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.
