The Shadow of Death: The Conquering Darkness

by Lucas Hault

  “I don’t think dispersing at this moment would be a bright idea”, said Brutus. He did look a little arrogant, but that concept of dispersion seemed unacceptable.

  “Are you afraid?” taunted Leo. It seemed the perfect time to pull his leg and he didn’t miss it.

  Brutus gave him a sharp look again. “I never fear anything, unlike you who gets frightened even by the sound of a fart”. The men laughed, except Leo, who pretended as if it didn’t bother him at all.

  “Who knows we may witness a dumb-ass frightened Brutus squealing his way out of the woods”.

  “You should worry about yourself”. The features on Leo’s face tickled him so much that he laughed until he choked.

  The two often used to have a heated argument, where they tried to insult each other as much as they could. They had their knives into one another and were as jealous as a pair of professional beauties.

  “You both can continue with it later”, said Jack. It was a grievous situation, and they had no time for all these blather.

  The men walked in and stood before a giant tree. The tree trunk was quite thick, evenly matching the thickness of five men standing side by side. The branches were high, while the tree sizeable and thick.

  The shorter guard instructed, “We will head in different directions in pairs and meet here in the same place before this tree”. He meant it, candid and manifest.

  “I don’t need any companion”, said Brutus. He sounded arrogant and obstinate. “I can do it myself”.

  “This is no farce, Brutus”, opposed that short one. “It can prove to be dangerous and life-threatening.”

  “I mean what I say,” he opposed.

  “Have it your way”, mentioned Leo, who was still annoyed with him.

  The men had some words before they dispersed. Leo with the other two moved to the right, while Jack along with his companion moved the opposite. The shortest one and the other guard took a different way, while Brutus, the one left alone, began proceeding forward, with brashness in his breath and a smile of dignity on his face.

  He dragged his steady footsteps ahead, with his rifle held high, and the bandolier around his back. His heart always believed that nothing was wrong and they would discover nothing, following which he would have that propitious moment to scoff at Leo.

  He crossed the tall trees and the thick bushes, but could find nothing. He was perhaps in the midst of the forest, and everything seemed fine and natural. The harsh winds blowing made his lofty hair fly all around his face, and he could breathe in the sweet smell of victory, which broadened his grin.

  “Who will save you from me, Leo?” He chattered away to himself under his breath the whole time. That happiness and hilarity just tickled him within, and he wanted to laugh out loud. He moved on, with full spirit and impudence, until his foot slipped and he came down thrashing to the ground before a big pine tree. His dress was covered in the moist soil that smelled totally different. He pulled himself back to his feet by the tree trunk, which felt wet and sticky under his palm. He drew himself closer and smelled it to be nothing else but blood. The soil was all soaked up in it, and so was the tree trunk painted in blood. The bushes and dry leaves scattered around were all covered in the same. The nasty smile had vanished and his face fell faster than a corpse in cement boots.

  His first thought was to call for his fellows, but Leo’s words resounded in his mind. He thus had no other choice but to move on, all by himself.

  He grasped his rifle and moved steadily. He walked past the dense trees, leading to the large grassland. There hung a dense, white fog. It was drifting slowly in his direction and banked itself up like a wall on his side, low but thick and well defined. The dim light from the Palace shone on it from the far top, and it looked like a great shimmering ice field. The place appeared alluring at daylight, but abhorrent in the dark. The forest looked like a place of terror at night, but the grassland was in its way even more depressing.

  He peered at the long grasses, which waved back and forth in the direction of the wind. He looked obscured, whether or not to proceed forward, but had to finally step in, following some anticipation.

  Those grasses reached his waist as he walked through them. He monitored the place but found nothing, no bloodstains nor anything. Everything was fine and appropriate as he sailed through the grassland, standing by the slope that ended to the small pond.

  The barren scene, the sense of loneliness and the mystery and urgency of his task all struck a chill into his heart.

  “I should have never believed that moron”, he murmured. He was annoyed and exhausted, descending that small slope to fetch his thirst. He had been walking for quite long and ended up weary and bushed.

  He held down his rifle and moved to the pond. He went down on his knees, cupping his hands to fetch himself. The water was cool, and it felt good down his throat. He washed his face and continued to imbibe.

  He was still down by the pond, when all of a sudden felt something rushing behind him. It was as fast as lightning, and he turned back to see nothing. It was so instantaneous that he couldn’t figure anything out. He quickly loped towards his rifle, when the wail of a wolf fell into his ears. The cry was so loud and appalling that it shook his nerves. In an instance his skin became greyed and he glanced nervously at the slope. He quickly grasped his rifle and haltingly moved up the slope, while that dense white sea swept slowly and inexorably on.

  He reached up the land, shivering in fear all the while, and was petrified to witness the scene before his eyes. He nearly fainted when he saw it. The large grassland was draped in blazing fire. The fog was diluted and drained, while the view of the fire was apparent before his terrified eyes. His facial expression was not just sagged but lacking its usual liveliness completely, as if he had left his spirit slackening over the pond.

  Slowly and tardily with his shuddering steps, he moved closer to witness stains of blood all over the ground and the burning grasses. He moved a little further, but was so horrified and aghast that he fell down hard on his hips.

  He saw a pile of dead bodies before the flames. The bodies were barbarously hauled and evulsed, while pieces of flesh were scattered all around. He was a guard by profession, but the scene was extremely terrific and graceless, something that he had never ever witnessed in his entire life.

  He dragged himself a little closer, while tears ran down his eyes. They were none other than his fellow guards, along with some strangers, who lay down in pieces. The others were perhaps the intruders, chasing whom were the men out there. The bodies were so brutally torn and bashed that it was hard to determinate. He himself identified them by their metallic grey attires, which were rolled and embedded with blood and dust.

  He found the chopped head of Leo that had an eye snatched away. The head laid next to the body of a dead wolf that was exterminated and laid in the same state as the rest. It was the horrendous cry of this poor animal that had pulled Brutus’ presence at the spot, but within an instant it was disfigured. The bodies were soon covered in the growing flames, which burnt and destroyed everything.

  The thick white blanket of smoke had once again began to spread itself over the woods. The place was clutched up in dumbness, while the large flame began to die under the unforgiving winds. Brutus could comprehend nothing. He simply got back to his feet and began to flee the place, with all the life and blood left in him. He rushed away from the grassland and into the woods.

  Blindly he ran through the gloom, forcing his way through the thorny bushes, and heading away from the scene. Everything had happened within a blink of an eye, appearing like a horrible dream. He dashed away as fast as he could and in the act fell down a couple of times, hitting himself hard against the trees and hurting himself in the act. His forehead bled, while the senses crippled. He somehow pulled himself up by the tree, but the very next moment, his mind was paralyzed by something which had sprung out upon him from the shadows of the fog. He gave a yell of terror and threw himself face downward upon
the ground. His loud wail echoed through the woods, but was soon buried under the extreme silence that wrapped the place. He remained down for some moments, with his teeth chattering in his head and his body frozen. His heart beat so heavily in his chest that he could feel it tearing itself out.

  He slowly emerged his head up, but found nothing or no one around. It was just him and the dark woods. Nothing flashed before him, except blackness, while his eyes never stopped shedding tears. He rose to his feet and scampered as fast as he could, before hitting himself hard against the same thick tree, which was the point for their return. The collision was so hard that it knocked him down, crashing him unconscious to the ground. He did not move any further, but lay still, while tears rolled down his eyes.

  “Welcome to the Islands of Sinfron, Sebastien Stummenford”, said Rick Felton, the Dictator of the land. He was a stout, prim-faced man, grey-haired and lean-jawed, between forty and fifty years of age, dressed in coloured pant and loose fancy garments, with a straw hat, which perhaps might be the tradition of that place. His beard was neatly trimmed, while the pique of his top matched that of the pricey chains around his neck. He stood firm on the large stairway that led to the Palace gate. Loaded with too many gold chains and rings, his voice was as heavy as his belongings.

  Sebastien said nothing but remained still, while his face was masked with annoyance and disbelief. He saw the large emblem carved on the big dome of the Palace. The Palace appeared similar to some castle, built in the same architecture. There was a narrow path beside the large stairwell, which perhaps led to prison, into the dark cells. The Palace was constructed using big Silverstone, and the large stairwell led up straight to the whitewashed corridor that had an archway in the middle, and was lined up with doors on both its sides. A big lawn stretched on both sides of the Palace, and the one on the left was occupied with parked automobiles. A large crowd had gathered on the gravel path bordering the Palace, witnessing the intruder that had been successfully captured.

  “I know how you feel. I would have perhaps torn the one betraying me into two, if I would have been in your shoes”. The Dictator, Rick Felton laughed out his victory, and moreover at the defeat of his foe.

  Sebastien still kept his lips stuck. He once frowned at the traitor, who stood before him with a big smile on his face. He remembered his definition earlier, regarding the fate of a traitor. It annoyed him further, and he moved his eyes away from him, before they could draw him wilder, forcing him to tear the bastard limb by limb. It was best to avoid his presence and remain silent, and that was exactly what he did.

  “Let me tell you something that your mighty President might have forgotten to mention,” said Rick Felton. Sebastien listened. “Do you know the other name of the Islands of Sinfron?”

  He did not speak, not only because of his cantankerousness but also out of ignorance, having absolutely no idea about it.

  “It is called the Land of Bribery”, replied Rick and laughed; his laughter sounding no less than an insult. “People in this land have no place for love and feelings in their hearts. The only thing that binds one to faithfulness and loyalty is wealth. Give one hand and receive the other”.

  “It didn’t surprise me”, he replied sternly, though he could still not look into the eyes out of annoyance. Sebastien was burning in the fire of acrimony and could hardly bear the voices around.

  “It might not have surprised you, but your friend did”, replied Rick Felton. Sebastien never looked at him, not even once, but the bitterness within him continued, reflecting some of it around his aggressive face.

  “Lord Rick Felton offered immeasurable wealth that I could never see in my entire life. He gave me a bunch of maidens that are thrice more beautiful and prettier than Natasha. Only a madman could reject such an offer, and fortunately I’m not one”, mentioned Joe. His voice sounded so irritating that Sebastien exchanged his fierce look for the other time. His fascinating green eyes filled with anger and disgust was something that Joe Rodrick had never seen before. The fierce flash of his eyes said more than any words.

  “Let me deliver you something more, Sebastien Stummenford”, added the Dictator. “Jon Philips was no traitor. He was speaking the truth”.

  This made him look into the eyes with consternation. He was thunderstruck. The look of disbelief and disheartenment on his face just pleased his foes. He could hardly believe them, shaking his head in shock and regret.

  “Believe me Sebastien. He was innocent. It was my men who had spread those rumours in your atmosphere about Jon Philips’ betrayal. I have always known you being the closest with Jordan Hills in the affairs of Silver Island, and I was sure about you being sent here to deal with it. It was my men responsible for blowing those rumours about Jon. He was nothing more than an ordinary exporter. I used him as a bait, and here I have you”, he said and laughed.

  This was enough to burst his anger within. He was about to make his move, when two of the guards made him freeze at their gunpoint.

  “You have already failed. Don’t force me to kill you at this very instance”, said Rick Felton, and the laughter continued. “You will die my boy. I promise you. You will be killed following our conquest over the Silver Island. Until then you will be rewarded a place. A beautiful one, down in the cell”.

  Sebastien was chained in helplessness before the wrath of time, about which he could do nothing. He once looked at the group of people, mostly men, enjoying him being held in the chains of prison. He also caught a glimpse of a young woman of his age, a beautiful strawberry blonde, with the same blue eyes as the Dictator’s, standing among the group and gazing at him all the while. She may perhaps be the Dictator’s daughter, who was avoiding her father’s attention, and thus hid behind the crowd that stood surrounding the place.

  “You were noticed the very moment when you stepped your foot here. I appreciate your strategy of disguise. But hasn’t anyone told you that you are famous for your eyes. You forgot to veil them, and that was where Ryan recognized you at once. But I truly appreciate it”. Rick Felton loved every single moment of disheartening the young man, who looked him back with undisguised astonishment every single time that he opened his mouth.

  Sebastien could now figure out everything, right from his arrival into the land, to the secret meeting of Ryan Cutler and Joe. It was none other than Joe Rodrick, who had been selling their information to the guards secretly. It was only because of him that they couldn’t get hold of the innocent Jon Philips. The guards must have been shifting him from one place to another to avoid his reach, and that was exactly what Jon was intending to speak. Sebastien cursed himself more and more for not believing him, but behaving rough and harsh before an innocent. His lips parted with an air of embarrassment, while his green eyes gleamed abruptly with a dangerous anger.

  “Excess of anything is bad. And that goes for laughing as well”, he said with a touch of impatience, staring directly into Rick Felton’s eye. Never was a man so compassed round with death, but he seemed unaffected, and his fierce eyes spoke it out. He stared the bloody traitor Joe, who was still too afraid to match his eyes, despite being in such a heavy security. Joe Rodrick had always feared the aggressive nature that the man possessed. Sebastien wanted to tear that son of a bitch into two, and if ever he survives, he surely would.

  “Worry about yourself”, replied the Dictator fiercely, his eyes looking malignantly at him, while his grey whiskers bristled like that of an angry cat. He waved the guards to take him down. They did as commanded; moving him towards the narrow passage beside the stairs, which ended up in the dark cells. The guards did not dare to take him by force, as he appeared much more dominant than any of them. Sebastien could have easily overcome them, but would be shot down by some or the other, and clearly dying that way wasn’t a bright idea at all. A few other guards joined them down, as they moved him to his destined place.

  Sebastien walked down to the dark prison consisting of narrow corridors that led to various cells. The floor was tiled wit
h the same Silverstone, and there were small bulbs with dim lights fixed to the walls of the thin walkway. They took him to the last cell in the corridor, which was a little larger than the rest. The small window sealed with the strong bars of iron opened to a beautiful lake behind the Palace. It was a small one, perhaps used as a pool by the royal bloods. The cell was under the influence of the cold winds blowing and the sound of the birds screeching echoed everywhere around.

  Sebastien jerked his arms and stamped his feet in a kind of convulsive frenzy, as he was moved within the cell. The guards expected a different look of disgust or anxiety over Sebastien’s face after he being thrown in the prison which was dark and disturbing. But shockingly, the constantly bold and valiant look on his face surprised them. They sealed the cell once he was through. It was hard even for the guards to look him in the eye, but they enjoyed his helplessness. The place would soon suppress all the aggression and audacity within the man, crushing him down to fear and defeat.

  “Welcome to the Islands of Sinfron”, said one among them smiling. Sebastien said nothing, just stared at them fiercely as the guards walked off, leaving him behind.

  Lord Elias Solomon Rayne stepped out of the car standing by the large gate of the big brothel in Hustlecitis. The private detective stood beside him, surrounded by a large faction of guards dressed in grey and black. Elias saw the numerous cars parked by the wide concrete road that was fully surrounded by the street lamps on both its side. The roads were wide and clean, with the tar glistening under the warm sunlight. The costly vintage automobiles standing before the brothel spoke a lot about the clients. Lord Elias Rayne signalled the guards, following which they marched through the stairs and into the big brothel.