Blooded Chivalry
Chapter Two
Storm Warden
Negi scratched his head, pondering. He wasn't entirely sure how to break this to them, so decided to go with honesty.
"Girls, as you know, the weather has lately been progressively getting worse. And it's expected to get only worse –"
"We'll wear raincoats then!" offered Makie brightly, to much agreement.
"Or I could come up with something to break the cloud cover," suggested Saotomi, idly tinkering with a piece of machinery which looked for the entire world like a bomb. "A large enough fan could be manoeuvred into position by Chachamaru and…"
"Enough!" ordered Ayaka, slamming her hand down onto her desk as she stood up, staring down at the rest of her unruly class. "Let Negi-sensei finish before you start seeking attention!"
"Aww Ayaka, that was mean," pouted Makie, turning to their teacher. "Right Negi-sensei?"
"Y…N….Girls, don't try to avoid the subject! There is a storm coming, and it is strongly recommended you leave campus for the coming week," he said in a flustered rush. The class was quiet momentarily, everyone assimilating the information.
"What?! Is it going to be that bad?!" exclaimed Fuka, eyes wide, before staring outside. It was another cloudy day, and a few stray raindrops had fallen upon the windows.
"Oh it's that typhoon isn't it? So it's coming here?" asked Saotomi, with scientific detachment as she wrapped up her current project and stowed it away in her bag before steepling her fingers in front of her as she leaned on her desk, the classical 'I'm interested' look.
"Well, yes," replied Negi, slightly puzzled as he was sure he had already said that. "Anyway, the dean has asked me to make sure that in case of evacuations, you all have somewhere to go to, so…" he continued, before being overwhelmed with a storm of answers.
Sitting at the front row, Sayo smiled slightly at the friendly havoc she had grown accustomed to. It was part of the package that was 3A. Ayaka was standing tall and proud amidst all this, honourably offering her little sensei a room at her mansion, only to be drowned out by the multitude of other offers being thrown at the little teacher. Having come from Wales, it looked like he had nowhere to weather out the storm for the week.
Not a problem she was likely to face any time soon. She was dead already, so what was the worst that could happen to her? She hardly needed any kind of shelter. Being ethereal had its advantages in the end, she supposed. But that meant having to spend a week alone…er, more alone than usual. She felt depression begin to gnaw away at her once more.
"Will you be ok?" asked the red head sitting next to her under her breath to avoid being overheard. Kazumi Asakura, one of the few people able to see the ghostly girl, making it easier on her, and more fun for her too of course.
The spirit smiled. "Yeah don't worry. I'll just go to the tsuyabuki garden and wait for you all to come back."
The reporter shot her a side ways look. "You sure you'll be ok?" she asked once more, just to be sure. Sayo knew what she was offering, for her to come along. But this was merely a storm, not worth inconveniencing her friends for. She'd endured worse, her death testified to that. She nodded, smiling softly. Kazumi nodded once before turning her attention back to their teacher, who had miraculously managed to restore a semblance of order.
Sayo continued to smile, though there was no life in it. She'd be totally alone for a week. After finally having a friend, and conversations, it would be crushing. She sighed and looked out the window at the oncoming storm. Only a few days ago the weather had been idyllic. And now…now it was on its way to becoming hellish. Such a fickle thing, nature.
"…and so, those of you who cannot leave to see your relatives, will be required to sign in at the reception in order for us to be able to count you during the evacuation," continued Negi when Sayo began to pay attention once more. Most of the class nodded at that. It wasn't surprising really, seeing as Mahora was a live-in campus; it stood to reason that the students' families were far from the school. And so it wound up that over half the class would be evacuated to the shelters built into the mountains, high above any possible flood level.
Of course, such matters were beyond the worries of Evangeline McDowell, who had sent another flunky scurrying away on the verge of a heart attack. Her robotic maid shut the door behind him, before walking back to the kitchen to finish preparing tea.
"Foolish weaklings," growled the tiny vampire stalking back to her bedroom and flinging herself onto the gigantic double bed, savouring the comfort. Her eyes drifted over back to her leather tome, placed to one side when another of the Headmaster's snivelling cowards had come to advise her to evacuate. Honestly, she had a magical barrier placed around the cottage just in case of such emergencies. All she had to do was activate it once everyone was gone.
She shrugged off the problem and reached over to her faithful tome, flipping it open to the page she was before she had been interrupted again. This one showed an imposing black pyramid, a nimbus of sickly green light playing around it, with a solar eclipse occurring over its peak. The desert around the cursed structure was writhing with the bones of the damned, stirring from their slumber, and on a platform, jutting out of the pyramids surface like a knife in a wound. Standing upon it, staring at its domain, was a bandaged figure, strands of wasted grey hair stirred by a non-existant wind. Leaning on a highly ornate weapon, the figure was reaching out with a skeletal hand, the bandages there having rotted away, as if to grasp the very air the living used for sustenance.
A long time ago, in the City of Kings, lived a young prince. He was a passionet student, learning all he could about everything. But he was also brash, foolish and proud. Yet he served his people faithfully, never shirking from his duty. The kingdom he was to inherit was mighty, with cities and people beyond counting. But it could not stand against the might of the Sons of Romulus.
Though military, economic and military might, they drove the land to the brink of capitulation. And finally, one night, a dark assassin crept into the prince's room and dealt him a fatal blow, a bloodied kiss. Fearing the fall of his father's kingdom, and fearing for his soul now his blood had been tainted by an undead, the young prince struck a deal with the dark gods Set and Anubis. They would grant him the power to destroy his enemies, and in return, the prince offered them his soul. The gods accepted his offer, but the prince was never cured of his growing passion for blood.
Anubis gave the prince command of one of his Legions, the Crimson Army. The damned dead, those who had failed their final judgement, and had been left to be devoured by Ammit, but had succeeded in fending off the beast with their will and spirit. These were the foot troops. Set meanwhile provided the beasts of war and machines of woe.
Their herald was a horde of foul insects which once struck the City of Kings in the name of a God. Set had taken these harbingers of plight and gifted the prince with mastery over them. Clouds of buzzing swarms would descend on any who opposed the Army, blinding them whilst the damned blades of the dead tore through flesh. Anubis, not to be outdone, also gave the prince a gift. A weapon fashioned from the god's flail. The Meteor Arch.
And like a dark plague, the Army swept North over the sea.
They were without feeling, showing neither fear nor remorse. They pushed the Sons of Romulous back to the walls of their precious city. Their deal complete, Anubis and Set claimed the soul of the prince, and the army returned to the place of shadow from whence they came. That is where they linger now, marshalling their forces under the command of the prince, who forsook his name and title and became the true heir of the legacy Anubis and Set had left him: Nymsik, Leader of the Crimson Army.
Evangeline purred softly to herself, enjoying the tingle of pleasure she always received form reading the tome. The legends within where wonderful inventions of a mad monk, and his tortured screams echoed around the book, which contained so much of his soul and broken mind.
When she was at her most whimsical, the Dark Evangel could almost see the man's pained face trying to tear its way out from the pages. She smiled as she lovingly ran a finger along the writing, the faded letters shimmering slightly beneath her touch, recognizing the brand of magic running within her.
Removing her hand from the book, she gently closed it and placed it back in its rightful place atop the shelf. It seemed to squirm as it was placed amidst the other tomes, but books about dark themes were always like that. She tilted her head to the side, briefly pondering.
Blood thirst huh? She knew how infuriating that could be until one reached an age when it became less necessary and could be controlled. Though a prince fighting to protect his dying kingdom…what a fool. The vampire smirked to herself as she put on her cloak, heading for the door. Nothing ever lasted. Even this academy would sooner or later be ground into dust. Whether by time or demons it mattered not. All fell into dust.
Evangeline AK McDowell had seen too many empires rise and fall to believe in anything surviving. The legend of Ozymandias was something that everybody would do well to remember.
There was a heavy ringing sound as the metal constructs lifted the cargo into the air and carried it onto the shore. Sitting silently, chin resting on his fist, the figure waited as the metal box he was in lurched as it was lifted up and carried over before being deposited on a carriage. He knew this was happening because he could sense it.
The utter blackness where he waited did not faze him. Indeed, he welcomed it. His place was in the shadows, destined to never be seen. There was a snort and a stamp. Looking up, the man smiled softly. Though he couldn't see it, he knew his faithful steed was impatiently tramping the metal beneath their feet, eager to travel again. Another snort and a neigh as well.
He raised a finger to his lip and hushed quietly, but enough for the beast to hear him. Immediately the animal ceased it showing its annoyance, standing still and regarding him coolly. The constant pitter-patter of rain onto the box echoed around the silent cavity, disturbed now and then by a clunk as yet another container was manoeuvred into position and deposited.
"Calm yourself," whispered the figure, his face impassive. The creature in front of him shook its head, the armour on its neck clinking slightly. He looked away, staring into space once more as a loud clang and sudden tremor announced their container being deposited on the train carriage. Closing his eyes, the figure began to meditate, his mind calming itself.
Then the heavy steel door swung open, allowing the dreary grey light of the outside world to fall into the container.
"What the hell?!" exclaimed a voice.
The figure inside did not move or open its eyes, the light proving enough of a discomfort enough as things were.
"Who the hell are you?" demanded the strange voice accusingly, throwing open the door to let all the light in.
The figure hissed in mild annoyance. He hated the light, the noise, the attention, the people screaming and running and the burning and the dying and she was dead and he had failed and-
"Oi, are you listening to me?" snapped the voice again. It was male, clearly Asian. The heartbeat was picking up pace as adrenaline poured into the arteries, being carried all over the man's body.
The figure stood up, never speaking or opening its eyes. The armour it wore grated against itself, scraping off the dried blood and muck. Behind it, the stallion growled and stomped the ground in anticipation.
The man at the door saw clearly the contents of the container, and exclaimed in shock and horror as he fell back, arms raised to protect himself.
With a loud neighing, the stallion burst from the darkened confines, its barding, the colour of dried blood, shimmering dully in the dreary sunlight. Digging his heels into its flanks, the armoured figure rode off down the railway tracks, vanishing into the mist.
Badly shaken, the sailor watched it vanish, his heart hammering. "W-what the hell was that?!"
Disclaimer: Nymsik is property of DarkDragonDave.
Omegarulesall: Thank you for the praise.
Tikigod784: DDD is rather aweosme at creating bad guys! And there's a whole gang still to do...
TzuiAssassian: Dark indeed. TIme for me to do somehting not so utterly silly and random as the Luke Mythos.