Chapter 15
Room 306
From a certain distance and especially if one were utterly exhausted from the many hours they had been forced to spend on the seemingly endless stretch of nothing else than road, the sight of the building that was the Cedar Hills Motel would be absolute bliss, the answer of the prayer to find a place as soon as possible to catch some much-needed shut-eye and regain the energy that you were going to need for the following day when your one-night stay was over and you had to force yourself to keep on heading to your destination. Perhaps some may not have cared about it at the moment they switched off the engine of their vehicle on the parking space that was located near the motel's main office, but the relief many had felt moments earlier would promptly be replaced with disgust and worry, and surely those who wondered if they could get through the night without waking up with a blade jabbed into their neck and missing specific items that held any value, could not possibly be blamed.
He had always trusted the shadows. They knew exactly where to take him without him needing to tell them, not once did he ever doubt their sense of direction. Tonight too, did he allow them to guide him. Never again would he ever need a vehicle for transportation, unlike a few years ago, when things were… different. But nonetheless, the shadows had once again did not lead him astray and brought him here. There was no one outside to witness his arrival, which definitely would have frightened enough to frantically lock the doors of the rooms they were staying in or dive into their vehicles and take off with the screeching of the tires echoing through the last few hours of the night. Manifesting himself from the darkness, Malakai took one step forward, entering the property and taking a moment for himself to take a good look at his surroundings. Only two cars (one of them most likely belonging to whoever was running the office) were present in the small parking lot, one with a severely outdated model and a bumper decorated with specks of rust that all varied in size and the other a grey Opel Astra, which appeared to be fairly new. The cherry red, neon sign that displayed the name of the motel with a swirly though rather tacky font on top of a tall pole that was supposed to act as a beacon for tired travelers on the road and tempt them into renting a bed for the night was in desperate need for repairs; the 'e' from the 'Cedar' part and one of the two 'l's from the 'Hills' part were relentlessly flickering, but that hadn't stopped a small swarm of moths from dancing around the sign, praising the light as if it were bestowed upon them by some god. As a matter of fact, it wasn't only this neon sign that needed a visit from a handyman that was desperate enough to earn a quick buck for him to fix things at a place like this. The relentless elements had done enough damage for the light-yellow paint on the walls of all three floors and the white paint that covered the railings and the mainstays to be chipped off, creating a hideously neglected effect to the outside of the building. The walls of the lowest floor seemed to have fallen victim to a case of blatant vandalism, judging by the fact that a large, unintelligible, purple scribble had been spray-painted on one of the walls and partially a window, and if one were to be honest, the purple graffiti paint looked much fresher and livelier than the paint of the walls. Weeds that reached to a grown man's knee had sprouted from the cracked concrete, forming small jungles on some spots of the parking area and some creeping up against the walls. A fence had been put up shortly after the pool that surely had once been clean and properly kept up enough for guests to dive into on warm days, had been drained to the very last drop, with the purpose of keeping everyone away from it.
The Cedar Hills Motel looked like it was in absolute shambles from the outside, but there were plenty of people who believed that the inside was much, much worse, and not only because of the sheer lack of hygiene and proper maintenance; Malakai was one who possessed this knowledge, yet this is exactly where he wanted to be tonight.
He had heard everything in the woods that he had left behind, many, many miles away. He hadn't made a single sound that could indicate his presence when he closely watched the young, blonde man dressed in black, the ghost who had died a hundred deaths, sitting around the campfire, talking to that girl with the denim jacket and revealing his plans for when they would eventually arrive at Autumnfield. He too was aware of the motel's notorious reputation, he too knew that it had been crawling with ghosts for many years. The activity had been relatively under control back then, but as of late… things had taken a deadly turned. Roughly about a month ago, to be exact. And whatever the cause of this was, most likely assuming that one of the many ghosts here and gone full-blown Mindless due to being unable to move on by themselves, he was planning on visiting this place and lay it to rest. Darby… that was his name, correct? Yes, he had heard that girl saying it, Malakai was certain of this. And what better opportunity to strike him while he just so happened to be staying here? That's why Malakai was here, this is what he had been planning while he traveled through the darkness. It probably wasn't going to take long anymore for them to arrive at Autumnfield, and Darby was definitely planning on getting to this motel. However, there was one thing that was going to make this plan a bit more difficult for it to go smoothly. His traveling companion, that little wench… she too possessed the powers that came along with the ability to see ghosts with the naked eye. And judging by how she had fought off the ghosts that had been under his inescapable control, even the one he had gifted extra strength to take them down, she packed a remarkable amount of strength too. Clearly, Malakai had underestimated her… and she could become a problem. A problem he needed to get rid off as soon as possible.
The tattooed man made his away across the parking lot, making his way to the motel's main office where the lights were still on. Like Darby, and most definitely many other people too, he had heard of the history of this motel. It would be hard to imagine for anyone, but many years ago, Cedar Hills Motel did have its glory days. Back when it was constructed and opened in the early 2000's, it quickly became a rather popular location for mainly travelers, who praised the motel for its immaculate hygiene, security, close proximity of the places they wished to visit or simply as a good place to stay for the night during their travels, and of course, for the spotlessly clean pool. But everything came crashing down in 2008, when the stock markets horrifically crashed and plunged countless of businesses into bankruptcy and rendered many people homeless. Despite the economy eventually recovering during the years after that, things would never be the same again for the Cedar Hills Motel. Instead of offering clean, safe and comfortable stays for travelers, it had now become a sanctuary for the homeless, criminals who were on the run, junkies who had nowhere else to go, prostitutes who used their rooms as their working place and for those who didn't want to be found by anyone, be it their friends or family; the main reason for this being that they wished to end their own lives without being interrupted. Needless to say, this place was destined to have tormented ghosts roaming the property thanks to someone dying every now and then, be it due to an accidental overdose, pneumonia, hypothermia, or any other kind of untreated sickness, their spirits still holding on to that one thing that was the main reason of why they couldn't move on. No reports of actual harm to the living aside from simply haunting them had been made during these years, as far as Malakai knew. Most of them had been fortunate enough to manage to move on and enter the afterlife by themselves, but as it appeared as of late… one certain ghost seemed to take pleasure in causing as much fatalities as possible.
Unlike Darby Allin, Malakai did have a strong suspicion of who exactly had been slaughtering unsuspecting travelers and the motel more permanent 'residents'; after all, he had just so happened to catch a glimpse of the news a month ago.
He had been coined by the local media as the Night Slasher, back when he was still operating in New Jersey. Six women who had been identified as sex workers were found on various spots in Jersey City, the city that was his hunting ground, be it in the local park, or a parking lot near the mall. Two of the unfortunate women had their skulls smashed in with a blunt object, while the other four had been violently slashed with something large and sharp until there wasn't a single drop of blood left in their mutilated bodies. Since these bodies had been found in between mere days, police quickly concluded that this must have been the work of a serial killer and feverishly began to search for the identity of whoever had been preying on the city's defenseless prostitutes like a bloodthirsty animal. Their lucky break came in the form of security footage from the cameras that had been installed near the location of where the latest victim had been found; the alleyway behind a supermarket. Perhaps the Night Slasher had grown cocky, couldn't resist the strong urge to kill again, maybe even both, or he hadn't been paying attention to his surroundings, because he hadn't even bothered to cover up his face or the goddamn machete in his hand when he walked past that cameras mere seconds after the prostitute was seen walking down that same street. Soon his face was plastered all over the news, along with a name; Alexander Martinez, who previously had been convicted of several burglaries before finally getting a taste for blood.
Clearly Alexander knew that they were coming to find him, or else he would have never bothered to travel all the way to Michigan in an attempt to evade justice. But even whilst in hiding, the urge to butcher sex workers apparently was too hard to resist. He had found his next target here, at Cedar Hills; a prostitute who was willing to service him in her room. But as soon as the door closed behind them, according to that woman's statement to the police later on, he pulled out the machete that he had tucked away under his shirt and the waistband of his jeans and began wildly swinging it at her. But unfortunately for Alexander (or rather, fortunately for the prostitute), she did know how to fight back. Immediately after he was blinded by a cloud of pepper spray to his eyes, she darted to the nightstand where she kept her pistol, aimed it at his head and pulled the trigger. She left it to the police to identify him after she had called them.
Ever since then, travelers and 'residents' of the motel had been found dead in either their rooms or gallery, all of them hacked into pieces with a sharp object; a good reason for Malakai to suspect that the Night Slasher had never truly left Cedar Hills.
The Cedar Hills Motel truly was a place full of death and rot.
One person was clearly desperate enough to pay his bills by working the night shift at the haunted motel, which turned out to be an old, overweight man with tufts of grey hair on the sides of his balding head and lifeless eyes sitting in the office, his back turned towards the approaching visitors since he was too occupied by watching whatever was still on TV by this hour; not even a single, tiny spark of life could be seen in his eyes when he turned around after hearing the jingle of the bell on the counter, the chair he sat heavily creaking as he did so.
'I need to stay here for two nights at most.' Malakai calmly told him. 'Is there a room available?'
The old man slightly widened his eyes, perhaps due to the genuine surprise of someone who was willing to stay longer than a night at a shithole like this motel before they went back to being completely voided of life or emotion.
'Suit yourself. Have a good stay.' he mumbled while he got up in order to retrieve one of the many, many available keys that were hanging from the hooks on a board attached to the wall.
The tag on the large, old-fashioned key revealed to Malakai that he could stay in room 305; he assumed that it was one of the rooms located in the motel's top floor, since the man who gave that key to him didn't bother to tell him where to go, having resumed staring at the screen of the small TV again after handing it over. As soon as he ascended the flight of stairs, a heavy stench that was so heavy, so repulsive, and so foul that it would make anybody promptly gag, crashed onto him like a massive wall. This stench could only be created after years of smells coming from all kinds of bodily fluids, mold, rotten food, used condoms, decaying wood, dying rodents in the walls and vent and body odor accumulating and never had anyone attempting to drive them away, all coming together to form one unholy odor to be permanently merged with the walls. It was like the whole building was dying on the inside, but it didn't appear to bother Malakai in the slightest, not even enough to make him flinch. He didn't see anything remotely noticeable while passing by the first floor (aside from feeling that one familiar cold that only a ghost could create), but on the second floor, he could see two men sitting in the corridor, one of them leaning against the wall while mumbling some intelligible gibberish to his friend, who was taking a swig from a bottle of hard liquor. Both of them possessed beards that had been taken care of for God knows how long and they were dressed in filthy clothes. Homeless people, Malakai knew, but he paid them no mind and kept walking up the stairs.
Not a whole lot of people roaming the building tonight… if those homeless men were the only ones staying here or at least were part of the small, unseen group of 'residents' who had chosen to stay here, then Malakai found it safe to logically assume that most of them had made the decision to flee from this place, likely out of fear of becoming the next victim of the murderous figure that hid in the shadows of this motel, an assumption which was supported by the memories of the only two cars being present on the parking lot and the large amount of keys at the office. It was very likely that those who couldn't get away on time had been killed at this point, now that he thought about it. And as for the ghosts… well, Malakai figured that they were too afraid to come out.
Being inside this motel only cemented the fact that this place was indeed nothing but a cesspool of rot and decay where despair and hopelessness were unavoidable to those who stayed here. But to Malakai, it was nothing new. He had known the rotten side of humanity for as long as he could remember, hell, it was basically what he had been forced to grow up with. The two monsters who he would always refer to as his parents were the ones to introduce him to it. For many years, they had been wealthy enough to keep on living in one of the many houses near the canals of the bustling city of Amsterdam, but roughly three years after Malakai's birth, his father's work required them to move from the Netherlands to the United States. From that moment on, they would put him through hell for many years to come. Almost every day they would remind him that he was nothing more but walking, breathing cancer. Relentless beatings to the point where bones were broken or blood was splattered on the floor were also all part of the nearly daily routine, but this also seemed favorable in comparison to one specific treatment that had struck so much fear in young Malakai's heart. Sometimes they had a reason, some they didn't; it was usually his father who would drag him either by his clothes or hair to that one room in the house that had no windows, furniture, toys or light switch, toss him in there and locking the door behind him, sealing his own son in nothing more but suffocating darkness. No matter how much Malakai would scream, cry and plea for his parents to let him out, the door wouldn't be unlocked for hours, or worse, days on end. There had been plenty of times where he had come this dangerously close to starving to death because of this. All of this would go on for many years, until the day where he was finally able to get out, having known nothing else but cruelty and pure evil which would leave a permanent mark on him in so many ways.
And yet, for some period of time during his life, he had actually been free from all of this. Free from the rot, free from the corruption, free from most of his rage… but it was all because of his own doing that it reverted back to this state.
And it should definitely be mentioned that he had long stopped fearing the dark, for he had now fully embraced it, even able to bend it to his very will.
At last, Malakai reached the third floor of the building, where the cold that he had felt while passing by the previous two floors seemed to have increased by tenfold, cold enough to make his skin crawl. There was without a doubt the presence of a phantom on this floor, perhaps even multiple… was this perhaps where most of the motel's ghosts could be found? Malakai was instantly proven right about this when he glanced to his right, looking through the windows of the rooms he passed by. With each room, he was greeted with countless of pairs of eyes that were fully widened with pure fright, all of them belonging to the tormented spirits that had been chained to this place, be it before they had any opportunity to get out while they were still alive when people began winding up dead at an unusual rate, or simply before all of that had started to take place, cooped up in the rooms as if they were animals with no intention of coming out. A small amount had already taken the shadowy, 'glitchy' appearance that was befitting of a ghost in the Restless phase, while most of the spirits appeared to be Wanderers. Ghosts donning trendy clothing and backpacks could be found in the mix, making it safe for Malakai to assume that these spirits had been traveling prior to their deaths and made the mistake of staying at the Cedar Hills for the night. Junkies with festering holes in their arms, homeless that had been reduced to skin and bones, prostitutes shedding a bitter tear or two; these were the people who had died here, living the last months or maybe even years of their lives in nothing more but wretchedness, but still holding some hope of resolving whatever personal turmoil or reaching a goal they had during their lives, which would turn out to be their doom after their demise, keeping them chained to this world until they would find the strength to break free from those chains.
It was likely that the Restless had these too, but… Malakai noticed that a fair amount of these spirits possessed large, fresh, deep cuts on their bodies that caused their clothing to be drenched in red. And what was even more noticeable was the fact that every single ghost of who he assumed to be travelers had these wounds, some of them having been slashed and stabbed to the point where their bodies were this close to falling apart, some body parts barely holding on by a few shreds of muscle and flesh.
The key that would grant him access to Room 305 was peeking through the gap between his index and middle finger. Just when Malakai was about to lift his hands when he was only a meter away from his designated room, the door of the room next to his flew open, hitting the wall with such a loud, heavy bang that it left a dent in the wood. A young, screaming man with curly brown hair, old enough to be in college and wearing a pair of blue boxers and a white tank top came bolting out of the room with so much speed that he came dangerously close to accidently flinging himself over the railing when he bumped into it, which was prevented when he briefly held onto the wood. His pox scar-ridden face expressed nothing else but sheer horror and fright when he turned his head and laid eyes upon Malakai, and as if he were his knight in shining armor, sprinted towards him.
'Help me! Dear God, please hel-'
He had only been able to take a few steps before something large, razor sharp and made of steel was abruptly forced into his back with so much strength that the pointed tip burst through his chest, stopping him dead and his tracks and freezing his face into a mask of pain, horror and despair. Instead of another scream, a wave of blood escaped from his mouth, instantly soaking into his clothing and the floor. And before he was able to let out as much as a whimper, or even claw at the blade in a futile attempt to remove it, a hand found its grip on the man's hair and tightly clenched it before the owner of this hand forcefully pulled him back into Room 306. Nothing about Malakai indicated that he felt any need to rush in and try to save the life of this poor sap, his walking pace just as calm and collected as earlier, even when the sound of what came close to a piece of meat being repeatedly slashed into with a sharp object escaped through the opened door, along with gurgling that was supposed to be a desperate cry for rescue, which quickly became softer and softer, before ultimately ceasing.
Now standing in the doorway of the same room where none other than the Night Slasher had perished thanks to a single bullet through his head, the tattooed man silently watched as a tall man with shoulder-length, black, wavy hair, a visible stubble and clad in a black, leather jacket, striped shirt, navy blue jeans and a pair of black biker boots, raised his machete in the air before slamming it down onto the body of his latest victim over and over again, sending droplets of blood flying everywhere each time the machete was lifted; within a matter of seconds, they decorated the walls, bed, nightstand, ceiling, a lone chair and the khaki green backpack that had once been carried around numerous states by his newest victim. Each time he struck, the impact was strong enough to cut deep into the lifeless flesh, as if he was determined to drain it of every single blood that once flowed in its veins. In between the relentless hacking, savage, frenzied slashing was administered, and Malakai could have sworn that he heard chuckling coming from the perpetrator, low and dark. He continued to witness this sight for a few seconds, not making a single sound. But despite this, it appeared that Malakai's presence was sensed nonetheless, and as if it made him snap out of his psychotic, bloodthirsty trance, the man suddenly stopped slashing into whatever was left of his victim's mutilated body, staring right at the tattooed man dressed in black.
The eyes of the ghost of Alexander Martinez would forever remain as red, painful and heavily irritated as they were in life after they were blinded with a burning cloud of pepper spray, but even then, it looked like he could clearly see his unexpecting guest making his way into the very room he had died in; the single hole between his forever aching eyes was the tell-tale sign of how he met his end at the hands of the one prostitute who was lucky enough to escape with her life.
'Wait just a damn minute…' he spoke, his voice low with bewilderment and his eyes not shifting away from Malakai for one second. 'You're not like the others, are you? I mean, sure, you're dead like a fucking doorknob just like the rest of them, but at the same time… you've got the energy of a living man. And that darkness inside you, oh man… it's so clear to me. Fuck, I almost envy you! All of this… it could mean only one thing!'
Malakai's ever-present stoic nature didn't waver when he was standing near the man who had struck fear in the hearts of all female sex workers in Jersey City, looking him straight in the eyes while his hands rested in front of his body, not even when he saw the last thing that all of the Night Slasher's victims had seen before they were either slashed to pieces or had their skulls smashed in; when Alexander curled his mouth into a wide, sinister, darkly amused grin, he exposed all of the yellowed, stained, rotten teeth that had been hiding behind his lips, definitely having never seen a dentist from the moment their had grown through his gums.
'I know that you can see me, bro. Don't even bother trying to deny it. You have sold your soul to him too, haven't you? Holy shit… you and I have the same cause, my brother!'
And to make his point, the man who would forever be remembered as the Night Slasher lifted his shirt, exposing his chest of which the mere sight would send chills running through any sane person's spine. It was either done by himself or some crackhead who just so happened to own a tattoo gun and was willing to do this for him in exchange for a couple of bucks, though one could consider that Alexander Martinez would have definitely been insane enough to this by himself. A large, inverted pentagram had been crudely tattooed into his ashy grey skin that had once possessed a natural tan tone, with black ink and squirmy, uneven lines, spanning across his entire chest.
'We are both servants of the big guy downstairs!' the ghost of the serial killer exclaimed, with the same disgusting grin that refused to leave his face.
'I serve no one.' Malakai calmly replied.
'Sure, whatever you say.' Alexander chuckled and briefly shook his head while waving his thin index finger at his guest. 'But you have come to him for a reason nonetheless. After all, you must have had a damn good reason to sell your soul to someone like him. Nobody sells their soul to the Devil for shits and giggles, bro. Come on, share it with me, I'd love to hear it.'
Like hell Malakai was going to reveal the sole reason of why he chose to keep on 'living' without his soul and render his body as nothing more but a shell filled to the brim with dark energy to this blabbering lunatic. His mouth remained closed, but it appeared that this silence told Alexander all that he needed to know, which greatly amused him to the point where more chuckles escaped past the foul, rotten bumps that were his teeth.
'No wait, don't tell me, don't fucking tell me… you must have done it for some sweetheart!'
Just because the tattooed man presented himself with nothing more but an eerily stoic composure didn't mean that deep inside, he was boiling with pure, unbridled fury when he heard Alexander cackling like he had just heard the best joke in the world.
'Sorry man, but only idiots do something like that!' he said, once again shaking his head for a few seconds. 'Not one fucking woman on this world is worth that effort! Shit, now that I think of it… nobody is worth it. Do you know how I see women, bro? Do you know what they're only good for? Their sole fucking purpose in life? It's to be added to my kill count.'
That's when the sickening grin turned into a flat line, and though his eyes were red with irritation, they were still able to express the frustration that had taken place. 'A hundred souls. That's what I was going to send to Hell, all in the name of the Devil himself. It's my calling, it's what I have always been meant to do. None of those whores stood a chance against me back at New Jersey. The Night Slasher… that's what they called me on the news. I killed six of them back there and I would have kept going, even if it meant I had to lay low for a while somewhere else when the pigs caught scent of me. But that stripper back at Wattson a month ago, honestly, she was just fucking asking for it, you know? That one was on her. She shouldn't have been such a bitch and done her job when I asked her to… well… Needless to say, she became number seven. And that goddamn whore who worked here would have been number eight if she hadn't had that gun in her drawer.'
Then, as if he either wanted to vent some of the frustration over his untimely demise, wanted to make it perfectly clear or perhaps both, the murderous ghost raised his machete in the air and created another deep, bloody gash into the body of his latest victim when it was brought down while letting out a loud, angered grunt. One strike seemed to be enough for him to pull himself together, causing him to curl his mouth back into a wide, unsettling smile.
'But then again, maybe it doesn't matter in the end.' Alexander said. 'It doesn't matter whether I'm alive or not. Even when I'm dead, I can still keep on killing as much as I want, until I have reached that one-hundred count. Hell, I could even keep going after that if I want to! Nobody who can fucking stop me. Sorry to tell you this but… nah, nah nah nah, actually, I'm not sorry about this at all. Look man, it's been cool running into someone who doesn't have a soul either, but in the end, all you are to me is just another number. But don't worry… you'll be the only victim worth remembering!'
The same murderous madness that had possessed him in life kicked into full gear when the psychotic ghost let out a yell of pure bloodlust when he charged towards Malakai with his trademark weapon aimed right at him, ready to pierce through his body and add him to his list of victims. Malakai didn't have to move an inch in order to fight back. Instead of running across the room or dodging, he stood perfectly still, knowing exactly what was coming to him and what he had to do. A wide spray of black liquid burst past his lips and entirely covered the deceased serial killer's face, completely blinding him and forcing him to stop dead in his tracks. The machete was promptly dropped to the floor. While he attempted to rub the black ooze out of his eyes, he quickly spat out the amount that had entered his mount over and over again.
'What… what the fuck?! What is this?! What the hell did you… do to me, you… mo… ther… fu…'
The end of that sentence ended with a low, elongated groan; having lost the ability of speech was just the very beginning of the infection that was coursing through Alexander right now. He must have felt it coming too, judging by the short moment where he had been able to open his eyes, that expressed sheer horror, perfectly befitting of someone sensing their impending doom; perhaps it was the sudden realization that he was now about to become the victim instead that frightened him even more than that. His fingertips dug dip into the skin of his face when he let out one final scream of pain and fear that rang through the whole floor, knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop this, nothing to ease the hurt that coursed through his entire body when two large, thin, antlers emerged from his eyes.
'You will be of good use.' was all that Malakai had to say to him. He than aimed his open palms at the infected ghost, and in the blink of an eye, the same chains that were entirely made of glistening, black ooze that had coincidently ensnared one of his victims on this very same night shot through his skin without leaving as much as a bloody cut, immediately finding their target and tightly wrapping themselves around his body. All that the helpless ghost of the man known in his life as the Night Slasher was pathetically whimper in defeat when he felt the liquid crawling all over his body until it was completely covered, swallowed up bit by bit by the chains that kept him in his place. In a matter of seconds, he disappeared within the liquid of his bindings, which were quickly retrieved back into the palms of Malakai's hands.
Alexander Martinez may have been any helpless woman's worst nightmare come to life… but to Malakai, he was just another ghost that he could control like a puppet.
The gory remains of the unfortunate, slaughtered traveler were quickly stuffed into a closet before the tattooed man decided to sit down on the edge of the queen size bed. Quietly staring through the window that gifted him a view of the parking lot, the road and mountains behind the motel, he had to admit that Alexander, despite him being a rambling idiot, was correct about one thing; he had indeed been a complete and utter fool for selling his soul in exchange for the ability to see ghosts, actually believing that it could help him fix the biggest mistake he had ever made in his whole life.
Black magic is incapable of healing anything, he would have soon come to realize; it was only capable of causing destruction. And it was with the abilities that had been bestowed upon him with this same magic that he would destroy this world that had given him nothing but pain and suffering for as long as he could remember. That little wench who accompanies Darby would have a taste of this destruction once they would get here, for there are many ghosts at Cedar Hills for him to infect and gain control over. He would wait for their arrival for as long as he needed to; he was a patient man.
Just then, thin, beams of light made their way through the window and into Room 306, forming faintly glowing tracks over the floor. Sunlight… looking at the horizon in the far distance, Malakai saw the sun carefully peeking over the mountains, coloring the sky with a gentle shade of blue, which would be bound to be replaced with yellow when the sun would climb up the sky any higher. A new day was arriving. Malakai had seen a view like this many times before, but to him, it would forever remain a memory that would stick with him until the end. It may seem so simple and trivial to many, a sun rising in the early morning, driving the darkness away with its very presence, creating a sense of serenity and bringing along a natural beauty… but for Malakai, it would take him back. Way, way back when he was able to spend his life with the woman he had loved so much. She would be watching him along with him, often commentating on how there was nothing more beautiful than this. Malakai was instantly taken back to the bedroom of the small, decrepit apartment in a city that had been his home once, remembering the softness of the sheet of the bed covering their bodies, his arm draped over his lover's naked shoulder while his head rested on the same pillow hers was laying on. It was just the two of them, lying wide awake after a long night, lucky enough to bare witness to the sun slowly but surely rising behind the many, towering buildings of the city. Moments like these were the true meaning of peace, the true meaning of pure bliss… just him, the love of his life and a sunrise. Malakai then couldn't help but wonder if he and Zelina were able to do this again together if they were both reborn in possibly a new world.
It was a comforting thought… but he didn't have much hope for it.