Otherworld Soldiers- Rise of the Apocalypse

by Fox Lancet

“Sam,” she nearly screamed and shoved from his arms. He took a step back, surprised.

  “What? I didn’t do anything!” He put his hands up, but relaxed when he got a full view of her. She was backing up toward the door, cringing and gasping, her hand clawing at her chest. She shot a desperate glance at him before darting out of the room.

  “What the fuck?” Sam murmured then chased after her, concern plaguing his features.

  Saliea burst through the glass door. Her black eyes were frantic, darting up the street, down it, across it. The feeling was deeper, darker than the one she’d experienced with the two men at the Gothic. The power pulled the breath from her lungs, giving way to only shallow breaths. It must have been the one who triggered her reaction a week ago; he was coming. The thought was fleeting.

  “What is it, Saliea?” Sam had followed her out the door. He didn’t touch her, but watched her intently. Saliea pressed a palm to his chest, encouraging him back toward the door.

  “What’s going on?” he insisted. Saliea couldn’t find her voice to answer and instead threw him a pleading look.

  When he stepped back into the door’s frame, holding the door open, a gasp escaped her. The sound wasn’t so painful as it was surprised, having had no control of it. At the same moment, she looked up the street at the nearest block just as an imposing figure came resolutely around the corner.

  Her breath came in quick pants, her hand was clenched to her chest as if the touch would soothe her rampant heart. Sam reached for her and she swiped his hand away vehemently as she watched the advancing stranger.

  The figure was a man, or so it seemed. He was easily over six foot-five. It was apparent through his light-weight shirt that his upper body was toned, making him lean, not bulky. His boots were heavy and disappeared under ragged black shorts that hung mid-calf. He wore a maroon t-shirt and a dense chain dangled from below its hem and up into his back pocket. Solid, black eyes, not red, devoured Saliea as she took two timid steps back. A half-smile appeared on his even lips at her actions. His features were strong and symmetrical. Had he not exuded such menace, she would have given her all to have him. Hence the simultaneous push and pull that she felt every time she encountered these men. She wanted to run, but to him or away, she could not decide.

  Sam followed her stare and finally spotted the man, his blue eyes going wide before filling with rage. He stepped back onto the sidewalk, balling his fists. Unlike the first man, this one’s eyes kicked to Sam briefly, squinting playfully, before returning to Saliea’s frozen form.

  “Not this one, Sam,” Saliea managed through her labored breathing. The man was mere steps away. “Will. Kill. You.” Each word was a clipped breath. Sam looked at her, his eyes falling over her body before he reluctantly stepped away, leaning against the building to watch the scene unfold.

  The large man regarded Sam’s surrender when he reached Saliea. He stopped inches from her, his presence humming around her and inciting a shiver to rack her body. His attention turned down to Saliea.

  “I am Nefarion.” His voice rumbled from his throat, filling her heart with solidity. A deep breath satisfied her lungs and the recent lack thereof tumbled from her in yet another shiver.

  “You belong to me.” He never took his eyes from her. They searched every curve and crease of her face. Saliea swallowed. She saw Sam twitch out of the corner of her eye and lifted a hand to stay him. A red shine glinted in the black voids consuming her. “What are you called?”

  Her skin burned, her face flushed. She needed to feel him touch her, no certain way, just to know what the contact would do. Would she explode into flames or die instantly?

  “I am Saliea,” her voice fell from her mouth elegantly as if she had gained some sure confidence in his presence. He smiled wide, revealing slightly sharper canines, though not abnormal enough to draw suspicion.

  Finally he touched her. He wrung a hand about her arm. Nothing epic happened; instead she let out a relieved sigh, all of her muscles relaxed and the adrenaline dissipated. Nefarion’s smile grew and the red in his eyes shown through clearer than a moment before.

  “You are mine. Will you come with me of your own accord?”

  Saliea closed her eyes at the sound and nodded. “Yes.”

  Sam choked next to her. “Saliea,” he sighed. She still didn’t look at him, almost forgot he was there. When he pushed off the wall, Nefarion squared his shoulders and growled without releasing her.

  “She is mine! Will you attempt to deny me?” His eyes flashed as he glared the young man down.

  “Where will you take her? What--” Sam’s mouth was caught hanging open as Nefarion cut him off.

  “That,” he spit sharply before continuing, “is none of your concern. She is more than you can fathom. Her life is worth something. Your life is but a puddle of blood under my boot. Would it please you to continue questioning my intentions?”

  Sam glanced over at Saliea, who finally looked at him. His mouth closed and fell into a frown. She regarded him smugly, a look he had never seen on her before, vexing him.

  He stepped back, turning his attention to Nefarion again. Sam licked his lips and shrugged. “I guess if she’s on board, I’m not going to stop either of you.” He glanced nostalgically at Saliea before Nefarion placed a hand on the back of her neck possessively and led her away.

  Saliea’s eyes parted from blackness. From sleep, she realized. She didn’t remember falling asleep. And she wasn’t waking from a nightmare for the first time in so many weeks. She stirred, feeling the cushions beneath her. A couch. There was a glass coffee table a few inches from her and a wide, flat screen television propped on a wall beyond it.

  Her tongue tracked across her lips and she tried to remember what she was doing before she woke here. “Nefarion,” she breathed absently.

  “Yes, Saliea?” The deep voice rolled to her from above her head. She hadn’t anticipated an answer. Having assumed the thought was a dream, she was merely testing the name on her tongue. She lifted her upper body from the deep green cushions and looked over the arm of the couch.

  Nefarion was settled in an uncomfortable looking oak table chair. His elbows were propped on his knees and he was watching her. When their eyes met, Saliea’s insides burned briefly and her lip snagged under her teeth.

  “What happened?” She sat up fully, pulling the hair-tie out of her hair and running her fingers through its length. Though she wasn’t looking at him anymore, she could feel Nefarion’s eyes on her.

  “We were returning to my current dwelling when your body seemed to fail.” Saliea fixed her hair into another ponytail. The reminder incited a brief memory of stumbling from exhaustion and being in his arms. He had carried her effortlessly. Her body must have been depleted from its reaction to his presence before they had made contact. Now her body felt completely at ease, if not more exhilarated then she had ever felt.

  She stood, Nefarion immediately following suit. “Do you feel strong enough to resume?” It was clear even from the few feet away that he was, he would tower over her.

  “Resume what?” Saliea looked up and over to his flawless face. His hair was ragged and black, matching his thick, arched eyebrows and long lashes. Sideburns ran down the sides of his face, meeting a trim line of facial hair that traced his jaw, coming together in a small collection at his chin. A patch of facial hair also grew under his bottom lip.

  “Resume the search for the commanders I sent to retrieve you. I came myself when I was informed that my enemy had crossed, perhaps to interfere with your discovery, or to attempt destroying my Elite.” Nefarion didn’t move, merely talked at her. “Besides, I have lingered here too long. Humans will begin inquiring as to where the original owner has vanished to.”

  “Elite?” Saliea wondered aloud, fully aware of what he meant with his latter statement.

  “Yes, Hunter and Syler, they are here on this plain of existence to locate the key to the otherworld gate.” Nefarion spoke as if she knew exactly what he was talking
about, though she really had no idea. The name ‘Hunter’ caught somewhere in her head. Play nice, Hunter.

  She stepped forward to get out of the space between the glass table and the couch. This put her closer to Nefarion. She had to fight the urge to reach out and touch him, his power soothing her and consuming her all at once. He must have been aware of her reaction, or had one of his own, for he gave her a small smile. Red flickered in the back of his black eyes.

  “They had me,” she mentioned vaguely. His smile wavered as he regarded her curiously.

  “Who had you: my enemy or my Elite?”

  “Hunter and one other. Who I guess must have been Syler. They looked similar to you and they made me feel like you do, except a little less intensely.”

  Nefarion squinted at her.

  “How and why did you elude them?” Nefarion stepped away from her and began in the direction of the front door.

  “I still have no idea what is going on, and I didn’t then.” Saliea started after him. “Hunter threw me over his shoulder without a word and carted me out of a theatre in front of hundreds of people! He threw me into the back of a car and manhandled me before the two of them were interrupted in their escape with me by some albino guys.” Nefarion had stopped at the door and turned to watch her as she divulged the story. When she finished, he laughed a deep, throaty laugh. Saliea stopped and frowned.

  “That was no doubt Hunter. No questions, no care, he had you and that was all that mattered.” His smile subsided. “Albino, what does this describe?”

  “Really pale people, white hair, white skin--” Saliea didn’t get a chance to finish.

  “Seraphs.” Nefarion threw open the door and entered into the failing daylight with Saliea close behind. The word struck another memory. “How much more did you witness and why did you leave?” Saliea had to half-jog to keep up with his long gait.

  Towering oak trees cut thick shadows across the sidewalk and the trim yards. Black iron fences picketed each yard, often twined in green leaves cradling buds of sleeping Morning Glories. The houses were built tightly together, each space between brick and mortar walls enough for one or two people to pass shoulder to shoulder.

  “Hunter killed the two guys holding the car in place. After the first one, Syler got out of the car to help him with the second, that’s when I got out and ran for it. There were a ton of police officers, but I ran in the other direction so Hunter and Syler wouldn’t see me. I did look back just in time to see a huge truck ram all of the cop cars before I ran around a corner.” Nefarion glared down at her.

  “You should not have left them.”

  “Why, what do you even want with me?” Saliea finally stopped, forcing Nefarion to halt, turn, and take several paces back toward her.

  “Saliea, you are the key.” Nefarion bent his back to level his gaze with hers. The pronouncement came in a snarl and he snatched her wrist in his large callused hand.

  “Nefarion,” she breathed without thinking.

  “Yes, Saliea?” He kept their gazes level while he waited for her response.

  “You…you…you shouldn’t,” Saliea stuttered, her heart pounding at the revelation and his touch.

  “I should not what?” Nefarion grumbled, the center of his eyes glowing red.

  “You shouldn’t t-touch me.” The words caused her pain. It’s not that she minded his touch; it just broke any form of concentration. He squinted, the red remaining.

  “And why should I not?” He didn’t remove his grasp.

  “I…I can’t f-focus, when--” She reached up, no longer able to discipline herself. Nefarion eyed her hand skeptically as it approached his face. When her fingertips made contact, a growl rumbled in Nefarion’s throat and the red in his eyes grew brighter.

  “Fair enough, Saliea, you have made your point.” He dropped her wrist and stood away from her touch. She let out a breath she hadn’t been aware of holding. He walked away and Saliea followed.

  They emerged from the tight neighborhood onto a main street with constant traffic and sparse pedestrians. Nefarion was heading south, his pace slowing, allowing Saliea to keep up without having to exert so much energy.

  “Take me to where they found you. You said you can feel their presence, correct?” Nefarion did not look at her when he asked and fought the black hair falling in front of his eyes.

  “Yes,” Saliea answered, watching him intently.

  “Take me, also, to where you have detected them. I believe I can feel them more strongly than you. If you take me near, I may sense them at a greater distance than you can.” He brushed the dangling black strands away from his eyes again.

  “I believe that and I will. Would you like to do something about your hair first?”

  Nefarion threw his head in her direction, simultaneously removing the obstruction and glaring at her at the same time.

  “Could you?” His pace slowed more.

  “Of course, it’s simple.”

  “I am sure. Unfortunately, I have not been here long and do not fully understand many things in this existence.” He stopped and faced her, running a hand through his hair. Saliea smiled arrogantly.

  “I will assist you.” She frowned at her language. It was like talking to someone with an accent; one could not help but respond in the same manner.

  They stopped off briefly and let a hairdresser style him with a Mohawk before moving on.

  After they walked several blocks, Saliea surveyed their surroundings casually and sighed. Nefarion didn’t turn his head, but gave her a side-long glance.

  “What is the problem, Saliea?” She smiled at the sound of her name on his voice and shrugged nonchalantly.

  “We could just get there a whole hell of a lot faster if we had a car or something.” She reached over her shoulder to relieve an itch on her back, drawing his attention.

  “What is this?” He clutched the back of her tank top and pulled it down to reveal a tattoo written in a foreign language with the silhouette of crossed axes in the center of her back. His other hand pressed against her shoulder to twist her back in his direction. Saliea hissed and breathed out heavily. Nefarion was too preoccupied to recognize her reaction, his finger sliding over the permanent picture while holding the material down at the same time. She quivered and inhaled a shredded breath. When he still did not remove his touch, Saliea threw a hand behind her back and grabbed the wrist of his hand tracing her tattoo. Nefarion snarled in surprise and pulled from her grip, stepping back and dropping his other hand from her shoulder. She twirled around to glare at him. His eyes were on fire as their gazes met. He grimaced, more to himself than at her.

  “What does it look like?” she demanded after a long moment of glaring. He began walking again without an answer. “Hunter has a few already.” Nefarion gave her a quick glower.

  “I was informed I already have one. Tattoos, correct?” It was Saliea’s turn to glower.

  “Where and how if you didn’t even know what mine was?”

  “On my back, I believe it transferred in my crossing. I did not think humans would have them as well. In my existence I had mine cut into my flesh. I cannot see it now, but I assume it is merely black lines like yours, rather than scars.” They were still walking aimlessly down the orange lit sidewalk, past myriads of commercial establishments. Not having addressed Saliea’s prior suggestion of a vehicle. She thought to ask to see the tattoo he spoke of, but decided against it, knowing her reaction to it would be similar to his towards hers.

  “But I can receive others here, of any design?” He glanced at her, his features relaxed and genuinely curious.

  “Of course. My best friend is a tattoo artist actually. And I can pierce you if you’d like, too.” Nefarion cocked a brow at her.

  “I do like piercings. I had many in my existence.”

  Saliea smiled.

  “Humans like to be pierced? They seem so effortlessly put out by the slightest of pain.” When Saliea giggled at his remark, he looked at her abruptly, seeming
stunned.

  “I know, isn’t it great? That’s why I enjoy it so much. It’s a bad day when they don’t show their pain while I shove a needle through their skin!” She curled her hands together, throwing her head back to look up at the night sky. Nefarion smiled wickedly at her.

  “You enjoy inflicting pain?”

  She brought her eyes down to his and reflected his smile. “Oh, do I,” she stated the.

  “Ah, you really are mine. You do not belong here at all.”

  Saliea beamed at him, thrilled with the statement.

  The pair continued in silence. Several miles had passed when Saliea voiced her weariness, after deducing that Nefarion must not need sleep to function properly. He suggested carrying her while he walked on, but she argued he didn’t know the way. So he indulged her request and rounded a small metal shop. At the back of the red, cinderblock building, Nefarion kicked in the archaic wooden door. No alarm sounded. The pair entered into the garage-like room, orange street light cascading through several high windows. Tiny red pin-points appeared in the center of Nefarion’s eyes as he quickly scanned the room. There was a beat-up leather couch pushed against a far wall.

  Saliea didn’t immediately go to the couch and was instead distracted by Nefarion’s interest in the steel counter running the length of the wall at the right of their entry.

  “Looking for something particular?” Saliea watched him rummage through piles of metal shards. She walked over to the same counter and flipped on a portable light.

  “In my world, Hunter had modified my chain weapon with razors. I would like to do something similar to the one I have now.” He pulled out the sharpest pieces he could find. Saliea looked around the room.

  “Here,” she said after a moment. At the end of the counter, she picked up a small welding iron and delivered it to Nefarion. “Be careful and don’t burn yourself.” She looked around and retrieved a pair of protective gloves.

  “What is it?” He did not take it from her. She rolled her eyes and plugged it into a nearby outlet.

  “Give me your chain.” She put out her hand and waited while he removed it. After donning the gloves and a face mask, she found some lengthy grips and picked up one of the metal shards he had collected and held it against one of the large links of the chain while she lit the torch, aiming it at the seam. She repeated the process on the other side of the seam then set the iron down.