There he goes once again. Traveling across the void of space. Only this time he knows where he needs to go. The witch told him as much. But he couldn't trespass into their territory. He was merely a guest, a passerby; a stranger in a strange place. Though a Mythic, he still needed the proper authority and permission. Such were the rules.

Abel landed on a neighboring planet, close to the star system. It was a small planet. It had everything it could possibly need, but it was small. There were four other planets around it, two of which were gas giants while the other two were ice giants. They all orbited around a red dwarf star—forming a celestial system.

Keilah. That was the name of the planet he stood upon.

He looked up to see two moons orbiting the planet. There were three continents on the planet; two were archipelagos—uninhabitable to the three species that lived on the planet with him. But he landed on the archipelago where the planet's southern magnetic pole was located. He figured it was best that he alienated himself away from the other species.

A cool exhale released itself from Abel's lips and dissipated into the frosted air around him. Though, his breathing was far more stuffy than normal—a byproduct of the helm he had to adorn over his head.

Made from bone, metal, glass, and rubber, it resembled a bird's skull with its elongated face that curved sharply downward to form a point—a beak. The diagonal slants and aslant on its face seemed to produce an irrational sense of uncomfortability the longer one was to look at it. There were two holes, each fixed with a glass lens granting him sight, save for one which was covered with a patch. The inside of the beak smelt of blood, rust, and oil, but Abel didn't mind. He could feel it. He could feel himself grow stronger as though the helm was a potion that rejuvenated him, invigorated him. He felt more complete.

Ah, yes. This was his face. The face of Madness.

He began walking forward, his steps feeling hollow upon the ice. Smother it. That's all that needs to be done. Thinking of it more won't change anything. You could coddle it. Lure it into a false sense of security. But all the same, you would smother it with your bare hands.

Abel stopped as he looked down, noticing a peculiar set of footprints and skid marks over the ice's surface.

How strange.

The only species that was capable of moving freely upon the ground were the Qunsians, but they wouldn't bode very well in such cold temperatures. And even if they did, they certainly didn't leave shadowed and sooted tracks. They were small, barefooted.

A child's print.

They were scattered, sporadic, panicked. Abel glanced down to see two other sets of footprints. They were far larger and sturdy—they looked to be in pursuit of the smaller tracks.

Something clicked in Abel's mind. He felt an unexplainable, explicit urge to follow the tracks. It was convenient, he reasoned with himself. They just so happen to be traveling in the same direction as he.

The sound of the ice and snow crunching beneath his shoes echoed around under his helm. He felt strangely relieved as he followed the trail. It was a pleasant distraction. For once, the star wasn't on his mind. The tracks led up towards a slope. Beyond its crest was the sound of crying, the ripping of cloth, and manic laughter. Abel peered from atop the hill to see a rather deplorable sight. There, flailing frantically and kicking wildly was a child. But not one of flesh and blood, but of light and plasma.

A star.

The cyan light it cast shone silhouetted a more feminine figure. Her hair was made of wisps of gas that formed strands of hair. She wore a pure white sundress that was typical of her kind. Though, it was now viciously torn at its flounce, straps, and bodice; loose strings of silk fluttering about.

Abel looked down at her, seemingly callous.

"Quit yer kickin', aye! You're just gettin' me more excited!"

Abel's gaze sharpened as he bared witness to two figures pinning the child. Humanoid, though one had lime green skin while the other had a more raspberry pink shade. The pink one was situated directly on top of the girl, holding her hands above her head with his viscous-like fingers, while the other sought to further rip and tear the rag that was once her dress. The green one was more off to the side, looking every so often behind the pair to ensure their act of depravity was to go unseen. Unfortunately, they were under the gaze of a Mythic.

"My, oh my," Abel muttered lowly. "The multiplying villainies of nature do swarm upon you."

The two men stopped instantly as they synchronously turned to see a man with a strange helm staring at them. They looked at one another before the pink one released the girl. Frail and still reeling in terror, all she could do was vainly hold together her shredded dress onto her body.

"The hell are you 'pose to be, freak?" the pink one called out as he reached to his side, producing a shank.

"Just a passerby," Abel replied playfully, his voice muffled and yet, somehow louder. But not thunderous with bravo and gusto. Instead, it was like a sharp increase in the volume of his voice.

"Though, it seems that I'll have to be a good Samaritan."

He began slowly walking down the mount, his right hand moving to clasp the bandages on his left forearm.

"Oi! Back up!" the pink one called out again. He pointed the edge of the blade towards Abel. Though, he continued to walk forward, seemingly in a trance.

"I—I said back up!"

His voice faltered as his fear became more evident. Just who was this freak?! It wasn't just how he looked that utterly unnerved him. It was also how he walked with such intent—cold, calculated, murderous intent.

"Strike one," Abel said in a hushed tone. "You thought it wise to try and molest a child."

He began slowly peeling away at the gauze.

"Strike two, you drew a blade on me."

The last wrap fell onto the ice as he looked upon the men.

"You have yet to do strike three, but I can imagine that it'll be because you tried attacking my person."

The pink one's face scrunched itself with a look of confusion. What kind of sick game was he playing? He looked to his partner but found that he was just as terrified as he was. They couldn't stop shaking. Sweat began to make their grip slippery and loose, forcing them to clench their fists tighter.

They looked at each other, communicating silently when to strike. They internalized their odds, two to one, favorable. But it just felt like a pitiful excuse to muster any shred of courage they still had.

Three.

The pink one silently communicated to his partner.

Two.

The green one replied.

"One."

Abel said aloud, his sadistic smile hidden under his helm.

Upon hearing his words, the two men were immediately put into a frenzy. The green one was the first to reach Abel. He thrust his dagger out as he screamed viciously. But it never connected. It became suspended in the air as his arm became ensnared by something. Wires.

"Strike three."

In a second, the wires spread from the man's arm to all around his body, wrapping around him like a pharaoh of old. Barbs began to knot themselves along the metal frame. As they formed, they began hacking into his flesh. He tried to scream, but the mesh gave no room to breathe, let alone scream.

Bound in a cocoon of steel, he frantically squirmed around, only to find the wires too strong.

Abel brought his left hand up, his hand opens before suddenly tightening his fingers to make a fist. The wires squeezed tighter at the heed of its master's orders. The sound of bones crunching and flesh squelching rang out through the frosted air as the last drops of life were squeezed out of the man. Drops of deep blue blood sputtered out from beneath the wires. Bits of skin came with it, smooshing together, giving it a jam-like look to it.

Seeing no need to expend his energy any longer, Abel loosened his grip. The wires slithered off their victim with a certain serpent-like suggestion. He turned, casting his gaze upon the pink man who could only stare in horror—his pupils dilated as the trauma he witnessed had yet to be fully processed.

"Not very wise of you, Mister Barrowes."

Barrowes' eyes widened at the mention of his name.

"Wha—how? How do you know my name?!"

"I know many names, especially those who would be so willing to use my madness."

The wires were not necessary for Barrowes. He had all but given up on his life. Fighting, suicide. Fleeing, futile. Abel slowly approached him, his hands extended outward in a twisted loving manner. He cupped Barrowes' cheeks tenderly. For a moment, he feels a strange sense of tender love.

"I'm terribly sorry for this, but our consequences are the sums of our actions."

Though Barrowes could not see it, he could feel another presence nearby. But he could not turn away to look. He did not dare to turn.

"Now," Abel whispered. "Go forth into that great unknown and reap what you deserve."

With that, Abel lowered his hands and pressed firmly on Barrowes' neck. Not so much of a whimper came from his lips, as the last bits of his windpipe was crushed in his throat. The light faded from his eyes as Abel loosened his grip, letting him fall onto the icy floor.

Abel sighed as he turned to tend to the child.

"Cain," he called out. "Do what you need to do, but I expect you to be gone in no less than a minute." His voice was harsh, oozing with soured loathing.

Cain stood there, facing his brother's back. He bit his lip, fending off the urge to speak to his brother. But now was not the time. Not that there ever was a good one. He finally quelled himself as he turned to the wisp of an apparition that was once Barrowes. With a soft smile, he asked.

"What do you deserve?"

.

.

.

Abel calmly approached the child. Her hands were glued over her eyes, shielding her from the horrors and forcefully stifling her tears. Abel placed a hand on his helm, and by his command, it seemingly vanished into a wisp of mist. The bandages on his right forearm seemingly appeared from thin air. He squatted down and smiled sweetly at her, though she could not see it.

"Hello, little one."

She loosened her hold over her eyes. This voice. Despite it belonging to a man who had just murdered two others in cold blood, she felt as though it could be trusted. For the first time since she had been on this planet, she felt safe.

Her hands came down, and she looked up at him. For a few moments her eyes were blurred, but they gradually snapped into focus as she continued to stare at him. Like his voice, his skin was silk-smooth. The white bangs that framed his face gave him a soft look, though they were contrasted by his sharp, crimson eye. The other eye had a strange wrapping around it. She noticed it being on his forearms as well.

Layers. Strangely, that was the only word that came to her mind when she looked upon him. But before she could sort out her thoughts, he spoke again.

"Hmm, you don't belong here. Do you know how you wound up here?"

The agape mouth and blank stare seemed to be all the answer that he needed. The universe has begun reshuffling itself. A chasm has formed, disrupting its meticulous process. Things were being scattered about, with no rhyme or reason. But there was no great boom, no big bang—nothing to indicate it. Perhaps, that was the most terrifying thing about it. The universe was quiet and had become crazed. A quiet rapture.

"Oh well, that doesn't matter now," Abel said with a quiet sigh. "What's your name?"

"Ysabelle," she answered meekly.

"Ysabelle," he repeated sweetly. "Well, I'm Abel. Pleased to meet you."

He reached out and offered his hand to her. Hesitantly, she took it.

Helping her to her feet, Abel took a more prepensive look at her. The tattered state of her clothes wasn't entirely due to her assault. They were already previously torn, scratched, and ripped. Her hair, though only streams of gas, were tangled and tussled. She was skinnier for someone of her stature. While still having bits of fat on her flesh, they were grossly overlooked due to their boney counterpart.

She was a stray. Though Abel was not entirely sure of her situation, he could certainly tell that she felt or was unwanted.

So, they were both meant to be strangers in this place together then.

Smiling at her, he undid his left bandages and tied the strings around his fingertips. Ysabelle stared curiously at him before it turned to awe. The way the strings fluttered and wove themselves was indescribably beautiful. She didn't know what he was making until it was already finished.

A dress.

He offered it to her. It took a few moments before it registered to her what the gesture meant. She took it, feeling the fabric soft and warm. As she did so, Abel courteously turned around. She smiled at that. Such a small thing, but it meant so much to her.

She put it on, finding it fit her like a glove. How curious. She did a small spin, letting flounce catch the wind and flitter about. She unknowingly let out a giggle as she did so. After she was finished, she tapped Abel's back. He turned, and dramatically clasped his hands over his mouth.

"My, you look wonderful!"

Her cheeks turned a shade deeper at his words—a blush.

"Well then Ysabelle," Abel began. "Seems that you're in need of an escort. Lucky for you, I am offering my services to you! What do you say?"

My, he was filled with such energy. She wasn't used to it. Though, she found it to be rather contagious.

It was a very rational offer. He had already saved her but a few moments ago. She felt indebted to him, not only that, but his presence offered her a sense of protection. She looked up at him, no longer feeling timid.

"Yes, please."

Abel smiled.

"Very well, let's be on our way then, yes?"

.

.

.

"What are you doing here?"

Well, she lost that inert sense of bashfulness rather quickly thereafter.

It had been an hour since the two had met one another. They had been walking since Abel heading towards his inevitability and Ysabelle following him. Abel wasn't entirely sure as to why he allowed her to follow him thus far. He could leave her, do what needed to be done, and come back. The journey was ultimately dangerous, and there was no way of predicting what could happen. But as he looked back at the little girl that followed behind him, he recognized a certain look in her cyan eyes.

She was afraid—afraid to be abandoned.

Though only a child, she could sense that it would be innately dangerous to travel with Abel. But even still, it was better than being alone. Leaving her ultimately wasn't an option. Or so, Abel justified to himself.

Sensing that she was feeling tired, Abel decided to stop and let her rest. They no longer were in the archipelago region of the planet. They were on the outskirts of the dense forests that belonged to the Qunsians. While Abel previously didn't want to mingle with the other species, upon further inspection of the shrubbery, he noticed that the rapture had affected them as well.

No matter. He would sort things out, and they would be returned to this place.

The cackling of the small fire the two had made helped him to pry himself from his thoughts. Finding dry sticks and twigs in this habitat was quite easy. He looked to Ysabelle who returned his gaze with a curious one. Ah, he hadn't answered her question.

"I'm here to fix something that I seemed to have misplaced."

"Um… okay."

Abel deliberately answered vaguely. Though, there would be no point. If he told her that he needed to kill someone or something, she would follow him regardless. Such was the contract; such was her desire to not be alone.

Perhaps he answered with such privacy as to not show his trepidation for the task. He tried to protect it, he really did. To save the last remnants of the universe that had long since passed. But he couldn't save it from itself, from himself—from his madness. But that would soon change.

He looked at Ysabelle to see that she was still staring at him. He let out a quiet sigh as he threw another dried twig into the fire.

"I have to go see a star. A star that has become ill."

"Stars can get sick?"

"Yes," he answered rather quietly. "And I have to cure it."

"Oh, I see."

She brought her knees to her chest as she placed her cheek on her kneecaps. Her hands came over her knees to hold them in place.

"Earlier, you called me 'little one'. Why?"

Abel smiled.

"Oh, that. It's just a nickname, nothing more."

She tilted her head slightly.

"What's a nickname?"

"It's just another way that someone calls another without using their real name."

Subconsciously, she let out a yawn which she covered with her hand to not seem rude. She rubbed her eyes as she slowly began to fall onto her side. Noticing her fatigue, Abel got up and took off his jacket. He walked over to her and sat beside her, placing his folded jacket on his lap. Without thinking, Ysabelle placed her head on his lap as she let out a quiet hum.

"Then, what's your nickname?" she asked sleepily.

"Hm, that depends on who is asking."

"Me. I'm asking. Ysabelle."

Abel took a few moments to think. He stared into the fire, watching how the flames danced atop the bits of stick and bark.

"I am Madness, that is my most used name."

Grabbing a twig, he gently poked the fire, embers spewed out from the ashened and peeling bits of bark as they crumbled from the twig's touch.

"But I am also called the Maker of Madness, Lord Mania, the Herald of Hysteria."

A small smile curled on his lips, a tinge of pride on his face at the mention of his names.

"Though, I am also called other things. Things that are rarely mentioned in passing."

"Like what?" Ysabelle said groggily.

"The Stargazer, the Audacious, the Storyteller."

Ysabelle perked up slightly at the last name.

"Storyteller?"

"Yes, I like to listen to stories, and to watch them unfold. While others would want some stories to be forgotten, all stories should be preserved. All stories, no matter how small they may seem, matter."

Ysabelle rolled over to look up at Abel.

"Then, could you tell me a story?"

He looked down at her, seeing a glimmer of wondrous curiosity, befitting of a child.

"My dad used to tell me stories to help me sleep, when he was still around."

Well, that was a low blow. He would have told her one regardless.

"Hmm, let's see…"

Abel pondered her request, sifting through the archives of memories in his mind. Ah, yes, that one. It seems appropriate.

"Once upon a time there was a king who ruled over a kingdom. He was a kind and fair king, loved by his subjects. He had a court with nobles, scholars, and knights. All was good for a time. But one day, his kingdom was usurped by another king, a far more cruel one. Imprisoned in his own castle, the king could only helplessly listen in his cell at how his subjects were tortured. His heart and spirit could not bear the sounds of their suffering. Growing evermore desperate, he carved engravings, sigils to summon a being for assistance with his bare nails. And after waiting for what felt like an eternity, and having no more keratin to carve his plea, a Mythic appeared to him."

Abel paused for a moment as he let the words sink in.

"A being who reigned over kings and even gods. He appeared before the helpless king, and gave him an offer. He would be given the strength necessary to save his kingdom and his people. But at the cost of their love. Even still, the king took the offer, and was given great power as a result. He broke out of his cell and began to wreak havoc upon his foes. Finally, after defeating all those who stood in his way, he challenged the tyrant king to a duel. It was a ferocious battle but in the end the king stood over the tyrant as the victor. But when he looked at himself, he could see that he appeared no longer as a human."

He paused once again, to further vivify his story.

"His skin was a sickly grey, his body was stained deeply in blood. His nails had turned into claws, his hair was wild and unkempt. His eyes glowed with silver, like a beast of the night. Even when he tried to speak aloud, his words came out as snarls and growls. He looked to his subjects, his court of nobles, scholars, and knights with fear in his eyes. They would hate him. They would fear him."

Unbeknownst to her, Ysabelle clenched her hands into a fist tightly at the anticipation.

"But no. Instead, they looked at him with love and adoration. Even after his transformation, they loved their king for he was their king. His valor and duty to his people outshined his monstrous physique. Soon after, peace and order were restored to the kingdom, and they sang praises in his name of his heroism."

"And they all lived happily ever after, right?" Ysabella asked, her voice growing quieter as she could no longer stave off her desire to sleep.

"Yes, yes they all did," Abel whispered.

With that, the child fell fast asleep on his lap.

But that wasn't how the story went. That wasn't how it ended. No, there was no fairy tale finality to it. There was no happy ending. He had lied. Beautiful, uplifting, hopeful—maybe. But a lie nonetheless.

The kind king was no more. He became cruel. He became ignoble. He became a tyrant. A beast, one without a shred of humanity within him. And soon after, having killed or imprisoned those who would have loved him, he and his name were scorned by all in the land. Such was his descent into madness.

What a poor man to succumb to such a poison as madness.