NOVEL NEXT Shadowy Days Ahead
Shadowy Days Ahead
There was something in the air the next day, an electric tension settled over every shoulder. No one said it outright, but everyone knew the recent violence could only have one answer: war. If we weren't technically at war already, we were certainly on the very brink of it and everyone had an inkling about it.
Personally, I was thrilled! Also terrified, to be sure; I was well aware how dangerous and unpredictable open conflict can be… but it was also chalkful of opportunity. Killing is the only path to power I know of in this world, and a war provides plenty of opportunities for murder. A gang war even felt like an almost decent way to cut my teeth without facing quite as much horrible chaos as an open war between nation states.
That opportunity didn't make the air any less tense.
I ate a quick breakfast, barely exchanging a couple words with my fellow orange sashed killers, then didn't hesitate to rush straight to the wide array of custom gyms that had been carved out of abandoned physical therapy rooms. I didn't count the hours I spent in there, trying to refine my existing skills and mobility (mostly by bouncing off the walls like a jumping spider on meth, slashing and stabbing a training dummy from every which way as I tried to refine my fighting style), though I was pleased to be able to feel the effects of my Endurance outside near death experiences when I was barely breathing hard after multiple hours of non-stop exercise.
Of course, the sound of slow clapping coming from a corner I could have sworn wasn't so shadowy when I walked in (not that said shadows did anything to block my sight) only mildly surprised me this time. Mostly, because this wasn't Rokharth, and unlike him this cloaked man wasn't able to so easily hide from my Paranoia; his dramatic entrance was spoiled somewhat when I saw him slowly phasing up out of the shadows a few minutes before he made his presence known. I hit him with Observe before he'd fully emerged, continuing to bounce around as if I hadn't noticed him.
Obiah Zhenrulk
Main Title: Walking Silhouette
Level: 73
Hp: 2,876/2,876
Sp: 5,343/5,346
Mp: 12,345/12,400
Main Trait: Cast In Shadow: He has immersed himself in shadows that have never tasted light's burning touch for so long they've clung on to him, draping him in eternal darkness wherever he goes.
Crystal blue eyes seemed to almost glow out from skin nearly as dark as the midnight robes that swallowed his form. He was smiling, sharp and slightly red-tinted teeth gleaming behind lavender lips, reflecting the light of the candles in the room with the polished gleam only those uncommonly dedicated to oral hygiene can achieve; considering his main trait, that shine had to be a deliberate effort as well, perhaps displaying a touch of vanity. "Ah, it's always a delight to see a dedicated pupae so eager to burst from their shell!" His voice carried a strange accent (though, I suppose I didn't know nearly enough about this world to say what was and wasn't strange just yet), something I'd almost call an Irish brogue if not for the undertow of a guttural warble deep in his throat.
He gave me a shallow but extravagant bow, sweeping a long and puffy sleeve out to the side as he dipped his head. His robes shifted like smoke around him as he stepped further into the center of the room, "Lord Rokharth has instructed me to train a new cultivator of the shadows, but I see now why he told me so little of who I'd be teaching. I have seen and slain many of your kind, yet never before have I observed any strain of rattan with anything approaching such dedication to… anything!"
He hummed softly to himself, stepping into the center of the room (or as much as he could with a now straw-leaking dummy propped up in the exact center). His shining eyes washed over me with a startling intensity, seeming to look at something deeper than my flesh as he slowly walked a circle around me. I didn't bother following him with my eyes, knowing that if he proved able to deceive my Paranoia my flies would notice his attack.
The living silhouette hummed as he paused behind me, most likely for dramatic effect if I had to guess. "You are positively saturated in darkness, little one." The nickname annoyed me only slightly, I was well aware how small I was and had… accepted it. "I'm surprised you're alive, to be honest."
I raised an eyebrow, turning around to face him. His smile widened, exposing more of his red and glittering, triangular teeth. "Surprised, are you? That doesn't surprise me; you have every hallmark of an untrained amateur surviving off pure talent, or luck." There was an amused glint in his eyes, but his voice carried an impressed note.
I nodded, taking the statement for what it was. "Mm, that's probably because that's exactly what I am." I rolled my head from side to side aimlessly, "I used the rune of darkness to cover an escape, and it… I think it tried to consume my mind, maybe my soul." I saw no reason to lie, any plan to try to trick him into thinking I hadn't almost killed myself was a sunken ship by now, and probably wouldn't benefit me.
He nodded, "You would be far from the first to lose themself to their element, though surviving such an experience is considerably more rare." He flicked his wrist, and from the depths of his voluminous sleeve came a tome bound in leather that looked just a touch too much like his own skin, "Lord Rokharth wishes you to be instructed on at least some of the mysteries of attuning oneself to their element without being overcome, so we shall begin at once."
So saying, he threw the book at me, quite literally.
Wizened but well cared for lips sipped fragrant red wine from a golden chalice, closed eyes shifting about as their owner savored the bouquet of flavours for a moment before swallowing. With a hum of appreciation, the old man finally opened cerulean eyes that settled immediately upon a bound and bloody form kneeling before him.
"Ah, my dear friend, you always bring me such interesting pieces whenever you go out." He hummed softly to himself as the thing thinly masqueraded as a butler bowed extravagantly, looking over the badly wounded and remarkably mutated man. "Not the prettiest little birdy you've ever brought me, but certainly a fascinating one."
He swirled the fluid in his goblet, finally addressing the bound man directly, "Now, little crow, why don't you tell me what you've been up to? People generally find it impolite to go setting fires in other people's backyards, you know."
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Despite the gaping wound on the rag-clad man's stomach, he managed to draw enough breath to speak, even if every word sent a thin spray of blood into the air before him. "Th-he Ord-der of the Bu-urning Fe-fea… Feather! …goes whe-rever the B-Blight is found!" His voice cracked and twisted into something deep and inhuman randomly as he spoke, making his words nearly incomprehensible when combined with the wet gurgling that suffused every syllable.
A manicured blonde eyebrow rose in something almost like concern, "Oh, you imply you found the evidence of the dissolver in my merry little kingdom?"
Blood dripped between broken teeth as chapped and swollen lips spread into a dark smile. "Evide-ence? The streets swar-rmed with the inf-fected, the sewe-ers and tun-nnels were dripping with liqu-uid Blight, and I f-found a Blighthulk wielding an aetherium dagger… but we bo-oth know I'd not be he-re to te-ell about it if even a drop remained."
A faint smile spread across the old man's face, "Hmm, your thoroughness has put you in quite the pickle then, my dear little bird." He took a deep draw of his wine, his bright blue eyes staring unblinking at the wheezing knight. "How do you propose we verify your claims, then? For all I know you're just an adherent of Hellfire spreading death in the name of its Lord under the guise of a fake Crow outfit." Despite the amused lit to his words, there was the faintest spark of consideration visible in his eyes.
"C-contact my m-master. Ther-re is still Blight i-in the ci-ity, and I-I am not… in any condition to de-eal with it." The dark-eyed mutant's every breath came quick and shallow, even as the inflamed red flesh that had overtaken now sixty percent of his skin slowly crept into his wounds.
Eyes far sharper than the wrinkles around them suggested narrowed, "Where?" His voice was calm as always, but carried a note of undeniable command on a layer beyond mere sound.
The words tumbled out Zildan's mouth almost faster than he could form them, "A-a rat! I saw a rat in the Mad One's la-air th-at I sensed the Blight within… though I vapo-orized tha-at one, I saw a Rattan just be-efore your… butler… ca-aptured me that acted… coherent, despite screaming of infe-ection to my sen-nses."
That, for once, drew a proper reaction from the withered old man, a frown tugging his lips down in a way that twisted his features just a little too much.