Arc 3 - Epilogue

(Reverence 7, 59 / 8:52PM)

In a dark room, somewhere…

Grimstone throttled the walls, while crimson drapes tumbled from the ceiling to the floor. Without the need for flickering candles, the white marble shimmered under the weight of the silence. Red silk carpets blanketed the ground, and through windows etched in shallow yellow, a chestnut desk stood within the moon’s glow.

Staring at the wood, aged papers were stacked in a messy heap. Ink-stained and scribbled in hurried cursive, the chamber was a sanctuary for an era long forgotten; a world devoid of digital hums.

“I see.”

Sitting on a cushioned chair, was a man in his late 40s. Blonde hair shaded with small strands of gray, eyebags that circumferenced his forehead and cheeks, his skin was ghostly white. He gripped with thin fingers, a single newspaper bolded with black letters. Trailing the paper from line to line, he softened his cold face with a grin.

“I found her at last… after so so long.”

Plopping the paper onto the table, he rose from the seat with wood rubbing against marble. He was scrawny, with his cheekbones being bigger than the fat on his cheeks. Wearing a white frock jacket, white khaki pants, and white dress shoes; he wore everything white.

“Fenix? The Dark Angels? The cruelties of iron and blood she took in? Unacceptable.”

Turning his head left, he stared at a fireplace that looked to be put out. Ash scattering the bottom, and wood crisped to black, he walked toward it with a cane in his right hand.

“If this boy has forsaken her to a dark path, I shall lead her to white. Mia?”

A wheezing cough soon broke out. As if he ingested sand, small droplets of blood limped from the corners of his lips. Forcing out any oxygen in his system, he felt like his own lungs tried to rip itself apart. Clearing his throat, and placing a hand to his chest, he laid it there to rest.

“Mia? Are you there?” His voice was rougher than dry dirt.

And out of the corner of the room, came out a twelve year old girl. Wearing nothing but white cloth, it covered her shoulders down to her ankles. Her bare feet taking in the carpet, her skin glowed against the moonlight from the window. The lich stared at the man, with nothing but a blank stare to her eyes.

“Yes father?”

“Tis time to alliance ourselves with the Zirardgres. Bring me the boogeyman, his brothers, and any comrades they aligned themselves with.”

“I shall try father.”

“Don’t try. Do.”

Stepping on the carpet with bare feet, not a single decibel uttered in her walk. Reaching a wooden door, she gripped the golden handle and opened it softly. Closing it, it left only the middle-aged man to sulk in his lonesome room. Standing with a cane in his hand, he lowered his eyes on the stack of papers.

‘Lazaros has something in the oven of hellfire, a plan he has set in motion. If it ever were to fail, to which it won’t, I’ll prepare for that imaginary mantle.’

Moving his eyes toward the window, he stared into the view of a city scraped with brick. Houses sprawling through the cool summer night, lights flickered endlessly for miles. Having both of his hands rest on his cane, he straightened his back.

‘And if I shall be the judge of it, the next ordeal will all be their last; except for her.’

Nothing could’ve broken his stare, even when blood stained the bottom of his lips. Seeing the city with eyes submerged in darkness… he raised a grin that matched Satan himself.

—‘So don’t be a hero… Luke Fenix.’—