Author's note: This is a new project that I intend to take very seriously as a hobby. I'm sure it's ambitious and naïve of me, but I want to write this as a full fledged novel. It's a fantasy story in the vein of Fiest, Gemmel and Jordan but much darker subject matter and content. It's dark fantasy.
What is this story doing in the Dawn of Dead section? It's got zombies in it, however eventually.
Anyway, on with the show…..
CHAPTER 1 - PROLOGUE
The man was tired and his muscles ached, but he didn't dare slow his run for fear something was after him. He had no idea where he was or where he was going. He was running blind in pitch black darkness. No matter what sense he tried to make of his current situation, he was consumed by a panicked terror. He couldn't recall the past few moments other than he had spent it running from a horrid feeling death was right behind him.
Escape.
Whatever it was he couldn't let it get him.
His eyes darted in all directions but it was a black void wherever he looked. Up or down it all seemed the same. There was no other logic than to choose a direction and keep running as far and as fast as he could. However, there was no point of reference amongst the darkness to know which direction he was heading, where it went or if indeed he was going straight. For all he knew he was running around in circles.
Possibly upside down?
Despite the constant thud of his feet plodding against the ground, he couldn't see to know if the ground or his feet were truly there. The detached sensation of using his legs yet not being able to see them only added to the confused fear, spurring him on. He couldn't even explain how his legs were working or contemplate what they were and how he made them move. They seemed to work by themselves as though they were directed by some other power.
He desperately wanted to behold himself, know what body he was in, but he had no concept of hands to feel, even as his arms unconsciously snapped back and forth in rhythm with every step. Curiosity slowly seeped through the panic and he attempted to properly appraise the situation. Only then did he notice the burn of his lungs and the feel of cold air buffeting against naked skin. He was cold and hot at the same time in all sorts of places. He wasn't even sure he had a body in which to feel hot and cold or whether it was some perverted trick or hallucination.
Questions, questions, what, where, questions, how, why?
Who?
No reply, no echo and no change. The black only stretched out in all directions, like a boundless prison. He cried, screaming as he wondered whether he was moving at all, whether despite his best efforts he was uselessly staying in one place as death gained ground. Was his predator toying with him? Was there no hope of escape other than the struggle to stay alive for just a few more seconds? Was he dooming himself by continuing to push in his chosen direction? If he turned himself to the left or right would it suddenly offer salvation? Was there something just beyond his reach? Something he couldn't quite see?
Which way is left or right anyway?
Suddenly, the sky opened up and stars appeared. As dark as the scene remained, they seemed like brilliant blinding explosions of light. One after the other they each seemed brighter than before. He couldn't contain his joy and screamed with relief. He had received a lifeline, a revelation.
I am somewhere. I am not mad.
Looking around he was both dumbfounded and ecstatic to see a horizon. He could see left and right, however barely. On the left were boulders amongst tall tufts of grass. The smooth finish of the rock shone dully in the starlight, illuminating their shape and position as well as any fire could have.
On his right he saw what he hoped were trees dotting the flat landscape. Their branches were only barely visible, swallowing up the light as opposed to the boulders that reflected it proudly. Their gnarled forms appeared like great, but twisted hands pushing up from the dirt. He had no idea whether they had remained there all this time or had cut through the earth to attempt to catch him, to grasp his body within their dark clutches and crush the life out of him. Further still, the light from the stars was not enough to give perspective to tell whether they were shrinking back into the horizon or whether they were chasing after him.
What good are the stars when they only show my enemies? The darkness was better!
But the darkness was behind him, the way he came, where those monsters were. There was no way he would turn around, he decided with a feverish determination. He would continue on. At least now he could get a glimpse of what lay ahead.
Focusing his attention forward, he screamed as the stars abruptly disappeared and the darkness returned. He searched overhead for them, but they were gone. He desperately wished to see them again. Was it some unseen master toying with him, providing a glimpse of beauty only to take it away?
Now he was back in the void of black emptiness, possibly running the wrong way. Should he turn around? For all he knew he had been here a lifetime and had found the only oasis of light within an endless world of black.
But he was being chased. He was being followed and it was getting closer. He had not the faintest inkling of whatever the predator might be other than that it certainly existed, and it was not those tree monsters. He felt the belief from deep inside, an infallible truth born of instinct that he couldn't deny as much as he wished he could.
He couldn't go back. He had to keep running.
But I'm tired. So tired.
He was slowing down. He could feel it and his throat and lungs burned more than ever. The sensation of his legs moving dulled with every step. They turned numb from fatigue, but he pressed on.
I must keep moving. To stop is to die.
Curiously, it was slightly comforting to feel his legs disappear as though the sensation of anything physical interrupted the peace of the darkness. He preferred to think he was not a body, not anybody, but some intangible form drifting along. Pushing forward through will alone with no flesh to be devoured and to feel pain when death descended.
I don't want to die.
Just as quickly as they disappeared, the stars returned and he could see again in the pale murk. Looking around with focussed intent, he saw the landscape in all directions in all of its uninterrupted clarity.
He was in an open field.
Everything suddenly made sense as though the pieces of a giant puzzle fell into place all at once. He was a man running through an open grass field. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the trees of a thick forest trail away behind him.
Trees. Just trees.
All this time it had just been a forest. The thick canopy had blocked out the starlight, bathing him completely in darkness. That first glimpse of the stars must have been a break in the canopy, but now the way was clear. No more trees, just flat plains in all directions.
He was sure he never felt happier in all of his life.
Life? What life?
Whatever elation he felt quickly disappeared as his surrounds quickly threw up as many questions as they answered. He was a man running through a field and knew nothing more.
Who am I?
What's going on?
Lost in thought, he didn't see the small rock coming, stubbed his toe against it and tumbled into the grass. What little breath he had was crushed out of his lungs and his vision blurred. He felt as light as a feather.
Let the wind just blow me away.
His stomach squeezed tightly in on itself and the euphoria was replaced by a horrid feeling he would vomit. But the uneasiness passed and he took a moment to steady himself.
A light. He saw a light. Not a star, but a proper solitary light just ahead. It was not like the faint stars overhead, but shone with a distant intensity and a golden hue that grabbed his eyes and would not let go.
With a startled yelp he was back on his feet.
A house!
The surge of pain in his toes was quickly ignored as he stumbled after it with renewed determination, his panic tempered. He moved as quickly as he could, but it was difficult trying to operate legs that felt a million miles away and belonging to someone else. Nonetheless, they worked. Whatever landmarks that passed by now were ignored as he fixed on that solitary light, extracting hope from its meagre existence as it grew nearer.
The wind howled around him, whistling through multitudes of tiny hidden nooks and crannies. He hoped it was the wind at least and not the angry cry of his pursuer. It wailed with a sad longing that tugged at his bowels, but he tensed his body and did his best to shrug it off.
It must be that the monster knows the light offers safety and screams its anger for me.
With that thought, he redoubled his efforts, letting the weight of his body sway forward and pull him along faster until the house was almost within his reach. Craving the light like a starving man for a morsel of food, he salivated for whatever was inside. The light was so soft and golden and pure.
Toppling forward, his hands fell upon the stone of the house's exterior and his feet nearly fell out from under him with relief. He could hear voices inside. Playful, innocent and happy. Sanctuary.
Another gust of cold wind tugged at his exhausted frame, and he willed his legs to stand with a groan. Fearful again of the unseen enemy behind him, he stumbled for the front door and collapsed against it, shouting desperately into the door's thick pine slats.
"Help! Please, you must help me!" he cried before succumbing to a coughing fit and recoiling to the ground amongst the dust. The air seemed so cold, draining away the very essence of his life. He couldn't move. His body, everywhere was either burning with a painful fire or was chilled to the bone and seizing up in defeat.
Stay awake!
The golden light was suddenly upon him, blinding him and wrapping around his meagre form. Hands reached out and clasped him, dragging him inside.
Heaven.
All was warm and bright. A delicious aroma assaulted his nose and woke him from his stupor like a slap on the cheek. His blurred vision righted itself quickly and settled upon the soft face of a concerned man, his eyes promising blessed help and empathy. A kind soul.
"Who are you? Are you hurt?" the man asked.
"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." He babbled over and over, letting his relief pour out. Whoever these people were, he would do anything to thank them. Anything.
"Sit him down, Calen. I will get him some leftovers."
"What is this man doing out so late?"
"Daddy, why does the man have no clothes on?"
"Away, child! Get some blankets."
"Here, have some of this."
Soft but firm hands guided him down onto a chair. The relief for his legs was the purest ecstasy he both savoured and wished never to feel again. The weight of his tired body seemed so great, he feared he might somehow fall through the chair to the floor, but managed to sit up within the man's comforting grip as a warm bowl of soup was served beneath his nose.
Yes, heaven.
"Eat, please. You are so weak."
Although his stomach growled, protesting its impatience he couldn't help but stop to behold the crude meal's delightful smell. A vast array of tastes and delights tingled his nose and spread throughout his entire body as though it provided sustenance all of its own. Strength and focus returned and he reached for the spoon.
"Who are you? What happened to you?"
"Don't know." He blurted out as he heaped a potato sodden with the soup's mixture into his mouth and choked it down without chewing. It felt like a ball of jagged thorns all the way down and it was the purest, most enjoyable pain he had ever felt. Beautiful torture.
"What happened to you? Bandits? Robbed?"
The man looked up, happy to look upon the sweet voice as he waited for the potato to make its way to his stomach. He judged it only halfway there and moving with a teasing pleasurable slowness. For a moment lost in the euphoria, the mention of robbers pulled his mind away back into the panic he felt outside. Something was after him. He could still feel it and the hairs on his shoulders and neck rose as it felt suddenly so cold again. The crackle of the fire in the corner seemed to turn mute and its heat lost, turned to ice.
That horrid feeling was still there, crawling under his skin. He was still being pursued. He was not safe after all. It was still coming for him.
Looking again into the eyes of the man before him and his darling wife and children staring with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty, he despaired for them. He had now involved them, they were sure to die with him.
As if reading his thoughts, the front door burst open, breaking the bolt that held it closed and locked as a blurred figure in black leaped into the light. It looked like a man and yet it did not, moving with unnatural speed and grace. It was a shadow. A ghost that absorbed all of the light and warmth around it. The tired man was sure that it was now just as dark and cold inside the house as it was outside despite the hearth.
Death was here.
The instincts that brought him to this house stirred again, wakening his exhausted body and propelling him out of his chair and over the dinner table with scant regard for whatever broke underfoot or shattered on the stone floor. The unfortunate family around him, however, were frozen in fear and could not move, even as the assassin charged inside and cut them to pieces as though they were nothing. They did not slow him down as he charged over the table after his prey.
The tired man ran blind out of the kitchen and through a narrow hallway. An open door at the end revealed a meagre bedroom crowded with furniture, unmade linen and wooden toys. A rocking horse, a child's play kitchen and various dolls on the floor stared up at the ceiling waiting for someone to guide them back into animation. Passed the distractions, he saw a window with closed shutters on the bedroom's far wall. With no other option having presented itself, the tired man sprinted inside, and dived for the closed window from the foot of one of the beds. He hoped that the shutters were either fragile or unclasped.
His bare knuckles led the way in flight and he crashed through the thin wood clumsily but cleanly until his foot caught against the window frame, breaking some of his toes. His momentum was then lost and he fell into a flower bed of soft moist soil.
Panicked, he struggled to his feet again, but froze as an icy shadow rushed overhead. The assassin landed on his feet with a cat's grace. Smooth and soundless, his dark form momentarily blended perfectly into the night but soon revealed itself again as he rose. He towered above him and stared down with eyes shining a pale pink that deepened to an angry crimson.
The tired man below him felt as small as he could ever know and retreated down as low as his body would stoop, hoping somehow he would be swallowed up into the soil. There was no life to flash before his eyes and he realised that despite his best efforts there was never any chance he could have truly eluded what was to come. It was all for nothing now as the assassin coolly revealed an ornately curved blade that shimmered in the gloom. As with everything of the assassin, it glided through the air weightlessly. Smooth movements of the purest efficiency and intent, it hovered a moment before him in the assassin's sure hand, granting enough pause for the tired man to imagine what it could do to his naked body.
"Please…" he quivered but the assassin grunted impatiently and struck. The tired man had not the time to properly understand what had occurred as his head fell from his shoulders into the dirt beside his body. For the briefest of moments he had the spirit left to think he had somehow retreated into the soil and would be carried away to safety. There was no pain, only a detached notion all was not quite right as his consciousness drifted away to darkness. His life snuffed out.
The assassin hovered over the corpse of his target, watching the man's pathetic body slump and then twitch in death's caress. His form had been perfect and swift, his favourite blade continued to shine in the pale light with the same intensity having avoided any stain of blood. It had been wielded too quickly for any to stick.
His eyes lingered a moment as they cooled from the burning crimson back to a faint pink and finally settled to an uninterrupted clear white. He had no iris, no pupils. They dulled beneath his mask as he replaced his blade back within the folds of his flowing black cape. He took in a deep breath, savouring the scent of the crushed flowers amongst the growing pool of blood at his feet.
His voice disturbed the still night air, like a stone scraping against glass, "Another trespasser is dead."
A hand reached inside a concealed pocket and produced a small vial of purple liquid. He casually tossed it down on the dead man's body which was suddenly engulfed in white flame. The fires quickly devoured the corpse, reducing it to ashen scraps and progressed to the house behind. The flames travelled along up along the stone wall and roared over the thatch roof in mere seconds. The assassin stood relaxed at the edge of the pyre watching. Stone and wood and clay all fell in on itself and eventually smouldered to a thick pile of ashen nothingness.
The smoke it produced was blacker than the night it drifted away into and smelled of the harshest acidic burn, but it did not bother him at all. When it was all done and the heated glow disappeared, he raised a hand. The air in front of him seemed to fold apart and open like a curtain, revealing a bright blue glow from within. Without fear or fanfare, he simply stepped through into the void and it swiftly closed behind him, leaving no trace it was ever there at all to begin with.
And with that, he was gone.