"So, you're saying the advents are demons?" asked the older man. A journalist for the new Detroit oracle.
A Scholar of the order of califa, a sect of magicians that used the power of tectonic plate activity to fuel their shamanistic rituals replied, "Well, that's the general consensus, but apparently some disagree."
"Like who? Who disagree?" asked the reporter.
The Scholar smiled. "Well The Paladin did, for one."
"Really? What did he think they were?"
He rubbed his eye glasses a moment, before he replied to the reporter, "Well, no one can be certain, but a surviving text from that era claimed that one time at least he was asked. He had answered 'Demons hate everything and everyone, including themselves. The advents aren't demons, because they love deeply. They love the world so deeply that they hate everyone of us that live in it."
"That makes no sense..?" asked the journalist incredulously.
The Scholar shrugged. "The Paladin was rarely noted for giving a straight answer. Hell, there is a sect of people that claimed he never even existed."
A short excerpt of an interview with Darius Carren. Head Theologian for the order of califa. A subsect of the Draco Paladin religion.
Chapter 9: Something beautifully sinister.
He gazed deeply into her eyes, a gentle warmth flowing from those normally critical and raptor like chocolate orbs that sparked something in the innermost depths of her soul. A hand reached up to caress the side of her cheek, his thumb slowly stroking her face.
Soon, lips come forward pressing to hers as their bodies find a way to clasp tightly. Somehow clothing had disappeared as though but a thought and the two lovers were bound together in an ancient right of passion, heat, and deepest love that could set the world on fire.
His strong masculine hands, calloused and hard, touched her in a decidedly soft and casual manner. He excited and enflamed her every sense with his caresses and deep but soft murmurs as they held each other close.
Their noses softly stroke each other, as her hands reach behind him and claw catlike at his well muscled back. His body hard with all the training and combat he had faced.
As he entered her she thought she would explode in a volcanic eruption the likes of which had never been witnessed in the history of the world..
"Chloe.." his soft warm loving voice called to her.
She murmured and moaned softly in response, "Oh.. Scott.."
"Chloe...?" came his voice again.. this time a little more insistent. Her body convulsing as rapturous waves of erotic force washed through her.
"OH SCOTT!!" she cried out with every bit of strength left in her.. and then.
Her eyes snapped open and she bolted up in bed. Sweat drenching her, along with a few tell tale fluids of another kind.
At her door stood a dark figure with brightly shining eyes filled with deep concern. The figure ghosted into her room and knelt by her bedside. "Chloe.. are you ok? I heard you shouting my name!"
The blond girl flushed an even deeper shade of scarlet and shook her head, "Uh.. um.. i'm fine.. really.. hehe."
Scott blinked at her in concerned, if clueless, confusion and asked, "Did you have a bad dream? Wanna talk about it?"
Chloe's eyes widened comically and clutched her pillow to her chest, "N-no no! Everything's fine! Just had a little um.. dream is all. Nothing to worry yourself over. ahaha.. haa..hehe.."
Scott smiled tentatively and it almost broke her heart. She could count on one hand the number of times he'd actually smiled since she'd known him. Usually it was just something directed at Maribeth, or the dog. "Ok.. try to get some sleep then? If you can.."
She smiled back shyly and nodded, but before he left he sniffed the air and quirked an eyebrow.
"Man.. every night. We have to find out where that smell's coming from. None of the other rooms have this problem. Do you think we need to find you somewhere else to sleep?"
Chloe turned beet red, the unintended implications washing over her, and wondered just how he could be so clueless. "No, no.. it's fine.. i'm used to it by now.."
Scott nodded. "Yeah, if you say so..."
As Scott left the room and just before he closed the door he said, "Chloe.. i'm here if you ever need me for anything. ok? Don't hesitate to come visit me if you have any more dreams. i've been having a lot of very vivid ones of late myself."
Chloe managed to turn a slightly darker shade of red, despite being able to give a tomato a run for its money. She pressed her pillow over her face and stifled a scream of mortification, embarassment and frustration. How could he be so damned clueless?
-----
As Scott turned away from Chloe's room he quirked his eyebrow. What an odd woman, he thought as he glided silently away.
He went to gather up his tools. As usual he couldn't sleep and decided to work on his armor. He'd need something better than simple cloth. It was becoming too dangerous to risk that anymore. It got damaged too easily.
Something drew him to the concept of plated mail armor. An idea for it had struck him suddenly a few days earlier. He was going to finish hardening and blackening the little oak bands he had cut, and then laquer that before adding little pieces of sheet metal onto each section.
He'd hook those together with small linking pieces of metal, probably tiny washers, and have himself a decent set of armor at last. He'd considered taking some body armor off a dead soldier or swat team member, but something about that bugged him.
He had developed an aversion for armor or weapons that failed their former owners. A little obsessive maybe, and definitely anal retentive, but it just made him uncomfortable.
He did liberate a kevlar vest from an abandoned swat vehicle though as his new underarmor to be worn over a thinner padded garment, instead of the original excessively bulky style sewn cloth padding. All he'd need is the mail mesh he was trying to make, and soon he'd have his armor.
He figured at the rate he was working, his new armor plus a few improvements, could be field ready in a few weeks.
Someday he might happen across a sporting goods store that has a shark mail suit lying around, and he'd upgrade, but till then he'd work with what he had.
After extensive field testing, he planned on making armor for all the inhabitants of his little island paradise.
---------
The days passed relatively peaceful amongst the inhabitants of the island. They worked, they fished, they lived. They even laughed. Russell the dog got better, and started spending time with everyone again.
Jenna, came down and intermingled amongst the residents. Even Scott managed to occasionally crack a smile. Though he'd deny it, if they were to mention it.
John recounted the story of batman more than a few times. To the great amusement of all, Scott included. How John had thought his life was over.
A bunch of racist bandits had cornered him in the abandoned lumber mill that Scott had been occasionally frequenting for lumber or machinery. He'd come out of the shadows, wearing black, nothing but his eyes showing and a big splotch of yellow paint on his chest.
He'd taken out the marauders in a stealthy manner one at a time.
John watched in fascination, as the last three thugs had him cornered and suddenly two of them dropped with a knife in the back of their necks. One, two, both fall down.
The boss of this now defunct gang of would be hijackers and rapists spun around and stared into the shadows darkness, as John called it.
The bearded idiot whipped out his pistol and started to point it at the apparition, but the man in black simply stepped out of the way as this occurred and disappeared behind a corner.
Jessie simms, the bandit in question called out for his 'boys' but of course no one answered. Finally he spun back to John and growled at him gutterally. "I don't know what the fuck's goin on.. but you and that fruitcake are both gonna die!"
Zwip! A hard metal ball nailed Jessie in the side, and he screamed in pain. One of his floating ribs had obvious been tagged and probably was now broken. Hissing in outrage he whipped his gun out towards the direction the metal ball had come from and then found himself face first in the floorboards.
His gun skittered out of his grasp and slid under a nearby work bench.
Painfully rolling to his back, he gazed up at the dark figure before him, that had somehow manifested itself out of nowhere.
He grabbed a knife from his vest, and tried to lunge at the yellow splotch on the man's leather coat, but found himself easily disarmed, with a iron grip against his windpipe. He could barely breath, but managed to croak out, "What the fuck are you?!"
Shining eyes narrowed, and a face that would haunt the bandit the rest of his short life leaned forward as it spoke. "I'm batman."
Jessie the bandit seemed to convulse for a second, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
Low moans could be heard now, all the noise from the conversation having drawn a crowd shambled towards the abandoned building.
The black clad man, turned to john and said, "We have to go. NOW."
John widened his uninjured eye and nodded before saying, "Whatever you say batman.. whatever you say."
The little group howled everytime he said that, because he'd widen his eyes and nod his head in a comical fashion.
Yes, those were golden times, filled with love, laughter, and hope. They'd obviously last forever..
---
A shrouded figure stood just inside the wood line of the shore, staring out at the island with its barely heard voices, and laughter. In a world of perpetual silence, this was a bastion of light and hope.
How it despised them. These meat creatures that harmed the mother, these betrayers. It had searched for months attempting to find the source of the disturbance in its domain. It could smell hope like a rotting carcass at high noon in July.
There would be no laughter for these creatures. They deserved no joy, no peace. They could have no hope of better days. The mother cried deep within herself at their constant betrayal and they would not be allowed to profane her any longer.
The figure began to walk forward only to stop at the shore. The tiny nearly imperceptible waves lapping at the shore. These betrayers depended on the tears of the mother to protect them from his wrath. Shameful..
It placed a deathly white foot upon the water and then another. Step by step it began a slow glide towards the little encampment. The cancerous sore in the body of his beautiful darkness.
As it set foot upon the tiny island, plants withered and died. Prey animals skittered away out of fear at its passing, and the branches of trees drew back as though frightened.
The guard at the tiny tower, never knew the figure existed as it was foolishly sleeping.
As it reached the wall it slowly rose into the air and then stood atop the twelve foot high barrier.
It would be so easy. These who had betrayed the mother would have no resistance against his song. The figure began to sing a slow, rolling dirge. A thing that no ear could hear, but could be felt in the deepest part of the soul of any living being.
A little blond haired betrayer was playing in the makeshift garden, having tea in the moonlight when she began to cry. She didn't know why but suddenly she was so sad.
The betrayer in the tower began crying in his sleep, and hugged himself in fear. It was having a nightmare, a horrible dream of open mouths that tore at the flesh.
The figure's song was suddenly cut off by the loud outcry of a betrayer from the doorway of the main building.
This betrayer had spoken with such conviction and force that the spectre silenced itself immediately. It had spoken a word. The language was unfamiliar to the ancient being but it knew that such a tonality and outcry signaled the speaking of a name.
The little betrayer ran to this much larger creature of its kind and cried. The ancient spectre gazed down curiously at this scene.
No one here should have been able to withstand its song. Yet, here was someone who not only withstood it, but was even now staring around wide eyed as though hunting for something.
A moment later the shadow figure realized the truth. Despite all possibility this particular betrayer sensed its presence. A thrill of force washed over it's ancient eternal form as the creature turned its gaze directly on the spot where it resided and stared.
The ancient shadow noted that while the betrayer could still not see it, it most definitely knew it was there.
A loud cry erupted from the betrayer and the sleeping guard awoke from its dream, to the amazement of the spectre. How was this possible? Once a creature succumbed to its song it never awoke again.
From the house groggy answering cries erupted, and other betrayers, less aware than the one below poured out a moment later, half dressed in their false hides. They wielded those firesticks, and desecrated treelimbs with the bones of the mother attached to them.
Its song would not be enough it now knew.
This island's betrayers had a champion that could defeat it.
Swiftly and silently as death itself the shadow slipped away back across the river.
Once there it quickly sent out a command. Twenty zombies in various states of decay flowed out of the nearby woods and stood in a semi circle around it. More could be heard in the far distance, each moving towards the location of their 'father'.
Finally, the spectre spoke, its voice as emotionless and cold as the grave, "My children, come.. we have plans to make."
As one the undead 'children' turned a deathly gaze upon the island, their eyes taking on an eerie gleam in the moonlight.
The spectre turned and glided towards the deeper woods, to its chambers the children following behind at a steady pace.
-------
Whelp, there we have it. I have either not lost my readership, or gained some new members. Chapter nine complete.
Who is this dark spectre? What exactly is the mother? Why are the humans betrayers to that mother? All this and more.. to come.