To the Darkest of Nights We Go

~Dystopian AU ~

Chapter 50

Written By: RinoaDestiny

King of Fighters, Chizuru Kagura, Kyo Kusanagi, Iori Yagami, Terry Bogard, Andy Bogard, Mai Shiranui, Blue Mary, Rock Howard, and Joe Higashi all belong to SNK


There was brightness. Brightness like a flame at its peak before it went out. Light in darkness. Light upon a ruined world – a world scarred by war, by chaos, by bloodshed. There was an end – a return – and it was what he always wanted. The world back to normal. Life resuming.

But it didn't bring back the dead. Not even here.

For the world he saw was barren. A wasteland. Tough stalks of grass poked out from concrete and earth, stubborn survivors among the human dead. From every direction he looked, only the sky changed. Clouds rolled overhead, there was sunshine – warm – and there was a brilliant blue. A gentle breeze. A perfect day for walking.

But no people.

He started to walk, because there was nothing here. Maybe, if he changed location, that would help. He was young and strong – could go for several miles. Maybe…there were other survivors.

As he left, he didn't look back. Forward. Just look forward.

Grass along the sidewalks, green scattered in a sea of gray. Butterflies flitting about, spots of color among the wreckage. No bodies, but an utter stillness. Funereal. A deep weight of mourning settling amidst rejuvenation.

Yet, he continued. His steps were soundless here, the earth soft as sand.

Rubble gave way to saplings planted in rich soil. Kneeling, he touched the delicate leaves. Watched sunlight illuminate them like stained glass windows in the cathedrals back home. The earthy smell of loam, dark and velvety against his hands. He stood, wiped his hands clean on his jeans, and continued his journey.

Cityscape gave way to landscape – hills, forests, rivers, and lakes – and still there weren't any people. Yet, on the rare occasion, he thought he saw flickers of flame – orange, burning with a white-hot heart and sometimes, a trailing tail of violet, blue tongues twisting in the air. No voices, but there weren't that many flame users. He knew those flames – to whom they belonged. The Sacred Treasures were dead, slain in the conflict. No surprise they were here.

He followed the river in a land now idyllic. Lush, verdant, fruitful – a startling contrast to the ruins he'd left behind. Birdsong everywhere – the cawing of crows, the melodies of sparrows – accompanied him as the river took him to his destination. Gleaming like a silver ribbon, it wound through towering trees, around craggy boulders, and skipped merrily on smooth stones. The grass was like new carpet and gold dappled the ground, coin-bright among cool shadows.

From the forest he walked into an open valley. Clear and high the sky soared.

The sun beamed down – the place awash in light.

With birds taking wing overhead, he descended the high rolling hill. Down the river flowed – down and down and down, glittering. As he passed a gentle slope full of red flowers, he saw a sash in motion, rippling right to left. Then, it disappeared. He recognized the sash, for it was Andy's. No one else's would have that pattern on it.

Still, that feeling. That sadness.

He continued.

From hill, he descended to plain. From the plain, he saw the river leading to a city. Gleaming glass, polished stone, metal reflecting mirror-bright. Civilization and a return to before. To people re-building. Re-populating. Living.

His heart quickened. Perhaps here, he could…

He broke into a run, youthful vitality a boon. Wind carried him – fresh, crisp, clean – and his clothes flapped against his skin. He left the plain behind, eyes only for the city. For there might be people there. People and then he'd know. That they'd won. That they'd defeated their greatest enemy.

He ran into the city and stopped.

Stopped and walked forward, his pace slow and measured. Apprehensive.

For yes, there were people here. People frozen in place. Waiting for something. Or someone. But that wasn't why he stopped. Or why he walked forward, a gnawing feeling of unease in his gut. For ahead of him – in the center of this sparkling new city – were open graves.

No tombstones. Just graves.

It was then that Rock knew. What they stood for. What the people were waiting for.

Yes, there was a return. A possibility.

But it won't bring back the dead. The dead, who were yet to come.


Comments: Dream chapter for Rock. Images and the words just started coming in, so here it is.