Flatline

A story by The Fetid Conceited

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The crazy authoresses CAT and AMS: Whew! Quite the name… Sorry about such a long wait! With finals around then Christmas break and then my dad getting new computer games, I've not the time to update, nor the ability! But rest assured, this chapter will most certainly please (and be longer to compensate for the wait).

Pyroclastic Flow: Thanks for your support, as well. Although, I'm left to wonder what the sweatdrop was about… sweatdrop Am I doing something wrong ? And about that line… you're most certainly right. It's off, and I need to fix it sometime.

Lucrecia LeVrai: I'm glad I'm helping you with your vocabulary, then! I guess this is a multipurpose fic… And when using the word Catholic, it was an anachronism to better explain the guilt trip. Sorry about the confusion.

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All readers/reviewers: You have my undying thanks for reading my fic, reviewing it, and supporting my style of writing. I sincerely hope that the rest of this fic lives up to everyone's expectations.

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Famished flames licked the vitrescent floor expectantly, hoping an unlucky victim will shatter the surface and plunge to an excruciating death. Great pillars framed the inner chamber, with hearts of flames searching for a single flaw with which to use as an escape. The fire that pulsed within the first great arch never ceased to draw a smile from the normally-stoic face of its owner and caretaker. Romero sauntered through the immense chamber, silently regarding the room with satisfaction. His footfalls echoed through out the sparse room, contrasting with the continual hum of the flames. He halted as he stood before the crown jewel of the room, the throne.

The throne was comprised of a thin, glass-like material similar to the rest of the chamber, embellished with silver runes and gold archaic writings. The fire that seethed within it transitioned from blue to purple, effectively portraying its creator's mood through different shades and hues. Romero rested one fair, spidery hand on the arm of the throne, once again smiling as it was cool to the touch. He carefully lowered himself into the depths of the throne, reveling in the comfort it yielded. Never has this room failed to raise his spirits.

"I must admit, he's a notch above the rest of the mortals…" Romero mused aloud. "However, it's always been difficult to sustain an existence in the material plane. Ergo, he had the upper hand. I suppose I'll just have to make a deal with some wretched soul to have them do the dirty work. Did you catch all of that, Mattalun?" The king glared fixedly at the double-doors that bore the same emblem as what shone on his cape.

The doors beneath the emblem dissolved in a sudden burst of flame, and the silvery design lingered in the air for another second before disappearing in a wisp of smoke. A well-dressed count made his timid entrance. "Yes, m'lord." He refused to meet the harrowing gaze of his master.

"Good. Now find me a soul that has played a large part in Albel Nox's life."

"Your majesty, wasn't he part of that group of travelers that cam to the Ancient Ruins of Mosel?"

"Why yes, yes he was. In that case, you should know exactly who to look for."

Albel slowly drifted back into consciousness only to be greeted by the prosaic sight of a stone ceiling. He stared fixedly at it, hoping the knowledge that the wall is not spinning like a pottery wheel would help right his vision. It didn't. After deciding 'to hell with it', Albel shut his eyes altogether and sat up with the help of the headboard as a crutch. A wave of dizziness and nausea washed over him and he instantly regretted his decision.

"I guess you are still alive. Tch, what a shame." The voice was so familiar, yet Albel could not quite place name with face. "You sent this kingdom to hell while I was gone," reprimanded the man as he sauntered into the room. Albel's eyes were drawn to the cape swirling about the muscular legs of the lord. There was only one person in Airyglyph who has worn a cape like that, aside from the king: Duke Vox.

"What the he- wait, what am I thinking? I must be dreaming," Albel replied to the presence of his hated adversary, dismissing any theories as to why he would still be alive.

"If you were asleep, this would be so much easier…" He drew his sword in response. He approached the bedside, ignoring Albel's fiery insults, and jerked the lithe swordsman's head back to the pillows. Raising the sword executioner's style, Vox smiled triumphantly. "I've waited a long time for this."

Albel knew it would be pointless to struggle. There was nothing he could do to overpower Vox or stop the impending slash that would surely decapitate him. However, even though he knew that the next breath he took would b his last, he wasn't afraid. He was livid. He had planned to end the life of the miserable little wretch that hid in the basement of this atrocious dump. He had wanted to become the man his father was. He had sought to cast away the trepidation he held toward trusting and relying on others. Now every hope, dream, and aspiration he intended to fulfill will be silenced by the fell swoop of his loathed enemy's sword, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Even so, he cycled through bold attacks, each more desperate than the last. Blocking the blow with his claw would only ensure his death would not be instantaneous, and there was no chance that he could overpower Vox in a deadlock. There was, for the second time in his life, nothing he could do to stop death. He watched with fury burning brightly in his blood-red eyes as the blade began its descent, and those same blood optics widened in disbelief as the blade froze an inch above his throat.

"Dammit," Vox muttered. "I'll finish you off later." He vanished into quickly-fading black smoke.

"You should've answered me if you were awake, Albel," The king stated disapprovingly. "How are you feeling?"

The two-tone snarled angrily at his king. "You never told me that Vox was still alive…"

The king sighed in response. "I think you need more rest, Albel." He waived away Albel's forthcoming retort. "You're delusional. Those beings from another planet killed him. Now I'll thank you to keep your hallucinogenic fantasies to yourself while in my presence."

"Hallucinogenic fantasies? You think that Vox being alive is a fantasy? You're the delusional one…"

Arzei sighed and shook his head in recognition of the futility of his efforts. "I'm not going to argue with you over a petty dream, Albel. When you're feeling well again, report to me." He gave a curt nod to the wiry man before exiting the lifeless room.

"It wasn't a dream…" Albel protested aloud. "It can't have been a dream. Someone's hiding something, and the king has to be behind it…" Once again Albel attempted to assume a sitting posture, but only managed to stifle a yelp from the pain.

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Not much to go on today. Sorry about that… Anyhow, I'll try to get the creativity flowing again so I can crank out longer chapters (and more frequently). And perhaps I'll throw in a few plot twists her and there, just to liven things up. Once again, sorry for the long, long wait. The next chapter should make up for the absence of everything here. By the way, my keyboard is dying, so if there are any misspellings, please tell me and I'll jam up the 'e' key for it.