In the beginning, there was only light.
Brilliant, dazzling lights: Green, blue, yellow, white, and red. Soft and strong, gentle and hard, each one different from the other, but all essentially good.
Good. What a strange concept.
Nightopians bathed in the light, laughing and playing with the eternal stream of Visitors who brought bliss into their world. Their hearts were whole, and they basked in the perfection of their Paradise.
One day, something they had never seen before appeared. At first, they thought he was a Visitor, but something about him confounded them: He had no lights. In fact, he seemed to be sucking in the lights around him.
For the first time, the Nightopians knew darkness. For the first time, they knew fear.
Many years passed since that day. From humble origins, the land of Nightmare grew, and now those who heard even a whisper of the name or its creator trembled at the sound. Wizeman's formidable army of Nightmarens slowly pushed at the frontiers of his land, ever expanding, but they were wild, uncontrolled, a force of pure chaos. Exactly how he designed them. However, the time had come for that to end. At last, his powers were great enough to create a leader for his army. At last, his experiments were done.
Something was moving on the floor of Wizeman's cosmic chambers. One hand floated over to examine the crumpled figure that struggled to rise to its knees. The Experiment. With a note of disdain, the purple eye scanned the black body as it collapsed back down to the floor, panting heavily. Every inch of the creature's skin seemed to be malformed by scar tissue of one kind or another: Large, knotted ropes bulged from some areas, and others dipped where flesh, once ripped away, never grew back, leaving only shallow holes to mark their place. Shakily, delirious, the creature grinned up at its master, and Wizeman did not doubt that any human would cringe to look upon it; although, perhaps, its design could be improved... With a swift flick, the hand turned and glided two fingers about a foot above the creature's body, casting their black magic as they passed. Yes, that would do just as nicely, if not better.
For the part of the Experiment, it stiffened and whimpered, knowing all too well the unpleasant sensation of magic at work within it, but the pain it grew to expect never came. Nervous, one blue eye opened, then the other. It watched the hand of its master float away; was that all? Uncertain, it turned over and, looking down at itself, saw... nothing. Unbelieving, the creature touched the body it could only feel, then examined its invisible hand... and started to laugh.
A quick smack that sent the Experiment flying into the wall silenced that annoyance. Wizeman needed complete concentration. He could not afford any distractions from the Experiment now. All six of his hands rose up into formation, and their eyes closed. His mind calmed, thoughts sharpening to a scalpel's point, and he drew upon the power of the Ideya to breathe life into the creature his hands molded.
More than anything, more than even death, humans fear their own capabilities. They fear their very Self, and from this most innate, primal instinct, Wizeman derived the essence of his Perfect Nightmare. Unlike many of its kin, it appeared not as a monster, but humanoid in nature: Its body structure remained, essentially, much the same as a human's, but its proportions became skewed; certain body parts it acquired, and others disappeared. Completely gender neutral, it showed no inclination to behave as either might, and its intellect, its emotions, did not bend to the same primordial limitations of most nightmarens. A perfect marriage of the white of death and black of decay, its powers far exceeded that of even his strongest nightmaren, and he watched with pride as the seed of life took to it, causing it to to grow in power and slowly claw its way into the abyss Wizeman cradled.
As he watched, Wizeman became aware of a struggle. The Nightmare fought to balance the conflicting forces within it, and—filled with horror and fury—Wizeman saw it losing. Swiftly, his eyes closed in around the creature and took on a reddish hue as he examined the fragile form emerging from the darkness. There: A crack, like the delicate shatter of glass, disturbed the smokey darkness of the creature's shoulder. If he failed to act, then it would be destroyed: All of the effort and energy he put into it would be thrown back at him twofold. His hands trembled, then clenched, and with a roar of frustration, he rent his Perfect Nightmare in two.
Wizeman was exhausted, but at least he could be certain of the knowledge that his two Imperfect Nightmares survived, intact. Passively, a hand passed over each, examining their unconscious forms. To his pleasure, they both carried the same body type he intended, mostly, but that was where the similarities ended. Although both remained technically gender-neutral, the Nightmare in his left seemed to bear a slightly more effeminate body than the one in his right. This one was clad in mostly purple, with peachy skin and long eyelashes. Her horns seemed slightly smaller than that of her more masculine brother, and a shining red gem glittered in her chest. Her pale brother wore far less than she, limited to a golden pair of gauntlets, black and red boots, and a mere vest. Three diamonds—blue, purple, and red, respectively—ran down his chest. Both appeared more youthful than he intended—Perhaps they had split their original years? In either case, he estimated that it would take about a decade for them to reach full maturity. Sighing, he lamented the cost of imperfection until they, simultaneously, opened their bright blue eyes.
They rose slowly, shakily, stretching and experimenting with their new bodies. Their eyes saw for the first time, and like a pair of sponges, they soaked in all that surrounded them until, one after the other, their eyes came to rest on the main form of Wizeman. They failed to notice the floating pair of eyes that grinned at them from the back of the room. "Who... am I?" asked the brother, thickly, struggling to form his first words.
"W-who are you..?" asked the sister, her voice already higher than his and hushed in awe.
"I am Wizeman," his voice boomed, and he slipped easily into the speech he had repeated so many times already. "I am the one that created you; you are to serve me unquestionably. I am the God of Nightmare, the land we live in, and King of Nightmarens, you and all of your kin. Never address me by any title other than Master or Master Wizeman. You—" He gestured to the brother. "—are Reala, and you—" He gestured to the sister. "—are NiGHTS." He paused a moment to let that sink in; they seemed to understand, and with a bit of thoughtfulness, he concluded, "The two of you are my greatest creations, superior in every way to your fellows. When you are ready, you will assist me in commanding this great kingdom. For now, go. Explore the land that will one day be yours."
With a heavy groan, the doors to Wizeman's chamber opened, and the siblings looked back. NiGHTS, who had already discovered her ability to fly and floated experimentally, smiled at her brother before taking off out into the great world beyond. Reala, with a brief, frustrated frown, was quick to follow suite.
With them gone, only one loose end remained, invisible and forgotten by its master. It struggled and breathed, groaning and articulating until, at last, it could form words. Its voice rasped harshly against the air as it spoke, "M.. master...?"
Wizeman's eyes flashed red with irritation at the sudden harsh noise, and he spat the order, "Speak."
"Will... the exssssperiments continue?" it asked, struggling with the polysyllabic word.
"What a foolish question. At last, I have a true first-level Nightmaren. You are no longer necessary." Roughly, a hand grasped it and caught it in a web of dark magic; it knew better than to scream as its vision faded to black.
For the final time, a new soul entered into the Experiment's body, claiming dominance at the protests of all souls past. When it awoke, its past had become a painfully blurry haze, and groggily, it looked up at the sound of its master's voice. No matter how much confusion clogged its senses, there was never any mistaking that. "From this point onward, you will be known as Jackle the Mantle. You are to help your fellow second-level Nightmaren in the takeover of Nightopia," Wizeman commanded and dropped the newly identified Nightmare. "Go."
Jackle had no trouble stopping the fall and coming to a hover just a few feet above the ground. In wonder, he gazed at the soft gloves now cradling his hands. He had clothes. Twirling, his grin grew as his cape fluttered about him. Wonderful clothes. But, more than that... He had a name. A real, true name. For the first time, he had an identity. His body trembled as his grin grew, and in a very small, high-pitched voice, he whispered, "Thank you." Gleeful laughter followed him all the way out of his master's chambers and into the castle beyond.
The doors shut with a dull thud. Wizeman was exhausted. Two first-level Nightmarens, and a new soul to keep the Experiment useful. He sighed, and his eyes, having withdrawn to their initial positions, closed. His work was done, and now, it was time for him to rest.
(Hurrah! The first story I've written since starting my account! (All the previous ones were originally written during 2010 or 2011.) You know what that means? Review matter more than ever! Your feedback now will help me shape future chapters. What do you like? What don't you? What/Who do you want to see more of? Less of? Are there any grammatical errors? These questions may not apply fully now, but in the future... Anyway, I can take criticism, so bring it on! Tell me what you think! Review~!)
