Catching Hell Part One: Journey

by Marc Watson

  Aryu didn't agree at all. It was far more complicated than that, and he knew it. Nix was just as he was created to be: a god’s perfect weapon created to destroy life in order to preserve it.

  Looking to get off the subject, Aryu asked how far they had to go. “If we remain airborne as long as possible we can make good time and be there with a minimum of fuss. I just hope this rain holds off.” Aryu saw no rain but knew better than to question him. If a Divine creation of unlimited power and abilities who'd lived for untold millennia said it was going to rain, you had better prepare for rain.

  They took off, Nixon with his flaming, glorious wings in the lead; Aryu and his leathery abominations close behind, gliding along in the heat of the rising sun. Aryu thought of his friend and Esgona and the quest they had to endure. It didn't sound like this was going to be an easy trip for him or Nixon, but at least he had a man made of fire and two unstoppable swords with him. Johan had a cripple and a good knife.

  Nixon began his first dive, gaining speed like a falling rock. Aryu reached his apogee, beginning his rapid descent. Only the rush of wind in his ears could be heard, the views of the far-off earth could be seen, and a fireball who would be his dispatcher in other bygone ages blazing a scorching course ahead in the distance. With the Shi Kaze stored tightly, Aryu dove into what lay ahead.

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  FluX

  -

  RagE

  -

  BetrayaL

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  FLUX

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  Out of the deep forests of Napponia stepped a shadowy figure, tall and thin, firm and imposing to the locals whom he comes across, should he choose to be seen.

  Most in the area knew him and what his purpose was. Protect the people. Protect the land. Protect the life around him.

  To see him, one would easily guess his purposes to be much more devious.

  It was an intentional trait he'd acquired over many years to weed out the good from the bad. His short blonde hair, well-maintained full beard that was peppered with the perfect amount of roguish grey, and intense, deep blue eyes set in a world-weathered face gave him an instant look of well-kept, unwavering authority. His perfectly-cleaned, blood-red battle armor and large circular silver shield with its series of razor-sharp spikes surrounding it said that authority was in more than his appearance. He was what he seemed to be: a serious man with a serious job to do. The voices just made the job harder.

  They were collections of lost souls who were once powerful people. They were now neither of this world or the next. Cast-offs from the age when God decided he'd had enough.

  He trudged into the deep woods, slicing his way through with the blades lining his precious shield. If you could even call it a shield. It was so many things, really.

  This particular shield-like object had once brought down God.

  The history of the weapon was why this man had made it his life’s work to serve and protect these lands. It was the least he could do.

  He broke through a tree line, coming into the open field and the stream that ran through it. This empty space was his destination.

  His armor clanked and sparkled in the sun as he crossed the grassy field. He had no illusions of hiding here. The field and all that dwelled within it were closed off from the rest of the natural world. A pocket of time and space hidden behind the Power. None but those who could see it and know its secrets could enter, and those were people very few and far between these days. Once there had been many places like this. They were havens for the powerful. Now there was only a handful of what was once a vast network of spectral refuse.

  He approached the stream and the person sitting next to it that he’d come to speak with. Her petite frame and waif-like constitution made her almost disappear in the light. Her long white hair nearly blended in with the shimmer from the stream she sat by.

  She stood as he approached, alerted to his presence as soon as he entered this place. Nothing happened here she didn't know about. It was her creation. She turned to him, her nearly translucent skin as white as her hair, her body small in a silvery dress hanging over her gentle curves, her face young and mischievous, and her eyes a deep crimson, a trait she had once adopted but now embraced as her natural appearance. She stood solidly and took the man’s large hand as he neared.

  “It's been a while since you've come here. I’ve missed you.” Her childish voice carried on the wind like the babble of the creek beside them. Her voice was soft yet authoritative, as if she possessed a worldliness beyond her young appearance.

  “I've been busy. There's a lot of world to protect, and I rarely have a day’s rest.” His deep voice dwarfed the girl’s. While he looked to be a man in the middle-to-evening of years, if she was a day beyond her teens, it would have been shocking. “Besides, you know I hate coming here if I don't have to. There's too much for me to do out there to be hiding in the back alleys of reality.”

  A soft smile on the thin face of the girl. “Guilt you don't need to carry with you. It was never your fault.”

  “A fact I try to avoid hearing by never coming here, I'd like to add.”

  “And a fact I'll keep repeating until you believe it. My constant chiding of your history is not why you're here, though, is it?”

  She could still read him better than he cared to admit, even after such long periods of being away.

  “Sadly no, as much as I enjoy your incorrect reminders…”

  “It's my right, you know.”

  “So you say. Still, you are right. Something has happened. Something you need to be aware of. Better to hear it from me than to be surprised.” He paused. The last time this event had happened was right after the world, and this girl, had changed forever. “The voices bring a message. They say we have a visitor from the west.”

  “The west? There aren't many from the west that would dare. They're all too scared of their own shadows to come this far.”

  “This visitor is from a bit farther west than that, I'd say. The phoenix has returned. He has set up camp on the edge of our borders and I believe he plans to enter.”

  If she was shaken from this information, she did not show it. “Are we certain it's him? Or is it a 'her' this time?”

  He nodded. “Yes. A presence like his can't be ignored by the voices. They felt his arrival the moment he came. It's a him.”

  Eventually, she grinned. “He's likely coming to find out why he can't zip from his home to other places in the world in an instant. What an interesting story that will be.”

  “Also, it seems he's brought company.”

  A look of doubt came to her face, a cute expression that would have seemed immature had it been anyone else. “A friend? Not likely. I don't need to tell you that he doesn't take well to stragglers and hangers-on.”

  “Regardless, it's true. He travels with one other, a boy, if the voices are to be believed. A boy with wings.”

  The impishness on her face was wiped away at once. The man was taken aback at the speed at which she changed. Something in the information had upset her. Something she didn't like at all.

  “Wings? Are you sure?”

  No answer this time. Of course he was sure. He'd made it a mission of his life to speak to the voices better than any other out of remorse for their plight, which he blamed on himself.

  “There is one more thing they said…”

  Her red eyes, now serious and terrifying, took the tall man in. He knew that this would be information she didn’t want to hear.

  “The voices feel the Power. They know one kind from another. They know better than any alive ever could. They feel it, and they are afraid.”

  He looked at her, and then to the distance, scared for the vision he would see if he held her gaze. Her anger could be great, and her fear was breathtaking in its ferocity.

  “The boy carries the Shi Kaze, and Nixon is bringing him here.”

  �
�Ridiculous!” she shouted at once, unable to contain her emotions. “Nixon of the Great Fire and Ash is sworn by an oath to God to destroy any sword-bearer he catches. He certainly does not prance around our countryside with them. If he sees them, he kills them! It was the God’s will.”

  Any time she lost control of her emotions was a time to be afraid. Power such as hers was not easily contained, and to be so close to it in such unpredictable moments prickled the hairs on the back of his neck.

  “I know what his purpose is, traditionally, anyway. I know it sounds impossible, but I swear it's the truth. The phoenix travels with a winged boy who carries the sword. I doubt I could come up with more ridiculous statement. I'm not that imaginative.”

  “Are we certain they are coming here?”

  The man shook his head. “I can't say for sure, but it'd seem that we're the most likely target.”

  “You mean me. Nixon doesn't even know you're alive.” That was true. A fact he had forgotten. “Still, I don't see how I could help him, or them, as the case seems to be.”

  Her first reaction bothered him. “Is there something wrong with this whole thing?” She didn't catch his meaning. “Before, when I told you he had wings, you seemed disturbed. We’ve encountered the winged people before, though never outside their home.”

  She nodded in recognition. “Yes. The Omnis has told me of a huge army of ancient creation that has risen and is terrorizing lands south of here, where the people are primitive and can't stand against them. It is said that the one who controls them is a man with wings. I'm curious if this boy is somehow connected to him, or others of his kind.”

  The man stood, looking at her once more in confusion. “The Echoes told you this? I haven't heard anything like it.”

  “We all have our secrets. You have those voices, I have the Echoes.”

  Echoes, as the man understood them, were the background noise someone with her powers could hear when she stepped from the Haven into standard reality; a journey she rarely made at all these days. They were idle chatter that rode on the back of a collective consciousness known as the Omnis: an accumulation of shared existence that everything emitted. Even thoughts people didn't know existed, like that of animals and plants. A massive, universal intelligence without body or form. Something more than life itself. An amalgamation of anything and everything.

  The concept was staggering in its immenseness. The man didn't have the power to hear such things. Frankly, it seemed a waste to even try. If she, in all her power, couldn't do any more than faintly touch the edges of the things that went on within it, he would have no chance at all. He had great power, but nothing like her.

  Also, there was a downside to the Echoes and the things it said. If you can hear the Echoes, you must also touch the Est Vacuus: the antithesis and anathema to life. Not evil. Not negative. Just utter and complete void. An absolute state of barren space beyond the beyond. You could not have one without the other. It was the truth of balance. Good or evil had a million shades of grey. This was something more than both combined. Something more than death, as even death originated from life, lest it wouldn't exist.

  She once attempted to describe the all-encompassing nothingness that was the Est Vacuus. “Imagine water,” she had told him. “Imagine it in a clear cup. No background, no color. No light, no dark.” He did as she asked.

  “Now, imagine if it filled the infinite universe.”

  He admitted at once he didn't understand. “It would be as space is, dark and empty, no up or down.”

  She shook her head right away. “No, even beyond that. Space still has a background, a background of black nothing. Space is full of sub-atomic particles and dark matter. Eliminate the black. Black, although it is the signature of an empty void, is still something. Imagine space with no black. Just an endless sea of clear, free of absolutely everything.”

  He couldn't do it. He doubted anyone could without her power and abilities. He did know that such a thing or place as the Est Vacuus was more than he ever needed to see.

  Even with her great power, he was certain the times she had tapped this frightening resource had affected her in ways she may not be aware of, and every visit he had with her was also an opportunity to see if they had manifested themselves into a form he could see. As of yet, there was nothing.

  This place, this Haven, was beyond the natural world. A shield from the things she spoke of. You could hear or feel neither while you were here. Everything you were went into maintaining the Haven.

  “So, what to do now.” She said it in a return to her impish ways, a state more becoming of one who looked like she did: young, beautiful, and vibrant.

  “I don't know. That's why I've come. To warn you, but also to see what you think.”

  “All this time and you still can't think for yourself. It's craziness that you limit your abilities the way you do.”

  “Maybe, but knowing the things you've seen and the pain I've already caused, I'm happy with the state I'm in.”

  The argument was about to start again, but it could wait for another time.

  “Let them come. I'm curious about what they could possibly want with me. Maybe they can create some kind of insight into the terror that this army is causing and why. It's terrible to think we could be at it again. It never ends well.”

  “And what of the sword? The voices sense no Power in the boy. Nothing but fear and confusion. What does it mean?”

  “I guess we have to wait and see. Be sure to go greet them. Better to get your existence out of the way. If it’s me they want, I'd hate to keep them waiting. Not that I believe I'll be much help.”

  “Still, there are worse places in the world to get information than you, the great Crystal Kokuou; immortal keeper of the Dragon Spirit, and possibly the oldest, wisest, and most powerful human alive.”

  She reached up to his face and caressed his rough beard gently, taking in his age and ruggedness. “I’ve told you, just call me Mom.”

  RAGE

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  It was a gross understatement to say it was upset with the recent events that seemed to have occurred in its domain.

  Humans weren’t terribly tasty. They were small in size, but they generally put up a decent fight. They were more trouble than they were worth. Below came a stream of people from the valleys of the south. He didn't care in the slightest why they were here, only that they were here. He was a solitary creature, aged and wise, but intensely territorial and exceptionally moody. If this was a trend that continued, something had to be done. Humans, especially in such great numbers, were just irritating.

  No, this simply could not do.

  His vantage point had a clear and unobstructed view of the branching valleys below. From the south poured the unwanted visitors, some going east to the deep valleys and treacherous peaks, a journey that would almost certainly kill them all before they saw any glimmer of whatever salvation they sought. The rest went west, no doubt to follow the mighty river that had long ago carved its place in the rock. These were the people he was cautious about. If well-stocked and keen of mind, they would enter deep into the heart of his domain or the domains of others like him.

  He had to think deeply about his next course of action. Perhaps the best option was to travel along with a larger group until he met up with another of his kind, hopefully one closer to him in age and wisdom. The young could be so impulsive and make too many mistakes. It was an idea likely to have its own perils, but it was better than standing here next to the Uhluktahn, the sacred thundering waterfall, and doing nothing. These lands belonged to none of them and all of them at once. Yet the humans were certainly pressing into their home in greater numbers, and something had to be done.

  They had no place here. He hoped they would leave on their own. He certainly did not seek their wrath. People were short-sighted and vengeful. Though he was old and wise, it was also a slave to its own animalistic tendencies. If the humans continued, none would be spared.
>
  To be so intelligent only to still be weak to his baser needs. Shameful, yet unavoidable. He hoped it wouldn't reach that point, but if it did, he was glad to know that many, if not all, of these trespassers would suffer for the idiocy of their actions.

  He stalked away, letting the rush of the great water fill his ears; lost in the thought of the anger and bloodlust that may follow.

  BETRAYAL

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  The journey had taken a terrible toll on his old bones. He wasn't accustomed to such rugged travel. He preferred to walk, letting the road meet his feet and the fresh air and silence fill his head as he went.

  Unfortunately, time was not his ally. Speed was needed to reach his goal. His goal was to be as far from the village and the idiots within it as possible.

  He'd left soon after the meeting with the demon. A meeting he wanted no part of at first. He'd have preferred to leave well enough alone and never come face to face with such a creature, whatever it was, but he was bound by a promise to another to deliver the monster. Besides, the opportunity to create mischief so late in the game was too strong a temptation.

  At this moment he was seriously wondering if the devil at the bar or the devil who wanted him was to be feared most. At least the devil at the bar bought him a drink.

  The caravan he'd been traveling with was full of whiney, annoying children and whinier, more annoying women. All they did was cry and talk while the men rode off ahead or behind or wherever they could escape to. The old man had no mount and was stuck surrounded by their constant chattering and useless banter. It was only in moments like this, when he wandered off by himself during the nights, that he found his peace. How he longed for his home in the high country, still many days travel from here. At least this caravan would carry him most of the way.