• Chapter 7: Fading Memories

    “How could this happen to you?” muttered Dunkel to himself. He was sprinkled with the sooty snow that had fallen in the homeless village. Most of the people who lived there escaped, along with the Crow King.
    “You’ve brought destruction to us, Chronos,” said Crow before he departed.
    “I’ve brought destruction to all of us,” muttered Dunkel, shaking his head. “I should have suspected that Ignus Pyre was going to betray us.”
    Crow put his hand on his shoulder. “No. You wouldn’t have. He was disguising himself perfectly. What are you going to do now? How are you going to explain this to the High Reaper Senate?”
    “I’ll find a way,” said Dunkel solemnly.
    But Crow seemed uninsured. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
    “No. I can do this on my own.”
    Crow nodded and turned around. “We are going to leave now. Good luck, Brother.”
    “May the Lord be with you, Crow King.”
    “Let us hope that another civil war does not breakout amongst our ranks,” breathed Crow King as he started to walk down to his fellow villagers.
    “Let us hope…” sighed Dunkel. Now he was in his suite, looking over a pile of his personal objects on a table. The truth is, I am not going to explain myself. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an orb that pulsated with his every movement. It glowed with different colors in the spectrum as he set it over his things. Do I really want to leave? he doubted. I failed, brought the end to three Dieu de la Mort, and lost an artifact that could probably destroy the world. I thought it was harmless. I thought the Usurpers wouldn’t look for it. I lied to Viola just to give her confidence, and I lost her. My only sister. The one I was supposed to take care of. And Nocturn. I pretty much betrayed him. I’m no different from Ignus or Aeulus.
    He breathed and nodded, poking the orb. Ripples moved through it like jelly and it glowed white. In a silent flash, his things were sucked into it. It was a magic satchel, capable of carrying an unlimited amount of items, but with a maximum amount of size.
    Dunkel looked over to his robe, slung over his couch. Formerly designed with Roman numerals around its openings, it now had black horizontal stripes painted on it. It meant that he is an exile until he answered to the High Reaper Senate. The problem is, he’s not going to answer to him.
    The High Reaper Senate has a more difficult form of discipline. As a Reaper, failure was very rare. Usually, when a Reaper fails, it would be taken as a very serious issue. The failed Reaper would have to answer to its fellow Reapers for interrogation. The robe, which would represent the Reaper’s position, is also a way to tell whether a Reaper had failed or not. It is made out of a magical material that changes depending on the wearer’s status. For example, if Dunkel were not an exile, the Roman numerals would have stayed. But, once the other Reapers find out about his failure, they would magically alter the design.
    Apparently, they had figured it out. They usually give the failing Reaper an hour to reach them. About fifty-five minutes had past. Time to go. Dunkel left his suite and faced the door. Suite 410, it read. He was on the second floor. It should have read Suite 210. He smiled, in spite of himself. His illusionary powers are stronger than he though they were. He had faked the number to trick any enemies. And, since he could see things happening five minutes before they happen, he would know if somebody were to attack anyone around him. He lowered the illusion, restoring the suite’s true number.
    But I hadn’t predicted what happened in the sewer, thought Dunkel as he walked down to the lobby of the building. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a large wad of cash. “This should cover all of the expenses.”
    “What’s wrong, kid?” questioned the portly man behind the counter. “Leavin’ already?”
    “Yes. I don’t think I belong here anymore.” Plus, you’d be in danger if I say. No doubt the Reapers were already getting restless, readying one of the more bloodthirsty members to capture him. They wouldn’t mind killing a few humans just to find him.
    “Are you sure, kid?” pressed the portly man.
    “I am sure…Frank, is it? Frank, I’ll remember you for your generosity for letting me stay in this building.”
    “You’re welcome? But remember, I’ll always be ‘ere if you need me, y’got that?”
    Dunkel nodded to Frank and left the building, breathing in the fresh cool air outside. And then it wavered. He felt a sudden gust of wind. They’re here…
    He turned right and paced to the Square, where he knew there was a subway complex. Suddenly, the world turned black and white in his eyes for a split second. And with full power.
    Reapers are immensely powerful. Years of training and augments, plus some inherited traits, affect a Paralleliun, just like any human. But Reapers are the ones who go beyond that power. They appeared due to a strange mutation about a millennium ago. But, like any mutant, they were hunted by the ‘regulars’. After years of ironic hiding, they became heroes during a civil war that broke out. The ‘regulars’ decided to live peacefully under the care of the mutants, which were soon named Reapers.
    But, at the dawn of the 20th century, one of the Reapers decided that the Paralleliux was not being led properly, and so betrayed them along with hundreds of followers. After his followers swelled to the thousands, the traitor waged war on the Reapers, but lost. The traitor was killed, along with hundreds of his followers.
    To ensure that there would be no other uprisings, the Reapers followed a strict code of conduct. The magical robes, weapons, and other equipment all that they used were made to send unique distress signals whenever the user was changing his or her status.
    That was the problem, though. Dunkel needed to stop that signal from sending before the Reapers successfully track him down. He can easily fight off one of them. But whether or not he can defeat one was not the problem. The problem about the Reapers was that they are so vastly powerful. Their energy can cut power lines like paper, crush buildings as if they were just cardboard boxes, and completely alter the course of reality if it were at full power.
    The world turned black and white for a few seconds longer. Whoever was chasing him must be getting closer. Humans won’t notice the change of reality until it becomes so apparent. For example, they won’t notice the spectrum had been blocked and absorbed for about a week. They were just not in tune with the frequencies.
    Dunkel looked up to the sky to see it seem to fade into static, like in a broken TV. It turned back to normal immediately. Whoever it was had gotten really close now.
    Dunkel found himself walking down the subway stairs. Now it doesn’t seem like a good idea to take a train. To his shock and displeasure, he found the subway had been turned completely black and white. All forms of information had turned into static. Magazines were just blank sheets of paper. Billboards seemed to be turned into snowy landscapes. Signs stared back blankly, static replacing the valuable information they shared. And the humans swarming around were walking as if nothing is happening.
    He strode forward, trying to pretend to not notice the tell-tale signs of the incoming Reaper. A shadow moved at the corner of his left eye. They flickered to the left.
    Nothing. Now he felt anxious. He started to take stride to the MetroCard machine. The screen was filled with silent snow. Every bit of non-electric info was blank. Perfect. He touched the screen, hoping it was a touch screen.
    “Shss shss,” replied the machine.
    “Damn it,” spat Dunkel under his breath. He looked to the turnstiles. Con artists were trying to sell passersby MetroCards. Without thinking, he strode towards the cons.
    But, as he had immediately figured out, the humans were not in tune with the black and white world he was in now. He was deaf to their words.
    Another shadowy movement at the corner of his eye. This time to the right, he looked. Nothing again. This is getting too risky, decided Dunkel. Now he went to the turnstiles, looked to his left and to his right, and, without minding the cameras which were probably surveying him, crawled under the metal bar that blocked his way.
    Brushing his exile cloak, he started to stride down the hall. But what’s the use? He couldn’t tell where he was going. Everything was blank or snowy. Shadowy movements off the corners of his eyes became more and more frequent as he got deeper and deeper into the train station. And then it hit him…
    I’m getting closer to the Reaper! There was no way that they could have pinpointed his exact location so quickly. They must have predicted where he might be. Clever, but that was his idea. The shadowy movements were warning signs. His body was telling him where the Reaper was. And now the shadow was to the right. He moved slightly to the left. The shadow diminished slightly. Perfect. He gazed to his right to see a janitor’s door. “Hiding in there, eh?”
    He was tempted to attack the Reaper. Almost. He just couldn’t risk his life. Dunkel decided to move to the nearest terminal. The shadow in his eye diminished. A little color came back to the world. But then it disappeared as soon as the shadow returned. It pretty much took up his entire eyesight, pointing to the left. He turned his gaze to the left to see the reaper, hooded in a white Reaper’s cloak, gazing back with glowing eyes.
    And now Dunkel had broken into a run. The shadow, since he finally saw the Reaper, had disappeared, giving him full vision. “I found Dunkel Chronos Easton and now I am in pursuit,” he heard their Reaper report. His voice sounded young and very similar. Just a bit older than Dunkel, though. “Exile Reaper Chronos! Stop fleeing at once or be deemed a traitor to the Reapers!”
    An empty warning. He was already a traitor for not reporting within the hour. If he stopped, the Reapers would just throw him into prison. And he was not going to let Nocturn, Ghent, or Viola’s die in vain. He jumped right at the top of the decreasing incline that led down to the train tunnels, finding himself skiing on his feet, sending white sparks behind him. He nearly slammed into five people. He stopped once he reached equal ground and spun around, ran down a set of steps to his left, while kicking some Gospel albums that a homeless old man was trying to sell.
    He looked back to see if the man was alright, but forgot to run. The feeling of a hard metal rail hit his lower area as he flipped over it, falling twenty feet to the ground. Civilians rushed by to aid him, but he was unscathed. Not to mention, he couldn’t understand a word that came out of their silent mouths. He just brushed off some helping hands, assuring, “I’m alright,” and strode into a subway train. The Reaper had followed him, flipping over the rail the right way, and ran to the train. But he was too late. The train doors had closed and it had already started moving.
    That was lucky, breathed Dunkel as he slumped into his seat. He looked up. The massages that lined the edges of the ceiling were nothing but black and white blocks. The digital ones had static covering their pictures. Once the train had started moving faster the color had come back into the world. The massages got their pictures back. The humans and sounds were no longer mute. Things had gotten back to normal for him.
    He breathed a heavy sigh of relief. At least for now he had escaped the Reapers’ grasps. And as it had ended up, he was going exactly where he wanted to go: Jackson Heights. He had taken the express E train to 53rd and 63rd streets. The Reapers probably knew this as well. If the train goes without delay, he should make it within five minutes; subway systems have sped up considerably over the past ten years.
    But of course, it was not going to be that easy after the train stopped…

    Later…
    Viola had been curled up in her cell for hours now, sobbing. Ignus had taken her away from the burning village, leaving Nocturn to burn. Ghent was probably dead as well; that hit he had taken to the back had looked serious enough to leave someone paralyzed.
    She knotted her fingers into a fist until her nails dug into her flesh. A million questions that she did not want to be answered filled her head. Why had Aeulus done this? What are the Dieu de la Mort doing now? What are they going to do to me?
    The answer to the last questioned had already been answered to her earlier. ‘A fitting queen,’ murmured Ignus as he picked her up. I am not going to be his queen! She grimaced. “I wanted to be Nocturn’s ‘queen’.” She chuckled almost maniacally to herself. Look at me! I am so pathetic! I’ve been thinking about marriage. Marrying the man who I loved, but doesn’t love me back. At least not anymore. She touched her lip. At least that last kiss is still in my memory. And that’s all that matters.
    But it wouldn’t have been bad if he were still around. They could have shared many more moments like the one yesterday. But how will that happen now? He died. She sobbed again.
    Then anger took over. “This is all Dunkel’s fault!” she howled to herself. “He erased Nocturn’s memory, made him ill. He was already weakened and then the flames weaken him even further. Dunkel killed him. Dunkel…”
    She lied down on the concrete floor. The cell was nothing but gray concrete. There was a private toilet at one corner, a small bed at the other, and a sink at the back wall. But the cell seemed fresh, as if the Usurpers knew she would have been here by now. “What would Dunkel be up to now?” she murmured. “Is he looking for me? Or does he think I’m dead?”
    Her eyes felt heavy. She had been worn by a lot of crying and screaming and kicking. She wanted to sleep, even if it were to be a nightmarish, restless sleep. Anything could happen in this cell. Satyrs, the slimiest, most disgusting creatures of the Paralleliux, had come to this prison to patrol. But patrol what? Are there other prisoners here? She hadn’t seen any as they took her to the cell.
    She heard the heavy cell doors open loudly. Footsteps came closer and closer to her, but she did not bother to look up. She didn’t care anymore. If she was going to die, so be it. At least she would be with Nocturn again, if his atheist status didn’t get in the way of judgment.
    “Ah, the beautiful and dynamic Viola Easton in our cells,” remarked a male voice. “I thought that day would never come.”
    She knew that voice anywhere. It had a venomous, sarcastic tone that would burn through any mental defense. Yet it had a tone of confidence that can make anybody feel better if they had a bad day. Viola turned around to look up. “Exitius,” she hissed. “You are my brother? How dare you use our name as if I were a stranger?”
    Her ‘insane’ brother. The eldest of the Easton siblings, number one out of five. Killer of two of them. There were a lot of other things to call him. “You have dishonored me, remember? I am no longer part of the family.” Exitius took slow, deliberate, tentative steps towards Viola. He had black pants and a white blazer over a black shirt. He even had a dark purple tie to make himself look classy. He had black hair which covered most of his face, nearly covering both of his eyes and white irises over black sclera. White irises were an extremely rare trait in any family. He was also a prodigy, passing classes with only perfect scores. Nothing lower than a hundred scarred his grades, and he rarely studied.
    “You killed two of our siblings,” snapped Viola, her anger fueling her.
    “Ah but it was necessary if I wanted to become an elite in the Usurpers,” whispered Exitius, his pale hands moving to exaggerate his point.
    “You’ve been bribed and you took it.”
    “It was a boon, Viola. If only our parents understood.” He had a bit of a Transylvanian accent when he said that, making it sound like he was saying, ‘It vas a boon, Viola. If only ouver parents understood.’
    “What do you want?” snapped Viola. “Why are you here?”
    “Just to see how my sister was doing,” he said, making his accent disappear.
    “Well I’m doing horribly, thank you!” spat Viola with venom. They really are siblings.
    “There was no need for the sarcasm, my little sister. I’d let you leave, but I couldn’t for more reasons than one.”
    “Give me one good reason other than the obvious.” Maybe I can get through to him, she thought desperately.
    “Look out the window.”
    Viola eyed him strangely but turned to the window. She hadn’t bothered to look through it at all during her incarceration. She looked out the window, and nearly swallowed a huge gulp of saliva as she gasped. They are flying. The only thing she see below was a vast, green landscape. “We are afloat,” coughed Viola, nearly choking on her saliva. “Where are you taking me?”
    “That will be revealed soon enough, sister. Just sit tight and we’ll be landing in about an hour.”
    “What will happen to me there?”
    Exitius turned around and, grinning, chimed, “You’re just going to have to find that out, little sister.” He left the cell, locking it and went down the hallway.
    Viola sat back down at the corner of the wall, tearing up again. She was already anxious to know where she was going. Anything can happen when you were around the Usurpers. What if they are going to execute me? What if they sell me? What if…
    She felt too tired to keep thinking about what would happen once they arrive to who knows where. Instead she lied down at the corner, curled up, bracing the freezing cold that seeped behind her.
    And then it hit her. Where was this cold coming from? Was it a crack in the wall? She turned around to take a closer look at the corner of the wall. There was a long fault along it, which was probably made when Exitius opened the cell door. She fingered the fault, flaking off some…what was it?
    Soil? She recoiled from the corner, studying it carefully. Brown specks of dirt showed behind the crack in the wall. We’re in a flying planting pot! But who could manipulate nature like this? Viola looked out the window again. She wasn’t looking down to a prairie, but grass that stuck out of the flying prison like wings!
    Somehow, this all gave her hope. At least she is near nature, a sign of life other than the Usurpers. But there’s the question if Usurpers even counted as living. Are they even considered Paralleliuns anymore? Their morals and goals seem to be more suitable for monsters. At least, that’s what they were considered during the Paralleliun Civil War. She was merely ending her prime when it started. Exitius, the eldest, was still part of the family when he joined the Blue side. He and...and…what was his name?
    A tall man, blue hair, and…did he have a claw? I can’t remember, pondered Viola. “Nocturn!” she remembered. Then she felt tears form once again at the back of her eyes. Nocturn…I’m already forgetting you. This was one of the problems with Paralleliuns: it was hard to remember the ones who have died before them. The only way to remember is by having some record of them: letters, photos, anything. That was why they had such long lives. Viola reached for the dirt from the crack and smothered it on her arm. Then, with her index figure, she wrote ‘Nocturn’ on it. “I will not forget you,” she said as she rolled her sleeve over the dirty writing.
    The hour after that had been mostly uneventful. She lied down, nearly falling into a sleepless, nightmarish sleep. She kept murmuring ‘Nocturn’ over and over again, for the sake of remembering. She had stopped sobbing and hiccupping. But that bothered her. How can one be so calm when the person they loved was dead? Maybe it was just not caring anymore. The notion made her grimace. Nocturn would never forget her if she were the one to die. Never. But the notion came back, scaring her. I don’t want to be forgotten. Dunkel and the rest of the Dieu de la Mort probably thought she was dead. They would eventually forget her. She would just end up floating in darkness, forever forgotten. Erased from existence. Trying to escape these frightening thoughts, she closed her eyes and remembered that last kiss that she and Nocturn had shared. It seemed forced somewhat. As if Nocturn had just decided it. But it seemed inevitable. When they’ve met once again that Thursday, he seemed surprised by her coming. Almost happy, as far as happy goes for Nocturn.
    She remembered his heartbeat was faster when she’d hugged him, too. He cared for her as if she were a sister, or even more. Maybe the whole Jane Silinkiar thing was a ruse? A cover up? She nearly smiled, that warm feeling of finally getting your crush to like you back that she felt when she was a child coming back to her. But suddenly, the prison landed.
    “Time to go, sister,” said Exitius, opening the cell door.
    Viola got off, brushing her ruined clothes. “Where are we?”
    “You’ll see.”
    Sighing, she followed her insane brother. Elite of the Usurpers, but still her brother, the same old mysterious joker. That was for sure. He guided her through winding and intersecting corridors. The prison seemed unnaturally large for just a single person. At the end of a particularly large corridor, Viola could see light pouring into the dimly lit opening. They walked towards it, and, once they made it outside, stepped on fresh grass. Three dark figures stood before them, looking out to the dark, night sky above…and the man staring back from the top of the Washington Monument.

    Meanwhile…
    Aeulus yawned as he gazed down to the illuminated streets below him. The view of New York City was breathtaking. Who knew that the Neanderthals, who fought so viciously for independence, leaving themselves in a weak nation, could have become so powerful? The Nocturnal Arsenal was no longer in his hand; he had given it to an Elite Receiver. The name of the Elite who had hired the Receiver was not disclosed, though. But he believes it was someone who knew him well, seeing as how the message he got from the Elite was so friendly.
    “Are you sure that it was sent to an Elite, Aeulus?” asked Aile, climbing up the steps to the roof of the apartment building. Her hair was wet, and she had less impressive clothes. There’s that word again…‘impressive’.
    “Why would I think otherwise?” replied Aeulus coolly, still staring out into the city.
    “You’re probably right,” sighed Aile, sitting down next to him, holding her knees between her arms. “Took a shower in your bathroom.”
    “How did you manage to get up here? Human men are slobs and would do anything for kicks,” explained Aeulus, his eyes still glued to the view ahead. Soon, this city will be reshaped in my image.
    But he remembered the answer right before she answered it. “You have a private entrance to the roof,” spoke Aile. “Goodness, it’s cold!” she shivered.
    “Then go back down.”
    “Aren’t you cold?”
    “No. I’m a half-wolf, Aile.”
    “So am I!”
    “But I am prone to the cold. You grew up in Rotandum, a tropical country. I grew up in Terdellsabbia.” The cold equivalent of Italy, Terdellsabbia is a country of Paralleliux, the parallel world of Earth. They coexist in the same realm, but different dimensions. But they are not the what-if dimensions that scientists theorize. They are the other-world dimensions that many science fiction writers love to write about.
    “Aeulus. About earlier in the limo. I’m sorry about what I did. I guess I was just a bit jumpy,” muttered Aile, rubbing her arms. He couldn’t tell if she did that because it was cold or because she was afraid of what he would say.
    “It’s alright. I know how you felt,” said Aeulus, finally setting his gaze on Aile. Their eyes met. Hers flickered.
    “You know how I felt?” Aile blinked in surprise. “Who? Where? When?”
    “It seems that you can’t stop from gossiping.” Aeulus sighed. “It was Viola Easton on Earth, just before we entered our prime years.”
    “Aww a child’s crush!” remarked Aile. “That’s cute.”
    “Pfft. Now that I look back at it, I could almost laugh!”
    “Why? What’s so bad about crushing on someone?”
    “Why do you think it is called a ‘crush’, Aile? It hurts,” he answered for her coldly and calmly. “It hurts at the end. It was when I finally realized that I had better things to do other than feel such emotional pain and sentimentalism.”
    “What happened?” questioned Aile.
    “I’d rather not tell.” But it was too late, anyway. One way or another, Aile always gets what she wants. “No,” replied Aeulus. He got up. “It’s getting even colder. You won’t survive through these temperatures, Paralleliun or not.”
    But Aile had already pinned him down in seconds. She now sat on his chest, legs keeping him down to the floor. “Tell me.”
    Aeulus sighed. But something already seemed strange. Who were they talking about? “Tell you what again?” he questioned, his head resting on the cold stone roof.
    “About…you know what? I can’t remember!” They stayed silent for a while, trying to remember who it was they were talking about.
    Feeling tired, Aeulus tried to get up. “Aile.”
    “Yeah?” mumbled Aile dreamily. Seems like she was thinking about something else.
    “Get off of me,” snapped Aeulus. His good mood had been erased.
    Aile grumbled something and got off him, dusting her clothes. “Sorry about that,” she giggled.
    Aeulus pulled himself off the floor. I need to work out more. I’ve been pinned down by Aile! Aile, of all people! He looked at Aile’s deceiving structure. But, suddenly, he felt cold. “I’m going back inside,” he muttered as he walked to the staircase.
    Aile followed him to his apartment. Private. Five thousand dollars a month. Classy. She yawned, stretching her arms. “I’m tired. Where do I sleep?”
    Aeulus pointed to the black, leather couch at the corner of the living room. “There’s the couch.”
    Aile grimaced, a beautiful change of face. “Isn’t there a bed or something?”
    “Sure. In my bedroom.”
    “I want to sleep there!”
    “You can’t.”
    “Why?”
    “I’m sleeping there.”
    “Your point?” questioned Aile, with the same dreamy tone.
    Aeulus shook his head. “The couch can turn into a bed.”
    “Fine.” Aile pouted and went to the couch, clicking the switch on the wall next to it. The couch transformed into a bed, complete with a built in blanket and pillow. “Good night.”
    “Good night,” replied Aeulus coolly as he walked into his bedroom. The living room lights turned off automatically after he closed the door. Aile is going to have to forget it. I’m not interested in anyone. Relationships only lead to pain.
    “You should really notice those who want you, Aeulusiò,” said a voice. It had a familiar cold tone.
    Aeulus looked up to see a tall man, a bit taller than he, wearing a Reaper’s cloak with black skull designs lining the openings. His hood was on, covering most of his face. The sleeves also covered his hands. He sat on a chair behind the bed, holding “The Tell-Tale Heart,” by Edgar Allen Poe.
    “You know, when I first read this book, did not understand it. But now that I read it again, I know what it is about.”
    “Who are you?” snapped Aeulus. He knew this man. He was certain of that.
    The man totally ignored his question. “This book is about a man who kills another man, who he loved like a friend, and was punished for it at the end. Well, at least they do not mention any punishment. But that will be explained in my story very soon.”
    “Who are you?” stammered Aeulus again. The name of this man was lying just outside of his mind.
    “Who am I?” repeated the man, closing the book. “I am a Reaper.”
    “That did not answer my question.”
    “You should remember my name.”
    “No, I do not.”
    “I am a man probably erased from existence.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You’ve killed me.”
    And Aeulus stepped back. “No. There is no way that…”
    “Ah but there is a way,” said the man when Aeulus choked.
    “Who…who are you?”
    “What’s going on here?” questioned Aile, entering the room. She stepped back in shock, her mouth gaping open. “A Reaper!”
    “Not just a Reaper,” snapped Aeulus. “He knows us.”
    “And you forgot me. And soon you will be forgotten.”
    “What do you mean?” questioned Aeulus and Aile in unison.
    “This building will go with a bang.”
    “A bomb? You planted a bomb!” staggered Aeulus. “When? How?”
    “I just simply planted it,” shrugged the hooded man.
    “But I did not sense you.”
    “Of course not. I never came in. In fact, you basically did it for me.”
    “What are you talking about?” snapped Aile, fear seeming to already conquer her. “How did we plant bomb on us for you?”
    “You clicked the switch, my dear,” said the man, the slightest quiver of amusement showing up in his grin.
    “The couch?”
    “Yes. That bomb had been installed during the War for New York to burn out any homeless residing here. But the war had ended before the bomb came into use. So it had been left here, forever forgotten. Just like me.”
    “But…”
    “It seems my time here is over Aeulusiò. Some Reapers wanted you in their cell, but the majority won over the minority. You are going to die. It is a shame that this beautiful woman next to you would have to die along with you. But I cannot carry anyone with me,” finished the man.
    Aeulus nearly opened his mouth to say something, but the hooded man had already disappeared. Then it grew silent. He could hear the ticking of the bomb behind his bed. “Ten seconds until detonation,” announced a robotic voice.
    “Aeulus…?” said Aile. He looked over to her. She was already tearing up. “I don’t want to die.”
    “Five.”
    Without saying a word, he grabbed Aile by the elbow and conjured a ball of wind. The ball flattened into a disk and started to dissipate, spinning around them. Then, the wind started to solidify.
    “Three.”
    They were getting encased in the white web of solid air. This is going too slow. The magic of Wiatr (wind) feeds off the emotions of everyone around him. And he had been thinking of a certain theory for a while…
    “Two.”
    “Aeulus!” cried Aile.
    “One.”
    Aeulus wrapped his arms around Aile and kissed her on the lips.
    “Zero. Detonation in fifty nanoseconds.”
    And then the entire building was destroyed in a large explosion that sent shockwaves through the air around it.

    Highly unnecessary for just two people. True. But that was the only thing that there was to work with. Reaper Umbras crouched on a newly twisted stop sign, gazing at the spectacle that was the explosion. He remembered that he would never enjoy such violence. He loved fighting, but that was about it. But then again, what could he remember?
    He could only remember the cryptic words, “Reaper Umbras, the Immortal. Our first successful Resurrection,” spoken by a doctor at a local hospital. Wherever local was. A group known as the Reapers, which he believes he remembers are good, had recruited him. It seemed strange to him. They don’t know anything about him.
    And he suspected ‘Reaper Umbras’ is just a title. What was his real name? He can’t remember. But if he were resurrected, then it must mean that he had been ‘killed’ and brought back to life. Then who was he before?
    And right away, they had assigned him on a mission to chase down a Dunkel Chronos Easton. For some reason, when he saw Dunkel’s image, he felt a little heartbroken. Why?
    He also had acrobatic abilities, jumping from heights that would make any human bleed. But of course, he wasn’t human. Humans are slobs. He is no slob. He is a Paralleliun.
    Good. He remembers that much. Then he was assigned to end the life of Aeulusiò di Aria. His image brought memories of his death. Burning in a mini hell, only murmuring one last word, “Viola.” ‘Viola’ the instrument or ‘Viola’ as in a name?
    “Is the area clear?” broke in a voice.
    “Affirmative,” replied Umbras. His voice was cold and emotionless.
    “Are you within the vicinity?”
    “Yes I am.”
    “I suggest you move, sir. We are about to drop the memory bomb. It will affect everyone within a mile radius.
    “Very well,” spoke Umbras into his microphone. He got off the bent stop sign and turned around. Then he took off his hood, showing, blue hair, fully black sclera with gray irises…and a scar lining the left side of his face. “I am going to leave now,” he said as he vanished from the area.