.


    ¡°Who¡¯s there!¡± shouted the ghoul out into the desolate city. He was given no response and instead the purple on the pyramid flared and burned brighter. If only a little, his trust in Alison had returned, the city a great enough astonishment to more than overfill his curiosity. ¡°A city of ruin, what secrets could be found here?¡± the ghoul wondered as he inspected his surroundings, entranced by the possibility that he would finally find answers. Any answer.


    Tattered stone buildings with signs of drink, food, armor, clothes and weapons ran along the street he stood on. Many displayed a variety of wares through clear grand windows; the braziers outside illuminating the items that never found an owner.


    He walked forward, captivated by the array of colors found in every shop. Dresses of red and yellow vibrantly stood out, a sign hanging from above to display the words ¡®The Spiders Silk¡¯. He made his way inside.


    Clothes of every color, vibrant and glistening, were arranged on wooden racks and shelves. He ran a hand along the various textures, soft and rough but each slightly damp. He draped a red sheet over himself, the soft comfort a joy his body relished. As he rubbed the cloth against his cheek, the ghoul noticed a strange clear case in the far back of the shop. Dropping the red, he walked toward the case and, in the dim brazier light, he noticed a very thin white mantle inlaid with gleaming purple. Purple that reflected off his daring eyes and smile. He smashed his hand through the glass and draped the item.


    A wooden sign lay sprawled and broken on the floor. An intricately adorned sword was drawn on it, painted words blurred or missing. The ghoul stepped on the sign as he shuffled out of its building. Necklaces, gold, white and silver, nestled against him. On his hands, rings, red, green and yellow, holding jewels the size of pebbles. On his left forearm a jagged crystal buckler shield, the handle tight: biting at his skin. Black boots covered his feet and black pants finally covered his loins. Strapped to his back were a ridiculous number of swords which he bothered fixing as they slipped. Satisfied, the ghoul looked at the armor shop in front of him and let out a sigh. If not for how difficult it was to put on, his whole body would be encased in a suit of gold.


    The braziers now burned dimly, their fuel mostly gone, the flames dwindling, casting a soft glow on the street.


    Remains littered the street: carriages full of luggage, books and pages strewn on the ground, brittle bones of animals that had long passed and piles of armor. Details before overlooked now eerie in the waning light. But the ghoul¡¯s attention was captivated not by the disarray on the street but by what looked down on it: strings of cloth that hung listlessly from above. Flags on roofs and banners on walls held the symbol on his right hand: three diagonal black lines, each smaller than the last.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    As the ghoul focused on the symbol, perplexed, slight whispers slithered into his ear. Creatures moved between shadows. He quieted his breath and peered into the vacant stores he had already visited.


    The ghoul, alert, waited to hear an echoing voice again.


    He scanned his surroundings as he looked for a body where the voice could have come from. But the bodies he did see were only fleeting, always at the edge of his sight and too grotesque to want to approach. They disappeared in all sizes, dark globs of black goo with white protruding all over. From shadow to shadow they went, closer and closer as the light died. He peered into the darkness and his eyes saw what was most hidden, what the braziers fought to reveal.


    A multitude of shapes moved where no light reached. They swarmed all available space or stood still, never moving, as other shapes collided against them, letting their goo fly. He watched as globs the size of men drifted across and over debris. Others the size of children slithered up walls and latched themselves onto roofs only to fall back with the others. Some reached the highest places available to become stock still, boulders that overlooked the mess below them. They were simple creatures but terrifying. For the white that protruded from their bodies was bone. Bone hands, bone feet, bone arms, legs and teeth. Every kind of bone could be found in the sea of goo. Now that he looked at the areas alight, he found the trails of slime that he had not noticed before and remembered the cloth he had touched, the dampness.


    He jumped and jiggled as he struggled to remove everything. Necklaces and rings slipped away, swords came falling, the brilliant shield was hurled, the clothes were bundled and thrown.  The ghoul frantically moved back to the stairs making sure to stay within the withering remains of the light.


    He faced the banners holding his mark, the crackling fire no longer overpowering the ominous sounds of movement and threat. Shrieking swords or ominous globs, curiosity had only led him to trouble.


    ¡°I¡¯ll wait for Alison,¡± the ghoul whispered to himself, aiming to sit halfway up the stairs.


    He looked behind him, at the stairs that went up and up and disappeared behind the heavy veil of darkness. This was an eerie place and it was probably best if he made his way out, but the stairs seemed to stretch out farther the further he looked. And just as he placed his foot on the first step of the unimaginably long stairway, he gave a start to the sudden chomp on his leg, a shriek loosening his lips.


    He looked down and saw very familiar orange eyes attached to a pudgy stubby body. A small four-legged creature looked up at him with large beady eyes that stuck out from a flat wrinkled face. Dull fangs had bit onto his leg and now released, the little canine stumbling away from the ghoul and into the nearest ruin, lost as it scrambled over and out of sight.


    ¡°Come to me at the purple fire,¡± a voice echoed.


    The ghoul looked at the stairs behind him and then at the distant pyramid that loomed over him with its purple fire. It was far distant, the bottom half of the pyramid covered by the multitude of buildings in the horizon. A sense of safety, as the one that Alison emitted, could be found in it. A familiarity that he found strange to experience. If only he could remember. Maybe, this was a voice he had heard before and, with that thought, the ghoul made it his goal to find the mysterious being. He might finally get some type of answer to his predicament.


    He had come this far for answers. A simple trek would be nothing more.


    ¡°I¡¯m going,¡± said the ghoul just as the braziers¡¯ fire died. He ran after the little beast, over debris, and into the sight of blazing fires. A trail to follow.

 Chapter 3-2 Visions through the Remains of the Fallen

    The ghoul was sweating profusely by the time he found the little beast, haggard breath and trembling legs an effect of his struggle. The trail of torches he followed were short of life. A discovery made when the fire he walked toward suddenly extinguished. His chest wrenched as he noticed the black globs moving in to fill the light-less space. He lunged after the safety of the next fire, frantic stumbling steps afraid to touch the disfigured creatures. It was all a sprint after that. Twist and turns, down winding steps, over fences, under bridges, from window to window, through a sewer, roof to roof. It was a maze of movement forced by the extinguishing torches that left him deranged and confused.


    The pyramid was no closer than before and the stairs that he had tumbled down from had long disappeared. The little creature he thought to follow had vanished and now waited for him here, ringed by flaming lamps, to give him a soft relaxed panting. The ghoul approached the ring of fire in the plaza just as the torch behind him died. An open area with a dry fountain and little creature at the middle.


    He dropped to his knees to rest and tried to regain his strength. The little beast tilted its head.


    ¡°What? You weren¡¯t made to run across the whole city. I nearly died making those kind of jumps,¡± the ghoul panted, remembering the leap of faith he made when he found himself at the top of a tower and the next torch at the bottom of it. Wooden buildings close to collapsing had softened his fall.


    The beast barked and moved off, disappearing behind the fountain. The ghoul picked himself up and followed, finding the thing biting a black bone. A skeletal leg.


    He quickly moved and lightly pried the biting teeth away. ¡°Don¡¯t disrespect the dead. They have it¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t move and stop whining. I can¡¯t concentrate if you won¡¯t shut up.¡±


    The ghoul hurriedly looked up, searching for the sweet voice he suddenly heard. Sunlight blinded his eyes, a bright shine descending on the trees, shrubs, and the couple before him. A woman, with skin as fare and pale as his, lay on her knees, bent over a man as pale. She wore a red slim tunic and mantle, golden locks of hair tickling the man¡¯s cheek.


    ¡°But. It hurts so much,¡± the man winced as the woman removed his bloodied green coat and chain mail from his chest. His red eyes flared in pain as the woman opened the wound stretching across his chest, a long gash running from his collarbone to his hip.


    ¡°I guess you can cry a little,¡± breathed the woman as she extended her left hand, thick purple smoke emitting to cover the wound. She turns her head to the sky, a silent prayer on her lips, red ruby eyes filled with determination. The smoke lessens, a wound no longer present. The man¡¯s face soothed by her free hand ruffling his thick dark brown hair.


    ¡°Really, you can be such a baby¡ª¡±


    The man opens his eyes, grabs the woman by her shoulders, and forces her beneath him. A wall of fire descends upon them.


    The ghoul stumbles away and falls onto the ground, the fountain once again in front of him. A slim skull¡ªan arrow wedged at the collar bone¡ªthe skeletal body tightened as if cold. Thicker bones hold dozens of arrows, an arrowhead protruding from an eye socket, the end of the shaft coming from the back of the skull. Two black skeletons, one held in the arms of the other.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    The ghoul looked at his own hands, at the smoke that he willed to slightly puff out. Only his was a dark black, not the purple he had seen. But then the fires that surrounded him fizzled and he was alone in the darkness. Except a flame ignited at the end of a stick held in the little beast¡¯s mouth. It gave a slight growl and skipped away, its chin lifted upwards.


    ¡°What was that? Was that them? Did you see what I saw?¡± asked the ghoul, making sure to stay within the light the fire emitted. He bent down to take the stick from the little beast¡¯s mouth, but he received a growl for his effort.


    ¡°It¡¯s a shame that they met with such a terrible fate,¡± muttered the ghoul and a whimper sounded in agreement. He matched the pace of the little fire, past rows of arrows, broken blades, piles of armor and clothes, the little creature led him. Soon, they reached an alleyway and in they went.


    Against the wall sat another black skeleton. This one had an arm missing and a foot twisted grotesquely. The cause of death a sword embedded in the ribs, the hilt resting against the bony black chin. The ghoul walked forward and removed the sword, careful to lay the body against the floor.


    ¡°There he is, make no sudden movements. Remember, we all move at the same time,¡± mouthed a man, completely covered in black, to his companion, similarly dressed. They lay on the ground, bodies hidden in the densest shrubbery, moonlight unable to shine on them. On the road in front of them glistened white snow and a man appeared. He stood tall and poignant, pale chiseled face with red eyes, several layers of clothing keeping the cold away. He walked slowly, carefully choosing his steps as he made his way across the road, the men in black frustrated by the man¡¯s pace.


    ¡°Once he¡¯s directly in front of us, I¡¯ll give the signal and everyone will surround him,¡± the leader cloaked in black muttered. ¡°No one makes¡ª¡±


    ¡°You seriously believe I cannot see you. Hide in the darkest shadows; that will do you no good,¡± the patient man proclaimed, turning to face the two that hid in the bushes. The cloaked beings stiffened, but the leader quickly regained his composure.


    ¡°DAMNDED GHOUL! SURROUND HIM!¡±


    A dozen black cloaks revealed themselves to surround the single road traveling man, a fine purple mist settling. The closest cloak ran three steps to his target before he fell flat on the ground, clawing at his spluttering throat. One after the other, cloaked figures fell to the ground, bodies thrashing and convulsing as they wished for breath. Soon, all bodies were still, the snow around them upturned as if a great struggle had taken place. The man was unperturbed with not a single strand of purple hair out of place.


    The regal man walked to the closest silent figure and got on his knees. He worked his hands over the clothing, taking time and care to remove all. A pile formed: cloak, hood, mask, shirt, pants, undergarments, necklace. The purple mist condensed next to him as he worked, a dark purple ball that he fed more purple smoke to until it became a black abyss. The woman¡¯s body was completely clean of clothing, and he grabbed her by the shoulders and hurled her into the hole in the air. He stood and looked at the others waiting for him.


    ¡°And I was just running out of specimen,¡± he smirked, making his way to the next black cloak.


    The ghoul blinked, finding himself on the skeleton, staring into the empty holes where red eyes used to be. He rolled off, gasping for air. He remembered his pale skin and red eyes. He was a ghoul. He shivered, remembering the way the woman¡¯s corpse was hurled with indifference, reminded of the men who had been so afraid of him. His eyes teared in frustration, unable to remember anything before the grove where he had awoken.


    The little beast now danced at the entrance of the alleyway. It waggled its tail, balancing the lighted stick on its nose. Moving from side to side, the fire threatened to fall, until it did. It snarled and slobbered, desperately trying to put the stick back in its jaws. The torch was lifted by a pale trembling hand.


    ¡°Take me to the next one.¡±


    A single bark and they were off.

 Chapter 3-3 A Curse to bind them All

    Holding the torch aloft, the ghoul walked into a square where globs of black moved away from the light. He swept the orange glow, piles upon piles of clothing and armor surrounding a platform. A chill crept upon him as he wondered who could have left them there. Hopefully, not another ghoul looking for ¡®specimen¡¯. Ignoring the creepy piles, he walked to the platform, noticing, upon arrival, a thick wooden board mounted on it. It stood at a tilt, metal rings at each corner, black stains running down the middle, facing the direction where most piles lay. Next to the platform, covered in orange glow, he waited as he had lost track of the little beast.


    Before long, he heard the soft patter of little paws and moved to meet it. Into the light came the little thing, holding in its mouth an object bigger than its head. He bent his knees and a small black skull dropped into his extended hand.


    Suddenly, he was surrounded by a swarm of hot bodies, pushing and prodding against him. Screams and shouts deafened his ears as he struggled to get his bearings.  The smell was sharp, sweat and heat smothered into his face. He finally gave a strong enough push and out came his head from under an armpit and into the view of a reptilian face. His eyes widen in terror and he drew away into a mane, a face with jaws and fur; his screams drowned out in the chorus of mad voices. They didn¡¯t notice him and in the throng, he noticed what he would consider normal faces. But no matter the type of face, they all wore the same expression: wide bloodshot eyes with mouths gaping open in anger. Turning to look at what they saw, brilliant red sunset light blinding his eyes, he saw the platform.


    A man¡¯s headless body was thrown off and into an already full cart, cheers resounding. He saw the cart drawn away; the man who pulled it performed the task mindlessly¡ªhis feet having learned their destination. The ghoul turned his head, looked at the platform where several men now struggled to tie another victim to the wooden board. He saw a yellow tattered grime-covered frilly dress, black and blue bruised pale skin, hands too short to reach the metal rings tied with rope, dirty matted red hair, but brilliant rebellious ruby eyes. The little girl hissed and snarled at the men who restrained her against the bloody board; a bearded bulk of a man stood to the side.


    With a bloody battered sword, warped white armor, and indifferent eyes, the silent bearded fellow moved to the front of the platform and raised his sword to the sky.


    ¡°With this, the plague that has infested our world will be cleansed!¡± he savagely screamed.


    A horde of voices replied. Rasped, roaring, hissing, and guttural.


    ¡°Cut it in two!¡±


    ¡°Take the eyes! TAKE THE EYES!¡±


    ¡°STAB THE HEART! MAKE IT FEEL THE PAIN WE FELT!¡±


    ¡°No!¡± the ghoul shrieked, a lone frightened whisper among the furious flames of mindless rage.


    The bearded man prepared next to the wooden board, blood-soaked thing unable to take more, a pool of blood forming in the floor. The sword pointing to the sky was now laid against the horizon, a gleam of red running down its blade. With two meaty grubby hands, the sword was swung, biting into flesh that refused to give; a narrow shallow cut formed.


    The ghoul pushed, struggled, to get to the front of the crowd, wanting to stop this madness. But he watched, helplessly, as the sword was driven again and again into what appeared to be a fragile pale neck. No longer did the mouth snarl; tears fell across the face. But those red rebellious eyes remained determined, a fierce gaze against all odds. He noticed the little mouth took a deep breath between every blow.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    The bearded man was exhausted, panting and puffing with both hands on his knees. He stared at the slight wound he had made, at the eyes that taunted his ability. A thinner younger version of the bearded man walked to him, presenting a similar looking sword but glowing a faint blue. Mad exhausted eyes looked at those still vibrant red eyes. He pushed the offering away, stood and swung and swung. Shallow cuts formed above dark bruised skin.


    The man frustrated at the flesh that refused to surrender, took a grounded step into the pool of blood, and swung with all his might. His foot slipped and the sword bit into the wooden shuddering board with a loud slam, missing the pale neck by a hair¡¯s breadth. It was only for a moment, as he moved to pull the blade away, that he saw the little girl, really saw her. The red eyes that stared at him with anger and fear that any living creature would feel, but then, she blew out purple smoke from her mouth and into his face.


    The ghoul had just reached the front of the howling crowd when he saw the puff of purple. The bearded man clawed at his throat and walked off the platform, convulsing until he was still.


    There was a horrifyingly loud silence as everyone went quiet. A glaze passed over everyone¡¯s eyes, horrified at the loss they didn¡¯t expect to experience.


    It was then that a winged figure fell from the sky and onto the platform. Covered in glistening armor of white and gold, he spread his pure white wings on his back. Red eyes rested on a well-defined face chiseled to perfection. Vibrant healthy bronze skin emitted the scent of roses among the stagnant stench of filthy flesh. Lush golden hair was tied into a ponytail where it gleamed brilliantly. A thin scar ran from his left eyebrow to his cheek. It was the greatest of splendors, the man who had led the charge in battle. He took a deep breath and boomed.


    ¡°You see now, with your very own eyes, the danger that these things can be. Cowards they called us, but even the little ones can bring great harm to us all. From youth, they are able to kill, releasing toxic fumes from their body. Remember those who doubted us, who endangered our future. The fools. They endangered your children, your families, your prosperity. But who lies with the truth now? See with your very own eyes.¡± He points at the fallen bearded man. ¡°There is no coexisting with these being of malice. Your sons and daughters who disappeared. Your wealth that these things took from you. Look around you, a city built off your misery. No, they cannot live by our side¡ªno matter what anyone tells you. We are in the right.


    And for those that came looking for lost loved ones. I am sorry to inform you that I have found them. Not a single bit of meat left on their bones. But I swear to you, that will happen to no one else.¡± He unsheathes his glowing blade and easily stabs it into the little ghoul¡¯s hand. ¡°You all shall be revered as heroes. The great men and women who against all odds, fought and defeated the ghouls who entrenched upon our world, ready to destroy it. What we did today will be remembered forever. This is the final cleanse.¡± And the beautiful man turns his back to the cries of woe and admiration, a wicked smile across his plumb lips.


    The ghoul just grasped the edge of the platform as he saw a glowing edge raised and brought down, a swift motion severing life and body. Warm droplets glistened in the waning red sunlight, floating downwards to land on the ghoul¡¯s face, heavy on his eyelids¡ªshutting his eyes tight. Quivering, he waited for the horror to end, to be taken away from this horrific scene.


    But he is not. Instead he hears the cries around him settle into moans of pain. He opens his eyes, greeted by the distant gaze of a blank face oozing out its remaining life. Startled, he moves away in disgust from the disembodied head and bumps into a man behind who holds his own head, groaning. He looks up toward the platform where the winged man holds a low stance: head swiveling around, eyes panicked and frightened.


    Just then the first screams begin to come forth and wings blast away into the air, beating furiously to get away. Long howls, vacant of any clarity, begin to resound, mixed with the garbled noise of pain. The ghoul turns back to look at the crowd and sees the cause. Skin, hair, fur, scales, feathers, it all came apart. Faces and bodies began to disfigure as they bend and sway out of proportion. Bones protrude and flesh stretches to rupture. The screams die and out from within whatever attire they used to wear come out the grotesque black beings.


    ¡°I curse you all. I renounce you from death,¡± echoes the voice the ghoul was familiar with.


    Black globs surround the ghoul. He struggles as they cover him, prodding and poking as they push against him. He extends one hand outward, grasping for the last rays of sunset.


    And then there was total darkness.

 Chapter 3-4 An impossible quest for one without a name

    Trembling and on his knees, the ghoul gasped for breath as he retched the imaginary black goo, a disgusting taste of rot tightening around his tongue. Exhausted, he let himself fall, resting heavily on the ground until the hampering taste was a memory of a memory, forgotten and unable to be remembered. His eyes focused and he noticed the skull that lay next to him, purple light reflecting off the black bone. He remembered the screams of fury directed at the little girl, at her existence. He spit the excess saliva in his mouth to the side.


    To be a ghoul, it seemed, meant to be accompanied by danger. Danger born out of fear and anger from those who were not ghouls. Danger that led to the destruction of a city, to the death of his kind. But if the little girl was the last ghoul then what was he? He didn¡¯t know what to feel. He couldn¡¯t feel anything, the lonesome void in his soul to big to catch anything but the loss for who he was.


    As his eyes threatened to close, protecting him from the pervading sense of abandonment, white legs stepped into view. Whereas, the ghoul¡¯s skin was incredibly pale, it contained the minuscule blemishes, unseen lines and pores that came with life. However, the person that bent to pick up the skull had none of that, only an unnatural complete even shade of white to cover the skin.


    The ghoul turned on his side to look up into white eyes, the pyramid and its purple fire creating a halo around white shaggy hair.


    ¡°Come. There is no more time for memories to explain,¡± an outstretched hand was offered to the ghoul. An offer the ghoul immediately took. They stood together, surrounded by columns of black bone. The white figure moved to the closest one, carefully pushing the skull into it. Bones rearranged themselves to accept the little thing. A white finger caressed the skull and a slow, yet strong, melancholic voice that slightly elongated each word continued.


    ¡°Their souls are long gone now, elsewhere, reborn into a different state of being.¡± The pale eyes turned to the ghoul. ¡°But I thought to remember them; make a grand tomb so I could never forget. Here I lie, a painful memory, a great failure.¡±


    ¡°Who are you?¡± the ghoul, confused, asked the only question that came to mind.


    The white figure gave a tilted smiled at the question. ¡°I feared as much.¡± Pillars of bone moved aside, the pyramid moved closer, the enormous purple fire loomed above them. ¡°Come, let us make our way.¡±


    The ghoul watched as the mysterious person began to walk up the pyramid steps, each engraved with different images, pasts trapped in the present. As the ghoul raised his leg onto the first step, the world distorted around him, his vision turned, colors pinched and spread, and his stomach twisted, feet and head trading places. A moment of chaotic turbulence and tangible lucidity. And the ghoul¡¯s mind cleared, everything back in place, rightly encased; his leg lowered onto the ground.


    A purple fire floated before him, a pillar burning downwards. The man stood to the side of the fire, staring into the flames before sitting on a simple stone chair. The little creature the ghoul had followed was snuggled underneath. Soft wailing from the fire made the ghoul flinch, stepping back onto an edge where he swayed, his body threatening to fall. Balancing himself, he turned to look at where the floor disappeared to see it replaced by the steps he meant to ascend. And the city sprawled before him, slightly visible before it was enshrouded by complete darkness.


    The ghoul stood stunned, his sense of reality warped.


    White void eyes turned to the ghoul, ¡°Sorry, but I do not have enough in me to keep you completely there. Sit.¡± The sitting being slightly raises a free hand, a square stone easing itself out of the ground where the ghoul shambled to sit, straight and stiff.


    He struggled to find his tongue and speak so he waited.


    He stared at the fire, avoiding a look at the man next to him. Now that he was here, he could feel it: the grandeur of the city, the extreme pressure coming from the white man¡¯s eyes, the enthralling energy that came from the purple fire, the fear in the men who Alison swiftly killed. All for him. Everything rang of importance and his chest tightened at the prospect of what it all meant. Who he was. He no longer yearned to know.


    ¡°I brought you here, given the opportunity, to show you what you are now. But you¡¯ve lost your memory.¡± He paused before asking, ¡°Do you not remember anything?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t be able to visit the town that Alison and Arcadius went off to?¡±


    The man raised his eyebrows at the question. ¡°No, you won¡¯t. The extermination of my family happened more than a century ago. The Reign of Light was established then and it only grew stronger since. Every being under their faith is taught to fear the sight of you. You will find few allies and even fewer friends.¡±


    The ghoul was not surprised by the answer, remembering the execution, the mercy that evaded even the children. He sighed and peered at the brooding figure.


    The ghoul tentatively licked his lips. ¡°I have no memories before the day I awoke in that grove. That night, I fell off a cliff. There were these little¡ª¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes. Quite an exciting arrival if not what we had planned for. Excellent work. I didn¡¯t think you would be able to close a gate to the celestial space in such a short amount of time but that just proves there was no reason to doubt you. Now you can move on to the next gate, but this time try not to fall off a cliff into a batch of my dear Life¡¯s essence. It cost me quite a bit of power to revive you and I don¡¯t think Darfen would appreciate having to go deliver it again. Right, Darfen?¡±


    A bark came from underneath the chair and the ghoul gaped in response.


    ¡°Nor do I think I could again?¡± The man silenced.


    ¡°Could what?¡± the ghoul asked.


    ¡°Revive you. But that doesn¡¯t matter. From now on you can move carefully and, with the aid of allies, I¡¯m sure you can complete your task. You¡¯ll have to first find a way of travel but¡ª¡±


    ¡°WAIT! Wait, wait wait! I don¡¯t understand!¡± The ghoul stood and screamed: the flames shied away.


    There was a heavy silence that settled, enough to feel on the shoulders. The ghoul stared upwards into space and rhythmically huffed. A man whose world bent to his will, who lived among slimy monstrosities, and spoke of revival as if it were common. That¡¯s who he chose to yell at, but when he lowered his face to look upon what he felt would be certain rage, he found a solemn face that frowned into the fire.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°At your arrival, every question should have been answered. It took so much to explain, convince, and teach you. All that preparation, we cannot repeat it here; I cannot create that amount of time. Your reason for being, you must have forgotten that as well.¡±


    ¡°Then tell me¡­what is my reason for being?¡±


    The man stood from the chair and walked to the pillar of purple flames. He stuck a hand inside and pulled out a fistful of the dancing heat. It became light in his hands and with a swift turn of the arm, it was scattered around them.


    The ghoul could feel his body become heavier, thicker, a solid that pushed against the ground. A thin veil of fog, the layer that dampens the dream and vision of the mind, which he had not noticed before, lifted and let his mind become clearer. He felt real and able to focus and an uncertainty of his surroundings blossomed as he questioned the existence of his environment. A pyramid amidst a city able to fit in a cave under a small ruin connected by a thin stone staircase that¡ª


    The man snapped his fingers and brought the ghoul¡¯s attention back to him.


    ¡°Don¡¯t leave me now. Not when I¡¯m trying to explain.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± the ghoul responded, his eyes wide and mad with the unknown.


    ¡°This world is not one that you belong to, but you have pledged to save it.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean not¡ª¡± The ghoul tried asking but the man only raised his voice.


    ¡°This world is one that was created after two distinct beings became one in an encounter that would break the current of eternity. This world, with its beings of life and time, is known as Anjande. Created from the celestial, it is a world that maintains form through the balance of the mundane and the energy used in its creation. Energy that flows through the land to be harnessed by its many intelligent creatures.¡±


    ¡°Anjande,¡± the ghoul whispered in awe.


    ¡°Yes, this is the world you are to save. For it is now overflowing with energy that was not part of Anjande¡¯s creation. Gates have appeared all over the world forming a connection to the celestial space. From these gates, celestial energy seeps out into Anjande, mixing with the energy that was at its creation. If the gates are left alone, all that celestial energy will disrupt the balance of the world. That which is celestial will uproot the mundane and every living creature in Anjande will experience a world losing its form: a destruction so pervasive that there will not be a speck left to ruminate of what once was. This is the fate that you are to impede.¡±


    The ghoul furiously nodded his head. ¡°Yes. What is there to do? How do we close the gates? How do you tell the difference between energy and celestial energy?¡±


    The man smiled and let out a sigh. An odd sight, the inside of his mouth as white as the outside.


    ¡°Well, the energy is known as Life¡¯s Essence.¡±


    The ghoul felt his heart skip a beat. He had heard him mention the word earlier.


    ¡°And you¡¯ve already seen a gate. There are distinct white trees in the area and little pink fairies. When there is an overabundance of energy in an area, fairies with an affinity to its type of energy will materialize. The fairies of life are a distinct bright pink but don¡¯t let that fool you. They are quite deadly and will attack with a ferociousness that is unlike any other type of fairy. The humans call them fairy groves and you will need destroy every single one of them. As to how to do it? Well, you may need to sneak into the grove and¡­¡±


    ¡°No.¡± The ghoul lamented. The hypnotic sense of grandeur he had felt at the thought of being a hero had already faded along with the exciting heat that had been rising in his cheeks. He could not forget the night he had awoken. The pink fairies, the mist they sprayed, the way his skin fell away like sand. It was not something that he could imagine going through again. Not twice and surely not several. He lifted his eyes away from his feet just in time to catch the beginning of the man¡¯s frown.


    ¡°No? No, what?¡±


    ¡°I will not help you close your gates. I will never get close to a, a fairy grove ever again. Thank you for describing to me what they look like. I¡¯ll never have to experience my face falling off ever again.¡±


    The man seemed to wilt with every word he said. A hunch with a frown turned to look at Darfen under the chair.


    ¡°It seems I was not told everything. I believed you had arrived, destroyed the grove, and, in your foolish celebratory dance in the dark, fallen off a cliff.¡±


    Darfen whimpered in response and the man continued.


    ¡°But you must understand. It is the world at stake. It is a promise you made. You are prepared for it. The body you have is strong enough for it.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t.¡±


    Such a simple response but one that made the pale man slump against his chair, a silent empty stare given to the flames.


    The ghoul stood there silently while the man brooded over the flames. There was nothing more to be said. The man had explained the dire objective and the ghoul had made his unwillingness to help clear. So now they could only sit in silence as they wondered what the other was thinking. The man wondered if there was enough power left in him to forcibly inhabit the body of the ghoul, but he relented as he knew it would end him if he tried. And the ghoul wondered how much longer he would have to sit before he could go back to the ruin above, but he felt that it was up to him to come up with a solution for the man. The silence grew and grew until neither could ignore each other¡¯s presence. And it may have been out of shame that the ghoul decided to speak and end the silence between them. A decision that would spark his journey through Anjande.


    ¡°You mentioned my promise; you know who I am. Tell me, how can I exist when all the ghouls have been exterminated? How do you know me? Why¡­why am I here?¡± He stood, strengthened his resolve, and stared into the white eyes. ¡°Who am I?¡±


    ¡°Just a wandering soul chosen to save Anjande.¡±


    ¡°No! Not what am I¡ªwho am I? At least, please, tell me that¡­I have so many questions, but they are all unimportant in comparison to me. I know nothing about myself! Please!¡±


    And it was then that the pale man smiled.


    ¡°I imagine I know why your memories were erased. In the process of placing your soul into your current body, we were duped, and it was still cleansed to a point. Just enough to keep your past from interrupting this world to a higher degree that what it already would be. But no such cleansing can be done upon me.¡±


    He pushed a finger into his ear and closed his eyes.


    With each tug, the ghoul¡¯s vision distorts, the floor beneath him and the purple flame losing lines of color. The man keeps softly tugging at his ear, everything but the man gone from the ghoul¡¯s vision. It is then that the man finally pulls his finger free from the ear, a trail of silver and gold dust fluttering behind. It collects in his hand; the silver particles wrap around the golden until a clear ball holding gold rolls in his palm. He extends a finger downward where the ball travels to hang at the end as a heavy droplet; a droplet of silver encasing golden flecks swirling at the center.


    The man smiled.


    ¡°You did not fail to talk profusely about yourself. Every memory I have of our interactions is here, in this little droplet of my self.¡±


    The ghoul extended a hand toward the droplet and grew rigid when the pale man drew back his finger to enclose the droplet in a fist. He didn¡¯t need memories to know this feeling: expectation.


    ¡°I can give you my memories. But I need you to keep your promise. Then you can have my memories as your own.¡±


    He was so close. To his actual identity. To who he was before all of this. But it was in the hands of a supreme being who asked of him the task of saving a world.


    ¡°How can I trust you?¡±


    The man, who was covered in an even shade of white, without the blemishes and shadows of humanity, only smiled in return.


    The scene before the ghoul is now a warp of moving colors, pure liquids that move into each other: black and white. Still they speak.


    ¡°You don¡¯t expect me to carry out your will without a name. At least give me that.¡±


    ¡°Then carry my name. Take it for yourself: Dane.¡±


    The colors have disappeared, any proof of substance gone with them. Only a pure empty darkness remained. Nothing.


    But from the innards of the abyss the ghoul¡¯s pale hand extends out to grab the face of Dane by the jaw. Half the ghoul¡¯s face is seen as it glares outward, from nothingness to nothingness.


    ¡°No! If you want me to help you, you will give me my name! My name!¡±


    The space shakes turbulent with the power the ghoul used to force his way back. Dane puts a finger to half the forehead the ghoul has pushing out.


    ¡°It is Kiboden, the last of it.¡±


    And with a push of a finger, Kiboden feels himself being pushed back into reality.

 Chapter 4-1 A demonstration of Power

    Kiboden awoke, clarity of mind and body overflowing his senses. Cold sweat ran down his back, his body aching all over. A constant throbbing pummeled his head, accompanied by a soft ringing, and, when he tried to stand, a searing pain coursing through his leg. He fell on his back, ragged breaths taking in the stagnant thin air that surrounded him. Everything could be felt: the way the inside of his fingers and toes outstretched, the palpable air that filled and expanded his chest, the musty taste than lingered on his tongue, the trail of blood that weighed heavily on his ears, the opening on his leg that throbbed with each beat of his heart, and, most importantly, the clear conscience with which he experienced it all. Staring upwards at the hole he had fallen through, he took a moment to process his surroundings.


    Thin strands of moonlight came through the hole, enough to give him visibility of the small room he now lay in. Dust and other unruly particles drifted in the air, experiencing the first draft in ages. Old unlit candles ran along on stands against three walls, the fourth covered instead by a beautiful mural depicting an old lonely city; a pyramid of purple fire in the center.


    Kiboden craned his head to look at the image, at the city he had walked through. It was only now that he questioned the impossibility he had experienced, the sudden expectation, the magnitude and size of the place. He sat up, swung his legs in one motion to face the mural. His leg stung but he was more focused on ruffling his hair between both hands. More and more thought was given until he let his hands drop to the ground.


    ¡°Alison will explain it. Alison will explain it, right? Ghouls? Dane? Anjande?¡± The ghoul spoke to himself, shivered uncertainly, until warmth spread up his chest and stretched his mouth. ¡°Kiboden.¡±


    He tightened his arms around him and pushed his knees inwards. He trembled, finding himself unable to close the smile that spread his lips. Such a deep comfort, he basked in his triumph. But he wondered what led to his current state.


    ¡°I must have fallen and hit my head, the painting the last¡ª¡± Kiboden stops talking, only then realizing just how faint his voice sounded.


    He carefully takes a finger and picks at an ear, coming away with bloody truth at the tip. Warm liquid came dripping, the spreading gushing sensation mirroring his panic. He filled his chest and hurled the loudest most grating scream, but it was just as faint as before. His throat had certainly trembled under the strain, however, he heard nothing of the effort. He stroked his leg, blood there too. The pain in his leg stung quite a bit, an open cut above his ankle that seemed insignificant now. Skin could heal given time. But his ears? He wasn¡¯t so sure.


    It was under the pressure of his soundless future that he found himself staring at the city, the painting on the wall, remembering the visions shown to him. Dreams amid dreams with more clarity than the dream before. Reality seemed fragile, ready to disappear to show a more clear, real, plane of existence. Just the thought left him feeling light, his head numbing at the thought that his surroundings may be false, physical objects that could warp and disappear into darkness at any moment. He had no way to be sure. His life had begun only a night ago.


    He pulled those expanding thoughts inward, solidifying his mind, keeping his reality stable, and focused on the memories that occurred in the painting. The purple smoke that had closed a wound, the smoke that had taken people¡¯s breath away, the skin that resisted the sword only to swiftly separate under one cloaked in blue. The memories were unreasonable, impossible, but they had felt as real as memories could ever feel. So he focused on the three lines on his marked hand.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    The black puffed out in response and he grasped at it with both hands. He shuddered, it was not air for he could feel it writhing under his fingertips, a soft solid that felt alive. But it had saved his life before. When flames were burning his whole body, it was these smoke-like tendrils of darkness that had enwrapped his body to cool him¡ªheal. Urged by the dream of the woman who used her own purple smoke, he placed his hands next to his ears and waited.


    His spine arched as he felt the cool lick of the tendrils enter his ears and then warmth and the end of silence as the tendrils of darkness dissipated.


    The wind was blowing overhead, rustling the dirt and leaves in the ruin above. It creaked and groaned around him as any wooden support shifted in its age. His breath was not just a vibration but rhythmic relief that resounded in his ears. He gave a cry of glee. And a shriek responded in turn.


    He looked at the opening above where it had come from and followed the stairs upwards. They paled in comparison to those in his dream, these only took ten of his steps before his head came above the floor.


    He could see the remains of the door he had plunged into. Hiding behind the wreckage, he looked out to where the screeching had come from. The sounds of metal and shuffling could be made. His mouth dropped.


    The clearing embedded with swords had become a disorder of earth, metal, and cloth. The land was uneven. Piles of earth, bone, clothing, and broken blades served as the ground for a figure of darkness that struggled amongst it all. It was made of fresh earth and grass, a few bones, and a purple material that held it all together.


    Kiboden could see now that the figure was kneeling on another of the same kind. It struggled, trashing its arms around, punching at the one on top of it, but the ghoul drew a sharp breath as a black sword was raised above and slammed into the skull of the one below. A dying shriek to signal an end.


    It was the black blade that had mesmerized him. And now it¡¯s wielder, made of earth, bone and purple, shattered the sword of the one he defeated and began pacing around the clearing. As it drew closer to the ruin, Kiboden could see that it wore a form of black leather armor and the purple was rotting flesh that glowed with energy. As for the reason it paced, the earth underneath it moved to combine with bone, flesh and cloth, to form another figure. But the black blade rained down upon the moving earth that shrieked in pain.


    Kiboden thought he could wait. But the dead swordsman, as he named, kept pacing and he finally decided.


    ¡°I think I can sneak past him.¡±


    And just as he thought that, a figure from inside the ruin tackled him through the door and out into the clearing, a fixed point of pain in his back. A moment of surprise for the dead swordsman that the defeated took advantage of as multiple earthen hands formed to latch onto its feet, holding it in place.


    And earthen hands formed to hold Kiboden¡¯s arms and back against the ground. Atop his waist sat another dead warrior. This one formed of the stone found inside the ruin, the purple holding it together a stronger tint. A red cloth was wrapped around its head as a headband but none of that mattered as the dead warrior, failing to penetrate Kiboden¡¯s skin with his sword, now plunged his thumbs into Kiboden¡¯s throat.


    Hands pushed out and latched on to the limbs and pulled their bodies out of the earth for Kiboden to see. He was surrounded by figures of earth and purple dying flesh, all melding together as they tried to grasp on to him. It was enough, his fear condensed in his right hand and released.


    The dead swordsmen had just released itself when it suddenly lowered its stance and faced the clump of dead warriors piling on Kiboden.


    A plume of black smoke suddenly expanded outward. Dead warriors flew into the air and became fragments, whatever held them together weakening and undoing. The earthen bone hands that tried to push their bodies out from the earth crumbled away.


    But the dead swordsmen held his ground and brought down his black blade in a peerless slice that let the black smoke rush past him. Even then, its shoulders and elbows felt a crumble as earth fell away.


    Kiboden pushed himself to a strained stand and he haphazardly pointed his right hand covered in black tendrils at the dead swordsman.


    ¡°Come.¡±


    The dead swordsman looked about, sheathed its swords, turned and walked into the forest. Soon it was gone.


    Kiboden let out a sigh of relief as he fell to his knees, face, and then to sleep.