CHAPTER 16: PASTS AND PRESENTS (ZOMBATO AND MAFISTO)

AT DEATH’S DOOR, DOWNTOWN, NEXERIA

“I can’t believe you dragged me into this place?! Shouldn’t we go to some place more secure?” Mafisto whispers loudly at Zombato.

Zombato raises one finger to Mafisto to wait for him to finish his Headless Horseman drink.

“Are you cognizant that this is one of the only establishments that produces an exquisite libation like this? It makes my undead remains feel toasty again.” He drinks more of it down.

“Oh my Godasaurus, we came here because you wanted a drink! Aren’t we on a case? And shouldn’t we be getting away before The Circle sends more agents?”

Zombato points his finger to hush Mafisto again while he drinks more.

“I haven’t returned to Nexeria in quite the morrow; so, let them advance. Besides, they’re a secret assemblage; no way are they gonna approach a crowded establishment. We’re concealing ourselves in plain presence, and it’s a splendid stratagem.” He finishes his glass.

“Lend me your credence; I’ve been in some ghastly skirmishes; because null is akin to the Cosmic Corral escapade.”

“Cosmic Corral? I’ve never heard of that. However, you learned a lot about me, and I know nothing about you besides being a zombie, a bounty hunter, and absolutely crazy with taking out two of the three members of the Tri-Squad.” Mafisto says, looking at his zombie acquaintance.

“I might need another libation if I’m going to get personal. However; inquire away and I’ll respond to the best of my abilities.” He says to Mafisto with his arms outstretched.

“So you’re an open book, then? Alright, why do you do this? It seems crazy to trust someone you just met and for an insane cause, like mine.”

“The world is a sick place, and someone or some people have to be the cure. The Hell Hounds use the Whispers to be the immune system against the bigger threats to the world. However; it’s the smaller ones that are the problems; the ones that make you make difficult choices who cause the greater infections. Resembling the brawl with you; I have learned how to see into someone’s heart in battle from my ninja clan: The Deadstars. When someone is in combat, whether it is fun or for survival, people have a difficult time hiding their true selves. Each blow reveals another layer of a person’s heart and soon after a terse exchange, you know exactly what’s at their center. A person’s core is everything I need to know; they contain light and darkness in various forms. For example, your core is seeking redemption, which is light even among darkness; I experience part of the pain, the guilt, the regret of all the things you’ve done. The Tri-Squad members had blind loyalty; malice; enjoyment in their work in their cores; they did not see a problem with all the killing, which is darkness and I didn’t sense any traces of light.” Zombato says; tapping his fingers on the bar, biting his bottom lip, and his neck twitching a bit. It’s been a while since he’s opened up to someone about his past and abilities; honestly, it’s easier to fight the Tri-Squad again.

“Well saurk, if you experienced what I’m done, then I apologize. There’s a lot I regret, and I didn’t expect anyone else to see or feel it or whatever your technique does.” Mafisto says with his head down.

“Do not concern your horned head, my new confidant; no vexation whatsoever. I only experience what I need to, or else I’d go mad or worse. Fortunately, the technique is taught primarily to zombies; only certain monstrum can handle it without dying. It helps that certain zombies don’t have their memories anymore; which is an entire unfortunance in itself, but I keep moseying.” Zombato says, putting an arm around Mafisto.

“Saurkin hellasaurus! Do you have any memories at all of who you were when you were alive?” Mafisto says, raising his head to look at Zombato.

“The last thing I remember was the famous pirate, Black Marrow, was there when I awoke and told me I hired him to acquire an artifact. He gave me my original journal, so I have some insight into who I was and what artifact I was looking for; which helped tremendously. I followed my journal to the artifact, which lead me to the Deadstars and after a few trials, they accepted me as a member. A few more treks along the way and here I am now: undead and adoring it.” Zombato says, moving his hands while telling his story.

“Now, what about you, Mafisto? That doesn’t precisely sound like a true Saurcillian name. It’ll help me figure out The Circle if you can tell me your yesteryear and how you joined them.” He adds, laying his head against his palm on the counter with a smile.

“Alright, this is a long story, so prep yourself for it. I was born and raised here in Nexeria; well, way before it was Nexeria, it was Saurcillia.” Mafisto explains.

“We were spread out all over the city limits. I grew up in an area called the Spikes; it was where the less fortunate people lived. The class system still existed even back then; I never knew much about the powerful Saurcillians, except that they didn’t give a saurus’s ass about us in the Spikes. I don’t want to bore you with the nit-grits; the important part of the beginning was the man who took care of us.”

“I’m postulating that was Don Dimetro?” Zombato inquires.

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m trying to have a flashback here.” Mafisto stares at him, eyebrows furrowing.

“Ah, quite excuse my inquisitiveness; please continue.” Zombato gestures with his hands for him to continue.

“Before he was known as the Don Dimetro, he was just known as Dimetro, the kindest person you could meet in the Spikes. He looked after everyone to the best of his ability, feeding us when we couldn’t get food, found shelter for us in the cold, took care of the sick, and so on and so forth. We all looked towards Dimetro because of his compassion for everyone. His nature brought all of us in the Spikes together and formed one messed up community of survivors.

We talked whenever he was free, which wasn't often, but we talked about our dreams. His was a large one, he wanted Saurcillia, a free and equal place. Where there were no differences in class, that greed wouldn't be the controlling factor in the city, and that everyone could live without worrying about where their next meal would come from or where they'd sleep for the night.

"Idealistic utopia, huh? What occurred to alter his mind?" Zombato asks with his curiosity now piqued.

"I was getting to that part. Order another drink so you don't interrupt me again." Mafisto replies, grinding his teeth more. If only he could tell a flashback without interruption.

Before Zombato's drink order was taken, a breaking news bulletin appeared on the TV:

"Yes, yes, breaking news, everyone! We have hijacked the airwaves to give you this live update." One of the two cloaked figures appears on the TV screen. One is much taller than the other. The smaller figure has his hand on a sheet or tarp, getting ready to reveal whatever is underneath.

"Your narrative is going to have to take an intermission." Zombato says, curiously ingrained in what the two figures are doing.

"Agreed, I don't like da looks of this." Mafisto says with nervousness in his voice.

“All of the rumors are true! We are the rulers of this city. Your poor Dusk Clave is under our influence; all the important places are controlled by us; and we’re sick of the Deathborne trying to pull stunts against us. They need to know who’s boss of this city.” The taller cloaked man says with arrogance.

He walks over to the other side of the smaller man and the covered sheet. Together they pull off the cover, revealing a sign that reads: BOW BEFORE THE SAURCLE!

“THE SAURCLE IS HERE!” Both cloaked men shout out simultaneously.

 Both Zombato and Mafisto watch the TV with their jaws dropped after the news bombshell they just heard.