Winter 2099
From
the eighteenth floor of the Skylark Towers, my home since overtaking
the empire of the same name, I peered out at the full moon that
eerily illuminated the city. Lower than normal it gave the illusion
that it was descending upon us, threatening to wipe us out in a flash
of fire and Armageddon.
That might have been the easy way
out.
Martial law had been in force for nearly three weeks now,
since the disappearances turned into homicides. The police had no
explanation for the eviscerated, yet dry corpses that had begun
littering the metropolis, but I knew.
It was the stuff of legends
and lore, bedtime stories that kept me up late at night, dismissed as
storytelling as I became an adult. Even the tales of my late father,
while mystifying, were just slightly beyond belief.
It wasn't
until I saw the castle with my own eyes, on the outskirts of the
city, did I start to believe. The century had passed. He had
returned.
I pressed my thumb to the durasteel briefcase and with
an audio confirmation, the lid opened. I was young, nineteen, younger
than any other hunter before me...not as well trained, the
billionaire owner of the vast conglomerate Skylark. Yet and still, I
could not evade my destiny.
I pulled the centuries-old steel whip
that had belonged to my ancestor and chose the Cross as my second;
though I had my choice of axe, knife, and even mystical clock, the
Cross would provide my most powerful assault, according to the
legends.
Strapping the whip to my belt, I approached the window
and opened it. A cold breeze immediately took my breath away, perhaps
warning me of what was to come. No time for fear, I thought. The
killings would only continue until he was stopped.
And so I cast
myself from the window and gave my body to the wind, plummeting
nearly ten stories before releasing my whip and casting it towards
the flag of my nation outstretched from the building. It caught
firmly, yanking me from the air and swinging me upwards. Once my next
perch was within reach I pulled the whip free and again flew through
the air, catching the large dropcloth that had the symbol of my
company emblazoned across its front, the entire cloth running almost
the length of the building. With a firm hand--my life depended on
it--I clutched the flag and felt it tear down the center as my weight
carried me to the ground, the flag ruined.
I had made sure the
security cameras had been deactivated two hours prior. If things went
wrong, to the world it would seem as if I simply disappeared. But for
now, my destiny waited on the outskirts of the city...
My name is Alistair Belmont. This is my story.