You wake up in a dark room, not knowing how you got here. The only light comes from the television screen in front of you, the buzzing static harsh against the ringing in your ears. As you look around, more details of the room become apparent to you. The floor is made of old wood paneling with a faint stench of rot exuding from it. The concrete walls are dirtied with several mysterious black stains that shimmer in the light of the television.
As you try to get up from your seat on the floor, you come to find that your hands are tied together with rope. You try in vain to pull apart your hands and break said rope but remain with your hands bound. You stand, and with your hands still tied together you go investigate the barely visible walls of the room, searching for a clue as to why you’re here.
As you search the room, going to every wall and examining them for any hints, you start to hear a noise. There’s a harsh, gravelly sound of breathing, seemingly coming from all around you. You look around, trying to pinpoint the noise, alarmed and confused.
You try to call out to it, thinking it might be an injured animal of some kind, perhaps a racoon? Unsure, you turn around from the wall you were facing and look behind you. There’s nothing but the television and the mysterious black stains. You head back to the centre of the room, a light frown on your face as you become more and more unsettled by this strange situation.
The breathing starts to rise in volume, getting louder and louder as it becomes obnoxious and echoing. Instead of coming from the walls as you’d previously thought, the source becomes obvious as you turn to the television. The calm static from before has become erratic, almost jumping out of the screen as it pops and fizzles. The white noise is gone, replaced only by the harsh breath that was once so quiet. You belatedly realize that the breathing was always there, just under the white noise.
Suddenly and without warning, something comes out of the television screen as a the air warps in front of it. A large dark hand reaches out, three long fingers with sharp, pointed ends like claws as you back away in horror. The hand places itself on the ground, its unnatural three-jointed fingers digging into the wood as if for grip. A thin, dark arm comes out after it.
The arm starts to bend as it comes out, an elbow sticking up as whatever its attached to starts hauling itself out of the television screen. The appendage seems to be made of an amorphous gas of sorts, a black smoke that shifts and changes under a layer of force that keeps it as an arm.
After the arm comes a shoulder, flat and without muscle of any kind. The shoulder then brings along a head, and you let out a cry. You back away until you touch the wall, staring with wide eyes at the thing’s face. Two human eyes stare back at you, pupils endless dead voids. You could get lost in those depths, your soul never to return from the yawning chasm of non- existence. The irises, however, disturb you far too much for you to be captured by those almost hypnotic pupils. The colour of the eyes is a bright, unnatural grey. The colour chills you to the bone, paralyzing you as you gaze into the cold depths. You’ve been told that eyes of that colour are reminiscent of a cloudy day or even a storm. The only description that crosses your mind is of a dead man’s eyes.
The horrific being stares into your eyes as it brings itself out of the screen, long disproportionate limbs towering over you. The room shifts and changes in mirages as the entity brings itself out of whatever hell it comes from. If you could speak, you would swear up and down that the monster should not be able to fit in the small room you are in, tall as it is.
You look up at it as it stands there, its eyes boring through you. You stay still as it stares, and then as it tilts its head. The static from the television illuminates its form and its movements, so you see when it starts reaching a hand towards you. You don’t make a sound as its hand draws closer and closer, unable to move or tear your gaze away from those frighteningly human eyes. The eyes start to glow, increasing in intensity as the hand approaches. A long, thin finger with too many joints, places itself on your forehead. Your head suddenly feels so cold. You almost keel over as a scream is choked back in your throat. You still can’t move. The being’s head tilts again, and you see it smile. A mouth breaks apart under the human eyes, stretching much too wide and with too many sharp, monstrous teeth in it.
The entity then starts breaking down, becoming more gas like and starting to envelop you. You start panicking, closing your eyes and trying not to take a breath of the gas the being is made of, but your attempts are futile. The gas forcibly enters your lungs, forcing out all of the oxygen and leaving you gasping and choking. You start to collapse, falling to the rotting floor with a thump.
As you convulse on the floor, your eyes are opened and for a second, you can see the light of the television. The next second, there’s a pain and everything goes dark. You know you’re still awake and conscious as your body coughs to try and expel the foreign gas in your lungs. Eventually, after what feels like forever, but could’ve just as easily been a few seconds, you can feel your body start calming down. You feel numb.
You can feel your body stand up without you telling it to. Your eyes open and you can see again, but something’s wrong with you. Your body is moving without your consent, as if examining itself. Your body looks down and what you see sickens you. A pair of eyes lay on the floor, and you want to scream, or cry, but you can’t. You’re trapped in your own body as it smiles at the eyes on the floor.
Your body goes to place a hand on one of the empty spots on the wall. Out of your outstretched fingers, a dark, viscous liquid starts covering the wall, staining the concrete. Not unlike the other stains scattered about. You feel your body walk through the stain, still smiling. You land in a room full of robed figures, and one of them kneels in front of you. In their hands is presented a pitch black robe and you watch your body take it, donning it over the clothes you were wearing. Your attention is caught by a mirror on the far end of the room and what you see chills you to the core. Instead of your normal eye colour, you see a bright, unnatural, grey. A colour that makes you think of a dead man’s eyes. The entity makes a knowing smile at the looking glass.
You can only watch as your body draws the hood of robe up to cover those static eyes.
The date was 1870, and Henry was a journalist. He wrote down happenings of the small part of London he lived in and kept his head down. Recently, there had been a mass murder of people from the district. He’d hidden in his home for the duration of it, fending off any who had tried to enter his abode with sharp wit and convenient knives from the kitchen. Now that the bloodbath was over however, he had to go back to work.
Walking through the streets, he watched as carts full of bodies carried their load to the edge of the district and off to the outskirts of the city. Dried blood stained every street corner, dark as the events that took place in this part of London. It had been a few weeks since the end of the killing spree, and the authorities were still cleaning up the place...
Opening the door to the journal’s building, Henry hurried in and briskly walked over to his desk. Most of the reporters were off to interview certain key people of the district so as to generate new stories for the newspaper. Currently, Jon was the only one in the building with Henry, and he was keeping track of the polls for the mayoral race that the news firm was covering.
Sighing, Henry sat down at his desk and was about to start writing a new article on his typewriter when the bell above the door for clients rang with a chime. Looking to the door, Henry was slightly taken aback by the person’s completely grey colour scheme. From head to toe, the person did not have a single speck of colour on them!
“Hello, I’m here for an... offer, of sorts” the stranger greeted, an enigmatic smile on their face as they watched Henry recompose himself from the light shock. The writer stood and walked over to the new client with a polite smile on his face.
“Do you have anything you’d like the Herald to cover?” Henry asked, holding out his hand for the other to shake. When the person’s colourless hand met his, Henry had to repress a shudder. The other had a certain chill in their skin, and it was quite unpleasant. He let go of the client’s hand a little hurriedly, maybe more than necessary. The potential client only chuckled in amusement before continuing.
“Well, it’s not a new story, really...” the grey person mused “I just want a little bit of, shall we say, favour towards one of the candidates. Anything you want for this simple act of bias.” Henry frowned at the stranger, crossing him arms, now on guard.
“We don’t accept bribe here” he curtly responded, suspicious of the greyscale person, now revealed to be quite corrupt if they were trying to buy out the newspaper’s neutrality. The other individual smiled, an amused glint in their silver eyes.
“Are you sure? I could give you anything from your wildest dreams...” the stranger trailed off, letting imagination take over. Anything Henry might want... it certainly sounded appealing. Henry shook his head, frowning slightly. He wasn’t going to accept anything less than the truth in his writing.
“I’ll have to firmly decline. Please do not come back unless you have a true story you’d like the Herald to report on” the journalist said, leaving no tone for rebuttal or argument. The other merely grinned, an excited edge to their smile.
“Call me Lucky” they simply replied, giving the man a theatrical bow before walking out of the door. Henry watched the leaving figure with a puzzled expression. As he headed back to his desk, still thinking of the mysterious interaction, he couldn’t help but wonder about this Lucky.
—————————————
Lucky hadn’t expected the newspaper firm covering the mayoral race to be so adamant about being unbiased and neutral. They sure weren’t giving up however, as they kept going to the news firm to push and prod. They’d gotten into many arguments with the head writer about the freedom of speech, and had even let out their not-so-little secret about being dead.
Thinly veiled barbs going for each other’s throats, the sarcasm dripping poisonously from in between the lines, the thrill of winning an argument, and even the disappointment of losing one...
It was simply so fun to do! The clash of wits and words was much more entertaining than anything they’d encountered so far while walking the earth as a grey ghost...
It was almost intoxicating!
As the mayoral race dragged on, the encounters with the head journalist seemed to frustrate the other more and more. Puzzling him with controversies and contradictions, taunting him about becoming biased by a potential mayoral candidate. Although Lucky did have to admit, the journalist could sometimes be so annoying... They stuck to their morals of truth and liberty like glue!
The writer still hadn’t accepted any of the bribes to make Lucky’s favoured candidate shine in a more positive light than the others running for the mayor’s position. Even with subtle suggestions for the classically coveted things such as fame and money, the bribes weren’t ever taken. At this point, Lucky was ready to gather blackmail on the stubborn journalist and force him to write the biased editions, except... that would take the fun out the game, wouldn’t it?
Sure, Lucky was frustrated by the other, but they’d be lying if they didn’t admire the other a little bit. The writer was steadfast in their beliefs and resolution, never straying from their chosen path. It was truly impressive how much he fought for the newspaper to remain free and uncensored.
Lucky had met many people in their dead travels. Rarely had they ever met someone like this pesky journalist. Someone who doesn’t falter in the face of unrelenting critique and damaging words.
Lucky sighed to themselves, shaking their head to get these wandering thoughts out of their mind. They were currently reading the newest issue of the Faithful Herald, looking at the article on the newest candidate. Seeing as it wasn’t the candidate they’d been striving to get elected, they’d simply skimmed over the article. It was good to know the competition, sure, but the competition wasn’t that interesting.
Getting up from their seat at the café, they put down the article next to the empty cup of coffee. Without paying, they left the small establishment. They didn’t exactly have to eat now that they were dead, but it was still nice to be able to taste things, was it not? At least, Lucky thought so, anyways.
Heading off towards the news firm, Lucky grinned in excitement for the arguments and debates to come. Only a few times a week they went to bother the journalist, but it was enough for Lucky to be entertained for the rest of the day. Passing by a crew of workers cleaning up the streets from the massacre a few weeks back, they grimly smiled remembering their death for a few seconds before moving on.
Arriving at the Herald’s building, they composed themselves to their usual expression when interacting with the journalist. They couldn’t quite keep the smile off their face. Entering the building, they greeted the writer and an other round of arguing began.
Red. Bright, bloody, encompassing red. It streamed through the arched windows of the church, bathing everything in a warm sickly hue. The crosses that had once hung on the walls as garish ornaments of faith had at some point in the day caught fire, leaving nothing but ash stains on cold brick. The pillars cast strange shadows on the floors and walls, which seemed to writhe ever so slightly as a trick of the horrible red light.
The priest kneeled before the altar, rosary beads clasped in his shaking hands as sweat pooled in between his palms. Stumbling words poured from his dried lips as he stared directly at the cold hard ground, unwilling to see what this palace of God had become. He flinched as a wall collapsed somewhere to the left of him, but did not falter.
Prayers, hymns, and gospel were whispered like the hushed words of a secret lover in the throes of passion or the nefarious dealings of a mafioso at midnight. A bead of sweat dripped onto the floor. The reverend choked and uttered his words even more quietly, the rushing river turning into a wavering stream. The shadows cast further and further as he spoke, stretching out like grasping fingers. The windows rattled as the glass melted in the frames and turning beautiful stained artworks into scenes depicted only in nightmares. The red seemed to be pressing down upon the priest as he hunched over in his pose of prayer as if holding a very great weight upon his shoulders. The man didn’t dare look upwards.
The altar stayed still all the while despite the church falling apart around it, the corpse resting upon it in pristine condition without rot or blemish. The former bishop had been dead for a day. The body stared at the wall to the left, bloodshot eyes sightless with the affliction of eternal sleep. It appeared to be having a nightmare.
It shed a single, bloody tear.
The priest startled as rustling sounded from behind him, cutting off his pleas to his God. The cold sweat that had broken upon him hours ago suddenly felt freezing. His breath in his throat, he could only listen in silence.
The shadows writhed as the sound grew louder and louder to an almost deafening degree. From the darkness appeared stars from every part in the cosmos. Bright, beautiful, horrible. They grew bigger and bigger until they weren’t stars anymore, as they never had been. Their true nature revealed itself to be beady, glistening and watching. They beheld their quarry without any expression, hollow of any life and devoid of the spark of higher knowledge. The irises seemed to shift between colours from brown, blue and green to more outlandish colours that the reverend had never seen before. Some eyes had teeth instead of colours.
The preacher stared at the eyes emerging from his own shadow.
Shocked into motion, he let out a stifled shriek as he crawled backwards, stumbling and falling over himself. The eyes followed him all the while. The priest’s sharp breaths echoed in the sudden silence that followed his movement. The red light seemed brighter than before.
“I-I’m sorry-“ the man uttered, wheezing as he finally saw what had befallen the once- holy cathedral. The eyes watched him passionlessly.
“I d-didn’t mean to! I-it’s not my f-fault!” He cried out.
“Oh, but it is.”
The reverend flipped around with a short scream, only to see... no one. Red light shone on the spot where someone should have been standing. The floor’s mosaic gleamed wetly.
“You killed them all. You brought this upon your people, unto your insignificant god, and on yourself. How does it feel?” A voice purred in the clergyman’s ear. He froze, his breath caught in his throat. He tried to stammer out a retort, any kind of reply, but was silenced by the drag of a nail against his cheek.
Beads of red dripped onto the floor.
“I’m sure it feels absolutely completely overwhelming...” the spokesperson continued as the priest whimpered. The deep yet somehow dulcet tones of gravel echoed in the stone chamber, seeming to shake the very foundations of the crumbling church, yet the cleric never felt any tremble from the ground. They had the rasp of a smoker and the smoothness of an opera singer in the same instance. Contradictions and oppositions melded together in a honeyed silver tongue.
“W-whatever you think I-I did, I didn’t d-do it!” False bravado emanated from the trembling priest, the dying spark of his soul flickering in his gaunt eyes. The being holding him at nail-point laughed uproariously at him before abruptly stopping.
The sudden silence rang in the preacher’s ears.
“You know exactly what you did” It hissed, silent insults were heard but never truly vocalized. It sounded like they came from the hiss itself, but the creature had only uttered the one sentence. The resentful words even sounded like...
“Those girls got- got what w-was coming to them! They w-were w-witches!” The clergyman screamed, shedding some of his frightened demeanour.
“They were looking for love from someone who wouldn’t reject them as your spiteful god would” The once sickly sweet speech turned rancid as a low growl rose up in the room, making the pebbles on the floor tremble softly and dust fall in large plumes from the ceiling. It was steadily replaced by a smug purr as if the cat that used the world as its yarn ball had finally caught the canary that is the moon.
“It’s for this reason, of course, that we killed your god.”
The reverend immediately shook his head in denial, his hands twitching upwards in a motion to cover his ears from the blasphemous words of the abomination behind him. It took him by the wrist, its claws digging into the soft flesh which had never been held prisoner, just deep enough for red crescents to appear. Just like the sun and moon outside, reflecting off of each other like a set of horrific celestial mirrors and bathing everything in the red hue that made the people of the village go mad. Bright red blood had flowed from their eyes, noses and mouths as they tore into each other like rabid animals, reduced to base instincts and robbed of any higher intelligence. Mothers feeding on their children, men biting chunks out of each other’s throats, babies being left stomped on the sidewalks... The priest shook off the memories to prevent himself from falling into despair lest he lose his composure before the being accosting him.
He came back to the claws starting to climb up his arms, piercing into his skin intermittently like thorns.
“You know what happened, you can feel it in your bones, in your flesh, in your blood. Your mind strains as the emptiness where your beloved deity used to be writhes at the wrongness of it. You keep thinking he’ll come back but he never will, as his body crashes to the Earth and his ichor showers the land and drowns all who remain. The death of a god is a wonderful sight indeed...” By then the being had reached his shoulders, trailing towards his neck. His jaw clenched and the muscle jumped under a sharp point, leaving a stinging graze.
The reverend didn’t dare move as a hand encircled his throat. Nor did he make a sound as it shifted, accompanied by what could loosely be classified as footsteps. Finally, the creature came into view.
It was a bright, bloody red. That was the first thought the priest had as he stared at it. Then, details started defining themselves as his eyes started to strain just from looking at the creature. The being had an aura to it not unlike looking at something underwater. Eventually, the creature became clearer and clearer to the reverend, who could only take the horror in, frozen still.
What he saw was a constantly dripping and discordant river of blood in the rough shape of a human body. Barbed thorns writhed in the sanguine, digging into and emerging out of the almost flesh-like substance and crawling everywhere on its body. The reverend suddenly blinked at its bulbous head where he could have sworn horns curled up towards the Heavens. There was nothing there and yet at that instant he could have sworn its body was covered in horns. Curling and twisting and of no animal he’d ever seen. But when he looked there was nothing there and an impotent frustration began to build up in his chest before once again being quelled by his fear in a vicious cycle. The halo around its head was perhaps its most insulting feature; A vicious mockery of the angels that once- have always served God. It flashed gold despite a deep impenetrable darkness seeping from it. The halo wavered, shook, but never touched the red of the bloody body.
It had no eyes.
But it was watching him.
Through his sins, through his actions in the name of God, through the lies and the lives he ruined it was watching him. He knew it deep in his very being, in his very soul and sense of self. It was watching him and it was maddening as he felt its presence in his memories and in those moments in a way he hadn’t realized before he’d seen its eyeless presence. He knew that it knew that he knew. He could feel it watch his actions as they unfolded in his mind’s eye in the corner of his vision yet completely invisible. It was always there yet it never was. It didn’t need eyes to see the sins its prey had committed.
The reverend could only scream as it smiled at him without a mouth.
“It’s time for you to face your actions, father.” It was the vile scorn of a court jester and the graveness of a tomb. It was the voices of his congregation and the pitch of a young girl. It stabbed at his brain with a million tones of finality all indistinguishable from each other.
“I’m sorry! I’ll repent, I’ll-“ the reverend begged, falling to his knees as he’d done his entire life praying to an unfeeling God. The entity scoffed a thousand times in a second from a millions invisible mouths, the reverb bouncing on the old stone of the church and making a few bricks fall from their places on the walls.
“It’s too late for that. I’m not your god nor do I wish to be.” It sounded disgusted in him. The reverend hung his head at the condemnation. Whatever Hell he would be sent to would be nothing compared to what his God had once designed for the sinners of his faith.
The sound of snapping of fingers was a surprise. Once the preacher looked back up he gasped and scrambled backwards at the sight before him. Instead of the entity stood around him the bloodied corpses of the girls he’d sent to be hung and burned.
Before he could utter a word, they were on him, shrieking and screaming just as they had when they’d been brutally murdered. Their nails pierced into the reverend’s skin like needles, his blood gushing under their sharp fingers. He let out a yell as the girl’s fingernails- no, claws- started cutting through his flesh like plows and marking deep red trenches onto and into his skin. Much alike farmers before the winter, they worked in a frenzy to complete the work of their rage. There was no joy or glee as they carved their precise lines upon the man, only the sorrow, fury and resentment induced by their unlawful passings.
No matter how much the priest twisted and turned to get the girls’ hooks out of him, he could only scream as they did what they wanted with him. As the nails started clawing at his peeling skin, he writhed more out of pain than any hope of getting out of their deadman’s grip. The realization that he was going to die was what spurred him to beg for mercy.
Unsurprisingly, his pleas fell on the deaf ears of the dead.
It was when the girls started pulling his skin off his bones that the death cries started.
Flesh and blood sloughed off onto the stone floor staining the bricks a bright bloody red and seeped in between the cracks down to the foundation of the desecrated building. The eyes in the shadows continued watching impassively, simply witnessing the comeuppance of the sinner. Slowly but surely, the tortured howls turned into agonized wails, then to wounded weeping and finally into a quiet rattle. The sound echoed in the now-empty chamber with a deathly stillness. Eventually, it faded, and the reverend’s life with it.
Silence reigned in the red washed chamber.
The entire world had been plunged into a deep quiet, not a soul to be seen. Slowly, one by one, the eyes within the shadows of the church closed and disappeared into darkness. They had witnessed, they had seen. It was time for them to leave. The red of the sun and moon started to sink into the horizon.
Thus ensued the night without stars.
You hear some classic jazz as you push the door of the establishment open, the notes of the saxophone and piano ringing in your ears. Patrons of all kinds turn to look at you as you enter, staring quietly as you close the door behind yourself. Your face portrays no emotion, trained over years of this type of work. You approach the counter on the far side of the room, sitting on a barstool as you signal to the barista that you’d like to speak with them.
The man made of fire before you is rather tall and flickers with every known colour. His warm hands heat your skin as he places them on the counter, the eyes made of light behind designer glasses looking at you curiously. Behind him, additional limbs are preparing a glass of gin for another customer.
“I’m looking for someone” You start off, a hand going to your coat’s pocket. You rummage around for a second before you find what you’re looking for. Clutched in your hand is a single golden pearl, shining with an internal flame. The barkeep stares at the pearl for a second before looking into your eyes. He seems to search for a second, perhaps for dishonesty or hesitation, before nodding. You place the pearl on the counter between you, a show of faith.
“Many people come by these days, what with the whole Rylixiu business...” The bartender’s voice is warm, the crackle and pop of flames distorting it slightly. You nod in response.
“I’m looking for a man named Drisxt Iliend. You heard of him?” You ask, watching the man of fire’s reaction. He stills for a second, as if in thought, before firmly nodding.
“I’ve heard of him. An Erildun, right? Slimy little guys...” the barkeep serves the customer who’d wanted gin before focusing his attention fully on you. You lean forward, putting your hands under your chin as you lower your voice.
“Yeah. Anyways, I need to know where he’s been and where’s going” you inquire. The bartender nods, thinking back.
“I know he’d been staying in the 45-Herent sector for a little while, then he came here to Jildres-329, stayed for maybe a week and then moved on to Uliarth-67. I’ve recently heard however that he’s gone to 09-Ikordia-b, a strange dimension for a small time grunt to go to...” the barkeep murmurs, taking a glass from the shelf behind him with the help of one of his extra arms. He takes a small rag and starts cleaning the crystal.
“Hmm, thank you” you push the golden pearl to the bartender before standing from your seat. Customers around you lean away, disgust clear on their mismatched features as your hood falls from your head.
You get to the middle of the room before you are stopped.
“What the hell’s a human doing here?” Blocking your way was a trio of individuals. The first and largest is a humanoid shark, scars crisscrossing across his dark blue skin. His beady eyes glare at you as he cracks his knuckles. The second person is a dangerously thin woman, bones showing through saggy skin. Despite this, she holds herself with a fanged grin and absolute poise. The third, the one who had spoken, is the shortest of them, coming to your waist in height. They’re spherical in shape, with one large eye framed with a myriad of smaller ones. Two tiny legs hold up the body, almost comically so.
“Just passing by is all” you answer, moving to go around the group only for the shark- person to put an arm in your way. You stop, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.
“You can’t just be ‘passing by’! Your species are always the same, you’re looking for something aren’t ya?” The speaker points out, legs bending slightly to indicate air quotes. You roll your eyes with a sigh.
“That’s stereotyping you know? And I thought all you other species were supposed to be better somehow...” you reply, snark passing through despite your efforts to keep it back. The shark growls at you as the woman snickers and the orb sputters. You grin a little, allowing yourself that much.
“J-just shut up! Ugh, looks like we need to teach ya a lesson...” the short being glares at you, somehow frowning despite the number of eyes on its “face”. The shark grins, his huge form taking a step forward, ready to deck you as you quickly get into a position to defend yourself. He throws a punch and you duck, barely evading the mass of flesh coming for your face. The shark’s fist crashes into another patron’s face.
“Hey, watch where you’re picking fights!” The customer’s companion cries out, the group sitting there rising from their seats. You watch as tensions rise in the bar, looking around for something to help escalate things further. Your eyes land on an empty bottle. Quickly, you throw the bottle to the other side of the room, hearing it crash against the wall and shower shards on other customers. There, your target clutches their head and roars, getting up and rushing into the crowd, fists swinging. The bartender tries to call out to his patrons, an attempt to calm things down. Nobody listens, just as you hoped. Aggravating a hearing-sensitive being into a rage was the last straw before the bar fight started.
In the confusion, you’re able to slip out of the building, a small smile on your face. You head out of the shady area the bar is in, going to the portal hub. You have business to attend to with Drisxt.
Bruno was a butcher, and that was that. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Everyone thought he was just the nice friendly local meat supplier. Light blue eyes, dark black hair and a small growing beard. He was young, and yet he already towered over most people. With a brilliant smile he could charm most of his customers. Keyword being most.
“Hit him again” the rough voice ordered, snapping Bruno out of his thoughts. He nodded, complying and punching down on the tied up man in the chair. The victim wheezed, blood pouring from his split lip and bitten tongue.
This was one of Bruno’s ‘customers’. The man had taken money from the family and now had to pay the price. The Father, the one who had ordered him, smiled as he held up a hefty cigar. He blew out a smoky breath, approaching the money launderer. The cigar was pressed down on the man’s arm, burning through the flesh. The chair-bound man screamed in agony. Bruno didn’t blink an eye.
After all, that was just how the system worked.
———————————
It was a strange day when his world had gotten destroyed. He’d simply been working at his shop, using the various machines to cut up meat and create a buzzing that would cover up the sounds of... information extraction in the back room. He was going about making the front hold up when a frantic lady came into the butchery.
“The sky, the sky, it’s covered in darkness! I can’t see!” She cried, covering her eyes. Bruno frowned, pausing the machines for a second. He cautiously pressed a button under the counter to send a signal to those in the back to stay quiet. No sounds came from behind him, releasing some of the tense worry he had that any of the business’ less than legal activities would be heard.
“What do you mean, lady? What are you talking about?” He asked, going around the counter of his shop. He put a hand on the lady’s arm to lead her to a seat only for her to growl.
“Don’t touch me!” She spat out venomously, hands uncovering her eyes and shooting out to grip Bruno’s arm. He tried to pull back, hissing in pain, only for the woman to dig her nails into his skin and prompting small trails of red to start running down his arm. Her eyes were engulfed in black, the white of her eyes completely dark as they swirled with animal instinct. She laughed, high and pitched, a note of insanity in her voice. Bruno shuddered as the sound crescendoed in his ears, turning into a ringing scream.
“The sky’s gone dark! There’s no escape!” She let out, before seemingly choking on something. She let go of Bruno, keeling over. Paralyzed, the stunned butcher could only watch as the woman threw up black ichor before completely collapsing. For a few moments he stood there frozen. Only once the shock had started to wear off did he shakily crouch down to put a hand to the woman’s neck, looking for any signs of life.
There was no pulse.
His breath hitched and he pulled away, staring at the corpse in front of him. What had happened to this lady...?
He looked out of the front windows trying to see if anyone had noticed the insanity- ridden woman’s death. Only, the people he could see outside were staring upwards with what seemed like awe, before suddenly clutching their heads. He could see all their mouths open in a silent yell, the storefront’s soundproofing strong enough to ward off the noise.
Swallowing thickly, Bruno looked away as a child started to scream.
He felt sick and yet he was morbidly fascinated. Why were people acting like that? He looked out the window once more. He couldn’t see the sky from inside, he’d have to go out there...
Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Well, wasn’t that his life already? He tensed, working himself up to walk out the door and look at the sky. After all, what did he really have to lose? He had no family or friends he truly cared for and in his line of work he’d most likely die sooner than later anyways.
Resolved, he opened the door and stepped out.
The screams were much louder than he thought. While the interior of the shop had been quiet and still in the wake of death, out there was loud, crying agony. People ran in the streets maddened. Others fell where they stood, dark oblivion claiming them instantly. Bodies littered the ground as the stench of rot made itself known even if it was much too early for the rigor mortis to set in. He would know after all.
Bruno looked up.
With a strangled gasp, he took a few steps back. The normal blue sky was gone, replaced by a crushing darkness. The heavens had been replaced by a dark expanse of shifting matter and cosmos, with the now sickly stars shining weakly before being rapidly extinguished. The universe roiled in on itself as it imprinted on the watching souls. It watched back. Eyes of all sizes and colours looked down from the sky, piercing in their overpowering intensity. Bruno could feel his thoughts uncoil, his sheer self start to unwind... but he refused. He clung onto his sanity and his thoughts with a dogged focus, awed stare turning into a frowning glare. He wasn’t like the rest, and he wouldn’t let those eyes squash him like the bug they think him as.
As the screams of his people rang out around him, the eyes in the darkened firmament started moving. Gradually, they all turned to stare at him. He stayed still, uninterrupted in his battle of wills as those around him perished until everything was silent.
———————————
That’s when they took him to a land of nothing. Islands of dark stone amidst a sea of blinking stars. Pillars of unbreakable rock crowned with floating crystals of unimaginable power.
“The Threshold” they called it. Bruno thought it was fitting.
Those that had taken him, Watchers, he later learned, had pushed foreign magic into his veins to make him more “powerful” and “superior”. What a load of bullshit. Still, he kept quiet as the magic tore his limbs apart and his eyes burned with the light of dying stars being harnessed into power. He kept silent as wings grew on his aching back and he was forced to learn to use the new muscles that came with them. Deep dark blue with the patterns of constellations shifting between the feathers. Like a fallen angel, he mused.
He started out at the bottom of the social ladder. The newest member of the pack. The one who didn’t back down against the beings that had destroyed his world.
“That’s the only reason we spared you” they told him. He was inclined to believe them, seeing the sheer power they wielded as if it was nothing. They taught him to use that same power as well, eventually.
He didn’t know how long had passed since he’d been brought to the Threshold. It could have been a few years. It could have been centuries. All he knew was that he had been here a long time, locked in a constant cycle of fighting for his survival. After all, things were the same here as they’d been with the family and he knew the system inside and out. Maybe that’s why he’d lasted so long? The instinctive knowledge of who is superior and who can easily be usurped. The drive not to lash out lest he get in trouble bigger than he can deal with. Or perhaps it was just luck? He didn’t know and he didn’t care, because this dog eat dog environment was one he’d learned to navigate since young and he excelled at it.
At some point they started calling him something else and he hadn’t even noticed when he’d accepted his new name.
Maybe that’s when “Beryx” was born.
Eventually, the training of his magic abilities was finished and Beryx was sent on an assignment by his superiors. He was to watch over a world and its inhabitants. He breathed in the air of the new world as he sat on a village home’s roof, not so used to the much thicker air anymore. He could taste the sun on his skin again.
He smiled for the first time in, well... He didn’t really remember.
He stayed in that world for a few decades and watched as civilizations rose and fell until there was simply nothing. That’s when he was taken back by those who had given him the role of guardian. They sent him elsewhere, and the cycle began again. For uncounted millennia, he watched over innumerable worlds. Sometimes he was but a quiet shadow in the background, other times he interacted with the denizens of these realms. Every time he had to watch as everything died away with the laws of entropy.
It was a much different routine to what he’d been used to. He didn’t exactly hate watching over the various worlds. What he did despise was having to go back to the Threshold. Back to the condescending gazes and critiques on his failures. He always had to check in at some point, and it grated.
That is, until one day he was given a different assignment.
He was to retrieve an escapee of the beings who’d taken him.
Someone who was able to flee and successfully get away. The envy he felt for this person made the task all the better. Why did they have to be the one to get away? We couldn’t Beryx have been the one to leave? Anger flooded through his being as hate grew for this person he didn’t even know. Someone who had been just like him, yet better. Someone who’d been able to run when he could not. His hands curled into fists and the current of magic crackled in his veins.
He’d make them pay, at any cost.
——————————
The name of the world Beryx’s target had hidden in was Hermitopia. As Beryx watched the inhabitants go about their daily lives in their little shopping district, he found that his task was going to be harder than it first seemed. His superiors hadn’t given him a description of the one he was sent to retrieve and there were too many possibilities for who it could be. The runaway could be the town leader who reeked of the void. It could be the old miner with the strangely blue eyes. They could even be that clumsy engineer with the immaculate moustache!
Ok, that last one was baseless conjecture, but Beryx was frustrated.
Beryx sighed, considering his options. He stood from his perch on a tree on the far side of the town and stretched out his wings before initiating plan B. The feathered appendages faded away into wisps of smoke as the magic quietly folded onto itself. The purple hue of his eyes shifted to a dark blue reminiscent of the night sky as the grey tinge his skin had gotten receded.
He looked... normal. He idly wondered how long it had been since he’d seen his regular skin like this.
His hands trembled as he stared at them.
He shook his head, clutching his hands into fists. Now as not the time for idle reminiscence. He had a job to do. With that, he wiped away his unruly tears and walked off. As he approached the shopping district he took off his mask-like visor. The symbol of a broken portal gleamed dimly in the moonlight as the watcher hid it in the bag he was carrying. ——————————
He’d been accepted by the "Hermits" rather quickly. They’d been a little surprised when he’d shown up in their shopping district with no warning and asking for refuge, but it seemed like this was a common occurrence. New-comers came from nowhere, that was just how it worked.
Beryx decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
He’d been shown around the world by the one named Ilo in a tour of the districts scattered about. Beryx had been pretty impressed by the end of it.
He decided to settle a little bit away from one of these districts. Plans of a home built with his own hands were already underway in his mind. If he was to find the one who’d escaped, he would have to blend in. Over the next few months he built his cabin and by the end of it, he’d already befriended most of the Hermits, as the denizens of this world called themselves.
To his endless frustration, he still couldn’t discern which of the Hermits was the one he was looking for. They were all too eccentric, too diverse for him to pinpoint any clue that might lead him to his target. He remembered when it was easy to find someone in a much larger population than this sparsely populated world. He was sorely out of practice with social cues and small talk. He saw the strange looks the others gave him as he tried to recover from a blunder with a laugh and smile. He hated being out of the loop about this, especially that he used to be so good at this type of information gathering...
Still, now was not the time to think these things. The town leader, Xavier, had called a meeting of the Hermits. Talking amongst themselves, they spoke of the previously announced move to another world. Beryx watched with apprehension. How would the move happen? What type of magic would be at play? Would it reveal his own magic? Anxiously, he clenched his hands into fists, nails digging into his palm at the prospect of his true identity coming to light.
“Hey there, you’re looking kinda pale there Bruno” a concerned voice spoke next to him, startling Beryx from his spiralling thoughts. Beryx turned to stare at Ethan before registering his old name being addressed to him. ‘It sure is useful to have more than one name...' He thought to himself distractedly as he started answering.
“I’m fine, it’s just, first time, yeah?” He awkwardly replied, shrugging and trying not to seem as affected as he was. Ethan raised a sceptical eyebrow. Drats.
“If you want you can hold onto me while we go through. I know it helps with the teleportation and everything...” Ethan casually offered, a hand put out for Beryx to take if he so wished. Beryx let out an aggrieved sigh and took the offer, muttering a quiet thanks under his breath. Ethan’s eyes smiled at him, the mask hiding his mouth obscuring his expression.
“No problem. Us Hermits help each other out, you know?”
———————————
The move to the next world was weird and nothing Beryx was used to. It was turbulent, with overwhelming colours flashing in front of his eyes. He’d held onto Ethan the whole time until they were out on the other side and even then he didn’t let go. The albino took pity on him and help him sit down somewhere away from the others. That’s when one of the other hermits approached the two.
“Hey there! I’m Brody! Are you ok there, ya seem pretty out of it!” The voice rang out, making Beryx wince slightly. He looked up at whoever had spoken. Before him stood a rather short man with a red bandana, a deeply tanned and calloused hand outstretched for Beryx to shake. Beryx stared at the hand for a minute before taking it.
“I’m uh, Bruno...” he replied as they shook hands, scrambled thoughts becoming numb as walls started rising. His usual charming smile drifted onto his face, a facade of normality brought up to hide his inner unbalance and discomfort. He forced himself to his feet, brushing off Ethan’s help with a grin. He was fine. He had to be if he was to continue his mission. While the last world had been unfruitful in his search, surely this one would be better? Right?
Perhaps he could make an alliance of some sort with some of the Hermits... Well, he might as well, seeing as he was currently with two of them in a rather close moment. Ignoring the uncomfortable prickles on his skin from his slight nervousness, he spoke up.
“How would you guys like to start an party?”
——————————
Months later, Beryx and the other two in the “Roguish Outcasts” group were living in a jungle away from the other Hermits. While Ethan and Brody spouted drivel about ‘real survival’, Beryx was conducting research. Background checks were run on the various members of the Hermitopia group, only to come back inconclusive. Either it was memory loss or people simply not wanting to talk of their past experiences, no new information came forth.
It frustrated him to no end. This should’ve been an easy task, and yet he was getting set back more and more by the various mysteries surrounding the Hermits. On top of that, he couldn’t ask questions too often lest the others become suspicious of him.
At the rate his search was going, it was going to take forever...
He, for lack of better word, grouched, thoughts rolling in his head as he stared into the lake in front of him. He was seated on the edge of the small beach adjoining the body of water, near the group’s campsite. It was night time, stars twinkling above him like gems. He looked over at their reflections in the water before shuddering and averting his gaze.
He barely remembered when he used to look at the stars with reverence, as beautiful things to be admired.
They didn’t look so beautiful anymore.
Beryx closed his eyes, blocking the celestial bodies from his view.
Behind him, he heard the sounds of Ethan and Brody chatting and laughing and the crackle of fire. He had to admit, he’s gotten rather close to the two in the trio’s self-imposed isolation. Brody had quickly shown a temper and a passion unmatched by the other Hermits, while Ethan was always relaxed and calm, the chill anchor of the group.
Beryx smiled, remembering making tools with Brody and fishing with Ethan. So lost in his reminiscence, he didn’t hear the hiss of a monster behind him until it was too late. He turned around, hands going up to create a useless shield only for his forced-upon magic to lash out in his panic. The purple light hit the plant-like creature right as it tried to self-destruct, the force of the explosion pushing the monster and the disguised Watcher apart.
Dazed, Beryx laid on the sand for a few moments before hearing a worried exclamation. Ethan suddenly popped in Beryx’s vision and helped him sit up. Beryx blinked at the ground, regaining his bearings slowly but surely as the ringing in his ears receded after a few minutes.
“You alright there Bruno?” Ethan asked, helping the minimally injured Hermit to his feet. Beryx nodded after letting out a shaky breath.
Ethan seemed to let out a quiet sigh of relief before looking inside the pockets of his vest for something. Finally, he seemed to find what he was searching for and gave it to Beryx. It was a health potion. Beryx gladly downed the magic-infused drink, shivering slightly as the potion started knitting together the small cuts he’d gotten from getting launched through the sand.
“Hey, uh, guys?” Brody’ uncertain voice called out, gaining Ethan and Beryx’s attention. Once he’d gotten both Hermits to look his way, he gestured to a still form on the ground.
“I think it’s still alive.”
——————————
During the next few weeks the trio took care of the injured “Creeper” as it had been dubbed for its silent ambush of Beryx and its biology reminiscent of plants. While Brody and Beryx worked on rearranging the plants making up said creature, Ethan worked on cybernetics for it. Some parts of the green monster had been too damaged to grow into the right shapes and thus an artificial arm and eye were to be put in to fix the issue. The creeper became more and more humanoid as the less engineering-savvy members of the Rogueish Outcasts watered the plants in certain directions. Once they finished changing the creeper’s form, Ethan was able to add the various prosthetics.
The only thing left to do was to wait until the creature woke up. Beryx anxiously glanced at the plant creature, seeing the lack of a rise or fall of its green chest. Right, plants eat sunlight. It wouldn’t need to breathe.
The Watcher looked away from the bedridden patient, his watch over the creature mostly guilt-driven. While at first he hadn’t cared that the creeper was hurt, Ethan and Brody had been so very adamant about helping the fallen monster. In time, as Beryx watched the others care for the creeper, he started to feel a sense of regret. The remorse started moving him to the point where he could feel a prickle of guilt every time he helped the others care for the creature.
He wasn’t used to the feeling.
It hurt more than he thought it would.
It was his fault that they had to help it after all. He curled up on his seat, arms around his knees as he ducked his head onto them. Small tears fell from his eyes, dripping down onto his pants. He kept himself quiet, aware of Ethan and Brody going about their usual chores. He’d voluntarily taken the post of guarding the creeper.
He startled when he heard a confused hiss coming from the bed. He snapped his head up, looking to the previously unconscious creeper. It was staring at him. Beryx quickly wiped his eyes, getting up from his chair and calling out to Ethan and Brody. The creeper tilted its head before seeming to realize something was off. It looked down at its new hands and hissed again before flailing in panic. The cybernetic arm imbedded itself into a wall.
Domesticating a monster might be harder than the Outcasts first thought. ——————————
They’d named the creeper Doc after seeing the various complicated contraptions he’d built after being taught engineering tricks by Ethan. Doc kept surprising them over and over until being given the moniker of mad scientist by Brody. The name stuck.
Beryx watched as Doc built another complicated machine, letting out an impressed whistle. In his time watching worlds, he hadn’t really seen many machines like the one Doc was building. They’d found a creeper genius.
“Slow down there Doc! You’ll burn yourself out!” Beryx called out to him, the creeper perking up at his voice. Doc’s only reply was a cheeky grin as he continued working on his contraption despite Beryx’s warning. Beryx groaned at Doc’s stubbornness, letting out a little chuckle at this new rebellious streak the monster had gotten. The creeper was steadfast and rarely ever budged in his opinions. Beryx headed back towards the barracks of the Outcast’s camp. He crossed Brody, pausing for a second when he noticed something strange.
“Got a new accessory there?” He asked, gesturing to the vine around the shorter man’s wrist. Brody blinked, looking down to his hand and his blank expression turned puzzled.
“Oh, uh, didn’t notice it got there” he admitted. His hand dropped without Brody taking the vine off his limb. Beryx frowned, looking at the vine again. There was something strange about it, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was. He shrugged to himself, figuring it was nothing and watching as Brody walked away.
Beryx turned, not noticing the vine wrapped around his own ankle.
————————-
It wasn’t until it was too late that Beryx noticed that the vines growing on Brody and Ethan were a permanent fixture. Doc was the only one who hadn’t been affected by the strange plant growth.. Beryx’s mind had grown strangely numb these past few weeks as he worked on different chores for the Outcasts.
He only realized this when he’d almost let his disguise fall in front of the others.
The near revelation of his true form snapped him wide awake. With a keen eye, he surveilled the behaviour of the human members of their group. They were sluggish, with their speech slurred and a distant look in their eyes. Beryx tried to talk to them only for him to be ignored by the ones he considered.. friends.
Yeah, Ethan and Brody were his friends. He’d admitted it. He didn’t think about it for very long though, afraid of their reactions when he completed his mission...
After all, he’d be taking away one of their fellow Hermits in the end...
Anyways, whenever he tried to take the vines off of them, he was hastily and harshly pushed away. Beryx decided to stay away after a few such incidents, the angered expressions directed at him being too much for him to bare for too long. He didn’t like how painful friendship ended being.
Beryx looked to the vines growing on his own arm, glaring at them. Every time he’d tried to rip the plant life off of him, he’d keeled over in pain. The last attempt had almost made him pass out. He wasn’t exactly excited to try that again.
Even by using his magic the vines didn’t wilt or tear away. Over several nights and under the cover of darkness he’d stolen away from the barracks where the others were all asleep. He’d walked out into the forest to a clearing only he knew about and sat on an old stone. There, he would try to use his magic to get rid of the vines. Unfortunately, the magic simply glanced off the jungle-native plant life, unable to make the offending greenery disappear. Beryx had to find some way to get these vines to leave, a feeling of dread pressing him to urgency. They were affecting the other Outcasts more and more each day. He had to stop this plight, whatever it took.
Was it any wonder he failed?
—————————
Before the Watcher was a familiar dark stone island, framed by the vast darkness of the cosmos. Frozen, he watched as his dazed friends stepped forward, swaying in the non-existent wind. The vines had overtaken everything human within them and now Beryx knew why. He could only, ironically, watch as they approached the puppeteer.
Perched on the island’s edge was a dark winged figure, a visor over their face clearly marked with the Watching Eye. Lines and dots reminiscent of a familiar portal stood out on the stark bleached surface of the mask, boring into Beryx’s being. Another Watcher.
Ethan and Brody walked closer and closer to the figure, snapping Beryx out of his daze. His friends weren’t in their right minds. Quickly, he ran up to them and took them by the arms, pulling them away from the threatening figure. The other Watcher frowned. Spreading out dark purple wings, they glided down to stand in front of the small group as a staff materialized in their hands.
Tipped with sharpened obsidian, the polearm was brought to Beryx’s neck. The blade dug into the soft flesh, drawing blood. Thick purple stained Beryx’s greying skin.
“Another one of us, hm? What are you doing, keeping me from the targets I seek?” The Watcher asked, tilting their head. Beryx gulped, the blade digging in a little more with the slight shift of flesh.
“I’m on a mission to their world. What do you think you’re doing?” He retorted, keeping a firm grip on the mindless humans.
The other Watcher tsked, bringing the spear’s tip away from Beryx’s neck.
“I’ve been assigned to bring these runaways back to their world. They’ve been... rather missed, I suppose” a sharp grin formed on the inhuman entity’s face. Beryx narrowed his eyes, taking a step back and bringing the two Outcasts with him. He didn’t trust this. Not one bit.
“And which world is that?” Beryx cautiously asked, tensing as the otherworldly being took a step forwards. He took another step back, attempting to gain distance from the other Watcher.
“Some destroyed world. I’m here to clean up a few loose ends is all.”
Beryx froze, knuckles going white as the grip on his friends increased tenfold. Emotions clashed inside of him, bubbling to the surface as he snarled at the Watcher. His eyes started tp glow as wisps of magic escaped him, his form changing as his disguise melted away.
“You’re not taking them.” The newly shifted Beryx growled, reverberations in his voice when before there were none. The other Watcher harrumphed, bringing their spear up.
“We’ll see about that.”
——————————
He didn’t know how long he’d been fighting the other Watcher. It could’ve been hours. Maybe it had been eons. Either way, time passed. Few moments stood out in Beryx’s battle- hardened mind. A particularly nasty cut. Landing a good hit. Losing Brody after he was pushed off the island... Yet Beryx persevered. If not for himself then for the dazed albino human sitting in the middle of the semi-destroyed island. He had to save at least one of them.
He didn’t realize he’d landed a killing blow until the other Watcher was laid crumpled on the floor before him. The only sound that met his ears was his ragged breathing as his survival mindset started slipping away. Tense, he looked around for Ethan. The human was lying unconscious near what was once a great pillar. Beryx flapped his large wings, propelling himself towards his sleeping friend. With shaky hands, he checked Ethan’s pulse. For a few seconds, dread descended upon Beryx as he felt nothing until, weakly, the beat of life pushed back upon the Watcher’s fingers. He let out a rough sigh of relief, crumbling next to the albino. He laid there for a few minutes, simply regaining his breath.
After what felt like an eternity, Beryx got back up. He examined the broken island, the craters of magic and impact the signs of a battle fought between otherworldly beings.
He turned back to Ethan. Crouching for a second, he picked up his unconscious friend in a gentle bridal carry. With a beat of his star-speckled wings he was airborn.
Beryx flew through the cosmos, the concept of time long forgotten. Ethan barely stirred in his arms. The Watcher looked around for any sign of a main island, any clue towards an exit portal. It seemed like an eternity when he finally caught a trail. A tiny portal floated above a small section of an archipelago, an innocuous blip against the background of the void. Beating his wings once more, Beryx became a speeding bullet towards the portal. He reached out a hand and-
The pair landed on the other side, tumbling onto stiff stone. Beryx let out a gasp, coughing as he curled around his battered chest. Purple blood dripped onto the dark island as Beryx struggled to regain his breath. Finally, he sat up.
It was then that he noticed Ethan missing from his arms. Frantically, he looked for his only friend when his eyes landed on Ethan and panic filled him. He stared at the human perched on the precarious ledge he’d fallen onto. The Watcher shakily stood, approaching his friend in a stumbling sprint to get him away from the dangerous height.
Maybe he was overreacting, but Beryx couldn’t leave Ethan like that for longer than he needed to. What if he fell? Like Brody...
He picked Ethan up once more and sighed in relief as he got his friend further away from the yawning abyss that was the fall he would have surely taken. He walked towards the middle of the main island, the exit portal shining against the ever-present darkness of the Threshold.
Before stepping into the portal however, he paused.
Willing his less than human features away, Beryx’s purple eyes returned to their usual dark blue. His great dark wings disappeared into wisps of smoke, like stars dying out as space itself collapsed. The grey tint of his skin receded into his pores, the colourless shade being replaced by a tan more customary to a human.
Beryx looked normal again. He huffed to himself. Had he ever been normal in the first place?
The disguised Watcher looked down at the portal resting in the fountain’s basin. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and hopped in.
——————————-
Apparently, it had been more than a year since a third of the Rogueish Outcasts had disappeared. For Brody, it had been a shorter disappearance, as it seemed like he’d fallen from the sky several times in the newest Hermitopia world before landing in the pool of another Hermit. While he’d never met Kasper, Beryx was more than grateful to him for helping the Outcast who he’d thought had been lost forever. It was a relief to see him well, although with a few oddities...
Neither Brody nor Ethan remembered their time in the Threshold. This made Beryx relieved, yet guilty. It was better this way, that the two didn’t remember his vicious fight with the other Watcher, and yet they’d still gotten their memories taken. How much was gone? How many of the good times with his friends had been snatched away by the vine-based Watcher? Maybe that’s why they didn’t rejoin into a party again, even with Doc’s requests. It was better this way. Or so Beryx hoped. He’d also feigned not remembering what happened, corroborating his stories with the other Outcasts’. It pained him to see the creeper so saddened by this ‘amnesia’, but it had to be done.
Now that this event was over, he had a mission to accomplish.
However... motivation to finish that mission was at an all time low. The fight with the other Watcher had drained him and he didn’t particularly want to fight another winged and otherworldly being... So instead he indulged himself. He built himself a mansion and surrounded himself in the luxury that he’d craved before becoming a Watcher. He’d made everything comfortable, safe, relaxing...
Then he’d interacted with a certain Hermit. The one going by the name of Joe. Sure, he’d seen him around and had even been his neighbour in the first Hermitopia world he’d been a part of, but this was different. He’d been close to him, had actually talked to him and had looked into those purple eyes... and now Beryx had a hunch. He distracted himself with the fun challenges and silly games to forget the impending realization. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to...
He didn’t want to do this. He needed- He wanted- He wanted a lot of things. More importantly, he needed a break. He didn’t tell the others why he’d moved away to a remote island. His reasons for building a neon-lit city from the ground up. After all, it wouldn’t do for them to know what he was here to do. He laughed bitterly to himself from the roof of one of his buildings, legs hanging over the edge as he watched night fall over the island. It was better if he stayed away.
He knew who the escapee was.
Beryx wasn’t going to give the purple-eyed hermit over to the watchers. In fact, he’d rather join the runaway then stop him.