Darkness Rising

by genderfluid-mess

Similar to one of my "What If—?" stories, this story will focus on the untold tale of a character who may have played a large part in the plot of Fantastic Beats and Where to Find Them, had he chosen to show his face. Instead, we will learn the fascinating truth of why he stayed hidden, and how he was mysteriously correlated with Credence, the Obscurial.

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

3rd Person POV

A boy of 21 years sat on the rooftop edge of a New York City apartment building, legs swinging into the void below. The air was filled with energy tonight, just not the kind he was searching for. He knew vaguely of the person he was seeking, but the events that were to come were more than he could have ever prepared for.

He stood, gazing at the streets below. Exhaling slightly, his breath appeared as a puff of swirling white in the cold air.

Turning his back to the abyss, he looked up at the stars, inhaled contradictory to the breath still hanging in the air, and tumbled backwards towards the empty streets waiting for him.

Credence's POV

Mary Lou lectured in the background, screaming fearful tales at the crowd. Nothing I hadn't heard before, so I did my best to block it out. Keeping my head down as much as possible, I tried to hand out pamphlets to the passerby. Most ignored me. Others scoffed, crinkled up the pages, and/or threw them to the ground. Some took them and walked away, only to glance back suspiciously.

After many minutes of this, a man—or boy, really, he barely looked older than myself—stopped in front of me and stared at Mary Lou, head tilted slightly, inquiring. Lifting my head a bit, I offered him a leaflet. He took it, examined it, then looked back up at me. I tried to avoid eye contact, but something about his gaze kept me still.

"Who decided that something like magic should be persecuted?" he asked quietly, almost a whisper, a lock of brown hair falling into his eyes.

My mouth dropped open. I fumbled for an answer, but it didn't seem like he was waiting for one. After another curious gaze, his hazel eyes searching my face carefully, he turned to walk away, slipping the pamphlet into the pocket of his jacket.

I watched him go, mouth still ajar. After a few minutes in a haze, I felt someone tug on my hand. "Credence, let's go," Modesty whispered, lacing her tiny fingers through my larger ones.

"Okay," I responded in an equally quiet tone, glancing back once more at where the stranger had disappeared down the street.

Unsurprisingly, he was gone.

I turned away and kept walking.