Chapter Five

Hate Me

Albel Nox was a tormented soul.

His walk back to his sparsely furnished and unkempt room was not a walk at all. Instead, he crawled down the endless hallways of Airyglyph Castle's interior, using the wall as a crutch the entire way. His mind was in chaos and never before had he experienced such agony. He'd rather those air dragons burn off his other arm than have the moral obligations as set by his futuristic leader klaxon in his head.

This pain was something he'd only begun feeling recently and it came to him in a dream - a epiphany. That dream he had about killing Nel was so real it left him physically ill and raped him of his sleep that evening. The events that took place only a few minutes ago, when he and Nel again squared off but this time in a very real situation brought that feeling back in spades. He wanted to vomit but something was telling him it wouldn't be enough to ease the sickness. Cutting out his throat and wringing out his sins might be a more appropriate start.

Albel barely made the turn that led down the corridor where his room lay at the very end. A lone duenna - carrying out some task appointed to her by her younger patron - was the only one who had thus far born witness to Albel's condition. She carried in her hands an ivory platter with two cups and a teapot that were batted against the wall with a single slap of Albel's flesh and blood hand. "Out of my way, worm!"

The woman was no stranger to the castle or its dealings and seeing Albel the Wicked in such a mood was cause for alarm. Angry as he was she fell against the wall in stunned terror and watched hazily as he stumbled down the hall, punched open his door and kicked it closed behind him.

With not even a grunt he collapsed into his lumpy bed and fainted, drifting into a state that was not as restful as sleep and not as aware as consciousness; given the circumstances though it was not surprising what the topic of the "dream" was.

Albel looked down from a high tree branch above a small clearing in the center of a forest. There was no sound, not from his breath or from the wildlife in the forest. Complete silence and eerily fitting for the task he meant to carry out.

Minutes or hours past but it didn't matter as both seemed like an eternity before his pray arrived. A tall boy, a head full of messy blue hair and wearing a pair of brown shorts with a t-shirt adorned with a child-like doodle on the back stepped into the clearing and looked around for a moment before letting out a loud sigh and sitting down against the base of the tree Albel was perched on.

Albel grinned wickedly (he could not see it but he could certainly feel it) and began a slide vertically down the tree, using his clawed hand to dig into the bark and control his decent. In his other hand was the intimidating and oddly pre-bloodied blade of the Crimson Scourge, though none of the blood formed drops large enough to fall and warn the boy of his impending doom. Albel relished this moment, as he had felt it a thousand times before and each time it gave him a sensation akin to the strongest of aphrodisiacs with double the mess.

The resulting gore was also something he reveled in, and with all the grief this boy had been causing him he was looking forward to seeing his innards in his hands.

Fayt, who was blissfully unaware of what was about to befall him, did nothing but sit their and hum happily to himself as Albel cackled and pulled his claws from the tree, the sound of which alerted Fayt to his presence but it was far too late by then.

The sword in Albel's hand slid into the boy's soft neck and pinned him to the ground, severing his spine and rendering him paralyzed to do anything but watch in mute horror as Albel loomed over him, a psychotic grin adorning his face.

"You've made me suffer long enough, Fayt. Now I hope you get to think about your mistakes in the afterlife!" Albel's hideous laughter echoed in Fayt's ears as he was blinded by the sun glinting off of his raised claws. Then he saw only black.

Albel planted his hands on his bed and hurled himself back with such force he hit the old wood dresser on the other side of the room, cracking the wall and knocking the drawer out directly above his head, which left a large bleeding welt when it came back down.

Caring little or not realizing the damage his perpetually sharp claws could do, he slammed them into the top of his dresser and dug the razored digits at least an inch into the soft wood. He hoisted himself up and stood in a dazed stupor for a few seconds before the vivid images of his dream came back to mind...which caused him to vomit all over the floor.

"Are those pesky dreams keeping you awake again, captain?"

Without thought Albel dove back to his bed and fished under the mattress for his sword, which was not there but rather laying at the feet of a shadowed man in the corner of his small room, leaning against the wall with his right foot and playing with a switchblade in his left hand. But Albel was never unarmed and he raised up his claws in a defensive stance, keeping his sword-arm behind his back. "You've had a terrible lapse in judgment if you thought you could slay me in my sleep, maggot."

The man chuckled and bit and shook his head, though the shadows of the evening still played heavily enough on him that Albel could not make out his identity. "I am not an assassin, captain, I am a mercenary," he said almost sarcastically as each word seemed accompanied with a metallic slap as the switchblade closing against itself, "and I'm not here for you. I'm here as a liaison to my employer who has expressed great interest in a certain potential in your army."

Albel's sickness hadn't subsided just because of this sudden interruption and had to kneel slightly to balance himself on the edge of his bed with his free hand, though his gauntlet was still at the ready. "I'm in no mood to talk with some two-bit sellsword. Get out of my room before I lose my patience with you."

The man was silent for a moment before nodding a few times, disappointingly, then flipped closed his blade and pocketed it. "If that is how you feel then I hope we can part now on good terms, but Panther will not be pleased."

"Panther?" Albel repeated looking up, his hair glistening with sweat and slicked against his face. "That is the nickname given to a thief who has been carrying out heists in Airyglyph for years. You say he is your boss?"

The man nodded and produced from his coat pocket a simple sheet of parchment with the dried image of a panther's paw inked on it. He stepped forward a bit, prompting Albel to reassume his guard, though he only flicked it towards the bed. Albel picked it up and looked at it, his blurry vision having noticeable difficulty focusing on it. "The calling card of the Panther. One is always found at the scene."

"A little known secret about him is that he hasn't done one of those robberies in years. We, and many times I, have been keeping up the myth of 'The Panther' just to keep his name infamous. We're a bit more…'active' these days."

"And what is it that you wanted? And speak quickly, your story began to bore me around 'a little known…'."

The man nodded and fell back into the shadows of the corner. "I want Nel Zelpher."

Albel let out a single laugh. "So do a thousand bitter criminals she has put away! What makes you any different?"

"Because I have a golden opportunity here to get her at her most vulnerable. Only you know who she really is in this guise- façade - she is putting on."

"How the Hell do you - !"

"Because I am always kept informed, Nox!" The man shouted, pushing off of the wall and getting more defensive than his previous passive demeanor had let on. "I also have several men who have infiltrated this draft."

Albel leapt over the bed and was at the man in a instant, characteristic of his impatient and brutal personality. This nameless face was not the same as the average fools Albel normally terrorized and had the pocket knife at his throat in an instant. At the same moment, Albel's claw was at his throat and he was now close enough to place a face to the man who had broken into his living quarters.

"You…S-Sh-"

"I have four soldiers on the inside of the draft at this moment, Nox. All of whom live in the same barracks as Nel. You can choose to either help me take her head or you can resist and I'll have you taken out as well. It is your call but I hope that your current state of unhealthy is not impairing your judgment enough to so rashly push aside my offer."

Albel stared into the face of a man he thought long dead but his decision to the man's offer was instantaneous. He backed off of him and dropped his gauntlet to his side, exposing himself to a clean and defenseless kill. "What would you have me do?"