Prologue: White Light

A confrontation in what appears to be a fever dream, goes horribly wrong.

-Arc 'Errkaa', Era of Domination, Year Unknown-

A vaguely distinguishable figure stood before his dazed line of sight. They spoke with obvious irritation and he somehow he knew wasn’t going to die quietly.

Waves of panic slammed him mentally and he coughed and sputtered as a frothy garble of cuss spewed forth from his limp mouth.

The figure swiftly replied with a harsh kick to his face and the sound of snapping bone resounded.

He was totally helpless, unable to barely make a snarl of pain as he was held prone upon the rain-soaked asphalt by some other person.

The intense taste of iron quickly filled his mouth and he drooled strings of blood despite himself trying to remain calm.

His face began to swell up like a bloated carcass and he was sure it didn’t look any better from their vantage point either.

To be honest, he didn’t even recall the slightest reason as to what he’d done to end up the punching bag of this deranged duo.

His gut told him talking as he had, however, wasn’t in his best interest for this situation.

Unable to move or even so much as shift his head from the mounting pressure upon his back, he gasped like a dying fish, his mouth making a slight popping sound in frustration. He could barely focus when the same someone whom had kicked him with violently vibrant high heels of purple had then came within his view.

They were tinged a ruddy color as if the filth they were walking in was not worth the ground they walked upon. He heard a raspy feminine voice speak with an unbidden sort of venom in their direction that they spoke to.

“If it wasn’t because I needed you sweetie, your suffering would’ve been short.” He winced at her cold, almost cheerful tone of words. “Though I doubt it when I actually consider things as they are. All of you are a bunch of foolish children, not knowing your place.”

The unbridled bitterness stung like battery acid on his tongue. He had to admit though, at least she was to the point. “Those things aside,” she clapped her hands together from what he could tell, “talk to me darling, or you’ll sadly be made to suffer at the hands of my dearest own hands.”

Her accent was unrecognizable to him as she continued her speech of how she would dissect him from the inside out, but he was getting to the point where he was as confused as he was coherent as red static began to blossom behind his eyes; barely capable of taking breath he found all of this rather amusing to try and simply comprehend.

“Idiot,” she snapped sharply but surprisingly not at him this time, “the Hue needs this wretched air to be useful.” It was more of a snarl then anything but whomever was on top of his back made a quick retreat from his position of utter defenselessness. He had noticed that they too had cringed ever so slightly as they appeared to not want anything to do with her speaking at them.

As it was, sweet oxygen quickly came to him and revitalized his dulled senses. Though his jaw was still a matter of concern as he came to his knees, dripping both his own bodily fluids and feeling like a drowned rat saved by a cat eager to play with him to death.

His body was drenched in a mixture of things, from dirt to spit to blood. Holding his tender face, he stumbled mentally in his jumbled thoughts. All he could really tell about his pain was like he had a hot iron melded to his face and beads of scarlet ran down his face, giving him the appearance of crying.

“You know,” he said with a cracking voice, “there’s better ways to ask for things.” He hacked as his throat felt like it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper. He also tried to narrow his dark eyes to the brightness of the scorching white sky. His jaw screamed with every fiber in his face as he made the motion.

“Well now! Finally have something to say that doesn’t dirty my ears.” The woman replied ever so calmly in his direction. He could tell by a slight influx of her words it was a very different meaning. In fact, he got the odd sense she was partially bemused by his lack of own dignity. “So you know, boy,” the serene but obviously insidious tone of her voice returned, “time is ever so short for you. Let’s get to the point, shall we? I’ve wasted enough time dilly-dallying with the likes of you.”

A forceful yank pulled him from his half hunched over stance to full on standing before her face. His shirt collar was nearly ripped off as she did this as he heard it give a slight whine of fiber stretching too far.

He didn’t resist, he couldn’t, as his body was no longer apparently registering that he was present. The woman drew him closer to her face and he finally was able to glimpse the strangely attractive yet feral smile that danced across lips of tinged violet. There was no indication of age or imperfection as she held him at nearly nose to nose level. Her slanted eyes burned with hatred; the kind seen before death takes its share.

Bizarre thoughts seemed to then flow seamlessly into his mind, and he blinked wildly into the empty visions of some sort of savage urge ravaging his inner thoughts. Her indigo eyes were like staring into an endless abyss as this all happened in less than a few moments. She seemed to have predicted his startled reaction of pure terror and put a slender, alabaster colored finger with an ebony pointed nail to his lips as if to hush him.

He tried to swallow a torrid of rising sick as she cupped his broken face. She then proceeded to trace a pulsing blood vain and had left a faint white line in its wake. It broke off into various strands as he begun to feel something tingle, then slightly burn as sounds of eggshell like pops realigned his jaw. He stared at her with absolutely no clue as to what to say next.

“Shh now. I don’t ask that much do I? See, I can be merciful. Isn’t that what a mother is supposed to be like? Like yours, if she was worth much of anything to begin with.” A crawling smirk slithered across her porcelain perfect skin. It was as if she was sizing him up like a snake trying to decide if it could devour its decided meal whole. It was laced not only with pure arsenic but there was a glint in her eyes that shone black and hungry.

“As much as I enjoy your company, I don’t think we will get along anytime soon. Your approach sucks.” He tried desperately to avoid her eye contact, but he was more focused on the fact he could see rows of needle thin sharp teeth appear beyond the normal means of a person’s mouth. She then proceeded to pull him so close, he could smell her breath, which was sweet like honey.

“That little girl you so care for…would she mind if you screamed?” She seemed to find this funny and made a small giggle that didn’t fit her appearance. “You… trust her? You’re so innocent aren’t you. I’ll just have to make you see you’re not that special.” Her pointed rows of dagger like teeth came within inches of his ear, “I’ll gut you like the swine you are.”

She said in an excited whisper. She then dropped him rather abruptly back to his knees and his mind was numb from the encounter. He bit his lip to prevent a yelp of pain, but that was all he could really manage. An inward glower of emotion sparked his insides, like a match being burnt down to the tips of the fingers. “Just like your father too, you smell the same. I expected better of you.”

“Sounds like you knew him.” He said emotionless. “I’m not going to give you a damn thing.” He spat at her feet and he grabbed at his chest as a hot flare of pain stung him deep inside his chest. She then crouched to his level and titled her head slightly, her black hair slipping across her shoulders like a mane of dark water. It was then a chill so bitter it felt like it was nibbling his soul, overcame his whole being.

Something began to sing. It was soft like a moan on the wind, then reached a pitch so painfully strong he had to cover his ears. It didn’t do him any favors, as it seemed to come from his own thoughts. It’s intensity quickly became incomprehensible and had the ferocity of a rising sun as it sung for blood. His blood. His mind was breaking, shards of his mind punctured every sense in his body.

“Such irony…such a delicious feast, is it not?” Blinding light erupted from all around him and he heard someone scream off in the distance as his perception broke into millions of pieces…it was his screams.

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Clawing out, thrashing about, pure fury raked the still air as agonized screams grew louder and louder. Flailing madly, hands tore at a scar that had already bled enough to stain white to a crimson blotch. It was then reason decided to reach out and slapped him in the face to get with the picture.

A loud thunk had him tumble upside-down and onto the top of his head. The world flipped with it and all the commotion had his ear drums pulsating from the sudden rush of blood to his head. He instantly ceased his futile battle of invisible demons and realized just how stupid he must look like right about now.

Nothing was attacking him…just his linens of his bed. The rest of his body flopped out of bed to join his feverish forehead and a slam of cold linoleum gave him a fresh start on his process of thought.

He unwound himself from the constricting blankets and noticed a familiar feeling of stickiness that trickled down his neck. Long since dried patches of red splotches clung to him and had formed a paste of sorts that were more of a hassle to remove than anything else.

With some more grumbling he then had reoriented himself and sat once more upon the edge of his cot. He had to gently peel of the sheet, cringing with every sensation that came along with it as it refused to let go without a fight.

Balling everything into a tight wad of ruined mass, he threw it to the corner of his room. The itch of a beat red scar that ran from his cheek to his collar bone stung, despite being several years old, reminded him of what a bad hang over was like when one went without the means to get home. It was always there, burning as it always had.

That dream though, he couldn’t get it out of his head. It was the same dream he had every night for the last few years. Every time it was if he had experienced all over again firsthand. Yet he never recalled any such traumatic experience of that craziness. He was sure it was a dream, as his scar came from an accident when he was younger, that was a fact. Nothing about that dream made any sense as it was.

Among all other things said, it was finally his day off from work and he wasn’t about to let some freaky chick in a weird dream ruin his day. It was his mother’s birthday after all. One way or another, he was going to see her this year. He was Faolon Jagger, and so his story begins.

Author's Note

Please feel free to express your thoughts, feelings, and ideas for future chapters. Thanks!