Date unknown
Daroth said nothing. It was clear that Jack's true identity had been completely unknown to the one his kind had dubbed "Crusader of Shadow", Draeden Darksky. The man stood in the light of the burning car, apparently deep in thought after the "great revelation" that Daroth had unveiled to him. The infinite stretch of road that was the replicated scene of Draeden's parents' demise was quiet now. There had been the sound of their car burning and the dormant growl of the overturned lorry's engine, but both were gone now, leaving Draeden and Daroth alone in an eerie silence.
The spirit was not concerned by this. But what worried him was Draeden's reaction. He'd expected fireworks, a shout of rage, fists smashing against the rail separating the road's lanes... instead, the former wrestler said nothing. Did nothing. He simply folded his arms and walked away, head bowed. And thus he had stayed.
Having existed as long as he had, Daroth was not one to be easily confused. He had seen a great many things in his time but no matter how much he had learnt, the behaviour of mortals still surprised him on occasion.
He wondered what Draeden was thinking about.
-#-
2nd February 2008
The cold walls of Georgia Mansion felt as though they were closing in on Draeden Darksky as he lay in bed, struggling to get enough sleep for his match in the Viking Wrestling Federation tomorrow.
It was a cold night in Illinois; the ancient house under siege from wind and rain which hammered against the bedroom window as though it truly sought to enter the building. A draught howled along the corridor outside the room, or so Draeden assumed - there were so many bumps in the night here that the wrestler didn't know what was real any more.
To make matters worse, the voices were cursing his name with all their might. The spirits that haunted him, that followed him everywhere he went, would not let him rest if they could help it. Even after enduring their malice for years now, Draeden was still unprepared for what they could throw at him. They were with him all the time. Every foot he'd put wrong, every bad word he'd say in the heat of the moment they would remember and use against him when he was at his weakest, when the poison they spat at him could burn through his skin to reach him at the core.
If only there were some way to get rid of them.
He was a haunted man... all because he had the gall to survive. In China, Draeden was held prisoner by a criminal organisation named Black Widow. They had taken him in after he protected their leader, Ming Xao, in an attack on the restaurant he worked in at the time; an instinctive act of bravery that changed his life forever. It was Draeden's naïvety, ignorance, and martial arts prowess that had saved them. Xao's bodyguards lay dead around him, the assassins bearing down on what Draeden saw as a doomed old man, victim of some blood-thirsty robbers. The gunshots had ceased long enough for Draeden to risk a peek out from his hiding place in the kitchen; one of the fallen's katanas lying within his reach. As the Dark Spirit assassins delivered their leader's message to Xao, Draeden slipped out of the kitchen and snatched up the sword.
His memory of what happened next was little more than a blur. All he knew was that he had launched himself at the killers, his sword cleaving them asunder before Draeden even realised what he was doing.
It was over in the blink of an eye.
Ming Xao owned his own dojo and offered Draeden residence and training in his gratitude.
In hindsight, had Draeden refused the training then he'd have lived a simple life in China. He'd have stayed in Foshan, probably found another job and perhaps one day learnt to be a chef. In amongst the cacophony of voices in the darkness he heard himself laugh softly at what could have been a completely different life. Maybe one day he'd have owned the restaurant himself. An amusing notion.
Hilarious, even.
Instead, Draeden accepted the offer without a moment's hesitation, going immediately with Xao to his compound in the city. By the time he realised that the old man was a crime lord it was too late, though Xao treated him well. On the other hand, Draeden's teacher, Qing, was a cruel man who preferred to discipline his trainees with violence and anger, and would often deprive them of food and water as punishment for their mistakes. After years of suffering under Qing's brutality, Draeden finally retaliated. Qing's answer to his student's disobedience was to challenge him to a fight to the death; a challenge Draeden foolishly accepted... then somehow won.
Being of little use to Ming Xao due to his inexperience, Draeden was punished, sent to what Xao believed would be certain death in the underground fighting arenas his organisation operated.
The things Draeden experienced in the pits would remain with him forever, he knew. The pits were meant to see his end but, incredibly, he survived. Foolhardy gamblers and independent fighters alike would challenge Draeden to fight, only to be carried away dead or dying. Draeden knew not how he managed to endure an entire year in the pit. In the criminal circles Draeden Darksky became a sensation; a defiant student that killed his master, a Western youth that could be slain by no man. Gamblers lost fortunes betting against him for they believed he had to fall eventually, but the day never came. In the pit he upheld a front of indifference to the blood-thirsty crowds that watched him fight. He hid all signs of emotion, gave no answer to the abuse hurled at him nor did he once raise his hand in victory. Instead he carried the burden of guilt upon his head in secret. He didn't want to take lives, even if those he killed were criminals or willing participants to the death-matches. For every man he killed he felt a small part of his humanity was taken from him. He felt the angry spirits of those who'd died with him when he fought and when he rested. The ghosts cursed him, told him he was worthless, that he'd die in his next fight for sure; they tried to convince him to take his own life to answer for what he had done. Told him to impale himself on his own sword, or not to defend himself when attacked.
They were always there - always wailing, whispering or muttering amongst themselves if not to him directly. Always trying everything they could to bring about his downfall; and as Draeden lay in the darkness of Georgia Mansion, his home, desperately trying to sleep, the voices whispered of what would happen to Draeden when he finally died. They spoke of what they'd do to him when they existed on the same plane as one another, and of how his suffering had not even begun. The loudest of these voices was one named Cong-Chao, a particularly violent participant in the Black Widow pit fights.
Fortunately for Draeden the sleeping pills he'd taken were starting to kick in. He'd taken double the usual dosage since his body was developing a tolerance to it. Now he was becoming drowsy, the voices were fading into the roar of the torrential rain.
Even Cong-Chao's.
-#-
13th June 2010
As the door to the rear porch clicked shut behind Anathkash Dakari and Florien D'nesca, the two men observed their surroundings carefully. They were presented with three doors to go through, one to both the left and right and a set of double-doors straight ahead. Through the glass of the double-doors Dakari could see a huge room with a fireplace and two leather-bound chairs. That room alone was bigger than his loft apartment in Albany.
"If these plans are correct," Florien whispered, holding a large fold-creased sheet of paper in front of Dakari, "then the master bedroom should be through the door on the left. If he's in there--"
"Then be quiet?"
Florien scowled as he reached for his gun, motioning for Dakari to open the door. Dakari's own weapon remained in its holster, concealed beneath his jacket, though his dagger found its way into his hand as he readied himself by the door. Florien switched on the tactical light on his pistol and nodded to Dakari, who slowly turned the handle. The door opened silently and Florien walked in, scanning the room for Arthus Andarion. The bed was made and the room itself looked like it was for display only.
"It's empty," Florien grunted. "Makes sense – if you were expecting attempts on your life would you really sleep by the back door?"
"I suppose not."
"According to the plans there are more bedrooms upstairs. That's where he'll probably be."
With that, Florien crept out of the room, eyes on the floor plans again. This was not going how Dakari had expected. On one hand he was glad to have Florien's help but it didn't make him feel any better about what he was doing. Neutralising evil or not, murder was not in his heart. It was hard to kill a man he didn't even know, had never even heard of... but the assassin who killed Benedict Ravion? If only Dakari knew who he was, or at least where, then things might be different. If he found that Andarion was the one to have killed his surrogate father then this hunt would be fuelled by revenge and not some stupid prophecy, therefore with considerably more enthusiasm.
Even so, this mission was given to him as Mister Ravion's dying wish. That was reason enough to give it his all, though that didn't make it any easier.
Dakari looked at the other man as he pointed his gun at the plans, deciding what to do next. Florien was like a younger brother to him, though he was a bit of an idiot, that much was true, he wasn't stupid and neither was Dakari. He knew Florien was here in a most-likely vain attempt to make sure Dakari survived.
"Why don't we split up?" he suggested, knowing full-well that Florien would be opposed to this. He hoped to find and slay Andarion by himself, as originally intended.
"No way - that's insane," Florien whispered. "We should stick together until we kill the motherfucker. Then, once we're done, we go our separate ways for a while. Lay low. Maybe even get out of the country."
Dakari sighed. "We'll cover more ground that way. This house is huge."
"No."
"Is there even anyone else here?"
"I don't think so."
"Then what's the problem? We're both armed and awake, Andarion won't even see us coming. We should split up."
"Fine. You stay down here and make sure he's not having a midnight snack or something. Kitchen's that way," the taller man hissed, pointing to the door opposite the bedroom. "Keep an eye on the front door too, in case he makes a run for it."
Scratching his beard, Dakari decided this was the best he was going to get. "Alright."
"Be careful! This place is like a maze. And watch your back!"
"I will."
With that, Florien folded his plans and stuffed them into his coat pocket before he went through the double-doors, disappearing in the darkness of the mansion.
-#-
2nd February 2008
When Draeden Darksky opened his eyes he was not quite prepared for what he saw. Stretching out before him was a long, stone corridor with iron torches jutting out from the wall at regular intervals. He couldn't make out what lay at the end, he couldn't see that far. Behind him was a metal door, which he soon found to be locked. This left only the corridor as the path ahead.
So he walked.
His bare feet slapped on the flagstones as he made his way along the corridor, the only sound aside from the crackling of the torches as they burned. He thought he was going to be sick, though he didn't know why. It felt like motion sickness but he couldn't even remember the drive here. He wished he could remember how he arrived; the last thing he remembered was... walking in through the door that was now locked. But before that? He just couldn't remember, no matter how hard he tried to think back.
A cold draught washed over him, sending a chill through his body. He was only wearing black track pants and the corridor was so cold he could see his breath in front of him. Rubbing his arms as he walked to generate some heat, Draeden hurried onward. The corridor seemed to go on forever, and wasn't getting any warmer either. His steps were uneven and awkward, his legs stiff and sore despite having been walking for only a relatively short time. He tugged one of the torches free from its fitting on the wall and held it close while he walked in an effort to warm himself further.
Then the torches stopped, he noticed. There were no more mounted on the walls as he walked on, descending into pitch darkness with only the torch in his hands to light the way. Up ahead he heard a faint scratching sound, but as yet could not see what was making the noise.
He pressed on in silence, walking carefully to avoid making noise, more to aid in listening to the scratching.
What IS that?
As he got closer the sound became louder and louder, each scratching noise preceded by a soft thump that he didn't hear before. Draeden's walk was reduced to a careful shuffle as the floor was slick with water, making the smooth flagstones treacherously slippery. He detected the scent of iron in the air over the smell of the burning torch in his hand, all the while the thumping and scratching became louder and louder.
The young man gasped in surprise as he stubbed his toe on something cold, soft and unseen at his feet. He lowered the torch to see what it was but a loud BANG! from in front of him almost made him slip as he recoiled from it. He raised the torch as high as he could reach, the yellow glow reaching something up ahead...
Draeden squinted at the darkness as he continued carefully, one step at a time, eyes dead ahead. Something was moving at the edge of the light, the source of the noise, for sure.
His next step almost saw him fall off balance as his foot clipped something on the floor as he stepped over it, swearing under his breath at the unexpected object lurking in the darkness.
The scratching stopped.
Draeden regained his balance and raised the torch again. The thing that was moving had stopped moving, and so did Draeden. His heart pounding in his chest seemed to become louder than the sound of the torch burning above him. As he leaned forward to see better he heard a low rumble.
A growl.
"Oh shit," he whispered.
He looked over his shoulder to see if he could back away from the growling thing in the shadows but it was still too dark to see. As he looked ahead again the source of the sound had moved into the torchlight. It looked like a man, bony but lithe, crouching low and using his hands to assist his movement. He was naked, glaring furiously at Draeden with inhuman, black eyes; his ears elongated and pointed. The man bared his teeth, snarling at Draeden, who backed away as carefully as he could, trying not to slip on the wet floor. As he moved away, the strange man advanced. His skin was pale and covered in wounds that looked fresh.
"Uh - hello?"
The man roared in answer, his lower jaw splitting in half down the centre to reveal rows of long, jagged teeth and a thin, forked tongue falling between the jaw sections only to withdraw as the gaping maw snapped shut. Draeden's own jaw dropped as his retreat became more panicked. He tried to turn away and run but his feet slipped from beneath him. When he hit the ground his face smashed against the stone floor, chest landing on something large and firm, winding him; the torch falling from his grip, forgotten as he tried to get up. Another primal roar escaped from the creature before it launched itself at him, landing at his back. Draeden turned over in time to see it bearing down on him, mouth agape as it closed in on his throat.
Draeden's hand lashed out and gripped its neck, the creature screaming in frustration, lashing out at him with a clawed hand that slashed four parallel wounds across his chest. Draeden retaliated by throwing a wild punch at the thing's face with his free hand, smashing into its eye. He threw another that glanced across the side of its face, having no effect on the howling monster at all. It forced all of its weight down on Draeden, clawing him again and tearing into his chest and stomach. He couldn't hold it off like this for much longer, the searing pain in his torso sapping what little strength he'd started with. Then, he suddenly realised...
The torch!
His free hand reached out for the source of the light, finding nothing as he blindly searched the ground by his head while the creature snapped at him ferociously. After what felt like forever, Draeden's hand finally closed around the torch and he stabbed the flaming end into his attacker's face. It squealed in pain and jerked back, slipping on the wet floor and crashing into the wall to the side.
Draeden scrambled to his feet and threw himself at the thing, weapon ablaze in his hand. He clubbed it across the face with the burning end again and again as clawed hands raked his back in desperation. He dropped the torch and began to rain punches on the creature as it weakened, howling and screaming in agony. He felt the crack of breaking bone as the thing's eye socket yielded to his fury. His victim fell still, though Draeden slammed his fist into the bloody mess that was once the humanoid beast's face a few more times before falling back and pushing himself against the opposite wall.
It was dead.
Definitely.
Draeden had never beaten anyone -anything- to death before.
Oh shit... oh shit... oh shit...
He couldn't control his breathing. Each gasp was like choking down on nothingness, as if there were no oxygen left in the air to breathe. As he tried to calm himself down he realised he was sitting in a pool of blood - the entire floor was soaked in it. The thing he'd landed on when he fell was the corpse of another of those things he'd just killed.
Oh shit...
His hands were covered in blood from... everything. Everything was drenched in it – the floor, the walls, himself. Just as he began to collect his thoughts he saw a door at the end of the corridor slowly open, filling the corridor itself with torchlight from the room beyond and further revealing the carnage Draeden sat in. The dark end of the corridor was littered with the corpses of those things. Dozens of hairless grey bodies lay slain, dismembered and shredded in a sea of gore.
Too terrified to be disgusted, Draeden picked himself up, trying not to touch anything for fear of getting yet more blood on himself. He used the wall to keep his balance as he edged towards the open door, the light too bright to see inside clearly.
Finally he set foot inside the room, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the well-lit room. A slam! from behind almost had Draeden jump out of his skin, the door behind him now closed. In front was a wooden desk, the chair tucked underneath with a man standing behind it, his back to Draeden.
The stranger was armoured. Draeden saw black chainmail between matching steel pauldrons. His arms were folded in front of him and Draeden could see the hilts of two swords sticking out at his waist.
Shit.
Draeden watched carefully as the soldier turned around, a gauntleted hand brushing a strand of long, blood-red hair away from his weathered, unshaven face. His eyes were completely white, though Draeden felt them fall upon him as he was appraised by this peculiar man. On his chest was an insignia, a red ram's skull on a black background...
"Who are you?" Draeden asked in a shaking voice.
"You are not dreaming, by the way," he said in a low voice, ignoring the question. He laughed softly. "Well, not quite."
"What do you mean? Who are you?"
The stranger grinned. "My name is Maeron Mentari. Welcome to Ayreon, Draeden."
-#-
Date unknown
"Draeden," Daroth repeated carefully, unsure of how to approach him.
The man looked up, snapping out of the depths of his thoughts. "What?" he snarled.
"I am sorry."
"You should have told me about Mentari sooner."
The skeletal apparition nodded. "I know. I feared there was too much for you to learn at once," he said.
"What else haven't you told me?" Draeden demanded, turning on Daroth and folding his arms.
The spirit looked uneasy. "Well..."
To be continued.
Murderer, part eleven: As it is Written
13th June, 2010
As the trees parted, the night sky emerged and Anathkash Dakari was awash with moonlight, eyes squinting in the sudden bright light.
The approach he'd taken was a rear access road to the country mansion he'd been sent to, nestled deep within the woods south of Walton in New York state. The road, little more than an overgrown footpath, was a massive detour; it would have taken Dakari only minutes to reach the stately home via the front entrance, though that was clearly out of the question.
Discretion was important. There could be no interruption to what happened tonight. No witnesses. There would be no forgiveness of Dakari for what he would do tonight; no-one could possibly understand and he'd never try to explain anyway.
Some things just needed to be done.
-#-
22nd May, 2010
Shyana told Dakari everything. So much so that she completely erased any and all doubts he might have had about her. He couldn't deny her talents, of course; she had already proven herself as a more-than-capable psychic... but now? Shyana knew more about Arthus Andarion and the Crimson Legion than he suspected even Mister Ravion did, and his knowledge of the "otherworldly" (as he called it) was vast.
So Dakari asked about Arthus Andarion and the information Shyana provided him with was chilling to say the least.
Andarion was part of the vanguard sent by the Crimson Legion to prevent any interference to Legion business from what she'd described as "certain parties," which Dakari suspected meant Mister Ravion, Mister Nihilus and anyone else who had a hand in stopping them. There were others but there whereabouts had been tracked as far as Foshan, China, then lost completely. Shyana said that the common belief was that they were dead - each and every one of them... But someone was still co-ordinating the Crimson Legion's movements and that had to be Andarion.
Shyana had reeled off a list of known Legionnaires' names; Corvus Valarian, Rhodri Caladan, Devron Anduji, Maeron Mentari, and others... but Dakari recognised none of them.
"Prob'ly for the best," she'd said. "The less you know, the less desperate they'll be to kill you, love."
Dakari didn't like his chances one bit. This advance warrior of the Legion could probably kill him to start with. Even if he were to succeed and escape alive he'd likely be hunted down by whoever was left anyway, regardless of how much he knew. The way Shyana had said "less desperate" only suggested that they intended to kill him at the first opportunity anyway.
Grim.
In the end, Shyana gave Dakari everything he needed, fear included. Fear brought Dakari down to earth, grounded him from the anger that had fuelled his journey thus far. By no means did rage control his actions, though it served as a constant reminder that he would avenge Benedict Ravion's death once he had carried out out his final wishes. Killing Arthus Andarion.
-#-
Date unknown
"Well... you told him," came a familiar voice from behind.
Draeden Darksky slowly turned around to face Daroth, the skeletal figure simply staring back at him without any hint of emotion. Draeden returned the expression, his keen eyes piercing the darkness beyond the circle of light of the burning car far behind him. The cold road beneath his feet stretched on forever, once again he found himself trapped in a strange world. How far must he walk this time before he reaches the end?
He sighed. "Was what he said true?"
A breeze whipped at Daroth's tattered robes, making the apparition himself seem even less animate, like a model skeleton with rags thrown on. "Regarding your failure? Only if you choose to believe it. You weren't brought here to fight Anathkash Dakari, that much is for sure."
"Anathkash Dakari? You mean 'The Author'?" demanded Draeden.
A soft laugh escaped Daroth.
"What's funny?"
"Ah, I beg forgiveness for my cruelty. I mean no ill will by my mirth, but must admit to finding amusement in this... situation. The most accurate name for this man you despise so much is Anathkash Darksky."
"Darksky?!"
"Yes. Duriel spoke the truth when he described your family's fate. Mother and father died, but infant and unborn sons both survived."
"The Author is my brother? And he was destined to kill me?"
"Hmm, I never did fully explain your presence here," Daroth admitted, rubbing at the space where his nose should have been. Force of habit. "Your spirit is detached from your body, true. Your soul now rests in a... facet of the afterlife. Another plane of existence."
"You already told me that."
"Indeed. Do you not find it unusual that Jack hasn't joined you here? If Jack was an additional personality existing in your head then he'd be in your head here, too."
"What are you saying? That the voice in my head I'd been arguing with for nearly two fucking monthswasn't me going insane?"
"Quite the contrary. Jack's intrusion was to cause your insanity. Or death, whichever you submitted to first," said Daroth, staring into the distance. "He came quite close to success, I understand. But he's still in your head, Draeden. Just not your head here."
Draeden was astounded. "And you couldn't have told me this earlier, because..?"
"I didn't believe it important at the time. You had things to do."
"Had things to do? So what's changed?"
The spirit turned his head to face Draeden, who felt his gaze despite the hollow eye sockets. "First you needed to get here. Now the pawns are moving into place. Now you are waiting."
"For what?"
Daroth shrugged. A peculiar sight, a skeleton shrugging. It reminded Draeden of tossing rice in a frying pan. A mental image he quickly dismissed.
"You don't even know?"
"A more appropriate statement would be 'even I don't know.'"
"Don't be so fucking pedantic," Draeden growled, turning back to the burning car and folding his arms, fuming with frustration at his guide's terrible judgement.
Daroth said nothing for a few moments. "We wait and see what your brother does next."
It was Draeden's turn for silence. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He couldn't believe that Daroth hadn't bothered to tell him that his mind had been infiltrated by a malevolent spirit posing as a mental disorder with the intention of convincing him to commit suicide so it could have his body for itself. But then, would he even have believed him? 'Oh, by the way, you're not mad; there was a ghost in your head making you go crazy so you'd hand over control of your mortal body to it. But don't worry about it, it's not important.'
"It may interest you to know Jack's true identity," Daroth offered solemnly.
Draeden looked over his shoulder at Daroth, his face filled with thunder. "You think?!"
-#-
13th June, 2010
From out of nowhere the clouds appeared, bringing with them a torrential rain that obscured Anathkash Dakari's vision even further than the darkness and forestry combined had already achieved. It was as if some celestial force was trying to prevent him from even reaching the mansion, let alone completing his task. Dakari flipped his hood up and soldiered on, the ground beneath him gradually becoming slick with mud, slowing his pace significantly.
On one hand he wished that Just Wrestling hadn't folded, that Jody Monroe hadn't cut her losses and run off with what little money the company had left. This alternative scenario being the case then Dakari would have been in Canada somewhere, hopefully making it third time lucky against Dash Springfield and proving to himself if no-one else that he could beat the man. Twice in a row Springfield had defeated him in what had been described by the media -so he'd been told- as massive upsets, though it looked like he'd never get the chance to repay the favour.
Try as he might, Dakari couldn't shake present business from the forefront of his mind, no matter how much he tried to distract himself. He'd spent so long thinking about it that the mission was ingrained into his brain. The white elephant was killing Arthus Andarion. Truth be told, despite all his own preparation for this day he still felt as if he wasn't ready to do this. He had the weapons, sure; armed with the spectacularly unremarkable dagger Nihilus gave him and a Colt M1911 he'd picked up before he left Albany, Dakari could eliminate Andarion at any range within the house – assuming Andarion didn't see him first.
Which he shouldn't.
At least if Anathkash Dakari were to die then he wouldn't leave anything behind. His writings were worthless to anyone who should find them; so complex was his code that none would likely break it. There was no-one for him to abandon, no-one who depended on him, especially not with the bankruptcy of JUST. Even if his and Jody's relationship was bordering on personal at best, he knew she wouldn't lose any sleep over his disappearance now. Dakari had no pets, no friends, no family and no life to begin with.
Nothing to lose.
The increasingly sludgy path was beginning to drain his strength, the mud closing around his feet and holding him down as if the very Earth sought to swallow him up, to stop his progress. Up ahead he could see lights on the path, an indication that he was getting closer to the mansion and a morale-booster; small though that was, every little helped.
There couldn't have been much further to go, surely.
Finally the trees broke away from the path, which gradually became more paved. The house was there in front of him now, beyond a long swimming pool; none of the lights that he could see were switched on, though there was an eerie glow from the underwater pool lights that illuminated much of the back of the stately home and the raised decked area at the back door.
Dakari's eyes locked on a dark shape moving around by the back door, comfortably strolling to and fro across the decking. A man dressed in a long black coat, who too had his hood up to shelter from the rain, clouds of smoke billowing from his mouth. Dakari could only assume that the man was standing guard, there was no other reason for him being there, besides smoking. Keeping to the treeline, Dakari circled the pool, dagger in hand. The man was completely oblivious to his presence and would likely remain so until it was too late, provided he didn't turn around at the wrong moment. His field of vision would be restricted by the hood, but that didn't matter to Dakari.
He already had his target in sight.
-#-
The cursed rain made keeping watch ten times harder than it should have been. To say that Arthus Andarion expected an attempt on his life would be moot – there were many more who knew of his presence in this world than the Legionnaire would have liked and as such he conducted his activities with the utmost vigilance. Anyone seeking entry would need to do so with care and planning.
He flicked his cigarette at the pool. It fell short, landing in a puddle.
The watcher's boots made no sound on the decking, as they were designed to reduce footfalls for those trained in the ways of stealth. The uneducated might describe him as a ninja, a silent assassin with immeasurable talents in martial arts. He knew of a thousand ways to make a man die in silence and he would certainly not fall victim to some--
The man turned around just in time to lean out of reach of the dagger swung at his face in a horizontal arc, though the roundhouse heel kick to follow cracked him square in the jaw, sending him reeling and crashing into the wooden railing around the deck and then to the floor. Turning over to get up he saw the man descending upon him, the glittering dagger plunging down to perforate his face.
-#-
As Dakari commenced delivery of the killing blow, his victim's hood fell away with barely a moment to spare before being impaled. The knife stabbed harmlessly into the wooden deck beside the downed man's head.
Righting himself and yanking his weapon free, Dakari pushed himself to his feet. "Florien?" he whispered in disbelief.
"Dakari," the man gasped, using the rail to help himself up. "Fancy seeing you here."
"I could say the same. Why are you here?"
Grinning, Florien D'nesca threw his hood back up and straightened his coat. "Same as you, more or less. You never hung around long enough to find out what Benedict said to me in his letter."
"I didn't think, you'd tell me anyway."
"Wouldn't have, at the time. Too angry, or so I'd have you believe."
"You mean at the bar?"
"Yeah," chuckled Florien, placing an arm across Dakari's shoulders. "You had to believe we'd not meet again in order for those watching you to think the same. I figured the best way to do that would be to punch you in the face."
Dakari scowled. "Job well done."
"Yup!"
"To what end?"
"I know why you're here. Benedict explained how this evening would pan out to me long ago. It took me a while to come to terms with it but I am to protect you with my life because for some reasonyou're the only one who can kill Andarion," the taller man said, taking his arm away to shrug dramatically, as was his way. "Don't ask me why, Benedict never explained that."
"How did you know I'd be here tonight? Here and now?"
A sickeningly cheerful smile clung to Florien's face. "You're not the only one who can tell fortunes, you know. This day has been written about for decades. You're about to prove history!"
"Prove history?"
"They already know it's going to happen, Dakari. It's just a case of going in there and doing it. I don't know exactly what's going to happen tonight but it's going to change both of us in ways we can't possibly imagine."
Dakari frowned. "Like from being alive to being dead? That's pretty drastic."
Florien's grin faded. "I sure fucking-- uh, hope not," he complained out loud, quietening down again. "C'mon, we'd better get inside. The camera out here is looping footage but if we make too much noise..."
"If you make too much noise, you mean."
"Whatever. Asshole. Door's unlocked, I got bored waiting for you."
With a long sigh, Anathkash Dakari nodded slowly to Florien. "Then let's get this over with."
-#-
As the trees parted, the night sky emerged and Anathkash Dakari was awash with moonlight, eyes squinting in the sudden bright light.
The approach he'd taken was a rear access road to the country mansion he'd been sent to, nestled deep within the woods south of Walton in New York state. The road, little more than an overgrown footpath, was a massive detour; it would have taken Dakari only minutes to reach the stately home via the front entrance, though that was clearly out of the question.
Discretion was important. There could be no interruption to what happened tonight. No witnesses. There would be no forgiveness of Dakari for what he would do tonight; no-one could possibly understand and he'd never try to explain anyway.
Some things just needed to be done.
-#-
22nd May, 2010
Shyana told Dakari everything. So much so that she completely erased any and all doubts he might have had about her. He couldn't deny her talents, of course; she had already proven herself as a more-than-capable psychic... but now? Shyana knew more about Arthus Andarion and the Crimson Legion than he suspected even Mister Ravion did, and his knowledge of the "otherworldly" (as he called it) was vast.
So Dakari asked about Arthus Andarion and the information Shyana provided him with was chilling to say the least.
Andarion was part of the vanguard sent by the Crimson Legion to prevent any interference to Legion business from what she'd described as "certain parties," which Dakari suspected meant Mister Ravion, Mister Nihilus and anyone else who had a hand in stopping them. There were others but there whereabouts had been tracked as far as Foshan, China, then lost completely. Shyana said that the common belief was that they were dead - each and every one of them... But someone was still co-ordinating the Crimson Legion's movements and that had to be Andarion.
Shyana had reeled off a list of known Legionnaires' names; Corvus Valarian, Rhodri Caladan, Devron Anduji, Maeron Mentari, and others... but Dakari recognised none of them.
"Prob'ly for the best," she'd said. "The less you know, the less desperate they'll be to kill you, love."
Dakari didn't like his chances one bit. This advance warrior of the Legion could probably kill him to start with. Even if he were to succeed and escape alive he'd likely be hunted down by whoever was left anyway, regardless of how much he knew. The way Shyana had said "less desperate" only suggested that they intended to kill him at the first opportunity anyway.
Grim.
In the end, Shyana gave Dakari everything he needed, fear included. Fear brought Dakari down to earth, grounded him from the anger that had fuelled his journey thus far. By no means did rage control his actions, though it served as a constant reminder that he would avenge Benedict Ravion's death once he had carried out out his final wishes. Killing Arthus Andarion.
-#-
Date unknown
"Well... you told him," came a familiar voice from behind.
Draeden Darksky slowly turned around to face Daroth, the skeletal figure simply staring back at him without any hint of emotion. Draeden returned the expression, his keen eyes piercing the darkness beyond the circle of light of the burning car far behind him. The cold road beneath his feet stretched on forever, once again he found himself trapped in a strange world. How far must he walk this time before he reaches the end?
He sighed. "Was what he said true?"
A breeze whipped at Daroth's tattered robes, making the apparition himself seem even less animate, like a model skeleton with rags thrown on. "Regarding your failure? Only if you choose to believe it. You weren't brought here to fight Anathkash Dakari, that much is for sure."
"Anathkash Dakari? You mean 'The Author'?" demanded Draeden.
A soft laugh escaped Daroth.
"What's funny?"
"Ah, I beg forgiveness for my cruelty. I mean no ill will by my mirth, but must admit to finding amusement in this... situation. The most accurate name for this man you despise so much is Anathkash Darksky."
"Darksky?!"
"Yes. Duriel spoke the truth when he described your family's fate. Mother and father died, but infant and unborn sons both survived."
"The Author is my brother? And he was destined to kill me?"
"Hmm, I never did fully explain your presence here," Daroth admitted, rubbing at the space where his nose should have been. Force of habit. "Your spirit is detached from your body, true. Your soul now rests in a... facet of the afterlife. Another plane of existence."
"You already told me that."
"Indeed. Do you not find it unusual that Jack hasn't joined you here? If Jack was an additional personality existing in your head then he'd be in your head here, too."
"What are you saying? That the voice in my head I'd been arguing with for nearly two fucking monthswasn't me going insane?"
"Quite the contrary. Jack's intrusion was to cause your insanity. Or death, whichever you submitted to first," said Daroth, staring into the distance. "He came quite close to success, I understand. But he's still in your head, Draeden. Just not your head here."
Draeden was astounded. "And you couldn't have told me this earlier, because..?"
"I didn't believe it important at the time. You had things to do."
"Had things to do? So what's changed?"
The spirit turned his head to face Draeden, who felt his gaze despite the hollow eye sockets. "First you needed to get here. Now the pawns are moving into place. Now you are waiting."
"For what?"
Daroth shrugged. A peculiar sight, a skeleton shrugging. It reminded Draeden of tossing rice in a frying pan. A mental image he quickly dismissed.
"You don't even know?"
"A more appropriate statement would be 'even I don't know.'"
"Don't be so fucking pedantic," Draeden growled, turning back to the burning car and folding his arms, fuming with frustration at his guide's terrible judgement.
Daroth said nothing for a few moments. "We wait and see what your brother does next."
It was Draeden's turn for silence. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He couldn't believe that Daroth hadn't bothered to tell him that his mind had been infiltrated by a malevolent spirit posing as a mental disorder with the intention of convincing him to commit suicide so it could have his body for itself. But then, would he even have believed him? 'Oh, by the way, you're not mad; there was a ghost in your head making you go crazy so you'd hand over control of your mortal body to it. But don't worry about it, it's not important.'
"It may interest you to know Jack's true identity," Daroth offered solemnly.
Draeden looked over his shoulder at Daroth, his face filled with thunder. "You think?!"
-#-
13th June, 2010
From out of nowhere the clouds appeared, bringing with them a torrential rain that obscured Anathkash Dakari's vision even further than the darkness and forestry combined had already achieved. It was as if some celestial force was trying to prevent him from even reaching the mansion, let alone completing his task. Dakari flipped his hood up and soldiered on, the ground beneath him gradually becoming slick with mud, slowing his pace significantly.
On one hand he wished that Just Wrestling hadn't folded, that Jody Monroe hadn't cut her losses and run off with what little money the company had left. This alternative scenario being the case then Dakari would have been in Canada somewhere, hopefully making it third time lucky against Dash Springfield and proving to himself if no-one else that he could beat the man. Twice in a row Springfield had defeated him in what had been described by the media -so he'd been told- as massive upsets, though it looked like he'd never get the chance to repay the favour.
Try as he might, Dakari couldn't shake present business from the forefront of his mind, no matter how much he tried to distract himself. He'd spent so long thinking about it that the mission was ingrained into his brain. The white elephant was killing Arthus Andarion. Truth be told, despite all his own preparation for this day he still felt as if he wasn't ready to do this. He had the weapons, sure; armed with the spectacularly unremarkable dagger Nihilus gave him and a Colt M1911 he'd picked up before he left Albany, Dakari could eliminate Andarion at any range within the house – assuming Andarion didn't see him first.
Which he shouldn't.
At least if Anathkash Dakari were to die then he wouldn't leave anything behind. His writings were worthless to anyone who should find them; so complex was his code that none would likely break it. There was no-one for him to abandon, no-one who depended on him, especially not with the bankruptcy of JUST. Even if his and Jody's relationship was bordering on personal at best, he knew she wouldn't lose any sleep over his disappearance now. Dakari had no pets, no friends, no family and no life to begin with.
Nothing to lose.
The increasingly sludgy path was beginning to drain his strength, the mud closing around his feet and holding him down as if the very Earth sought to swallow him up, to stop his progress. Up ahead he could see lights on the path, an indication that he was getting closer to the mansion and a morale-booster; small though that was, every little helped.
There couldn't have been much further to go, surely.
Finally the trees broke away from the path, which gradually became more paved. The house was there in front of him now, beyond a long swimming pool; none of the lights that he could see were switched on, though there was an eerie glow from the underwater pool lights that illuminated much of the back of the stately home and the raised decked area at the back door.
Dakari's eyes locked on a dark shape moving around by the back door, comfortably strolling to and fro across the decking. A man dressed in a long black coat, who too had his hood up to shelter from the rain, clouds of smoke billowing from his mouth. Dakari could only assume that the man was standing guard, there was no other reason for him being there, besides smoking. Keeping to the treeline, Dakari circled the pool, dagger in hand. The man was completely oblivious to his presence and would likely remain so until it was too late, provided he didn't turn around at the wrong moment. His field of vision would be restricted by the hood, but that didn't matter to Dakari.
He already had his target in sight.
-#-
The cursed rain made keeping watch ten times harder than it should have been. To say that Arthus Andarion expected an attempt on his life would be moot – there were many more who knew of his presence in this world than the Legionnaire would have liked and as such he conducted his activities with the utmost vigilance. Anyone seeking entry would need to do so with care and planning.
He flicked his cigarette at the pool. It fell short, landing in a puddle.
The watcher's boots made no sound on the decking, as they were designed to reduce footfalls for those trained in the ways of stealth. The uneducated might describe him as a ninja, a silent assassin with immeasurable talents in martial arts. He knew of a thousand ways to make a man die in silence and he would certainly not fall victim to some--
The man turned around just in time to lean out of reach of the dagger swung at his face in a horizontal arc, though the roundhouse heel kick to follow cracked him square in the jaw, sending him reeling and crashing into the wooden railing around the deck and then to the floor. Turning over to get up he saw the man descending upon him, the glittering dagger plunging down to perforate his face.
-#-
As Dakari commenced delivery of the killing blow, his victim's hood fell away with barely a moment to spare before being impaled. The knife stabbed harmlessly into the wooden deck beside the downed man's head.
Righting himself and yanking his weapon free, Dakari pushed himself to his feet. "Florien?" he whispered in disbelief.
"Dakari," the man gasped, using the rail to help himself up. "Fancy seeing you here."
"I could say the same. Why are you here?"
Grinning, Florien D'nesca threw his hood back up and straightened his coat. "Same as you, more or less. You never hung around long enough to find out what Benedict said to me in his letter."
"I didn't think, you'd tell me anyway."
"Wouldn't have, at the time. Too angry, or so I'd have you believe."
"You mean at the bar?"
"Yeah," chuckled Florien, placing an arm across Dakari's shoulders. "You had to believe we'd not meet again in order for those watching you to think the same. I figured the best way to do that would be to punch you in the face."
Dakari scowled. "Job well done."
"Yup!"
"To what end?"
"I know why you're here. Benedict explained how this evening would pan out to me long ago. It took me a while to come to terms with it but I am to protect you with my life because for some reasonyou're the only one who can kill Andarion," the taller man said, taking his arm away to shrug dramatically, as was his way. "Don't ask me why, Benedict never explained that."
"How did you know I'd be here tonight? Here and now?"
A sickeningly cheerful smile clung to Florien's face. "You're not the only one who can tell fortunes, you know. This day has been written about for decades. You're about to prove history!"
"Prove history?"
"They already know it's going to happen, Dakari. It's just a case of going in there and doing it. I don't know exactly what's going to happen tonight but it's going to change both of us in ways we can't possibly imagine."
Dakari frowned. "Like from being alive to being dead? That's pretty drastic."
Florien's grin faded. "I sure fucking-- uh, hope not," he complained out loud, quietening down again. "C'mon, we'd better get inside. The camera out here is looping footage but if we make too much noise..."
"If you make too much noise, you mean."
"Whatever. Asshole. Door's unlocked, I got bored waiting for you."
With a long sigh, Anathkash Dakari nodded slowly to Florien. "Then let's get this over with."
-#-
Murderer, part ten: Dead Man's Wish
21st May, 2010
The joy of his closing victory on Just Wrestling's prestigious tenth tour, "Tour X", had faded away long ago, leaving Anathkash Dakari to stew in his already dour mood.
His head rested against his fist as he sat at the rotten old desk under the sloping roof if his loft apartment, pen spinning in his left hand in time with the cogs in his head. For one who had written dozens of pages each day, the measly half-paragraph he'd scrawled in his unique runic script was terribly demoralizing. The writing made the chaos in his head bearable. Some would prefer talking to someone, but not Dakari. He had no friends to speak of, nor the urge to seek professional help. Nobody had ever believed him anyway, excluding Mister Ravion and Mister Nihilus, though Dakari hadn't seen the elusive Nihilus since Ravion died in March.
The biro pen slipped free of its spinning in Dakari's hand and skittered across the old desk and onto the floor, landing on his Just Wrestling gear bag. He hadn't laid eyes on the small duffel bag for over a fortnight, the sense of impending doom fashioned by Benedict Ravion's letter had long ago drowned out the desire to wrestle again.
Brrrrrr. Brrrrrr.
The strange little noise in the silent attic felt as loud as a tree falling down with only Dakari there to hear it. He almost leapt out of his skin.
Brrrrrr. Brrrrrr.
It was his cell phone from inside the bag. He hadn't thought the charge would last that long.
Brrrrrr. Brrrrrr.
With that in mind, he ignored it. Who would be calling him at this time on a Friday night? Or, more accurately, why was Jody Monroe calling him at this time on a Friday night?
Brrrrrr.
She was the only one with his number, after all.
He waited.
The vibrating had ceased, so that was that.
He reached down for his pen.
BRRRRRR! BRRRRRRR!
The vibrations seemed louder, startling Dakari again. He scowled and pulled the zip open, his hand plunging into the packed duffel bag to seek the phone.
His hand closed on it, withdrew it, accidentally tearing the bag in his zeal to answer the call.
"Hello?"
"Dakari, I need you," Jody said.
"What?! But I, er, I mean, we... um, er--" he stammered.
"How'd you like to visit Canada?" the JUST boss interrupted, mercifully halting his stammering.
"Canada?!"
"Yes. For the Just Wrestling Canadian Dream tour - I've been trying to reach you for days, where have you been?"
"Um, nowhere?"
"Nowhere with your cell, you mean. Are you in or not?"
"No."
"Great, I'll -- wait, what? Did you just say 'no'?"
"I've got some personal stuff I need to do first. Sorry Jody," he sighed, genuinely wishing he could help. With Benedict Ravion's business to attend to there was no way he could concentrate on wrestling right now.
"What kind of stuff?"
"I have a lot on my mind, I can't really say."
"Canada is a beautiful and restful place. A change of scenery will make you feel better, I know it."
"No thanks, I'd rather just stay here."
"You're one win away from the JWC! One win! Then another for the absolute glory of the Just Wrestling Championship. How can you turn that down?" she argued, not pulling any punches.
Pity she was wearing the wrong colour gloves.
"Maybe next tour," Dakari muttered flatly.
Jody sighed in frustration. "Come on Dakari, I really need you in on this! Just Wrestling needs you."
Dakari said nothing for a few seconds. He could really use the break... but then gathering his thoughts was just as impossible in his dingy apartment as it would likely be in Canada.
He sighed.
"In."
-#-
Date unknown
Gone, just like that.
The wanderer's sworn enemy, his chance to escape this world, had vanished without even so much as a puff of smoke to mark his escape. He had been within his reach and yet he'd let him slip away... gone without a trace, while he was left without a hope.
Head hung low, the wanderer knelt on the asphalt and considered his options. The deserted road offered little by way of inspiration to the troubled spirit as he argued with himself over his next course of action.
Dust rolled across the road, carried on an unfelt breeze. The wanderer followed the swirl with his eyes until the dirt particles washed against the bottoms of pinstripe dress pants and black loafers. Looking up, the wanderer saw a well-dressed man grinning at him beneath a wide-brim hat, with vibrant green eyes that had locked onto his own.
"Ah, I see things did not go so well between you two, then. Such a shame," he chuckled. "But there's always next time."
The wanderer's eyes narrowed on the apparition. "Next time?"
"I forget, this was the 'next time' for you. Your second chance. You blew it, by the way. He he."
There were days when the wanderer would have sooner torn this creature's head from its shoulders than accept its words as truth. But then, what did he know? He had walked all this way and been presented with a most obvious and simple task to accomplish and he had failed. To exact revenge on those who contributed to his presence here. That was the end goal and he had fallen at the first hurdle.
Now what?
Seeing the impact his words were having on the wanderer, the stranger struggled to contain his glee. "Oh well, time to go back," he said off-handedly.
"Back?"
"Mmm, indeed. Back through those doors you passed through to enter this stretch of road. Back to where I like to call the 'waiting room'. He he."
"Waiting room? Waiting for what?"
"Oh, nothing much, just for eternity to end. You'll love it."
"What if I want to stay here? To unravel this... mystery?"
The man barked a laugh. "You mean this?" he asked, indicating the smouldering car wreck at his back. "That's hardly a mystery."
"Enlighten me," growled the wanderer, much to the stranger's amusement.
"Very well," he managed between chuckles. "This is the scene of a road accident that occurred a little over twenty-three years ago. You wouldn't remember, you were only a year and a half-old at the time. Let's see... well, there was this new car here, it belonged to a man a lot like yourself, actually. He was twenty-five years old, young and strong... his whole life ahead of him. Beside him there was his pregnant young wife, a real beauty to behold."
"Get to the point."
"No rush, Crusader. You have plenty of time, trust me."
Crusader... a moniker he hadn't worn for a long time.
"As I was saying, the couple were with child; one in the womb and one in the back seat. One twenty-nine weeks old and one eighteen months. Now, there was also a driver on the other side of the road and for some reason he lost complete control of his lorry, crashed it through the barrier and straight into the path of our... happy little family. He he..."
"Then what?"
"Why, it appears I greatly underestimated your stupidity. The doting husband and father died. The beautiful wife and soon-to-be mother of two died. But the boys... they went on to surprise us. Oh, how you surprised us, Draeden Darksky. The other too. He he."
"What do you mean, boys? I was the only one to survive that wreck!"
"So you believe. Miraculously, your unborn baby brother survived. But the surprises stopped there as he stumbled unwittingly onto the strange path of destiny while you... you made your own way. Fate's claws grip not your flesh, Draeden, your being here is testament to that. But that never meant that you wouldn't fail, and fail you have," cackled the smartly-dressed apparition, turning to walk away. "Nice try, though. Come, it's time to go."
Draeden climbed to his feet and dusted himself down. "No. I'm not coming with you, Duriel."
Duriel turned back to Draeden. "Ah, you know my name. Then I suppose Daroth told you all about me?"
"Just enough," the wanderer said. "I don't have to listen to you."
"But what if I ask nicely?"
Draeden simply stared at him.
"Or if I insist?" Duriel growled.
"It's clear to me now," Draeden began, ignoring Duriel. "In this place you have no strength, no power over me. I'm sure if you were able to force me then you wouldn't have bothered trying to convince me."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that."
"I am. Because now I finally see the truth."
"Which is what?"
The first genuine smile he'd had in what felt like decades of solitude literally cracked Draeden's bone-dry lips. "I'm free now."
-#-
22nd May, 2010
Anathkash Dakari tipped the contents of his first Just Wrestling gear bag onto his loft bedroom floor, adding plain black pleather pants and matching sleeveless shirt to the myriad debris beneath his feet. Following the clothing came a small plastic bag containing various pieces of paper. Curiosity won over the dark-haired hoarder, beckoning him to investigate the writings in the bag. Mostly notes, it appeared. Dakari had tried to continue writing while touring with Just, but recent events had been... distracting.
Dakari rifled through the folded pieces of paper, unfolding some, ignoring others. He found the scrap paper he'd written Jody Monroe's phone number on, before he'd learnt how to use his cell phone's contact list, smiling faintly at the memory before crushing the paper in his hand and throwing it at the overflowing waste basket beside his desk. As his search continued, he happened across another telephone number he had yet to save in his phone.
Shyana's.
He'd forgotten all about the psychic he'd encountered in England. Dakari took the folded sheet of paper he'd rewritten Benedict Ravion's letter on from his pocket, opening it out to look it over once again. He already knew the outcome of future events; reading about them over and over again was merely an exercise in acceptance, an effort to come to terms with what would be a difficult but unavoidable solution to an unimaginable evil.
Mister Ravion's instructions were simple, the execution had been left entirely up to Dakari...
Nowhere did they say he couldn't seek outside help.
The phone was in his hand and dialling out before his nerves could stop him. Knowing more about his task was not something he could pass on. Anything and everything he could find out about his target would aid him, he knew.
"Hello? Who is this?" a tired voice demanded.
"Um, hi, it's--"
Shyana gasped in surprise. "Anathkash?!"
"Wow, you can do that over the phone..?"
"No, you bloody plum, I recognised your voice! How are you? More importantly, why are you ringing me at this time of night?"
"It's only... Oh."
"Yeah. We're about five hours ahead in our neck of the woods, love."
It was after midnight in Albany. Oops.
"Shit, I'm sorry. I, uh I'll call in the morning, sorry to--"
"Nevermind that; I'm awake now, you may as well tell me what's going on. I'd been wondering what'd happened to you, actually."
"What'd happened to me..?" he asked slowly. "Why..?"
"We had a run-in with your friend... the ghost you saw. Well, he's a bit more than that," she said, talking through a yawn.
"How so..?"
"There's far too much for me to go through with you on the phone. Especially at this hour," she said, then laughed sleepily. "Probably too much to explain in one lifetime! Just be content in the knowledge that you don't want to see him again. Ever."
Dakari sighed. "Fair enough," he grumbled. "I haven't seen him since."
"Me neither. But that's not why you called, is it?"
"No... What can you tell me about a man named Arthus Andarion?"
Shyana fell silent, her breath held. A sinking feeling gripped Dakari as he realised that the information she was to provide would not fill him with confidence.
"Why do you ask?" the woman asked slowly.
"It's important."
"That's not a reason."
"Do I need one?"
Shyana chuckled. "Only if it's important."
His palm met his face; finger and thumb closed around the bridge of his nose while he strained to think as quickly as he could. Shyana obviously knew something; whatever it was he could do with knowing about it too, regardless of what he had to reveal to her to fnd out.
Dakari took a deep breath.
"I'm going to kill him," he said plainly. She could just read his mind, after all.
"Okay," Shyana murmured, "I wasn't expecting you to say that."
The young man smiled a little.
"Why?"
"Er, to fulfill a dead man's wishes?"
"Whose?"
"Benedict Ravion."
Again the psychic fell silent, leaving Dakari to wonder whether he'd said too much. "I see," she eventually muttered. "Then I suppose I'm bound to help you."
-#-
The joy of his closing victory on Just Wrestling's prestigious tenth tour, "Tour X", had faded away long ago, leaving Anathkash Dakari to stew in his already dour mood.
His head rested against his fist as he sat at the rotten old desk under the sloping roof if his loft apartment, pen spinning in his left hand in time with the cogs in his head. For one who had written dozens of pages each day, the measly half-paragraph he'd scrawled in his unique runic script was terribly demoralizing. The writing made the chaos in his head bearable. Some would prefer talking to someone, but not Dakari. He had no friends to speak of, nor the urge to seek professional help. Nobody had ever believed him anyway, excluding Mister Ravion and Mister Nihilus, though Dakari hadn't seen the elusive Nihilus since Ravion died in March.
The biro pen slipped free of its spinning in Dakari's hand and skittered across the old desk and onto the floor, landing on his Just Wrestling gear bag. He hadn't laid eyes on the small duffel bag for over a fortnight, the sense of impending doom fashioned by Benedict Ravion's letter had long ago drowned out the desire to wrestle again.
Brrrrrr. Brrrrrr.
The strange little noise in the silent attic felt as loud as a tree falling down with only Dakari there to hear it. He almost leapt out of his skin.
Brrrrrr. Brrrrrr.
It was his cell phone from inside the bag. He hadn't thought the charge would last that long.
Brrrrrr. Brrrrrr.
With that in mind, he ignored it. Who would be calling him at this time on a Friday night? Or, more accurately, why was Jody Monroe calling him at this time on a Friday night?
Brrrrrr.
She was the only one with his number, after all.
He waited.
The vibrating had ceased, so that was that.
He reached down for his pen.
BRRRRRR! BRRRRRRR!
The vibrations seemed louder, startling Dakari again. He scowled and pulled the zip open, his hand plunging into the packed duffel bag to seek the phone.
His hand closed on it, withdrew it, accidentally tearing the bag in his zeal to answer the call.
"Hello?"
"Dakari, I need you," Jody said.
"What?! But I, er, I mean, we... um, er--" he stammered.
"How'd you like to visit Canada?" the JUST boss interrupted, mercifully halting his stammering.
"Canada?!"
"Yes. For the Just Wrestling Canadian Dream tour - I've been trying to reach you for days, where have you been?"
"Um, nowhere?"
"Nowhere with your cell, you mean. Are you in or not?"
"No."
"Great, I'll -- wait, what? Did you just say 'no'?"
"I've got some personal stuff I need to do first. Sorry Jody," he sighed, genuinely wishing he could help. With Benedict Ravion's business to attend to there was no way he could concentrate on wrestling right now.
"What kind of stuff?"
"I have a lot on my mind, I can't really say."
"Canada is a beautiful and restful place. A change of scenery will make you feel better, I know it."
"No thanks, I'd rather just stay here."
"You're one win away from the JWC! One win! Then another for the absolute glory of the Just Wrestling Championship. How can you turn that down?" she argued, not pulling any punches.
Pity she was wearing the wrong colour gloves.
"Maybe next tour," Dakari muttered flatly.
Jody sighed in frustration. "Come on Dakari, I really need you in on this! Just Wrestling needs you."
Dakari said nothing for a few seconds. He could really use the break... but then gathering his thoughts was just as impossible in his dingy apartment as it would likely be in Canada.
He sighed.
"In."
-#-
Date unknown
Gone, just like that.
The wanderer's sworn enemy, his chance to escape this world, had vanished without even so much as a puff of smoke to mark his escape. He had been within his reach and yet he'd let him slip away... gone without a trace, while he was left without a hope.
Head hung low, the wanderer knelt on the asphalt and considered his options. The deserted road offered little by way of inspiration to the troubled spirit as he argued with himself over his next course of action.
Dust rolled across the road, carried on an unfelt breeze. The wanderer followed the swirl with his eyes until the dirt particles washed against the bottoms of pinstripe dress pants and black loafers. Looking up, the wanderer saw a well-dressed man grinning at him beneath a wide-brim hat, with vibrant green eyes that had locked onto his own.
"Ah, I see things did not go so well between you two, then. Such a shame," he chuckled. "But there's always next time."
The wanderer's eyes narrowed on the apparition. "Next time?"
"I forget, this was the 'next time' for you. Your second chance. You blew it, by the way. He he."
There were days when the wanderer would have sooner torn this creature's head from its shoulders than accept its words as truth. But then, what did he know? He had walked all this way and been presented with a most obvious and simple task to accomplish and he had failed. To exact revenge on those who contributed to his presence here. That was the end goal and he had fallen at the first hurdle.
Now what?
Seeing the impact his words were having on the wanderer, the stranger struggled to contain his glee. "Oh well, time to go back," he said off-handedly.
"Back?"
"Mmm, indeed. Back through those doors you passed through to enter this stretch of road. Back to where I like to call the 'waiting room'. He he."
"Waiting room? Waiting for what?"
"Oh, nothing much, just for eternity to end. You'll love it."
"What if I want to stay here? To unravel this... mystery?"
The man barked a laugh. "You mean this?" he asked, indicating the smouldering car wreck at his back. "That's hardly a mystery."
"Enlighten me," growled the wanderer, much to the stranger's amusement.
"Very well," he managed between chuckles. "This is the scene of a road accident that occurred a little over twenty-three years ago. You wouldn't remember, you were only a year and a half-old at the time. Let's see... well, there was this new car here, it belonged to a man a lot like yourself, actually. He was twenty-five years old, young and strong... his whole life ahead of him. Beside him there was his pregnant young wife, a real beauty to behold."
"Get to the point."
"No rush, Crusader. You have plenty of time, trust me."
Crusader... a moniker he hadn't worn for a long time.
"As I was saying, the couple were with child; one in the womb and one in the back seat. One twenty-nine weeks old and one eighteen months. Now, there was also a driver on the other side of the road and for some reason he lost complete control of his lorry, crashed it through the barrier and straight into the path of our... happy little family. He he..."
"Then what?"
"Why, it appears I greatly underestimated your stupidity. The doting husband and father died. The beautiful wife and soon-to-be mother of two died. But the boys... they went on to surprise us. Oh, how you surprised us, Draeden Darksky. The other too. He he."
"What do you mean, boys? I was the only one to survive that wreck!"
"So you believe. Miraculously, your unborn baby brother survived. But the surprises stopped there as he stumbled unwittingly onto the strange path of destiny while you... you made your own way. Fate's claws grip not your flesh, Draeden, your being here is testament to that. But that never meant that you wouldn't fail, and fail you have," cackled the smartly-dressed apparition, turning to walk away. "Nice try, though. Come, it's time to go."
Draeden climbed to his feet and dusted himself down. "No. I'm not coming with you, Duriel."
Duriel turned back to Draeden. "Ah, you know my name. Then I suppose Daroth told you all about me?"
"Just enough," the wanderer said. "I don't have to listen to you."
"But what if I ask nicely?"
Draeden simply stared at him.
"Or if I insist?" Duriel growled.
"It's clear to me now," Draeden began, ignoring Duriel. "In this place you have no strength, no power over me. I'm sure if you were able to force me then you wouldn't have bothered trying to convince me."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that."
"I am. Because now I finally see the truth."
"Which is what?"
The first genuine smile he'd had in what felt like decades of solitude literally cracked Draeden's bone-dry lips. "I'm free now."
-#-
22nd May, 2010
Anathkash Dakari tipped the contents of his first Just Wrestling gear bag onto his loft bedroom floor, adding plain black pleather pants and matching sleeveless shirt to the myriad debris beneath his feet. Following the clothing came a small plastic bag containing various pieces of paper. Curiosity won over the dark-haired hoarder, beckoning him to investigate the writings in the bag. Mostly notes, it appeared. Dakari had tried to continue writing while touring with Just, but recent events had been... distracting.
Dakari rifled through the folded pieces of paper, unfolding some, ignoring others. He found the scrap paper he'd written Jody Monroe's phone number on, before he'd learnt how to use his cell phone's contact list, smiling faintly at the memory before crushing the paper in his hand and throwing it at the overflowing waste basket beside his desk. As his search continued, he happened across another telephone number he had yet to save in his phone.
Shyana's.
He'd forgotten all about the psychic he'd encountered in England. Dakari took the folded sheet of paper he'd rewritten Benedict Ravion's letter on from his pocket, opening it out to look it over once again. He already knew the outcome of future events; reading about them over and over again was merely an exercise in acceptance, an effort to come to terms with what would be a difficult but unavoidable solution to an unimaginable evil.
Mister Ravion's instructions were simple, the execution had been left entirely up to Dakari...
Nowhere did they say he couldn't seek outside help.
The phone was in his hand and dialling out before his nerves could stop him. Knowing more about his task was not something he could pass on. Anything and everything he could find out about his target would aid him, he knew.
"Hello? Who is this?" a tired voice demanded.
"Um, hi, it's--"
Shyana gasped in surprise. "Anathkash?!"
"Wow, you can do that over the phone..?"
"No, you bloody plum, I recognised your voice! How are you? More importantly, why are you ringing me at this time of night?"
"It's only... Oh."
"Yeah. We're about five hours ahead in our neck of the woods, love."
It was after midnight in Albany. Oops.
"Shit, I'm sorry. I, uh I'll call in the morning, sorry to--"
"Nevermind that; I'm awake now, you may as well tell me what's going on. I'd been wondering what'd happened to you, actually."
"What'd happened to me..?" he asked slowly. "Why..?"
"We had a run-in with your friend... the ghost you saw. Well, he's a bit more than that," she said, talking through a yawn.
"How so..?"
"There's far too much for me to go through with you on the phone. Especially at this hour," she said, then laughed sleepily. "Probably too much to explain in one lifetime! Just be content in the knowledge that you don't want to see him again. Ever."
Dakari sighed. "Fair enough," he grumbled. "I haven't seen him since."
"Me neither. But that's not why you called, is it?"
"No... What can you tell me about a man named Arthus Andarion?"
Shyana fell silent, her breath held. A sinking feeling gripped Dakari as he realised that the information she was to provide would not fill him with confidence.
"Why do you ask?" the woman asked slowly.
"It's important."
"That's not a reason."
"Do I need one?"
Shyana chuckled. "Only if it's important."
His palm met his face; finger and thumb closed around the bridge of his nose while he strained to think as quickly as he could. Shyana obviously knew something; whatever it was he could do with knowing about it too, regardless of what he had to reveal to her to fnd out.
Dakari took a deep breath.
"I'm going to kill him," he said plainly. She could just read his mind, after all.
"Okay," Shyana murmured, "I wasn't expecting you to say that."
The young man smiled a little.
"Why?"
"Er, to fulfill a dead man's wishes?"
"Whose?"
"Benedict Ravion."
Again the psychic fell silent, leaving Dakari to wonder whether he'd said too much. "I see," she eventually muttered. "Then I suppose I'm bound to help you."
-#-
Murderer, part nine: To the End
8th May, 2010
The space in which Anathkash Dakari sat was a perfect example of abject squalor. The floor was strewn with empty food cartons, sheets of paper and various items of clothing, all black. So dense was the layer of dark attire on the floor one would be forgiven for thinking there was a black carpet down. Sadly, the floor was unadorned by any such luxury. It was almost a shame that the walls were not in a similar state of misleading disarray, though were Dakari's litter able to defy gravity then they may well have been.
Dakari lifted his pen from the page to appraise his work - perfect, by his own estimation. The strange glyphs he had inscribed upon the thick writing paper were known only to him, and with that there was no fear of anyone getting their hands on the specific instructions provided by Mister Ravion. Were that to happen before his task had been completed Dakari could potentially be in a lot of trouble, not just from the law, either. Should an agent of the Betrayer learn of Mister Ravion's plans before its execution...
It didn't bear thinking about.
The bearded man ducked under the sloping roof as he slid out of the tattered office chair at his desk and plunged into the duffel bag on the floor, adding plastic bags filled with miscellaneous junk and yet more clothing to the eighty-something square feet of black debris around him. Once the perfunctory distribution of the bag's contents ceased, Dakari then turned to the mattress at his right and flipped it onto its side. One of the floorboards beneath yielded to his touch, allowing him to reach inside to withdraw a heavy cloth bag that clattered noisily as he placed it down beside himself, allowing the mattress to hit the floor with a soggy thump.
Dakari smiled. This was exactly what he needed.
-#-
Date unknown
I made it.
His mouth echoed the words in his head, though no sound escaped his lips. The wanderer didn't want to speak too soon, though the relief made celebrating his freedom at the top of his lungs a powerful temptation. He settled for not coughing up so much dust his lungs came out to visit.
The wanderer realised that there wasn't too much to get excited about. There was every possibility that he'd simply traded one exhausting prison for another, that he'd stepped out of the dusty wasteland and into a tarmac wasteland instead. Beneath his feet, the sturdiness of asphalt felt unusual after becoming accustomed to the sandy dirt he'd been walking on for what felt like weeks.
Solid ground. What a peculiar thing to miss.
No crunching of bones with every step he took, no more did crowds of the dead gather around to watch him struggle, to watch him suffer as he dragged himself step by step towards what he could only assume was his goal. The uncertainty was what he hated the most; not knowing where he was going, nor what he'd find when he got there was frustrating, more so when even getting there was such a monumental task.
This was the next leg of his challenge. As with all things in his life, he would see this through to the end.
He resumed his journey.
-#-
9th May, 2010
Sleep had crept up on Dakari in the usual swift, unexpected manner that it saves for those who do not seek it. The candles on his desk had burned away to nothing, and so when he awoke he did so to complete darkness. The hard floor beneath him felt unusually cold, he observed as he lifted himself from it, wary of banging his head on the sloping ceiling. Completely disoriented, Dakari reached out but felt no ceiling, no walls and no furniture. A cool breeze washed over him and with it came the sinking feeling of dread - he was not where he thought he was.
Fumbling in the darkness, Dakari withdrew his cell phone from his pocket and switched it on. He was not surprised when the device displayed no signal, though it would do as a makeshift torch. In front of him he discovered some sort of metal barrier, fastened to the ground by steel and concrete. Painted lines alongside it suggested that he was on a road. Confirmation of this came in the form of a set of headlights illuminating the whole area around him, a large vehicle heading towards him. Dakari blocked the light from his eyes with one hand, the other waving to catch the driver's attention.
The lorry sped past on the other side of the barrier, the driver grinning wildly at him as he passed by.
With a sigh, Dakari brushed his greasy hair from his face and considered his next move. His surroundings were so surreal he didn't believe he was really there, but the dirt from the ground he brushed off his face was remarkably vivid.
The screech of tyres along the road snatched his attention. He saw another set of headlights blotted out by the lorry as it smashed through the barrier and into the path of the other car.
Impact.
Of the headlights he'd seen, only one remained and it spun in the air with the car to which it belonged before slamming into the ground and rolling onto its side.
Dakari ran towards the commotion, but deep down he knew there was nothing he could do. The orange glow of flames from the car guided him along the road as he jogged towards the wreckage.
With or without you
With or without you
I can't live
With or without you
With or without you
The sound of the car's radio reached Dakari's ears and he instantly recognised it from a dream he had thought nothing of weeks ago. The relevance of all this was still unknown to him, but what he did know was that three people were killed in the crash - a young couple and their baby son. Four, counting the pregnant woman's unborn child. As Dakari approached the upside-down old Escort, he could hear a baby's cries, weak and desperate, but the boy was alive in there. He sprinted the rest of the way, sliding down beside the car and looking in through the windows.
With or without you
With or without you
I can't live--fzzzt
The radio died. With it, the baby's cries ceased. Dakari frantically aimed the light from his phone into every nook and cranny in the stricken car but it was completely vacant. No baby and no parents. No corpses; nothing.
This had to be a dream.
"YOU!" roared a voice from the darkness.
Dakari leapt to his feet in surprise, his phone doing little to reveal the identity of the shadow looming over him. An unseen kick sent the phone skittering into oblivion; a second attack, aimed at Dakari's head was telegraphed by instinct and deflected. The young man darted back out of reach and awaited the charge. It came, but with minimal warning; his attacker driving a shoulder into his gut and lifting him into the air with ease, though Dakari was able to land on his feet instead of being slammed onto his back. Two savage knees to the face sent his attacker reeling, though he didn't wait to come back for more, landing a fist in Dakari's face. A second, swift though it was, was too predictable for the expert martial artist. He caught the fist and stepped past it, smashing his attacker in the face with an elbow-headbutt combination.
He heard the man flop to the ground, breathing heavily.
"Had I not walked a thousand miles I'd have fucking killed you by now," the assailant growled from the ground, spitting somewhere.
"But why? I don't even know who you are," Dakari replied, confused as to the identity of the stranger.
"I forget, you don't see as I do."
"What do you want from me?"
"What do I want?!" the man shouted. "I want revenge! I was in control until you interfered, until you fucked everything up for me! You and that fucking book, you wouldn't leave me alone..." A long sigh came from the ground where the man still sat, seething with rage. "You were the death of me. And I'm going to destroy you. This is my last task, I know that much. I've come all this way... just to see you die."
"Wait! What book?"
"What do you mean, 'what book'? The book you shoved in my face day after day, the book you had sent by the crate-load to my home. I'll never forget the sight of the damned fucking cover, thanks to you," he growed. "It was the book you wrote... Shadow Crusade."
The recognition that had lurked on the horizon of Dakari's understanding finally dawned. "But... you aren't dead!"
"Fuck you! I've seen the world that we're destined to visit once we're gone! I've seen the nightmares that wait for us on the other side of existence and let me tell you - they aren't pretty. I - FUCKIN' - DIED!"
"But... you..." Dakari stammered, struggling to find an explanation.
"But me WHAT!?" the stranger spat.
"You're still alive... I... I couldn't get through to you in time before... before..."
"Before what?"
-#-
Anathkash Dakari lurched into the waking world, the familiar surroundings of his loft room all around him, tears streaming down his face.
"Before the prophesy came true," he whispered.
The space in which Anathkash Dakari sat was a perfect example of abject squalor. The floor was strewn with empty food cartons, sheets of paper and various items of clothing, all black. So dense was the layer of dark attire on the floor one would be forgiven for thinking there was a black carpet down. Sadly, the floor was unadorned by any such luxury. It was almost a shame that the walls were not in a similar state of misleading disarray, though were Dakari's litter able to defy gravity then they may well have been.
Dakari lifted his pen from the page to appraise his work - perfect, by his own estimation. The strange glyphs he had inscribed upon the thick writing paper were known only to him, and with that there was no fear of anyone getting their hands on the specific instructions provided by Mister Ravion. Were that to happen before his task had been completed Dakari could potentially be in a lot of trouble, not just from the law, either. Should an agent of the Betrayer learn of Mister Ravion's plans before its execution...
It didn't bear thinking about.
The bearded man ducked under the sloping roof as he slid out of the tattered office chair at his desk and plunged into the duffel bag on the floor, adding plastic bags filled with miscellaneous junk and yet more clothing to the eighty-something square feet of black debris around him. Once the perfunctory distribution of the bag's contents ceased, Dakari then turned to the mattress at his right and flipped it onto its side. One of the floorboards beneath yielded to his touch, allowing him to reach inside to withdraw a heavy cloth bag that clattered noisily as he placed it down beside himself, allowing the mattress to hit the floor with a soggy thump.
Dakari smiled. This was exactly what he needed.
-#-
Date unknown
I made it.
His mouth echoed the words in his head, though no sound escaped his lips. The wanderer didn't want to speak too soon, though the relief made celebrating his freedom at the top of his lungs a powerful temptation. He settled for not coughing up so much dust his lungs came out to visit.
The wanderer realised that there wasn't too much to get excited about. There was every possibility that he'd simply traded one exhausting prison for another, that he'd stepped out of the dusty wasteland and into a tarmac wasteland instead. Beneath his feet, the sturdiness of asphalt felt unusual after becoming accustomed to the sandy dirt he'd been walking on for what felt like weeks.
Solid ground. What a peculiar thing to miss.
No crunching of bones with every step he took, no more did crowds of the dead gather around to watch him struggle, to watch him suffer as he dragged himself step by step towards what he could only assume was his goal. The uncertainty was what he hated the most; not knowing where he was going, nor what he'd find when he got there was frustrating, more so when even getting there was such a monumental task.
This was the next leg of his challenge. As with all things in his life, he would see this through to the end.
He resumed his journey.
-#-
9th May, 2010
Sleep had crept up on Dakari in the usual swift, unexpected manner that it saves for those who do not seek it. The candles on his desk had burned away to nothing, and so when he awoke he did so to complete darkness. The hard floor beneath him felt unusually cold, he observed as he lifted himself from it, wary of banging his head on the sloping ceiling. Completely disoriented, Dakari reached out but felt no ceiling, no walls and no furniture. A cool breeze washed over him and with it came the sinking feeling of dread - he was not where he thought he was.
Fumbling in the darkness, Dakari withdrew his cell phone from his pocket and switched it on. He was not surprised when the device displayed no signal, though it would do as a makeshift torch. In front of him he discovered some sort of metal barrier, fastened to the ground by steel and concrete. Painted lines alongside it suggested that he was on a road. Confirmation of this came in the form of a set of headlights illuminating the whole area around him, a large vehicle heading towards him. Dakari blocked the light from his eyes with one hand, the other waving to catch the driver's attention.
The lorry sped past on the other side of the barrier, the driver grinning wildly at him as he passed by.
With a sigh, Dakari brushed his greasy hair from his face and considered his next move. His surroundings were so surreal he didn't believe he was really there, but the dirt from the ground he brushed off his face was remarkably vivid.
The screech of tyres along the road snatched his attention. He saw another set of headlights blotted out by the lorry as it smashed through the barrier and into the path of the other car.
Impact.
Of the headlights he'd seen, only one remained and it spun in the air with the car to which it belonged before slamming into the ground and rolling onto its side.
Dakari ran towards the commotion, but deep down he knew there was nothing he could do. The orange glow of flames from the car guided him along the road as he jogged towards the wreckage.
With or without you
With or without you
I can't live
With or without you
With or without you
The sound of the car's radio reached Dakari's ears and he instantly recognised it from a dream he had thought nothing of weeks ago. The relevance of all this was still unknown to him, but what he did know was that three people were killed in the crash - a young couple and their baby son. Four, counting the pregnant woman's unborn child. As Dakari approached the upside-down old Escort, he could hear a baby's cries, weak and desperate, but the boy was alive in there. He sprinted the rest of the way, sliding down beside the car and looking in through the windows.
With or without you
With or without you
I can't live--fzzzt
The radio died. With it, the baby's cries ceased. Dakari frantically aimed the light from his phone into every nook and cranny in the stricken car but it was completely vacant. No baby and no parents. No corpses; nothing.
This had to be a dream.
"YOU!" roared a voice from the darkness.
Dakari leapt to his feet in surprise, his phone doing little to reveal the identity of the shadow looming over him. An unseen kick sent the phone skittering into oblivion; a second attack, aimed at Dakari's head was telegraphed by instinct and deflected. The young man darted back out of reach and awaited the charge. It came, but with minimal warning; his attacker driving a shoulder into his gut and lifting him into the air with ease, though Dakari was able to land on his feet instead of being slammed onto his back. Two savage knees to the face sent his attacker reeling, though he didn't wait to come back for more, landing a fist in Dakari's face. A second, swift though it was, was too predictable for the expert martial artist. He caught the fist and stepped past it, smashing his attacker in the face with an elbow-headbutt combination.
He heard the man flop to the ground, breathing heavily.
"Had I not walked a thousand miles I'd have fucking killed you by now," the assailant growled from the ground, spitting somewhere.
"But why? I don't even know who you are," Dakari replied, confused as to the identity of the stranger.
"I forget, you don't see as I do."
"What do you want from me?"
"What do I want?!" the man shouted. "I want revenge! I was in control until you interfered, until you fucked everything up for me! You and that fucking book, you wouldn't leave me alone..." A long sigh came from the ground where the man still sat, seething with rage. "You were the death of me. And I'm going to destroy you. This is my last task, I know that much. I've come all this way... just to see you die."
"Wait! What book?"
"What do you mean, 'what book'? The book you shoved in my face day after day, the book you had sent by the crate-load to my home. I'll never forget the sight of the damned fucking cover, thanks to you," he growed. "It was the book you wrote... Shadow Crusade."
The recognition that had lurked on the horizon of Dakari's understanding finally dawned. "But... you aren't dead!"
"Fuck you! I've seen the world that we're destined to visit once we're gone! I've seen the nightmares that wait for us on the other side of existence and let me tell you - they aren't pretty. I - FUCKIN' - DIED!"
"But... you..." Dakari stammered, struggling to find an explanation.
"But me WHAT!?" the stranger spat.
"You're still alive... I... I couldn't get through to you in time before... before..."
"Before what?"
-#-
Anathkash Dakari lurched into the waking world, the familiar surroundings of his loft room all around him, tears streaming down his face.
"Before the prophesy came true," he whispered.
Murderer, part eight: Emergence
Date unknown
Being watched was not a pleasant experience, the wanderer knew. In this instance the unease was magnified tenfold for each extra pair of ghostly eyes that observed his plight. With each step forward a new soul joined the crowd that lined his path like spectators at some deathly marathon. No-one blocked his path or sought to distract him; if they did, he couldn't hear them for the sound of the bones that cracked and fell to dust beneath his feet. Those who surrounded him were of all shapes and sizes, the apparitions becoming increasingly ragged and decomposed as he continued onward. He felt the harsh gaze from the empty eye-sockets of skeletal spirits the same as from those with eyes to speak of.
The watchers' intentions were unclear. Their expressionless faces leered from beyond the murky shadows all around him, though the wanderer couldn’t be sure whether they meant to appear menacing or whether they simply wanted to attend a miniscule part of what had been a truly boundless journey thus far. Maybe they were curious about who he was, where he was going?
Can't be much further...
His legs wobbled with each step, ablaze with agony. His spine felt like a gorilla's xylophone; the wanderer marched on hunched-over in an attempt to rest his back while continuing onward, the change in position providing relief from the pain for a short time. He withheld any signs of his anguish from the crowd; for some reason he assumed that their suffering here would have been far greater than any pain he had endured.
Looking back, his own life had been a terrible one and ceased at the edge of a mere twenty-four years. His youth, supposedly a time when one should be care-free, ignorant to the evils of the world. His had been marred by violence, poverty and death from the day he was born. His adult life had been short and unimaginably unpleasant. Everything he tried to do had failed; everything that didn't involve fighting, that is. Everyone he'd ever loved was dead.
Almost.
That fiendish apparition that had approached him so many miles of this desolate world ago, Cong-Chao, was just a vile reminder of the life he'd once had; when he'd fought to survive against what felt like impossible odds. He'd killed Cong-Chao in a fight to the death before he'd even had a chance to raise his weapon. He was a savage human being, a rapist and murderer. Watching the blood spurt from this foul man's sundered throat was the first and last time the wanderer had taken pleasure in killing. He'd felt the grin crawl across his face as the crowd in the underground arena erupted in rage, their pit-hero falling to his knees at the feet of the slave he was supposed to slaughter.
Oh, the disbelief in their cries. The gurgle of screams bubbling through blood served the same purpose as the ring announcers that would announce my victories in years to come.
The wanderer snorted at the thought of comparing forced murder to professional wrestling.
Then again, that too had a part to play in the death of me.
For the first time since stepping foot in these strange lands the wanderer felt the caress of the wind flowing over his body, cooling him down. He had stripped down to the waist long ago, his torn black shirt tucked into his similarly ragged pants. The gentle breeze was refreshing but gave wings to the dust, throwing muck into the wanderer's face. He fought on through bloodshot eyes. As he squinted into the wind, a cloud of dust burst out of the fog and engulfed him entirely.
-#-
Date unknown
"Are you still here?" hissed Duriel as he grinned at the back of Daroth's head.
The rotten robe-clad skeleton glanced over his shoulder at the man in the black hat. The thought of a smile flashed across Daroth's bone face as he did so. "Of course. See how the storm has settled already?"
Sure enough, the sky before him was clearing, the colossal black clouds that had rained lightning over the seas since the night Daroth had sent the wanderer into it had now withered away and fallen to silence. Behind the dispersing clouds, the sun was rising, giving the sky a burnt red glow.
Duriel cackled. "Sated. After feasting on the soul of your 'knight'."
The other spirit said nothing. He simply folded his arms and shifted balance from one leg to the other.
"Or do you think he made it beyond the surf and saltwater?" Duriel continued. "I don't. He he."
Daroth ignored him. "How did your meeting with the assassin go?" he asked, allowing himself a chuckle of his own. "Did he believe you?"
"Of course he did!"
"Mmm. I hope so, otherwise he won't be where he's meant to be when he should... will he?"
Duriel bared his jagged teeth. "You should concern yourself with your own..." he slowed, waving a black hand in thought, "'champion', or whatever you choose to call that pathetic soul you've found."
"Indeed. I suggest you do the same," Daroth replied without turning around. The spirit at his back growled in frustration. When he looked over his shoulder, Duriel had gone.
-#-
6th May, 2010
Defeat.
A misery that was not inflicted upon Anathkash Dakari this night as he retreated from the ring area victorious. His opponent, Aaron Nothings, crumbled under the might of his determination and the streak of losses had been broken.
If only this had been the extent of his worries.
Jody Monroe almost leapt out of her seat in surprise as Dakari burst into the commentary box she was using as an impromptu office. She cursed his name despite him appearing almost as shocked as she was.
"Christ, Dakari, haven't you heard of knocking?" she moaned, rearranging the documents on the table beside her in a flustered manner.
"Sorry," he said, shuffling out of the room again.
"Where are you going?!" Jody demanded.
"Um, back to the locker rooms?"
"Why? Did you actually want something, or did you just come along to see if you could give me a heart attack?"
"No... I wanted to talk to you."
Jody held up both hands in an overdramatic shrug. "Then why are you leaving?"
Dakari's mouth opened and closed a few times as if some words were supposed to come out, though nothing did.
"Doesn't matter," the JUST boss said. "We may as well make use of this time since you've interrupted my work. I was going to call you after the show anyway."
"Oh," Dakari said flatly. "Why?"
"No, you first. Have a seat."
The only chair in the room that was anywhere near Jody was immediately beside her. Dakari dragged it a couple of feet back to accommodate what he considered to be a "respectful distance" from Jody before he sat in it. Most would assume this to be a snub on Dakari's part but Jody was getting used to his unusual behaviour and took no offense, instead smiling inwardly at how awkward the young man was around her. When he sat down he avoided eye-contact and although that was not unusual, he was clearly more agitated than usual.
"What's bothering you?" she asked.
The rookie looked like he was about to say something, then withdrew. He tried again, with more success. "I... I may need to take a leave of absence," he said, finally.
"Leave of absence? Three days before the final show of our tenth tour? I don't think so, Dakari!"
"No, no, I don't mean now, I mean after. Like, after the tour. There's some things I, erm, have to do. Family things," he prattled.
Jody said nothing at first and she could see Dakari struggling to bridge the gap by saying something but he'd run out of steam for the coal-fired communications engine in his head.
It was painful to watch Dakari squirm, even for Jody. Her face softened as she could see the toll his inner turbulence was taking. "Anathkash. That's fine. You know how Just works. I haven't even started making arrangements for our next tour yet; as far as Just Wrestling is concerned you can take all the leave of absence you need – once this tour's obligations are met. Okay?"
He nodded sheepishly.
"Good. As much as I've had my doubts about you, you've turned out to be quite popular, particularly with our die-hard fans. You know I'll call you when I need an idea of numbers for the next tour. If you're not ready by then, fine. We'll just have to see when the time comes, won't we?"
"Yeah."
"I watched your match tonight."
"You did?"
Jody watches all of the matches. Shhh. "Yeah. You seemed to be more your normal self tonight. You performed well, but I think there's still something bothering you. Or is it this 'family thing'?"
"Yeah. Um, that's what's bothering me. Nothing to worry about," he lied.
"Excellent. Was there anything else?"
"Uh, no. All good."
"Glad to hear it. Well, that's just about all I wanted to say anyway," Jody said. Her eyes met Dakari's. "Good work tonight, Anathkash. I'll see you on Sunday."
-#-
Date unknown
The huge gateway appeared suddenly, emerging from the dust as the wanderer carried on his journey, step by agonizing step. Twin giant stone doors lurked ominously up ahead as he approached. They were a lot further away than they seemed at first, though the very sight of them breathed renewed vigour into the exhausted spirit. His hair dangled in greasy strands that had tangled themselves into his beard, both thick with the dust carried on the powerful gale. Looking up through stinging eyes he halted suddenly.
He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
The door was opening.
Have I finally made it? Or is this too good to be true?
There was only one way to find out, he conceded, and broke into a run. The wanderer heard the gut-wrenching SNAP! of bones breaking and looked over his shoulder. His way back had been blocked, the watchers barring the way and coming up fast behind him, a wall of groaning corpses lumbering towards him, clambering over one another in their desperate haste.
His legs carried him as fast as the pain would allow.
Only a few dozen metres to go.
Being watched was not a pleasant experience, the wanderer knew. In this instance the unease was magnified tenfold for each extra pair of ghostly eyes that observed his plight. With each step forward a new soul joined the crowd that lined his path like spectators at some deathly marathon. No-one blocked his path or sought to distract him; if they did, he couldn't hear them for the sound of the bones that cracked and fell to dust beneath his feet. Those who surrounded him were of all shapes and sizes, the apparitions becoming increasingly ragged and decomposed as he continued onward. He felt the harsh gaze from the empty eye-sockets of skeletal spirits the same as from those with eyes to speak of.
The watchers' intentions were unclear. Their expressionless faces leered from beyond the murky shadows all around him, though the wanderer couldn’t be sure whether they meant to appear menacing or whether they simply wanted to attend a miniscule part of what had been a truly boundless journey thus far. Maybe they were curious about who he was, where he was going?
Can't be much further...
His legs wobbled with each step, ablaze with agony. His spine felt like a gorilla's xylophone; the wanderer marched on hunched-over in an attempt to rest his back while continuing onward, the change in position providing relief from the pain for a short time. He withheld any signs of his anguish from the crowd; for some reason he assumed that their suffering here would have been far greater than any pain he had endured.
Looking back, his own life had been a terrible one and ceased at the edge of a mere twenty-four years. His youth, supposedly a time when one should be care-free, ignorant to the evils of the world. His had been marred by violence, poverty and death from the day he was born. His adult life had been short and unimaginably unpleasant. Everything he tried to do had failed; everything that didn't involve fighting, that is. Everyone he'd ever loved was dead.
Almost.
That fiendish apparition that had approached him so many miles of this desolate world ago, Cong-Chao, was just a vile reminder of the life he'd once had; when he'd fought to survive against what felt like impossible odds. He'd killed Cong-Chao in a fight to the death before he'd even had a chance to raise his weapon. He was a savage human being, a rapist and murderer. Watching the blood spurt from this foul man's sundered throat was the first and last time the wanderer had taken pleasure in killing. He'd felt the grin crawl across his face as the crowd in the underground arena erupted in rage, their pit-hero falling to his knees at the feet of the slave he was supposed to slaughter.
Oh, the disbelief in their cries. The gurgle of screams bubbling through blood served the same purpose as the ring announcers that would announce my victories in years to come.
The wanderer snorted at the thought of comparing forced murder to professional wrestling.
Then again, that too had a part to play in the death of me.
For the first time since stepping foot in these strange lands the wanderer felt the caress of the wind flowing over his body, cooling him down. He had stripped down to the waist long ago, his torn black shirt tucked into his similarly ragged pants. The gentle breeze was refreshing but gave wings to the dust, throwing muck into the wanderer's face. He fought on through bloodshot eyes. As he squinted into the wind, a cloud of dust burst out of the fog and engulfed him entirely.
-#-
Date unknown
"Are you still here?" hissed Duriel as he grinned at the back of Daroth's head.
The rotten robe-clad skeleton glanced over his shoulder at the man in the black hat. The thought of a smile flashed across Daroth's bone face as he did so. "Of course. See how the storm has settled already?"
Sure enough, the sky before him was clearing, the colossal black clouds that had rained lightning over the seas since the night Daroth had sent the wanderer into it had now withered away and fallen to silence. Behind the dispersing clouds, the sun was rising, giving the sky a burnt red glow.
Duriel cackled. "Sated. After feasting on the soul of your 'knight'."
The other spirit said nothing. He simply folded his arms and shifted balance from one leg to the other.
"Or do you think he made it beyond the surf and saltwater?" Duriel continued. "I don't. He he."
Daroth ignored him. "How did your meeting with the assassin go?" he asked, allowing himself a chuckle of his own. "Did he believe you?"
"Of course he did!"
"Mmm. I hope so, otherwise he won't be where he's meant to be when he should... will he?"
Duriel bared his jagged teeth. "You should concern yourself with your own..." he slowed, waving a black hand in thought, "'champion', or whatever you choose to call that pathetic soul you've found."
"Indeed. I suggest you do the same," Daroth replied without turning around. The spirit at his back growled in frustration. When he looked over his shoulder, Duriel had gone.
-#-
6th May, 2010
Defeat.
A misery that was not inflicted upon Anathkash Dakari this night as he retreated from the ring area victorious. His opponent, Aaron Nothings, crumbled under the might of his determination and the streak of losses had been broken.
If only this had been the extent of his worries.
Jody Monroe almost leapt out of her seat in surprise as Dakari burst into the commentary box she was using as an impromptu office. She cursed his name despite him appearing almost as shocked as she was.
"Christ, Dakari, haven't you heard of knocking?" she moaned, rearranging the documents on the table beside her in a flustered manner.
"Sorry," he said, shuffling out of the room again.
"Where are you going?!" Jody demanded.
"Um, back to the locker rooms?"
"Why? Did you actually want something, or did you just come along to see if you could give me a heart attack?"
"No... I wanted to talk to you."
Jody held up both hands in an overdramatic shrug. "Then why are you leaving?"
Dakari's mouth opened and closed a few times as if some words were supposed to come out, though nothing did.
"Doesn't matter," the JUST boss said. "We may as well make use of this time since you've interrupted my work. I was going to call you after the show anyway."
"Oh," Dakari said flatly. "Why?"
"No, you first. Have a seat."
The only chair in the room that was anywhere near Jody was immediately beside her. Dakari dragged it a couple of feet back to accommodate what he considered to be a "respectful distance" from Jody before he sat in it. Most would assume this to be a snub on Dakari's part but Jody was getting used to his unusual behaviour and took no offense, instead smiling inwardly at how awkward the young man was around her. When he sat down he avoided eye-contact and although that was not unusual, he was clearly more agitated than usual.
"What's bothering you?" she asked.
The rookie looked like he was about to say something, then withdrew. He tried again, with more success. "I... I may need to take a leave of absence," he said, finally.
"Leave of absence? Three days before the final show of our tenth tour? I don't think so, Dakari!"
"No, no, I don't mean now, I mean after. Like, after the tour. There's some things I, erm, have to do. Family things," he prattled.
Jody said nothing at first and she could see Dakari struggling to bridge the gap by saying something but he'd run out of steam for the coal-fired communications engine in his head.
It was painful to watch Dakari squirm, even for Jody. Her face softened as she could see the toll his inner turbulence was taking. "Anathkash. That's fine. You know how Just works. I haven't even started making arrangements for our next tour yet; as far as Just Wrestling is concerned you can take all the leave of absence you need – once this tour's obligations are met. Okay?"
He nodded sheepishly.
"Good. As much as I've had my doubts about you, you've turned out to be quite popular, particularly with our die-hard fans. You know I'll call you when I need an idea of numbers for the next tour. If you're not ready by then, fine. We'll just have to see when the time comes, won't we?"
"Yeah."
"I watched your match tonight."
"You did?"
Jody watches all of the matches. Shhh. "Yeah. You seemed to be more your normal self tonight. You performed well, but I think there's still something bothering you. Or is it this 'family thing'?"
"Yeah. Um, that's what's bothering me. Nothing to worry about," he lied.
"Excellent. Was there anything else?"
"Uh, no. All good."
"Glad to hear it. Well, that's just about all I wanted to say anyway," Jody said. Her eyes met Dakari's. "Good work tonight, Anathkash. I'll see you on Sunday."
-#-
Date unknown
The huge gateway appeared suddenly, emerging from the dust as the wanderer carried on his journey, step by agonizing step. Twin giant stone doors lurked ominously up ahead as he approached. They were a lot further away than they seemed at first, though the very sight of them breathed renewed vigour into the exhausted spirit. His hair dangled in greasy strands that had tangled themselves into his beard, both thick with the dust carried on the powerful gale. Looking up through stinging eyes he halted suddenly.
He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
The door was opening.
Have I finally made it? Or is this too good to be true?
There was only one way to find out, he conceded, and broke into a run. The wanderer heard the gut-wrenching SNAP! of bones breaking and looked over his shoulder. His way back had been blocked, the watchers barring the way and coming up fast behind him, a wall of groaning corpses lumbering towards him, clambering over one another in their desperate haste.
His legs carried him as fast as the pain would allow.
Only a few dozen metres to go.
Murderer, part seven: Safety
Date unknown
The wanderer stared at the figure approaching him; his expression had hardened to one of distaste, though this could have just as easily been at the agonizing sound of crunching bones that collapsed underfoot as coming face to face with this ghost. He would have disbelieved his own eyes had his recent experiences not broadened his mental horizons, for now he was faced by the apparition of a man he'd certainly not expected to see again.
"You've been lost to us for a long time, slave," the grinning warrior said in Putonghua, arms folded across his tattooed and blood-soaked chest. The source of this stain, a tear in his throat, reminded the wanderer of the first and last time this man had crossed his path. It had been a brief meeting.
"Cong-Chao," the wanderer muttered in the same tongue. "I remember you."
"So you should. There are a few of us here, since you... disappeared... we've been gathering. Awaiting your return."
"Why?"
Cong-Chao laughed suddenly. "Why? To resume haunting you, of course. For your crimes. Make you pay."
"Don't you think you caused me enough misery while I was alive?"
"As you can see, life does not end after death, slave."
A moment of silence lingered over the two men as they watched one another, Cong-Chao beaming with malice as the traveller anticipated an outburst of aggression from him.
It never came.
"You'd best be on your way," the Chinese spirit chuckled. "Things to do."
"Indeed."
"Watch your back. We'll be around."
"And I'll be waiting for you. If you had been watching me for the past year you'd know I've destroyed beings far more powerful than you. I killed you in life; I'll kill you again in death."
The smile had faded from his old enemy's face, the expression replaced by one of disgust; the wanderer didn't see it however, for he had already started walking away. "We'll see. Good luck on your travels, slave."
-#-
3rd May, 2010
There was a small element of pleasure that Anathkash Dakari found in another day passing without seeing the furious Florien D'nesca. Whatever the contents of his letter, Mister Ravion's instructions obviously didn't require any proximity to Dakari which was a relief. Behind Florien's veil of drug abuse and criminal behaviour lurked a good heart, Dakari knew. If you sidestepped the tough guy act then he was... bearable.
Otherwise? He was an asshole.
Still, the man was gone and Dakari was not likely to see him again without Benedict Ravion to bring his two students back together. He'd certainly not be seeking him out himself, that was for sure.
Dakari found himself looking for the best in things, during these dark days. With the demise of his surrogate father came an unshakable slump in effort in all things - his wrestling career suffering the most. In retrospect, there wasn't really much in his life that required his concentration anymore. In fact, he didn't have much in his life, save for the "destiny" that Mister Ravion had described in his letter. Once that had come to pass it probably wouldn't matter anymore anyway. Blood would be shed and the end of all this could begin.
What does one do when one has spent their entire life preparing to face their destiny... then faces it?
Well that all depends on the outcome of that encounter. Whatever eventuality Fate decides to dole out will be met in due course.
For now Dakari had to continue with the day-to-day menial tasks. The anticipation was agonizing but Dakari had spent his life waiting for one moment, lurking in the shadows for his "time to shine". And shine he would, with the radiance and fury of a thousand suns his task would be complete and then...
And then...
Who knows?
The waters of the Upper Bay were unsettled, the morning sun dancing frantically on its surface. Hudson Riverdance? Powerful winds threatened to dislodge Anathkash Dakari from his perch atop the warehouse beside the Teardrop Memorial, the height enough to make even him a little edgy.
The sudden, violent vibrations from his pocket didn't do his nerves any favours. Dakari withdrew the cell from his pocket as he shuffled away from the drop.
"Hello?" he shouted over the wind.
"Jesus Christ, Dakari, are you in a wind tunnel or something?" Jody Monroe asked.
Dakari looked up to the open sky. "No."
"I can barely hear you!"
"It's windy."
"Well get into some shelter, then! I can't carry on with a conversation like this!" she complained.
Dakari flipped the hood on his jacket up and cupped his hand around the phone. "Better?"
"Slightly. What's wrong with you?" she asked suddenly.
The rookie paused, the interference from the wind made him unsure of what Jody had actually said. "What's wrong with me? Um, nothing, why? What do you mean?"
"I noticed you've not been yourself lately. I just don't want my whole touring roster having nervous breakdowns."
"T-the whole roster..?"
"Forget it. I take it you're already aware that our next show is in Jersey City."
"Er, yeah. I'm at the Teardrop Memorial."
"You-what? Ear drops?!"
"No, the Teardrop Memorial!"
"Oh. What about it?"
"I, um, wanted to, er, see it?"
"Well, why don't you?"
"I... I am."
"Good," Jody said, sounding slightly confused. "Do you need to know who your opponent is or have you managed to work out how to use a computer yet?"
Dakari said nothing.
"Didn't think so. You're facing Aaron Nothings, second to main-event - should be a real crowd pleaser," the JUST head chuckled. "Two complete delinquents in one ring, very entertaining."
"Two delinquents? What do you mean?"
"You really thought I wouldn't hear about that brawl you had in Alamosa? You and that... that lunatic you brought with you to the signing day could've caused me a major headache!" Her tone was rising with each word. "Don't make me regret my decision to keep you on board at Just Wrestling. It's a mistake that's easily undone!"
Dakari paused and scowled. He uncovered the microphone to the wind, holding the phone away from his face. "Sorry Jo--… can't hear..... say--… call you back!" he yelled, feigning interference before slamming the flip shut.
He turned off the phone and jammed it into the pocket of his black combats, frowning into the wind.
-#-
Jody Monroe took her Bluetooth headset off and threw it down on her desk, the hands-free set skittering away and falling onto the floor. Her other hand pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes closed. She took a deep breath and let her mind drift back to the last vacation she managed to take. The villa balcony; sand, sea and sangria. The warmth of Mediterranean sun caressing her face as she gazed across the beautiful seaside scenery.
She released that breath, with the holiday imagery in her mind.
Ahh.
Such frustration from one man. Well, she knew that was an overstatement, it was more like half a dozen men. Dakari, Harrison, Balboa and, recently, Johnson to name but a few of the men that had graced the Just Wrestling ring with their presence and trashed Jody's good nights' sleep with their problematic behaviour.
She felt the moment of relaxation fading away the more she thought about it. Within seconds, it was gone.
Did Dakari really think she didn't know he just hung up on her? The strange man was so distant; the only tool she had to keep him in check was the threat of losing the job he'd had to deceive her to secure. The truth was, had Jody not been abandoned at the helm of the company and left desperate for talent, she'd have turned Dakari away in an instant once the wild fabrication had been discovered. She hated liars, but he'd already proven himself an entertaining and talented individual by the time she found out. If only she'd paid more attention to the events of the west-coast-based wrestling company, The Experts. The man Dakari had pretended to be was the figurehead of The Experts, after all.
She should have known.
She wondered suddenly about one vitally important detail that hadn't occurred to her in the past – if Dakari only claimed to be trained by All-Star Wrestling in order to support his false identity... who trained him to wrestle? Not that wrestling factored in his matches very heavily, true; but he had to have learnt what he knew somewhere. But, on the other hand, how could he have been trained to wrestle but know absolutely nothing about the business at the same time?
The scruffy enigma was a curious one indeed.
Jody had been uncertain as to whether the reports of the bar fight she'd seen on the internet actually regarded Dakari. He was such a quiet man, not the wrestling type by any means; bar fights and the like were not the kind of activities she suspected he'd be involved with, but after his reaction to her accusation on the phone there was no doubt. Had formal charges been raised then disciplinary action would be unavoidable. It was well that, on this occasion, there was no proof.
Anathkash Dakari was safe in his job... for now.
The wanderer stared at the figure approaching him; his expression had hardened to one of distaste, though this could have just as easily been at the agonizing sound of crunching bones that collapsed underfoot as coming face to face with this ghost. He would have disbelieved his own eyes had his recent experiences not broadened his mental horizons, for now he was faced by the apparition of a man he'd certainly not expected to see again.
"You've been lost to us for a long time, slave," the grinning warrior said in Putonghua, arms folded across his tattooed and blood-soaked chest. The source of this stain, a tear in his throat, reminded the wanderer of the first and last time this man had crossed his path. It had been a brief meeting.
"Cong-Chao," the wanderer muttered in the same tongue. "I remember you."
"So you should. There are a few of us here, since you... disappeared... we've been gathering. Awaiting your return."
"Why?"
Cong-Chao laughed suddenly. "Why? To resume haunting you, of course. For your crimes. Make you pay."
"Don't you think you caused me enough misery while I was alive?"
"As you can see, life does not end after death, slave."
A moment of silence lingered over the two men as they watched one another, Cong-Chao beaming with malice as the traveller anticipated an outburst of aggression from him.
It never came.
"You'd best be on your way," the Chinese spirit chuckled. "Things to do."
"Indeed."
"Watch your back. We'll be around."
"And I'll be waiting for you. If you had been watching me for the past year you'd know I've destroyed beings far more powerful than you. I killed you in life; I'll kill you again in death."
The smile had faded from his old enemy's face, the expression replaced by one of disgust; the wanderer didn't see it however, for he had already started walking away. "We'll see. Good luck on your travels, slave."
-#-
3rd May, 2010
There was a small element of pleasure that Anathkash Dakari found in another day passing without seeing the furious Florien D'nesca. Whatever the contents of his letter, Mister Ravion's instructions obviously didn't require any proximity to Dakari which was a relief. Behind Florien's veil of drug abuse and criminal behaviour lurked a good heart, Dakari knew. If you sidestepped the tough guy act then he was... bearable.
Otherwise? He was an asshole.
Still, the man was gone and Dakari was not likely to see him again without Benedict Ravion to bring his two students back together. He'd certainly not be seeking him out himself, that was for sure.
Dakari found himself looking for the best in things, during these dark days. With the demise of his surrogate father came an unshakable slump in effort in all things - his wrestling career suffering the most. In retrospect, there wasn't really much in his life that required his concentration anymore. In fact, he didn't have much in his life, save for the "destiny" that Mister Ravion had described in his letter. Once that had come to pass it probably wouldn't matter anymore anyway. Blood would be shed and the end of all this could begin.
What does one do when one has spent their entire life preparing to face their destiny... then faces it?
Well that all depends on the outcome of that encounter. Whatever eventuality Fate decides to dole out will be met in due course.
For now Dakari had to continue with the day-to-day menial tasks. The anticipation was agonizing but Dakari had spent his life waiting for one moment, lurking in the shadows for his "time to shine". And shine he would, with the radiance and fury of a thousand suns his task would be complete and then...
And then...
Who knows?
The waters of the Upper Bay were unsettled, the morning sun dancing frantically on its surface. Hudson Riverdance? Powerful winds threatened to dislodge Anathkash Dakari from his perch atop the warehouse beside the Teardrop Memorial, the height enough to make even him a little edgy.
The sudden, violent vibrations from his pocket didn't do his nerves any favours. Dakari withdrew the cell from his pocket as he shuffled away from the drop.
"Hello?" he shouted over the wind.
"Jesus Christ, Dakari, are you in a wind tunnel or something?" Jody Monroe asked.
Dakari looked up to the open sky. "No."
"I can barely hear you!"
"It's windy."
"Well get into some shelter, then! I can't carry on with a conversation like this!" she complained.
Dakari flipped the hood on his jacket up and cupped his hand around the phone. "Better?"
"Slightly. What's wrong with you?" she asked suddenly.
The rookie paused, the interference from the wind made him unsure of what Jody had actually said. "What's wrong with me? Um, nothing, why? What do you mean?"
"I noticed you've not been yourself lately. I just don't want my whole touring roster having nervous breakdowns."
"T-the whole roster..?"
"Forget it. I take it you're already aware that our next show is in Jersey City."
"Er, yeah. I'm at the Teardrop Memorial."
"You-what? Ear drops?!"
"No, the Teardrop Memorial!"
"Oh. What about it?"
"I, um, wanted to, er, see it?"
"Well, why don't you?"
"I... I am."
"Good," Jody said, sounding slightly confused. "Do you need to know who your opponent is or have you managed to work out how to use a computer yet?"
Dakari said nothing.
"Didn't think so. You're facing Aaron Nothings, second to main-event - should be a real crowd pleaser," the JUST head chuckled. "Two complete delinquents in one ring, very entertaining."
"Two delinquents? What do you mean?"
"You really thought I wouldn't hear about that brawl you had in Alamosa? You and that... that lunatic you brought with you to the signing day could've caused me a major headache!" Her tone was rising with each word. "Don't make me regret my decision to keep you on board at Just Wrestling. It's a mistake that's easily undone!"
Dakari paused and scowled. He uncovered the microphone to the wind, holding the phone away from his face. "Sorry Jo--… can't hear..... say--… call you back!" he yelled, feigning interference before slamming the flip shut.
He turned off the phone and jammed it into the pocket of his black combats, frowning into the wind.
-#-
Jody Monroe took her Bluetooth headset off and threw it down on her desk, the hands-free set skittering away and falling onto the floor. Her other hand pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes closed. She took a deep breath and let her mind drift back to the last vacation she managed to take. The villa balcony; sand, sea and sangria. The warmth of Mediterranean sun caressing her face as she gazed across the beautiful seaside scenery.
She released that breath, with the holiday imagery in her mind.
Ahh.
Such frustration from one man. Well, she knew that was an overstatement, it was more like half a dozen men. Dakari, Harrison, Balboa and, recently, Johnson to name but a few of the men that had graced the Just Wrestling ring with their presence and trashed Jody's good nights' sleep with their problematic behaviour.
She felt the moment of relaxation fading away the more she thought about it. Within seconds, it was gone.
Did Dakari really think she didn't know he just hung up on her? The strange man was so distant; the only tool she had to keep him in check was the threat of losing the job he'd had to deceive her to secure. The truth was, had Jody not been abandoned at the helm of the company and left desperate for talent, she'd have turned Dakari away in an instant once the wild fabrication had been discovered. She hated liars, but he'd already proven himself an entertaining and talented individual by the time she found out. If only she'd paid more attention to the events of the west-coast-based wrestling company, The Experts. The man Dakari had pretended to be was the figurehead of The Experts, after all.
She should have known.
She wondered suddenly about one vitally important detail that hadn't occurred to her in the past – if Dakari only claimed to be trained by All-Star Wrestling in order to support his false identity... who trained him to wrestle? Not that wrestling factored in his matches very heavily, true; but he had to have learnt what he knew somewhere. But, on the other hand, how could he have been trained to wrestle but know absolutely nothing about the business at the same time?
The scruffy enigma was a curious one indeed.
Jody had been uncertain as to whether the reports of the bar fight she'd seen on the internet actually regarded Dakari. He was such a quiet man, not the wrestling type by any means; bar fights and the like were not the kind of activities she suspected he'd be involved with, but after his reaction to her accusation on the phone there was no doubt. Had formal charges been raised then disciplinary action would be unavoidable. It was well that, on this occasion, there was no proof.
Anathkash Dakari was safe in his job... for now.
Murderer, part six: Voidwalker, From the Depths
Date unknown
With each step taken a new cloud of silt arose to obscure the wanderer's vision in his already murky surroundings. His hands flailed in a hopeless effort to clear the way but the sand simply wove itself around his arms, between his fingers. There was no chance of moving fast in the depths of the great sea he found himself in, it was truly a wonder he was even able to move forward at all.
His mission was to cross the Void, destroy the Betrayer. Daroth had helpfully informed him that this task would not be as easy as it sounded, but the reward he had been promised would be worth it. A gift sought by many, but one that no-one believed it was possible to achieve.
A second chance.
He would earn that prize. The huge beasts that slithered unseen through the murky waters around him would seek to deny him that which he would achieve. The agents of the Betrayer would stop at nothing to destroy him.
They would not succeed.
With each step forward his goal drew nearer.
-#-
March 15th, 2010
"It is done," Eidolon growled into the cell phone as he threw his trench-coat down on the hotel bed.
The dim light from the bedside lamp drowned in the sea of black in which the assassin was bedecked, save for the glimmering sharpened edges of the throwing knives strapped to his chest. Eidolon's face hardened as his employer relayed his instructions to him, and the death sentence of his next target was set in stone.
"Of course. I'll see to it."
The phone was flipped shut and thrown to land beside the coat. This was a dirty business Eidolon had gotten himself into. It was almost a shame he was so good at it.
He he he...
Eidolon's pistol was in his hands and pointing at the shadow by the hotel room door.
"Step out! NOW!" he barked, taking a step back.
With a chuckle the intruder stepped out of the dark corner, though that didn't help Eidolon. The man was dressed head-to-foot in black, his hat obscuring his face.
"Who are you!?"
"Unimportant," hissed the man. "But what is important is the name of the one you seek to kill. Correct?"
"Why would you tell me that? And why should I believe you?"
"Let's just say that we will both have... mutual benefits from his death."
"The name?"
The man grinned from beneath his hat, wicked sharp teeth gleamed in the darkness. "Anathkash Dakari."
"I'll take this into consideration. Now leave."
"As you wish," grinned the apparition, opening the door and stepping out of the room.
Eidolon reached for the holster at his waist and paused, looking back to his leather coat. He turned it over and put his hands into the inside pocket, removing the box containing the revolver Benedict Ravion gave him.
With a sigh, Eidolon sat on the edge of the bed and placed the box down beside himself. The revolver waited inside. He opened the ornate box and lifted the weapon out, feeling the weight of the pistol in his grip, and peered through the sight. The delicate appearance of the intricately carved black cannon was offset by its own bulk, Eidolon observed. He popped the curious two-chambered cylinder and scratched the stubble on his chin. Why only two chambers? Aside from the superficial beauty of the silver etchings in the gun it was really no different from any other Colt Anaconda, excluding the unusual and highly inefficient cylinder.
There had to be a reason for it. Whatever it was, it wasn't likely Eidolon would ever find out.
-#-
April 19th, 2010
As Florien's hand plunged into his jacket pocket, the Colorado Sports staff tried to make themselves as invisible as possible, sidling behind shelves and sales displays in an effort to avoid the next violent outburst from the aggressor. The young man smirked and produced an envelope from his pocket, thrusting it towards Anathkash Dakari, who eyed it critically.
"What's this?" he asked.
"You think I have x-ray vision?" snarled Florien. "Open it."
Dakari frowned at him. "I'll read it later; we need to leave."
-#-
April 19th, 2010
Anathkash Dakari glanced at the beer bottle placed down in front of him by the grinning Florien and looked back at his letter. The shorter man slumped into the leather sofa, a Bud of his own in his hand.
"You like how I took out that security guard?" he asked between swigs of beer, the faint echoes of an almost-forgotten Italian woven into his words.
"Very good," Dakari drawled with disinterest before sliding an envelope across the table to Florien, who took it in one hand and turned it over. "For you."
"What's this?"
"It was inside the message you gave me."
Florien put his drink down to open the envelope. He withdrew a folded sheet of thick writing paper.
His eyes scanned the busy bar, then fell on the reading Dakari. He was pressed into the corner as much as possible, legs crossed beneath him on the leather settee. The wrestler had insisted on finding the most out-of-the-way seating to occupy and read his letter. Florien noticed his expression of horror when he first lead the man into the bar, when the door was pushed aside and the mass of people within were revealed to him.
It had been a few years since he and Dakari last met; Florien could tell he hadn't changed a bit. Same old Dakari, ducking from the eyes of the world and slinking through society like a panicked mouse; unseen, unheard, unknown... except when he emerged from his shell and wrestled in front of a couple of thousand people. He had always been reserved and shy; why he'd decided to expose himself to thousands of people at a time while cuddling greasy men for their entertainment was beyond him. He was a fighting prodigy, why would he waste his time with wrestling?
Still, he knew better than to try and argue Dakari's unusual behaviour. He had an explanation for everything; it was as if each time he did anything it was after great consideration. The conviction with which he conducted his life was enough for Florien to cast his doubts aside and simply accept what Dakari was doing, whether he thought he was right, wrong, or extremely fucking weird.
Whatever.
The younger man scowled at Dakari and unfolded his letter. When his eyes met the page and the two words written upon it were read he could almost feel his blood boil. A vicious sneer crossed his face momentarily as he looked to the other man; he didn't notice the malice pouring out of Florien now as he was still reading his letter, though he must have felt eyes on him as he looked up.
"What?"
"Nothing," Florien snarled. "You gonna drink that or what?"
Dakari looked at the beer momentarily, then back to his letter. "I don't drink. Have it."
"Still? I don't know what the fuck is wrong with you."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. You don't know how to have fun. Lighten up, you miserable fuck."
With a frustrated sigh, the rookie wrestler turned his focus from his letter. "The one who was the closest thing to a father I've ever had was murdered a couple of weeks ago. Now is not the time for fun. You spend too much of your time having fun; you're irresponsible, immature, and above all - you're an idiot. So pardon me if I don't have the patience to deal with you right now."
Florien launched to his feet and threw an angry finger at Anathkash. "Fuck you, Dakari! I'm grieving too!"
"I never said you weren't. What I'm saying is, you've lost focus. Your dedication to your duties is clouded by your pursuit of fun and entertainment."
"That's what you think?!" he roared. The voices in the background quietened down as the bar's patrons turned to eavesdrop. "So what's all this wrestling shit all about? What the fuck do you call that, huh?"
"Keep your voice down," Dakari growled, pointedly glancing at the onlookers and lowering his voice to barely more than a whisper. "I seek the Betrayer. You know that."
Florien barked a laugh before taking a drink of Dakari's beer. "So you say... so you say. But you, you see me drinking and having fun sometimes and just assume it's all I do. Maybe I'm trying to find the Betrayer at the bottom of each bottle, ever think of that?"
"I'm at least working the correct industry. You're being a fool. Sit down before they throw you out."
"They can't throw me out, you know that!"
"They'll try."
"Good for them. Fuck them!"
"Stop it. Read your letter, it's important."
"I've fucking read it already, Dakari. Stop telling me what to do."
"I will, as soon as you stop being an asshole!"
"You first, you fucking dick!" Florien screamed.
Dakari shook his head as the bar's bouncers approached from behind the furious Florien. "Keep shouting, then. Let the doormen see you out."
"You cunt. I'll catch up with you later."
"Oh, fuck off then, Florien; you prick."
That was the last straw for Florien D'nesca. His wild punch threw him out of the bouncers' reach and into the empty space Dakari once occupied. The wrestler had rolled aside, then flashed a kick into the side of Florien's head, knocking him into a sideward stagger that saw him fall to the feet of one of the doormen.
Dakari snatched his letter from the table and folded it up, tucking it into his jeans pocket. Just when he thought the scuffle was over, Florien obviously had other ideas. His foot lashed up from where he lay on the ground to kick the doorman in the face. He took the blow and rained fist after fist down at Florien to subdue him, but the considerably smaller man had no intentions of giving up, despite the beating he suffered. He grabbed the bouncer's next fist with both hands and wrapped his feet around his head, dragging the big man off-balance and rolling to the floor, using the momentum to throw himself upright. His foot stomped down on the bouncers face once, twice, and once again in quick succession before the other doorman could clobber him in the face with a savage punch that sent him flying over a table hastily vacated by young men.
The bouncer grabbed Florien by the back of his jacket, but was met by an elbow repeatedly smashing into his face until he released him. As he spun around, Florien threw a punch at the bouncer who soaked up the blow and floored him in turn with a solid headbutt that landed with a crack!
"Idiot," Dakari muttered, shaking his head. He ran towards Florien and hopped over him, stepping up onto the empty table and flipping back over, kicking the bouncer in the face with both feet.
Both men hit the ground.
Grabbing Florien, The young wrestler pushed himself to his feet, dragging him up beside him.
"We should probably go," Florien blathered.
-#-
Wiping the blood from his face with his jacket sleeve, Florien walked ahead of Dakari.
Dakari wasn't surprised by his outburst. Two years younger was Florien, though he behaved like an enraged adolescent. This had always been his way, though Dakari hated him for it. He had never taken his training seriously, much to the frustrations of Mister Ravion and Mister Nihilus. The lack of attention he paid during his education was clear in the brawl they had just escaped from; there was no reason why Florien couldn't have wiped the floor with both doormen, save from the fact that he was angry and he had forgotten much of what he had been taught over the years.
For Anathkash Dakari, his knowledge had been branded onto the surface of his brain, waiting at the forefront of his mind for easy access. But for Florien... his mind was a haze of booze and drugs. While Dakari endeavoured to avoid breaking the law wherever possible, Florien treated the law with about as much respect as he had for any other rules – none whatsoever. Rules were made to be broken; a criminal record was just a means of keeping score.
Florien was dangerous; despite his size and inexperience he threw his weight around as if he were made of lead and that brought him trouble by the boatload.
"I think the fucker broke my nose," he complained, having apparently forgotten their disagreement that caused the brawl in the first place.
"Serves you right," Dakari grunted. "You should control your temper."
"The only thing around here that needs control is your mouth."
Dakari shook his head. "Thanks for the message, Florien. I dearly hope I never have to see you again."
"Huh?" Florien spun around.
Dakari was gone.
-#-
Date unknown
The fluidic air was thinning out; the clouds of dust thrown into view with each and every step were becoming smaller. A faint crunch could be heard as the wanderer's feet met the seabed beneath him; he no longer felt the presence of the malignant beings as they glided unseen though the dense waters. Perhaps they had not been aware of him as he meandered across the silt wasteland. Although he could see and feel his own body, maybe they couldn't? He didn't know if he was as an apparition in this world or a solid manifestation. The water flowing against him made him feel pretty solid, but traditional sensibilities meant nothing after what he'd seen.
The fact that he took this journey on the instruction of a skeletal ghost bedecked in robes was enough for him to abandon his former apperceptions of reality.
CRUNCH!
The wanderer looked down. Beneath his feet was some sort of crockery or something sticking out of the sand, which now appeared to be dry. He looked up. All around him was black, though not necessarily darkness; the ground ahead was dotted with flecks of white and gray. Kneeling down, he pushed the sand away from around the broken object and discovered, to his horror, that he had crushed a skull underfoot. His eyes slowly scanned the ground ahead and the wanderer continued onward at a crawl, inspecting that which he found buried beneath the surface of this strange place. More bones. All bones. All of it. Fingers and femurs, sections of spinal columns and skulls littered the ground.
With the sea gone, the wanderer took a deep breath of air and enjoyed how easy it was on his lungs. Breathing water was like trying to drink mud when expecting wine. A wholly unpleasant experience.
Sadly, the relief of fresh air was of little comfort to the wanderer as he sat on the ground and turned what he presumed to be a humerus over in his hands, perplexed as to whom they belong. This barren graveyard troubled him deeply. Was it the final resting place of others who'd sought the same prize? Or had he simply ambled onto dry land and walked into an ancient cemetery?
He had no idea.
"You're the last one I expected to see here," a voice from behind whispered.
The wanderer looked back... and sorely wished he hadn't.
With each step taken a new cloud of silt arose to obscure the wanderer's vision in his already murky surroundings. His hands flailed in a hopeless effort to clear the way but the sand simply wove itself around his arms, between his fingers. There was no chance of moving fast in the depths of the great sea he found himself in, it was truly a wonder he was even able to move forward at all.
His mission was to cross the Void, destroy the Betrayer. Daroth had helpfully informed him that this task would not be as easy as it sounded, but the reward he had been promised would be worth it. A gift sought by many, but one that no-one believed it was possible to achieve.
A second chance.
He would earn that prize. The huge beasts that slithered unseen through the murky waters around him would seek to deny him that which he would achieve. The agents of the Betrayer would stop at nothing to destroy him.
They would not succeed.
With each step forward his goal drew nearer.
-#-
March 15th, 2010
"It is done," Eidolon growled into the cell phone as he threw his trench-coat down on the hotel bed.
The dim light from the bedside lamp drowned in the sea of black in which the assassin was bedecked, save for the glimmering sharpened edges of the throwing knives strapped to his chest. Eidolon's face hardened as his employer relayed his instructions to him, and the death sentence of his next target was set in stone.
"Of course. I'll see to it."
The phone was flipped shut and thrown to land beside the coat. This was a dirty business Eidolon had gotten himself into. It was almost a shame he was so good at it.
He he he...
Eidolon's pistol was in his hands and pointing at the shadow by the hotel room door.
"Step out! NOW!" he barked, taking a step back.
With a chuckle the intruder stepped out of the dark corner, though that didn't help Eidolon. The man was dressed head-to-foot in black, his hat obscuring his face.
"Who are you!?"
"Unimportant," hissed the man. "But what is important is the name of the one you seek to kill. Correct?"
"Why would you tell me that? And why should I believe you?"
"Let's just say that we will both have... mutual benefits from his death."
"The name?"
The man grinned from beneath his hat, wicked sharp teeth gleamed in the darkness. "Anathkash Dakari."
"I'll take this into consideration. Now leave."
"As you wish," grinned the apparition, opening the door and stepping out of the room.
Eidolon reached for the holster at his waist and paused, looking back to his leather coat. He turned it over and put his hands into the inside pocket, removing the box containing the revolver Benedict Ravion gave him.
With a sigh, Eidolon sat on the edge of the bed and placed the box down beside himself. The revolver waited inside. He opened the ornate box and lifted the weapon out, feeling the weight of the pistol in his grip, and peered through the sight. The delicate appearance of the intricately carved black cannon was offset by its own bulk, Eidolon observed. He popped the curious two-chambered cylinder and scratched the stubble on his chin. Why only two chambers? Aside from the superficial beauty of the silver etchings in the gun it was really no different from any other Colt Anaconda, excluding the unusual and highly inefficient cylinder.
There had to be a reason for it. Whatever it was, it wasn't likely Eidolon would ever find out.
-#-
April 19th, 2010
As Florien's hand plunged into his jacket pocket, the Colorado Sports staff tried to make themselves as invisible as possible, sidling behind shelves and sales displays in an effort to avoid the next violent outburst from the aggressor. The young man smirked and produced an envelope from his pocket, thrusting it towards Anathkash Dakari, who eyed it critically.
"What's this?" he asked.
"You think I have x-ray vision?" snarled Florien. "Open it."
Dakari frowned at him. "I'll read it later; we need to leave."
-#-
April 19th, 2010
Anathkash Dakari glanced at the beer bottle placed down in front of him by the grinning Florien and looked back at his letter. The shorter man slumped into the leather sofa, a Bud of his own in his hand.
"You like how I took out that security guard?" he asked between swigs of beer, the faint echoes of an almost-forgotten Italian woven into his words.
"Very good," Dakari drawled with disinterest before sliding an envelope across the table to Florien, who took it in one hand and turned it over. "For you."
"What's this?"
"It was inside the message you gave me."
Florien put his drink down to open the envelope. He withdrew a folded sheet of thick writing paper.
His eyes scanned the busy bar, then fell on the reading Dakari. He was pressed into the corner as much as possible, legs crossed beneath him on the leather settee. The wrestler had insisted on finding the most out-of-the-way seating to occupy and read his letter. Florien noticed his expression of horror when he first lead the man into the bar, when the door was pushed aside and the mass of people within were revealed to him.
It had been a few years since he and Dakari last met; Florien could tell he hadn't changed a bit. Same old Dakari, ducking from the eyes of the world and slinking through society like a panicked mouse; unseen, unheard, unknown... except when he emerged from his shell and wrestled in front of a couple of thousand people. He had always been reserved and shy; why he'd decided to expose himself to thousands of people at a time while cuddling greasy men for their entertainment was beyond him. He was a fighting prodigy, why would he waste his time with wrestling?
Still, he knew better than to try and argue Dakari's unusual behaviour. He had an explanation for everything; it was as if each time he did anything it was after great consideration. The conviction with which he conducted his life was enough for Florien to cast his doubts aside and simply accept what Dakari was doing, whether he thought he was right, wrong, or extremely fucking weird.
Whatever.
The younger man scowled at Dakari and unfolded his letter. When his eyes met the page and the two words written upon it were read he could almost feel his blood boil. A vicious sneer crossed his face momentarily as he looked to the other man; he didn't notice the malice pouring out of Florien now as he was still reading his letter, though he must have felt eyes on him as he looked up.
"What?"
"Nothing," Florien snarled. "You gonna drink that or what?"
Dakari looked at the beer momentarily, then back to his letter. "I don't drink. Have it."
"Still? I don't know what the fuck is wrong with you."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. You don't know how to have fun. Lighten up, you miserable fuck."
With a frustrated sigh, the rookie wrestler turned his focus from his letter. "The one who was the closest thing to a father I've ever had was murdered a couple of weeks ago. Now is not the time for fun. You spend too much of your time having fun; you're irresponsible, immature, and above all - you're an idiot. So pardon me if I don't have the patience to deal with you right now."
Florien launched to his feet and threw an angry finger at Anathkash. "Fuck you, Dakari! I'm grieving too!"
"I never said you weren't. What I'm saying is, you've lost focus. Your dedication to your duties is clouded by your pursuit of fun and entertainment."
"That's what you think?!" he roared. The voices in the background quietened down as the bar's patrons turned to eavesdrop. "So what's all this wrestling shit all about? What the fuck do you call that, huh?"
"Keep your voice down," Dakari growled, pointedly glancing at the onlookers and lowering his voice to barely more than a whisper. "I seek the Betrayer. You know that."
Florien barked a laugh before taking a drink of Dakari's beer. "So you say... so you say. But you, you see me drinking and having fun sometimes and just assume it's all I do. Maybe I'm trying to find the Betrayer at the bottom of each bottle, ever think of that?"
"I'm at least working the correct industry. You're being a fool. Sit down before they throw you out."
"They can't throw me out, you know that!"
"They'll try."
"Good for them. Fuck them!"
"Stop it. Read your letter, it's important."
"I've fucking read it already, Dakari. Stop telling me what to do."
"I will, as soon as you stop being an asshole!"
"You first, you fucking dick!" Florien screamed.
Dakari shook his head as the bar's bouncers approached from behind the furious Florien. "Keep shouting, then. Let the doormen see you out."
"You cunt. I'll catch up with you later."
"Oh, fuck off then, Florien; you prick."
That was the last straw for Florien D'nesca. His wild punch threw him out of the bouncers' reach and into the empty space Dakari once occupied. The wrestler had rolled aside, then flashed a kick into the side of Florien's head, knocking him into a sideward stagger that saw him fall to the feet of one of the doormen.
Dakari snatched his letter from the table and folded it up, tucking it into his jeans pocket. Just when he thought the scuffle was over, Florien obviously had other ideas. His foot lashed up from where he lay on the ground to kick the doorman in the face. He took the blow and rained fist after fist down at Florien to subdue him, but the considerably smaller man had no intentions of giving up, despite the beating he suffered. He grabbed the bouncer's next fist with both hands and wrapped his feet around his head, dragging the big man off-balance and rolling to the floor, using the momentum to throw himself upright. His foot stomped down on the bouncers face once, twice, and once again in quick succession before the other doorman could clobber him in the face with a savage punch that sent him flying over a table hastily vacated by young men.
The bouncer grabbed Florien by the back of his jacket, but was met by an elbow repeatedly smashing into his face until he released him. As he spun around, Florien threw a punch at the bouncer who soaked up the blow and floored him in turn with a solid headbutt that landed with a crack!
"Idiot," Dakari muttered, shaking his head. He ran towards Florien and hopped over him, stepping up onto the empty table and flipping back over, kicking the bouncer in the face with both feet.
Both men hit the ground.
Grabbing Florien, The young wrestler pushed himself to his feet, dragging him up beside him.
"We should probably go," Florien blathered.
-#-
Wiping the blood from his face with his jacket sleeve, Florien walked ahead of Dakari.
Dakari wasn't surprised by his outburst. Two years younger was Florien, though he behaved like an enraged adolescent. This had always been his way, though Dakari hated him for it. He had never taken his training seriously, much to the frustrations of Mister Ravion and Mister Nihilus. The lack of attention he paid during his education was clear in the brawl they had just escaped from; there was no reason why Florien couldn't have wiped the floor with both doormen, save from the fact that he was angry and he had forgotten much of what he had been taught over the years.
For Anathkash Dakari, his knowledge had been branded onto the surface of his brain, waiting at the forefront of his mind for easy access. But for Florien... his mind was a haze of booze and drugs. While Dakari endeavoured to avoid breaking the law wherever possible, Florien treated the law with about as much respect as he had for any other rules – none whatsoever. Rules were made to be broken; a criminal record was just a means of keeping score.
Florien was dangerous; despite his size and inexperience he threw his weight around as if he were made of lead and that brought him trouble by the boatload.
"I think the fucker broke my nose," he complained, having apparently forgotten their disagreement that caused the brawl in the first place.
"Serves you right," Dakari grunted. "You should control your temper."
"The only thing around here that needs control is your mouth."
Dakari shook his head. "Thanks for the message, Florien. I dearly hope I never have to see you again."
"Huh?" Florien spun around.
Dakari was gone.
-#-
Date unknown
The fluidic air was thinning out; the clouds of dust thrown into view with each and every step were becoming smaller. A faint crunch could be heard as the wanderer's feet met the seabed beneath him; he no longer felt the presence of the malignant beings as they glided unseen though the dense waters. Perhaps they had not been aware of him as he meandered across the silt wasteland. Although he could see and feel his own body, maybe they couldn't? He didn't know if he was as an apparition in this world or a solid manifestation. The water flowing against him made him feel pretty solid, but traditional sensibilities meant nothing after what he'd seen.
The fact that he took this journey on the instruction of a skeletal ghost bedecked in robes was enough for him to abandon his former apperceptions of reality.
CRUNCH!
The wanderer looked down. Beneath his feet was some sort of crockery or something sticking out of the sand, which now appeared to be dry. He looked up. All around him was black, though not necessarily darkness; the ground ahead was dotted with flecks of white and gray. Kneeling down, he pushed the sand away from around the broken object and discovered, to his horror, that he had crushed a skull underfoot. His eyes slowly scanned the ground ahead and the wanderer continued onward at a crawl, inspecting that which he found buried beneath the surface of this strange place. More bones. All bones. All of it. Fingers and femurs, sections of spinal columns and skulls littered the ground.
With the sea gone, the wanderer took a deep breath of air and enjoyed how easy it was on his lungs. Breathing water was like trying to drink mud when expecting wine. A wholly unpleasant experience.
Sadly, the relief of fresh air was of little comfort to the wanderer as he sat on the ground and turned what he presumed to be a humerus over in his hands, perplexed as to whom they belong. This barren graveyard troubled him deeply. Was it the final resting place of others who'd sought the same prize? Or had he simply ambled onto dry land and walked into an ancient cemetery?
He had no idea.
"You're the last one I expected to see here," a voice from behind whispered.
The wanderer looked back... and sorely wished he hadn't.
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