Interrupted
There are three species on this planet. The first two are known quantities: humans and Remnants. The problem is that the third species has no obligation to identify itself. Gods do not heed to us mortals. The only thing we can do is kneel. When you meet them, you will know to kneel.
Hell, even mental health wards in Nye Verden looked better than this concrete block with windows. And very few cities actually supplied the funds for mental health these days.
There aren’t any lights on inside when I approach slowly, shadows swirling around my feet and legs. If my reputation isn’t enough to dissuade a street urchin from pulling a knife on me, I hope my eerie appearance is.
I find the main entrance to the apartment and pull on the metal door. It swings open on hinges that clearly haven’t ever been maintained beyond their original construction.
The inside is just as desolate. The mailboxes in the foyer look abandoned and there’s no sign of anyone behind the front desk.
Darkness cascades out from where I stand and coats a fifteen-foot region around me.
Against my will, the tendrils of manifested ink have become like a sixth sense over time.
Even when they’re trapped within me, they sense things.
Someone hiding in a closet might be letting out short, shallow breaths that will be missed by even the strongest Remnant.
The shadows are never misled. They’re never fooled.
Ink rolls down each side of the hall like a tsunami. The entire lower floor on this side of the block becomes a sea of dark, undulating flesh.
Faces erupt from the darkness. Their cries somewhat dulled by the sheer amount of manifested ink. Instead of antagonistic, though, they seem afraid.
They’re not yelling at me. They feel worried for my safety.
“Don’t,” the whispers seem to get louder as the echoes of my power roll through the halls.
The tendrils weave their way up the banister behind me, moving to the floor above. I can feel the slight drain on my energy as they spread through the large building.
On the second floor, I feel a tugging towards one of the rooms near the corner.
And then my power meets a void. A blank space in reality that shouldn’t be there. A wall of air-tight, hardened nothingness. Something not even light or darkness can penetrate.
Ghostly screams of panic heighten as I move up the stairs, taking them like one might walk to their execution.
The second floor is just as empty and dark. Except I see where my shadows meet resistance.
And, God, I see them.
Mara’s death hadn’t been blocked like Malachi’s. No, her death had been at the hands of someone incredibly dangerous and efficient.
Red haze coats the hall as we stare at one another. The red refracts off the smoky darkness giving the entire scene a really cool look that I wish I could admire right now.
They wear a robe and hood that look no different from Mara’s final moments. Their head tilts a little as if examining me from afar.
Here I am looking like the embodiment of death and there they are with blood red mist dancing around them. If someone were to walk upon this little gathering, they’d be scared shitless.
The thought is almost enough to make me laugh, which probably just speaks to my near hysteria.
Their body language screams “I’m in charge here,” which is insanely frustrating because I’m starting to wonder if I should listen to the spirits.
Instead, I start forward. The pooled darkness at my feet shifts with every step.
“Stop,” their voice sounds hoarse and old. Like someone who’s seen a hundred generations. Someone far more powerful than me.
Finally heeding the warnings, I freeze, one foot raised to step into the delineated section of absence.
They gesture to their left and I follow the steadied finger to the door that I just now can discern through the shadows.
I let out a sharp breath at the scene within the tiny studio apartment. It’s no different from Mara’s death except that rather than it being the petite eco-terrorist, it’s the well-built serial killer.
“I need to speak to him before you do whatever it is you did to Mara,” I say, my voice distorted by the mask.
“You do not intend to save him?” their voice sounds nothing like the one from my nightmares. It sounds far more like an ancient being rending death upon the unworthy.
A god.
I’m facing down a god.
Great.
“I—” My brow creases. I glance back into the room and actually look at the man in question. The shadows on the other side of the barrier are his. Yet, he’s clearly being impeded. His shadows are being suppressed.
Or siphoned.
“The others are not kind to Remnants,” the god says. “Yet that does not mean Revenant deserves mercy for his sins.”
“That’s what the justice system is for,” I say, tasting the hypocrisy on my tongue.
The god apparently caught it too, because they let out what must be a laugh.
“The same justice system that tried to have you executed this very morning?”
My world narrows in an instant. It feels like the air has been removed from my lungs. Like I’ve been struck by a fucking building.
Again.
“Arya,” the god says, stepping close enough that their power warps the air around us. “Let me work and I shall let you read his corpse. Without me, you’ll get nothing—just like Blackwood.”
I leap without thinking, closing the gap between us. The moment I meet the void barrier, everything turns on its head. My body and mind feel disconnected. Like something is physically splitting me from my source of power. From something that should be integral to my being.
Worse than the anti-Remnant tech. Worse than any bullet from a manifested weapon.
I fall to the ground, and my face collides roughly with the tiled floor. In the same breath, the god is beside me. Their hands gently pull at my mask, detaching it in a way that feels rehearsed.
I’m helpless as cool air hits my face. I try to search the hooded face, but whatever tech they use completely conceals everything within the void-like hood.
Or maybe it’s just their powers.
This is a god, after all.
Eyes, red and glowing, appear in the nothingness. They seem human-ish. Like whoever this person is, they’re not disfigured. They’re not mutated beyond recognition.
“Do not follow me,” their voice has an eerie timbre. Like it’s not quite right. Not quite human like their eyes would suggest.
As if I can even try to follow. I can’t even move my fucking legs. My powers are going haywire and even the goddamned ghosts are laughing at me.
I can see them in the corners. They’re mocking me from outside the barrier, standing there like witnesses to a street fight.
“Just fucking kill me,” I grit out, struggling fruitlessly. “You’re going to have to. I’m not going to just let you kill him.”
The figure tilts their head, their eyes glowing brighter as I watch.
“You cannot stop me,” they say, finality in their tone. “Yet, you’d be willing to die so needlessly?”
This time, I can’t help the derisive snort I let out.
“You have no idea,” I spit out the final words, trying to pull myself free of whatever it is that binds me.
“Would you explain it to me?”
The softness in their discordant voice stops me in my struggle. I find their red eyes again.
“Fuck,” I grunt out. “You’ve got all the time in the world, right. Just the three of us. You’ve got two of the most feared Remnants in the world locked down like it’s nothing.”
There’s a slight scream from within the room. Like Revenant agrees with the absurdity of this situation.
“Christ,” I scoff. “You could probably go toe-to-toe with Bloody Mary or Darkrend at this rate. I fucking killed Titan like he was a common street thug.”
“And Omen?” They don’t sound even remotely annoyed by my outburst. Or by the fact that I’m clearly still interrupting their murder in progress.
“I was protecting someone,” I clench my teeth to stop the rush of emotions that I neither want nor need. “I won’t lose next time.”
Next time.
They say nothing for a moment. I can’t tell if they’re studying me or simply staring off into the distance.
“I do not know that Darkrend is within my reach, yet,” they say, apparently satisfied with my answer. “But I would one day like to wring his corpse for the misdeeds he has committed against me and my people.”
I stare up into the unblinking red.
Without another word, they stand and walk out of sight. I can’t move my head to see where, but the muffled screaming from the room beside me somewhat answers the question.
“Rafael,” the figure’s voice comes out like it had with Mara. Though this time, they sound angry. They sound downright furious. “I had hoped you might choose a better life for yourself. Consider this your termination.”
There’s a flash of bright red only visible by virtue of its reflection off the walls and shadows around me. The specters seem mesmerized, too, as they stop jeering and stare fixedly past me.
At once, I have full control of my body. I roll to my knees and grab the mask that they left behind. In less than a second I find myself face to face with them again. My mask's UI flits back into view, reading the being as "Unknown."
Revenant’s corpse is hopelessly and disturbingly emaciated where it lies on the bed.
“Consider—” they begin, but I don’t let them finish.
I launch the entirety of my shadows at them. Like an avalanche of inky blackness, the room shudders with the manifested weapons. The sound of shattering glass and splintering wood fills the air. What sounds like sliced metal groans and shrieks as cool air breezes into the room.
Finally, I retract the onslaught, feeling the sudden fatigue at the incredible power.
And they stand there.
Unaffected.
A barrier of thin red surrounds them as they stare back at me. After a moment, the barrier disappears and they take another step forward.
They’re taller than me. At least a few inches taller.
“Tell me why you are so willing to rush into death.”
With a scream, I launch myself at them. There’s nothing my powers can do. Nothing that can stop this person. This being.
A damned god.
But they simply catch me mid-leap, fingers hooked loosely around my neck. The weight of my body hangs below me as they lift me into the air. My feet dangle off the floor, and I start to feel the pressure around my neck. Tight yet not yet squeezing.
“Arya,” they whisper my name like it’s sacred somehow. “Tell me why you want to die so badly.”
“The fuck does it matter to you?” I hiss, feeling tears prick at my eyes.
Of course I’m fucking crying in this moment.
Without a word, a tendril of red curls around my head and presses at the release latch on the mask. The tendril then snares the beak of the mask and lifts it off my head. My loose braid uncurls as it falls.
“Just fucking kill me. Please,” I beg.
Begging for death. To finally stop hearing the way the undead have crowded around. Even now I can see them pushing in. All of them angry.
Angry at me. At the world. At whatever took them too soon. Even Revenant has appeared near his corpse. My eyes find him as he seems to dwell on his body.
The god follows my line of sight and tilts their head as they examine the corner of the room.
“What are you seeing?” they ask, turning back to me.
Tears fall freely now as I dangle loosely from their grip. The way their fingers press against the back of my head is almost soothing.
“Everyone,” I say, my voice shaky and lacking all the previous heat. “Everyone who’s ever died. Everyone who’s ever been murdered.”
“What do they say to you?” They don’t seem confused or surprised by my admission. Just curious.
“All sorts of stuff,” I scoff. “The other night they really wanted me to go through with slicing my own throat. I would have, too, if—”
“If?” they prompt.
“If I’d found my fucking knives,” I gasp, and they finally lower me to the floor. My knees shaking with waves of realization.
“Then I would have lost you before you could know the truth,” her voice comes smoother now. Regal, yet warm and inviting.
I work my jaw wordlessly as she drops her hood.
Not a god.
A goddess.
“I did not murder Malachi Blackwood,” Bloody Mary says, her stunning red eyes lit with a fire that I haven’t seen before tonight. “But I did eliminate Fyre and Revenant—they knew the price for their sins.”