Author's Note/Greeting: Oh hai. I'm not dead. Or a zombie. But everything else is on Hiatus now. I've been busy, and am currently recovering from a bug... And now that college is out, I have some free time. So, I did this. Part 1 of 3, of this new fanfic I'm working on. This is the prologue, which is why there are no main characters appearing yet. But once Prologus is done, we'll start the story. So, enjoy the prologue, and tell me what you think?
The darkness surpassed the darkness of hell. It was artificial, of course, as a den of a Witch. But the hooded figure passed through the blackness almost at one with it. The walls seemed to close in on the figure, who's only visible marker was the white trimming on the robes it wore.
Eventually, the hallway ended at a single point marked by a chain and lock-laden iron door. Even the handle was unique, as it was bent into the figure of a sideways 'z'. The figure rustled through the chains, and pulled down on one of the handles. The door created a high-pitched scream as the metal grinded on itself and the locks were torn off. The doors rotated, seemingly on an axis, then parted sideways once it had rotated diagonally.
Climbing over the door, the figure was greeted by a huge, barely lit room. When it looked down, it noticed that most of the floor was torn out, and that in reality, the room was an expanse of empty space. The floor underneath the figure extended only several paces out, where broken fragments led a path hundreds of meters down to a semi-circular platform far below. Below, a red pattern glowed, in a hexagonal formation. It seemed to be a liquid which connected a central red bonfire, with streams out to six smaller points, all burning simultaneously.
The figure pulled down his hood to reveal a pale face, androgynous, and marked with dark circles under his white eyes, but otherwise fair. Black hair was released from the hood as it settled, and the man stepped to the edge of the seemingly broken floor. A chandelier, which had been hanging precariously in the distance, fell from a piece of structure, apparently connected to the prior portions of the building he had just left. His eyes tracked it as it fell, followed by the rest of the structure. After waiting for a plume of dust at the bottom, he took a step forward, and jumped off the edge to the platform underneath him.
After what seemed to be a fall for several minutes, the man touched the ground elegantly, creating a small circle of dust which was pushed away when he touched the ground. From here, the lights were easily several times larger than he was. Upon close inspection, the bonfire rested on a very large pedestal, as did the six smaller lights from above. The liquid which connected each fire was actually a concentrated fire in a channel which connected each pedestal. The wall behind him was craggy rock from above, but from his current position, the rock had turned into a carved wall. Out in the distance, he could see another chandelier fall to the ground, and just to his side, he noticed an odd phenomenon as a shattered, fallen chandelier pieced itself back together.
Taking his time to walk around the range of the bonfire, a small, slender figure of a woman bumped into him. It was a human soul, in the den of a Witch, which rested in a hive of Kishin spawning grounds. It would have been a common occurrence to come across one, but the figure pondered on why it was so close to the den of the Witch he stalked. However, the human pressed on, apparently not concerned on why it was even in the Witch's den.
As he finally made it around the seven bonfires, he was able to see the edge of the platform he was on. Standing fairly close to the edge, a man stood, a hand holding a hat which concealed his face. The rest of his body was dressed in a tuxedo-like outfit, and as he watched the trespasser walk closer to him, the figure's soul began to illuminate, showing a base purple soul with several tendrils seeping out of the main body, the telling of a Witch.
The black robed man's left arm started to glow, the tell-tale sign of summoning a Weapon, which became a gauntlet, covered by a shield-like curved mirror. Two chains, one white and the other black, twisted around his right arm, as the Witch's soul became brighter.
The man pointed with his chained arm. "Male witches are a rarity amongst your kind. I've destroyed dozens in this Forge, and you are but the first I've come across to be male."
The Witch sighed. "I get that a lot." His hand twitched. "And it's annoying."
Unmoving, the challenger waited for the Witch to attack. "It's strange though. You don't feel like the Witches I've eaten before."
The Witch cocked his head. "Eaten? That must mean you're a Demon Weapon, or more specifically a Death Scythe if you've already eaten a Witch." He paused, musing on an idea. "But then, if that's the case, why are you here alone? There's no point for you to continue to eat our souls."
The air vibrated with power. "I am no Death Scythe. I was once considered such, but I have surpassed such titles."
"Pride beckons defeat. Be wary of a snake's tongue, it's purpose isn't what it may seem to have." The Witch retorted. "Snake Snake, Cobra Cobra, Vi -"
The Weapon moved, faster than the eye could follow, and the chained hand touched the chest of the Witch. Pushing forwards, the Witch's mantra was interrupted as he was blasted off of the platform to even lower depths of the den. The Weapon followed in pursuit as streaks of black and purple energy slide past him.
After minutes of free fall, the two landed on the last platform, a barren wasteland littered with rocks and crags. Quickly, the Witch began to chant his mantra. The Weapon spared no time and the two chains extended off of his arm and formed into a dazzling white and black sword, which pierced through the chest of Witch. The mantra incomplete, the spell the Witch was attempting fizzled out, and his body evaporated until nothing but a small purple soul remained.
The Weapon held the soul, slowly placing it into his mouth. As he swallowed, his body turned bright red as the Witch's soul merged with ninety-nine other Kishin eggs. The light faded. The Weapon looked down, and saw a silver blade piercing his chest. The red light returned, only brighter, and concentrated from his wound.
"But… How-?" The Weapon gasped, turning around and finding the Witch he had just eaten holding the blade which was currently in his chest.
"You never let me finish my mantra, y'know." Vertical glowing red cracks appeared on the weapon's body. "It goes… Snake snake," The cracks began to reach his upper chest. "Cobra Cobra," The cracks now traveled down to his stomach. "Viper, HYDRA." Finally, the cracks completely split the Weapon in half, and in a burst of souls, shattered the weapon. At the epicenter of the burst, one odd white and black soul, cracked in half, floated.
"No one ever lets me finish my mantra." He paused, toying with the soul. "Thus, no one ever expects it. Whoops!" While playing with the soul, he pressed it too hard, and the fractured soul broke into two ragged pieces. "Now I've done it. Oh well." The witch pressed on one of the broken halves, subtly as to make sure the soul was not going to shatter again.
Another figure, this time feminine, appeared out of the darkness of the final platform. Truly cloaked in shadow, the only aspect visible of him was his eyes, which glowed a brilliant red. "Elapidae. Why are you wasting time?"
The Witch, named Elapidae, turned towards the figure. "Dracona. What a pleasure to see you outside of the Witch Mass. What possibly brings you to a den such as mine?" Elapidae tilted his hat in recognition.
"What a silver tongue. Trademark of snake Witches." Dracona scoffed. "We're having another Mass in a few days. Don't miss it this time."
Elapidae whined. "Can't I just send one? I don't want to go personally!"
As the two Witches talked, the two soul fragments floated into the air, higher and higher until out of view of the Witches. Eventually, after a long period of time, the twin souls floated to a barrier, a surface of the world below. Passing through the barrier and creating ripples, the injured soul floated into the room where a strange, yet warm light bathed the souls.
A masked figure, whose eyes could not be seen through the black mask, appeared as if he teleported into the room. It wore silver robes that seemed amorphous, never keeping the same shape, but it formed perfectly to the figure. It had no hands or feet as it floated in the room but it raised an arm towards the soul. Its body twisted as its hands touched the broken soul fragments. The figure's voice, clearly male, rung through the room. "What has happened, my little one? How could you have been broken?" Twig-like fingers sprouted from his arms which seemed to bend backwards as he carefully and delicately moved the souls closer to him.
Suddenly, as the twig-like fingers carried the two halves to a table which had seemingly sprouted out of nowhere, the soul's mixtures of black and white fragments reformed and separated again just moments after uniting. The two halves, now uniquely shaped and souls of their own, morphed into two broken swords which rested on the ground. Both were split along the center amongst left and right portions, and each sword was rugged and sharp where the two should have been able to reconnect.
"Oh my." The figure gasped. "You were broken right after consuming a Witch's soul, weren't you? Right at your most vulnerable moment. And here you were so close to becoming perfect." His fingers delicately picked up the two halves, and the world twisted upside-down into a slightly darker version of room before.
A horned man, dressed in white and wearing a white mask to match stepped forward silently. Nothing but his eyes was visible, and they reflected pure green light from inside the mask. His clothing seemed to be one piece, and covered everything, including his hands and feet in a single layer. Darker shades of green formed in lines on each of his fingers to his wrist, and similar lines also were present on the folds of where the cloth would normally sway, around his shoulders and one line down his chest. Tatters of cloth creating a robe-like effect fluttered about though, ensuring that it was actual cloth he was wearing.
The silver-robed man appeared to glitch. His voice changed, becoming higher. "Murcielago. Could you watch these two for a while?"
Murcielago said nothing. A burst of air, as if it were vibrating, tremored in the room. 'As you wish, Semantics.'
"Good. I must review what has happened in the Forge. This might get ugly in the near future…" The silver-robed being named Semantics twisted around, and walked into a door which etched into existence before him, and left the room.
Murcielago simply stood still over the two broken swords. After a few minutes of silence, his eyes swept over the empty room. The floor was white, and small clouds brushed against the ground. There was no sun, but light still emanated in the room. His eyes moved back down towards the swords, and he carefully picked each one up. Behind him, a door etched into existence, and opening it, the darkness in the room beyond engulfed Murcielago and the two newly born souls.