Chapter Four: Dead

Malcolm squinted as the light from the lantern on the ceiling pierced his vision. He watched, hypnotised, as the light swung gently to and fro, imbalanced by the gentle yet brisk winds. He noticed that he was in some kind of tent, but he could not tell where. Memories of wolves, teeth and blood rushed at him and attempted to tide him over. With no alternative, Malcolm came to the assumption that he was, in-fact, dead.

He attempted to move, but found that he had no access to any of his motor functions, save for his eyes. The experience was indescribable; 'like being in a bubble' was the closest Malcolm could get. Where no sound troubles the ears, no breath shudders the lungs. He felt like a marionette, every one of his limbs unresponsive and wooden in composition.

After a long period of maddening silence and ceaseless inactivity, he became aware of a presence. He had not noticed it at first, and even now that he did he could not feel life emanating from it. It was the strangest sensation Malcolm had ever had. The presence seemed to be both existent and hallucinatory; like a shadow with no caster, it simply did not seem to belong. It seemed to just stay there, watching him.

To say he was unsettled was to understate the meaning of the word. He felt like a corrupted soul awaiting his judgement. The image of Sutekh chomping upon his blackened heart shuddered through his mind, and he fought hard to drive it out. Eventually, the presence moved into his line of sight, and he was put at ease to see a humanoid figure, clad in black robes. The figure had its back to Malcolm, with a dark-gold hood shrouding its appearance.

With a voice like nothing he had ever heard before on the planet, the figure spoke.

"Where does your journey end, traveller?"

Malcolm did not speak - alas, he could not if he had wanted to - which made it all the more shocking when the figure continued as if response to his unspoken thoughts.

"You have come seeking your purpose. You have done well to reach me. The mountain has cleansed your soul as it has mine. Now you are ready to begin your new life."

As Malcolm listened, the figure turned to him, its face still obscured by the shadows.

"My name was Boston Brand. In this life, I am guardian to the ancient citadel of Nanda Parbat. I am your final test of worth. Al-Owal has sent you?"

Images of the bearded assassin flashed through Malcolm's head. To his surprise, Malcolm found that he could not summon any strong feeling about him at all. The figure seemed to nod as if in understanding.

"He still has many lessons to learn. For example, you must know when you are in your rights to take a life. Blood should only be spilt in accordance with a contract, or in self defence. We are assassins, not murderers."

As he watched the figure speak, Malcolm noticed a glistening on their left hand. Suddenly, the hand was raised, revealing a murky, coal-black ring embellished with a white gem. The contrast was reminiscent of Yin and Yang, and Malcolm found himself utterly mesmerised by it. The ring glistened palely, and a rush of nausea rushed at Malcolm, disorientating him thoroughly.

When his eyes opened again, he was not in the tent but on a street that he recognised unfortunately well. It was the Southwest Passage.

The street where Rebecca had died.

To his confusion, Malcolm found that he was no longer lying down in a state of paralysis, and was standing up perfectly straight. He looked around him, incredibly satisfied to have regained his bodily functions.

And then he saw her.

His wife. Rebecca.

She was just walking down the street. So simple, yet so melancholy. She didn't seem to see him as he approached her, calling her name and weeping with joy.

Then, Malcolm was struck with horror as he began to realise what he was witnessing. Two rough-looking men rounded the street corner, laughing to each other. Upon seeing Rebecca in the distance, they moved back around the corner to pull black woollen masks over their faces. Then, they sprung out at her, one of them waving a small, yet vicious-looking handgun.

Rebecca froze as she saw the weapon, but she did not try to run. "Please," she pleaded, holding her hands up in defence. Her face was contorted by fear; it was more than Malcolm could take.

"Give us your money, Merlyn," one of the crooks jeered.

"It's Danny, isn't it?" Rebecca asked softly. "I've treated your brother. Please, you don't have to do this. There are other ways to make money."

"I'm sure there are," Danny retorted. "But do I look like a hard worker?"

He started to raise the gun. Malcolm had been standing rigid, but at this his instincts kicked in. He was next to the robbers before he knew what was happening, unleashing a barrage of steely punches into their faces. To his horror, each punch disappeared without a trace, dissolving into a strange black fog. When he was finished and breathless, he fell upon his knees. Suddenly, a huge black skull appeared in front of his vision, rushing him and unleashing an ear-piercing scream. Malcolm was so shocked by the apparition that he was knocked off his feet and to the pavement.

"Revenge clouds your vision. We do not allow it."

Malcolm was back in the tent when he opened his eyes, except that now he found himself able to move his muscles. He saw Boston standing right over him, his hood off and revealing a pale blue face with milky-white eyes. The image was startling, but Malcolm sensed no hostility from him, and relaxed the tension in his body.

"I understand grief. I understand death. I too have experienced it. It does not change us however; that choice is up to you. That's why I came to Nanda Parbat. My reincarnation was an act of cruelty, but I seek to make an advantage from it rather than let it destroy what little of a life I have left."

"That ring..." Malcolm coughed.

"...is none of your concern. You would not understand it anyway. Few of us humans ever have."

Malcolm closed his eyes and applied a gentle pressure to his forehead, just below his temples. He had long been estranged from clarity, but this was giving him one killer headache.

"I sense darkness in you, Malcolm, but there is darkness in all of us. Remember, emotion will always partly control you; just make sure that you're making it work for you."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I will allow you passage into Nanda Parbat. You did not pass the test, but then, no 'one ever has. If Al-Owal has seen something in you, then I will not stand in his way."

Malcolm stood up dizzily, and Boston stuck out one arm for him to lean upon. Gently, he lead Malcolm to the tent flap, and pushed it aside.

The first thing Malcolm saw upon his exit was not the snow-capped mountainside, but a stone pavilion. Nonetheless of his initial impression, he was soon taken in by his surroundings. It was one of the most striking vistas Malcolm had ever seen in his life. The sunlight seemed to shine through the rock, lighting it up with shiny dots and giving the image of a paradise.

Steps ran for several miles, weaving in and out of the mountain side like bulging veins in an arm. There was something comfortably organic about the whole place. There were numerous interconnecting bridges spanning the area, a gentle stream splashing underneath them and lapping off the corners of the ridge. It ran like clockwork; everything had a purpose.

If Malcolm had not been assured otherwise, he would have firmly believed that he had died on that mountainside and been savaged by wolves. He would have believed that this was heaven - that he was with Rebecca once more - but he knew better than to believe anything but eternal punishment awaited his afterlife. Heaven it was certainly not.

He had found Nanda Parbat.

To Be Continued...

Okay, so... Boston Brand? Anyone?

*Sigh* That's okay. If I wanted to play to expectations, I would have. Brand, better known as Deadman in the DC universe, is the undead guardian of Nanda Parbat (at least for some amount of time) and is a member of the Black Lantern Corps, whose powers are derived from the concept of death. Yeah, that's right, I totally just introduced the Lanterns in the Arrow universe outside of the show... (I'll have you know that I jump great whites in my spare time.) Just... don't go expecting Stewart or Jordan to show up anytime soon...

Welp, see you all next chapter for the REAL introduction of DC's best-loved assassin.

ASouffleToServeTwo