Force of habit ordered him to wake up long before the sunrise, the few hours of sleep he got that night enough to sustain him throughout an entire day of drifting. Ravendor sat up and stretched, yawning softly and adjusting his vision to the still blackened night. He could hear the three bandits snoring nearby and decided not to wake them up just yet, he'd do that as soon as the sun rose. Fumbling around in the darkness, he searched their supplies and procured a full paraffin lantern, lighting it with his lighter, throwing shadows across the area and offering some small illumination. The brightness hurt his eyes for a few seconds before becoming used to it, setting the light upon a nearby rock.
"Another morning upon a dying world." He said to himself as he located a brush and got the tangles out of his hair, tying it back into a ponytail and standing up, looking around at the landscape make clear by the flickering light. It looked like it was going to be a fairly mild day today, by Filgaian standards. That was good, Ravendor hated warmth. Autumn was always his favourite season, the gentle decay that led to the death of all life. It was… somehow beautiful. He gathered his things together and packed early, skipping breakfast for the moment. There were some things he had to take care of before the others awoke.
After spending some time getting ready, Ravendor pulled his jacket back on and walked purposefully out of the campsite, up into the quarry, leaving the bandits and hostage behind. He held the lantern slightly raised with one hand and felt around the rocky outcrops with the other, searching. All by himself, the soft words he uttered were only for an invisible force to hear, talking peacefully in the night. "Darkness is my element, the vast cloak that shrouds the impure, or perhaps, hides that which cannot be known. You told me this years ago, and gave me the reins that guide the shadow to whichever stretch of eternity I wish to take. A curse, but at the same time, a blessing. So I must thank you, Melody, despite my own view on the subject."
Here he came to a great wall made by an immense boulder and overhanging cliff, casting a shadows so deep and thick that a dragon could have easily hidden there, dwarfing the small human that stood in it's shade. Not even the lamp he brought could pierce through the unlight, and Ravendor carefully drew a fold of his jacket over it to hide the brightness, pulling off one of his gloves with his teeth and sticking a bare hand into the shadow, concentrating.
Physics departed and magic took over as his hand made contact with the black shadow, rippling at the touch and becoming a strangely liquid form, abandoning it's gaseous state for the moment. It felt like velvet as he pushed his hand further in, stepping forward and biting his bottom lip. He began to feel dizzy again, but simply ignored it, focussing on keeping the shadow tangible. "Darkness be my heart. Darkness be my body. Darkness be my soul." He stepped through on those words, throwing caution to the wind and entering the unknown, vanishing from the area of the canyon. Logically speaking, Ravendor should have hit the stone wall a nanosecond later, but logic had no place in the presence of magic, and power.
xxx
He emerged indoors in a cavernous place, stalactites dangling sinisterly overhead. The walls were a dirty dingy grey, made up of many volcanic rocks and layers, packed so tightly together that not even a golem could move them. Ravendor stepped out of a shadow and revealed his artificial light again, scanning the contents of the cave. The teleportation spell had worked, and he was exactly where he wished to be. Turning around and craning his head up, he smiled a pleasant smile and bowed to the presence of the cave, greeting an old friend. "I am pleased to see that you have not been tampered with," He said politely, setting his lantern down on the gritty ground, "It has been awhile, Diablo. Are you well?"
A mammoth object sat huddled in one great corner of the cavern, so tall that it's head could easily graze the ceiling if it were to stand up, scarlet armor covering a bulky metallic frame made from both machine parts and living tissue. A prototype variation before the manufacture of dragons, this hulking beast was none other than one of the legendary golems, forgotten to the edges of history. Like spilt blood, it's armor was coloured a vibrant red, indicating precisely who it was. Diablo, the Crimson Hellstorm. The bandit leader, unperturbed by the nearly overwhelming presence, casually walked up to it and set a hand on it's armor, channeling the spirit that handled his ARM into direct contact with the artificial intelligence inside.
"Do you remember me?" He pressed, "I said I would return, and I have. Awaken, my friend, and speak." A slight vibration ran through the golem, a tender electricity reawakening separate parts of the machine and bringing it to life, a resuscitation that was more than one thousand years overdue. Ravendor continued to speak, more for himself than the golem sitting in front of him. "I have traced my genealogical roots back to long ago, when you may have lived and fought in peace, Diablo. I had an ancestor who once bore the ability to talk to creatures such as you, and to this day, I have acquired that supernatural talent as well. In fact, you may have known her, though I am only speculating on this. Hear me now, wake!"
The golem groaned, a deep resounding noise that vibrated off every nook and cranny, the sound one of faint recognition. Ravendor had succeeded. The groan became a softer steady rumble, like distant thunder, the machine shifting into an active state. The drifter was beyond pleased, he had expected that it would've taken much more work to wake the creature up. However, Ravendor yawned again, still a little tired.
The drifter knelt down for a second, looking slightly unsure of his movements, before coiling his legs and jumping to an inhumanly possible height, landing with cat-like grace on the round armor plated shoulder of the golem, the metal as tough as nails. With the air of one who knew exactly what he was doing, Ravendor knelt down again and felt around on the armor, looking for a certain catch. His fingers hooked the contraption after a moment and removed a loose sheet of the plating, revealing the inner workings underneath. It looked severely complicated, with wiring and tubing going everywhere, but Ravendor knew exactly what to do. Like a doctor working contentedly on a patient, Ravendor found himself talking to the machine like a human being, finding it slightly ironic that the human conversation was merely a masquerade, for neither of them could claim that status for themselves.
"I could easily blame my problems on you, Diablo, although that would only be an immature way to look at things. I understand that you are innocent, despite certain others I know who would beg to differ. It has been so long… since I last came here. You must know, I do not like to trespass on my own personal crypt." He gently pulled some wiring out and rearranged their position on the entry ports, shutting down certain areas of power to make room for Diablo's life support system, more important than frivolous extras.
"You seem to be capable of making a full recovery, if I can supplement a large enough power source. I envy you, because I cannot do the same." He sighed, ending up in a brief cough. "The panakeia that runs through my bloodstream is both a life support system and a source of my magic, though in truth, it is also slowly killing me. My blood is degenerate, and not for one second of my day am I not aware of this, it is a constant burning pain, and it never goes away. The Council of Seven is scattered, so I can no longer acquire the devices used to purify my blood. The only thing that keeps me away from total degeneration is the medication I force myself to take, and sadly, I believe my body is growing tolerant to it's effects. If I cannot find another way to live, I will die soon."
Diablo made an almost sympathetic groan, unbelievingly listening to Ravendor's words and understanding them, memorizing the tone, pitch and writing it into it's personal data files, registering the quiet man as a friend. It had been so long since anybody had last talked to it, the golem was eager to have anybody as a friend, no matter who they may be. Something small sparked beneath Ravendor's hand and he noticed one wire had been partially eaten away by corrosion, causing him to think on how he could solve the problem.
Ravendor's face darkened a little in remembrance. "I never wanted to be this way, had I ever been given the choice. They should have left me to die when they found me, for that, I do not think I shall ever find a way to forgive them." In muted anger, he slammed a fist down on the thick armor, biting back a curse. "Gods damn you, Malik! Why could you not just let me die? You may writhe in the fires of purgatory now, but when I join you, I will show you the true definition of the word 'Hell'!"
He held the two ends of the corroded wiring together with both hands, trying to take his mind off his depressing thoughts. Nothing happened for a little while, then the faintest crackling of electricity formed around the wire, not a bright white colour like expected, but a deep dark shadowy red. The wires fused together from the sudden heat and power, entwining and becoming one. Ravendor let go, cautiously checking over everything else, the strange electrical field fading. He set the piece of armor back on and stood up, forcing a jovial smile. "You should be thankful that I am a scientist, Diablo. You may have slipped into irreversible disrepair had I not removed the energy fluctuation. All you need now is a new power source, I shall try and find one for you, once I have the spare time."
The sound Diablo made was unmistakably one of gratitude, the small drifter on it's shoulder effortlessly leaping off and landing on the solid ground once more, picking up his lantern that had been abandoned only a few minutes before. Ravendor looked back up at the golem and bowed once more, glad to be of service. "I shall return here very soon, bringing with me several companions. Do not be alarmed should you hear any disturbing noises within your resting place. In fact, I advise that you go back to sleep until I arrive."
Ravendor glanced back into the wide shadow under Diablo's long armored arm, the place where he had emerged from and would depart again, sure that he could expend just enough magic to send him back to the campsite without wasting too much energy. It was tiring, but it was worth it. Taking his leave of the cave, he walked away, taking advantage of the rampant shadows and shade. As a darkness elemental, it made him feel almost at home.
Then he heard a noise, the nearly untraceable sound of tiny rocks rolling under a foot or shoe, and a faint, oh so faint, breathing. He was not alone anymore. Without taking the risk of turning around, his hand silently crept to the holster of his gun, grasping and sliding it out without any sound being made. Expecting a fight, Ravendor made a sinister smirk, it had been way too long since he had last fought, he only realized just then how badly he had been itching for one. Deeming himself ready for confrontation, he languidly spun around and met his foe, placing the lantern at his feet.
It stood on four legs, and each leg bore a cloven hoof, the creature essentially equine in structure, except that it's torso, arms and head were of a human quality, though horribly distorted. Ravendor couldn't really tell what it was exactly, only aware that it's attitude towards him was hostile at the least. It's short fur was a deep dark blue that changed to a scaly skin tone as it reached past the horse part of it's body, eyes glowing a disturbing yellow. Muscular and fast, it would be a formidable opponent. It trotted forward a few steps, fists clenching and unclenching in anger. A creature that bore the name of centaur. Ravendor's face was neutral, refusing to budge from his spot. Standing in Diablo's shadow, it made the dark-haired man looked smaller and frailer than what he really was.
Ever calculating, he moved one hand up to his chin, seeing through the dark to appraise the monster with a careful deliberation borne only by a skilled scientist. The creature was tall and adapted to it's environment, although it did not look natural at all. Ravendor's eyes narrowed, the monster was man-made, and with a little bit of speculation on his own part, it probably used to be human as well. A travesty of human life, it looked like Ravendor was not the only one. Yet his did not give him comfort.
Stepping out of Diablo's great shadow, the bandit leader gripped his gun but did not raise it, having more than one singular trick hidden up his sleeve. If anything, he would at least give the creature the first chance to attack, knowing that he would win the fight no matter what. Ravendor smiled. "So," He intoned, his cultured voice echoing in the cavern, "The Council of Seven left more in this ruin than I could have fathomed, I had no idea they assigned a guardian to this place. Otherwise, I would have come much more prepared."
The creature whinnied in response, pawing at the ground with a hoof. It was remarkably camouflaged in the setting of the cavern, seeming to be specially adapted for combat in such a place. Ravendor just shook his head sadly, feeling pity for the unfortunate creature. Steadily, he held his weapon up to the beast, trained directly at his heart. "You are an experiment, just as I am. We may be kindred spirits, but still," With the flick of a thumb, he released the safety catch on his Peacemaker, his aim perfectly straight, "I understand you could have been human once, I do not deny that possibility, but for now you are my enemy, I ask you to stand down."
… Hypocrite.
His green eyes suddenly had a flash of uncertainly run through them, for an incredibly fleeting second, he could have sworn he had heard a voice inside his head, the voice unfamiliar yet memorable. He shook it off easily and went back to the confrontation, wondering how best to dispatch this fiend. The centaur stepped forward and leaned down, strong hands sweeping the ground, seeming to looks for a suitable weapon. Apart from rocks and dust, it would find none.
Ravendor's opinion on this quickly changed. The centaur briefly glimpsed a cluster of stalagmites huddled nearby and cantered towards them purposefully, reaching over and grabbing one, muscles straining and working to their utmost ability. It growled in energy expenditure as cracks began to appear around the stone's base, snapping free with an audible sound and coming loose. The monster grinned as it tested the weight of the stone club with a practice swing, the force it now wielded capable of knocking a human's head clear off their shoulders. It looked back up at Ravendor, flashed a set of yellowed and rotting teeth, and charged, swinging the club like a maniac.
But when it reached Ravendor, the man was no longer there.
Confused and startled, it turned around several times in search, whickering in a perplexed manner and scouring the shadows. It looked left and right, up and down, but found nothing. It did not, to it's eventual downfall, even think to check out the sleeping golem, where Ravendor was perched precariously like a bird of prey on it's head. He looked down and smiled cruelly, holstering his gun in lieu of a different weapon that he knew would be much more fun.
The bandit leader reached into a pocket on the inside of his jacket and removed a trinity of curious objects, almost invisible in the darkness except for the unearthly light it reflected from the simple lantern, shining a dazzling polished obsidian. Thin as a razor and shaped in a particularly oval form, they resembled a dark flight feather from an immense bird, yet they were made from an unknown metal, harder than the armor that Diablo bore. They were very beautiful, and very deadly throwing darts.
The centaur roared in agony as a flare of pain burst in the side of his neck, the ebony black throwing dart only millimeters away from severing it's jugular vein. Ravendor uttered an expletive under his breath, he had missed. The second and third assaults hit him in the shoulder and bicep, the monster hissing wildly and thrashing, wondering exactly where the pain was originating from. Not wanting to spend the entire battle using distance attacks, Ravendor broke into a quick sprint and leapt off from Diablo's head, his jacket billowing out behind him as he calculated the contact point, awaiting the impact as he hit the ground.
He touched down and immediately rolled to the side, expecting the crushing blow the centaur made to the patch of ground that he had just occupied, moving away in time. It swung up and made a low blow, but Ravendor artfully ducked and sidestepped, knowing that the monster was far too slow to catch him. The drifter moved forward again and attempted a risky move, darting forward and under the incredible bulk of the equine creature, just barely avoiding it's sharp beating hooves. He checked his pocket again and whipped out one last throwing star, wishing himself luck and jabbing it deeply into the centaur's underbelly, the monster's face twisting into a mask of absolutely agony, dropping it's club from slackened fingers and trembling.
It was time to finish the fight. Ravendor moved out of harm's way in the few seconds he had left of the creature being stunned, inhaling a breath and clambering aboard the monster as one would mount a horse, pressing the barrel of his Peacemaker to the back of it's head. In that one delicious moment of pure bloodlust, all sane thought left his mind. He grinned like a demon, and spoke. "If you had any humanity left inside, I would let you live."
He pulled the trigger.
The back of the centaur's brain case exploded in a mess of blood and bone fragments, streams of destroyed brains splattering onto the floor and seeping into the dirt, the monster's body wobbling from a lack of control before finally toppling over, headless and obliterated. Ravendor slipped off in time to avoid being bloodied, and looked at the corpse from the ground, his emerald eyes emotionless. The rest of his clip still full, he raised his arm once more and unloaded the rounds into the corpse, the sound of meat being pierced slightly musical to his ears.
"I… will… hate… you… forever…" He said stonily, firing a shot between each word, imagining that the creature's carcass was Clive's instead of something else. It would give him such great pleasure to murder the worthless bastard, it made him so look forward to slaughtering Kaitlyn…
… Do you really want to do that…?
"Silence!" He yelled to himself, turning away and picking up the lantern that had somehow not been overturned during the fight, walking back into the shadow. Killing Kaitlyn would be the consolation to everything he had suffered for under Clive's responsibility, no matter what anyone said, he would complete his mission without regret. Nothing could ever stop him.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere but the energy drained from the fight, Ravendor screamed and fell to the ground, a horrible tearing and rending pain from the scars on his back making him nearly black out. He kept a tight hold on the waking world and stayed there, but overwhelming dizziness and the feeling of something shredding made Ravendor want to die, then and there. He grabbed at his throat and started to cough, knowing that he had strained his panakeia to the point of near disintegration. And something else was happening to him, something that he had entirely Malik to thank for. For the umpteenth time, he wished unspeakable curses down upon that man, curses so bad that they could not be repeated.
Tentatively, he removed the hand from his mouth and tasted blood on his tongue, not a very good sign for his health. The coughing stopped after a short while and he fell silent, dimly aware that he was bleeding from the scars on his back. Something foreign twitched and he doubled over in pain, coughing up more blood and panakeia. He hadn't hurt like this in nearly ten years. It brought back such terrible, terrible memories.
For a time Ravendor just lay there, trying to regain his lost will to live.
It was a long while until he even considered getting up again.
xxx
The world was still dark when he returned, emerging and separating his being that had bonded with the shadows, his feet set upon the firm ground of the campsite once more. Trailing tendrils of the thickened darkness clung to his immaculate clothing with creeping incorporeal fingers, pulling at the fabric and feebly trying to drag him back into the void, a hopeless gesture. Ravendor was still too securely rooted to his own dimension to subsist in another. He couldn't leave, not just yet. The man moved out of the teleporting shade and scanned the horizon, the barest glimpse of light in the distance existing as a thin coating of pale silver far away, as beautiful and as unattainable as the stars themselves. Still holding tenderly onto his wounded shoulder and quietly moving back to his own small niche in the area, Ravendor sat down on his blanket and dropped his white jacket to the side, the piercing sting that emerged from his shoulder blades nearly overwhelming.
Those cursed scars, they had opened again and offered him more pain from the remembrance of the past, hating the knowledge of where most of them had come from. Looking with muted misery at his arm, he could see the exceptionally watery quality of his own blood as it dripped down the limb and the side of his hand, beading upon the fingertips. His back felt damp and burning, yes, those scars had reopened once more, and no amount of medication or healing could ever cure him of that wound, it ran so incredibly deep that it virtually grazed his soul, setting a scar within a scar. Ravendor located his handkerchief and wiped all the blood away that he could reach, avoiding the wounds on his back for fear of only making it worse.
Despondently, he crinkled up the cloth in his hand and regarded the stain of his own blood with a calculating fascination, knowing just by the looks of it that things were much worse than they seemed. Ravendor was running out of panakeia, and it was slowly draining him of the ability to keep his identity as it stood. Everything in his life hurt, the things he had to do, the memories he had to remember, the people he had to hurt… It made his life a cursed existence, and all he wanted to do was end it. If only he could have ended it…
Ravendor sighed, having the desire for a cigarette but making no move to light one, looking at the bloodstains once more. It had been too long since it had last happened, which meant he was scheduled for another one soon, but he hoped it would not be too soon. He was far too close to finally forging the vengeance that would honour him as his final dirge. As long as Clive could die, then he would be happy. It was his fault that his pain could never end, it was he who mocked him by stealing one of the only women he had ever loved away, and in the ultimate punishment and torture to his already fatally hurt soul, it was Clive who had made it possible for them to…
"No… No, No! What is this?! What the hell have you done to me?!"
It had hurt, it had hurt far more than any other physical agony he had ever felt before, a rending and tearing pain that had started at the body and bled into the soul. It twitched, it ached, he could neither lie down nor go to sleep, knowing that the nightmares he'd experience would be far worse. His arm stung, his blood burned, and through all of that, he was forbidden to scream, to breathe, to even hope that it would end. Somewhere in Ravendor's mind, he was still experiencing that same traumatic procedure, over and over again for all eternity.
"Why… did you do this to me? There must have been… others…"
That time seemed so far away, but somehow, it could've only happened yesterday by the way he hurt, maybe even earlier. He had worked too hard, strained himself too much, Ravendor didn't think that a simple kidnapping mission would have drained his energy so. He looked over the camp to where Kaitlyn slept, easily spotting her in the darkness by her pretty golden hair, reminding him so much of Seraph that it only made his mental anguish worsen. Only one more day, and Ravendor would be forced to kill her. The bandit leader set one elbow on his knee and rested his chin in the palm of his hand, regarding her fondly and trying to ignore the pain. It was almost insane how she looked so much like two people at once, the Guardians must have enjoyed toying with his emotions in this way. Could he really… kill her?
The flare of pain worsened, and he grabbed at his shoulder again and grunted quietly, dampening the back of his shirt with all the blood he was leaking. Was this his subconsciousness trying to tell him no? Well, he didn't care. Slowly so as to avoid any unnecessary pain, he stuck his hand down the back of his shirt and lightly touched the open wound, feeling wet blood, the scarred flesh of his back… and something else…
The man shivered, withdrawing his hand. It was slicked with blood and panakeia, symbolising his own life force draining away. But that was not what was disturbing him, a tiny object was plastered to the palm of his hand by the liquid, darkened by the rich red colour and useless. It was proof that his own current form was slipping back to it's original state, the state that the prophets had cursed him with. Ravendor peeled the tiny black feather off his hand and looked more closely at it, realising that his back was aching for an entirely different reason, and it was happening much too soon.
He wiped his hand off with the handkerchief and placed it back in his pocket along with the small feather, hoping that the stronger variation of pain would be transient at best. He had to ignore it, for now, and concentrate on his job, for that held a much greater importance. Ravendor reached for his white jacket and put it on again, wincing when he accidentally put pressure on his injury. He would have to keep the piece of attire on so no-one could notice his wound, he wouldn't let anyone know he was in such pain, it went beyond his nature, to suffer in silence.
Ravendor carefully got up and staggered over to where Kaitlyn lay, forcing himself to stand up straight and look down upon her, cuddled up snugly in her blanket with his pet sleeping tranquilly by her side. He crouched down and gently peeled back the blanket so that her bound hands were exposed, wound together by a rough thin length of rope. Her wrists were slightly affected with rope burn, and he found himself feeling a little guilty because of it.
Ravendor slowly untied the knot that held her captive, working with utmost silence so that everyone sleeping in the area was left undisturbed. The rope came away quietly and he looped it back into a small circle and set it to the side, knowing that he would still need it for tomorrow. Kaitlyn shifted a little and made a small noise in her sleep, assuming a more comfortable position now that her hands were free. Ravendor smiled and sat down next to her, waiting for the sun to rise. He remembered, Seraph had loved the sunrises more than anything…
A few tiny rays pierced the sky as night was incarnated into day, the inky shadows mixing fluidly with the vibrant light. The clouds were still there, and they bore the quality of both aspects, darkened by the night, but coated in a magnificent reflective silver lining, the two contrasting shades co-existing with each other in beauty. For the first few minutes of morning, both day and night were one.
Kaitlyn awoke, her eyes opening up just a slit, deep breathing shifting to a lighter state. For a moment, she forgot where she was, slightly confused, but felt the body of the warm sleeping bird by her side and remembered, a flash of homesickness enveloping her mind. Too tired to pretend to be brave, all she wanted to do was to go home. The girl didn't want to be here anymore, finally understanding that this act of kidnapping was becoming much more serious than she had originally guessed. Still refusing to move too much, she opened her eyes fully and noticed that Ravendor was sitting next to her, looking up at the virgin sky. She thought he looked exceptionally sad, like something very precious to him had just died.
"Mother, Seraph, Catherine…" He said, voice barely above a whisper, but his green eyes as hard and emotionless as a piece of jade, "Even… Clive…" The bandit leader clenched one fist, feeling both hate and regret at the same time. If things had only been different, maybe Seraph could have lived. He should have tried to find a way to cure her, not just stand by her side as she died. It made him feel like it was all his fault, which made him deserving of all the loss he had felt. Maybe he deserved to be this way, maybe he deserved to be alone.
"… Everyone… in the end, everyone leaves me…"