Edinburgh, Scotland 2020
He shouldn't be here, but what locked door or guarded entrance could stop him?
The roaring wind would make most step back, to seek the shelter of his surroundings, but not him. He had nothing to fear from it. He listened to the gusts that sounded more like the keening howls of a famished wolf and smiled.
How long will it take you to work it out this time, little one?
No one would see him up here, he stood more than two hundred feet from the ground in his dark tower. Its blackened appearance could rival his own, the striking spire held an eerie beauty that he found fascinating. The sandstone structure had become dark and stained as the years passed by, he could as well of been describing himself.
He admired the gothic architecture and had enjoyed the slow climb to the very summit despite the steps becoming narrower and more treacherous the higher he climbed. Zeref could well recall the construction of this masterpiece and remembered how it had gleamed in a city that was indeed beautiful but mostly filled with muted colours. It was certainly a statement and a fitting tribute to the death of a much famed and respected Scottish author.
Perhaps he would return during the day to view the sights of the city this height afforded. An odd proposition given his current condition, but he held a silent agreement with whoever held his fate in their hands. The sun may not be his friend, but it feared him as equally as it shunned him. Zeref would never be bathed in blinding sunlight, but he was also protected from any damage it could do to someone of his nature.
His eyes shifted from midnight black to decadent crimson as his searching gaze pierced through the gloom of the storming night. From this vantage, he could see for miles and the roads were indeed quiet, rational people avoided this atrocious weather and so they should. Heaven knows what kind of monster would choose to prowl the darkened streets on nights such as this one.
Zeref Dragneel was indeed one such monster to be feared.
His carefully crafted facade only lured those foolish enough to approach him to their doomed fate. He was a man that should not be underestimated for even a second, yet his appearance told a different tale.
He was taller than most with a head of raven hair that lay mostly flat against his head, apart from the annoying tuft at his crown that refused to do anything other than stick straight up. He supposed it gave him a rather sweet look, no monster could look that cute, right?
Skin as pale as milk was his usual pallor, meet him with rosy cheeks and you may survive the encounter, lucky for some.
His eyes were obsidian, large irises that gave the appearance of being able to see directly into a person's soul, they left many feeling uneasy by his stare, and rightly so. He was thin-lipped, with a coy smile that often adorned his sharply angular face. His frame was strong but lithe, he appeared well cut in his definition but look closely and it would become apparent that he was someone who had seen many a day without food.
Zeref looked younger than his mortal age, people would scoff when he claimed to be closer to thirty than twenty. If they only knew the truth, he had lived multiple mortal lifetimes, but he was forever frozen in his youthful look. A handsome demon masquerading as a dashing prince, easy on the eye, but damning on the soul.
Zeref was lost for a moment in his thoughts, how long had it been since he had last been in this city? It had to have been at least twenty five years since his last hope had been lost. The trail he had been following grew cold, turning to ash between his fingers. He had been so close, the strands of fate entwining him with his quarry had pulled taut before snapping clean in half, and at that moment his sanity had also snapped.
His rage had been felt from hundreds of miles away; a blanket of ire had spread from his form, and the blood lust had reached a furious fever pitch. Many people had lost their lives that night, and not by Zeref's own hand but his anger had been the cause all the same. He held their blood on his hands, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to see the pale skin of his hands when he looked down.
The despair he had fallen into had to have been the worst one since the discovery of his murdered family many centuries ago. Nothing had been able to reach him, despite the continued attempts of his little minions, pests was a more accurate description of the beings that chose to follow him. Believing him to be some kind of saviour of the undead, he most certainly was not, but if it meant he had a small army of people do his bidding, he wasn't going to argue. Let them believe whatever fantastical nonsense they wanted, it mattered not.
He had been tightly wrapped in chains made of broken promises, and his own desperate words haunted him day and night. All he longed for was one moment of peace, for hush to descend over his mind and take the constant pain away so he could breathe. A rather odd request for someone that had no need for breathing, it was simply a habit that one could not break, not without conscious effort and what benefit would such an endeavour bring?
For the first time, Zeref realised that he could not recall anything specific of the last twenty-five years, and that thought sent a cold chill of fear up his spine. It took rather a lot to cause him concern, but not being able to detail his actions was something utterly unacceptable. He would never tolerate such lax control from the ones that called him 'Lord', a title he had initially refused, but that had been thrust upon him. His punishment would be severe for anyone that dared to offer no account for their time. If anyone were to find out that he, The Dark Lord Zeref, had lost the memories of the last quarter of a century, then surely he would finally be put to his eternal rest.
Wouldn't that ease my suffering?
His teeth ground in frustration and his brow drew together as he focused inward and attempted to force the memories to the surface. He would not succumb to thoughts of his ultimate destruction, not with his work still incomplete. Yet the sheer force of his will was not enough, and Zeref blew out a frustrated breath when not a single fucking detail would emerge from his darkly twisted brain. He could recall memories from four hundred years ago with amazing clarity, almost smell the scents of the past but could he remember what he had been doing this time last year? No, and that knowledge or lack of knowledge was crippling.
He may as well have been locked within a crypt, trapped within his misery. At least that way he would have been unable to hurt anyone, his sorrow contained to a mausoleum of his own design and making. As his eyes strayed heavenward his heartbeat quickened, stolen blood pumping along his veins until he sighted those three mocking stars.
It had only been a few months since that 'night', but they were even further apart now. The twinkling orbs listlessly drifted away from their once tight little cluster, and he wanted to unleash his fury upon the night. Perhaps nature already knew this, could hear the dark desires of his shredded soul and this was why this storm had descended.
Nature had certainly listened on the evening he had awoken from his slumber-like state. He recalled the snowstorm that had erupted from nothing until he was the very epicentre of the needle-sharp ice and wind that whipped around what had been his home.
He refused to allow the memories that had assaulted him to resurface, his resolve had returned to its fullest and those specific memories were once again locked up tighter than a bank vault. The only thing he would allow to be recalled was that of the initials that had shone into his mind, a radiant beacon in an otherwise pitch-black night. A gift for the sorrow he had unleashed upon the earth, a clue to aid him along the correct path and allow him the chance to finish his never-ending quest.
LH.
It couldn't be, not after all this time, but it was. He could not deny that hope had flared to life in the void that housed his black heart. The trail had been cold, dead he had assumed, but maybe not…
Did he dare to believe after all this time? Could he open himself up once more to the prospect of either the ultimate satisfaction or the crushing blow of defeat?
Movement caught his attention, a dark figure flitted towards his position, too fast for a human and he chuckled. She approached like a thief in the night, shrouded in a long charcoal coat with her hood hiding her appearance. He didn't have long to wait. His foot tapped a steady beat as he listened to her approach, whisper quiet steps that sounded like a thundering train to his sensitive ears.
A piece of paper was thrust unceremoniously into his face, "what the hell kind of message was this?" the female demanded. Zeref arched a brow, taking the paper from her tight grip and looking over his carefully chosen words that were penned in highly practised calligraphy, a lost art in his eyes.
To the timid and hesitating everything is impossible because it seems so.
O, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive!
To all, to each, a fair good-night, and pleasing dreams, and slumbers light.
"Am I meant to see some problem with this?" he asked flatly. The female threw back her hood with an air of annoyance and he bit down on his lip, eyes closing slowly as he cooled the fire that threatened to spill forth. She was walking on dangerously thin ice.
Long flowing raven hair flowed in the maelstrom, her flat brown eyes shifted for a split second to red before she controlled herself enough to show the respect that he deserved, that he demanded. "It took me hours to decipher this nonsense." she protested.
"In the end, I found a scholar and drank him almost to death to find the answer. Could you not have simply written 'meet me at The Scott Monument', rather than using some obscure Walter Scott quotes? It would have saved me a lot of time and hassle, don't you know that I –," she was cut off from the angry tirade as Zeref's tightly wound restraint snapped.
A hand shot out to grasp the wrist of the hand that was dramatically waving in the air as she spoke her relentless monologue, "you've such a delicate wrist," he hissed through his teeth. She stared at him in terror and she was right to be afraid, Zeref was in no mood for her bullshit, not tonight.
"What might happen if I give it a twist?"
"I meant no offence Lord Zeref," she offered apologetically, her eyes cast down in subservience. He could see the will to struggle in his hold, she wished for nothing more than to twist her hand but she did not dare disobey him further. At least she was clever enough to know when not to push her luck.
What disgusted him more than the simpering mess she had become was the obvious want that shone on her pale face. The drag of her tongue over her rouged lips, the pulse that raced beneath his tightening fingers and the way she forced her chest towards him. He let her go suddenly, sneering his contempt as he turned his back and cast his gaze back into the storm.
"Do you have any news?" he asked quietly. He hoped for her sake that she did.
"I'm sorry Lord Zeref," she started in earnest, and he fought down the urge to push her down the spiralling stairs, "there wasn't a lot of information to go on. I have my best people on the case, but…" she faltered.
Zeref pinched the bridge of his nose as a fresh ache bloomed bright behind his eyes, this was not what he had wished to hear.
"Please. I beg of you, give me some more time. There are some promising leads, I – I just need the chance to follow them thoroughly," she was floundering in her desperation to please him, sickening but he would tolerate it if it aided him in the long run.
He turned to her once more, took in the bowed head and the pleading hands that wrung white-knuckled and trembling. "Fine. I will allow you more time, but when I send for you next, I expect you to have results." As he swept past the female to begin his descent from the spire, he stopped abruptly.
She let out a low whimper and he was forced to remind himself of the hell she had been put through, only those thoughts stopped him from carrying out his earlier wish and pushing her down these terrifying steps until she lay bloody and broken at the bottom.
"Should you need of me before I call, you know what to do."
Zeref did not wait for her confirmation, he took the first few steps and then closed his eyes to become one with the raging wind. He wondered where it would take him this time as he surrendered to its primal want, simply a passenger being carried through the night.
~.~
Surrey, England 1845
The air was entirely too still. Not even the smallest ripple of wind blew through the mighty oaks that stood as the ever present guardians of this graveyard.
Zeref moved with caution, his eyes scanning the ground before taking any further steps. It would not be the first time that a group such as this had rigged traps to prevent trespassers from seeing things that they should not.
The sound of twigs snapping and dried leaves rustling under his feet were the only noise in this suffocating space. It was a massive sprawling graveyard, lined with many miles of gravestones and memorials, yet he could feel the creep of claustrophobia trying to steal around his throat. Someone or something did not wish for him to be here, but when had that ever stopped him?
It was the very reason he was no longer mortal. Curiosity killed the cat was the saying, well, to Zeref that had proved half true, at least. He could will himself to the doors of the white stone mausoleum, but then that would only clue in his targets to his true nature, and that was a card he would hold to his chest until it was absolutely necessary.
He had been vexed with how long it had taken him to track their whereabouts to this location, Brookwood Cemetery. A cult or religious order, as they preferred to be called, that believed in the power of mesmerism. Zeref had been curious to learn of this practice, the belief being that all living things possessed an invisible natural force or magnetism. This 'force' was believed to have physical effects such as healing, and the possibility of soul restoration.
It had seemed fairly harmless at first glance, but when news had surfaced that this specific faction may have been involved in the kidnap of an eight-year-old girl, Zeref had feared what that could have meant. It had never been proven, the girl was never found and presumed to be dead and buried in some deep dark wood. Four long years it had taken to bring him here, on a night where it felt like the world was holding its breath.
The door was locked, a thick steel chain wrapped around the handles and he scoffed. Closing his eyes he took an invisible step and when he opened his eyes once again he was on the other side of the door, and the darkness engulfed him instantly. To others, this might have been fear-inducing, the oppression of the void that would settle heavily on their shoulders, but not him. The darkness was his most faithful friend, it cooed to him and twisted happily around his presence. If it could purr then it most assuredly would, eager to please and obey its master.
A passage led further into the darkness, and the faintest sound of voices floated to him from that direction. He followed the noise until he still wreathed in shadows looking into a room that had been made to reassemble a crude medical theatre.
Small flaming torches were the only light source in the room, the fire dancing upon the wickedly sharp instruments that lay off to the side. The room was dominated by two makeshift beds, both looked far from comfortable, but the one on the right looked downright evil.
The soiled mattress housed restraints along the entire length, and whoever had once laid there, had not enjoyed the experience. The leather straps were worn and cracking from their repeated usage, and for the first time in an age, Zeref wanted retribution for someone or ones he did not know. All he could see was a space designed to be cruel, and he could almost taste the memory of fear on his tongue as it hung so thick in the air.
He was ripped from his slowly spiralling thoughts as a man appeared from a doorway at the other side. He was tall and stocky, middle-aged and wealthy looking in a pristine white shirt and black trousers. The man was balding on top, the wispy strands of chestnut hair that he plastered across his skull to hide this fact was ridiculous. Despite his hair loss up top, he bore a thick moustache that bristled as he marched into the light. He looked like a well-respected physician, but his appearance here damned all possibility of respect from the raven haired male that watched on intently.
Seconds later another man entered the room grasping the arm of what looked to be a teenage girl. She was a husk; long greasy strands of black hair obscured her face, her bare arms were stick-thin from malnutrition and the markings of bruises littered her pale flesh. She was dressed in a simple dress that most likely had been white at one stage, now it was a mottled grey with dried bloodstains on the hem and short sleeves. The girl was barefoot and looked frozen to the bone, what a tragedy she was.
Was this the kidnapped girl from four years ago? Surely not...
The shell of a girl made no attempt to resist, yet the male that held her arm did so so tightly that Zeref spied the red rash that spread out from where he touched her. She was led to the centre of the oak-panelled room, and for one quick second it looked like she would be placed on the left side bed, but no such luck.
He watched as she willingly laid back on the soiled mattress, the two men strapped her down in silence, the only sound was that of the leather creaking as it was tightened to its limit on her frail body. Her lifeless hair fell back and he could see her face for the first time, he bit down on his tongue. Flat brown eyes stared at the ceiling, entirely vacant and unseeing to what hell she was in. Those eyes were sunken into her too thin face, cheekbones a stark relief on the stretched skin that was unwashed and bruised. Her lips were ravaged, scabbed and dried with old blood.
Zeref had seen terrible things in his time, but this was one of the worst.
He wanted to steal into that room and slaughter these men. These were no men, they were monsters, and coming from him that meant something. Frozen in his sickening fascination he waited until the younger of the two monsters moved to the opposing bed and lay back. With bated breath he wondered what would happen next, and how far would he allow it to go.
The appearance of an older woman had been a surprise, her presence had not been obvious and Zeref frowned at his inability to sense her. The woman slunk into the room with a truly evil smile painted on her lips and her blonde hair was coiffed and wrapped neatly down her back. Her gait was that of a predator, and she stalked to the man that stood between the two beds, wrapping herself around him in what was more a sexual embrace than a loving one.
Ruby red nails grasped the male's head, tilting him down so she could capture his mouth and Zeref looked away. The display was disgusting, who would engage in such activities with such a young girl present, only the truly depraved would do such things.
He pulled her away, moving her to the side and Zeref saw the pout that rose to her lips before her gaze swung to the two beds. A hunger swirled in her striking eyes, she was power-hungry and keen for the show to begin.
The 'physician' pushed the beds until they butted against one another, the girl could clasp the man's hand if she wished but she remained limp and passive to what was happening. He spoke lowly in the male's ear, after a minute his eyes closed and his chest rose and fell steadily in what appeared to be a trance.
No words were spoken, a scalpel was placed above the male's bare forearm and the 'physician' gouged a deep cut into the flesh. Dark blood poured from the wound, quickly slipping over the side and pooling beneath his elbow. The cut male made no sign or sound of pain.
"Do it now!" the 'physician's' voice boomed into the heavy silence, the sound cracking off the walls. The girl reached for the male's hand and pressed her small palm on top of his, the two observing in the room watched their joined hands in fascination. Zeref expected some flash of light or thrum of power but felt or saw nothing.
He assumed whatever they had tried had failed, but as his gaze had moved to the wound he found it to be gone. The blood from his cut had disappeared too, the only remnant was the small pool that had gathered on the mattress below his elbow. His skin was fresh and entirely unmarked. What witchcraft was this?
Zeref had assumed they would be happy with this result, but no. The woman roared from the side, coming closer to grasp at the poor girl's chin and forcing her head round to meet her venomous stare, "you filthy little shit, do it right or I'll take that fucking scalpel and you'll be the one I'll slice up!
The girl blinked, hollow and numb as if she had not even heard the words. How often had she been victim to such hideous threats and words to have become utterly responsive to them? His patience was wearing thin, he resolved there and then that if they made one move to harm her whilst he watched, he would end this.
The 'physician' spoke to the woman who had stalked back to her viewing spot, "I simply do not understand it. We've taken so many blood samples that she almost died from the blood loss. I've personally examined her in detail, and no threat towards her seems to work. She has been whipped to within an inch of her existence yet she will not do what we know she can. If she will only show us how it works, but she denies to even having knowledge of that fact. She won't even heal her own wounds, she must be able to…" he drifted off as he squared his shoulders and grasped the scalpel once more.
He almost made to move, that revelation disgusted him more than he thought possible. At that moment he held a shred of hope for his own soul, for even he was not this evil. The will to charge forward and turn that small room into a bloodbath was intoxicating, it sparked his bloodlust in the worst possible way, but he would never feast on such tainted blood.
The scalpel flashed in the room, a fresh wound opened on the prone male, this time over his bicep. It was not as deep, the wound welled with the blood but it was slow to rise and only a trickle slid over his skin before the demand to "do it!" was shouted once more.
This time Zeref watched the girl's face. Her expressionless face was haunting, those sunken eyes held no emotion, and then it happened. The flat brown eyes glowed, the brown irises sparked with golden flecks and it was over within the blink of an eye.
Why didn't they look at her face? Was it too quick for a mortal to perceive?
The anger bubbled once more, they had again watched her hand and not her face, but Zeref doubted they would have seen it even if they had been looking. Her power lay in her sight, how interesting. It felt like such a budding power, he knew instinctively that it would only bloom with time, there was no way to rush such a thing.
The woman erupted, her screaming anger washed over everything, and Zeref had seen enough.
He stepped into that small space, and his presence was entirely undetected as these monsters bathed in their own frustration and fury. He slipped a scalpel up his sleeve as he walked with confidence towards the girl. The poor thing had tears in her eyes as he approached, "are you death?" her voice had sounded broken and raw. She had clearly not spoken in a long time, and he smiled down at her.
He only had eyes for her as the couple rounded on him, trembling in the wake of the power he had poured into the room. He flooded every inch of this space with his immense magic, ensuring that it bit and snapped at his enemies, and left the girl well alone.
"Yes, little one, but I am not here for you."
The restraints were pulled away as if they were made of paper, and he lifted the almost weightless girl into his arms. He strode from the room without worry of being stopped. The monsters knew that something much worse had come to call upon them, and it had not liked what it found. They huddled together in the far corner, not even daring to make a run for it despite the open doorways that were available to them.
Zeref deposited the shaking girl outside the mausoleum, he had no wish to further stain her soul with what he was about to do. He stroked a hand down her face, and she clutched at it with a grip that was far too frail. "Don't leave me," she sobbed.
"I'll be back, little one, I promise."
The man and woman had not moved even an inch. He stalked towards them with eyes that shone his crimson fury. Stopping by the man lying on the bed, he paused to consider his fate. He remembered the tight grip he had placed on the girl's arm, the bruises that peppered her skin. There was no way to know how involved he was with the other terrible acts that had been enacted on the poor child, and Zeref had very little mercy.
The fire from the wall torches glinted on the shining metal surface of the scalpel as it peeked from his sleeve. One quick swipe and the blood poured like a fountain from his severed neck, gurgling air hissed from the wound for it was indeed a deep one. The male writhed, legs locking in his death throes and he walked onwards, this was not want he longed for.
Zeref knelt before the quivering pair, the woman shrieked and tried to press herself behind the male. His gaze fell on her, and he knew that was truly wicked. "You like to torment little girls, don't you? It makes you feel powerful. I'll guess that your own father used to beat you, am I right?"
She wailed loudly as Zeref took a tight hold of her wrist and pulled her until she knelt in front of him. The smell in the room was revolting, he would have to make this quick, even though they did not deserve even an ounce of his mercy.
"You could have helped those in similar situations, yet you chose to become the bully. Well, where you are going, you will never be the bully again," he assured her. His voice had risen over her screams, the wrist he held had gone limp as he shattered the bones until they were nothing more than crumbled pieces within a flesh casing.
Blood sprayed his face as his scalpel found his next victim. The unbroken hand flew to her neck as she choked on the blood that bubbled from her parted lips. She crumpled to the side and finally fell silent as blood pooled around her head and saturated her blonde hair.
He turned to the sole survivor.
"Where are your journals?" he asked calmly. The male was ashen and sickly looking, he had pissed himself as he had been forced to watch his companions be slain by the man that now spoke so calmly to him.
"Tell me quickly, and I will make sure that you feel no pain."
Zeref was losing his patience, he needed to get out of here. He did not wish to leave the girl unattended for much longer, there was no way to tell if there more people in this little cult who might arrive at any moment.
The male pointed with an arm that shook from his shoulder to his outstretched index finger, he eyed the cabinet that he pointed to and bowed his head in thanks. The scalpel gleamed for the third and final time that night, further coating Zeref with the sticky red substance, and he sighed.
He ignored the pained gurgles, obviously, he had not struck deep enough as promised, what a crying shame. The journals were indeed where the man claimed, he stacked the four thick leather-bound books and observed the room for the last time.
What a mess.
Blood sprayed across almost every surface, two dead bodies lay slain at his feet and he could only chuckle darkly at the thought that the cleanest thing in the room had once been the dirtiest. The bed that had held the girl.
He found her exactly where he left her. She was running her thin spiderlike fingers through the long blades of grass, and her eyes were closed. They opened as he approached, and her relief was tangible.
"My name is Zeref, what is yours?" he asked as he crouched down to her level. He must look terrifying with the blood that covered his face and clothes, but she gazed upon him with nothing with reverence.
"Ultear."
"Well, Ultear, I think it is time we got you home."
