by Sergio Black
Who are they?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HOUSE OF MEMORIES
“Focus, Nefarious. That solid oak tree over there, I need you to disarm it down to the smallest detail. If it helps, think about the Greek Deity Gaea, she was the goddess of earth. It could better help sync the abilities of Vergina and God’s Breath into one. Think of it as Ying and Yang.” Winsor Magnus is referring to a large birchwood tree that stands outside of the obliterated attack zone created by Nefarious’ Sound Nuke. The tree is thick, seasoned, and stands with pride at the far side of the Mountain Park River. “Nefarious, I need you to picture in your head, that tree being stripped away as if invisible hands had come along and pulled every branch away. This is how God’s Breath works and for now, until you get better, speak your words into existence. Give them life and watch destiny unfold before your eyes. You will get to a point where you only need to say the word associated with the task and the thought of it being fulfilled.”
Nefarious focuses on the birch tree and raises both hands, feeling the tree’s connection to the circle of life. STRIP THE TREE... Nefarious starts from the bottom of the towering birch tree and finds that for the first time since his awakening, his focus is being tested in many ways untold. Nefarious feels like he and the birch tree are of the same entity and can mentally feel the layers of the tree being stripped away like a ripe onion. Raising his hands higher, Nefarious can feel the magic of the ether weighing his arms down with heavy tides. Nefarious strains and grunts slightly before falling away to one knee, as mental exhaustion takes hold over him.
Winsor laughs haughtily. “I remember when your father started his training with me, the way you look right now, if I could capture this moment, it would speak a million words. You look just like him, you know. The shadows of the setting sun project a multitude of tortured stories across Nefarious’ handsome features. But most of all, I see a face weathered by burden. Like father, like son.” Nefarious turns his head and looks upward at Winsor.
“Why? If I have the lifetime of a thousand suns, why do I feel so held back?”
Winsor smiles. “It’s simple, isn’t it? Discipline. You’re not disciplined in the ways of controlling your abilities. Every time you’re forced to really focus, Vergina exhausts you. That’s why we must refine your concentration and turn your attention toward finer detail. Can you feel it?” Nefarious stands upright on shaky legs.
“I feel something, but it’s unclear, it’s like the energy is available, but distorted. I feel the essence of everything in existence working against me.” Winsor nods.
“Yes, you’re right. But from where I stand, I can feel eons of energy flowing from your veins. Remember what I said about the souls that live within you? They will intentionally limit the connections to your abilities at every chance they have. They demand justice and will not want to cooperate. They died horrific deaths, only subjected to do your bidding against their will. The sooner you make peace with them, and earn their respect, the sooner you will be able to seize true mastery. Close your eyes, Nefarious, tap into your ninth sense, confront those who would see you fail.”
Nefarious closes his eyes and drowns out everything which surrounds him. Nefarious opens his eyes and is not in the earth world, but somewhere dark, distant and insidious. There hangs a plank of wood above his head where written in blood is the greeting ‘Welcome to Nowhere’. Nefarious looks down the long dark hallways that are covered in a dark substance that oozes from the walls. Nefarious can sense the presence of other leviathan lurking in the silhouettes of this otherworld. Nefarious reaches around his back to grasp the Reaper Scythe only to find that it has disappeared. The groaning creaks of dirty floor boards can be heard under scattering footsteps. Nefarious recognizes a certain smell he could never forget... Cherry blossom perfume lingers in the air and leaves behind a pink mist that floats about. The scent floods Nefarious with unconfronted emotions. Nefarious walks forward and touches the wet, oozing substance that bleeds from the walls, and he inhales briefly. Iron. This could only be one thing, blood. ‘This is the last home we lived in when Eden died, same staircase, same halls. But everything is morbid and ominous.’ Nefarious treks up the horizontal staircase, with vexed caution, leading to a bedroom door that is slightly ajar, and whispers ‘escape’ through the door’s crevice.
Nefarious pushes the door open, steps inside, and relives his most heartbreaking memory.
***
“Where is the boy of supposed prophecy?” Eden stands bravely and opposes the man known as HIM.
“Like I would give him to you. I would rather die first.” The man known as HIM chuckles softly and raises his hand and wags his index finger from side to side.
“Tsk, Tsk, you don’t have to tell me. I know he’s out there in the forest. For a kid who had two parents of your caliber, to have no abilities is just hysterical irony. He’s no threat. But you.” The man known as HIM raises both hands out and slowly gesture them from side to side, and from within the room a weird echo of Beethoven's 5th Symphony dramatically plays, the ensemble starting off slow, before picking up speed. Eden’s feet leave the floor and hover an inch off the ground, her body strains, unable to move. She’s crudely jerked around the small space in different directions. One by one, seven spirits are ripped from her body. The vibrant energies move with life then are sucked into the tips of HIS golden fang. HIS head snaps back as the raw essence hits him hard. Eden’s feet touch the floor and she fall to her knees, dizzy and disoriented. The 5th Symphony comes to a dramatic close.
“My mother’s body was the final soul. Her once porcelain skin grew dark and in a moment's notice, she looked older than I had ever remembered.” Eden smiles in disobedience.
“My son will be the death of you. Killing me only ensures your demise. I will die today. But know it will not be in vain. Your empire will fall. No matter what you do, a part of who my son is, remains incorruptible. I know all about the agreement you made with my husband. When he opted out, you were too much of a pussy to face him yourself, that's why you sent the Immortals to take him instead. He isn’t the one you should worry about. My son will surpass you, me and my husband.” Eden laughs softly as white blood spritzes from her mouth and runs down her chin, then drips to her white blouse. “You’re so pathetic. Your better years have long surpassed you, like the jock who peaked in high school still trying to bang all the high school chicks. Before long, my boy will fulfill the prophecy and usurp you.” The man known as HIM smiles, revealing several incisors an inch long, among perfect teeth.
“Oh Ah! Is that so!? Usurp me!? The almightiest being to ever live! We know the prophetic child was to be born under the blood moon, which has come and passed. Your son is not who we thought he was. But because he is your son, he shall live only to suffer a menial existence. On the rise of the next blood moon I shall find the chosen child, let him foster his strengths until his body is worthy of being my vessel. It's the greatest honor anyone can have. After all, hallowed be thy name. Within the next 60 years, this meat suit will be useless. As you can see it’s falling apart.” The man known as HIM turns his head, to reveal his skin that glows like a bloody roadmap. He pulls his face back to the safety of the impending darkness before continuing. “Once you’re gone, even with the full might of the Superior Knightz, it won’t be enough to stop me. Following my preeminence when I am back to the zenith of my aptitude, I will scour the earth, hunting down every last Savior, until not a one opposes me. Chaos will be my decree. Then when I am bored, everything will come to a dramatic close, I shall destroy everything the Almighty has built, sinking the world to its knees! Then out of the ashes, a Phoenix will rise, creating another Universe in my own likeness.”
Eden is closer to death, as the plague further spreads across her body. The man known as HIM watches with satisfaction as Eden grows weaker. “Goodbye, Eden. I would say it’s a pleasure, but this feels so good!” In HIS happiness, the man Known as HIM sing songs a cry of victory. “Ohhh Yeaaaa! Yeaaa! Yeeaa!
It’s fabulous to be me!” The pestilence all but covers Eden’s forehead. With one last breath, she looks out the open window and smiles, then disappears into a pile of ash. Afterward a kissing curse is blown by HIM, and Nefarious watches as his younger self runs frantically from the personification of Eden. His younger self is suddenly hit by the runaway car. Nefarious winces as he relives the difficult ordeal. Nefarious observes the car door open, and the man steps from behind the wheel, wearing a purple suit with a tilted NAZI cap. The man stands over his younger self, he smiles, revealing purple fangs, then simply chuckles, and looks to the sky then coldly Phantom Phorms away. Everything fades to an end, leaving Nefarious to question the string of past events. “The man in the purple suit? What significance did he play in all this? But more importantly why would my father make a deal with the embodiments of evil itself?”
The hairs on the back of Nefarious’ neck stand up, putting him on high alert while the overcast around him seems to move. The black door slams shut, and everything goes dark. The flicker of shadows zooms around the walls, shrilling horrifically loud. Nefarious can feel the malevolent presence poisoning the room. Nefarious adjusts himself into a battle position. Out of the darkness, a bellowing howl leaps from behind Nefarious, hoping to catch him off guard. He spins around on one heel and catches the hellish Deadeye by both arms to avoid having his head ripped from his shoulders. Nefarious leans back to avoid the clasp of snapping jaws and for the first time getting a good look, realizing the creature strongly resembles the Superiors, whose souls lie within himself. But the features are twisted with never-ending rage. The creature’s face looks like a mash of overlapping burnt skin and all but nonexistent rows of razored teeth hanging between an overlapped jaw that is large enough to engulf Nefarious’ head with one snap, and a thorny tongue that had been severed by scissors at one point in time. The long spherical nails are held together by large skeletal hands connected to a displaced body that emits large thorns that linger down the Deadeye’s vertebrae. The Beelzebub wails, then swipes at Nefarious with ferocity. Nefarious shoves his hand down the creature’s esophagus. The Deadeye wheezes loudly, throwing up red acidic phlegm that lands in Nefarious’ eye. He releases the demon and quickly wipes away the corrosive substance that stings his face. The creature leaps off into the shadows becoming one with the darkness.
***
The mastodon resembles former prisoner Darby Sears, who governs over Superior vision and was so dangerous she was considered for lethal dispatchment, because of her various abilities to shoot everything from heat vision to cosmic vision, but also, she commanded absolute sight. She was so dangerous they kept her behind several blast doors; at no time during the day was she allowed to roam free for any reason. Darby was constantly guarded by heavily armed N.S.W.P. soldiers. In a bleak room strapped to a steel platform, forced to stand in an upright position, living her days away with a reflective Sinatonium mask that shields the world from her deadly visions. Whenever I wheeled past her cell, she was never unguarded, three Superiors from the Sicherheitspolizei stood around her at all times training automatic guns on her. She was also at one point a member of the Minutemen. Her age is unknown from what I have overheard, she is somewhere between 25-30. The only physical distinctive features I could ever discern at any given time, was a disgruntled mess of honey blonde hair and petite fingers. If the neu government knew my origins at the time of my imprisonment, after so much havoc I had caused, I would be just like Darby Sears or I would be taken to Neu Texas and placed on Desolation Row, rumored to be the home of exceedingly influential Superiors. Some say this lab is one of two, that impounds some of the most extraordinary Superiors on this side of the Northern Hemisphere.
Desolation Row is all but nonexistent when it comes to neu governmental funding and is held to high-priority secrecy, created by Ronnie Silent Room, the master lock artist and architect. This is where all Superiors who are worth their salt come to be tested on then dissected. Walking forward, down the plain hallways of the N.S.W.P. research prison, I pass by several inmates who are also kept in the uttermost regard. As I come to the end of the hall, I see it. The few precious moments before the ruination of the testing-prison, leading up to the plot of my resurgence. I pick up my pace and wheel my chair with urgency, closing the short distance between myself and the light shining from inside the two-way glass cell. The dismantling of the dissection lab, wasn’t an accident, it was Gendrik Powers. Just like my dad, Gendrik could store radioactive plasmas.
Inside the glass chamber, Gendrik lays strapped to a steel table and has gotten ahold of a small apparatus that is round and circular. Gendrik squeezes the gizmo until it shatters in his hand. Blood leaks from his palm and the green vapor floats and falls to the stone floor and spreads out like fog. Several sirens blare with a high-pitched WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! that rapes the ears of everyone in the vicinity. Staff inside the penal institution run through my projected aura, as I watch Gendrik with utmost fascination. The green mist circles around Gendrik, picking up profound speed with every rotation. The fog funnels upward and strikes Gendrik in the chest, disappearing beneath his skin. Gendrik’s skin turns hulk green, before unleashing a deadly radiation. The radiation coming off Gendrik hits everyone in welts. Then nothing, everyone in the reformatory ceases to exist in a moment’s glance.
Standing at the center of my beginning, the Deadeyes that lurk in the dark crevices of my room are back, watching and waiting for the moment of a move against me. And there it is, the loud screeching. This time is different; it seems as though they are communicating, formulating a decisive plan. From out of the depths of the devastated forest, the Deadeyes flood through every entry point of the house. The creatures are fast but I am faster. The first opponent I engage leaps high like a leopard and double swipes its serrated hands. The seconds tick by as we are moving at impossible dueling speeds. Our movements look like blurs of raced actions. One by one, each of the Deadeyes engage me in combat, looking to kill the perceived tyrant that held them captive. Now, more than two dozen claws swipe at me from behind snapping jaws. I duck in the nick of time, the razored nail gets close, too close. I feel several pieces of hair sever away that didn’t quite make it past the beasts’ killing intent. I leap forward into the crowd of foes that circle around me. I close my eyes and remember every martial arts flick or action movie I have ever seen, all the brief training I had experienced with my father. With my eyes closed, I not only see the beasts but I can sense them. The skill of remembrance floods my body. The next moment, I jump, throw a kick, and use practical, simple, but effective judo techniques. Making a full circle, I dominate all the creatures at different angles, imitating the way of the ninja. I throw an expertly placed reverse roundhouse kick, at a downward angle. The biggest Deadeye of the bunch is caught with this devastating attack. I imagine driving my foot through the spiteful entity to enhance the strength, sending the creature through the wooden floor. The CRACK! rings throughout the room as the house slowly morphs into the woodland that encaged my adolescent home. Now all the devils incite their hatred and unleash an overwhelming fury from within, that heightens their already formidable attributes, the gravitational pressure surrounding them is damning. I throw several combinations, first kicking and punching all the while evading different co-opted attacks.
I take to the trees and leap between thick trunks. The Deadeyes give chase; I was hoping they would. If I can only separate them my chances of winning are strongly increased. I sense a horde of them right behind me and a plan forms quickly. I jump toward the nearest trunk, grip it, then swing myself forward like an exceptional gymnast. The Deadeyes soar right past me, swinging around, I land on the tree limb in a crouched position. I breathe in deeply and my chest bellows, then I release 100s of Six-eyed Ravens that flock forward. The Deadeyes turn around and just when they do, I bite the corner of my tongue, detonating the birds, and they explode with the intensity of a single atomic bomb. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Out of the smoke an unscathed Deadeye j
umps in my direction, swiping a razored claw, looking to decapitate me. I duck its attack and snatch it by the throat, spinning around, I slam it through the tree, from which trunk I stand, and pin it there. I quickly clasp my hands together and picture what I think would be the Goddess Gaia then tap into her ability with strained effort. “Tree Seal!” The tree creates a sarcophagus, sealing the Deadeye within. I whip around to meet the presence of the regenerated Deadeyes.
“Your malevolence is understood! I have felt your hatred and it is formidable.” The creatures are dazed, sizzled and somewhat confused, shaking off the aftermath of the massive explosion, they clumsily leap to the surrounding trees forming a compact mob around me, cutting off any chance of escape. I see that as I speak, my words are beginning to break through to their reasoning. I slowly release the seal binding the Deadeye within the tree, it scurries off and unites with the other unit of wretches.
“You’re all foreboding and none of you deserve to die in vain. I did not damn you to your fates. Hear me and hear me loud. Humanity and our treacherous kind that aid the N.S.W.P. are responsible for what we have become. I was imprisoned amongst you all the tragic night your animation ended. Many of you know me in a sense, because you all knew my father... Killian Killstar.” I stand proudly with a sense of pride at mentioning my father's name. I clench my fists and glare into the eyes of each beast before me. They snap loudly and screech at each other as if debating they can trust what I say. “I have come to offer what you seek. Retribution…” The amplest gargantuan of the circle, who I could only deduct was Gendrik Powers, steps forward and screeches in an English that is scratchy and barely audible.