Prologue [Ein's PoV]: An alley and old grievances
His footsteps echoed hollowly against the dingy stone of the alley, upwards through the night's chilled air, and clipping the full moon. His empty smile, somber and handsome, waned as the passage drew closer to its end: a flickering light barely illuminating a steely door with no handle and heavily marred by countless scars.
The man took in a slow, steady breath and released it in a swirl of white smoke, through which there seemed to be a rippling in the darkness next to the doorway. Stopping precisely ten paces from the door, he tilted his head back and glared at the pale moon's surface, eyes catching all of the preternatural light.
"Late… you are… quite untimely."
The voice rasping from the darkness caused no reaction from the night air, still and cold. It betrayed no emotion and barely could you tell it was from a man.
Slowly and purposefully lowering his head, he met the eyes of the unseen shadow with an unholy light glowing with intensity in his irises.
"Still playing parlor tricks I see. How unfortunate. You're such a waste of good blood, Ein."
Grinning, Ein's sharpened incisors gleamed in the light flowing from his eyes, strands of stay raven hair flew about in the breezeless night, he looked like the traditional vampire myth come to life.
"You have my ears Laris, don't tempt me with taking yours along with that slimy tongue. Speak of what we came here to speak of, or crawl back into your shadows."
Sinister laughter resonated from the darkness, and the flickering light above the door shattered.
"Very well Ein, let us speak of the end of humanity. Let us speak of our grand communion. Let us speak… of my revenge."
The alley was engulfed in a whirlwind of squirming, slithering shadows, and Ein closed his eyes, the last remaining light in the darkness shut out.
He sighed.
"It's going to be a long night."
Prologue [Rinoa's PoV]: Cartridges and Chambers
Echoes of footsteps were the only sound that kept the madness at bay. The knowledge that there was someone else alive in the world of steel and curtains that formed her prison, it stayed her hands from slipping around the delicate flesh at her neck. As the footsteps came closer, her breath would slow, almost halt completely. She was content enough knowing she wasn't the only one, there was no need to exchange words, though at the age of eight, she still could not utter a single phrase. Next there would always be the dull clang of steel tray upon steel floor and the scrape of that tray sliding through the gap in the bottom of the door. The footsteps would always pause a moment or two before rhythmically, identically, routinely, pacing away into what the girl could only assume to be nothingness.
She was alone once again.
Drawing her naked body from the floor she dragged herself to the tray, upon which the same food as always would be placed upon it, the rising steam smelling delicious. The evaporating molecules brought scent of the warm meal to the girl's nostrils and carried the phantom taste to her tongue. Potatoes, ham, broccoli, bread, all of it smothered in warm butter. There were two utensils on either side of the tray, fork and knife. The completion of the meal would be brought later in the form of a glass of tasteless, vitamin infused water.
She ate silently and without sense of hunger or fulfillment. She ate because some primal part of her knew it was necessary to stay alive, as little as that meant to her fragile mind. Mostly she ate out of habit.
After the ten minute process of food to fork to mouth and then to stomach, the fork and knife were placed back where they had originally been and the tray gently pushed away. After moments of simply sitting, staring straight ahead, the girl's body tilted sideways and as her head hit the steel floor, she drifted off into sleep.
Dreams filled with the sound of gunfire, screams, and laughter, wrapped her in a cocoon of dark comfort. Her index and ring fingers reflexively curled open and closed.
A terrible smile etched its way across her face and the girl softly whispered:
"Rinoa."
Prologue [Tell's PoV]: Thawing destiny from his lips
As he had done many nights since his arrival, he wandered the bright lights of the downtown district while it was covered by the midnight sky. Always he'd lived in the lands of vast frozen plains. The chilling winds and constant assault of the snow had become so familiar he found himself reminiscing of what he had known as home. Night and day were one and the same, and neither would hinder how anyone lived or went about their business.
Night in this place however, caused the world to shift. Neon lights and harlots dominated the streets, freed from the bindings of those that reject them in the waking world. Crime was rampant. The smell of sex and sewage became one and the same. The streetlights were merely suggestions and law enforcement seemed to be asleep with the rest of the sane world.
A car engine flared and rushed the red light, blurring by, hardly inches from the boy as he crossed the street as commanded by the flashing white man. A still lit cigarette brushed his cheek and struck the ground aside him, sending sparks across the pavement.
"Watch your ass, faggot!" the taunt spat with the cigarette was lost on the boy and he continued his aimless wandering.
He huddled deeply in the recesses of his arctic weather-proof coat, enjoying the comfort of the fur brushing against his skin. In this coat he was protected from the claws of the city. In this coat he would explore the alleys and dark corners and find out what made his soul feel so restless about these streets.
A large poster stretched across a convenience store window caught his eye. A tall, pale man, wearing only skin tight leather pants and countless chains, stared menacingly, hand outstretched. The words 'Void Projeckt' were in very plain, bolded lettering behind the man. At the bottom of the poster there was smaller text reading: "Concert, live June 19th at Sin's, 4th and Central. $5 cover. Headlining."
Unremarkable and even shoddily done, the poster itself was not what had caught the boy's eye. He would normally have never given it a second glance but for one fact that sent his always calm heart pumping in fear and excitement.
His dreams every night since his arrival in town were consumed entirely by the man in the poster.
A shiver ran up his spine as he recalled the devilishly alluring voice of the man, singing lullabies to him softly in his sleep.
"Dust the soot from your eyes,
Little one, try not to cry,
Here my arms, protect from hell,
Your life to give, my sweetest, Tell."