《New Age for Darkness》


 Chapter 1

    The sword pierced the Dark Lord¡¯s heart. Gratia jammed it in further, leaning her weight against the tyrant. Terran fell, and she stood over him. Someone called for Gratia. She turned their way, and smiled. She actually smiled. As if this murder meant nothing. As if Terran weren¡¯t some sacred being. That cursed smile haunted him as he faded into the dark¡­


    ***


    Dark Lord Terran awoke to pain.


    The stabbing sensation began in his chest, but soon spread throughout his body. It felt as if countless tiny knives had embedded themselves into his flesh. They slashed at him with each minuscule movement. Terran couldn¡¯t see. He could hardly hear. Decayed lungs drew breath for the first time in ages. The breath did not escape, instead coalescing by Terran¡¯s mouth, making the air around him hot and muggy.


    He was buried in rock. Terran tried thrashing to escape, but that only made the pebbles sink further into his exposed flesh. But he could hear other pebbles falling away. He was close to some sort of cavern. Freedom. Terran continued thrashing, gritting his teeth as the stabbing sensation only worsened.


    After minutes of tortured flailing, the cool wind blessed his left hand. Terran reached out, clawing the stones around him, tearing them away one by one. His clawed fingers ached each time, but the cool relief spread as the rock fell away. It wouldn¡¯t be long now. Freedom would be his again.


    His left knee escaped the torture. Terran kicked outward, using his Gifted strength, and much of the rock fell away. This started a cascade. More rocks fell around him. Terran intended to leap out to freedom with elegance, but a large stone hit the Dark Lord on the back of the head and he wound up flat on his face.


    Terran tried to get to his knees. Even this simple act took three attempts. Creaking bones protested each movement. Something jabbed into his gut whenever Terran moved his torso. His weak knees failed him repeatedly. Terran was forced to crawl through the dank space because his body could not support itself. His limbs trembled. Every movement hurt. But Terran had to keep it together. He had too. It was unbecoming of him to show weakness. The Dark Lord took a deep breath to calm himself. He was fine. Why wouldn¡¯t he be? Despite the defeat, he was still here.


    Terran still wore the enchanted armor, which covered him head to toe. Pieces of the suit had rusted, which made movement sluggish. Not to mention that the armor itself was cracked and battered. Its once shiny form was now littered with holes. Throughout his body, Terran could feel the sharp jagged edges poking at his skin. Every movement was a risk. Such a sorry state. All because of those loathsome peasants. And Gratia. If she still lived, Terran would have her burned at the stake. Maybe even hung. Terran relished the thought.


    Now though, the Dark Lord was here, stuck on the stone floor within some unknown brick tunnel. This should have been the point when his robed followers emerged from the shadows, chanting the ancient hymns as they welcomed his glorious return. Yet there were no followers. There was no chanting.


    Terran was alone.


    They had failed him. His nation had failed him. They had betrayed their Gifted to flaunt with another. They should be here. They were his followers after all. Why weren¡¯t they here? Was he not good enough for them? Was that it?


    Focusing on his rage, Terran pulled himself along the floor until he reached the nearby wall. He dug his claws into the brick, then pulled himself up. By using the wall for support, Terran was able to stagger along the dank hall.


    Even this was a feat. With each step, shrapnel stabbed his calf muscle. His legs felt ready to snap off as Terran dragged them along. If it weren¡¯t for his Gifted strength, the Dark Lord would have been paralyzed. Such a pathetic state. The rituals for burial had clearly been neglected.


    All Terran¡¯s followers had to do was obey him, and his decayed form would have been avoided. Their negligence was repulsive at this point. When Terran found them again, he¡¯d drill the truth in. He¡¯d show them all. One did not ditch a Dark Lord. Terran was too powerful to be trifled with.


    Bang!


    Terran hit his head against something metallic. Staggering back, he dug his claws into the wall just before falling to the dirt. Terran felt in front of him. He gripped a handle. This was a door. One made of solid iron instead of wood or stone. Such a waste. Good armor could have been forged from this metal. Still, an iron door was a formidable obstacle. Maybe these followers weren¡¯t as stupid as he thought. But not even this could hold a Dark Lord.


    Terran clenched his fist and breathed in, despite the pain it caused him. He drew upon his vinye, the enhanced strength within all Gifted souls. The Dark Lord focused on his fists, strengthening the limbs while weakening the rest. As he did so, his weakening legs buckled. Terran was soon forced to his knees. But the tradeoff was worth it. Strength flowed through his fists. A red aura encompassed them, which illuminated the tunnel in dull hues.


    Terran punched the wall. The metal cracked at the center, and the bottom half of the door shot out at great speeds. Terran collapsed to the ground. Still he smiled. Despite all that had happened, he still had his strength. Some things never died.


    Refocusing his vinye, Terran filled his legs with strength so that he could walk again. His arms grew thin and boney. The aura died down, casting the tunnel back into darkness. Soon, enough vinye was concentrated in Terran¡¯s legs such that he no longer needed the wall for support. Though it did make his arms dangle uselessly by his side. Not ideal, but it would have to do.


    Shambling through the door, Terran found himself on the bank of an underground river. The water was foggy and dirt brown. Everything around Terran reeked of death. No, worse. It reeked of literal waste. His followers had buried Terran in the Diveky sewers. Certainly undignified, but it seemed to have kept him hidden. With a grumble, Terran continued on. The sewer would lead outside eventually. Finding his followers from there would be easy. They were still numerous. Not even Gratia could sway their deviation.


    Terran continued his shamble through the brick caverns. It was deathly quiet, save for his own groaning and the occasional drip of water above. The way ahead was masked by darkness, so Terran kept one hand on the sewer lest he accidentally fall into the hidden river of waste. He didn¡¯t want to think about that possibility.


    The sewer was a maze of identical brick tunnels. No signs of life either, save for the occasional rat which scurried across the sewer floor. His followers had gone to great lengths to ensure Terran¡¯s body stayed hidden. Perhaps too great. He walked and walked, seemingly for hours, but never did he seem to reach the end.


    In all that time, Terran couldn¡¯t have traversed more than two miles. Yet he was already weary. His cursed body made everything difficult. Muscles popped and strained, protesting at every opportunity. Movement had to be precise, lest pieces of bone or metal jab his flesh and worsen his pain. A constant struggle. Terran¡¯s groaning turned to wheezing, then to panting. He dragged his feet once more, hunching over with a hand placed over ruined lungs.


    Yet he continued on.


    After what felt like an eternity, a light appeared on the horizon. Two slits of pale moonlight lit the tunnel. These pale ribbons descended from a metal grate above. Terran stopped just short of the light and reached out his hand. It was a disgusting thing, the flesh putrid and green. Was this decayed form truly his? No. It had to be. He was seeing it.


    There was a puddle on the floor. It was crystal clear. Terran gazed upon his reflection and staggered back at the sight. He knew he¡¯d decay, but never did he think it would be this bad.


    The armor covered most of the damage, but the years had taken their toll. Much of the armor had rusted. Bits and pieces had fallen away, revealing green flesh and even bone. Terran could even make a piece of his lung, a black balloon nestled behind the ribs. Metal jabbed into him, fusing with flesh, making the armor a permanent fixture of his body. The hands were particularly bad. The gloves were gone, save for the occasional metal scrap. The skin of his hands was gone. Terran¡¯s fingers had been withered down, such that the tips resembled razor sharp claws.


    Only the helmet, by all miracles, was undamaged. Terran¡¯s face was not visible. His eyes glowed a violent red. A monstrous red. He was no longer human. No, he was some mangled abomination. A husk of metal and flesh. Never again could he live like normal men. Never again could Terran walk on the streets. Never again would people talk with him like a person. There¡¯d always be a barrier. He had been crippled beyond repair.


    The Dark Lord sighed. He knew the risks. Now he had to live with them. This was the pain he must bear to make things right. To restore what was stolen from him. His helmet was fine. While rusted, it kept his face hidden. That was a good sign. Fate could still be on his side.


    Terran whipped his hand out of the moonlight, the bone cracking from the sudden movement. But Terran ignored that as he looked up to the manhole cover above. Moonlight. Escape. This was a potential exit.


    To his left, there were a series of rungs attached to the brick wall. They were metal, just like the cover. So much iron for such trivial things. What a waste. Good soldiers could have been armed from all this metal. What was this world coming to?


    Regardless, this ladder was his way out. A three meter climb. Simple. Terran evened out his vinye. His legs wobbled, and he stumbled about like a newborn deer. Something snapped. Terran slipped, banging his head on a rung before hitting the floor.


    His helmet rang like a bell. All flash white. A groaning Terran struggled into a sitting position. How humiliating. He hadn¡¯t even had a chance on the ladder, and he was on the floor. He tried to stand. The snap sounded again. A rib had cracked. The bone was visible, through a hole in his chestplate. Disgusting¡­


    Trembling arms kept Terran down. He tried focusing his vinye on the legs again, but such an effort was futile when Terran had been physically exhausted. He¡¯d have to rest before trying the ladder.


    It really was pathetic, this thing he had been reduced to. Mere hours of walking had been enough to tire him. While still strong, his endurance had been greatly reduced. Recovery may be possible as Terran adapted to his new form, but that was only a maybe. There were limits now. If only his followers had been there, then Terran could have tested his limits in a more dignified manner.


    This was all their fault.


    There should be a grand punishment for their insolence. Though in this form a fearsome speech would have to do. While Terran rested against the wall, he pondered the speech in his head, losing himself as he tried to nail the syntax and diction. Even when his strength returned, many hours later, Terran stayed on the floor, too focused on crafting the perfect speech.


    The ideal speech would be short. Though not too short. Perhaps a minute or two. Though the sentences would be short. Dithering thoughts would distract from the crux of his point. He should use guttural words too. Like ¡°slaughter¡± or ¡°calamity.¡± Yes, calamity. Their abandoning of him was a calamity. No, that wouldn¡¯t work. Perhaps another word then. Less formal, to emphasize how pissed off he was. How about: their treatment of him was an absolute sh-


    ¡°¡®Ello?¡±


    A sphere of light was to Terran¡¯s left. As it neared, the sphere grew wider and the scrawny silhouette of a man appeared behind it. It was a sewage worker. A peasant then. Terran sat upright, correcting his posture. He let out a low sigh. Why, of all people, must some random peasant happen upon him? And in this state, no less. This was not how things should be.


    The worker held a strange device, the origin of the light. Like a metal torch, though he held it out instead of upright. Perhaps the light was magic. There was no telling how common magic would be now. It paid to assume the worst.


    The light grew to encompass the worker. He wore a dull orange vest, and had a hardened helmet. Though it was cracked by his skull so Terran doubted the worker got much use out of it. The worker himself was aged beyond belief, face wrinkled and teeth yellow. He supported himself with a plastic cane. A sturdy cane.


    Terran cursed his next thought. No. He would not use the cane. He was a Dark Lord, nobel, honored and the rightful ruler of the world. His Gifted strength was that of ten men. Such peasantry tools were beneath him.


    The worker chuckled to himself. ¡°How¡¯d ya end up all down ¡®ere?¡±


    Oh great. Not just a peasant, but an idiot as well. Could this get any worse?


    Terran kept quiet. Not that he couldn¡¯t speak, but it seemed better to wait. When the oaf caught on, his reaction to Terran¡¯s form would be telling. ¡°Seriously buddy,¡± the worker said. ¡°How¡¯d ya get down here? I¡¯d be impressed if I didn¡¯t have to take care of ya sorry self.¡±This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Why was he being so casual? Unless his vision was just that bad. The worker had yet to shine his torch on Terran though. Perhaps that was why he was not screaming yet. The worker said, ¡°Hey! Can you even hear me, ya damn fool!¡±


    Terran faced the worker, his neck creaking as he turned. The worker kept sauntering towards him. ¡°That¡¯s it, just get up now. You¡¯ll be out of my hands in no time, you drunk.¡±


    Terran dug his claws into the wall, and gritted his teeth. This worker thought he was a drunk. A fool. That settled it. He had to die. No one could know of his humiliation here. But he still wasn¡¯t at his peak. He had to wait for him to get close. The worker came within striking distance. At long last, he shined his torch on Terran. Gasping, the worker stepped back and tripped over himself. Terran nodded. That made him drop the torch. ¡°Wh-what are you?¡±


    The torch rolled into the sewer, where it sputtered out. Terran leapt before the man could run off. Blood spattered, covering Terran¡¯s arms as he struck the man again and again. There was no shout. No begging for mercy. Simply a gaggle, then nothing.


    Bolstered by rage, Terran stood upright. He put his arm back into the moonlight. It was red, blood dripping from his claws. He rotated his hand, viewing it from multiple angels. His bone-like claws were sharp. No more need to carry an old sword anymore. Terran was always armed. He could make an example of someone at any time. What a symbol. This alone would strike fear into any man.


    ¡°M-M-My gods,¡± someone cried out. Terran snapped behind him. There had been a second man watching from afar. He took off. But he wouldn¡¯t get far. Breathing in, Terran refocused his vinye into his legs. A red aura surrounded them. Terran leapt off to chase the stranger.


    The fool shouted for someone, but it was in vain. Even weakened, Terran was far above ordinary men. The sprinting corpse was closing the distance, slowly but surely.


    Vinye bolstered his legs, making them a blur. His body burned as he ran, making Terran cry out with each step. But he ignored the pain. This peasant could not get away. He would not. His return had to be secret. It would be. Terran would not have his glorious conquest spoiled.


    The path split into two ahead. Terran cut the man off. The stranger tried to leap into the river of filth. Terran punched him mid air, then slammed him into the ground. The man hit his head on the stone.


    Briefly, it seemed that had been enough to do him in. He was still. Then the man groaned and rolled to his side. He looked young, perhaps no older than twenty. The youth was handsome, though for whatever reason he wore strange glass lenses that blocked out his eyes. Terran put a boot on the glass man¡¯s chest. ¡°Peasant,¡± Terran said, voice hoarse. Speaking was difficult. As if blades were lodged in his throat. ¡°Do you know who I am?¡±


    The peasant did not meet his eye. He gaped at Terran¡¯s claws, and the blood which dripped from the tips. The man babbled like a child. Just by seeing Terran, he had been reduced. It was so easy to do these peasants in. Too easy. Terran grinned beneath his helmet. Even after however many years it''s been, the common folk remained simple.


    Terran leaned over him the glass man such that his form dominated his view. The glass man broke down into a messy fit of tears. Terran hit the wall. Bricks exploded around them. ¡°Quit your sniveling and look at me.¡±


    All was still. The glass man struggled to lift his head. The Dark Lord walked around the glass man to get a good look at him. The youth had no muscles. In fact, he was skinnier than a starved horse. Even holding a short sword would be a struggle for him. This was no warrior, but that didn¡¯t make him useless. ¡°What is your occupation?¡±


    The man said nothing. He still gaped at Terran¡¯s claws. Terran sighed. Had he overestimated this man¡¯s endurance? That hit against the stone had been a bit much. It would be too easy to lose himself in this feral form. Calmly, Terran said: ¡°What is your occupation?¡±


    The man babbled out some vague reply. Terran sighed again. Of course this would happen. What else should he expect? Terran¡¯s new form was incomprehensible to the average man. Basic talk would no longer do. He¡¯d need another tactic. Terran hoisted the student up by his shirt, then slammed him against the wall. ¡°Speak or you¡¯re dead!¡±


    ¡°I-I¡¯m just a student,¡± the glass man stammered, looking down. Terran prodded his thin side, causing the student to perk up again. ¡°I-I¡¯m studying at Blackwell University.¡±


    ¡°A scholar,¡± Terran wheezed with delight. Next to soldiers, a group of strong scholars would be vital for his plans. Much had to have changed during his slumber. Information would be key if Terran was to take back the world. ¡°Tell me. What do you study, sir¡­¡±


    ¡°Borak,¡± the glass man answered. ¡°Borak Themes. I-I¡¯m dual majoring in urban planning and electronics.¡± Electronics. Such a strange word. So visceral too. Perhaps it was some new weapon or maybe method of torture or a new array battle of tatics, though there was only one way of knowing.


    ¡°Tell me about electronics.¡±


    Borak scratched his head. ¡°Like¡­right now?¡±


    ¡°YES RIGHT NOW.¡± Terran picked the man by his throat, and stared him down at eye level. ¡°I must know everything.¡± He threw Borak down again, and waited far too long as the oath composed himself. The gesture was overly dramatic but seemed to do the trick. At least it seemed to once the man composed himself.


    ¡°Electronics,¡± Borak said, backing away. ¡°Y-You want to know about electronics?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Terran said. ¡°The basics will do for now.¡±


    ¡°W-well it''s more accurate to say I major in electrical engineering,¡± he said, breathing in. The worm regained some composure, now kneeling before Terran. ¡°I s-study electricity. Circuits, power generation, stuff like that.¡±


    ¡°Interesting,¡± Terran said. ¡°Define this¡­ electricity.¡±


    ¡°Wh-what?¡±


    ¡°You heard me.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know what electricity is?¡±


    ¡°Do not insult me!¡± Terran punched the wall again. His hand hit it at an awkward angle, bending two fingers, and snapping something. Terran howled with pain, but masked this by turning the shriek into an ear-splitting roar which made the sewers'' foundations rattle. ¡°Explain.¡±


    Borak offered his pitiful explanation. Something about charged particles, too small for the commoner to perceive, flowing in some sort of current. None of it made a lick of sense. How could something be everywhere and yet invisible? Borak was clearly mistaken about a great many things.


    ¡°HEY!¡±


    A third silhouette appeared, this one was about ten feet away. Another stranger was here. This was getting ridiculous. These were sewers, not the town square. ¡°Keep your distance,¡± Terran said, lifting his hand. ¡°I have no quarrel with you.¡±


    ¡°Step away from my friend,¡± the broad stranger said. He stepped into the light, revealing a L shaped piece of metal in his quivering hands. ¡°If you don¡¯t, I¡¯ll open fire.¡±


    Terran laughed aloud. This stranger had the gall to threaten him. He wore no armor. He had no weapon, save for that measly tool he held. It was too small to be a weapon. There was no blade, just a square edge. What was he going to do? Throw it at him? Ha!


    Terran stomped towards the stranger. A bang erupted from his metal piece. Something pierced his shoulder. A stab of pain shot up his spine. The Dark Lord staggered back as the man approached, bang after bang erupting from his metal piece.


    More holes formed in Terran¡¯s armor. Something cracked. Terran fell on his knees.


    Borak scurried away as his angered companion approached, firing off repeatedly. The stranger came within striking distance. But Terran could do nothing. His body was littered with holes. Pieces of flesh were being ripped apart, split in two. The pain was everywhere.


    There was a click. And then nothing. The stranger stepped back, fiddling around with some metal pellets in his back pocket.


    This was his chance. Terran struck the stranger before scampering into the darkness. More shots rang out. Two hit his back, one in his armor and another in his flesh. Terran shrieked but kept running. He had to get away, despite the embarrassment. This was new magic. There was no telling its range. For all he knew, this stranger could kill him from miles away. His return would not be extinguished so soon.


    So he ran. Terran ran and he ran. And he only stopped running when his exhausted legs gave way. He landed face down on the floor, then turned to his right. In his elbow, a small metal bead jabbed his armor. He remembered then the pellets which the stranger had fiddled with. This one, while smushed, looked nearly identical.


    Terran ripped the pellet out. A bit of flesh came with it. Warm flesh. The metal had been fired at a high velocity. High enough that it pierced his armor. That hadn¡¯t been magic. Just a sick twisted trick. Terran could¡¯ve slaughtered both men with ease.


    Cowardice had taken hold of him back there. Pathetic, shriveled cowardice. Dark Lord Terran had defeated an army single handedly, yet a single peasant had been too much for him today. His glorious return, with loyal followers and a blackened throne, had been squandered. He was alone. He was a monster, and a pathetic monster at that. Could he possibly be¡ª


    No. No.


    No.


    His caution was not without reason. It was clear now that this new world was different in many ways. Caution would serve him well. Besides, Terran¡¯s mere appearance had scarred Borak from life. And he had struck his friend before retreating. His blood still dripped from Terran¡¯s claws. Neither man would forget that encounter.


    Yes, his reputation was intact. It may even prove better this way. Two dead bodies could not spread a message. They would build fear and awe around Terran¡¯s eventual and public return. That would be cannon return, not this. And it would be glorious¡­


    A noise distracted Terran from his woes. Briefly, he worried that a fourth man had stumbled across him in these sewers but it was just a rat. It sniffed his hand, then tried to take a bite but Terran swatted it away.


    This place was disgusting. He had to get away. Though that was easier said than done. Terran could barely move with all the tiny pellets embedded into his flesh. They would not kill him ¡ª they couldn¡¯t whilst he wore the armor ¡ª but they still made each movement hell. And just when he figured his pain couldn¡¯t get worse. But it was a pain he needed to live with now to fufill his great mission.


    Reaching out, Terran pulled his body along the floor. He gritted his teeth. The pain. It was too much. His mangled body couldn¡¯t bear it. Terran flopped onto his back, and panted heavily. His limbs shook, aching from that great strain. He¡¯d have to rest before trying again. That little encounter had sucked the life out of him.


    Terrran¡¯s new limit was clear: One grand bout of exertion, and then he¡¯d have to spend a few hours recouping on some floor, vulnerable as a slug. Perhaps it was good that his followers didn¡¯t find him after all. One look at what Terran had become would be enough to convince them to leave him here to fend for himself.


    But that didn¡¯t mean he was defeated.


    Pansfinre would be his again. Sure the world had changed, but Terran could adapt. He had before. At the very least, Gratia was no longer here to foil his plans. That was worth something. Terran could see it now: the throne restored, and all of the peasantry being too frightened to even speak his name. The world would be righted from whatever sorry state it had fallen into. There would be peace.


    This time, Terran gave himself only an hour to recuperate. His body feltt better by then (Not great, but better.) so he transfered he could into his legs then continued his aimless march. His arms were now stiff like wood. Far from ideal, but it was a step up from them dangling uselessly at his side. He was adapting. A good sign that his strength would return.


    The Dark Lord¡¯s aura made the sewer appear blood red as Terran trudged along. He soon came across a door. It was the same stoney texture of the wall, so he would have missed it if it weren¡¯t for the moonlight which leaked through a crack at the bottom.


    One enhanced kick smashed it in. The cool night air rushed into the sewer. Terran took his first breaths on the outside. The Diveky air was different now. It had lost its sweetness, and was now bitter and smokey. It must¡¯ve been due to his decayed form. Terran sighed. Many pleasantries would be lost to him now. This was but the first of many.


    A series of distant fortifications towered over the city. These glass and iron castles tickled the clouds, and would have put even Terran¡¯s old palace to shame. Each building was aglow with light. It wasn¡¯t just the distant forts, but even the smaller buildings closer by. Interiors glowed a harsh yellow. Diveky had tamed the dark. So much so, the only celestial body visible was the moon. These lights had drowned out the stars. Such power. Such monuments. Whoever ruled this new Diveky clearly had untold wealth about them.


    The street Terran found himself on now was more familiar. The cobbleled road was narrower. The buildings were close together, and were made of familiar wood and stone. Yet there were many differences even here. Large iron lightposts kept the dark at bay. Strange iron wagons were stationed besides every other building. There was nary a soul in sight. Most peanuts were in doors, safe in their worlds of light.


    So much had changed. Terran hadn¡¯t been asleep for mere decades. No, it had to have been centuries. Maybe even a milenia or two. Gratia was for sure dead then. The world was a stranger. Such a sad loss. Still, Terran couldn¡¯t sit and mourn. He had to keep moving, lest someone see him.


    About a block away, the road widened up to an open town square with a stone statue at its center. A monument to some figure perhaps. Terran briefly thought it would be of him, but whoever replaced him would have such monuments burned. No, his ancient war would be relegated to the history books. But a compulsion took hold of Terran. He had to know who this was. The Dark Lord kept to the sidewalk, creeping along as he slithered towards the statue. Once at the edge of the square, Terran could see it was a woman. A tall woman with long flowing hair, lifting her sword towards the heavens. The Dark Lord¡¯s stomach dropped. He knew who this was.


    Still, he had to be sure. There was a plaque by the statue¡¯s feet. Terran approached the statue until he was close enough to read the plaque.


    Trust is the key. Only together can we win. ¡ª Gratia de Blashkel, The Legendary Hero


    The Legendary Hero? That¡¯s what the world knew Gratia as? Not as the annoying, self-righteous brat that she was, but as a paradigm of moral virtue? Why? All she¡¯d done was give a few speeches. It was Terran who had cleansed the world. It was he who had taken power. Not this brat. She¡¯d merely stolen what he¡¯d built. She destroyed while he created. Why build her a statue after all this time?


    Unless¡­ what if Gratia had done something after she killed Terran? What if that were only the start of a line of great deeds? What if she did something so grand, it put even a war against magic to shame?


    No. No. This was nepotism. The leaders were related, or biased¡­ or something. There was no other explanation. Gratia was beneath him anyways. This statue was but an insult. A corruption of objective truth! Terran got his claws ready, prepared to tear this abhorrent monument asunder. But then¡­


    Bang!


    Someone had fallen in the distance. Terran hid behind the statue to watch from afar. They were a broad figure. A man. Seemed to be a youth. Fighting age then. Yet clearly not the smartest. Which made him a good candidate for recruitment¡­


    The man recovered, then gathered the bags which had fallen around him. He approached the door of a business, holding it open for a few seconds, before making his way inside. The front door had a sign which read: ¡°Derik¡¯s Blacksmith and Metalworking Shop.¡±


    The Dark Lord grinned a half-tooth smile. Some professions, it seemed, had withstood the test of time. He scratched Gratia¡¯s stature, then made his way for the Blacksmithery. It was time he got more acquainted with the locals¡­

 Chapter 2

    Derik was happy to be home. Not that he hadn¡¯t had fun today. No, it had been a good day. Good but long. He¡¯d gotten up at sunrise and was now returning very close to midnight. Going out with Ema had been nice, like always, but that meant he¡¯d been doing errands late. It had taken Derik far too long to find the cast iron needed for his next project. There was also that trip to the grocery store. Though it saved him from another trip out, it meant Derik was returning later than he would have liked. In fact, it was way too late for anyone to be out. The moon was high, and the world was cast in shadow.


    Though alone, Derik couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that he was being watched. The dim streetlamps did little to quell the crushing darkness. There were plenty of alleyways, and narrow crevices in which people could hide. Creatures unknown hooted from these many hideholes. They were watching. So many tiny eyes. For all Derik knew, a criminal may be among them, poised to leap out and stab him if the mood struck him.


    Stop it, Derik thought. Don¡¯t let your imagination run wild again. Nothing bad happened on this street. Aside from the neglected heaps of trash, this street was one of the most ordinary in all of Diveky. Why, the only thing watching him at this time of night would be sweet little Button.


    ¡°Meow! Meow!¡±


    Ah, there was the little devil. The cat was waiting by Derik¡¯s front door. Getting up, he slammed his head against Derik¡¯s legs and meowed incessantly. Derik scratched the feline¡¯s furry chin. Button purred with delight, then moved towards the bag which Derik whisked away from him. ¡°Not yet,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯ll get your milk when I¡¯m inside¡­¡±


    He went for the door, but Button tripped him up. Derik tumbled to the ground. Paper bags flew all around. Groceries landed on the pavement. He checked the nearest bag. The eggs were safe. Somehow. Sighing with relief, Derik gathered his things and retreated for the sanctity of his metal shop.


    Once inside, Button rushed up the stairs, knowing that his dinner awaited up top. Derik plopped his bag of metals on the smithing table then followed suit. He wasn¡¯t in the mood for work now. A good bath would do him good now. That and a long night¡¯s rest.


    The brick of a man was far too broad to comfortably fit in the narrow stairwell while carrying so many bags. He had to ascend with his shoulder pointed ahead. The blacksmith watched each step carefully. The last thing he needed was to fall again. Button waited by the top, masked in shadow though his glowing eyes betrayed him.


    Three stairs from the top, Derik stopped. This was the squeaky one. Upon returning home, he always squeaked it three times before entering his apartment. Many found it an odd tradition, and Derik wasn''t sure exactly why he started but it was his all the same. He gave the stair a tap.


    Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!


    Derik smiled, and stepped over. He was about to enter his apartment when:


    Squeak.


    That last squeak wasn¡¯t his. It came from the kitchen. Button was right in front of him, so it couldn¡¯t have been the cat. Perhaps it was a rat. A fat, hairy, disgusting rat waddling around in his kitchen. Wouldn¡¯t be the first time. Derik could almost smell it, the stench of sewage infesting his nostrils. He shuddered.


    The kitchen was just as he left it. The counters were clean, the wooden cupboards were undisturbed. No sign of a rat. Derik sighed with relief. Button hopped up the counter, and continued to meow for his milk. A swift little feline. Probably why he lasted so long outside. Derik poured him a small bowl of milk then put the rest away. The now silent feline lapped it up. After putting in the eggs, Derik left for his bedroom. The nonperishables could be stowed tomorrow. He wasn¡¯t in the mood for it yet.


    A long hall separated the kitchen from his bedroom. A harsh breeze blew down the hall, tickling Derik. It felt as if the wind were beckoning forwards. The hall only grew colder the further he went. His thick hair stood on end. His teeth chattered. Derik brought his arms close. Still, he shivered. Had he neglected to pay his heating bill? No. No. Everything had been paid for. The cold must¡¯ve been something else.


    That bad odor was stronger too. Like rotten fruit, or even roadkill. So rancid. It was as if something had died in his house. A horrible thought. But that was nothing compared to the howling. The drone was faint at first, but was unmistakable by the time Derik reached his bedroom door.


    Was it some dying animal? Or a wounded man? It could just be the wind. But why was it so strong then? Perhaps it was a rat. Or maybe a sneaking thief. What else could this be? Derik gritted his teeth. There was only one way to find out. He reached for the door with an unsteady hand.


    Nobody is there, Derik told himself. Why would anyone want to steal from the apartment? All the metal they would even need is downstairs. He repeated that montra, and others like it, several times. It took the better part of a minute, but Derik worked up the courage to open the doorway.


    Derik cracked it open, and caught the cold culprit red handed. His bedside window was wide open. The curtains danced like some sort of wraith, back and forth in a hypnotic motion. What a relief. It truly was just the wind. Derik slammed the window shut. The howling stopped. All was still.


    Sighing, Derik plopped onto his bed. He was ready to drift away there and then, but something caught his eye. On his nightstand was a picture of him and Ema at their six month anniversary date. Ordinarily, he had it facing the bed but now the picture had been rotated the other direction. Strange. It was set right this morning. When could he have moved it?The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°Meow!¡±


    Button approached Derik from behind, nustling him with his head. The cat¡¯s wide eyes no longer glowed. The shivering feline got very close. Derik gave him a pat on the head. ¡°Easy there. What has gotten into you?¡±


    Clang!


    The cat ran out of sight. Derik stood tall. That sound. It had come from the kitchen. Derik put his hand to his throbbing heart. He bit his hand to keep from gasping. It was undeniable now: someone was in his house.


    Someone was in his house. But that was absurd. There was nothing of value in the apartment. He was being crazy. In fact, he should go to his kitchen himself just to prove it. Derik was being paranoid ¡ª like always.


    Derik forced himself outside. He kept his back to the far wall as he scooted along. It took five minutes for Derik to get back to the kitchen. The minutes felt like an hour. Each little squeak made him freeze, at which point the blacksmith looked all around, making sure he was safe from all angles before continuing.


    Once at the kitchen, Derik turned the light on. The cheap bulb hummed to life. It illuminated half the room, just enough to reveal the long tracks on the markings. Derik clutched the wall. Someone was here. Those weren¡¯t markings. They were footprints. Next to them were splotches of liquid. A red liquid.


    Blood red.


    Someone was bleeding out. A criminal. Maybe one who got on the wrong side of the mafia. If that¡¯s true, things could get out of hand real fast. Derik had to flee. No, better, he should go to the police. Call the emergency number.


    Derik booked it for the exit. He ran across the room, for the closed door above the stairwell. But he stopped just shy of the exit. Someone was bleeding out. Perhaps shot. Maybe on the verge of death. They could die without him. Nobody deserved that, even if they were a criminal.


    Derik had to find them. Yet he simply stayed put. Fear had taken hold, leaving him glued to the spot. He cursed his own fear. Doing nothing was idiotic. He had two options: help or run. Someone was here. They could be nearby, watching him from the shadows. Ignoring that would be dumb.


    Derik leaned against the stairwell door. He glanced around the room, to the blackened void which surrounded him, but all was still. His groceries were still on the counter. The living room furniture, at least what he could see, was in its place. All was quiet.


    Except for the wheezing.


    It was faint, but distinct. A low pained wheezing emanated from the door behind Derik. Something downstairs struggled to take breath. That deathly stench had also returned. The intruder was below Derik, and deeply hurt by the sound of it. Against better judgment, Derik opened the door.


    A shadow stood at the foot of the stairs. Its shape was human, though it was anything but. The thing resembled a metal statue, with many spiky plates covering its rusted body. Holes littered the creature, showing flesh. Muscles, organs, even places where flesh peeled to reveal bone. These organic and metal parts fused together into some unnatural concoction. An updraft rushed past Derik, carrying the nauseous odor with it. The deathly smell. That shadow was its source. This was a reanimated corpse.


    It lifted its head, bones creaking as it did so. The thing¡¯s eyes were aglow. If they even were eyes. They could¡¯ve just as easily been hollow points. This thing couldn¡¯t have been real. There was no magic left. That stuff had been eradicated millennia ago. No, this was an illusion. Had to be. Some wild fantasy that Derik¡¯s sleep deprived mind came up with as a response to his long day. Yes, that¡¯s what it was. ¡°It¡¯s an illusion,¡± he whispered, voice squeaking. Then louder. ¡°It¡¯s an illusion.¡±


    The illusion ran for Derik, shredding the walls as it ran up the stairwell. Derik slammed the door shut then took flight. He had to escape. Through the window. Round back to the exit. Call someone. Just get out of here. Find a cop. A priest. Anyone who could deal with that demon.


    BANG!


    The door flew off its hinges, slamming against the far wall. The thing was there. It turned for Derik. It took off with unnatural speed. The blacksmith continued for his bedroom. Howling echoed from behind. The demon was catching up. But he could escape. The bedroom door was open. He was almost at the window. Derik could-


    Claws embedded themselves into Derik¡¯s ankle. Five knives stabbed him at once. Derik fell onto his back. Red gushed from his ankle, seeping into the floorboards. The demon stood over him. It tilted its head like a confused wolf. Yelping, Derik scooted away from the creature. He hit a wall. The thing stepped forward. It blocked all exits. Warm blood dripped from its left hand. His blood.


    Derik squealed.


    ¡°Quit you blithering blacksmith,¡± the thing wheezed. The words were forced out, each syllable seeming to cause it pain untold. The monster clenched his aged fist. ¡°I need your services.¡±


    It spoke. Why did it speak? This demon wanted him. But why? Derik was a nobody. What could it possibly want him for? Why was this happening to him? No, this was some nightmare. It had to be. Any moment he would wake up, safe in bed. Any moment now.


    Seconds crawled by. The monster did not go away. It took another step, making Derik cringe back. He covered his nose to save himself from the intoxicating stench. His vision grew blurred by globby tears.


    The demon punched through the wall, missing Derik¡¯s head by mere inches. ¡°I said quit your blithering,¡± it yelled. ¡°My servants will not succumb to emotion.¡±


    Derik kept his mouth covered. He breathed in, forcing the tears back. He couldn¡¯t cry. He wouldn¡¯t. This was a matter of life and death. Derik rocked back and forth. He thought of a happy memory: himself, working on his newest project in the forge. The door was wide open. Kids played in the street outside. The tears died away.


    ¡°Good,¡± the demon wheezed, standing upright. Its smile was just visible beneath the visor of its helmet. Many teeth were missing with the rest being green and rotten. Stepping away, the demon shambled towards the kitchen. ¡°Follow me. We have much work to do.¡±


    ¡°W-Work?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the demon said. ¡°Are you up for it?¡± The demon scowled before showing its claws, signaling to Derik that refusing it would be the last decision he ever made.


    Derik nodded, and struggled to stand again. The effort hurt like crazy, but if he didn¡¯t, then who knew what this thing would do to him. He couldn¡¯t support himself due to the bleeding ankle, and he clutched the wall for support. Derik shambled ahead, even as he left his own bloody streak on the floor.


    The demon watched from close up, matching Derik¡¯s motions. Did it want to keep Derik within killing distance? Or was this just an act of mockery? The thing made no effort to help the flailing blacksmith along. It almost seemed to revel in his misery. Derik had to fight back the tears. It was a monumental task, more so than his fight against the physical pain, especially when it was unclear just what this thing wanted with him.

 Chapter 3

    The sniveling coward obeyed without question. A fine quality for any follower. Even better, the man was of warrior age and had a rock solid physique. He could be a superb technician, if molded right, though such a thought may be premature. Terran had yet to see his smithing skills.


    As per Terran¡¯s orders, the central counter in Derik¡¯s shop had been converted to a makeshift operating table. Terran waited there in silence. Aside from the occasional glare, Derik needed no encouragement. The blacksmith hobbled from one drawer to the next, muttering to himself as he gathered any stray hunk of metal he possessed. Progress was slow due to the man¡¯s new limp. Each step made him wince in pain. His bandages often came undone. The man would pray feverishly to the gods (Plural, Terran noticed. Odd.) while fixing them. Perhaps Terran had been too harsh with that grabbing maneuver. It gave a bad first impression. Not to mention how his suffering was causing delays untold.


    No, this was not his fault. It was never his fault. How was Terran supposed to know how fragile this coward was? Derik was muscular. He should have been able to take it. Then again, his claws were literal knives. Terran had underestimated himself. That was the true problem here which, in his mind, was not really a problem at all.


    And Derik, for his part, could be more organized. Tools hung from the ceiling with no rhyme or reason to their location. His shop¡¯s metal was shoved into random drawers instead of being arranged by type or color or texture. Worse yet, he had to run to each shelf because none of the metal was all to close. It didn¡¯t help that this workshop was a deathtrap. A floating shelf was attached to the highest part of the wall. It housed nothing of use, save ofr some nicknacks and framed portraits. Useless things which could fall under even the slightest of breezes and ruin works in progress. Terran growled. In his day, this mess would never have lasted a month. His men would be here to ensure safety compliance. What had this world come to?


    With time, the blacksmith did manage to assemble a good pile of metal patches. Rusted and new, iron and copper. There was much variety. The specifics for the patches wouldn¡¯t matter. They just had to be metal. Terran¡¯s form was already so rusted. Any patch would be an improvement.


    ¡°Meow!¡±


    A small feline leapt up to the operating table. Its fur was charcoal black, save for a white patch around its left eye. The cat rubbed its head against Terran¡¯s side. ¡°Button!¡± Derik shriked, stopping his search in a drawer. He sat up right, hitting his head against the counter. Derik sprinted over, injury forgotten. ¡°No! It¡¯s not safe.¡±


    ¡°It is perfectly safe,¡± Terran said. ¡°I shall not harm an animal.¡± He went to pet the cat, but his claws scared it off. The skittish thing hurried along before he could get near. Of course it ran. Terran sighed. Another pleasure of life had been lost. He kept still to hide his disappointment. Seeming attached to an animal made him look soft, and he could not look soft in front of someone he had just terrified. ¡°Yes, enough with the cat. Let us get started with the procedure.¡±


    Derik stood on uneasy legs. He did not advance. He muttered fast words. It seemed something was on his mind, but fear kept him from saying it aloud. Terran grumbled. ¡°Speak!¡±


    ¡°Don''t you need to remove the armor?¡± he asked. ¡°I mean, you want me to cover the holes. But if you don¡¯t remove it, the patches will just be fused right into your skin.¡± It looked like the blacksmith wanted to say more obvious things, but he wisely stopped himself before Terran could get annoyed.


    ¡°The armor stays on,¡± Terran said. ¡°Pain¡¯s an old friend. I can bear it.¡±


    Derik managed a stiff nod, but held his now clammy hand to his mouth. He stumbled back to the rear of the room to fetch a strange device. It was a bronze hose with a rubber grip. Flame sputtered out at the tip when the blacksmith pressed on it. Derik matched a metallic shard up with a putrid hole that exposed Terran¡¯s knee. He placed it on, shivering with disgust, which Terran thought was rude. He didn¡¯t say anything though. He wanted this done. The blacksmith began to weld.


    A burning sensation began, followed by an unnatural stab as the metal fused with flesh. The Dark Lord gripped his hands around the table, breaking through the counter¡¯s edges as he howled with pain. Derik shook, falling back. ¡°Stay strong,¡± Terran ordered. ¡°Just work. Do not mind me.¡±


    He raised a hand, intending to show his claws in a threatening gesture, but it came off as clumsy due to his trembling arm. The message was clear though. Derik got back to welding. He traced along the patch. A pinching sensation started as metal fused with flesh. It burned. Pain soon engulfed his whole leg.The limb felt like it was being dunked in lava. Terran howled with pain.


    Tools hit the ground. Derik ignored them. He stayed stoic the entire time. When the work was done, he ran to an open drawer where he gagged in disgust. Terran winced as the pain died down. The blazing heat lingered, but it was duller than before. More concentrated. It was still bad ¡ª any ordinary man would be a delirious mess by now. But Terran was no ordinary man. He rotated his knee. Though the welding line glowed a searing orange, the patch was on there tight. Bending it hurt, but movement did not seem impeded. ¡°Impressive,¡± Terran said. ¡°Let us begin the next patch.¡±


    Knock. Knock. Knock.


    Derik went towards the door. Terran outstretched his clawed hand. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°G-getting the door.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t think you can get away,¡± Terran said. He brought a claw close to Derik¡¯s throat. ¡°You may be operating on me, but I can still end you any moment I desire. Running is futile.¡±


    Knock. Knock. Knock.


    ¡°Diveky Police,¡± some man called out. ¡°Open up.¡±


    At the mention of the word police Derik paled. He tried to get past Terran, despite his outstretched hand. ¡°I-I have to get this,¡± he said, scratching his head. ¡°It¡¯ll be suspicious if I don¡¯t. They¡¯ll force themselves in.¡±


    ¡°Force themselves in?¡± Terran asked. ¡°Who are these police anyhow?¡±


    ¡°The, uhm, local guard.¡±


    Terran nodded. The local guard. Control of the guard was necessary to control the kingdom. Knowing these people was vital. ¡°Talk to them,¡± Terran said. ¡°But do not let them in. Do not let them see me either. The public must not know of me until I am ready. If he sees, it will be the end of you both. Do you understand?¡±


    Derik gulped, then ran for the door. Terran lowered himself to the floor such that he was behind the operating counter. It was difficult to do so without bending his flaming knee, but Terran had been through rougher ordeals in the past. He watched from the side, ready to strike if the need arose.


    The door opened such that Terran could not see the police. ¡°Noise complaint,¡± a deep voice said. ¡°Someone called in. Something about a person yelling, as if they were in intense pain.¡±


    ¡°Oh that. Derik glanced around his workshop. The sweating fool looked guilty, even though he hadn¡¯t done anything wrong. Terran cursed to himself. The fool! He was making everything worse. Derik stammered, ¡°That was¡­ my cat. Yeah my cat. In heat, you see. Been driving me all up the wall.¡±Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Could I see this cat?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Derik said. ¡°Button! Oh, Button!¡± He called out for the feline, cooing and patting his knees in what Terran initially mistook for a crazed dance. Such a pathetic display. Terran really couldn¡¯t be seen here now.


    Despite Derik¡¯s best efforts, the cat did not show. He smiled. ¡°He¡¯s just shy.¡±


    ¡°He?¡±


    ¡°She,¡± Derik said. ¡°I meant she.¡±


    ¡°You think I can have a brief look around?¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Derik swallowed. ¡°Sure thing.¡±


    The policeman stepped inside. He wore no armor, just a simple cloth shirt. On his belt was one of those L shaped projectile launchers. A strange uniform, though it made sense. Metal armor could only do so much against those things. Still, to think he¡¯d stroll in with no security. No backup. This man was just begging to be snuck upon.


    The officer¡¯s age betrayed him in the good light. His eyes looked clouded. His face was wrinkled, and his movements were sluggish. Derik meandered closely behind, stiff but sweaty. His nerves were in vain. If the need arose, Terran could gut this guy and save them all the trouble. The officer said, ¡°So how long have you had the cat?¡±


    ¡°About a year.¡±


    ¡°She hasn¡¯t gone in heat before?¡±


    ¡°N-no,¡± Derik said. ¡°First time¡­¡±


    The policeman stopped feet away from the main counter. Terran could see the man¡¯s worn boots, just around the corner. Terran lifted his hand, prepared to strike, but the officer turned away at the last second. He focused instead on the pile of scraps by another counter. ¡°Got a lot of metal. What are you working on?¡±


    ¡°An order for a client,¡± Derik said. He fell back on the wall, sighing with obvious relief. ¡°Its in the early phases now so it doesn¡¯t look like much. I can show you the contract if you¡¯d like.¡±


    ¡°No need,¡± the policeman said. He did not face Derik, but went through the metal in the bag. ¡°I¡¯m sure the order¡¯s legit. It¡¯s just that with all the smuggling¡­ Well, you know how it is. Crazy times ammirite?¡±


    Derik nodded. ¡°Crazy times.¡±


    The policeman continued Terran¡¯s way. His boots once again came within slashing distance. He was about to round the corner. He was going to see Terran. That could not be. It would not be.


    The Dark Lord brought his claws out. He was about to slash the officer¡¯s ankles when a small box on his belt started vibrating. ¡°Got a 6-0-2. Three men found in the sewers. One dead, two injured. Suspected mafia. Calling any officers in the Historical District to the scene.¡±


    The policeman picked up the box. ¡°This is Officer Masur. I¡¯m on my way.¡± With that he rushed for the exit, nodding to Derik as he passed. ¡°Thanks for letting me have a look around. I¡¯ll get out of your hair now.¡±


    The policeman shut the door behind him. Derik locked it, then sighed with relief as he collapsed to the floor. ¡°Oh,¡± he said. ¡°That¡­that could have been bad¡­¡±


    Terran hoisted himself back up to the counter. He sat up tall, and then he lied down. But Terran overestimated his Gifted strength. His boots slammed against the granite, cracking the countertop. The ground shook. A framed portrait fell from a higher shelf. Derik caught it right before it landed. He put the portrait on one of the counters, then hobbled away.


    The portrait was monochrome, though its detail was sublime. It showed a pretty woman. Young. She had her arm wrapped around a clean shaven Derik. Her hair was a light gray. Blond, maybe. The detail in her face was superb. Terran could not even see the paint strokes. Even the few wrinkles on her fair skin were distinct. Painting this must¡¯ve taken an eternity. Terran asked, ¡°Who is she?¡±


    ¡°No one,¡± Derik said. ¡°She¡¯s no one.¡± He gave a half smile, but was sweating profusely. That confirmed it. She was someone.


    ¡°Is this Ema?¡±


    Derik jolted back, as if he had just been stabbed. ¡°H-how do you know about her?¡±


    ¡°Do not take me for some fool,¡± Terran said. ¡°I am perceptive, even in this form. Besides, her name was printed on a similar portrait upstairs. You have a few of those around your house. That either shows immense devotion or great narcissism.¡± It was most likely the latter. In his prior life, Terran had commissioned only five self portraits, easily half what Derik had. This commoner could do with some humility.


    ¡°Sh-she¡¯s no one,¡± Derik said. He grabbed the portrait, then stared at it with a smile. He stayed like this for several seconds, seeming lost in a chance. Better senses soon took hold, and Derik stood tall to put the portrait back on the shelf. He shook his head. ¡°No one.¡±


    ¡°Is she living?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡±


    ¡°Is she living?¡± Terran said, turning with a creak. He shuffled along the counter until he was mere feet away from Derik. ¡°Answer me¡­ honestly.¡±


    Derik stayed quiet. Was this a refusal? The gall. Perhaps there was more to this coward. But then he fell back as soon as Terran brought his claws out. Terran hadn¡¯t even threatened anyone yet. This man was that much of a coward. ¡°She is alive,¡± Derik said between panicked gasps. ¡°But that shouldn¡¯t mean anything to you¡­ right?¡±


    ¡°Possibly,¡± Terran said, before looking away to give the illusion that he was deep in thought of larger plans. In all likelihood, the girl would mean nothing but it paid to be vague. The potential for blackmail here could be great. ¡°But let us forget the maiden for now. There are other, far more pressing matters.¡±


    ¡°R-right,¡± Derik said, for once seeming eager to return to business. Before returning to the operating table, Derik picked up a white rag though looked poised to drop it just as fast. He shuffled towards Terran. ¡°I-if you don¡¯t mind, I-I¡¯d like to make it so that-¡±


    ¡°OUT WITH IT!¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Derik whipped the sweat off his brow. It seemed to be coming in droves now. ¡°C-Could you keep your mouth closed when we do the next patch?¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just,¡± Derik started. ¡°There¡¯s the noise¡­ and the police. Cat¡¯s a guy, uhm, so that heat explanation won¡¯t hold. And, well,¡± He rambled pathetically like this for another half minute. Terran raised his hand. The oaf shut up.


    ¡°Very well,¡± Terran said. He snatched the rag from Derik. ¡°I will keep myself quiet. But because I want to. Not because you asked. Now, let¡¯s get back to it. I take it you want it to be done as much as I do.¡±


    The work continued.


    The welding torch only got hotter. The pinch from the patches only hurt more. His hollow veins were filled with magma. Terran dug his fingers into the countertop. The edges chipped away. That release provided no relief. The torment just went on¡­ and on¡­ and on. Despite this, Terran dared not scream ¡ª he did not even grunt. His years of strife had made Terran very good at masking pain. All he had to do was bite down his lip. He never screamed, even while his own body felt as if it were being cooked alive.


    The agony was almost unbearable, but this one was temporary. Within the hour, Derik finished welding the final patch onto Terran¡¯s armor and flesh. He backed away, and stifled a gag. ¡°Th-that¡¯s it,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re done.¡±


    Terran lifted one leg, then the other. He hopped off the counter, then paced around. Movement was stiffer, and his sides ached at each miniscule movement. Glowing streaks criss crossed his body; his flesh still burned at these points. But his armor was covered. Terran could still move. The patches would cool. Given time, he would adapt as he always did.


    Terran approached the blacksmith (Needing to slouch so that he didn¡¯t hit his head on the tools hung above) and backed him straight into a wall. Then he reached out his hand. Derik cringed. Terran frowned, ¡°You still do handshakes, correct?¡±


    ¡°Y-yeah,¡± Derik said. He met Terran¡¯s hand, and cringed when he completed the shake. Some small piece of bone chipped away from Terran¡¯s fingers. Derik brought his hand back. ¡°I can fix that. Restore your fingers if you want.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Terran said. ¡°The claws remain.¡± It was impractical, but the bony claws were a clear image. A signifier of his power. He could slash one into ribbons which, at this stage, was a far better skill than common dexterity. Once Terran ruled again, his assistants would do menial tasks for him. Derik, for his part, did not belabor the point. In fact, he seemed ready for Terran to move on. Perhaps it was for the best. Terran had overstayed his welcome anyhow. He couldn¡¯t grow dependent.


    Breathing in, Terran refocused his vinye to his legs. They glowed a dim red. Now bolstered, he walked as well as he had in his prior life. It was time to go outside and see what the city had to offer. ¡°Do not tell anyone about our meeting,¡± Terran said, approaching the exit. ¡°Most likely, our paths shall never cross again. But if I require your services, you will be ready. Understand?¡±


    Derik kept staring at the floor. ¡°I understand. But what are you going to do now?¡±


    Terran stopped just shy of the door. He smiled beneath his helmet. ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious?¡± He asked. ¡°I shall take back what¡¯s mine!¡±

 Chapter 4

    Taking back what was his would, of course, not be an easy feat. Terran hardly knew how the world had been corrupted during his millenia long slumber. Instinct told him to head for the distant metal pillars, the iron beacons which now towered over Diveky. Going out in the open would spell doom. He¡¯d need to be stealthy. Keeping to the rooftops, Terran leapt from building to building. However, he soon found himself sidetracked.


    A mere two blocks from the blacksmithery was a street flooded with light. Bright and orange. A few buildings even had a glowing trim of light. Bright signs advertising in store windows. There was so much light, it may as well have been day. Peasants kept to the sidewalks for metal wagons roamed the streets, honking as they sped past each other. No horses pulled these wagons. Their soot infested the air. Each breath Terran took scraped at his lungs. Such decay. Such poison. Powerful poison¡­


    It seemed that even the modern peasantry had a good grasp of magic. Perhaps witchcraft had returned in full swing. Or maybe these were more tricks, like the metal pellets that had almost doomed Terran before. That blacksmith had had some lights, and he didn¡¯t seem a competent magic user. Still, the source of these lights could be magical. It was impossible to say with so little information.


    So Terran kept back, watching the chaotic scene from the barren roof of some apartment. There was nothing for him here. The moment Terran even stepped foot into the light, the people would panic and the world would know of his return. That would spoil everything. And so, instead of attacking, Terran decided to watch the bustle from afar. He studied the busy intersection, peering at faces, the strange clothing, the ear-splitting sounds, anything which could be important.


    It was all so different. Outfits unlike anything he¡¯d ever seen. People of all ages and sizes coexist in the streets, men in suits and those in strange leather jackets. Two men argued over a yellow wagon. An older woman yelled vehemently into a metal device by the side of the road. Everyone looked like a fool, really. There was a lot of yelling. No one had time to stop and converse. Then again, why would they stop? There were neither parks nor roads. Only stone. And metal too. Lots of metal. It was a luxury no longer.


    Terran moved on after only five minutes. He knew what he needed. Intersections like these were abominations. Trees were nary in sight. He counted three, and each were confined to small fenced areas. The Dark Lord never considered himself a nature lover, but in these moments, seeing a thriving oak would make him feel far better about his city. But no. The people were too lost in smog and decay.


    Soon, Terran came across a street he recognized: a roundabout with five roads which steamed out from it. Back in his day, this had been a most ordinary street: a marketplace where peasants sold meat and fish. Now, the roundabout was surrounded by five story apartments. Smog spewing wagons sped by. A lone building nestled within the roundabout itself.


    At just one story, it was by far the smallest yet somehow the most busy of them all. The place reeked of grease and sweat. Its horrid stench burned Terran even from across the street. Metal wagons surrounded it. Large windows revealed the cramped interior, where groups of yelling people begged for their meals. Bodies were pressed shoulder to shoulder. Young girls in small dresses delivered plates to the ravenous guest, who feasted like wolves. If people weren¡¯t sitting, they were dancing, listening to a cacophony of strings and drums that must have been music to them.


    Terran couldn¡¯t see the appeal for the life of him. This place was ugly. Damn ugly. The walls were blue and trimmed with a tacky red light fixture. Its arched roof was faded, and rusted with age. Yet people still flocked as if it were church during mass.


    A two-wheeled vehicle approached the restaurant. Two rode the mount, exposed to the elements. The man up front skidded the metal mount to a stop, halting its purr with a flick of his wrist. The knights removed their helmets. One was a man with greased hair and a coal black jacket. The other, a woman who had his same dress.


    Diveky had truly fallen. If Gratia were here, she would agree with him. This was not what either of them had fought for. The city was too chaotic. Too disorderly. Too disrespectful of the natural world. It needed correcting. It needed its rightful ruler.


    Terran looked at these claws, hands trembling. He could end these youth¡¯s misery now, slash at their music box and burn the unfortunate dwelling to the ground. Yet he held back. There were too many people here. And he still did not know his current limits.


    Closing his eyes, Terran took a deep breath. The vinye pooled in his legs slowly, as if gunk clodded up his veins. Vinye transfer was a simple process, a special quirk of the Gifted. They were not just blessed with enhanced speed, strength and durability. That power could be transferred from arms to legs, letting them weaken one to bolster another. Your strength and speed could increase ten fold. In his time, Terran had garnered a reputation for being more durable than a mountain and quicker than lightning. Yet now, despite his impressive recovery, Terran was far removed from his prior strength.


    He could not retake the city alone. An army would be needed. His army, preferably. Though those lazy followers had yet to show themselves. They had promised they would be there for him upon his return, yet the Dark Lord had yet to see any one of them. No, it had to be negligence. How could they be so lazy? So uncaring? Did they lose sight of their vision? Or did they care for him no longer? Could the years have whipped them all out?


    No. No.


    There had been so many. Thousands of loving, loyal devotees, who cried out his name. Such devotion did not simply vanish. They would not betray him. Not to mention that they had Terran¡¯s dogma. They could not be eradicated. For such extraordinary men to be killed¡­ the very notion was absurd.


    Perhaps the years had made them forgetful. Yes, that could be it.. Terran did tell only a few his final resting place. The secret, if small enough, could easily have been lost within a generation or two, even as the Order lived on. Come to think of it, Terran did reawaken later than he thought.


    That was it then: his followers did not know his return. Terran needed to somehow alert them without alerting the authorities or the common folk. Perhaps rumors could do the trick. Though it would have to be the right kind of rumors. They should seem mundane to the untrained ear, the sort of ramblings made by mad men. But to one immersed in Terran¡¯s history ¡ª one who knew him as intimately as they knew themselves ¡ª these rumors would be an undeniable signifier of his return. That way, the rumors would tip off the followers but not the police. But what kind of rumors would that be?


    The answer was obvious: fear. Terran would become a terror in the night, showing off his strength and speed in minute bursts. He¡¯d jump random peasants and elite men, and scare them to death with his absurd strength. Fast like lightning. Stronger than a mountain. Yet something undead, reborn from ruin. It would be physical. Not an illusion. Because this was no mere demon, no. This was a Lord in Darkness, defending himself on the streets as he searched for the followers of old.


    Yes. Those were the best rumors. Spreading them would be an easy task. Despite the change in age, the people would remain simple. Some things never changed.


    Terran would begin by attacking the peasantry. None of them would be Gifted, so he could attack any he wished. Neat tricks were useless against his power. Though first he¡¯d need the right street. Not this pitiful social space, which was engulfed in light and noise. But something quieter. Darker. Where even one¡¯s own shadow was hidden. Rumors thrived in uncertainty.


    Terran marched off, ready to find a good street. There was just one problem: there were no good streets. Plenty were too wide. The narrow ones were full of traffic. Almost all were well lit. Diveky no longer had reason to fear the night. The city never slept, now that they had brought the sun into the evening.


    In the end, Terran had to settle. The street he chose was a few feet too wide and the lights ¡ª while flickering ¡ª were placed at too regular a rate. Though the flickering had its own eerie charm to it. The dusty streets, and bins overflowed with garbage, which hinted at this being a poorer part of town. Rumor would be amongst the impoverished. Terran would do nothing too fancy this time. Just a dash, quick attack, then a run.


    This would be the perfect trial run. Terran could work up to more enthralling feats later. Of course, Terran first needed a victim. It really could be anyone: rich or poor, young or old. Though not so old they¡¯d die from a heart attack the moment they saw him. The street looked abandoned, but there was always some idiot out at this time of night. It would just be a matter of time¡­


    The minutes crawled into an hour. Terran sat on the ledge, rapping his fingers, staring at the street. Where were the idiots? Sure, it was most likely the early morning by now. But Diveky was a big place. Surely some fool would have walked here by now. Should he try another street? No, this was the darkest one here.


    A sudden noise distracted Terran from his thoughts: a rhythmic beat which swayed with the wind. It rose high with elegance, staying there for a moment, before going back. Up and back. Up and back. Gracefully like the sea. Peaceful as a cloudless night. This was music. And it wasn¡¯t the drivel that had been playing in that diner, no. It was something else. Something far more elegant. Regal. Ancient.


    A vision overwhelmed Terran. Leon was seated in the kitchen, practicing his kitheria in the mirror as he let his fingers guide him. He was so youthful. Handsome too. Even back then, Leon had had promise. So much promise¡­


    Terran broke free of the vision. That music. He had to find it. He walked as if in a trance, letting the music guide his body. His eternal pain went forgotten. Terran kept pace with the gentle melody of the one man symphony. He soon found the music¡¯s source. It was an old man, playing a stringed instrument whilst sitting on a rusted bench. The beast of an instrument was half his size. The man held the instrument by its long slender neck, and supported its wide wooden body between his knees. The bow moved back and forth in a hypnotic motion. Back and forth. Back and forth. Terran found himself lost to the rhythmic motion. Indeed, the bow seemed an extension of this man¡¯s own body.


    This instrument had shiny wood. Its bow had a perfect string. Yet the man played the ancient melody exactly as it had been performed in Terran¡¯s day. The Dark Lord closed his eyes, feeling nostalgic for the old hills and stars. Then he thought back to his childhood. Aha, that¡¯s where he knew this melody. It had been a soft lullaby played at the end of days to ease the village children into slumber. It had been so long, yet still he remembered it. If Terran closed his eyes, he almost felt like he was in his prior life. Terran shook the thought aside. No. That life was behind him now. He had to focus on the scene.


    A woman with a pearl necklace passed the musician. She dropped some coins into a hat by the musician''s feet. The musician thanked her, and continued playing. This was the golden opportunity. A witness and a victim, neither of fighting age. Either could easily spread his desired rumors. Terran savored the music one final time. So sweet. It would be a shame to snuff it. More opportunities would come. Sure it was irrational, but there was no telling when he¡¯d hear this melody again¡­


    Light streaked the sky. A motorized wagon sped across the corner, skidding to a stop in front of the musician. Two men came out the back. Both had metal pipes. The pearl studded woman took one look at them, then ran off screaming. The criminals got to talking with the musician, who continued to play even as they stood over him. They discussed in hushed voices. Something about money. Not that it mattered. The specifics hardly did in these situations.


    The music was gone. It was time to fight. Terran readied himself. Then, he realized he forgot his quote. Terran often talked in battle. So many of his quotes were spun on the battlefield. He needed a quote to tip off his followers. Otherwise, he¡¯d be indistinct from any random beast.


    Terran thought back to a random one from years before. The context only just applied here, but it would have to do. These men seemed in a hurry. He must strike before they left. Haste was key!


    And yet, Terran still mumbled the line a few times to ensure he got it right. This was his first appearance, even if indirect. Messing up was inexcusable.


    Once sure in his diction, Terran leapt to the street. Night winds rushed through his armor. Terran transferred vinye to his legs, which supported his fall. He landed atop the metal wagon. Its metal beant beneath him, no match for his strength. After that, he leapt such that he was between all the men.


    The three cowered back, gaping at him. One goon raised his pipe, but Terran was faster. He kicked this man into the brick wall then held the other by the scruff of his neck. He leaned close and said, ¡°Insolence will not stand in my city.¡±


    Terran threw this man towards the companion. Both lay by the bricks. One groaned, clutching his knee. The other rocked back and forth. They were injured, scarred for life and delirious, but very much alive.


    That left the musician. The old man staggered back, then stumbled over his instrument. His foot went straight through its thick wooden body. The strings sounded out like the cry of a dying animal. The musician ran around the corner, fast as his trembling legs could carry him as he screamed about a demon.


    Terran did not pursue him. The musician was the perfect witness, after all. Though it was a shame he lost his instrument. Terran picked it up by the neck. There was a gaping hole in the center. All the strings had snapped. The wooden frame fell away, as did much of the body, which left only the neck in Terran¡¯s hand. With a grunt, Terran threw the rest to the ground. This beauty would never play again. Such a waste!


    But Terran could not dwell upon tragedy. There was much to do. That appearance had been great, but this alone would not make rumors worthy of his followers¡¯ ears. More attacks were needed. Maybe even some killings if Terran could do so quickly. And fiercer quotes too. That one had been rather cliche. Especially since his caidance had been flat. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    First though, he must get back up to the roofs. Being seen on these streets would spoil his images. Fortunately, there was a metal staircase strapped to a building across the street which led to the rooftops.


    Terran began his ascent. He ran at first, but his body tired with each step. His mangled feet were crying with every protest. The adrenaline from the fight had faded. Horrid pain returned in full. It felt like he was walking over knives. And when Terran dragged his feet up, his torn calves burned. He had run throughout the city, and made one attack. Somehow, someway, that little adventure was too much. Just when Terran thought he was clear, the pain had returned to remind him of his limits.


    Once at the rooftops, Terran was appalled to find a band of orange nestled over the distant horizon. The sun would rise within the hour. Even if every bone and muscle didn¡¯t ache in protest, Terran could not squeeze in a second attack in time. He could not be seen at day. Day was fear¡¯s antithesis. No matter. Rumors weren¡¯t formed in a day. This was always going to be a several day plan. For now, he needed to find something.


    Terran took a step, and pressed something glass. A bottle. It was a bottle of milk, stained with red lipstick. Strange. Who would leave a bottle of milk out on a rooftop? There was nothing here, save for some blankets and a pillow by the center of the roof. Perhaps some joker had thrown this up here. But what joke would that even be?


    Whatever its origin, Terran now had a bottle of milk. He moved to drink it but stopped. His helmet completely encased his head. Even if he could get the milk to his parched lips, what use would it have? It would just leak through some hole in his guts. The world need not see that. Food and drink were useless now. He was above them.


    Terran threw the milk aside. He walked deeper into the Historical District. Only now, when the sun was nestled just below the horizon, did Terran find the perfect streets. They were narrow, like the ones of his ancient Diveky. Many alleys were so narrow that Terran could walk from building to building without the need to leap. Unfortunately, these buildings now bustled with early morning traffic. There were too many witnesses. Terran could come back here tomorrow, but he had to move on for now.


    Soon enough, Terran came across a decrepit warehouse. Its stone roof was arched similar to those of Terran¡¯s day. It may have actually been from his day, considering some of the aged symbols carved on the walls. The structure was little more than ruins now. Vines covered the hole-littered walls. Many bricks were a sickening green, the stale stench of mildew infesting each and every one. The sides had been painted by vandals. Thousands of messages. The largest of these read, ¡°Your in Tvarlato Territory.¡±


    Terran snorted. Such a preposterous claim. And such horrid grammar too. How could one hope to strike fear if they couldn¡¯t even write? If Terran ever met this Tvarlato, he¡¯d be sure to put him in his place.


    Despite the warehouse¡¯s age, it cast an impressive shadow on the surrounding block. Imposing and ancient. Almost like his old palace, in a sad decrepit kind of way. But the building''s shadow waned. The sun was rising. Terran entered through the hole in the roof.


    Terran had to hunch over as he awkwardly squeezed between dusty boxes. Dusts filled the air. Cobwebs abounded. Creatures unknown scampered in the distance, only discernible by their pitter-patter as they ran amuck. The old room was crammed with boxes. Stacks touched the ceiling. Yet the cardboard was worn, and littered with dust. No lights hung from the ceiling. There were plenty of comforting shadows to hide in. Yes, this building was ancient and forgotten.


    Just like him¡­


    Terran cast the thought aside. Reflecting like that would just make him sad. He had to find somewhere to rest up. There was an opening at the back of the loft, between two larger boxes. Terran nestled in, though sitting without injuring himself proved a nightmare. If he bent down too much, some shrapnel would impact his chest. He tossed and turned, each movement causing some piece of shrapnel to stab him somewhere. It took way too long to find a position he was comfortable with, and even then his knees were bent at an awkward angle. But it would have to do.


    At least he could rest like this. Terran would wait here until the sun set again. But what was he to do then? It wasn''t like Terran could sleep in this form. The magic of his armor kept him alive and rejuvenated. Now that he was awake, death would be his sole return to slumber. It shouldn¡¯t have been a big deal. Terran had already waited milenia. A dozen hours would be nothing¡­


    Still, the lack of progress pained him. None of this would be happening if his followers had just been there. Now he was here, alone and in pain, forced to endure more boring hours with nothing to hold him over. Terran cursed that last thought. It was so petty. But what else was he supposed to think? He was poised to be alone with his thoughts, whether he liked it or not.


    Terran punched the box beside him. The wooden side snapped off. Old books tumbled out. The Dark Lord sat upright. That was convenient. Entertainment. Just when he had complained about it too. Perhaps it was fate. A predestined motivator, meant to show that his course was true, just and destined to work out. No, that couldn¡¯t be right. If fate was on his side, then Terran wouldn¡¯t be huddled in some dingy warehouse in the first place. He¡¯d still be on his rightful throne. Terran picked up a book. It had a darkened cover and scarlet lettering on the spine. Such a powerful aesthetic. It had to mean something. ¡°The Locked Heart,¡± Terran read. ¡°Betrayal, Love and Drama galore. Bertha is an ordinary girl, but she is miserable. She must choose between the gorgeous Milos and the hideous but rich Vladstie.¡±


    Terran threw the book aside. Such filth, a story about commoners of all things. He could see why it was being kept here. He would not succumb to it. A Dark Lord would never be caught dead reading such drivel.


    ***


    ¡°But Bertha,¡± Milos staggered towards her, then raised his arm in a dramatic fashion. ¡°Why? O¡¯why must you go away? Doth our kiss mean nothing?¡±


    ¡°It means everything,¡± Bertha said. She too threw her arms at the sky dramatically, then let them sink to her sides. ¡°But Vladiste has a yacht. It¡¯s big. Has three engines. I think you can see my point.¡±


    ¡°Three Engines?!?¡± Milos fell to his knees. He raised his arms dramatically and convulsed as if he were electrocuted. All the sorrow was in him, and he just had to let that sorrow out in one profound, great, burst of emotion. ¡°Noooooooooo!¡±


    Terran looked to the side. No light came from the hole in the ceiling. It was dark now. About time. He¡¯d grown quite stale of these books. He threw down The Locked Heart: Vladiste Returns Again, and made his way out of the warehouse crevice. Night had returned. His reign of terror could continue.


    Terran clenched his aged fist, focused his vinye on the extremity. Soon, it glowed with his crimson aura. With eyes closed, Terran swore he could hear an energetic hum. So much rage, just begging to be released. Time to get back to it.


    Terran stepped back on to the arced roof, only to immediately slip. Terran caught himself with his claws, digging them into the stone to slow his fall. He stopped just shy of the edge. That could have been bad. Really bad.


    Everywhere was wet. Clouds hung low. It was a moonless night, yet didn¡¯t feel like it due to the street lights. There were so many, even in this decrepit part of Diveky. The people were content to scare terrors away with technology alone. Well, Terran would show them. These tricks would not stand.


    Keeping to the rooftops, Terran returned to the narrow streets he had seen yesterday. He kept a sullen march, both to conserve energy, and to ensure he did not fall again. With these narrower streets, the paths below resembled great ravines. Terran could break his fall with vinye but that required him to land on his feet. That was not a guarantee in his rigid form.


    Soon, Terran came across a decently narrow street. It was about ten feet wide. The buildings on either side were littered with boarded up windows and warped brick. If it weren¡¯t for the shadows wavering inside, Terran would have dismissed the place as abandoned. There was just one problem: the two massive streetlamps blasting light into the void. Terran had read about these in the books. They were a recent invention, and ever since their disastrous creation, fear of dark had been a thing of the past. Now, if those books were to be relieved, night was a romantic time. Romantic. Ha! Terran couldn¡¯t help but laugh.


    But nevermind that. Magic still had yet to return, even after milenia. These lamps were physical. That meant they could be dealt with. Pebbles were stuck in the roof gutter. Terran bent down to get them, but something stabbed him in his decayed torso. The pain flared again each time Terran bent over. Growling, Terran stomped it on the gutter enhanced strength.


    The gutter fell down away, and the pebbles further along were launched into the air. Terran caught them. It was a good collection, about ten. That should be enough. Terran laid his palm flat (As flat as he could at least, for his fingers curled slightly after years of being stuck in that position) and put the pebbles on it. He transferred vinye into his hands, then flicked a pebble.


    The pebble whisked out of sight. A clink sounded as it hit something in the dark. Terran tired again. It hit something metal, then a mechanical scream bellowed out. Terran leapt back, in fear of some monster. The scream died away. He scanned the horizon and soon found the culprit. He had hit a metal pipe, which had been filled with steam. The artificial scream had come from realizing the steam all at once. Easy Terran, he thought to himself. Don¡¯t let fear overwhelm you. You¡¯ve done better deeds before. Imagine that this lamp post is Echrock¡¯s face. Imagine that narcissist here before you.


    Terran tried the trick again. The pebble hit the lamp square in the light. Glass shattered and the light sputtered out. Perfect. Now for the second. He got it on the second try. Darkness enveloped the street. The pitiful light from within the decrepit buildings did not compare. All was still. All was black. Now this was a place for shadows, demons and monsters. All those things children feared when the lights went out. Rumor would be easy to spread from here¡­


    It was a waiting game now. This cramped alleyway provided a shortcut between busier streets. Despite the broken lights, some fool would try his way down sooner or later. The people were simple that way. Such ineptitude could be counted on.


    Within minutes, Terran was proved correct. A metallic wagon ¡ª or car, as the books had called them ¡ª made its way down the road, its front lights cutting through the darkness. Part of the wagon was on the sidewalk. It knocked overfilled bins as it sped along. Terran snorted. Its owner thought they were safe in this vehicle. So safe, they paid no heed to the things immediately on the outside.


    Oh, how wrong they were.


    The car skidded to a stop. A man exited. He was a middle aged gentleman who wore a boring suit with this weird red snake thing which fell from his neck. He had brown shoes so polished, Terran could make out their sheene from the roof. With a hum, the man strolled to the nearest apartment. Such a fool, so unaware of the danger that surrounded him. Terran longed to pounce, but held back. He had a victim but no witness. He needed to wait for the perfect moment.


    The man knocked on a door across the street. A younger woman answered. Within seconds, the two got to arguing. A small ledge was above the two. It was about two feet wide. The perfect vantage point. Terran leapt to the other roof. He landed at an awkward ankle, then tumbled back. Terran brought his arms out wide which kept him from slipping. The couple below failed to notice for they were too enthralled in their argument. Terran stepped over the edge, and dug his claws into the brick wall. He descended to the ledge. It supported his weight, and so Terran stayed there with his back to the wall.


    This was the perfect opportunity to see the modern peasantry in their natural environment. He¡¯d strike them when they were at the climax of their points. That way, whatever they argued about, would seem truly trivial compared to his sudden appearance.


    ¡°I just don¡¯t get it,¡± the woman said. ¡°My family¡¯s lived in this tenant for three generations. You can¡¯t just kick us out now.¡±


    ¡°I already did, Ms. Cybulva.¡± The man held up the rectangular box by his side. It jostled in place. It sounded like a heavy stack of papers. Maybe some metal as well. That was a briefcase. Like the one Vladiste used in the story. Terran grumbled. Why were those trash books, of all things, proving to be useful?


    The man looked up. ¡°Did you hear something?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t change the subject,¡± Cybulva yelled. She stepped away from her porch and poked the man in the gut. The frail woman now towered over him by a good foot. ¡°You have no right. All us work our ten hours. We follow the contracts. We ain¡¯t with the mafia. This is our home, and it will stay ours.¡±


    Cybula seemed headstrong, though this man was clearly in control. Perhaps Terran should attack him, then. It would make him appear in control. Yes, Terran would attack the man when he left for his car. That would make for the best message.


    ¡°Technically this never was yours,¡± the man said with a sly smile. ¡°This worker¡¯s complex is property of¡ª¡± Cybulva charged, growling like a bear. Yelping, the man stumbled off the porch. Cybulva stopped her assault last second, laughing with her arms crossed. Standing tall, the man whipped the dust off his suit. ¡°Ha. Ha. Very funny.¡±


    The man seemed poised to say more, but fear got hold of him. He backed into his car. Perhaps Terran should change tactics. Attacking the aggressive Cybulva would be a more impressive feat. Of course, then it might look like Terran was saving the man from an aggressor. The last thing Terran needed was for people to think him a hero. His followers would not chase some hero.


    The man stayed by his car. He put his hand on the door latch, but kept his gaze to the ground. He twiddled his thumbs, as if he were a guilty child. Then, after taking a breath, he glanced at Cybulva. ¡°Also, the contractors coming tomorrow to evict.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Cybulva ran to the man. The man opened his car door. Terran leapt down, and picked up both by their throats. They struggled in place, gasping for air, unable to scream as Terran crushed their windpipes.


    Now, which would be the victim? Terran looked from one struggling being to the other, mulling over his options. Cybulva had a lot of spunk, hinting that she could be a gossip. But the man was richer. That suggested more societal influence. He could spread the rumors further. Then again, his death would strike fear in the wealthy too. And his face was annoying.


    Terran slashed at the businessman¡¯s throat. Blood soaked his suit. The man gurgled, eyes widening as he realized his fate. Then he grew limp.Blood poured onto Terran¡¯s hands. He let Cybulva go. The women looked at him. Vomit filled her cheeks. She stepped back on unstable knees, clutching her side. She began to bed, like a disciple banking on his final prayer. ¡°Y-you killed him¡­¡±


    ¡°Of course I killed him!¡± Terran stomped towards the woman. Cybulla rushed back to her apartment. She was gone in mere moments. The door slammed shut behind her, then she locked the door. Actually locked it. Terran snorted. How moronic. As if a mere lock would stop him.


    Stepping away, Terran stepped on something soft. The man he had murdered. Fear still contorted his face. His youthful face, one free of blemishes or marks. His glasses had masked that he was of fighting age. Terran sighed. How pitiful. But still, even to the end, this man seemed dedicated to his boss¡¯ cause. Such devotion. He could have been the perfect bureaucrat. Maybe even a right hand man. Something about his chiseled jaw reminded Terran of Sitam. Now, his handsome features were spoiled by blood. A shame. The death was unnecessary. An unnatural compulsion had overwhelmed him. Something dark and feral¡­


    No.


    Rumors without backbone fell flat. Cybulva would be sure to talk now. Exaggerate details. Details which his followers would pick up on. Sacrifices were needed for Terran to ascend. The murder would be worth it, once all was set right. And he shouldn¡¯t think of Sitam either. Sitam was gone. This man here was no Sitam. There would never be a replacement¡­


    ¡°By the gods!¡±


    There was another man. He dropped his grocery bag, then booked it out of the alleyway. Terran bolstered his legs. He was on the man within an instant, and blocked the way ahead. The coward dipped left, straight into a pole. A clang echoed in the dark. He sat there, recovering.


    Terran laughed. It was unbecoming, but he couldn¡¯t help himself. And he continued laughing even as the coward rushed over the next street corner. Terran was on a high, his prior guilt forgotten. Screw his prior concerns. Screw the guilt. The attack had been perfect. His power was still far above the commoner. Terran could wander the city streets as he pleased. He could end any life he wished. These people were pawns. Mere pawns!


    Oh, Terran missed the rush. It wasn¡¯t the same as battle, but still he felt alive. Fear would spread through the streets. Rumors would reach his follower¡¯s ears. Even if they didn¡¯t, it wouldn¡¯t be the worst thing. Terran could feel his strength returning. With time, he could retake this city himself.


    And it didn¡¯t have to be some slog either. No. Terran was going to enjoy it¡­

 Chapter 5

    The teens turned the corner.


    Terran stayed behind as they ran off. He couldn¡¯t let them see him now. Being seen too often would spoil the fear. Though they were ahead, it mattered little now. They wouldn¡¯t get away. There was a dead end ahead. These fools had trapped themselves.


    Terran entered the alleyway. Sure enough, the teens were there, sprayed against the wall. All screamed, even the meaty one with the slicked back hair. One of the girls tried to climb against the brick wall. But it was in vain. There was no escape. Not from the Dark Lord.


    He could taste their precious fear. Each step made them squirm. They held each other, murmured fervent prayers, and still Terran advanced. Then he stopped. He made it look accidental too, as if he had just stumbled. The Dark Lord took staggered steps, and shook his limbs such that they appeared to require effort. At last, he stood in place, wheezing with feigned strain.


    The Dark Lord¡¯s battered chest rose and fell. The alleyway was quiet, save for his own wheezing. Seconds crawled by. It became a minute. The teens glanced at each other. The greased one shoved the scrawny boy towards Terran. The boy stayed still for many seconds. His friends urged him to go. The boy did so, though not before grabbing a brick off the floor. Shuffling across the alleyway, the boy kept far from Terran as he rounded past him. Terran turned his head but did not act. The boy hurried along.


    The boy reached the other end unscathed, but he did not move on. Instead, he looked to his friends, and motioned for them to go. Such loyalty. It almost made Terran regret what would have to happen next.


    Almost.


    The other teenagers came in single file: the blond, then the twins and at last the broad one. Still Terran paused. Once he was parallel with the jock, Terran leapt upon the poor soul. He slashed at his ankles, then slammed him into the pavement.


    Screams abounded. Terran leapt for the other teens, going from one to the next. He slashed each on their forearm, giving them a permanent scar¡ª a lasting reminder of this horrid night. Then he let them go.


    The teens tripped over themselves as they ran into the early morning fog. Terran laughed to himself. That would teach them to be out so late at night, and at that horrid diner too. They¡¯d never make that mistake again. The night was something to be afraid of, and it was time these modern people got a hold of that. The whole city would know this soon.


    Refocusing his vinye, Terran climbed back to the rooftops through use of a nearby fire escape. He intended to rest there, but sirens forced him to move on. Those sounds signaled emergency services. Police, maybe. The alleyway would become a crime scene. Nobody could see Terran, not after the killing was done. They needed to think that he would appear, kill, then turn into mist. If that demon could come and go without warning, then it might as well be anywhere, stalking them while they slumbered. When the people thought that, their paranoia would be self perpetuating. That would make all this far easier.


    Terran briefly recuperated in the warehouse, though within twenty minutes he was on the prowl again. He had done six attacks tonight. A new record. One he should double by sunrise. Such a feat would surely tip his followers off. They¡¯d have to accept him then.


    It did not take long for Terran to find his next victim: a lone girl reading a book on the side of the road. She couldn¡¯t have been far older than twenty, but kicked her feet innocently as if she were a child. She wore a heavy coat, far too big for this muggy night. It was so puffy that the girl read with her arms up and out. It must have been some book, for the girl was buried in it. The night did not phase her. This hinted at a strong naivety. She had no idea of the dangers that surrounded her.


    Were all youths this moronic? No matter. Terran was all too willing to show her his power. With Gifted strength, he was destined to rule. Destined to overwhelm. She would not survive this night unscathed.


    One slice to the back, then Terran would let himself be seen before fading away. She¡¯d bleed out and suffer before being found. Her dazed mind would exaggerate his presence, giving way to rampant rumors and speculation.


    A clang echoed out from a nearby alleyway. A pack of stray cats rushed into the streets. The girl looked up to them, smiling with relief. She had tan skin, brown hair and eyes silver as the moon. ¡°Oh my,¡± she gasped. ¡°Y-you scared me.¡±


    The tan girl dared meet his eye. Her stare held firm even though she was surrounded by flame and soot. The voices, the screaming, those great roaring fires. All of that was gone. There was only her. She repeated the word, ¡°Y-You¡­¡±


    She said no more, not that emotion overtook her. She said the word as dry as could be, as if this were just any other day. No tears masked her silver eyes. The girl clenched her hands. Her lip curled. She was fuming. Anger. Raw anger, nearly ready to blossom if it weren¡¯t for the fear. Such power. This girl had potential. Leon bowed his head in respect, though he knew the gesture would go unappreciated. ¡°What is your name, child?¡±


    She stepped back, ¡°Gr-Gratia.¡±


    ¡°Let me help you, Gratia,¡± Leon said, reaching out his hand. ¡°How would you like to come with me? I can get you far away from here.¡±


    That was a mistake. His hand was red. Gratia looked at Leon, then the body in front of him. She ran off, tripping over her own feet, before weaving between the rubble of the town. She disappeared behind the smog. Leon did nothing, not having it in him to kill a child.


    Little did he know, that would become his biggest regret.


    Tan skin. Brown hair. Silver eyes.


    Terran lunged for the girl, claws extended, ready to split her in two. She gasped. He swiped. But the girl was gone. It was just him in the alleyway.


    ¡°Well well well.¡± A voice cried out. Terran straightened. That voice. The girl was behind him, leaning casually on a street pole. She had removed her heavy coat to reveal a lighter jacket and small cloak. With a grin, she gestured such that both hands resembled finger guns. ¡°Dark Lord Terran, I presume.¡±


    ¡°Y-You,¡± Terran stammered. ¡°It can¡¯t be¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right. It¡¯s not.¡± The girl bowed. ¡°Raven Blackwell, at your service. Figured that trick would get you out in the open.¡± She looked off to the side, staring at her nails. ¡°Young woman, reading a book, all alone. How could any psychopath resist?¡±


    Terran growled. She got lucky. She wouldn¡¯t again. He went to attack, but she sped past him in a sudden flash. She reappeared further down the street. ¡°Please,¡± Raven said. ¡°There are loads of people still being born. Did you really think you¡¯d be the only Gifted one around here?¡±


    ¡°H-How?¡±


    ¡°You made it real easy,¡± Raven said. She strolled his way, gradually closing the distance between them. ¡°I mean, really easy. You left behind so many witnesses. You used your brute strength out in the open. You made no effort to hide your form. Honestly, it''s like you wanted me to find you.¡± Terran cursed himself. All this effort to alert his followers had been in vain. It had only brought him a new enemy. But perhaps one who was all talk. She¡¯d run like all the others.


    Terran transferred all his vinye into his legs. They turned scarlet. He gave an ear-splitting roar that would strike fear into any reasonable man. Yet the girl only laughed. ¡°Don¡¯t embarrass yourself Terran. We both know you aren¡¯t a monster. Just a messed up guy in very messed up circumstances.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡±


    ¡°Do I?¡± Raven asked, stopping. ¡°I mean, look at yourself. I can smell your organs. That¡¯s messed up. Let¡¯s not even consider how you¡¯ve fallen. These murders don¡¯t help your goals.You¡¯re just a bully now. Nothing more.¡±


    Terran clenched his fists. Him? A bully? Hardly. This was not mere fun. It was part of his mission. He stomped the ground, and the pavement beneath him split. ¡°You know nothing of me. Nor my plan.¡±


    ¡°Do it?¡± Raven smiled in such a way that made Terran want to tear her apart. She got a gun out of her coat pocket. ¡°Here¡¯s what¡¯ll happen now. You come with me, and I¡¯ll ask you some questions. Maybe, then, I¡¯ll let you live. Keep you as a museum attraction or something. That could be fun.¡±


    She couldn¡¯t be serious. Terran was a Dark Lord. Not some mongrel that could be forced around on a leash. Terran got into a fighting stance and charged.


    ¡°Guess you¡¯re going the hard way then,¡± Raven said. She charged for him. Terran prepared to swipe at her left. Raven shot at his lower abdomen. The blow grazed, cutting at the flesh.


    Terran skidded to a stop, stumbling just before he slammed into a building. Raven smiled. ¡°A pity. The great Dark Lord, almost out from a single hit. This¡¯ll be over faster than I thought.¡±


    That brat. One good hit, and she thought she had won. Terran would show her. Nobody faced a Dark Lord in battle and lived to tell the tale. Raven charged again but he dipped out of the way just in time. She sped on, and hit the building behind him. Bricks exploded.


    There was a hole now, revealing the interior of a darkened warehouse. A series of shelves created a maze-like construction. Cramped, confined. The perfect place to build fear. Yes, Terran would make this girl fear him. Only then could he win.


    After faking an attack on Raven¡¯s left, Terran slipped past her for the warehouse. Rows upon rows of identical shelving. Rushing down, Terran tried to build distance but he could hear Raven hot on his trial. ¡°Running won¡¯t help,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m not afraid of you!¡±


    Terran smiled. That confidence would soon shatter.


    He dove left through an opening in one of the shelves. Raven rounded past, taking the long way. But Terran dove back the way he entered. This created distance. Terran climbed the shelf. It rattled as he ascended. Raven was still below. Good. Now Terran could fade into darkness.


    She¡¯d expect him to strike right away. Best to toy with her. Terran leapt from shelf to shelf, rushing such that he became wind. Raven whipped her head around, struggling to keep up. She fired. Bangs echoed in the night. None got close. Terran stayed focused. Raven had her gun up high. She kept aiming so that she was aligned with him. But she¡¯d soon folly. That was when he¡¯d strike!


    They went like this for a while. Raven soon backed herself into a wall. Terran landed on a shelf directly above her. He crouched low. The girl was glancing about, everywhere but above her. Perfect. Time for the kill!


    The lights turned on. Raven stepped away from the shelf, gun firm in both hands. She looked up. Terran retreated back, crouching low to stay out of sight. Raven kept her gun aimed, but lowered it when footsteps echoed through the warehouse. Someone was approaching.


    He was a portly man, just under five feet tall, yet he strode with as much confidence as Raven. His thick lips were tied in a vicious scowl. He marched straight for Raven, coming close enough for Terran to see the bulging vein on his forehead. The man glared at her gun. ¡°Blackwell! What the hell are ya doin¡¯ in my ware-¡±


    Raven held up her hand. ¡°Get back sir,¡± she said, though with a confident smirk. ¡°There is danger here. I can¡¯t have a commoner like you interfere.¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    The warehouse manager stopped in his tracks. He gasped, ¡°The mob?¡±


    ¡°Worse,¡± Raven met the manager¡¯s eye. ¡°Dark Lord Terran has returned.¡±


    A brief silence, then the manager howled with laughter. ¡°That is rich,¡± he said, swatting a tear from his eye with one of his big sausage fingers. ¡°Ah, so the bedtime stories are real now?¡±


    Bedtime story? Terran would show this manager a bedtime story. Soon. His pitiful life finally held purpose today: a bargaining chip to let him win. Terran just needed him to get closer. He¡¯d strike when the time was right.


    ¡°¡®Course he¡¯s here,¡± Raven said. ¡°Don¡¯t you smell him?¡±


    The manager sniffed the air. ¡°Ain¡¯t nothing but warehouse stink,¡± he said. ¡°Though I¡¯ll admit it''s a little worse than usual.¡± Terran sniffed the air. He smelled nothing wrong.


    Raven smiled, but the manager frowned. ¡°Listen girly,¡± he said. ¡°If you wanted to steal from me, ya need a better excuse.¡±


    ¡°Steal from you?¡± Raven marched up to the manager, arms crossed, eyes like daggers. ¡°I am a Blackwell. Why would I need to steal from you? Look, I wouldn¡¯t be here for no reason. It¡¯s dangerous here. It¡¯s best if you leave.¡±


    ¡°Why should I leave? So you can shoot at all my stuff?¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t shooting at your stuff.¡±


    ¡°You were shooting at the Dark Lord?¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡± When the man¡¯s glare held firm, Raven walked off. ¡°Just gimme a second, and I¡¯ll be out of your hair. But be careful. The egomaniac¡¯s probably watching as we speak.¡±


    The manager still neared Raven. Ten feet¡­then five. There! Terran leapt down from above. He picked the man up with one hand, and leapt away. Raven drew out her gun, aiming for Terran¡¯s head.


    ¡°Easy there,¡± Terran said, lifting the manager by the throat. He put a claw right over his belly. ¡°Don¡¯t move or I¡¯ll gut him.¡± Ah, here it was. The moral dilemma. Eons ago, Terran had put Gratia through a similar test. Her morals kept her from doing what was needed, which allowed Terran to defeat her. That had secured him three more years of rule. Morality made heroes rigid. Predictable. It may be a new age, but the weaknesses were the same. Heroes were simplistic that way.


    ¡°Go ahead,¡± Raven said, arms crossed. ¡°Do it.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Terran and the manager said in unison.


    ¡°Just gut him now so we can get this over with,¡± Raven said. She cocked her gun, and put the finger on the trigger. ¡°There¡¯s no way I¡¯d let you go. You¡¯ll kill way more people if I do.¡±


    "You don¡¯t know that for certain.¡±


    ¡°You call yourself a Dark Lord,¡± Raven said. ¡°That pretty much announces your evil to the world. And you¡¯ve been murdering for no clear purpose. Just ego. So yes, you¡¯d do a lot more killing if I let you go.¡±


    Terran gave a sigh. This girl. Wrong on so many accounts. He didn¡¯t kill for ego. He killed because¡­ well, it was because he had to damn it! For his greater mission. But that wasn¡¯t even the worst slander here. ¡°That¡¯s not what my title means.¡±


    ¡°Then what does it mean?¡±


    ¡°It me¡ª¡± Terran stopped himself. He was falling for Raven¡¯s games. How moronic of him. She wanted him unsure. She wanted him racked with guilt. It was a classic deception. Nothing more. Focus! he cursed. Focus on the matter at hand.


    Terran put the blithering manager in front of him. ¡°You do realize I mean it,¡± Terran asked. He raised his claws, and slashed at the manager¡¯s arm. The wound was small, but still the man cried like a child. ¡°I will kill him!¡±


    The manager babbled, begging for his life. Swore to be better. On his wife. The gods. All that boring stuff. Terran brought up a claw to his neck, and the manager shut up. ¡°Do you really want his death on your conscience?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll be on yours,¡± Raven said. ¡°But seein¡¯ as it¡¯s probably all shriveled up by now, well¡­¡± She waved her gun idely, then fired.


    The shot whizzed past the manager, and hit Terran¡¯s side. He shrieked with pain, and threw the manager towards Raven. The man bounced off the floor once. Raven took off with great speed. She caught him before he hit his head on the pavement.


    Terran ran for them with claws extended. Raven let the manager go. She slid beside him. Terran flew over her, giving Raven two clear shots. Bang! Bang! Two stabs of pain, right in the abdomen. A dazed Terran fell.


    He was up in a moment, but the folly let Raven get near. She kicked his knees, then hit him right in the chest. Her Gifted strength sent Terran flying back. He flew straight through a wall.


    It was a cramped room. Metal walls. Pipes criss crossed throughout. Terran had shattered one. Steam poured into the room. Heat cooked Terran from the inside out. He tried to pry himself away, but his shoulder spikes were caught on the metal. No¡­no¡­No!


    Raven stood at the hole she had caused, hands on her hips. Only her silhouette was clear due to all of the steam. ¡°Well well well,¡± she said. ¡°You disappoint me, Terran. I was sure you¡¯d put up more of a fight. Ah well, probably for the best if we end things here.¡±


    Terran tried to pry himself off. Only a few spikes came undone. The cursed heat. His body was fusing with metal! He needed time. ¡°Things won¡¯t end here,¡± Terran said. ¡°This is only the beginning.¡±


    ¡°The beginning? Wait.¡± Terran halted in her tracks. ¡°Let me guess. You''re still trying to find your cultists, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°What of it?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re gone,¡± Raven said. ¡°Gratia brought an end to them. You¡¯re alone.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Terran tried to charge, but the wall kept him in place. No matter how hard he tugged, he was stuck. ¡°My followers are skilled. They¡¯ve been trained to be eternal. You lie to me!¡±


    ¡°Do I?¡± Raven smiled. Instead of shooting, she charged straight for Terran. He kicked her back when she got near. She slammed straight into another pipe. More steam spewed into the room. The Dark Lord pried himself free. Two spikes stayed, embedded in the wall. His ruined shoulder was exposed. But at least he was free.


    Raven ran once again, going for another punch. Terran weaved just in time, rolling past her. Steam got in her eyes. She tried another blind punch. Still no attempt with the gun. Could she have been out of those metal rounds? Or maybe she feared damage to the machine¡­


    Many pipes were connected. Terran ran against the wall, slicing one wide open. More steam poured inside. Now Raven was but a shadow. ¡°Hey!¡± She coughed. ¡°Don¡¯t do that. You wanna get us kill-¡±


    The girl stopped there, but the blunder had been made. Get them killed. There was danger with all these steam. The armor made Terran immortal. If something were to happen, he¡¯d survive. Raven would not.


    All these pipes. They all converged at one point. A cylindrical device on the far side of the room. Attacking that could release much steam at once. Yes, that was it!


    Terran kicked his heels in, and bolted for the device. Raven followed at his left. The girl punched and punched, a flurry of frustrated attacks. Terran dodged as many as he could. One grazed his abdomen. He leapt back. She slipped beneath him for the exit ¡ª an obvious attempt to goad him outside. Terran pulled her back. She would not leave.


    Raven hit herself free. The onslaught continued. Left. Right. Left. Right. She was getting clumsy. Predictable. But there were so many hits. Terran hardly had time to attack. Raven was forcing him away from the cylinder.


    She nicked an armor spike. It sliced her palm. The pain made her jolt. It was brief, but clear. Terran took advantage, punching her in this brief window. She flew back a good foot before stopping herself.


    Growling, Raven whipped out her gun. She fired. The shot went through Terran¡¯s gut. It pierced something vital. He fell to his knees. Raven stood over him, long hair in messy knots, huffing and puffing. ¡°There,¡± she said. ¡°We¡¯re done now.¡±


    Terran wheezed, breaths now belabored. That had pierced his lung. Maybe a rib too. It was bad, but not fatal due to the armor. Standing would be painful, but doable. He could still fight. But for how much longer? Another bad shot could render him paralyzed. He had to end this. And fast.


    Raven stepped closer, bringing the gun just out of Terran¡¯s reach. A clear taunt. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you made me use this,¡± she said. ¡°I mean, to fire a gun in a boiler room. How stupid could you get? Well, I suppose it doesn¡¯t matter now.¡±


    Terran put his hand on the floor, the motion unseen due to all the steam. He felt a large pebble. He smiled, ¡°So you think you¡¯ve won?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a gun aimed at your heart,¡± Raven said. ¡°You¡¯re basically a shambling corpse, and there¡¯s a hole clean through your midsection. Trying anything would be suicidal for us both. Yeah, I think I won.¡±


    Terran nodded, then bowed his head to the floor. ¡°Very well,¡± he said. ¡°You damn brat.¡±


    Terran flicked the stone. Raven bobbed her head to the left. She said, ¡°You missed.¡±


    ¡°Did I?¡±


    The stone hit the boiler. An explosion shook the earth. Raven was flung back, as was Terran. He flew out the hole and back into the warehouse. Terran corrected his course mid air. Landing on his feet, he skidded to a stop.


    Something pulled. Terran landed awkwardly. He staggered back, roasted and filled with lead. Terran only looked back to the damage once he was several meters out.


    The place was in ruins. Just a smoldering pile of rubble. Raven was there, stumbling about, yelling aimlessly. She had survived, but was in no condition to fight. Terran smiled. All talk, little show. Like so many things these days. Sure, she¡¯d done a number on his chest but such wounds could always be patched. Pain could be adapted.


    It was time to finish things.


    ¡°Freeze!¡±


    Five officers at the far end of the warehouse. All armed. Terran grunted. Of course Raven would have backup. They opened fire, sending a swarm of bullets his way. Terran transferred all of his vinye into his legs. His arms now dangled, but his legs were aglow with power.


    Terran tried to weave past the shots. Both his shoulders got hit. Yet the armor held. He continued. But more and more bullets hit. Some pierced. So many jabs of metal were tearing at his flesh. Yet Terran still ran, ignoring the pain.


    Click. Click. Click.


    The nearest officer ran out of ammo. Terran leapt on him, then kicked his body ahead. The others screamed. While distracted, Terran dove beneath a shelf. He kicked a box beside him then rolled out to the next aisle.


    Another ligament tore. Terran screeched in pain. His body. It¡¯d come apart in the seams if he kept this fight up. He had to flee.


    And so he ran. He ran and ran, arms useless and body filled with bullet holes. So much lead. Nearly a pound of the stuff. Weighing him down. The Dark Lord focused on running. His legs became a blur. Soon Terran found the hole to the outside. Freedom. Salvation.


    One officer stood guard. Upon seeing Terran, his jaw dropped to the floor. Looking away, the kid fired. Five shots whizzed past him The sixth hit, sliding between Terran¡¯s plating armor. It spit his skin. A howling Terran stumbled, tripping over himself.


    He transferred vinye to his arms just before hitting the floor. He pushed himself off, up in a flash, but in so doing he had exposed a vulnerability on his left side. The officer took the shot. It went straight through, going deep into his body.


    Terran fell to the floor. The bullet had pierced his heart. Thanks to the armor, this was not fatal yet the pain remained. The bullet lingered. Each time he tried to get up, the pellet embedded itself further into his heart like an insect eating at him from the inside.


    ¡°I-I got him?¡± The officer approached Terran, gun in hand. He rounded up to the front, blocking the exit.¡°I-I got him!¡±


    Terran tried to stand. The bullet went in further. The officer kept calling for his peers. Backup was coming. They couldn¡¯t see him like this. Pain was a sign of weakness. Terran was too good for weakness. He would not show it. Not here, to the guard. Not to Raven. Not to anyone. He was no longer human. Pain meant nothing. Terran had to escape, even if the bullet tore his heart in two.


    Uprighting himself, Terran took a step towards the officer. The kid backed away, eyes widening, fear etched across his face. The officer made no move. He simply stared, paralyzed by fear, and allowed Terran to pass. One good swipe sent him down.


    The Dark Lord limped on, hand to his heart. He forced his legs to glow. His stagger turned to a respectable march. There was a manhole outside. Terran kicked it down, then leapt into the sewers.


    Terran marched through the labyrinth until the pain forced him to limp. And then, he limped until his quivering knees made him collapse from exhaustion. Coughing like mad, Terran clutching his aching chest.


    Such a cowardly thing, running away. But that brat had gotten close. Too close. No longer running on adrenaline, Terran now felt his pain in full. So many pricks, jabbing at bone and flesh, making each movement a risk. He had gotten away. The police weren¡¯t following. At least there was that. Yet Raven, that horrid brat, lived.


    Terran punched the ground. Then he did it again. And again and again. The stone round him turned to rubble, his fingertips cracked. But still he hit. The vision of Raven¡¯s cocky grin was too much for him to bear. She had read him too well. Far too well!


    A final slam. Dust flew into the air, and Terran gagged. ¡°Damn you, Gratia,¡± Terran yelled. ¡°Even now, you find a way to curse me.¡± He got into a crawl, then staggered on. It felt like the air was made of needles, yet Terran had to persist. That outburst would be heard. He needed to be gone before others came to investigate. Being seen like this would be humiliating.

 Chapter 6

    ¡°With Boris Tvarlato¡¯s recent acquittal, the future of organized crime in Diveky remains uncertain,¡± the newsperson said, his tone dry and dull even as he reported the most terrible of tragedies. ¡°The crime rate has been steadily increasing over the past month. Yesterday evening, there had been an attack on a warehouse in the northern Historical District. Two dead, three wounded. Identities are unknown. Authorities claim that this was not related to the mob, instead attributing it to the mysterious string of murders which¡ª¡±


    Ema shut the box off. ¡°That¡¯s enough of that¡­¡±


    Derik nodded. He had had more than his fair share of darkness over the past few days. His apartment felt cold and lonely, even more so than it had previously. Thoughts of that demon still festered in Derik¡¯s mind. At times, it seemed a nightmare, but Derik still had the wound to prove otherwise. That horrid thing was out there somewhere, stalking victims, killing innocents. And it wore armor that had been repaired by him. That was the most terrifying part of all.


    Ema sat back down beside him on the tattered couch. She put her hand just over his bandaged wound. ¡°Does it feel better?¡±


    ¡°A little,¡± Derik said. ¡°Not much.¡±


    ¡°You need an assistant,¡± Ema said. She nestled up close, leaning her weight on him. ¡°That metal is heavy. And all that heat. Oh I can¡¯t imagine, what with you working inside all day. It¡¯s no wonder you lost focus. You¡¯re lucky the chain only slashed your ankle.¡±


    ¡°I had a brief lapse,¡± Derik said. ¡°But I¡¯m fine. I¡¯m fine.¡±


    ¡°Still, could you look into it?¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± Derik said, even though he had no intention of doing so. An assistant would be far too expensive considering current economic trends. With a groan, he sat upright. ¡°Say, maybe we should turn the box back on. Isn¡¯t your part coming up soon?¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Ema said, and she shrugged. ¡°But I won¡¯t be on for an hour. It¡¯s only fifteen seconds anyway.¡±


    Derik smiled. ¡°It¡¯ll be the best fifteen seconds of the entire night.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± she leaned back, running her fingers through her long blonde hair. ¡°I¡¯m just talking about the new Blackwell dog shelter. It¡¯s not exactly two dead in a warehouse or anything.¡±


    ¡°We all could use a happy story now,¡± Derik said with a chuckle. ¡°At least I think so. You¡¯re doing great work, Ema. And someday, the whole world will see it.¡± This made Ema smile, and she snuggled up even closer to Derik. The two touched heads, and Ema peered into Derik¡¯s eyes. They leaned in close.


    Ding! Ding! Ding!


    Ema glanced at the clock. ¡°My word, nine already?¡± She hopped off the couch, then grabbed her purse from a nearby coffee table. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to run like this. It¡¯s just, I''ve got some reports due soon and I¡¯ve barely started¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Derik said. His ankle flared as he sat up, which prevented Derik from getting off the couch. ¡°Are we still on for that date in the diner tomorrow?¡±


    Ema smiled as she ran past him. ¡°Certainly.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll see you then,¡± Derik waved. He blew a kiss her way. ¡°¡®Till then.¡±


    Ema caught the kiss and blew one back. ¡°¡®Till then.¡±


    Ema ran for the exit. There were some footsteps, a slam of a door, then nothing but the ticking of the clock. Derik leaned back on the couch, hands over his head. That had been a good stay-home date. Short, but good. And tomorrow they were going to go out again for even longer. Derik nestled further into his couch. Maybe he should just sleep now, and wake up tomorrow. He¡¯d already finished his work for the day. Yes¡­ that would be perfect. He deserved a rest after all that has happened¡­


    But sleep would not come to him. Derik¡¯s breaths took in bitter air. Foul air. Tangy, like copper. But there was also something rotten. Had the bananas gone bad? No, Derik thought, sitting up. This omen was far worse¡­


    ¡°What was that motion?¡±


    Derik stood. There was something in the doorway to the dining room. The demon turned to face him. Its eyes were aglow. Derik backed away. He hit his bad foot wrong and fell to the floor. This thing¡­ here¡­ but there were only so many ways in. Through the window, maybe? Terran could have been here awhile. In that doorway even¡­it¡­here¡­. watching them. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±


    Derik paled. That was far too demeaning. He¡¯d surely be in for it now. The demon advanced, his steps shaking the apartment. A photograph from a distant shelf fell. Terran became a blur. He caught the photo, then stared at it for a moment before putting it back on the shelf.


    The demon limped into the good light. Holes littered his body. So many bullet holes. They were in his legs, a few spread across his torso. Even one by his heart. Any ordinary man would be dead from that many gunshot wounds. ¡°Th-The warehouse attack,¡± Derik stammared, getting back to his feet. ¡°The one they talked about on the news. That was you, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    Five Diveky officers and the great Raven Blackwell. That should¡¯ve made quick work of anyone, yet here Terran was. Alive, stealthy and deadly. Two were dead. Derik was complicit in that, because he had fixed this beast¡¯s armor.


    ¡°That was me,¡± Terran said, glee so obvious that Derik could almost hear the thing smile. It had no remorse nor fear. Derik curled in on himself. Were other lives really so insignificant to Terran? I mean, of course they weren¡¯t significant. Why would a demon care about anyone?


    ¡°I made a mistake, blacksmith,¡± Terran said, rounding past him. ¡°That Raven girl surprised me. There is much I do not know about the modern world. I¡¯ve gotten so focused on instilling fear. So focused on making my followers come to me. I didn¡¯t even consider how things have changed. That they might have been hunted down¡­.defeated. Gone. I¡¯m alone Derik. There is only me¡­ and you.¡±


    Derik tensed up, ¡°What are you suggesting?¡±


    ¡°I cannot learn about the modern world while stalking from the rooftops,¡± he said. ¡°Is the Library of Aperio still open?¡±


    ¡°The library?¡± Derik sat up. ¡°Oh yes, yes. The library. Just a few blocks northwest of here. You can¡¯t miss it. Why, it¡¯s still as grand as it was in your day.¡± It indeed was. Flocked with tourists too. If Terran went there, the cops would surely see. There¡¯d be a lot more. Maybe they¡¯d kill him this time. That was the hope, anyway.


    Terran laughed. His low guttural laugh shook the entire room. Again, he advanced to Derik and backed him into a bookshelf. ¡°As if I could go to a library in this state,¡± Terran said. ¡°No, you shall rent out the books for me and then I shall read them as you make repairs to my armor.¡±


    Terran placed a hand on Derik¡¯s shoulder, then guided him to the couch. The demon forced him to sit. Each of his claws pricked at Derik¡¯s skin. So close to death, he thought. He could kill me right now if he wanted. One slash, that¡¯s all it would take. Yet he hasn¡¯t. Because I haven¡¯t given him a reason¡­


    Terran looked off. Derik didn¡¯t say anything. He seemed deep in thought. ¡°I just realized. You haven¡¯t answered my first question.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°The girl,¡± he said. ¡°Why did you do that motion to her?¡± He didn¡¯t enact the motion, but Derik knew what he was talking about. It was a strange question for a demon to ask. Derik racked his mind trying to come up with a suitable explanation. He must¡¯ve taken too long, for Terran began to squeeze at his shoulder. Something wet drizzled down his left. Blood.


    ¡°Okay okay,¡± Derik said. ¡°I was blowing a kiss. It¡¯s just a loving gesture, that¡¯s all.¡±


    Derik expected Terran to berate him. Call their love foolish. But, after a pause, all he said was: ¡°That¡¯s a very special connection. Be sure to cherish it.¡±


    There it was. More blackmail. But what could Derik do? Ema would return at some point, at which point Terran could easily follow her home. She¡¯d be easy prey then. That could not come to pass, which meant Derik was now at this thing''s mercy. But it wasn¡¯t the worst situation. No. All Derik had to do was rent some books and repair some armor. It wasn¡¯t like he was the one going out and murdering people. ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± he said. Derik started for the door. ¡°I¡¯ll go right away¡­¡±


    Terran held Derik back. ¡°Wait.¡±


    Derik gulped. The demon wanted something more. Of course he did. ¡°What is it?¡¯


    ¡°Your girlfriend¡¯s address,¡± Terran said. ¡°I need it as assurance.¡± Derik stayed there, shaking his head. He wouldn¡¯t give in. He wouldn¡¯t give in. But then Terran brought a claw to his throat. He pressed against it. One slice. That¡¯s all it would take. Death had never been closer. Hating himself, Derik pointed to the yellow pages in the living room. Terran was in the book in a moment. He flipped through to the bookmark, and smiled. ¡°Renzov. That¡¯s her last name, correct?¡±


    Derik lowered his head in shame. That had been a betrayal of the highest order. He¡¯d given Ema up so fast. There hadn¡¯t even been an interrogation. He was pathetic. Weak. But he had to push on. No harm would come to her if he pushed on. ¡°I¡¯ll go to the library,¡± he said, voice flat. ¡°I figure you want it done right away¡­¡±


    Another burst of speed, then Terran leaned over Derik. His eyes were aglow, beady orbs filled with hatred and bloodlust. The slightest smirk was visible though the monster¡¯s rusted bevor. ¡°I like you, blacksmith.¡±


    ***


    The order was simple. Track down volumes that contained information about modern technology, cultural reform, new age history, and many other topics. Even something on that ¡°Blackwell brat¡± if he could get away with it. Terran desired large books, encyclopedias preferably, so that his knowledge could be complete. Even then, the requests were so varied that Derik would have to rent out twenty books. Tracking these tomes took an eternity. The library of Aperio still used the old complex organizational system, which could confuse even the best scholars. To the ignorant Derik, it was noise. There were cookbooks next to fantasy novels next to history encyclopedias, all housed in cramped bookshelves which were smushed too close for comfort. Derik walked sideways, his hefty backpack brushing against the shelf behind him. He carried the books that wouldn¡¯t fit, but that meant he could hardly see the shelves in front of him. These narrow halls weren¡¯t designed for someone as broad as him.


    Derik¡¯s limp further slowed progress, and each step had to be considered to avoid flaring the wound. When pain flared, he¡¯d stumble and drop all the books. Picking them up again somehow took longer than finding them. To make matters worse, the library seemed to have been designed by the world¡¯s most obsessed mazemaker. Bookshelves wrapped back in on themselves, lead to dead ends, the works. Derik came across the same book about hedges next to the one about snowy owls four different times. Hope came when Derik found an arrow painted on the side of a bookshelf. He would¡¯ve missed it if he hadn¡¯t stumbled into it, for most of its paint had chipped away. But here it was. A marker of salvation. But would the arrow lead him back to the entrance? Or did it go on to more books?


    Derik decided to take his chances. He made his way through, then immediately tripped on an unseen notch in the floor. He stumbled, pain flaring through his leg. The tomes flew through the air. Derik ducked and covered to save his head. He waited for the thud. None came.


    Someone said, ¡°Hey. Are you alright?¡±


    A young woman appearing to be in her early twenties approached Derik. She picked up his five dropped encyclopedias, holding them all in one hand. Her silver eyes radiated, even in this dingy lighting. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    ¡°I-I-I¡¯m fine.¡± Derik stood tall. Pain flared in his bad ankle, and he held his leg up to rub the wound. The pain did not go away. Soot spilled off his pants, getting everywhere. Both he and the silver-eyed woman coughed. Derik scratched the back of his head. ¡°S-sorry about that. I injured my leg so I¡¯m a bit clumsy.¡±Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± the girl said. She handed the books back to Derik, listing them off as she did so. ¡°Economics of Island City States. Second Millennium History. Modern Energy: Production, Conversion and Storage. My, that¡¯s a scattershot collection if you don¡¯t mind me saying. What are you researching?¡±


    ¡°J-just general study.¡± Derik said. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m quite the scholar.¡±


    The woman held up the final book, looking at its dusted cover with a mild mix of confusion and scorn. ¡°The Blackwells: A History of the Most Influential Family in Modern History?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Derik said. ¡°They are so influential. You really can¡¯t understand where we are today without understanding their dynamics.¡± It was the truth, even if it was rarely said. Half the city was named after them for a reason.


    The woman seemed poised to say something, but then stopped herself. ¡°I suppose that¡¯s true,¡± she said. The woman put the heavy tome under her other arm. Her footing did not waver. ¡°You have quite the load, you know. I can carry this one back if you¡¯d like.¡±


    Derik shook his head. ¡°You really don¡¯t have to¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a problem,¡± she said. ¡°I have my book, so I¡¯m heading back as well.¡± It was only then that Derik saw the blackened tomb she carried beneath her other arm. It was far thicker than any book he had picked out. He accepted her generous offer, for refusing would have been suspicious. The woman brushed past Derik, heading in the opposite direction. Derik followed. They marched single file, though it was a struggle for Derik to keep up with his limp.


    The woman must have noticed because she soon slowed. They kept in pace. Neither spoke a word to each other. It grew quiet. Soul-crushingly quiet. The silence was torture in its own way. Derik decided to risk conversation, ¡°What book are you renting?¡±


    The woman flinched. Derik briefly feared he offended her somehow, but then she turned back with a smile. ¡°This,¡± she asked, glancing casually at her tome. ¡°It¡¯s a volume on the Terranic Wars. I thought I studied up enough on it, but I was wrong. Dead wrong.¡± They passed beneath a light. Only now did Derik see the scrapes that littered her body. Before him was none other than Raven Blackwell.


    Oh, how terrible his luck was. First Terran chooses him of all people to be the errand boy, and now that Derik was working for that demon he stumbled across the one person who had been charged with hunting him down. No. This was a good thing. He could tell her about Terran. Maybe he could do it right now. He tried, but the words refused to come out. It didn¡¯t matter how hard he tried. Because if he talked, then he was dead. He and everyone he knew.


    ¡°Is something wrong?¡± Raven frowned. ¡°You seem¡­pale.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ a lot of things,¡± Derik said, scratching his head. ¡°The library, for one. I¡¯m not used to being in such a claustrophobic space. Plus we¡¯re nearing the main light fixtures so it¡¯s getting hotter. Not to mention my wound makes walking difficult. And just, general stress.¡± That was too much, yet Raven accepted the over-explanation without thought. They continued on in silence.


    ¡°Say,¡± Raven said. ¡°Have you seen anything suspicious as of late?¡±


    ¡°Suspicious?¡±


    They turned a corner into a thin hall. Raven¡¯s face became obstructed by shadow. ¡°It¡¯s nothing to be wary of,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m asking everyone, in fact. You never know who could have case breaking information.¡±


    Again, the urge to confess came upon Derik. But then he thought of Ema, face down in a pool of her own blood, and a prideful Terran standing over her, laughing at his great act of spite. ¡°I don¡¯t go out at night,¡± Derik said. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen anything. Sorry.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Raven said. ¡°Well, I¡¯d avoid going out at night for a while. Never know what could happen.¡± Her fist clenched. Derik gulped. Was she making a threat? Or was Raven simply thinking about Terran? It was hard to tell.


    They escaped the maze of bookshelves for the wide opened lobby. Raven handed Derik his book. The brunt of the weight returned. His bad leg flared in protest. Derik groaned as the pain returned. ¡°Here you go,¡± Raven said with a smile. ¡°Have fun reading. Though if you have any specific questions about the Blackwells, you can always just ask me, seeing as I am one.¡±


    Derik said, ¡°I-I don¡¯t have questions.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Raven asked. ¡°A scholar like you?¡±


    She crossed her arms, clearly suspicious. Because of course she would be. Many scholars out there would sell their first born to interview a Blackwell. Derik needed a question. Fast. Though the pain made it hard to think. He said the first thing which came to mind. ¡°The Fallen Nine. Could you tell me about them?¡±


    ¡°What about them?¡± Raven asked, leaning back. ¡°I¡¯m sorry but you must be more specific with these things. People ask me about them all the time.¡± She crossed her arms. The air got stuffy again. Far too stuffy for Derik¡¯s liking. Oh, he had to get out of here and fast.


    ¡°It¡¯s just a big change,¡± Derik said. He backed away as he explained. ¡°I mean, nine Blackwells just gone. Even your father. Surely that¡¯s had an effect on you. Both as a person and family. I mean, your influence¡ª¡± Deirk stopped himself there. He had almost said your influence had surely lessened but such a thing was surely rude to mention. Especially with how personal that disaster had been.


    ¡°On second thought, maybe you could flip through the book. They are bound to have a lot on the Fallen Nine.¡± Derik stammered out some vague reply. That had been too sensitive a topic, especially the part about her father. But it was a question, if vague. Raven had no reason to be suspicious.


    So why was her stare so keen?


    ¡°Ms.Blackwell! Ms.Blackwell!¡± A dust covered kid ran their way. A librarian shushed him as he neared, but went ignored as the starry-eyed kid ran on. ¡°Ms.Blackwell! Ms.Blackwell!¡±


    ¡°Slow your roll, kiddo. I see you.¡± Her tone was chipper. She passed her hand through her hair, which ruffled it up. She slouched slightly. Not so bad as to be called out, but just enough to seem approachable. She put her hand on her hip and grinned. Derik was amazed. With these simple changes to her body language, Raven had transformed into a different person.


    The boy skidded to a stop, slamming into Derik, who he ignored. ¡°I thought that was you,¡± he said. ¡°My mom said it wasn¡¯t you, because you can never tell as the picture is always black and white. But it is you. It is you.¡± He stopped jumping. ¡°It is you, right?¡±


    The librarian came up to shush them, but upon seeing that the boy was speaking with a Blackwell, she retreated back to the front desk. Raven didn¡¯t seem to notice. ¡°Yes, it is me,¡± she said to the kid. ¡°What can I do for you?¡±


    The kid held up a book. ¡°Can you sign this?¡±


    ¡°A book from the library?¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± the kid fished around in his pocket and got out a gently used napkin. ¡°Will you sign my official Vanek¡¯s Diner napkin?¡±


    ¡°Vanek¡¯s Diner, you say?¡± Raven smiled. She did a quick finger gun.¡°¡®Happy Folks, happy memories and best milkshakes on the block!¡¯¡±


    The kid gasped. ¡°You go there?¡±


    ¡°On occasion.¡±


    ¡°Wow,¡± the kid said. ¡°How often?¡±


    ¡°When I can,¡± said Raven. ¡°So not very often.¡±


    The kid bounced from one foot to the other, holding his hands close to his chest. ¡°My friend Ivan McSurely told me that you fought a demon. That you split him clean in two. Is that true? Tell me if it''s true or not!¡±


    Raven crossed her arms, looked to the ceiling and tapped her foot, as if in deep thought. Derik awaited the answer. If Terran was to be believed, she had been soundly beaten. It hadn''t even been a contest. That demon didn¡¯t strike him as a reliable source. She hadn¡¯t killed him at the very least.


    Yet Raven nodded. ¡°Yes absolutely.¡±


    ¡°Woah!¡±


    Raven then went on, bragging at length about the difficult fight she had. She detailed Terran¡¯s zombified form at length, and boasted on how she was victorious in her slaying. Her movements were dramatic, her words clear, and though she was practically shouting in the middle of the library nobody came to confront her. The kid and Raven were lost in their own world. Derik soon realized that to them, he might as well have not existed. So he just left. He booked it for the counter, in fact, before rushing home with no deviation. It was difficult while carrying twenty books, but somehow he managed.


    This would all be behind him soon. All would be fine if he kept his head in the sand. These books may be Terran¡¯s final order. Hopefully, that demon wouldn¡¯t stick around in his place to read them all.


    ***


    ¡°So this electricity works through tiny particles passing through a wire,¡± Terran said, before turning the page. ¡°So it isn¡¯t magic. Just another trick.¡± Tricks he could work with. Magic was something beyond him, at least for now. Terran tried to hide this relief from Derik. No one could know of his weaknesses, however hypothetical. Though he doubted that Derik was paying attention. He sat in front of Terran, but a plate covered his face as the blacksmith welded metal to cover the bullet holes littering the armor. Terran had decided against removing the bullets. He would not allow Derik to go digging around inside of him. No one should have that power over him. Besides, the bullets would never be a serious threat thanks to the armor. They would join the warped jumble of flesh and metal that was now his body.


    Terran would adapt to the pain.


    The Dark Lord put the electricity book down. All he really needed to know about the topic were energy sources and their uses. The intricacies of the art were not a concern. Time for the next book in the stack. This next one was dull, gray with a faded title. Terran would have tossed the poor thing aside if his name weren''t on the cover. He ripped it open, and flipped through the pages. He had to know. What did the world think of him?


    Nothing good it seemed. The waste of paper was littered with lies. Gratia was deemed a nobel hero. Terran¡¯s great deeds were portrayed as tyrannical acts and his followers were deemed cultists. Cultist! The book reaffirmed Raven¡¯s remarks. His followers were indeed eradicated mere centuries after Terran¡¯s death. The book treated this as a nobel good, as if they were just a mass of unassuming crazies. People like Maer weren''t even mentioned. Indeed, the followers were regulated to a footnote. The book¡¯s focus seemed to be Terran¡¯s campaign against magic users. It detailed every deed, every glorious act that he committed. But his greatest acts went unmentioned. No mentions of worship. Nor of the great awe he inspired. They had brushed aside his work with orphanages. This was defamation of the highest order.


    And that wasn¡¯t even the worst of it. Far worse than the attack on his reputation was the book¡¯s disgusting length. Eight hundred pages. The encyclopedia on trade networks was twice the size. Twice the size! Was Terran really less important than trade networks to these people? ¡°Blacksmith,¡± Terran yelled. ¡°Was this really the longest book you got about me?¡±


    Derik jolted back. His torch sliced across Terran¡¯s knee, burning him unnecessarily. Terrnan hoisted the blacksmith up by his shirt. ¡°Careful, you!¡±


    ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry.¡± Deirik removed his face covering. ¡°It won¡¯t happen again, I promise.¡± The blacksmith seemed on the verge of tears. Thankfully, he didn¡¯t cry or that really would have been the end of him.


    ¡°Answer my question.¡±


    Derik stepped back. He leaned against a far counter, though his trembling arms seemed just able to support him.¡°There was a longer book,¡± he said. ¡°But Raven Blackwell had it. I couldn¡¯t get it.¡±


    ¡°Raven Blackwell,¡± Terran snickered. ¡°So, she recovered already?¡± Not even a day from their fight, yet the girl already was back to hunting him down. That was impressive. Sickeningly so. She¡¯d be a gnat at his side for as long as she lived. ¡°Tell me. Did you find anything on the Blackwell brat?¡±


    Derik pointed to a book near the bottom of the stack. Terran ripped it out, sending the others crashing down. An image of Gratia was on the book¡¯s cover. It was a silhouette but he recognized it all the same. She was posed the same as that horrid statue outside. ¡°So,¡± Terran said. ¡°There¡¯s a whole tome on the Blackwells?¡±


    ¡°They used to be the royal family,¡± Derik said. ¡°Until the monarchy got abolished.¡±


    Terran sat upright. ¡°And why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡±


    ¡°You never asked,¡± he said. The man shook like a guilty dog, as if he expected Terran to slit him just for this. Honestly, the Dark Lord may be tempted if in a worse mood. Not that he¡¯d ever do it. Like it or not, Terran needed his blacksmith. And he was his lone follower, at least for now. Losing him would be a waste on so many letters.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t try to hide things from me,¡± Terran said. ¡°I¡¯m not going to hurt you. But tell me everything you know about the Blackwells.¡±


    ¡°They descended from the hero,¡± Derik said. The blacksmith hobbled away from Terran. His bad foot still made him limp. ¡°They have hands in everything from the police to the city council. Some say the monarchy hasn¡¯t even been abolished. But we still have a free mayor and the news is free and safe. So I don¡¯t know about that¡­¡±


    ¡°How many are there?¡±


    ¡°Only five,¡± Derik said, cringing back even further. He was on the opposite end of the end of the room now, as if he thought distance would make him safer. Derik sighed. ¡°Most died in the Great War. The Fallen Nine we call them. Their fight was¡­ a bloodbath to say the least.¡±


    ¡°Great war?¡± Terran had been involved in a lot of wars. It seemed presumptuous to single one out as great. That implied it was better than the rest. Than his. Terran eradicated most forms of magic. The books here affirmed that. Nothing could outclass such a feat.


    ¡­right?


    ¡°It was a world spanning conflict,¡± Derik said. ¡°Lot of the Blackwells were in the military. They had a battle to defend the island. It was a slaughter. The whole navy got destroyed, and uh¡­ I¡¯m sure the books have more about it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure they do,¡± Terran said. ¡°I will continue to read. You get back to welding.¡± Derik approached, but shuffled his feet. He sprinted when Terran raised his hand. Terran chuckled. Fear. It worked wonders. Perhaps it worked too well. While Derik worked, he kept one hand on his throbbing heart. It beat so fast even Terran could hear. The blacksmith hadn¡¯t made a mistake yet, but would soon if Terran scared him again. Terran left Derik to his welding, and got back to reading.


    Little of the reading proved useful. The Blackwell book affirmed the family¡¯s importance. They lived in the richest manor, and the adult members held multiple esteemed positions. Police, government. The Blackwells had their hands in it. Indeed, there seemed to be a few keys to power. Raven was one of them. If he could take out the Blackwells, instability would surely follow. That was easier said than done. While not the smartest, the brat had good strength. Raven may even be stronger, considering she had no handicaps tying her down. With no followers, Terran was limited in what he could do. Getting more would be tricky. He couldn¡¯t blackmail an entire city. No, Terran would have to convince them. And that would be an uphill battle, considering his decayed form. He may have a chance in a destabilized city. He worked best when people were crippled by confusion. Lost souls could be swayed to his side. Better yet, his opponent would be destabilized too. Bringing the city to its knees wouldn¡¯t even be a challenge. Diveky now ran on electricity. Cars, lights, everything was infested with electricity. If its source were destroyed, instability would follow. The Blackwells could be picked off real easy thenThe plan was clear now. He just needed to know one thing.


    ¡°Blacksmith,¡± Terran said. ¡°One final question.¡±


    Derik stopped welding to meet his glare. ¡°Y-yes?¡±


    ¡°Where can I find the power plants?¡±

 Chapter 7

    The Dark Lord marched beneath a blood red sky, trudging through a field of ash and soot. It was technically sunset, but with all the smog it may as well have been midnight. A shadowy monolith dominated the horizon: the primary coal plant, a massive complex of industrial towers and smoke stacks. Smog and dirt was being dumped into the heavens. The air reeked of charcoal, its embers gently falling around Terran. It was no wonder that locals called this the Flaming Valley. In Terran¡¯s day, much of these wastelands would have been underwater. Modern technology was extraordinary. It was capable of feats which put even the old magic to shame. Though all this technology had one weakness: it was physical. According to Derik¡¯s books, this plant was the main source of Diveky¡¯s electric power. Destroying the plant would kill much of the electric grid. Without electricity, many modern toys would cease functioning. Chaos would follow.


    Within the hour, Terran would destroy this blemish in the skyline. No one would stop him. Not even that egomaniac Raven. By the time she figured things out, it would already be too late. The island would descend into chaos. He¡¯d be a ghost. In and out. No one would know.


    Once near the complex, Terran crouched low and crawled through the field. Soot stained his palms. Every subtle movement kicked up more dust, making a low cloud hover around Terran. He coughed and coughed, but still the dust infested his dry lungs.  It was disgusting, how this technology decayed everything which it touched. These factories would be replaced by something better when Terran took hold. Perhaps troop barracks. Yes, they¡¯d need a place to house his army. And perhaps some apartments too. Their families would need to be housed as well. This barren begged for use.


    There was a ladder on the side of the building. It led to a small deck by the roof, from which Terran could sneak in unimpeded. He just had to get to that ladder. Despite the fortress¡¯ grandeur, there was a singular soul outside. And he wasn¡¯t even a guard. The worker simply transported packages in a strange vehicle. Terran waited five minutes. The vehicle drove off, and the man retreated into the fortress.


    Terran sprinted to the ladder. He strengthened his arms, and began the climb. The ladder rattled. Many of its rusted hinges had decayed away. Many rungs snapped off. Howling wind intensified as Terran ascended. That only worsened the rattle, making the whole thing uneasy. Yet Terran kept his pace up. From one rung to the next, his hands were a blur.


    A rung cracked when Terran stepped on it. Terran fell a good foot before digging his claws into the wall. Sparks flared off metal. Terran stopped himself. He now dangled. He reached for the other rung with his free hand. It took a few tries. Strengthening his arms through vinye, Terran found the strength to hoist himself up. He put his feet firmly beneath two rungs, then leaned against the wall. He paused to collect himself. Then he got lost in the view.


    The entire city was visible.


    Before Terran there were brown fields with only the occasional condemned shack. Beyond that were the small buildings of the Historical District, varied in their brick facade with character abundant. Beyond that were the skyscrapers. From up here, they resembled the mast of an iron ship sailing a sea of light. There were transitory places too, as each district flowed from one to the next. Yellow streaks peppered the buildings, the burning lights of the city. The lights merged together, as did the buildings. From this vantage point, the entire city resembled one distinct organism.


    One that Terran was set to ruin.


    A creak forced Terran back to reality. This ladder was unstable. He had to go on. If he fell¡­ well he might be fine but it would be best not to test that theory. He continued to the top. The deck Terran found himself on was just as unstable as the ladder. Rust covered the grated floor, which wavered with each step. There was a door labeled ¡°emergency exit.¡± How stupid. Imagine all those coal workers, rushing out only to meet a stupid demise as they all struggled over the ladder. What a waste!


    Terran took the door. He found himself in a white room. Everything was white. The floor, the walls, even the box which many were so enamored with nowadays. It was playing some of that bombastic rock music. A youngish man was on screen, prancing about in a star-studded jumpsuit and similarly ridiculous cape. A cape of all things! Like a cape was practical for anything. Then Terran remembered how he once wore a similar one in his youth, and decided it would be best to ignore the man on screen. There was a desk on the opposite side of the room. Also white. Terran approached, and got soot all over the pristine carpet. He cursed himself. So much for stealth. Now everyone would know he¡¯d been here. Perhaps that was the trick. Or maybe the owner of that office was just that dumb, preferring white despite its contrast against soot.


    Nothing here would sabotage the plant, so Terran made his way to the exit. A muffled rattling intensified as he got closer to the doorway. That rattle grew deafening once Terran made his way outside.


    The building was all one room. The walls stretched on, and the opposing wall was marred by fog. Below him were  five great machines which hummed with energy. Each machine was a great cylinder with countless moving parts that together produced a cacophony of bangs, buzzes and rings. A symphony of perpetual explosions. Workers ran from one machine to the other, so small that they resembled ants. These ants worked in grime and soot, while their boss watched from within a pristine palace. Despite the distance, Terran could see much with his keen eyes. These workers were thin and boney. One tripped over themselves, but as soon as he hit the ground, he was forced along by a fat man with a clipboard. None were resting, save for one poor soul behind lead out in a stretcher. The rest seemed in perpetual motion. Such loathsome conditions, Terran thought. It was a wonder these workers had not rebelled yet. Whoever owned this plant had a time bomb on their hands.


    Their miserable status could be useful¡­ later. For now, Terran should return to his primary goal. Destabilize the city. Destroy the plant. The balcony continued into an elevated bridge  that spanned the length of the building. Although the way forward was unclear, barred by steam and smog. Still, he could just make out the silhouette of a man. Terran approached slowly but surely, masking his steps by walking in cadence with exploding machines. Steam grew thicker as Terran neared. It mixed with sweat and smog, creating a noxious odor that made even he cringe.


    Soon, Terran was close enough to make out the man with some detail. A plump elder, he leaned against the railing as he casually smoked a cigar. Terran recognized him from the energy book. Charlov K. Gurne: the owner of this plant. Gurne did not notice Terran, even when the Dark Lord was mere meters behind him. He was too busy surveying his people, tapping his foot to the beat of that music Terran had heard earlier on the box.


    Terran coughed. Gurne looked his way, then his eyes grew wide as dinner plates. He tripped over himself, and may have fallen off the railing entirely if Terran weren¡¯t there to catch him. ¡°By the gods,¡± he said. ¡°What are you?¡±


    ¡°Quit your blithering.¡± Terran picked up the man, such that they were now at eye level. He smelled like perfume. The scent was strong. Too strong. Terran said, ¡°I need this plant destroyed. Tell your workers to blow the boilers. Overrun them with steam. Nothing can remain.¡± If the books were right, this was the fastest way to destroy the factory. It¡¯d be done long before any cops could arrive.


    ¡°B-By the gods,¡± Gurne said. ¡°Y-You¡¯re a Dark Lord, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    A Dark Lord? As if there were more than one. No. No. Such language was unacceptable. Terran brought his claws out. Gurne yelped like a scared puppy. ¡°Do as I say,¡± Terran said. ¡°Or else¡­¡±


    ¡°Okay okay,¡± he said. ¡°Lemme go back to the office. I can make the announcement from there.¡± Terran carried him by his collar as they made their way back to the office. Once inside, the man sighed at the stained rug. Terran let Gurne go, and he waddled towards the desk from which he got out a small microphone.


    ¡°Do not make them suspicious,¡± Terran said, crossing his arms. He paced around the desk like a lion around its kill. ¡°If you even hint at something being wrong, I will gut you. No tricks. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°What should I say?¡±


    ¡°Exactly as I told you,¡± Terran said. ¡°Do not deviate. Not a word.¡±


    ¡°But-¡±


    Terran slammed his hands on the desk. ¡°Do it!¡±


    Gurne pressed on the microphone. ¡°I need this plant destroyed. Blow the boilers. Overrun them with steam. Nothing can remain.¡± He looked at Terran, frowning deeply. But then he sighed with relief. It seemed he thought the job was done.


    Terran lifted the man by his throat. ¡°Why did you say it like that?¡±


    Gurne sobbed like a child. The fat man gagged out a reply whilst choking on his own spit and tears.¡°I said it just as you did. You told me not to deviate.¡±


    ¡°Not like that,¡± Terran yelled. ¡°The people will get suspicious.¡± He grumbled. Of course it wouldn¡¯t work this way. The announcement had to be real. Terran marched back out to the balcony, dragging the blithering Gurne by his suit collar.


    ¡°Stop,¡± Gurne begged, between bouts of crying. ¡°I¡¯ve done what you asked. Lemme go. Please! I¡¯ll make it worth ya while. How would you like to own this building? No - better. Two buildings. I have one in Pansfinre that-¡±


    Terran hoisted Gurne up in one motion, so fast that the man briefly choked on his collar. Terran¡¯s glare shut him up, as expected. This man was spineless, kind of like Derik. No, worse than that. Derik at least had skills. This man had nothing. He just led from his office while the true men toiled below. Gurne looked to the ground, unable to even look Terran in the eye. ¡°What are we trying now?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t speak,¡± Terran said, bringing Gurne in front of him and putting a claw to the man¡¯s plump throat. ¡°Show me the central boiler.¡± A trembling hand pointed to a large machine at the far end of the power plant. It was twice the size of the other machines, and so there were naturally more workers near it compared to the others. These workers stood in a circle, chatting amongst themselves. That oaf¡¯s message had confused them, no doubt. No matter. Terran was all too happy to provide clarification.


    Terran continued down the bridge, dragging Gurne behind him. He didn¡¯t need to. A worker on standby could help with the boiler. But the man was their leader. Abusing him this way would put all those grunts in line. ¡°You don¡¯t even have to mess with the boilers,¡± Gurne said. Terran snapped his neck to face him, but Gurne continued. ¡°I-I know. No talking. And I¡¯m sorry. But I want to say something. Please let me say it.¡±


    Terran sighed, ¡°Out with it.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a mechanism to make this whole place blow,¡± he said. ¡°I can show you.¡±


    Terran stopped. They were now above the central boiler. He forced Gurne against the fence. ¡°Show me,¡± he said. ¡°This better not be a trick.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not,¡± he said, straining. ¡°It¡¯s not.¡± Gurne pointed to a valve at the top of the central boiler. It was isolated from everything else, but easy to spot thanks to the red paint. ¡°See that mechanism down there? Turning that will release all the coal at once. I¡¯d be too much. Fire will engulf this place.¡±


    ¡°Everyone would die then.¡±


    ¡°Not us,¡± Gurne said. ¡°The fire starts below us. There¡¯d be time to run out.¡±


    Terran sighed, ¡°You¡¯d turn on your own men?¡±


    ¡°I would,¡± he said. ¡°If you let me go, I can help you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see a point,¡± Terran gave a wide smile, and his pupils grew small. ¡°You already told me what to do.¡± The life left Gurne¡¯s face. He started begging again. Begging! Not even Derik begged this much. This man was no leader. He was rot. Rot which had infested this glorious city. Such rot could not be sustained. To hell with stealth. Terran was the Dark Lord. This power plant was his by birthright. It was best for him to assert himself, here and now.


    With Gurne in hand, Terran leapt off the ledge. Wind rushed past them, the roaring mixing with Gurne¡¯s screams. The world passed them by in a rush. They slammed against the boiler, denting its metal.  Terran¡¯s strengthened legs absorbed the blow. He stood tall. Gurne fell behind Terran. His body slid off the boiler, then fell to the worker¡¯s level. A guttural splat sounded when his form hit the ground.


    Damn it. Emotion had overwhelmed Terran again. Stupid emotion. Now the workers would know he was here. They¡¯d scatter. The police would be notified. But the situation wasn¡¯t unsalvageable. If Terran swiped a man, he could use him to destroy the boilers. The plant would be ash before the police were even notified. He had to act fast.


    Yet the workers were faster. Most had already bolted it for the exit. It seemed Terran was more visible from the top of the machine than he thought. Though most had fled, roughly twenty men remained in a half circle before the main boiler. They stayed in place, gazes locked on the dead Gurne. All were still. One clenched his fist. Others scowled. These weren¡¯t mourners, no. There was contempt here. Contempt which overpowered the fear to run. Interesting. Most interesting. He crouched low to watch the men from above.


    A young man stepped up from the crowd. His biceps were large and his muscles hardened. Sunglasses covered his eyes. His hair was slicked back. He wore a leather jacket over his orange uniform. ¡°See, I was right,¡± the greaser said, gesturing to the crowd with arms out wide. ¡°Gurne was gonna get what¡¯s coming to him.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t laugh at this,¡± a far older man said. He was skinnier than the greaser, though weak by no means. He had an unkempt beard and troubled eyes. The old man approached Gurne, then sighed. ¡°Poor boss. I knew this would happen. Ya can¡¯t just lean over the balcony like that. Easy way to sink the iron.¡± They thought Gurne had just fallen. That explained a lot. Somehow, they had missed Terran entirely. Terran glanced behind him. The red valve was there, the one that would overload everything. He could turn it now, but decided against it. These workers were intriguing, not instantly fleeing from death. Their contempt for the system was clear. Terran had been so focused on destabilizing the city before acquiring an army. Perhaps he could do both at once. Manipulating these fools would be easy work.


    One said, ¡°Should we report it?¡±


    ¡°Someone will,¡± the greaser Pisk said. He gave the corpse a good kick. Blood spread over his shoe. ¡°Let¡¯s have some fun¡­first.¡± He kicked again and again, blood smearing his legs and lower chest.


    The oldest among them, who seemed the most rational to Terran¡¯s eye, pulled Pisk back. ¡°By the Hero, have ya gone mad?¡±


    ¡°Can it, Zolin,¡± Pisk yelled. He walked away from the body, brushing past Zolin as he did so. He gestured to the other men.¡°Like none of you ever wanted to do it to ¡®im. It¡¯s karma. Don¡¯t lie. He deserves this.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± the older Zolin said, scratching his beard. He shook his head and backed away from the corpse. ¡°But you could pay to show some respect. This was an accident. A horrible accident. Now it¡¯ll look like¡­ something else.¡±


    ¡°What,¡± Pisk asked. ¡°You mean murder?¡±


    ¡°Aye.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s exactly what it is,¡± Terran yelled, his booming voice echoing through the great chamber. He leapt down to the worker¡¯s level. Stone cracked when he landed. Terran stood to face the workers. ¡°Dark Lord Terran. Though I suppose the introduction is redundant.¡±


    Half the men ran. Ten remained, gazes fixed to Terran as they stood parlazyed in a crescent formation. Zolin¡¯s face turned green. He stepped back on uneasy legs. ¡°By the gods,¡± he said. ¡°Wh-What is that thing?¡±


    ¡°Why¡¯s it matter?¡± Pisk asked. The greaser strode towards Terran, a sickening grin on his face. ¡°Dude killed that rich bastard. Means he¡¯s on our side.¡± He extended his hand for Terran to shake. The gall! Was this grunt brave or stupid? Terran had no idea. The lines often blurred together, especially for a youth.


    At any rate, these men had potential. Aside from Zolin, they all were of fighting age. Most had the sense to be dissatisfied with their loathsome conditions, yet none had the sense to fear Terran. A good basis for an army. Terran said, ¡°I¡¯ve seen your struggle. It pained me to see that man mistreat you. He got on my nerves too, so I disposed of him for you.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m sayin¡¯,¡± Pisk said. He turned back to the others. ¡°This guy¡¯s doin¡¯ the work for us. I think it''s time we practiced like I preached.¡± The other nine simply stayed, gaping at Terran. Fear held them in place. Terran had to act fast, before their senses got a hold of them.


    All Terran knew of these men was that they were a band of unsatisfied peasants. Best to play into that. ¡°Do not be afraid,¡± he said, cringing as he said the line. ¡°I am here for you. For our city. It has been corrupted by the wealthy, but together we can correct it.¡± That jargon seemed to pique their curiosity. Most stopped gaping at the very least. It was almost absurd. Were these people really that desperate? It couldn¡¯t be this easy.


    Indeed, it wouldn¡¯t. Zolin stared with a mix of skepticism and fear. The old timer was locked in position. Sweat pooled down his wrinkled forehead. He looked at Terran, then Gurne¡¯s neglected corpse, then Terran again. Zolin managed to meet Terran¡¯s glare. ¡°What are you?¡±


    ¡°Someone who sympathizes with your struggle,¡± said Terran. ¡°I want the same as you.¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s that?¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    ¡°It¡¯s as Gurne said.¡± Terran clenched his fist. His ancient fingers creaked, making the onlookers shiver. ¡°I want this plant destroyed. Eviscerated. This monument to the wealthy can not stand. We shall destroy this coal plant, and in so doing destabilize the wealthy¡¯s iron grip.¡±


    The men gasped at once. Terran sighed, ¡°What?¡±


    The men backed away, though Zolin held his ground. ¡°Y-you can¡¯t be serious,¡± the old man said, meaty fist trembling. ¡°This ¡®ere¡¯s a monument to working folk. We power this city, even if nobody respects us. That¡¯s something worth keeping!¡±


    Terran resisted the urge to cackle. The fool was critiquing him. Such insolence, such stupidity. That¡¯s why he hadn¡¯t fled. Yet he had zeal. They all did. If molded, they would be the perfect replacement for his followers. But they had their damn standards. Worker¡¯s rights, revolution, and all that nonsensical jargon. If Terran led them, he¡¯d be forced to take the role of revolutionary. Though it wasn¡¯t everyday that a group of fighting age men fell into your lap. An army would be vital for retaking the city. Playing into their dreams, at least for now, would give him that army. ¡°My apologies,¡± Terran said, again cringing at the word. ¡°I still have much to learn about the modern world. I saw you being worked like mules, and assumed you wanted an escape.¡±


    The men were silent for a moment. ¡°We don¡¯t,¡± said one of the younger ones. He couldn¡¯t have been much older than twenty. ¡°The work¡¯s good work. We just want better conditions.¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± Terran said. ¡°We will not destroy the coal plant.¡±


    Some murmuring began again. Aman at the back whispered to his friend. They exchanged nervous glances.Terran ordered one to speak. He got some judgmental looks, then sighed. ¡°What troubles you?¡±


    The man was silent. Terran took a step. It rattled the ground. In one breath, the man said, ¡°I-I-I recognize you. From the radio. They said you were just a force of death¡­killing passerbys in the dead of night. You¡¯re only here to spread destruction.¡±


    He said that so fast, nobody seemed to have registered it. But Terran was still fast with an explanation. ¡°Mere state propaganda. If you look into it, my plights are only with the upper class.¡± He nodded, hoping that nobody here had checked the true facts.


    ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± someone said. It was an indistinct part of the ten who did make themselves separate from the crowd.¡°My tailor¡¯s aunt nearly got evicted from her home before the guy kicking her out became a victim. She¡¯s still in that apartment. Whatever happened scared the government off!¡±


    The crowd got back to muttering. Not that the people were unhappy, per say. None scowled at least. Pisk jabbed Zolin¡¯s side, who rolled his eyes. A strange gesture. A casual one. They were all rather casual about this in fact. None had even commented on Terran¡¯s horrid form. Maybe these people weren¡¯t fully sane. They were perfect. ¡°Listen,¡± Terran said. ¡°I am on your side.¡±


    Zolin tried to look Terran in the eye, but was unable, focusing on the boiler instead. The man looked so small against the sleeping giant. ¡°So you aren¡¯t destroying the plant? Then what¡¯s the plan?¡±


    ¡°Simple,¡± Terran said. ¡°We will force change by spreading disorder. We shall usher in a glorious revolution. I will not destroy the coal plant, but it''s best if we make it inoperable for a few week¡¯s time.¡±


    ¡°That we can do,¡± Zolin said, though he didn¡¯t sound happy about it. He approached Terran, paying no heed to his putrid stench and mangled body. The elder instead pointed to a spot on the side of the boiler, about twenty meters out. ¡°See that panel over there? There¡¯s a thermal regulator inside. Very rare part. Replacin¡¯ it would take awhile.¡±


    Thermal regulator. The books had said nothing about that one. Terran¡¯s other plan would be better. ¡°What about the kill valve?¡± Terran asked. ¡°Could that be of assistance?¡±


    ¡°The what?¡±


    ¡°The kill valve,¡± Terran said, now unsure. He pointed to the top of the boiler. ¡°The manager said that it could destroy this factory before his¡­ accident. Could we repurpose it to disable the factory?¡±


    Pisk howled like a laughing dog, slapping his side and giggling over crazy. He jabbed two of his compatriots, who shoved him back, only for Pisk to wrap his arms around them. Terran marched up to him. His friends leapt back. Pisk did not. Terran leaned over the madman. ¡°And what, pray tell, is so funny?¡±


    The maniac smiled wide, as if he did not realize how close he was to having his throat slit. ¡°Gurne pulled one on ya,¡± Pisk said between snickers. ¡°There is no kill valve. It¡¯s got a cap!¡±


    The fat man had tricked him? Damn it. Terran hadn¡¯t given him enough credit. Still, to be tricked in such a way. Such a humiliation! And in front of those he had to impress. Terran shook the thought aside. It did not matter. Not when Gurne was dead. ¡°Let us do the first plan. Could you point it out again, Zolin?¡±


    Zolin did so again. Terran ran for it with Gifted speed. He was there in a flash. It was an unnecessary use of the power, for the panel wasn¡¯t all that far. But the stunt was worth it, as his swiftness shocked the men into silence. There. That made up for his blunder. Terran ripped out the panel. He was greeted with a mess of wires which criss-crossed like veins in a body. They hummed with electricity. Terran looked to the others, ¡°How does this work?¡±


    Zolin called out, ¡°You see a blue wire?¡±


    ¡°I think it¡¯s a green one,¡± someone said. ¡°You do the blue wire first.¡±


    ¡°No no,¡± another said. ¡°You¡ª¡±


    The ten continued to debate it. Terran growled. There wasn¡¯t even a green wire present. This puzzle was a waste of time, especially when the solution here was so obvious. He¡¯d slice all wires, shutting the factory in one swoop. That would be sure to impress.


    Terran lifted his clawed hand. Cries of protest poured out, but they went ignored as Terran slashed against the thing. Upon contact, a flaming sensation shot down from his hand to his feet. Flesh charred and Terran was forced to the ground.


    Electricity. He knew it was vital, but never did he expect it to hurt. Such a powerful weapon. It really did put magic to shame. Brief contact had charred what little flesh remained in the hand. It reeked of cooked meat. Terran could no longer bend the middle finger on his left hand. That wasn¡¯t normal, right? No matter. He¡¯d worry about that later. Standing tall, Terran found his onlookers paralyzed once again. Even Pisk¡¯s eyes were wide. They had clearly expected that to kill him. ¡°I am fine,¡± Terran said. ¡°There is nothing I can¡¯t overcome.¡±


    Clop. Clop. Clop.


    Everyone looked back. Someone was approaching, despite all the other workers having fled already. Whoever this was had spoiled their cover. Terran sighed. Only one person was that dumb. ¡°Yoo whoo,¡± Raven¡¯s unmistakable voice called out. ¡°Terran. Come out, come out, wherever you are.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Blackwell,¡± someone said. ¡°Why¡¯s she here?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s here for me,¡± Terran said. ¡°Scatter. I shall face her myself.¡±


    Zolin swallowed, ¡°But-¡±


    ¡°Do it,¡± Terran said, pointing back to the distant exit. ¡°She cannot know we¡¯re together.¡± They obeyed, though Zolin had to pull an unwilling Pisk along. That maniac might be trouble. But it was not the time to worry about him. There were more pressing matters.


    He rounded the boiler. There Raven was, sauntering in the empty space between this boiler and the next. She stopped at one of the dust-covered boilers. She rubbed her hand along it, then marveled at the dust which coated her hand. She coughed a bunch before moving on. Such a vulnerable position. It was an obvious bid to get Terran to atack. That brat thought she was so clever because of that book she had read. But Terran could not be read so easily. He would not fall for the trap.


    The Dark Lord would make his presence known, but it would be on his terms. Terran marched out there, approaching from a distance. Raven put her hand on her holster.¡°Terran,¡± she said. ¡°What are the odds?¡±


    ¡°I should¡¯ve known we¡¯d meet again,¡± Terran said. He rushed around the corner to face her head on. They now stood in front of separate boilers, and were several meters away from each other. Terran chose to keep his distance. ¡°How are your injuries treating you? Is your flesh still burnt from that steam?¡±


    Her finger twitched. Slight, but clear. That comment got to her. She did not fire. She simply walked towards Terran, hand on her weapon. ¡°Your plan won¡¯t work,¡± Raven said.¡°There are fail safes here. Tons of redundancies. A hundred workers with their own parts to play. Someone of your skill could not destroy the coal plant alone.¡±


    There was a distant ladder behind Raven. Pisk and three others climbed up to the balconies. They wished to watch. Terran would give a spectacle. ¡°Like I¡¯d want to destroy this plant,¡± the Dark Lord said. ¡°This place of modern working culture.¡±


    Raven stopped in her tracks. ¡°Come now?¡±


    ¡°You know what I¡¯m talking about,¡± Terran said, marching towards Raven. He began transferring vinye to his legs. ¡°The tyranny of the Blackwells is at an end. I shall retake the city from the wealthy¡¯s iron grip.¡± Terran leapt mid-sentence, giving Raven no time to ponder how out of character that last remark was. She weaved out of the way. She got her gun out, but was slow on the trigger. Terran kicked it from her hand. That left him open to a punch. Raven¡¯s vinye-charged attack sent Terran flying back.


    He landed on his feet, skidding to a stop. Terran was beside a stairwell, which led to a bridge between two boilers. He ran for it. Raven caught her gun off the floor. She aimed and fired. Terran focused vinye into his legs. He dodged each strike with ease. He waited. Bang! Bang! Click.


    The girl moved to get another gun. Terran leapt off the stairwell, ready to slit her throat. The girl dodged narrowly. His swipe hit her across the abdomen. She cried in pain. The Dark Lord grabbed her arm. She broke free, then leapt back for the stairwell.


    Terran sprung onto her, claws at the ready. He grabbed her by the arm, and whirled Raven around. The Dark Lord¡¯s arms glowed. Vinye coarse through his veins. Such raw power. He was going to throw this brat straight into the boilers. The explosion would kill her this time.


    Raven dug her heels into the dirt. Her legs were aglow with a purple aura. Terran stopped, then stumbled ahead. A shot pierced his arm. He ducked low to dodge the next. Raven tried to shoot again, but Terran swatted the second gun from her hand.


    She gripped his forearm, and Terran growled. ¡°You cannot win.¡±


    Terran leaned over her. The metal spikes of his armor stabbed her. Raven grabbed his shoulders, and pulled close. She shrieked in pain, the metal spikes now stabbing her. She fought through the pain. This got Raven close. Too close. She poured vinye into her fist, then punched Terran right in the chest.


    Flesh split as Terran was flung back. He landed on his face this time, but was quick to recover. Something snapped. A rib, perhaps? Scraps littered his body. Something black oozed from his left arm. Blood. Terran paused. He still bled?


    ¡°I think I can manage a win,¡± Raven said, standing tall with arms akimbo. ¡°I¡¯m doing pretty good so far.¡± That grin. That pose. Terran growled. Did this girl have any emotion besides idiotic hubris? Once more, he charged towards Raven. She charged back, seeming ready to strike his left. Terran guarded the side. But then Raven slipped past him, diving back around. They ran past each other.


    Terran growled, and charged again. The same thing happened. Raven slipped past him, and both ran off without striking. Raven shrugged.


    They charged once again. This time, nobody would get away. Terran would rip her to pieces if he had to. He moved to attack her right. That¡¯s when she striked. In a flash, she delivered a nasty uppercut to Terran¡¯s left side.


    Everything flashed white.


    A crack sounded, like a hundred. Terran was thrown back. He hit the ground twice before slamming into a far-side wall. Prying himself off, Terran hit the floor with a thud. The world shook. Everything rang.


    He tried to stand, only for his weak arms to give way. Not that it mattered. Terran¡¯s left foot was twisted such that it pointed back. Pain flared with every minuscule movement. Even if his arms weren¡¯t weak, standing would be impossible.


    Raven was but a figure in the distance. She took her sweet time, laughing as she said some sour remark which Terran could not discern over the ringing in his ears. Harsh winds blew towards her, taunting Terran as they stung his skin. His eyes. His very face¡­


    Wait a minute¡­


    Terran felt his chin. He could feel his rough skull. The lower left portion of his helmet, from his lower cheek to his chin, had been obliterated. Skin was exposed to the elements. No. No. No. It couldn¡¯t be. Not the helmet. Anything but the helmet. This armor. H-He needed it. He needed it!


    Raven blurred in Terran¡¯s vision. He had to stand. Had to get away. But his legs protested. Everything hurt. His strength was leaving him. But he wasn''t dying. He couldn¡¯t be dying. His helmet was still on his head. The armor still kept his soul bound to his body.


    This wasn¡¯t it. No, it couldn¡¯t be it. Please. Terran still had more to do. What a waste it would be if his pitiful attempt failed. He had to move!


    But what if he did? Raven stood whilst he struggled to even crawl. She could kill him with ease. This was it. He was going to die. All this was in vain. He couldn¡¯t do this. He couldn¡¯t¡­


    No. No. A leader did not succumb to such loathsome thoughts. Terran was above that. He began to move, despite his protesting form. He reached out with a trembling hand, then pulled himself forwards along his aching belly. Then he did it again. And again, going through the same agonizing motion multiple times.


    Each time, he gained a mere inches. Ground one could walk in an instant. But there had to be some place he could hide. There! A metal grate in the distance. Low on the floor, maybe unseen by Raven who was still far. That was it, his only hope.


    ¡°You can¡¯t win Terran,¡± Raven cried from far away. ¡°I¡¯ve got you.¡± She raised her weapon, and fired. The shot pierced Terran¡¯s back. Then another. And yet another. But Terran did not stop. Iron pellets would not stop him. He¡¯d never give in, not even if Death himself loomed besides Raven to guide her bullets. The bangs became noise. Pain grew dull. Escape was all there was.


    Another bullet whizzed past Terran¡¯s side. Then a click. ¡°You really aren¡¯t gonna stop, huh?¡± Raven asked. ¡°Well, guess we just gotta do it the old fashioned way.¡±


    She kneeled forwards, no doubt to transfer vinye into her legs. Terran looked at his own trembling hand. Perhaps if he strengthened it, he could beat her back with one momentous punch. Such force may disintegrate his hand, but it gave him a chance to scurry away. He had to try. Giving in was not an option¡­


    A metallic lurch echoed as machinery strained above them. Raven and Terran looked up. A pipe by the central boiler gave way. Gallons of and smoke poured out, coating the battlefield in toxic mist. Five silhouettes rushed to Raven, hollering about a demon which chased them. They went in front of her, blocking her from Terran¡¯s view. ¡°H-Hey,¡± she yelled. ¡°Get back!¡±


    Zolin and some peasant came to Terran. They dragged him towards the grate. They opened it. There was a narrow tunnel about a foot deep which led on into darkness. ¡°This will take you to the sewers,¡± Zolin said. ¡°Take it ya know your way from there.¡±


    Terran moved slightly. The men cringed, letting go, and Terran fell into the pit. He bit back his pride. It was not time to belabor that transgression. ¡°Why are you helping me? You do not even know that I am a man.¡±


    ¡°Anyone who¡¯s an enemy of the Blackwells is an enemy of ours,¡± Zolin said. ¡°We¡¯re still not fully sure, but we know that.¡± The peasant besides Zolin nodded with support. Strong comradery. Yes, there was potential here. Potential prime for exploitation.


    ¡°We must meet again,¡± Terran said, cringing slightly at his own voice. It was not as fearsome with his jaw partly exposed. ¡°I can convince you of my cause. Do you know where the¡­legendary hero statue is? In the Historical District?¡±


    The peasant asked, ¡°Which one?¡±


    There were multiple? Terran cast the thought aside. It wasn¡¯t relevant. ¡°The one by the blacksmithery? Near nothing of importance.¡±


    ¡°I know the one,¡± Zolin said.


    ¡°Good,¡± Terran said. ¡°There is a way to the sewers nearby. Let us meet there in twelve hours.¡± Yes, twelve hours. That should give Terran ample amount of time to crawl if need be. His bad foot would not get better, so he may very well have to.


    ¡°Terran!¡± Raven yelled. ¡°I know you¡¯re there! We¡¯re not finished!¡± Raven. She was almost through the steam. Terran¡¯s new followers did well to keep her back, but they could only do so much when Raven was shoving them aside.


    The men covered the pit with the grate, then covered that with some wood. Terran was left alone in the dark. Thunderous footsteps shook the tunnel. ¡°The demon,¡± Raven yelled. ¡°Which way did it go?¡±


    ¡°This way ma¡¯am,¡± a shrill voice said. It was Zolin, but Terran hardly recognized the old timer. The man knew how to mimic fear. A shove, then a grunt, and the thunderous footsteps died down. Then, there was silence. The tunnel before him was a foot tall. It was roughly as wide as his shoulders. A stream of trek flowed through. So vile. So cramped. But Raven and the police would turn this place upside down in search of him. Terran had to be gone.


    With a hefty sigh, the Dark Lord shimmied through the tunnel. He gained ground inch by inch. Mud soaked his chest and Terran swore he could feel it rusting. All was black. There was no sound either. No life desired this sinkhole. Not even a rat or beetle. The tunnel walls turned to dirt. Then the dirt turned to mud. Moisture dripped down from the ceiling. A drop splattered onto Terran¡¯s exposed chin. It itched long sealed skin. Terran wished to scratch, but he couldn¡¯t with his arms stuck behind him. He had to shuffle on. When one droplet fell, another took its place. Terran cursed the tunnel. Diveky engineers were scum. They couldn¡¯t even be bothered to pad their drainage pipe. Such laziness would never be when he took charge. For now though, he could only shuffle along through the muck. Progress soon halted. Terran¡¯s heart skipped a beat. His arms had gotten stuck.


    He thrashed about like a caged animal. Ten seconds. Nothing. Twenty. No. Please, he had to keep going. The armor was still on. This tunnel would not kill him. Yet he could get stuck. That would be worse than death. Terran continued his thrashing. Stone shifted. Then he was through. After taking a second to pant, Terran continued on.


    He had to get out of here, lest he actually become stuck.


    A warmth soon swelled within Terran¡¯s chest. Not a pleasant warmth, but this aching gnawing feeling ¡ª his soul was begging to get out. To stand. And yet, the darkness did not waver. There were more moments when Terran feared he was stuck. Each time, he¡¯d free himself with bouts of maddened thrashing. It took longer each time. Getting trapped was a true possibility. Terran tried to distract himself with thoughts of the future. His inevitable return to the black throne. Himself restoring Diveky. Righting all the wrongs he had seen. He was setting this twisted modernity aflame and creating something new but beautiful in his image. A combination of old and now.


    Terran moved over something warm. He cringed, realizing it was a living thing. Something which recently died. It felt soft and furry. A rat. It stayed under him even as Terran continued on. Terran sighed. Try as he might, he could not leave the dirt.


    Raven would pay for his humiliation. When Terran took the city, he¡¯d kill everyone she loved and respected. Then Terran would do to her all those twisted things that had been done to him. Maybe he¡¯d even revive the lost magic and get her armor. Yes, he¡¯d make her immortal. Death would not save the pitiful Raven Blackwell from her future torment. And only when she begged for mercy, groveled before him, would Terran throw the brat¡¯s pitiful form into the harbor. Terran focused on that final image, letting it infest his brain like a weed. So many elaborate ways to get back on her, to earn his vengeance. His pitiful misery was but a temporary setback on his inevitable road to greatness. After an eternity of wallowing on this, Terran was finally blessed by something different: light. The end of the tunnel. Freedom. Terran rushed for it, ignoring the bits of metal and stone jabbing his flesh. Soon he would be out. Almost there¡­.


    Terran fell into muck. Liquid seeped into him through the cracks in his armor. Dirty water licked Terran¡¯s black heart. He tried to stand, but was unable. His knees were weak, and his left foot was now mangled beyond use. A figure appeared before him, standing stiff as could be several feet away. Brown hair, tan skin, silver eyes. Raven! Terran cursed himself. Had all that really been for nothing? No. She had yet to taunt him. This was someone else¡­


    The woman¡¯s face was rounder. She had a long scar which stretched across her forearm. A scar Terran had given her. This wasn¡¯t Raven. It was Gratia, everyone¡¯s precocious hero. She shook her head, but said no more before fading into a puff of smoke.


    Terran was on his own. He crawled onto the brick bank of the sewage river. He used the wall for support and channeled vinye into his legs. He tried to stand. His bad leg snapped. Terran fell. Sighing once again, the Dark Lord began the arduous crawl back to safety.

 Chapter 8

    It took three hours for Terran to reach the meeting point. Instead of venturing to Derik¡¯s shop, he deemed it best to wait in the sewers for his followers. His bottom jaw was bare. Exposing himself to danger in this state would be idiotic. If his helmet got damaged ¡ª well ¡ª it would be best to avoid that scenario altogether. And so he waited.


    Terran passed the time by planning out his next speech. This revolution would end with Terran taking his throne. Over the coming weeks and months, he¡¯d slowly influence the situation to secure his power. But all that was later. Terran first needed to be accepted by these men. The correct speech would appeal to their values. Perhaps he should emphasize revolution, rather than himself. Yes, a fight against the corrupt and wealthy. Those two were key as Terran was neither at the moment. Though he couldn¡¯t make this pandering too obvious, or they¡¯d catch on to the trick. It was a tricky balance to strike.


    It took two hours for Terran to formulate a speech he was happy with. Then he spent a few more hours perfecting the syntax and diction. This could be his one chance to gain an army. Each word was vital. In time, he had a satisfactory speech. The men had yet to show so Terran got to forming his longer scheme. There was little he could plan, due to how little he knew of these peasant workers. He was done formulating within an hour. And still, the men had yet to show. Terran moved back to the wall. It pained his bad foot. He tried to stand again, but the achilles tendon ached. It might tear if he moved too much. Sighing, Terran stopped. He was stuck here, on the ground, waiting.


    He raised his left hand. There was a pop and a concerning creak. His bone claws had withered further. Though still sharp, his claws were about three fourths the size. How long until they had withered into nothingness? They would need to be replaced soon. It wouldn¡¯t be a big deal. Metal patches littered his arm. The rusted ones mixed with his skin. So much metal. How long until it surpassed the flesh? Terran sighed. Each day his body took a greater toll. There was no halting this transition to metal beast. It was best not to think of it. If only he could sleep now. That would give him some solace¡­


    The hours ticked by. Terran wrestled with any and all possible thoughts. He soon resorted to studying the pattern on the opposing wall. The tops of the bricks were darker than the bottom. Uniformly. Perhaps it was related to how they were constructed. Terran groaned at that last thought. This familiarity was painful.


    Twelve hours had been too much. He should¡¯ve said six. Oh, what he wouldn¡¯t give to be able to stand again. At least then he could find a new pattern to study without having to risk his  foot.


    Creak.


    ¡°This is the place, right?¡±


    Terran sat upright, as much as he could. The voice was unknown to him. The meeting with Zolin wasn¡¯t scheduled for another three hours. Or perhaps they were two hours late. It was hard to tell. Time was a fickle thing.


    ¡°This is what he said. The entrance was right by the Hero statue.¡± That was Zolin¡¯s voice. Terran did not call out. Just how would they react to his mangled form?  Would they flee from this mangled shriveled form? Would they deem him pathetic? Would they insult him with pity? Or would they decree him a great warrior, one who had survived the impossible? He hoped it would be the last one, but there was no way to be sure¡­


    ¡°Are you sure he¡¯s even alive, Zolin?¡± the stranger said. ¡°That was quite a beating. Not to mention that duct you put him through was way too thin. The demon probably got stuck or something.¡±


    A flashlight¡¯s beam cut through the air. They were rounding the corner now. Zolin said, ¡°There¡¯s something extraordinary about that thing, Zan. And it seems to be on our side. I don¡¯t know about you, but I don¡¯t think my folks can survive another month. If this thing wants to help, I¡¯d say we hear him out¡­¡±


    ¡°What if he stabs us in the back? Kills us here, where we¡¯re vulnerable. Police wouldn¡¯t know for weeks. He could get away with it, real easy.¡±


    ¡°He could¡¯ve done so before,¡± Zolin said. ¡°Why wait?¡±


    They rounded the corner. Their lights shined on Terran. It was blinding after so long spent in darkness. Both men staggered back. Zan said, ¡°Is he-¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Terran said, sitting up. His voice was hoarse after hours of silence. The Dark Lord broke into a fit of wheezes and coughs. The men glanced at each other. Such an embarrassment. Terran¡¯s first words were to be inspiring, but now his bad lungs had spoiled everything.


    Zolin walked up to him, though Zan hung back. ¡°Are you¡­ hurt?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Terran yelled, gritting his teeth. Zan gagged. Terran realized then that his putrid teeth were visible without his bevor. Terran cringed. That went against his image in so many ways. Turning back, Terran¡¯s neck creaked as something within him popped. The men flinched again.


    ¡°Do not worry,¡± Terran said. ¡°I am fine. This is merely the toll I take to do what¡¯s done. Let¡¯s focus on the others. Are they alright?¡± The line sounded sudden and improved, but in truth Terran had rehearsed it for a good half hour. An appeal to the collective. Someone like Zolin should eat it up.


    ¡°They are just outside,¡± Zolin said. ¡°We decided to scope here, because¡­¡± He stopped there, seeming unwilling to divulge further. Terran did not ask. His reasoning was plain.


    ¡°Bring them down here,¡± Terran said. ¡°I want to talk with all of you.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Zan said. He kicked at an old tin can.¡°This place ain¡¯t exactly¡­ sanitary.¡±


    ¡°There is no problem with it,¡± Terran yelled, slamming his fist on the wall. ¡°I cannot be seen on the streets. Bring them down now!¡± His yell echoed off the walls. Both men walked off. Though Zolin hung back, for just a moment. He was frowning. The disapproval was stark. But the look soon left Zolin, and he ran off to join Zan again. That order had been too direct, but it wasn¡¯t his fault. Anger had gotten a hold of him. Terran was a person, at least deep down. He could still get angry. And he should be mad after crawling for hours through an endless maze of much for hours on end.


    No. This was on him. Terran was not a lord to these people. He couldn¡¯t order as he once did. To them, he was a shriveled and pathetic thing. Something they could toss aside with ease. And he¡¯d remain that way until his armor was repaired. Cursed lungs. Cursed legs. Why must his form make everything difficult?


    The two scouts soon returned with the other men. All ten were here. They hadn¡¯t given up on him completely, though most still refused to look Terran in the eye. Save for Pisk. He pushed his way to the front, and let out a gasp of delight. ¡°Well I¡¯ll be, the bastard actually made it!¡±


    ¡°I have indeed,¡± Terran said. ¡°Blackwell cannot defeat me that easily¡­¡±


    ¡°Wow,¡± Pisk said. ¡°This guy is something. Right everyone?¡±


    He waited. Scant and unconvincing murmurs of support could be heard. The youngest of the men stared at Terran¡¯s claws. Even now, when he was crippled on the sewer floor, there was fear. His power was not gone. The confirmation should have bolstered his confidence. Yet Terran felt nothing. Only emptiness.


    ¡°Let us meet somewhere else,¡± Terran said. He pointed down the hall. ¡°There is a meeting place down there which is perfect for all of us. The men took three steps before Terran ordered them to halt. Though it pained him, this needed saying. ¡°I will need¡­ assistance to get there.¡±


    The men drew straws to see who¡¯d do it. Not that Terran complained. The gesture, while rude, was reasonable. Two men carried him with faces pointed away and their noses plugged. The short march took an eternity, but they arrived in time. This concrete husk was separated from the main hall. There were no drainage ducts, or rivers of sewage. Just faded graffiti on the walls. One day long ago, this place may have had a use. It could have been a maintenance sight, or perhaps a shelter of some kind. Now it was nothing.


    A stairwell was at the rear of the room. It wasn¡¯t much of a stairwell, just a half flight steps which lead to nothing. Terran had the men prop him up on these steps such that, even while sitting, he could meet them at eye level. It was no throne, but it was a start. He sat upright, one leg over the other. The regal position. Though he deviated from it slightly by keeping his hand on his face to hide his exposed chin. The gesture was the first subtle gesture of authority. More would be phased in later. The men waited for Terran to speak. Pisk twitched in place at the rear of the crowd, tapping his feet and muttering to himself. Terran said to him, ¡°Is there something on your mind?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Pisk asked, hopping off the wall. ¡°Oh, no. I¡¯m fine. Just got a tune from the diner stuck in my head. Sorry, I can¡¯t remember the name.¡± He hummed it aloud. A few others joined in.


    ¡°Ol¡¯ Wolina¡¯s Horse,¡± Zan said.


    Pisk snapped his fingers, ¡°That¡¯s the one!¡±


    Ol¡¯ Wolina¡¯s horse is down. (Dun. Dun. Dun. Dun.)


    But we can still dance all ¡®cross town. (Dun. Dun. Dun. Dun.)


    Got loads of carts to fill with coal. (Dun. Dun. Dun. Dun.)This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Yet there¡¯s still time for Rock and Roll.


    The men laughed and clapped. Even Zolin joined in their idiocy, which appalled Terran. That old time should have been the most mature of the bunch. This army, his first shot at retaking the city, was part of the new aged rabble. What a joke. But repressing this corrupted culture would only be possible after he retook the city. Terran would have to bear this idiocy for now. ¡°Yes, ol¡¯ horse whatever,¡± Terran said. ¡°Let¡¯s uh, look at our current matters. There are two reasons I summoned you. One, to express my gratitude for saving my life. Two: To talk to you about a revolution. My talk about the wealthy wasn¡¯t mere jargon.¡±


    They hushed. Terran smiled. Now they could get on to business. Terran had the perfect opener. A simple question which would make him key to their collective conversation. These men would abhor a direct leader, so Terran would become a questioner. One who could guide their talking points with few direct commands. ¡°How much influence do you have, this little group of yours?¡±


    Zolin said, ¡°We got a union.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s a union?¡±


    ¡°A collective,¡± he said. ¡°Formed for worker¡¯s rights.¡±


    ¡°Interesting,¡± Terran said. ¡°How many are in this union?¡±


    ¡°Ten. Just us.¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s why we¡¯re going nowhere,¡± Pisk said, standing tall. ¡°I mean, look at Terran. He gutted Gurne. Now he ain¡¯t gonna be stealin¡¯ from nobody¡¯s pockets no more. I say we do it again.¡± He raised his hand in the air. There was no reaction. Terran sighed. If he were Pisk, he¡¯d be rightly embarrassed.


    ¡°No Pisk,¡± Zolin said, putting his hand to his head like an annoyed parent. ¡°That would get us arrested. They¡¯d villainize us then, and replace Gurne with someone worse. If we try something, we do it within the law. Change can only happen then.¡±


    ¡°Maybe Pisk has a point,¡± a lanky man in the corner said. ¡°I¡¯m not callin¡¯ for purge or anything, but that union¡¯s getting us nothing Zolin. Nobody¡¯s listening to us. They don¡¯t got the incentive. At least Terran is getting results.¡±


    ¡°Ya see?¡± Pisk asked. ¡°My way is the best way!¡±


    ¡°Your way is barbaric,¡± Zan said. Half the crowd agreed with him.


    ¡°Might be the only way,¡± another voice piped up. Pisk, and three others agreed with this stranger.


    ¡°No,¡± Zolin said, turning to this second dissenter. ¡°No. I am not going to turn this violent. Why are we talking about violence now? We¡¯ve just begun this discussion. We¡¯re reasonable folks. If we talk long and hard, we can come up with another solution.¡±


    Pisk crossed his arms. ¡°You mean one that¡¯s not terrorism?¡±


    That remark kicked up a flurry of debate. Everyone shouted their own views. The boldest tried pushing their way to the center of the crowd, but were shoved back just as fast.  All that shouting echoed off the walls. Their shouts merged into one annoying thing. So many voices. So many dissenters. Never before had Terran had advisors this loud. His trembling legs glowed scarlet. He stood tall, despite the pain flaring into his ankle.


    Focusing on the pain, Terran unleashed an ear-splitting roar. Everyone turned to him. Many were wide eyed. They seemed to have forgotten that he was here. ¡°Enough,¡± Terran said, before collapsing back into his seat. ¡°One of you is too cautious, while the other is too bold. Another strategy is in order. Something in between the two.¡±


    Zolin nodded. ¡°A compromise, then.¡±


    Compromise. The word made Terran shudder, though the armor hid this from the men. ¡°Yes,¡± he said, after some hesitation. ¡°A compromise. Pisk is right. We need to act fast and with force. But committing a purge of the upper classes is not the way to do it. What we need is a plan. We hit all the cities¡¯ weak points at once, such that Diveky will fall in mere hours. Then we will have control.  Nobody knows of our new Order. By keeping quiet, our attack will remain unknown. This is how we bring the city to its knees. When it falls, we start over. Make something beautiful. No longer will idiots rule.¡±


    ¡°The wealthy you mean?¡±


    ¡°Yes, the wealthy,¡± Terran said, frowning. ¡°I thought they were one in the same. My apologies. I¡¯m a bit¡­lightheaded without full protection.¡± The excuse seemed to satisfy, though murmurings lingered. That hadn¡¯t been Terran¡¯s first slip up. A few more like that and they would not follow him. He had to get it together. Terran must think like one of them. ¡°Let us talk about resources. What would¡­the wealthy draw upon in an attack?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s¡­ the police,¡± Pisk said. ¡°And Blackwell.¡±


    ¡°How many officers?¡±


    Everyone scratched their heads. Nobody came up with an answer. Terran sighed. Of course they couldn¡¯t. ¡°Alright,¡± he said. ¡°Besides the police, what means of defense does the city have?¡±


    ¡°Not much,¡± Zolin said. ¡°We don¡¯t even have a navy anymore. Our treaty with Pansfinre has them cover for both our navy and army. If another war broke out, they¡¯d be the ones fighting for us.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± Terran said, sitting upright. ¡°The mainland is a separate entity now?¡±


    Everyone nodded. Pisk hissed, ¡°Has been for some time.¡±


    Terran seethed. He clutched the stairs to hide his inner rage. He let vinye slip into his hands. Strengthened claws crushed the concrete into dust. This fight¡­it was for but a mere rock. Not an empire. Diveky¡¯s idiotic rulers had lost it all. What was he even fighting for then? Terran forced the thought aside. Appearing greedy here would doom him. If he was to take an island from nothing, then he could retake his empire from an island. Terran had all the time in the world to rule. Founding his old empire had been a lifelong task. Terran could do it again. He would do it again.


    ¡°So we have to deal with Pansfinre¡¯s armies alongside the police,¡± Terran said, forcing his mind back on track. He drummed his claws on the step. ¡°Ideally, we¡¯d take care of both at once. We could trap the police, while also isolating the island from the mainland. The revolution would have a chance then. Is there any event that would see the police gathered in one spot? Like a ceremony or a particularly heinous crime?¡±


    ¡°There are rumors,¡± Zolin said. ¡°The current police chief is retirin¡¯. If true, there¡¯d be a welcoming ceremony for the next one. High priority people will be there. Most officers, all of the Blackwells, even the mayor. But it''s only rumors. Nothin¡¯ concrete.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a start at least,¡± Terran said. He brought his fingers to a steeple. A plan was taking shape. And a solid one at that. It was about damn time. ¡°We will need to fight against the current regime. Assaulting this welcoming ceremony would be the perfect opportunity. We can crush our enemies, while sparing the innocents.¡±


    ¡°Bombs could do the trick,¡± Pisk said. Everyone scolded Pisk at once. They called him a mad man. The kid waltzed to the center of the room and turned to his angered comrades. ¡°Why are ya against it? I¡¯m right, aren¡¯t I? How else would you wanna do it? Go in there with guns blazing, and hope Raven doesn¡¯t kill us all?¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t do it,¡± Zan said. ¡°The collateral damage would be great.¡±


    ¡°We are few. We are desperate,¡± Terran said. He tried to stand again, but his bad leg would not allow it. ¡°The desperate cannot debate. Morality is a privilege for those with options. We have none. Only decisive action can allow for a swift takeover.¡± He raised his hand, and clenched it into a fist. An unnecessary act, but Terran needed to build the drama up somehow. ¡°I do not know much about this new bomb technology, but I¡¯ve read of its power. We detonate a few on the bridges to isolate the city. A couple at the rally to stop the cops. Few innocents will die. Just our enemies. But even then, are a few deaths truly that high a cost? Many more die whilsts the wealthy are cooped in their pens, feasting like pigs.¡±


    That last metaphor worked wonders to quell the voices of dissent. Even Zolin seemed to go along with it. Good. He¡¯d practiced that line far too long. People were simple that way. Impress them with a good speech, and they were yours. Terran said, ¡°We have ten. That is not many. If you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯d like to suggest a plan. I have had¡­ experience in this matter.¡±


    Nobody objected so Terran continued. ¡°We divide and conquer,¡± he said.  ¡°That is the best way to do a task. One group can conduct research on the bombs. How many do we need? Where do we put them? And for god¡¯s sake, do not discuss it in the open. Speak in code if you must.¡±


    Next, Terran gestured to the three who had been the most opposed to the plans of murder. This included Zan. ¡°You can alert the other workers who have been mistreated, and get them to join our cause. Eleven men are not enough to bring change, but be cautious. Only those you would trust with your life. I¡¯m thinking that we need twenty men. Perhaps thirty. While they¡¯re recruiting, Zolin, you could research these rumors about the commissioner¡¯s retirement. Is this ceremony true? When and where is it happening?¡±


    Zolin nodded, then crossed his arms. ¡°And what will you do?¡±


    It was less of a question, and more of a challenge. These people were unwilling to support those that just talked without pulling their weight. ¡°I shall have the most important job of all,¡± Terran said. ¡°I will distract Raven on the day. Make sure she does not interfere. I am Gifted, so only I can face her.¡±


    Zolin stirred in place. Terran said, ¡°That¡¯s just what our powers are called.¡±


    ¡°Lightened up budd,¡± Pisk said, jabbing Zolin at his side. The greaser pointed to Terran. ¡°This guy¡¯s helpin¡¯ us. We¡¯re finally takin¡¯ a stand like we always wanted. Can¡¯t ya just be happy about that? Change is coming to our fair city. And it''s coming with a vengeance!¡±


    ¡°Believe me, I¡¯d do more if I could,¡± Terran said. ¡°It¡¯s not like I enjoy being in these sewers alone, save for the rats. But I am injured. There are ways to fix me, but I¡¯d rather not access them until the incident at the coal plant blows over. You understand, right?¡±


    ¡°You''re right,¡± Zolin said, looking away. He sighed. ¡°You¡¯re too hurt to go out. Sorry fer challengin¡¯ ya. Just don¡¯t like it when people talk big without doing anything, that''s all.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s quite alright.¡± Terran tried standing again, but still found himself incapable. He cursed himself. His closing remarks would be far worse now. Best to just make his voice dramatic. ¡°We are few. But that does not mean we are weak. We will rise up. We will break the chains that bind us. Our Order of Broken Chains will have its way!¡±


    Pisk clapped. Nobody else did. Terran sighed. If he had stood, there would have been thunderous applause. ¡°Ponder the name,¡± he said. ¡°And begin your tasks. I, unfortunately, have to wait here. Return here tomorrow. I will still be here.¡±


    With that, the men left. No goodbyes. No praise. They ran right for the hall. Some sang that obnoxious horse song again. At first, Terran feared they had disapproved of him. But he did hear whisperings of recruitment and library visits. They were taking this seriously then. At least somewhat. The situation was out of his hands, though. That was the worst part. With his wounds, Terran could only trust these people wouldn¡¯t screw things up. And you couldn¡¯t trust anyone. He knew that more than anyone¡­


    Laughter echoed from the distant hall. There was a metallic lurch, followed by a slam. Then there was silence. Sighing, the Dark Lord sat upright. He would stay in the regal position until they returned. This chamber was his throne room. It paid to act regal.


    Drip¡­ drip¡­ drip¡­


    Terran¡¯s leg twitched. Then his knee bounced. Terran clasped it, but still it shook. That did nothing. He clenched his leg with both hands, and dug his claws into ruined flesh. Still his leg bounced.


    Drip¡­ drip¡­ drip¡­


    With a sigh, Terran leaned against the concrete step. His bad leg still bounced and that cursed dripping continued. This would be his life for the next day. Try as he might, the supreme ruler of filth could not even stop his bouncing leg.

 Chapter 9

    Click. Click. Click.


    Raven clicked her pen, hand on her face, whilst staring at her heaps of messy notes. It was hard to know where to begin. The city¡¯s many sewage passages and decrepit buildings were detailed in an unorganized heap of graphs and charts. After so many hours of research, the words and charts and diagrams blended together into one unclear mass. If Raven had someone to help, then this would be far easier. Like that scholar from the other day. He seemed kind, if confused. Though he was certainly nicer than the heaps of pretentious ones out there. It didn¡¯t even have to be him. Just someone. Though of course Raven couldn¡¯t have that. The mission was hers alone, because her mother deemed it fitting for a gifted Blackwell to defeat Terran in combat once again.


    Click. Click. Click.


    And then the fights happened. Both times, Raven had had him. She could have finished it. Yet Terran slipped past both times. Worse yet, she got humiliated in the process. The papers didn¡¯t even know of the second fight. If they knew she had lost, and because of steam too¡­


    Click. Click. CRACK!


    The pen blew up in her hand. Raven rubbed out the ink on some nearby napkins, and hurriedly hid the evidence beneath her heaps of papers. She then rubbed her hand three times, making sure to remove each little smudge. It worked¡­ somewhat. The desk was no messier than it had been before.


    Raven glanced at her bedroom window. The pale sun hovered just above the skyline. Night approached. The time when Terran prowled. If they meet tonight, Raven would finish the job. There was no question. That monster couldn¡¯t even stand on his own. She just had to find him again. That was easier said than done, of course. Despite his age, Terran still had some fighting ability. She had the claw marks on her abdomen to prove it. Now that Raven thought about it, she should get that checked out. The wound was shallow, but Terran was probably covered in disease. To think that was his actual bone. She shuddered. That thing was for sure covered in diseases. Raven would go to a doctor as soon as she had time. Whenever that would be¡­


    Knock. Knock.


    Raven¡¯s mother, Kareva, stood in the doorway. The tall woman leaned against her cane. It looked like she¡¯d fall over, but she still kept a firm gaze on Raven. She had her crescent spectacles on, the same pair the aged woman usually wore when trying to look distinguished. Just get it over with, Raven thought. You won¡¯t be able to hide from this forever.


    ¡°I know what you¡¯re thinking,¡± Raven said, hopping off her desk. She walked up to her mother, such that she blocked her messy desk from Kareva. ¡°But next time, he will be dead. I knocked a good chunk of Terran¡¯s armor off with one blow. Not like anyone¡¯s going to repair it. Next time we fight, I will win.¡±


    Kareva entered the room. Her movements were refined and considered. Raven offered to guide Kareva to a chair but the old woman shook her head. She handed Raven a tattered newspaper. The article of interest was circled in a furious red pen: RAVEN BLACKWELL SPINS TALES TO LOCAL BOY. Raven sighed,¡°This is what you''re mad about?¡±


    ¡°I told you to relate to the people,¡± Kareva said. The old woman sat on the edge of Raven¡¯s four post bed. ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean lying or, worse yet, gossiping with them. Honestly, Vanek¡¯s Diner. You can¡¯t make this stuff up.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t. I go there. It''s a good place.¡±


    ¡°And an autograph on a napkin? What are you, one of those rock performers?¡±


    ¡°People like autographs,¡± Raven said. ¡°Celebrities do that all the time.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t,¡± Kareva said. She stood again. ¡°We¡¯re above that. Your brothers would never. They wouldn¡¯t be caught dead in one of those eateries.¡± There it was. Nine sentences before Kareva mentioned her late brothers. It had to be a new record. Raven shook that last thought from her head. It was unbecoming of a Blackwell. Her brothers were heroes. Their sacrifice could not be brought up in that way. Even in thoughts. Her mother waited, as if expecting Raven to apologize. When she didn¡¯t, the old woman gave a deep sigh. ¡°I didn¡¯t just come to nag you, Raven. There¡¯s something I must tell you.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Her mother raised an eyebrow. Raven unslouched. ¡°What is it, mother?¡±


    ¡°Karl will be here,¡± she said, coming close. She whispered this as if he was standing right outside. ¡°I thought it proper to give you a warning. You know how he can be.¡±


    ¡°Karl is coming?¡± Raven asked in disbelief. She still remembered the day her second cousin once removed stormed out of Blackwell manor in a fit of rage. He had yelled the most vicious things. To think that he¡¯d be back, and so soon too. ¡°What does he want?¡±


    Kareva said, ¡°He requires some of your maps for a project.¡±


    ¡°But I got these from the station,¡± Raven said. ¡°Karl is a citizen, technically speaking. A lot of these are for the police only. I¡¯m not sure if it''s even¡­ legal for me to give them up.¡±


    ¡°I know. I know,¡± Kareva said. She came near Raven, and put her hand on the girl¡¯s shoulder. Then Kareva stood erect to tower over the girl. Such a feat doubtlessly hurt her brittle bones, and Raven found herself stunned to silence. ¡°We need to go along with it, my dear. I need Karl back in our good graces. There are so few of us Blackwells left. We must be there for each other. Besides, these are sewer maps, correct? There¡¯s no good reason for them to be classified.¡±


    Raven sighed, ¡°I suppose you¡¯re right.¡±


    ¡°I am.¡± With that, Kareva strolled for the exit. Raven followed from her side to make sure she got out just fine. Her mother stumbled once or twice, but nothing bad happened with Raven at her side. Once at the door, Raven asked, ¡°By the way, how advanced is that warning?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s just down the hall.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Just be good to him,¡± Kareva said. ¡°Remember he¡¯s family just like me.¡± She said that last sentence slightly louder than the previous, such that Karl was sure to hear only that part. Not that Kareva yelled or anything. It was a subtle trick, one that the average person was unlikely to notice, but a life of living with Kareva made Raven keen to these tricks. The woman gave careful thought into each and every word. How words were said was just as important as what was said. Some day, Raven too would have a mastery of this delicate art.


    Kareva went down the hall, where she reunited with her assistant. The two continued on together. Raven went back inside. Her bed was tidy. As was her dresser, and each family photograph was neatly arranged. The only messy part was her desk, but there was no fixing that now. Raven sat back down and waited.


    Within moments, Karl poked his head through the door. The kid was thin and boney. His black hair combed straight. He wore a stuffy business suit with the front untucked. Despite it being the verge of night, he wore sunglasses. It was hard to believe that the kid was only nineteen years old. He looked like they¡¯d just dug him up from a funeral. ¡°Hey second cuz,¡± he said, as if the prior months of estrangement had never happened. ¡°How¡¯s it hanging?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been fine,¡± Raven said. Her words and tone were both neutral, which was okay. There was no need to hide that she wasn¡¯t thrilled to see him. Karl would be expecting that.


    ¡°Liiiiiisten,¡± Karl said, really dragging out that sound in a way that he knew would annoy her.  Raven clenched her fist, but kept it stuffed in her pocket. Karl couldn¡¯t see such an aggressive gesture. He¡¯d let Kareva know, then all hell would break loose. ¡°You do know why I¡¯m here, right?¡±


    ¡°Sewer maps, right?


    ¡°Bingo,¡± he said, snapping his fingers. ¡°You got it?¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Raven said. She gestured to her desk. ¡°It¡¯s somewhere in that pile.¡±


    ¡°Man, what a pigsty,¡± Karl sauntered over to the desk, dragging mud across the pristine carpet as he went. Trails must¡¯ve been all through the manor by now. Kareva surely would have seen it. Why was she letting so much go¡­ just for him? Were they really that desperate to keep the family together?


    Karl tossed a few of Raven¡¯s papers aside. ¡°You know, you really should get a guy to do this stuff for you. I¡¯ve got a guy. He¡¯s really nice. Sorts out all the trash for me. Never have to touch paperwork again.¡±


    And yet here you are, Raven so desperately wanted to say even though she couldn¡¯t. ¡°I can¡¯t have a guy because I¡¯m the only person involved in this investigation. The other officers are too loaded up with mafia stuff. Even the bureaucrats have their hands tied.¡±


    ¡°Sheesh,¡± Karl said. ¡°Working alone. That must be stressful.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing I can¡¯t handle. Terran will be dealt with soon enough.¡±


    Karl nodded, bouncing his foot as he navigated through Raven¡¯s tidy stack. ¡°That Terran,¡± he said. ¡°I heard he¡¯s been going real hard on you. Escaped you twice already. And same tactic both times, no less. Steam in the eyes.¡± Karl did a low pssss sound, mimicking steam as he brought his hand near Raven¡¯s face.


    She leaned back. ¡°The steam wasn¡¯t a problem the second time. It was all the panicked workers who stopped me in my tracks. They were all on me. I couldn¡¯t move for half a minute. Terran got lucky. Nothing more.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Karl shrugged. He threw more papers aside. There was now a heap of clutter on the floor. ¡°Maybe not. I mean, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll win at some point. Everyone has a weakness right?¡±


    Raven forced a smile. ¡°I suppose so.¡±


    ¡°Yours just so happens to be steam,¡± Karl said, not looking at her as he continued to riffle through her neatly arranged mess. ¡°By the way, what was he like?¡±


    Raven said, ¡°Old and disgusting.¡±


    ¡°No, I mean personality wise. I dunno why, but I¡¯ve been thinking about what he¡¯s like. Is he a psychotic madman or more regal and elegant like a¡ª¡± Karl stopped mid sentence, as he read up a small piece of paper. He broke into a foul laugh. Raven groaned. She did not miss that laugh. ¡°No way. No freaking way.¡±


    The realization burned Raven. Standing tall, she tried to whisk the paper from his hands, but the kid walked off before she could. Karl read: ¡°¡®I could smell you from there.¡¯ ¡®Get a life. Wait, you can¡¯t.¡¯ ¡®I can see you still haven¡¯t discovered soap.¡¯ This is a quip list, Raven. A quip list. You made an actual quip list for your fights! Oh, that is so pathetic. Kind of cute though.¡±


    You¡¯re four years younger than me. Raven so desperately wanted to pin Karl against the wall and scream it in his stupid smug face, but Kareva would have her head if she tried that. ¡°It''s a necessity,¡± she said. ¡°The books went at length about his ego. I figured insulting him would get him to lash out, and make him angry. Angry and sloppy. ¡±


    ¡°Yeah, no,¡± Karl said. ¡°This guy¡¯s built on rage. That¡¯s only gonna make him focus up.¡± He threw the quip list Raven¡¯s way, then got back to rifling through her desk. Within seconds, he found maps of the sewers for the Skyscraper District. ¡°There. Just what I needed. I knew you¡¯d have it.¡±


    ¡°What do you need it for?¡±


    ¡°Just some stuff,¡± Karl said, putting the papers under his arm. ¡°You¡¯ll see. Within months, my startup is going to change the way you get your goods.¡±.


    ¡°Wait you can¡¯t mean¡­¡± Raven cringed internally. Delivering supplies through a sewer seemed a terrible way to do business in all sorts of ways. Either that, or a potential coverup for something nefarious. Such a thought was absurd though. Karl may be Karl, but he wasn¡¯t a criminal. He was a Blackwell like the rest of them, if a stupid one. But that was his problem, not hers. ¡°Just mail that back to me when you¡¯re done. The station will want their copy back.¡±Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    ¡°Pfft,¡± Karl said, backing away. ¡°You know it. Anywho, I¡¯d love to stay and chat second cuz once gone but there are some things I gotta go do. Peace!¡± With that, he made his way out, leaving a separate trail of muddy tracks behind him. The door slammed behind him. The world grew still, save for the ticking of a clock.


    Raven leaned against the desk with trembling hands. She pressed her weight against it. A purple aura engulfed her arms. The wood snapped like toothpicks. Raven fell to the floor. The entire room shook. Paintings fell, picture frames went face down. The works. There was a flurry of footsteps. Within a moment, Kareva and her assistant appeared by the door. Kareva¡¯s brow narrowed, ¡°What have you done?¡±


    How? Raven thought. How¡¯d you get here so quickly? But it made far too much sense. She never left at all. Kareva had been listening nearby. Perhaps in the next room over. She¡¯d want to know what had happened after all. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Raven said, hopping back to her feet. ¡°Vinye. I underestimated myself.¡±


    Kareva nodded to her assistant, who ran to the fallen family photographs. ¡°You have been Gifted for twenty-three years,¡± Kareva said. ¡°There is no underestimating yourself. Just for that outburst, I¡¯m going to have you go through some of the University¡¯s documents for me. After you clean all this up.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Do not fight me,¡± Kareva said. ¡°It¡¯s for your own good. We have to uphold the Blackwell standard. There aren¡¯t many of us left, remember.¡± She gave one last scowl of disapproval before exiting.


    The assistant ran past Raven, head hung low. She had straightened only one portrait: a photograph of Raven¡¯s three late brothers, about to head off to war. All smiled. Delov ruffled Edlov¡¯s hair. They looked so confident, so sure of themselves, even though they were about to face the worst horrors in the history of the planet. To think that they weren¡¯t even Gifted.


    With a sigh, Raven got to organizing the ruined desk into one pile. Gifted speed helped, but the process seemed to take forever. There were many tiny splinters that she just left on the carpet. She wound up with a half completed pile before leaving. Her mother would be mad, but Raven knew she¡¯d have to live with it. There was much to do, and so little time before nightfall. It paid to be on top of things.


    ***


    ¡°Pinkov, what are you doing up there?¡± The boy¡¯s mother put her hands on her hips and wagged her finger, a motion which the watching Derik found all too absurd. ¡°Get down from that tree this instant.¡±


    ¡°But I can¡¯t,¡± young Pinkov yelled. He gestured to the eggs. ¡°Their mama bird isn¡¯t back to guard her eggs yet. She won¡¯t be for a while. I have to protect them. It¡¯s what good people do, right?¡±


    ¡°You can have Smique watch ¡®em.¡±


    Pinkov perked up. ¡°So you¡¯re saying he¡¯s real?¡±


    Canned laughter erupted. The mother character covered her mouth, as if to express shock, though Derik noticed that her actress was stifling a laugh. ¡°I¡­ uhm, well¡­¡±


    ¡°I can have two shares of desert then? One for me? One for him?¡±


    ¡°I never said that,¡± the mother character stammered over herself a few times before sighing. ¡°Fine. You can have two shares. But come down, this instant.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be right down.¡± The canned laughter erupted once again. The camera faded to black, at long last ending that mediocre episode of Smique and Mirrors. The credits began to roll. Derik glanced at Ema, who was seated besides him on the couch. ¡°So when¡¯s it coming?¡±


    ¡°Any moment now.¡± Ema leaned to the box, and rubbed her hands together. Derik found himself matching her motions, despite having no clue as to what they were waiting for. Something related to the news. That¡¯s all Ema had said. Whatever it was, it had to be fantastic to put Ema in such a tizzy. Perhaps they put her near the start this time. Maybe they even gave a main story. Oh, that would be wonderful.


    The credits ended at last. It rolled over to the news. The logo Diveky News flashed on screen in big gray lettering. Then it showed the head anchorman, ¡°Greetings Diveky. It¡¯s good to speak to you all, right now, on this fine evening.¡±


    The line was a misnomer, Derik knew. They didn¡¯t record these in real time (That would be absurd) but rather had prepared the hour¡¯s news beforehand. Ema had just gotten off work an hour ago, and had rushed to his apartment since she did not have a box in her home. Whatever was about to happen, it was so important she just had to see it live with Derik. And she hadn¡¯t let a word slip. Oh, the suspense was fatal! Just what captivated Ema so?


    ¡°There¡¯s a lot to get through in this hour, folks,¡± the anchorman said. ¡°So how about we get right into it. Miss.Renzov, if you¡¯ll introduce the headliners.¡±


    The camera cut to Ema. Derik almost didn¡¯t recognize her. She wore the same dress she had now, though it looked far neater on the box. Her smile was wide and her hair was combed straight. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said. ¡°We¡¯ve got two main headliners today. First, an update on Boris Tvarlato. The former mafia boss claims to be turning over a new leaf, and is opening a pizzeria in the Historical District. Our second headliner involves the recent attack at the coal plant, as the police are at last addressing these mysterious events after days of silence. And those are our headliners. Now, back to Mr. Bankov for the details.¡±


    The camera cut back to the head anchorman, who thanked Ema and started getting into the headliners. The real Ema ran in front of the box, fist clenched, bouncing up and down. ¡°What did you think?¡±


    ¡°Well I¡¯ll be,¡± Derik gasped, leaping up. ¡°You were wonderful!¡±


    She cheered. Derik cheered. They hugged, and whirled about in the center of the room, their laughter echoing off of the walls. They continued until both were dizzy, and they had to let go lest they fall over.


    Ema held onto her knees, breathing but laughing at the same time. Derik could hardly stay in one place. Ema, the headliner. It was too good to be true. She¡¯d be known city wide. Just imagine how far she could get because of this. ¡°How did this happen?¡±


    ¡°The most recent one quit,¡± Ema said, running up to Derik. ¡°Very last minute thing. They needed a new one. And I don¡¯t know why, because I usually just say my lines and don¡¯t do anything, but I offered to do it. And they liked my take so much, they said I could do it full time!¡±


    ¡°By the gods,¡± Derik said. ¡°It¡¯s a promot-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a promotion!¡± She squeaked, then leapt into his arms. They whirled around again, laughing, until they slammed into the wall. A painting fell to the ground. The two looked at each other. They giggled, then continued to the couch, where both collapsed. They sat there, giggling, as the excitement gradually died down.


    ¡°By my gods,¡± Derik repeated, running his arm through his hair. ¡°Th-this is amazing. You, a headliner.¡± He had to say that aloud, just to make sure it was real. It still felt like a vague dream, one which they¡¯d both soon wake from. ¡°We must go out and celebrate.¡±


    They held each other¡¯s hands and leaned close. They exchanged a long kiss, but Ema¡¯s eyes grew wide when she glanced at the clock. She backed away. ¡°I can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Derik said. ¡°Not even a small celebration? We don¡¯t have to go out if you don¡¯t want to. We can party right here. Think I have a cake mix stashed away somewhere.¡±


    ¡°Afraid I can¡¯t stay,¡± Ema said. She rushed back to the box, and grabbed her bag. ¡°Now that I¡¯m a headliner, they¡¯re gonna need me to work more. There are meetings at six which I¡¯ve got to attend now. I was only able to come back for this.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Derik said, trying and failing to contain his disappointment. ¡°How about at seven then?¡±


    Ema moved for the exit. Derik hopped off the couch, and followed her to the kitchen. Ema said, ¡°Afraid I can¡¯t today. Got to fill out some workforms, move into Mirna¡¯s old office. All that new job stuff.¡±


    They reached the stairwell. Derik opened the door for Ema. She went down. Derik followed, though his limp made keeping pace with Ema difficult. ¡°Why did Mirna quit anyhow?¡±


    ¡°No idea,¡± Ema said. ¡°But I bet it''s something about the past few cycles. News has been getting awfully depressing. First the stuff with the mafia, then those street murders, and now that coal plant owner was killed.¡± Pain flared in Derik¡¯s ankle once more. All had been perfect until Ema had brought up that coal plant. The specific details were still a mystery, but Derik knew Terran was responsible. No other incidents of terror had been reported since. Terran had yet to return. With any luck, that monster was dead and gone.


    They reached the first floor metal shop. Ema had left her coat on the barren counter. Mere days ago, a zombie had sat there, one which Derik operated on. He shuddered. If he closed his eyes, Derik could still see the demon, smiling back at him even in this moment of reprieve.


    ¡°Derik?¡±


    Derik jolted back to reality. ¡°Yeah?¡±


    Ema asked, ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°Oh I¡¯m sorry,¡± Derik said, scratching his head. ¡°I was thinking about my schedule. Would tomorrow work? At seven?.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± Ema said. ¡°They¡¯re working us to the bone with all that¡¯s been happening. My evening break is not that long. I could meet for half an hour at most.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s more than enough time.¡± Derik limped towards the door so he could open it for Ema. She beat him to it, but waited for Derik all the same. The blacksmith said, ¡°We can meet at that diner by the news station. I could show up ten minutes early to order for you. Does that sound good?¡±


    ¡°Definitely,¡± Ema said. She kissed his cheek. ¡°It¡¯s a date.¡± Derik opened the door for Ema, and bid her farewell. She walked down the street, waving merilly. Derik waved back. He did not stop waving until she crossed the corner and was out of sight.


    Silence returned to the workshop. Derik looked across the room. His current metalworking project laid in a dusty bag by the far wall. The commision wasn¡¯t due for another month, but the flurry of recent events had put Derik way behind schedule. At last, he had a free evening. It was time to work again. If he got the hilt forged tonight, he could get back on track by week¡¯s end.


    Knock. Knock. Knock.


    Derik glanced at the door. It must have been Ema. Perhaps she had forgotten something. Derik opened the door with a flourish, but paled when he saw the stranger on the other end. He was an inch shorter than Derik. However, he was far more muscular, especially in the biceps. He got rather lanky in the hips which made him look rather funny. His hair was greased up, and coal-black shades covered his eyes even though it was almost sunset. ¡°Howdy.¡±


    This man must¡¯ve been a customer. An enthusiastic one at that, considering that he was coming to his workshop after hours. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t help today. We¡¯re closed. If you come back tomorrow, I should be able to¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not interested in that.¡± The stranger put his foot in the door, such that Derik would be unable to close it.  ¡°Name¡¯s Pisk. I¡¯m here ¡®cause our mutual friend wants you.¡±


    ¡°Our¡­mutual friend?¡± Derik knew what that meant. He knew immediately. Of course he wasn¡¯t out of this yet. Terran would always find a way to drag him in. But how did he rope someone else into his cause? What kind of blackmail did he have on a guy like this?


    ¡°Nice place ya got,¡± Pisk said. He rounded under Derik to get inside. He smelled like a cross between a sewer and a corpse, and Derik had to lean against a wall to avoid fainting from the shock of it all. Pisk glanced at Derik¡¯s unfinished project. ¡°What are you, some kind of metal worker? Oh, I can see why our friend wants you back.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Derik said. ¡°Our friend?¡± The tone was flat and accusatory. Derik didn¡¯t mean for it to sound that way. He didn¡¯t. It just slipped out.


    Pisk stopped his gait, and stood upright. He gave a wide smile. ¡°It¡¯s a great dame ya got too,¡± he said. ¡°Think I recognize her, in fact. I swear I do. There¡¯s this chipmunk quality in her voice that few gals got these days. Now their voices are deep, ya know. Like the voice Pinkov does for Smique.¡±


    ¡°I-I don¡¯t follow.¡± Derik was unsure if he even wanted to.


    ¡°Listen to his voice on the radio show,¡± Pisk said, shaking his head. ¡°Guy like you, livin¡¯ it up in here, you probably watch it with the box. Listen to the radio show. Actors there can actually act for somethin¡¯. There¡¯s this deepness to radio Smique¡¯s voice. I dunno if the dames are imitating it, or what, but I swear you never hear a high-pitched gal who has some class.¡±


    This guy was spouting nonsense, but something told Derik that saying so would be the last mistake he ever made. Pisk had kept glancing at a knife holster during that rant. ¡°I¡¯m sure that¡¯s true,¡± Derik said. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know. I don¡¯t pay attention to that kind of stuff.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Pisk said. ¡°I guess you wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    The greaser approached with clenched fists, then cornered Derik against a wall. Pisk patted the knife holster at his side. ¡°He said you¡¯d come willingly,¡± Pisk said. ¡°But that you may need more persuading. How much you need though¡­ that¡¯s up to you.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need,¡± Derik said. ¡°I¡¯ll come. I¡¯ll come.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Pisk said, backing off. He took a list out of his pocket and read from it. ¡°Gather all ya gear. Metal, welding stuff, yadda yadda.¡± Pisk threw the list aside. ¡°Our friend is in rough shape, and he¡¯s gonna need to be fixed up fast. There¡¯s a lot to do before the big day.¡±


    ¡°The big day?¡± Derik asked. ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°Nothin¡¯ ya gotta worry about.¡± Pisk threw the list over to Derik. ¡°You just have to follow this list.¡± The more Derik read, the heavier he felt. These were Terran¡¯s demands, no doubt. Terran¡¯s awful morbid demands. Derik¡¯s head spun and his hands grew clammy. It was a miracle he didn¡¯t throw up on the spot. How could anyone, even Terran, think this way?


    ¡°Cool it man,¡± Pisk yelled, rounding past Derik. ¡°If ya get sick here, you¡¯ll get sick down there. I mean, it''s a rotting corpse and all that. Maybe you can get an air freshener. Though I doubt it¡¯d help.¡±


    Derik fell back against the wall, and whipped his brow with his now clammy hand. ¡°There¡¯s no way,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t have half of this. Where am I even supposed to get it?¡±


    Pisk rounded past Derik. Though far skinnier, he got the blacksmith to his feet in a moment''s notice. ¡°Simple, man,¡± he said, patting Derik¡¯s back. ¡°You and me, we¡¯re goin¡¯ shopping!¡±

 Chapter 10

    The nine newcomers trudged into the meeting space, one after the other. All froze upon seeing Terran. They hugged the far war, staying to the opposite side of his stairwell. The Dark Lord studied each man in detail. Most were fighting age. A few were older. All were covered in soot, and had workers uniforms similar to the ones at the coal plant. More workers. Uneducated then. The men kept their arms tucked close and tiptoed around any stains on the floor. Such adversity to filth. Unusual for men of their trade. Although, they were taking Terran¡¯s form rather well all things considered.


    Without warning, an older coward ran off screaming. Zolin chased him down. Terran looked to Zan. Sweat pooled from the kid¡¯s forehead. Terran said, ¡°You didn¡¯t tell them?¡±


    ¡°I-I told them,¡± Zan said. An obvious lie. That wavering voice betrayed him. The kid came near, though stopped shy of going on the steps of the makeshift throne. ¡°I told them you were ¡®reanimated.¡¯ Guess they didn¡¯t get what I meant by that.¡±


    ¡°There is little to get,¡± Terran said. ¡°The armor keeps me alive. It is nothing mysterious.¡± Terran said this with a muffled voice, for he kept his hand over his exposed chin. The rot by his chin had spread over the past few days. The exposed chin was too much. Having the bottom of his mouth invisible in front of his men was too much. He loathed how his rotten teeth were visible. It made him look too fragile. All would be well once the helmet was repaired, but for now he was limited. Regardless, he had a revolution to oversee.


    Terran invited the men to step forwards. The newcomers glanced at each other. The tallest one took a deep breath then came forwards. ¡°I¡¯m Jenova. Zan¡¯s cousin. I see this as our opportunity to get back. Take the wealth, then spread it out a little evenly. Think we¡¯re all tired of living in disease infested buildings. It¡¯s time for a change!¡±


    He got some cheers. The next stepped forward. ¡°I work my second job with Kennov at a diner. Think it¡¯s a beautiful thing what you are attemptin¡¯ here.¡± In this way, the men introduced themselves, one after the other. All of them were friends of friends, or coworkers, or cousins or whatever. None sounded qualified for anything. Which was not the worst thing. They could always train. Betrayal was unlikely in such a close-knit group. That was crucial at this state.


    After a few minutes, Zolin entered with the elder who had fled. The coward wore a white jacket, pure save for the handprints which littered the coat. He muttered excitingly to himself. Terran heard his own name amongst his whispers. Terran said, ¡°If you have something to say, say it aloud!¡±


    ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry,¡± the coward said, looking to the ground. ¡°But surely you understand my trepidation. I mean, you are Dark Lord Terran after all.¡± The word Lord perked everyone up, as if they had all awoken from a trance. Gazes narrowed. Whisperings followed. Terran cringed. Of course someone would know. But it was fine. He could still salvage this.


    ¡°I am a Lord no loner,¡± Terran said. He moved his hand off his chin, exposing his ruined flesh. All recoiled at once. ¡°The world has taken its toll on me. I¡¯ve been forced to face many harsh truths. Coming back, seeing the city in this state. It angers me. Diveky used to be glorious. Now the wealthy have ruined it. Even back then, I have been a servant of this city, first and foremost. That also makes me a servant of the people. Of you.¡±


    Terran scooted down a step, such that he was no longer above the others. His broken ankle flared, a clear warning against this act, but Terran did it regardless to prevent further questioning. ¡°Why don¡¯t we continue?¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Zolin said. ¡°Whatever you say, Lord.¡±


    An awkward silence took hold. The challenge was direct now. So many impressionable recruits were here. This should not be their first interaction with the movement. And still Zolin challenged him. Such insolence. This wasn¡¯t the first time either. Would he be like this at every turn? A constant thorn in Terran¡¯s side? Terran clenched his aged fist. The bone creaked. He should put this rebel in his place. March straight up to him. Slam him into a wall. Yell straight in his face.


    Except he couldn¡¯t do that. It was what Zolin wanted. Confirmation that Terran was a power-hungry monarch. ¡°The term does not mean what you think,¡± Terran said. ¡°The term Lord once meant ¡®one who guides.¡¯ I am your Lord of Darkness ¡ª the one who will guide you through the dark. Bring you to a better future.¡±


    Zolin crossed his arms, ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Terran said. ¡°Look it up in a history book if you have the time.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t buy it.¡±


    The old man beside Zolin lifted a finger. ¡°Actually,¡± he said. ¡°Some books do support that interpretation.¡±


    ¡°There,¡± Terran said, gesturing to the man. He was poised to say more, but instead shut up. It seemed Terran¡¯s form still intimidated him, despite the prior compliment. Not that he cared; the man had already proven Terran right. ¡°I am your Guide through Darkness. Does that title suit you better?¡±


    ¡°I s¡¯ppose,¡± Zolin said, crossing his arms. Though he did not sound satisfied, he was alone. The rest, while certainly not happy, were not against him. Their passion for the movement dwarfed their concerns over Terran. The Dark Lord waited in silence. Directing them back on track would look suspicious. He¡¯d wait for another to do it. They ended up sitting around for half a minute. It was torture, plain and simple.


    ¡°This is my second cousin Olska,¡± Zolin said at last, patting the old man on the shoulder. ¡°He works at a firework¡¯s factory.¡± The man stepped back, and meekly waved at Terran with a four fingered hand. Zolin continued for him: ¡°He knows a way for us to make gunpowder. And loads of it!¡±


    ¡°We can get charcoal from Zolin¡¯s plant,¡± Olska said. ¡°Sulphur from my place of work. The saltpeter may be hard to acquire, but there are warehouses of the stuff. We can produce more than enough gunpowder and in time too if we start today.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Terran said. He put his clawed hands together into a steeple. ¡°Very good. Your mind seems keen Olska. Why do you toil away doing peasant work in a factory?¡±


    ¡°Not because I want to,¡± said Olska. The man lowered his head. ¡°I¡¯d much rather be a professor but I¡¯ve never had the chance.¡±


    ¡°Do not fret,¡± Terran said. ¡°Your skills are being put to use.¡± They were indeed lucky to have this man. Though Terran wished not to admit it, he had no idea how to acquire the explosives needed in time. Their biggest hurdle had been overcome. Despite this good news, Zolin still frowned.


    Terran asked, "Is there something which bothers you?¡±


    ¡°It is nothing to concern you, Lord,¡± said Zolin. Silence returned once again. So did the murmurings. Terran feared another thirty seconds of awkwardness. But then¡ª


    ¡°Honey, I¡¯m home!¡± Pisk strolled in, shades still on despite the darkness of the sewer. He cringed upon entering. ¡°Whew! I did not miss that stench. It¡¯s disgusting. Or is it just the rotting corpse in the corner over there?¡±


    Terran curled his fingers. Such brashness, and yet he could do nothing. Punishing the traitor would ruin this image he was building. And so, he stayed silent as Pisk approached. ¡°Got your errand boy now, boss.¡±


    Derik meandered behind him, a hefty bag at his side. He scooted between the crowd of recruits, maneuvering with a certain grace such that he avoided touching any of them. He stepped around moist spots in the floor, as if bombs were hidden in the filth. Derik stopped this strange dance only when he was as far as he could get from everyone.


    ¡°Ah, Derik,¡± Terran said. ¡°We meet again. I¡¯m glad.¡±


    Derik twitched. ¡°You¡¯ve been¡­ busy.¡± It was clear from his cadence that the blacksmith had chosen that word carefully. A right decision, thought


    ¡°If you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯d like the rest of you to leave. Derik is going to begin repairs on my body. I¡¯d prefer it if you weren¡¯t here for it.¡± That gave Zolin a chance to voice concerns in private, but it wasn¡¯t like Terran could do anything about it. Right now, it was best that Terran got repaired so that he could be useful again.


    The men left. Sighing with relief, Terran slouched against the stone stairs he sat upon. Derik approached with the bag. He got his stuff out in silence. The metallic patches, the welder. All the items seemed accounted for. Terran still felt the need to make sure. ¡°You did get everything from the list, correct?¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately.¡±


    Derik got out a plastic tree of some kind. It smelt vaguely of vanilla. The bag was filled with these strange plastic trees. Even combined, their odor did relatively little to overpower the sewer¡¯s natural stench. Terran laid his bad leg down on the step, straight as could be. His broken foot, though still encased in the metal armor, flopped uselessly to the left, the front almost pointing backwards. Derik gagged, ¡°A-Are you sure we have to do this?¡±


    ¡°I am certain.¡±


    Derik got out the final two items, a saw and a prosthetic boot. The boot was metal and not hollow, just as Terran requested. Strange. He actually had it all. Terran had expected something would be missing and that he would need to drill into Derik about his failings. Modern Diveky truly had everything, it seemed.


    But the blacksmith was not done. He got out four metal poles, two smaller and two larger. He put them beside Terran¡¯s leg. ¡°I-I¡¯ve been thinking,¡± Derik said. ¡°Maybe it would be better if I made a brace out of the metal. You could be healed that way. Surely it''s better than a prosthetic. Right?¡±


    His eyes shined. The poor man seemed to be begging. ¡°Enough stalling,¡± Terran said. ¡°I must be mobile today. These men will not accept me otherwise. And do not be worried about my mobility. Once you weld it on, the prosthetic will fuse with my own body. It will become an extension of my armor. For all practical purposes, it will be as if I still have my foot.¡± It would be better than that, of course. No more pain from his left ankle down.


    ¡°Your armor,¡± Derik said. ¡°That¡¯s how you''re alive. It¡¯s magic. Right?¡±


    ¡°Enchanted,¡± Terran said, as if that weren¡¯t obvious enough. It paid to be specific when it came to types of magic. ¡°The armor keeps me tethered to my body, and so it shall do the same for any metal that fuses with it. Including this prosthetic.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Derik said. ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°Quit the questions,¡± Terran yelled. ¡°Get to cutting.¡± Derik placed the saw just above Terran¡¯s ankle, then began the cut. He sliced through bone. Putrid flesh peeled and fell away. A horrid odor began. Derik gagged. Nose covered, he continued to cut without looking.


    A jab made Terran sit upright. ¡°Look!¡± He yelled, pointing to the saw. ¡°Your cowardice will not cost me a leg.¡±


    ¡°S-sorry,¡± Derik said. He continued the cut. His hand became a blur. Terran winced when the blacksmith reached bone. The bone shattered into little splinters which stung his aching more flesh. Terran bit his lip to avoid screeching. Pain could not distract him. He had to be strong. He had to be ready for anything.


    Here Terran was, immobile and vulnerable, while his youthful helper operated on him with a saw. It would be all too easy for the helper to try something. The same thought doubtlessly crossed Derik¡¯s mind, unless he was that much of a fool. (Which, admittedly, was a possibility.) So Terran tried to keep his left hand still, a subtle signifier that he was in control. That he could still slit a throat in an instant.


    Derik passed the center of the bone. His claws clenched against concrete as Terran seethed. A bit of bone came out, allowing Terran to see that the inside was green. Mold had infested the center of Terran¡¯s leg. A musty odor arose which made even Terran cringe back. Still Derik did not stop. The blacksmith was in a zone, focusing solely on cutting, as he muttered all kinds of prayers. Not even a minute in, yet the task was almost done. Such dedication. Such efficiency. The blacksmith had been keeping his potential hidden. Even if it was only because he wanted out¡­ Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    Derik made the final cut. Flesh tore away, the sensation flaring the nerves across Terran¡¯s leg. Howling with pain, Terran dug his claws into concrete, hyperventilating as he convulsed. The foot, encased in the boot, rolled to Derik. With a yelp, he kicked it across the room and patted over his tattered cloak.


    ¡°Stop¡­.th-that,¡± Terran said. ¡°Worst¡­part¡­done. Patches¡­¡± He stopped there. With each word Terran spoke, the ruins of his stomach would swell, and he¡¯d have to use every scrap of willpower to resist the urge to vomit.


    The welding came easy now. First Derik attached the prosthetic, then came the usual business of matching metal scraps to holes in Terran¡¯s armor. As Derik worked on these, Terran rolled his new foot around. The pain dissipated within minutes, save for an odd pinch where the metal met his flesh. But the prosthetic was as mobile as Terran¡¯s actual foot. It would do good in a fight. May even be better than his old one, seeing as it was made of metal. Perhaps Terran could replace his other limbs one day. Though preferably when he was in a more secure position. Regardless, the earlier pain was gone. His putrid form may terrorize onlookers, but it was amazing how he could adapt.


    ¡°It¡¯s done.¡±


    ¡°Pardon?¡± Terran asked, snapping back to reality.


    ¡°Your armor is covered,¡± Derik said. ¡°Save for the bottom of your helmet.¡±


    ¡°Very well.¡± Terran stood tall. His legs wobbled slightly, for this was his first time standing in a few days, but they supported him well enough. He towered over Derik once again. ¡°You will return here tomorrow with a bevor.¡±


    ¡°Bevor?¡±


    ¡°The bottom part of my helmet,¡± Terran said. ¡°I want a new one welded on.¡± Yes, then the people would rather not be able to see his rotten teeth. He could walk with dignity then. ¡°I couldn¡¯t have you do it today, for you have to take the measurements.¡±


    ¡°R-Right,¡± Derik said, sighing. ¡°That¡¯s what the tape is for.¡± He approached, not even recoiling as he took a few measurements. He was soon done. Then he marched off without making any notes or anything.


    ¡°You¡¯re not writing?¡± Terran asked. ¡°You must remember. You¡¯re attaching it directly. Once you attach it, it''s on forever. My helmet cannot be removed. Not even for a moment. This must be perfect.¡±


    ¡°I-I don¡¯t have any writing stuff,¡± Derik said, stepping away. ¡°But it''s okay. Because I always remember.¡±  He said that last part with a strange confidence. Terran found himself believing the blacksmith, despite having no reason to. Derik started to leave, but Terran held up his hand. The unwilling minion froze on the spot.


    ¡°One last thing.¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°The bevor,¡± said Terran. He glanced down at his boney claws once again, racking them against concrete as he tried to organize his thoughts. ¡°I don¡¯t want any holes. No slits. It will be solid like the old one. I can¡¯t have people seeing me for what I really am.¡±


    Derik took a moment to respond. His gaze was focused on his claws. But he did give a stiff nod. A sad look crossed his face, but it was gone before Terran could correct the error. Silence returned to the tunnel. Even the army outside seemed a world away. It was just them.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Terran said at last. ¡°Now be off with you. I wish to test out my new prosthetic in peace.¡± Derik never ran faster, leaving behind both his bag and welding stuff. Terran did not call this out. He took it as a promise that Derik would finish his job first thing tomorrow. That man really was something. Even if skittish, Derik never failed to disappoint. Men of such reliable skill were hard to come by in this modern age. Though perhaps Terran spoke too soon. He had yet to test the prosthetic.


    Terran rushed around the room. His prints were harder with the metal boot. Other than that, there was no difference. He could even transfer his vinye over. Terran focused on the act, bolstering the prosthetic. He kicked at the stone. Chunks flew through the air like bullets, chipping at the opposite wall. Then he ran for the wall, slashing invisible foes as he went. Terran skidded to a stop, then kicked the wall. The room lurched at once. Bits of stone fell from the ceiling.


    Terran smiled. Such a magnificent recovery. His attacks with this foot would be better than ever. It was time. At long last, he could guide the Order of Broken Chains in the proper way. The movement could begin in earnest.


    ***


    The next day began like the previous, with the new recruits being crammed into the back of the large meeting room. They were pressed shoulder to shoulder, most refusing to get close to Terran. The crowd¡¯s collective body heat made the room murky and miserable. Even Terran sweated, despite him and Zolin being on the opposite side of the room. So many new faces. Terran looked to his assistant and said the obvious. ¡°There are more now, Zolin.¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± Zolin said. ¡°Friends told friends. Seems people like the idea of our revolution.¡±


    Terran hissed, ¡°I thought we were to keep this a secret.¡±


    ¡°Friends of friends,¡± Zolin said. ¡°They¡¯re quiet. They¡¯re like us, after all.¡± Zolin waved towards the larger group, and Terran noted that said gesture did not include him. Not that he minded. It paid to be distinguished from the rabble.


    This situation was not dire. More recruits would only be a blessing, provided they didn¡¯t talk. All it took was one bad man. Best to test their loyalties now. Terran stomped the ground. Everyone jolted back. ¡°Nobody talks,¡± Terran said. ¡°I want to make that perfectly clear.¡±


    A few of the newcomers tried to flee but were unable due to the guards stationed there. Many gawked at Terran, even the veterans, as if they were seeing his hideous form for the first time. Zolin seemed poised to say something. Terran said, ¡°We all must fall in line. There is no room for error.¡±


    ¡°These folks are quiet,¡± Zolin said. ¡°There¡¯s no need to-¡±


    A guard gasped. Then one of the peasants. Then another. The crowd parted like a dividing sea. Pisk entered with a confident gait, shoving past people as he marched. He strode right up to Terran until he was a foot away from the beast. Then he took aim with a gun, finger hovering over the trigger.


    Zolin gasped. ¡°Have you gone-¡±


    ¡°Quiet,¡± Terran said. Pisk had not taken his chance to fire. Either he was an idiot, or there was something else at play. ¡°What is your game here, boy?¡±


    Pisk titled the gun the side, allowing Terran to see its sleek frame from multiple angles. ¡°Magnus Revolver. Ashten Wood grip, an inch and a half slide. One of a kind, wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡±


    ¡°I suppose so,¡± Terran said. ¡°Why are you showing me?¡±


    ¡°My great Uncle¡¯s got a gun shop,¡± Pisk said, putting the gun back in the holster. ¡°Figure we could all get ¡®em. Even you, Terran, you Blackwell hatin¡¯ bastard. Figure it would go well with your technique.¡±


    Terran growled. This man clearly did not know his technique.


    ¡°We don¡¯t need guns, Pisk,¡± Zolin said, stepping between himself and Terran. ¡°The bombs are just a necessity due to our lackin¡¯ numbers. After that, we¡¯re done. I¡¯m not havin¡¯ us delve further down that hole. No guns.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± Pisk asked. ¡°Cops got ¡®em.¡±


    Zolin crossed his arms, ¡°We won¡¯t be dealin¡¯ with cops after the big day.¡±


    Terran marched to the center of the room. Again, the people departed for the walls. His very form made them cringe back. It must¡¯ve been due to his exposed chin. Best not to belabor it, seeing that flaw would be fixed later that day. ¡°Pisk¡¯s point is fair,¡± Terran said. ¡°When we take over, there will be destability. Having guns could ensure the wrong people don¡¯t take over.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m sayin¡¯,¡± Pisk said. He took a seat on the far stairwell, Terran¡¯s makeshift throne, and idly waved his gun around. ¡°I ain¡¯t gonna overthrow the Blackwells just to have some mafia boss put his thumb over us. Look, I got it all planned out. Just sneak a few out his shop a couple days at a time. We¡¯ll be armed to the teeth come the ceremony.¡±


    ¡°No gun¡¯s and that¡¯s that,¡± Zolin said with a sigh. He marched off, maneuvering around Terran, as he approached the recruits. ¡°We¡¯ve got enough to do as is. We haven¡¯t even started delegating for the day.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s more room in the hall,¡± Terran said, pointing to the exit. ¡°Perhaps we could do this out there. We could all spread out then. It would lessen the body heat too.¡± That suited everyone just fine, and the men walked off. Even Zolin left in a huff.


    Terran ripped Pisk off the false stairwell throne, then brought him close. The man scowled. No fear. But Terran was used to that from Pisk. It was annoying as hell, especially when he couldn¡¯t drill the man for sitting on his throne, but Terran was used to it. ¡°I¡¯d like to talk with you before we meet with the others.¡±


    Pisk punched Terran¡¯s hand, then stepped back. ¡°¡®bout what?¡±


    ¡°You have a good idea,¡± Terran said, hating himself. It was the truth, even if it hurt to give this throne sitter satisfaction of any kind. ¡°It only makes sense that we be armed. I want you to procure the weapons such that Zolin does not find out.¡±


    ¡°You wanna go against him?¡±


    ¡°Zolin is not the leader.¡±


    Pisk crossed his arms. ¡°Then who is?¡±


    ¡°The three of us,¡± Terran said with a smile. He put his clawed hand on Pisk¡¯s shoulder and led him away from the throne. ¡°And two of the leaders are in agreement: guns it will be. We will arm our men on the day of revolution. Zolin needn¡¯t know until it''s too late.¡±


    ¡°I like how you think,¡± Pisk said. He got out a second revolver from his rear pocket. It was red and black, with a handle made of metal. ¡°This one¡¯s for you, by the way. Figured it''s a good idea to arm those in charge first.¡±


    ¡°I do not need it,¡± Terran said. ¡°I am Gifted. My claws suffice.¡±


    ¡°That Blackwell, much as I hate her, she uses guns and she¡¯s Gifted,¡± Pisk said. ¡°Look, they''re easy.¡± He pulled out his gun, aimed at the wall. ¡°Bang! Sap¡¯s dead. Ain¡¯t even gotta move a muscle.¡±


    ¡°I cannot accept.¡±


    ¡°Just try it.¡± Pisk shoved the gun into Terran¡¯s hand. It was heavier than he thought it would be. The grip was awkward to hold. Pisk explained, ¡°You load the bullet¡¯s into that side chamber there. Then you aim. And shoot. Like this.¡± Pisk lifted his arm out, then there was a click. ¡°See?¡±


    Terran mimicked the motion. It was slower.


    ¡°Not bad,¡± Pisk said. ¡°Try like this.¡± They attempted again. Then again. And again. Each time Terran got faster, but he was still slower than Pisk on the trigger. The motion was simple, but there was a lot of elegance behind it. The right finesse of the wrist, the correct movement of fingers. It was especially difficult for Terran since his body protested such refined movement.


    ¡°We need ya out here.¡±


    Click!


    A man stood in the doorway. Terran had aimed his gun for his heart. Pisk whistled. ¡°Good thing I didn¡¯t load ¡®em. That could¡¯ve been bad. Real bad. I can take it off your hands if you¡¯d like.¡±


    Terran lowered his arm. ¡°No, I like it.¡±


    The man was pale. He trembled. ¡°Zolin wants you outside.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡± Terran handed the gun to Pisk. Zolin would disapprove of him having it. He had nowhere else to put it and certainly didn¡¯t trust any of the others enough to leave it out in the open. Perhaps Terran could get a holster in the future. It would have to be a custom one, lest he ruin his aesthetic. But the holster, and the gun, could work wonders on the battlefield.


    They made their way outside. Although Zolin was the one speaking, everyone looked at Terran as they emerged. No one dared say a word, but still they stared. One man had his mouth covered, seeming on the verge of gagging. One firm glare got them focused back on Zolin. The man spoke logistics now. He assigned drivers to warehouses, coordinated schedules, etcetera. Nothing that required a Dark Lord to step in.


    As Zolin spoke, Zan entered with Derik. The blacksmith had Terran¡¯s new bevor. Walking with his head hung low, Derik soon tripped over himself. He recovered before approaching Terran, and did not meet his eye as he lifted the bevor. It was a good fit. No more would the world see Terran¡¯s putrid jaw. Derik began welding the bevor to the upper helmet. Though it was only fusing with metal, the heat took a great toll on his flesh too. Sparks flew into Terran¡¯s mouth. His jaw burned as if it were in a volcano, but Terran bit his burning lip and kept quiet. The smell of burnt meat spread through the room. Terran¡¯s own flesh was cooking.


    People stared. Even Zolin and Pisk. Silence to the room, save for the dripping of distant water. Many stepped away. Not just the recruits. As if the others didn¡¯t know how Terran repaired himself. Such an embarrassment, being stared at like this. And Terran couldn¡¯t even yell ¡°get on with it¡± because his cheeks burned so. After a minute, Zolin resumed giving everyone their jobs for the day. Though he¡¯d have to speak twice when addressing a distracted man. (Of which there were many.) Derik was soon finished. Terran¡¯s mouth was aglow, coating the dim sewers in an orange hue. But the bevor was on, and tight too. The Blacksmith had impressed yet again!


    Once done, Derik tried to leave but Terran held him back. The man stood upright, cringing. ¡°Hold on.¡± Terran said, voice echoing far more due to his new bevor. Speaking felt like spitting lava, but this next statement needed saying. ¡°By my count, we have thirty-seven men here, including me. Is that correct?¡±


    Zolin nodded.


    ¡°Yet you¡¯ve assigned three recruiters, four silencers, one scientist, one grand planner, one undercover agent, one blacksmith, five drivers, ten material harvesters, six mechanics and six bomb site inspectors.¡± Terran marched to the center of the room, still holding Derik by his shirt. The blacksmith did not protest. ¡°That totals thirty-eight. We¡¯re one man over.¡±


    Zolin blinked. He seemed surprised that Terran had been paying attention. ¡°That is right,¡± he scratched his head. ¡°Guess someone¡¯s gonna need to pull double duty then.¡±


    ¡°How ¡®bout the blacksmith?¡± Pisk said, coming close. He jabbed at Derik¡¯s side. The finicky blacksmith yelped in a very high pitch. Pisk snickered, ¡°Guy¡¯s already done his job for the day. He could be one of the drivers.¡±


    ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t know.¡± Derik backed away from Terran, separating himself from the group. ¡°I can¡¯t do anything. I have¡­ plans.¡±


    Terran snorted. ¡°What plans?¡±


    The wimp recoiled back, receding into comforting darkness. He was stopped by a wall. Terran approached, each step making the backsmith flinch. ¡°We all make sacrifices for this movement,¡± Terran said. ¡°It¡¯s how we show our dedication. If your plans are of true importance, reveal them and we¡¯ll leave you to them. But otherwise, you must stand with us.¡±


    This was mere talk. Derik did not care for this movement, Terran knew. He was a rather unambitious person. Most likely, his plan was a simple date with his simple girlfriend. A date Derik would miss tonight. Such coercion was necessary. Terran had to remind Derik of who owned him. That Derik was but a servant, who could be called up at any moment no matter the inconvenience. If Derik refused, that would mean revealing Ema to this rabble. He would not, Terran knew.


    Derik stammered in place, choking over words. His eyes were moist. It looked like the oaf may start crying. That was not the culmination, thankfully, and instead Derik gave a defeated sigh. ¡°Fine,¡± he said at last. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡±

 Chapter 11

    The warehouse was on the opposite side of the city. It was one amongst many, with no distinguishing features to its drab cinder block appearance. They ordered Derik to bring the van in through the side alley. He thought it a dumb idea ¡ª there was no way it would fit ¡ª but he kept silent, seeing as misspeaking could spell his doom. The sun still set, but it was dark as night. Little light got into the alleyway, and the van was roofed. The leader Zolin was seated in shotgun, humming a rock tune. He seemed nice enough but there was no telling when he could snap. No sane man would follow that demon willingly. Derik kept his eyes on the road. If they did this right, he could still meet Ema by seven. No one had to know about her.


    ¡°Stop here,¡± Pisk hissed from the back. Derik slammed the break. The van jolted to a stop. Pisk opened the trunk and crawled out through it. ¡°I¡¯m gonna chat it up with Monova. Wait here.¡±


    He left, coughing from the exhaust as he receded into darkness. Derik looked at the dashboard clock. 6:40. Ten minutes. He could still make it to order early if this job went quick. Then again, going straight to Ema after this may not have been a good idea since these men could trail him. But did that even matter? They already knew where he lived.


    Derik sighed. It was a waiting game now. He should not focus on what he couldn¡¯t change. Closing his eyes, Derik imagined himself working in his metal shop. The rhythmic clangs of metal. The warm satisfaction of watching something he designed being melded into place. Yet Terran was there. The demon loomed over him, holding chains.


    ¡°You okay?¡± Zolin asked. His tone was gentle and warm. His eyes were soft. It seemed his concern was genuine.


    ¡°What,¡± Derik said. ¡°Oh, uhm, yeah.¡± His leg bounced. Each bounce flared his bad ankle, which had been doing fine until now. Derik could not stop the twitching, even if the leg aches as it bounced up and down. It was already 6:46. Just what was taking Pisk so long? He said he was talking with someone. Hopefully it was just actual regular talking, and not code for something horrible¡­ whatever that would be. Torture, maybe murder. These were a demon¡¯s followers. He wouldn¡¯t put it past them.


    ¡°Ya keep lookin¡¯ at the time.¡± Zolin said. ¡°You have somewhere to be?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m meeting my girlfriend after.¡± Derik covered his mouth before he could blab further. Zolin had been so nonchalant in speaking, that Derik had briefly forgotten about this horrible situation. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! Zolin knew about Ema. The entire Order now had Terran¡¯s same leverage. They could drag her into this now. If Zolin knew that, he hid it well behind a casual smile. ¡°She why you here?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Derik said. It was the truth, even if it wasn¡¯t for the reason Zolin thought.


    ¡°I¡¯m here for my sons,¡± Zolin said. He leaned back in his seat, and groaned. ¡°Nice boys. Twins. Ten each. Shame they gotta live in a one-room apartment with twelve others. But this revolution¡¯s gonna change all that. Soon, we¡¯ll all have our own space. They can go to school. It¡¯ll be nice.¡±


    Derik thought of his apartment, and all the space he had. Two stories. Bathroom and bedroom. All for one. Now he was uncomfortable for a different reason. Zolin continued, ¡°I suppose that¡¯s why we¡¯re all doing this, for others. Yeah, this is a revolution for others. For the people. Sounds a lot better than an order.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, Revolt of the People. I¡¯ll run it through our next meeting.¡± Derik¡¯s nerves must have been showing because Zolin frowned. ¡°Revolt too strong? I mean, that¡¯s what it is. Things can¡¯t keep going like they are, you know?¡±


    Maybe so, but that doesn¡¯t justify terrorism. Derik wanted to say this, but didn¡¯t. He wouldn¡¯t dare. He glanced back to the darkened haze where Pisk had yet to return from. ¡°What about him?¡±


    ¡°Pisk?¡± Zolin asked. He chuckled. ¡°Guy¡¯s a character all right.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Derik said, looking down. ¡°You could say that¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be too harsh on him,¡± Zolin said, voice now stern. ¡°The kid¡¯s got his issues, don¡¯t get me wrong. But that ain¡¯t his fault. It¡¯s ¡®cause of where he was raised.¡± He said that as if it let Pisk off the hook for everything. As if his talk on violence and guns (which Derik had heard much about) was merely that. Derik had no idea what to think. Perhaps changing subjects was best.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± Derik said. ¡°I mean, you fought in the war.¡± It wasn¡¯t an assumption. Zolin looked to be in his early fifties, and was decently healthy for his age. Of course he fought in the war.


    ¡°Aye.¡±


    ¡°Then you are getting stimulus checks, right?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the theory,¡± Zolin said. ¡°But those greedy pigs wouldn¡¯t give ¡®em up. And believe me, I fought. More ways than one. I was owed a huge sum after serving in a scout balloon during Bloody Seas. I survived, even when all ¡®em Blackwells died. Yet did I get my money? Course not. Kareva got it. ¡®Cause grieving is harder when ya can cry into your damn money stacks.¡± He clenched his fist, and his hair stood on end. The man seemed poised to hit something when¡­


    ¡°Okay, we¡¯re ready.¡± Pisk called from the back. Zolin opened the side door. The door scraped the brick wall, so the portly man had to awkwardly slither out. If Derik weren¡¯t shaking like mad, he may have found some escape in this funny sight.


    Both Pisk and Zolin faded from view. It was 6:52. So much for entering early to order dinner for Ema. But it was okay. Diners served food fast. They served shakes too. He¡¯d show at seven, then they could have their quick dinner date. Pisk and Zolin returned with an oil drum, sloshing with liquid. It was 6:53. They came back with another. It was 6:54. Five drums were loaded in total. It was now 6:58. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Zolin sat back in the shotgun. Pisk sat in the back, lounging against an oil drum. Not the smartest move, seeing as the contents could easily spill on him if they hit a big enough bump. A twisted part of Derik silently hoped for that. ¡°Got the powder stuff,¡± Zolin said. ¡°Now we just need to drop it off by the sewer entrance, then return the car to the lot.¡±


    Derik said, ¡°This isn¡¯t your car?¡±


    ¡°¡®Course not,¡± Pisk yelled from the back. ¡°If we were loaded, we wouldn¡¯t be doin¡¯ this.¡±


    Derik nodded. That was obvious. Hopefully it was just from a rental. Maybe it was. The car had just been by a lot, and Zolin had the keys on him. Still, there was doubt. But it had better be a rental, by the gods. The last thing Derik needed was to become an associate in another crime. He didn¡¯t even care about that, strange as it was to admit. Right now, he wanted to reach Ema. ¡°How long ¡®til we¡¯re done?¡±


    ¡°Half an hour,¡± Zolin said. ¡°But we can take up the rest if you gotta meet your girl. How about we drop you off?¡±


    ¡°Oooohhh,¡± Pisk said. ¡°Fun. What are you lovebirds doing?¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Derik said. ¡°Nothing. I''ll finish this up first.¡± He cursed himself. Why did he say that? Was he that scared of speaking out? They


    ¡°You sure?¡± Zolin asked. ¡°It ain¡¯t a big deal. The worst part¡¯s done now. We have no need for a getaway driver anymore.¡± Getaway driver. The word stung Derik, emphasizing his role in all this. He truly was a criminal.


    ¡°Okay,¡± Derik said. He then breathed deeply, gripping his hands about the wheel. He ignored the time as he slowly built up his courage. This next statement was risky, but it needed saying. He had to get to the date. ¡°Can I drop myself off then?¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± Zolin said. ¡°I don¡¯t see a problem with it.¡±


    They drove out of the darkened alleyway, and towards the decrepit streets of the surrounding neighborhood. Zolin turned on the radio. The radio version of Smique and Mirrors played, though Derik didn¡¯t pay much heed to it. The instant they were on the brighter side of town, Derik pulled over. ¡°Why are you stopping here?¡± Pisk asked. ¡°There ain¡¯t a restaurant anywhere near here!¡±


    ¡°Man¡¯s got his reasons,¡± Zolin said, dismissing his concern with a wave of his hand. He got out and spoke as he rounded the car. ¡°Don¡¯t harp on him for it. We¡¯ll see you at the next meeting.¡±


    ¡°Uh, yeah,¡± Derik said. The next meeting. That would loom over him the entire night. Try as he might, he couldn¡¯t escape the Order. Not fully anyhow. No matter what, Terran would have his way. Because that¡¯s what this has been about. Derik hadn¡¯t been needed there. Terran just wanted him to suffer¡­


    Derik waved the two off. They waved back, before speeding off into the distance. And that was it. Derik let out a long sigh of relief. The job was done, and not once had they threatened him. Zolin was nice. Even Pisk had seemed¡­ strangely normal. Though that changed little. These people were terrorists. They¡¯re plans would kill people. Derik knew this. He could not grow sympathetic.


    A nearby clock showed the time. It was 7:15! The brief relief evaporated. Breaking into a sprint, Derik clenched his fists to hide his fear.  He¡¯d be there late. No way could they have dinner. Maybe coffee. But she¡¯d be mad. Oh so mad. He¡¯d need to act well. No, he¡¯d need to be perfect. And he had to be there quick!


    Derik turned the corner into a busy street filled with workers rushing home from work. The blacksmith fought his way through the crowd, pushing people aside. He ran across the street. A honking car nearly crashed into him but Derik ignored that too as he dove into another crowd. Nothing mattered now. Not even his own safety. All that mattered was getting there soon. Terran wouldn¡¯t ruin his day. His or Ema¡¯s.


    At last he came upon the diner. It was packed with people. Dayton¡¯s greatest hits blared from the jukebox. People were dancing, twirling about, yet Ema was nowhere to be seen amongst these faces. Derik pushed his way through, which was easy due to his broad physique. He checked every table. But nothing¡­


    It was 7:19. She should have been here. A defeated Derik meandered over to a waitress. ¡°Excuse me, miss?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m supposed to meet someone,¡± Derik said, stepping closer. ¡°She¡¯s about a foot shorter than me. Blonde hair. Green eyes. Most pretty face you¡¯ve ever seen. But I can¡¯t see her anywhere. Do you know if you have seated her?¡±


    The waitress scratched her chin with her pen. ¡°Think I did see someone like that, now that you mention it. Nice gal. Just missed her. Walked out about two minutes ago. Poor dear. Were you supposed to meet her?¡±.


    There was malice in the waitress¡¯ voice. Ema had been hurt because of him. He¡¯d ditched her to do criminal acts. Derik mumbeled a thank you, then made his way outside. He tried to spot Ema amongst the nearby people, but there was no one in the sea of cars and motorcycles. Her news building was nearby, but showing there would make things worse. She wouldn¡¯t want this drama brought into work.


    So Derik went home. The downpour of smoke made him cough. He wheezed due to his great effort running, and only now did his legs ache under their prior strain. But these pains were nothing compared to the guilt weighing him down. Ema¡¯s night had been ruined. Derik had aided Terran in a terrible plot. Worse yet, it didn¡¯t have to be this way. If he had asked Zolin, he may have been able to get off. The thought never even crossed his mind. Fear had kept Derik in check. But asking would have worked. Zolin had let him off early, and he¡¯d get his much needed reprieve. Things would only go worse from here, he knew. Derik would never be done. More sacrifices would be demanded.


    How long until he had gone too far? Or had he crossed that point already? Derik didn¡¯t know. Nothing seemed certain, except for one thing. Even from miles away, that demon dominated over his life. And he would still dominate, for as long as Derik let him. There was nothing he could do, lest he wished to risk it all. But Derik wasn¡¯t that kind of person. And Terran would never be like Zolin. There may be some small measures he could take,


    Unless¡­there may be something. Something small, but if given time, it could prove beneficial. If he played his cards right, that horrible beast would never know. Yet Derik knew he wouldn¡¯t do it. He couldn¡¯t, for the sake of all he held dear.


    Despite everything, Derik remained unsure.