The Dark Materials

by Amanda Churi

  “But then he would still have powers,” Reeve shot back.

  Desmond smirked. “He might still have some,” he admitted, “but with a different Eyla comes different powers; he more than likely doesn’t even know since he has no experience with controlling whatever magic that he unknowingly stole back.”

  “Desmond,” Orione input gruffly, motioning to the rat.

  “Ah!” Desmond exclaimed. “I almost forgot…”

  He grabbed the large rat by its tail, holding it in front of his face. “These creatures were rumored to carry the plague to Europe in the first place, along with the fleas that drew their blood. These critters can run virtually anywhere, and this is where we enact our plan…

  “Reeve, you are essential for this; you influence darkness. Using rats, sending them through the town under the cover of night, do you think you can…?”

  Reeve smiled darkly, impressed by the elaborate, yet very possible plan. To go off without a hitch would be unlikely, but this was by far the most promising plan that they had come up with.

  “Say no more,” Reeve cut him off, knowing what he would ask of her. She kneeled down on the cold soil, her beautiful, frozen dress pooling around her. Gently, she rested her hands atop the dead beast, exhaling slowly as she concentrated her dark magic within her frozen palms. Internally, she whispered the commands to the fallen animal, letting small black wisps travel from her frozen nails and through the skin of her victim.

  Tah looked on, silent, though her face was broken, along with her heart. Why couldn’t she be strong enough…? Why couldn’t she just hold her ground against Reeve? Phantome—no, the whole world was in grave danger because of her.

  The rat’s eyes flew open upon the completion of Reeve’s spell, its chest rapidly contracting as it remembered what it was like to breathe. Its beady eyes were not black, but blue and frozen, just like that of its savior. The rat frantically rolled onto its feet, observing its surroundings before catching sight of Reeve and staring into her eyes. Reeve said nothing, all crucial information exchanged through a simple glance. A second later, the rat fled, racing past Reeve and into the tree line, prepared to fulfill its task.

  “And now…” Reeve said quietly, baring her sharp, icicle teeth. “We wait.”

  Fourteen

  The Ring of Rebellion

  Darkness has always been a strange presence… Its unexplainable knowledge devastates the unprepared. It is an unforgiving wave of evil that manages to find the weakest spots in each and every person, penetrating them through the smallest gap of confidence and laughing as it breaks down even the strongest from the inside.

  People often ask: “What would you rather? Die this way or die that way?”

  The way he knows… The way he seeks is worse than any mind could ever come up with, for death and servitude of the shadowlands are all that he has ever known.

  He said nothing that dreary morning as he stood in front of the large fortress gates, his red eyes secreting a gentle string of blood-like mist as his face hid under the overcast of his purple hat. He was quite surprised that he had been bested by the rebellion for even a minute, let alone thrown off course for several days; it was rare for anyone to catch him off guard, yet somehow, they had managed.

  Of course, it didn’t matter in the end. Two days off of the radar and already he was back where he belonged, the blood of The Seeker fresh on his tongue and making his taste buds rage with temptation. Next time the brat wouldn’t be so lucky.

  The being closed his eyes, honing in on his destination as he caught wind of his own blood before his presence dispersed. For a second, there was a feeling of nothingness in his chest, and then, he suddenly stood in the location he could find the Lord in, a bowl of his own blood resting on the table next to him so that he could recall himself home whenever needed.

  As his spirit settled back into the cold world bound to him, his red, hateful eyes adjusted to his surroundings. It’s changed since I’ve been on the hunt, the man noted.

  The floor was a brilliant white—a surface so polished that it reflected even the smallest particle back up at the hunter. Large monitors with ever-changing screens and holograms mounted the thick ice walls, portraying every news broadcast and camera, both classified and public, so that all subjects could be controlled every second of the day. A glass table several meters long and wide took up the majority of the room, held up by frozen, petrified branches of a long deceased tree. The surface shimmered with an electric field, the table displaying grids, graphs, code, and much more to those who knew the importance of each and every character. Thin silver stools were erected around the table, all of which were empty. There were only two beings inside the room besides him.

  At the very head of the table, next to the monitors and spy-network, a large silver chair faced the ever-changing images, its back to the spirit. One could only see a tuft of hair above the massive chair, but the presence knew that it was he with just a small glance. A being of ice stood next to the hidden man, staring blankly at the screens, many of which reported the same thing. They stood a foot or so away from their successor, their body reflecting the many rays of light through the room like a kaleidoscope as they anxiously twisted a chain and grapple in their ice-encrusted fingers; he was the strongest Elite who resided in the fortress.

  …Well, besides the henchman, that was, but the hunter looked at himself as something much greater than a mere cold-hearted ice soldier.

  The hunter didn’t even have a heart; there was a black hole in place of it, but that worked out well for him. It let him be the most ruthless being imaginable without feeling an ounce of guilt.

  He hung back for a moment, the two oblivious to his arrival as he absorbed the information presented to him via the overlapping layers of media. He couldn’t have been more astounded with what he saw.

  There was a fire atop a roof, a real one, and a Haxor who was nothing but a crispy corpse, the remains of his tracker lying around his decimated body. Other Haxors were called in, trying to clean up the scene as an Elite closely inspected the homicide, making many inaudible calls with the metal cuff on his wrist as he tried to gather more information.

  “Has this reached the eyes of the subjects?” the Lord asked from behind his chair, his voice cold and rigid with hostility as he observed the incompetence of his men.

  “Negative,” the standing Elite answered briskly. “Everyone around the area is confined to house arrest at the moment, and the media has been ordered to remain out of sector three of Aphrite until further notice. The only ones who we can possibly assume saw something were those neglecting curfew.”

  The Lord said nothing for a moment, focused. “It’s too risky,” he stated. “Anyone within a half-mile radius of the site, I want exterminated. If word of fire begins to spread, the Players will gain hope, and that is something we have to keep them drained of.”

  The Elite’s face remained passive at his orders. “Bots and Players alike?”

  The Lord nodded stiffly. “I don’t care who they are,” he said through a tense growl. “I’m not taking the risk. They mean nothing to me, anyway.”

  “If I may, that is an abundance of servants you are annihilating,” the ghost finally spoke up, revealing his presence.

  Immediately, the Elite turned to him, the slick, light blue surface of his corneas sparking in recognition to the voice. He drew his arm respectfully across his chest, lowering his head and falling silent as soon as the higher power made his presence clear.

  There was the light whir of a motor, the silver chair rotating swiftly before coming to a stop so that the Lord faced his most skilled warrior. His eyes hid all emotion, though they honed in on the presence with such intensity that the spirit could feel his insides shudder. Not much intimidated him—the Lord was one of the few.

  His white lips twisted into a sly smirk. “Elite 0002, you are dismissed,” he said sternly, his eyes remaining locked onto the spirit—two narrowed eyes with black pupils that resembled the de
epest void, while the petrified veins in his irises shined white.

  The Elite gave a curt nod first in the direction of the Lord and then the spirit. He proceeded to twirl his chains once more as he silently passed by the hunter, taking a sharp left towards two automatic metal doors and vanishing through them, granting the Lord’s wish for privacy.

  “Nice to have you back, Typo,” the Lord acknowledged.

  Typo grimaced. “I wish it were under better circumstances, my Lord.”

  The Lord raised his white eyebrow skeptically. “Oh?” His seat slowly moved forward, coming to a stop when he was close enough to the table so that he could lean his elbows on it. He made his hand into a fist and cupped it with the other, pressing it to his chin as he continued to stare at his head Elite, interested. “Care to explain?”

  The simplicity of his body language put Typo a bit on edge, but he did not let it show. “The Seeker managed to evade us yet again.”

  The Lord’s sly smile fell in dissatisfaction. “That’s the third time, Typo.”

  “I know, I know,” he responded hastily. “But sir, she’s not easy to track down. I was on her trail in the forest—”

  “What in hell was she doing there?” he interrupted suspiciously.

  Typo shrugged. “I don’t know, but I caught a whiff of her presence out in the forbidden land, so I investigated, and while I was making my way through the forest, I caught the scent of her blood and teleported immediately to her location.”

  The Lord was silent, quite stunned by all he was hearing. “She’s not stupid,” he informed his henchman. “She knows that she bears some of your blood. Why would she carelessly let it be exposed?”

  “There’s a lot I don’t understand about the situation,” Typo admitted. “I didn’t see her when I arrived; I only saw her bodyguard, and I gave chase.”

  “Where exactly was this?” he prompted.

  “Pikë.”

  “Interesting… Continue.”

  Typo dipped his head. “Certainly. I pursued the girl, and I nearly got her to give me information, but then…” His voice trailed off in embarrassment. “I got distracted….”

  That caught the Lord off guard. “You? You never stray from the hunt! How did you lose your way?”

  Typo sighed, lifting his hat and running his sheltered hand through his hair. “The Seeker was traveling with a group of Players, I presume,” he began nervously, “more than likely the same ones who murdered Haxor 02301. They ran past me, and there was this one young man…” He paused, his mind spinning in circles as he reformed an image of the boy’s face in his head. “He looked at me and… I don’t know. He just immediately became my prime target. It was as though nothing mattered besides catching him. I don’t know what—”

  The Lord slammed his fists onto the table and stood up abruptly, his anger enough to stop Typo in his tracks. “A boy?” he questioned stiffly. “Do you remember what he looked like?”

  “…Yes. He was a bit lanky and had long black hair with gold highlights. His eyes were similar—blue and gold.”

  Something arose inside of the Lord at that moment. “What were the names of those last entered in Haxor 02301’s log?”

  “That’s the thing,” Typo said uncertainly, “the names he entered did not exist in the entire database. There were three of them: Eero Resem, Mabel Green, and Laelia Caesar. There was, however, another young man with them, making the alliance total six, if we include The Seeker and Kaitlyn.”

  The Lord inhaled deeply. “How…?”

  “How what, sir?”

  “Those are real names,” he grumbled, “but they come from ancient stories.” He sat back down, pondering on the situation with white, flashing eyes. “I don’t know if they simply lied and took the names of the characters or if they were, in fact, telling the truth, but between the Haxor’s assassination and the fire… There is a good chance this is no coincidence.” He looked back up at his henchman. “You say there was one extra man… Do we have any way of figuring out his identity?”

  Typo thought on it for a moment. “His left arm was missing, but I do not remember seeing a tattoo on his right palm.”

  The Lord groaned. “Well, unfortunately, that doesn’t narrow it down much, but with one arm, it is probably safe to assume that he is no threat. The others, however… Mabel is the so-called ‘Receiver’ who can wield fire in any form. Laelia is a master archer, and Eero… Well, you recognize that name, don’t you?”

  Typo was startled. Yes… It was familiar somehow… “Perhaps that’s why I attacked?” he wondered out loud. “I know him?”

  The Lord began to chuckle, the scarred white veins in his eyes remaining aglow. “You and many others do…!” He threw his head back through his amusement, struggling to restrain himself while Typo looked on, baffled. “Oh, this is too wonderful!”

  “…Um, is something wrong?” Typo asked cautiously.

  “No!” the Lord exclaimed through his crazed display.

  “Then what’s so funny?”

  On that note, the Lord brought his head back down, staring at his henchman with a victorious smile. “You just happened to find the boy who we have to thank for all of this.”

  “A child?”

  “No, a demon in disguise.” The lord snorted, a taunting glint flashing Typo’s way. “One that surpasses you in both legacy and power.”

  Typo’s spine jolted, a spout of anger shooting through his veins. A demon stronger than he? Impossible. “…So, what would you like me to do?” Typo asked with a light growl. “Bring him in to speak with you?”

  The Lord scoffed smugly, brushing his white bangs to the side. “Oh, no,” he answered simply. “I don’t want to share many words with our savior.” He paused, looking over his shoulder and staring at the shifting screens, his dark pupils capturing the flames and extinguishing the light.

  “He is a threat unlike any other,” the Lord concluded. “For now, we will divert our efforts from The Seeker. Instead, I want you to track the group down; eliminate anyone who gets in your way.”

  “…And what should I do once I find them?”

  The Lord smirked, enthralled that he had been selected to finally fulfill the task that so many of his ancestors had attempted. “I don’t care about Laelia; take her out with the rest. But Eero and Mabel… I want you to bring them to me, however possible…

  “I have a wonderful plan for those two.”

  ***

  I didn’t feel the same. The sensation coursing through my body could easily compare to when I had been used as target practice by Calla, only this time, the strain and agony centered in my skull instead of my chest. A bone-crushing headache remained present through my unconsciousness as I struggled to regain strength, my skull burning and my blood steaming. I could hear the demons from my Essence laughing uncontrollably. I could see each of their distorted, hideous, and unique faces inside of my head, cackling as the energy from the lightning flooded their weakened bodies, heightening their strength once more while others, who had failed to awaken prior, were now getting their first glimpses of their host.

  The demons did not care about all of the hell they put me through. Their only interest was taking rule inside, and with a new food source to strengthen their forces, I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t terrified. Elip ironically saved me the first time by removing many of my demons, as did the Sword of Maeve. Surviving once was nothing more than luck, and now, standing face to face with Fate yet again, I knew that this time, she would not let me out of her sight.

  The demons inhabiting my body danced and cheered around my brain. I groaned as their laughter increased, forcing myself to try and wake up.

  I could not do it. I strained my body harder, my brain shrieking, desperate to find refuge from the turmoil. I took a deep breath as my anxiety continued to spiral out of control, grunting, demanding my body to listen to me. I was the real ruler, not some petty demons.

  My eyelids suddenly flew open, and I gasped in panic, the fi
rst thing that I saw being a high-definition world—an environment so clear and smooth that it felt as though I had a new set of eyes.

  My feet hardly touched the ground, my toes screaming as I leaned forward, struggling to support my weight. The floor was an abrasive layer of stone, a web of cracks racing across the floors that were covered in dark, slimy water. My ankles were bound with metal cuffs, chains attached to the backs and hooked onto the wall behind me.

  I lifted my head, mystified. A single, large iron door was in front of me approximately ten feet away, bolted shut. The walls were nothing more than cold stone, trickling with the same thick, grimy water that settled around my feet. The square room was terribly claustrophobic, and there did not seem to be a light source, yet I could make out my surroundings in great detail.

  I began to hyperventilate as I continued to examine my unknown location through foreign eyes. Naturally, I tried to break free of my bondage, but my environment would not let me do so. Panting, I looked to my side and noticed that my wrists were cuffed as well, the attached chains reaching their thresholds and forcing me to lean forward. The wall behind me was not stone like the rest but was instead a thick plate of iron.

  I whipped my head back and forth, unable to breathe when I noticed that my friends were imprisoned with me. Mabel was to my left, leaning forward in an unconscious state. Griffin was to my right, knocked out and hanging awkwardly to the side as his sole arm was forced to support all of his weight. Laelia flanked his opposite side, looking no different than before.

  I didn’t know what to think; I thought Kaitlyn was our ally! Why were we locked up?!

  “Mabel!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Griffin! Laelia! Wake up!”

  Mabel and Griffin reacted to my loud, shrill cry, both of them stirring immediately as my voice bashed their ears.

  They were fully awake in a snap. Mabel’s respiration rate broke the charts, her head spinning like a top as she tried to take in what was happening. Griffin immediately began to thrash without restraint, nearly flipping upside down as he tried to fight his bonds. “W-what is this?!” he exclaimed, continuing to wriggle his body as he tried to free himself.