This story idea came to me a long time ago; I just finally got around to writing it. Now, while I could tell you where in the timeline this plot is set, and basically the information to how they got into this present situation. I really could. But I won't. You'll just have to read and find out, maybe picking up on a few clues. It's not that hard, I'm not a straightforward person in general, but I'm awfully horrible at hinting at anything anyways. So yes, this story might be confusing until I decide to fill you in. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Yeah, I wish. Besides if I made the game it would go from Pg to R rated in a hitch. Which reminds me… I'm awfully gory at times.
Claimer: The plot is mine… well, the whole idea type thing has been used before, what with it nearly impossible to create something truly original, but my version of the idea is mine. And the poem which I named the first chapter after is mine as well. I may suck at poetry (which I don't have any clue why someone would want to take it), but it's my sucky poetry ^_^.
No Remorse
Chapter 1
Chaos in Nothing
Chaos in Nothing
No value in the end
Existence declined
Heart lost
Soul destroyed
Rain washes away the grime,
but never the tears of sorrow,
never the crimson blood of
lost innocence
Seduced by destructions
beguiling sway
Entrapped in loves
hate
Drowning dead in deaths dread
Yearning, seeking lost light
Seeking the flame extinguished by
ones own darkness
Deaths toy, Dark voids jesting amusement
To be nothing
How can one be truly alive when there's nothing to see by?
His fine, silk hair, gleamed a flashy fiery hue in the blistering air. His hair was truly platinum, betrayed by the misguiding fire that sends blazing colours reflecting off in sheen. Built like a warrior, but still had the slenderness of youth, a still growing boy. He was no mere child, for his appearance greatly deceives his age. To any onlooker, he was a young man still in his late teens, a tough boy; a bully dwelling in child's play- but to the ones that knew the utmost truth, they knew that he was far older then the crippled old, and that he isn't some tough boy. A tough bully would come greatly as a relief. Lethally deadly comes to mind when he is ever spoken of. Quick, efficient, strength that can not be seen, determined, a mind beyond his years, and the most dangerous things of all- no mercy, no remorse, no guilt in anything he's done. Destruction was like breathing to him. If his heart was to beat, it wouldn't quicken the slightest from emotions. It didn't excite and thrill him or work him up the slightest. He's cold, constructed, composed. He has no equal here. He's the lone wolf, torn without warning, and violently from his pack that he can't remember anymore.
He let out a low growl of annoyance as he didn't carry, but drag the bloodied body. The victim would make irritating whimpers now and then, one in so much pain that any person with even an ounce of sympathy would help them, whether they deserved it or not. His capture could really care less, and the bitter, hateful side of him that didn't show behind the wall of indifference was glad that he caused the mangled body so much pain.
At least that weak, whimpering bastard knew what true peace was.
It didn't matter anyways. His whimpers were utterly lost in the forever stomach churning cries of agony. They all mingled into one another, blanketing the world in the darkest despair.
All his fellow workers if you will, looked on at him with fear in their eyes, and turned from him. His eyes, always the type that could stare through you, would look into your very being and fear, nausea, and a horrible coldness would consume you inside out. He didn't care about the power he had over them. He just strived for a goal long forgotten, abandoning him into a never ending cycle of his duty as the most feared soldier.
The hunter now picked up what was left of the individual being, spread the night shade wings on his back, and leaped. He glided over the flickering flames of the death pit that surrounded the dark palace. He didn't notice the heat, and because of that flew lower then most. And the captive who wasn't used to such warmth blistered and cried out as the rising steam and heat scolded his body. Most thought it was done for fun, a last kick them while their down jest. But what they didn't know – what the empty reality was- that he was frozen on the inside, and wished that the uncontrollable heat in the place would warm him just a little. But as it was predicted (and almost always did happen), it did nothing more then irk him as the person under him screamed pathetically.
He landed and carried on through the gates with the same remote face. The creatures at the gate made no reaction to him. They knew who he was, and they knew he detested being addressed, or presented to their grand master. The last one discovered that the hard way. The last one soon enough encountered the phlegmatic strike that had arduously caused almost every bone in their rock solid body to shatter, and as if to insure that they would never fumble and slip up again- they had soon enough found that their tongue had been sliced off and their vocal cords maimed and torn. And the dark lord laughed and found the situation an amusing show. He favoured the boy with a great interest.
Upon entering the thrown room, the lord himself stood and opened his arms in a welcoming gesture.
"Welcome Nightsky, I see you're back earlier then expected. And you've completed the task" he spoke while gesturing towards the limp body.
Nightsky…he can't remember why he chose such a name when all the others had picked something more fitting for their role. But he was always an outsider- now being an outsider of a group shunned by the very ruler of heaven itself- and he supposed that it would always be that way. Besides there was that unexplainable fascination he had with the sky when and if he ever saw any. It was just as well, not like he remembered his true name now.
"He was weak." Came his flat reply.
The lord brought a thoughtful finger to his chin. "Is that so? I'm going to have to have a little chat with Crimson-rain. One glance at the boy that you now carry bloody in your arms while he was training," he glanced pointedly at the fallen being, "and he fled, defeated from a bare look at him. Returning home with his tail between his legs."
Nightsky made no response. What was there to say? He refused to gravel like those other snivelling bastards who would compete to see which of them could bow lowest to that bloodstained ground. They were like those stupid mutts; they adore you in every way possible, you kick them once and they'll come back begging for more if it'll get them recognition from the grand master. But master or not, he could care less.
Why he did as the master pleased he has no clue. All he knows is that he can grant him something he adores, wants, desires…
Almost needs…
He just continued to stare at the lord straight in the eye with his dead disinterested own. Wicked, razor sharp, colourless eyes bore into his. Void, dull, aquamarine bore into the other. There was no fear, no pain, no nothing.
The lord almost smiled at that.
The dark lord just continued to carry on his one-sided conversation. "Delightful work as always. If you leave him here I'll have someone take him down below. You are dismissed for now."
Nodding barely in acknowledgment he turned to leave. The heavy thunk of the body unconsciously registering somewhere in his mind as he let it fall without a thought.
"Oh, one more thing."
Nightsky halted in mid-step, wings already half flexing as he twisted his head over his shoulder to meet the masters calculating gaze.
The lord smiled in an almost too-sweet smile as he regarded the boy in front of him. His voice was almost sickly sweet as well. "Nightsky, is there anything I can grant you. Anything you desire that is within my power to give you. Surely there must be something." His smooth, deep baritone of a voice was coaxing, almost seductive.
Nightsky only stared back. An almost inquiring look in his eyes.
An almost; they still looked dead.
A gleeful glint flickered in the masters eyes for a brief moment. "You know I do reward those that do well for me. I'm very powerful. Any wish you want I'll grant."
Yes! I want something. I need it. I've always wanted it. I'll always need it. IneeditIneeditIneeditIneeditIneeditIneeditIneeditIneedit...
His mind was screaming at him, but it sounded so quiet. It sounded no more than a shrieking hum. The hum was soon silenced as the void in his soul consumed it with great fervour.
"If not," he continued, "you won't get this offer repeated unless you continue your work with such," he darted a quick look at the mangled bloody heap of a person, "dedication."
Turning his head back in the direction of the exit, he stared down at his hands. He watched some of the painted crimson on his hands rain upon the ground, and he continued to watch as it just melded in perfectly with garnet tearstained floor. His name and presence not only brought darkness and glowering midnights to the atmosphere and sky, it brought weeping blackened clouds that rains its bleeding essence to shower over all that is living and loved.
He brings the black clouds. He makes blood spill. He makes it rain blood.
He's covered his vision of the blue sky with black and red.
The memory of a blue, light, clear sky faded under the constant rubbing of time and the mass of the bodies he's slain.
He really has become nothing.
He really has lost everything he was.
He really is nothing more than a puppet.
But he's always been a puppet hasn't he? Controlled by wires cutting into his skin, fusing with his mind.
The cuts won't even bleed.
Living things bleed.
Dead things don't need anything.
How can he want or wish for anything.
He can't.
His voice was a quiet tenor; playing its song on the broken strings of the red cello. He always wondered how those broken strings managed to let him speak with such biting clarity. "There's neither anything I want nor wish for. You needn't ask me such a thing. I'll kill and retrieve for you. That is all." And with those words strung, he started to stride away from the centre of darkness.
As he neared the exit he paused for a moment and spoke. "I'll be around if you need my services." And with a cruel release of the wings, he was gone.
If he had indeed stayed back a moment longer, he might've seen it. If he did indeed glance back as he was leaving, he might've seen it.
He might have seen the look that shone on the lords' face. It wasn't one of a negative nature of any kind.
He was very pleased.
He's becoming all that I'd ever hoped.
Throwing back his head staring up, he felt a ripple of laughter rip out of his throat.
You can pick your champion. Go ahead! I have mine. One no one can beat. The ultimate weapon. For he carries no remorse. You think none of us down here feel it, but I assure you all my warriors do. They may enjoy the pain of others. But light cannot not live without the dark, and vice-versa. Somewhere within all of them they gain the weight of guilt with each slaughter. It's just too far deep and ignored to be heard. But him, but Nightsky. He truly feels nothing. He really wants nothing. He's but a machine, neither alive nor dead. Pity, you almost had him, and now he's too far gone to purify.
* * *
He was off in search of peace and quiet. This place was always filled with haunting screams, sadistic laughter, and an ongoing raging heat that would never lesson. His eyes scanned his surroundings as he flew. Nightsky mildly noted how many stilled as they saw him fly above them. Fear in their eyes as they made no movement to draw attention to themselves.
Cowards.
But it went with reason didn't it?
He was heading to the place no one dared venture off to. To go there meant death. Whenever someone was to be executed, they were simply tossed down past the barrier and into the pit of the heartless. There, your heart, dark or light, would be devoured in an instant. The barrier kept the heartless in and from escaping, but anything else could pass through quite easily.
Whether anyone would ever want to is another story.
It was death, but not quite death. One of the worst exiles one could ever face.
But he went in willingly and came out unfazed. It just added to the list of why to fear him.
He felt a slight tingling ripple of coolness surround him as he crossed the barrier. As he descended downward, drifting swiftly in the moist air, he could see all those eerie yellow eyes glowing prominently through the darkness. They all were watching him with rapt fascination, an almost aw in their eyes.
As he settled upon the cool ground, propping his back up against a smooth rock, he could see them moving towards him in the manner they always do. They swarm around him, nuzzling him with an uncharacteristic affection. Like a loyal puppy with a master.
Nightsky does as he always does. He closes his eyes in deep contemplation of nothingness, allowing the darkness and shadows to hold him dear in a comfortable glacial embrace. He listens to the soft sounds of the heartless as they dance and play around him, staring brightly at him with loyal affection. No care in his heart, no stirring of a soul, no remorse hiding within him.
They truly adore him.
They'll always follow him without a sound of protest.
They'll keep him from the light to have him all to themselves.
They'll never let go of the one that brings the bloody rain.
And he'll continue to let the ground turn red as he closes his eyes and pretend nothing exists.
* * *
Eh, I don't think this made that much sense. All well, you'll have to wait until the next chapter before anything gets cleared up. I hope you liked it. I also mentioned to my friend that I thought it was adorable that Nightsky is all cold, heartless and I'm going to kill you like. She looked at me like I was insane XD.
And if you would be so kind, I adore feedback. But I really do prefer constructive criticism. I really want to improve in my writing abilities, there's a lot I need to work on. So go ahead and point out my writing flaws.
And uhh, apologies if I take forever to update… that's if anyone's reading this…
Jade