Gold Dust

As the sparks of battle flew in the Academy ground, Ezekiel found himself chasing ghosts in a different part of the kingdom.


His voice deepened, magic lacing his tongue with enhancement. Mid day had just arrived, but his eyes had seen the night sky with no slumber. White aura, visible to the eyes of the common man, enveloped his being, shattering stars around his frame as the loading bar above his head filled with bricks of crimson. The aura vanished, taking him to his destination.

There it stood before him after the white aura faded. The old mansion was embedded with diamonds. Made of glass, it reflected the sun's light towards the drying trees. Guards came rushing out with spears in hand and magic pistols hanging on their hips. Ezekiel's hollow eyes flashed a shadowy, pitch black color, turning the grey a darker shade as he battled with his consciousness. His lips crooked up from the corner of his mouth, a strange grin plastering itself on his face.

He waited for the security of the esteemed Sapphire's mansion to reach him. Stopping half a foot away from Ezekiel, they pointed their weapons at him.

“Pfft-!” He tried to hold back an amused chuckle, waving his hands, gesturing to them to speak their mind.

“Young master, do forgive us for the disgraceful display but the Marquess had ordered to not allow you to take a foot in the mansion". Ezekiel blinked once, twice and then thrice, before bursting out in a hysterical laughter. He held onto his stomach as a teardrop escaped his eyes.

“Hilarious! That old fart really thinks he can stop me!? His wife couldn't do that when she was alive, what makes old bones think he would be any different!?”

The guards took an even more alert stance, glaring at the madman. “This is our last warning… you're a bastard child of some fallen noble, a cross breed forced to exist by the queen’s twisted wishes, you don't have much value as is, don't turn us into your executioners.” Something about the truth tickled Ezekiel the wrong way, a laugh rumbling under his throat, but he suppressed it as memories of a certain night flashed in his eyes.

“Ezekiel dear… you are the only hope we have..” his mother cradled him, burying his face in her chest. He glanced up at his father, a scorned little child. He came closer, whacking the back of his mother's head and she embraced him tighter, trying to protect him.

“As if the queen making you shag that foreign blood wasn't enough, you had to give birth to the filth as well? It creeps me out to know how those shamans, or whatever they are called, left their seed inside you and you let it fester into life. Fortunately, he hardly looks like those odd foreigners from the land the queen hails from. He has a face that belongs to Darkspire, not some land lacking magic. The Marquess offers a hefty price for a boy to take care of his daughter, a ghost, someone who wouldn't peep a word about it to the world. At least he will give us a fitting dowry for cutting ties with him.”

Ezekiel's pseudo father lit a cheap cigarette, taking in a puff of smoke as he rambled about the ifs and buts. Ezekiel's eyes watered and his lips trembled, clutching onto his mother's chest. “But father I don't want to leave you and mother..” He whimpered, droplets of tears falling. His mother finally sat him down, a smile on her face. “Won't you do this for your mother? Don't you want your mother to live happily, my son?”

Memories of his beautiful mother had all but faded. He still remembered eagerly and earnestly nodding to his mother's words, wanting nothing more than to keep her happy, remembering how his life had been a continuous hell, for the Marquess announced to the world of his existence, calling Ezekiel his bastard son. He was a bastard child. He had thought his mother wanted a better life for him, he wished for nothing but happiness for his mother. However, now…

Heh.. another wench who only wished to use me. Good thing she died of a horrible disease and infected that sorry excuse of a father, karma does work once in a while.

Ezekiel’s hair wasn't slicked back neatly as it usually is. It hadn't been since his student died. It might never be again as Ezekiel was slowly but surely losing reasons to stay sane. All the things that kept him hanging onto sanity were slowly slipping out of his hands after all. He looked up and grinned as he spoke to the guards.

“I appreciate the compassion but how wasteful it is on a person like me; a bastard. I am not a man of morals, I despise sympathy and the thirst for blood of those who smile cluelessly under the sun. However, I do not shed blood without a reason. If my dear Meline saw the blood of you innocent commoners in my hand, she wouldn't smile anymore… I shall let you go.”

A phantom laugh echoed in his ears, something he had always heard. Another guard barked from behind, colluding to hurl vulgar remarks. “What else would you expect from impure blood? He has lost his mind.” It didn't faze Ezekiel as he snapped his fingers, causing a golden dust to swirl in the air.

“Sandman, bring them a dream.”

It was as if the clouds had burst open and showered a rain of gold onto them, their eyes stinging and squeezing shut from fear when the golden dust hit their person. Within seconds, the entire Sapphire mansion was covered in golden clouds, floating above trees, on the knights that failed to protect, immobilized into a deep slumber. Ezekiel’s hands were behind him, clasped like a gentleman as he walked leisurely inside the mansion, entering to find every possible person- the gardener, the maids, the butlers and even the chef, all having fallen into a deep slumber of their own as they stood in the same position they were working in.

“Come out, come out wherever you are, oh dear father of mine~” His voice was a whip of chills but he sang anyway. He rolled his long white sleeves up as an old man in a suit stood atop a long and winding staircase, his beard combed and slicked under his chin. Sharing the same colour-changing pupil, causing Ezekiel to let out a laugh full of playful disbelief.

The old man was on his feet, the only individual Ezekiel had allowed to escape his resentful dream magic. It was as if it was only yesterday when he had brought him in, not an ounce of affection towards him as he shoved him towards the head butler.

“Today is the day I kill you, you filthy cross breed. Your mother was a fine woman, but I regret laying with her.” The old man lamented as he walked down the stairs, loosening his tie, a cold glare on his face. Ezekiel no longer hid his resentment under the mask of low confidence and humbleness. “You couldn't do shit when your wife tried to ruin your plans by choking me to death. After all, she didn't want to be associated with a family who appointed an heir with mixed blood. You loved her and yet, you couldn't stop her. You are nothing but a failed man.”

Ezekiel's mind traced back to a buried memory, a woman's fingers wrapped around his delicate neck as she pinned him down on the matted floor.

Eyes widened with hatred, she hissed. “It's all your fault. A mixed blood of those dirty shamanians.. what dark arts did you use to seduce my husband into making you the heir?!” Little Ezekiel choked, tears brimming in his eyes. He thrashed around, desperately so.

Do you wish to live in this accursed world? a static-like voice echoed in his mind. He fumbled for an answer, shaking in his soul.

He didn't belong anywhere. His mother didn't want him, his father didn't care, his new father was indifferent to his existence, and this person who was supposed to be his new mother, was choking him to death. Tears streamed down the child’s face. I want to die. I didn’t do anything to deserve this-

“Die! Die! Die! Die!” the woman violently held his torso down, hurling words of curses at the child. Then a thought crossed his mind–

Ah.. i wish i could just fucking shut her mouth forever.. I hate her. I want to kill her.

The static voice chuckle in his head. Good. That's good enough. That's very good.

The old man coughed. The sad memories of a half passed out child under the corpse of his wife flashing before his eyes. The golden dust that shielded Ezekiel that day still made him nauseous. “Only if your magic hadn't awakened that day…”

“Oh this isn't magic, Marquess. This is a spirit that manifested within me from the resentment and hatred you gave me as a gift that day. How wonderful it is for any child to be attacked by his own mother on his birthday. I loved it.” Ezekiel noticed the old man stop in his tracks, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead from fear. Ezekiel's smile polished over, the hollow darkness in his eyes growing wider. He didn't blink as his lips stretched to form an inanimate smile, almost like a drawing. One corner of his lips stretched up while the other stretched down.

“You're scared of me.”

“You're a demon. I should never have brought you to my house.”

The unhinged face Ezekiel made sent shivers down his biological father's spine. Manic in the younger man’s eyes would scare anyone. The old man took out his pocket watch, opening it which caused arrows made of aura to be shot at Ezekiel who swung his neck left inhumanely with a crack, as if he was a doll made of porcelain. There were no longer any whites left in Ezekiel's eyes, only red. He jumped in the air, his limbs twisted in inhuman positions, audible cracks for his father's ears to hear. Ezekiel laughed. “This demon is going to eat your soul today.”

“What did you sell your soul for!? Tell me, demon!” The old man kept on firing and firing as Ezekiel kept on dodging while giggling in a voice he wouldn't usually use, something that sounded much more sinister. “Sell my soul? I was born with this, right Jester?”

The voice came from the sad side of his face. “I am his friend, I lead him to do things that benefit him. Ezekiel didn't kill that woman, I did. I adore Ezekiel.”

“Heard that?” The smiling part of Ezekiel's face spoke.

“A killer like you should die and rot in hell, not be happy around chi-” the old man's mouth spit out a handful of red liquid. Both of Ezekiel's lips contorted up in a full smile, stretching up to his eyes. He started with a giggle before his mouth widened to devolve into a hellish laughter. He threw his head back as his pupils formed a spiraled slit, a deranged look in those eyes as he levitated in the air, standing on the cloud of gold under him.

“You dumb fool! The air you breath is contaminated with microparticles of my sand!”

The old man looked down on his chest, micro holes on his clothes and chest as blood crept out from hundreds of holes. His chest was severely punctured, causing him to fall down the stairs, heaving for air. Ezekiel's smile contorted downward, “Maybe I would've spared you if it weren't for you who advised my mother to get rid of me… how could I let you live on when you knew what your wife was going to do to him…”

the old man's breath eventually dulled down as Ezekiel descended on the hard floor, bending down before the corpse. He grabbed onto the old man's hand as it was growing colder, but Ezekiel's focus was on the ring of the heir as well as the family stamp. He snatched away the item from the dead man’s hand. “No one will look down on me or my students. I am the Marquess now, the authority is in my hand.”

As his golden sand slowly vanished from the air, so did Ezekiel's presence, walking away from the mansion feeling accomplished but having given away himself completely. “Sandman, bring them a nightmare, eternal pain to scream.” He commanded, walking towards the Academy grounds, uncharacteristically late for the festivities.