Guardians of the Dark

“Samael, hi!” Ollie tossed his hands in the air, but his uniform stretched too tightly around his shoulders, so he lowered them again. “We heard you’re a Raider now? Apparently put ol’ General Bentley Traynor in the hospital?”

Samael made no reply. He marched down the corridor to Emperor Sumuri’s throne room, his eyes in front of him and the buckles on his boots and jacket jingling with his stride, amplified in the open space. Ollie and Olaf stood guard by the entrance, each with a staff in one hand, and leaning against the wall.

“Gmf,” scoffed Olaf, “just because he got promoted doesn’t mean he’s got a free pass. What’re you doing here, Samael?”

“I’m not here to use the facilities, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Samael made for the panel next to the entrance, but Olaf huffed again, and Ollie – the nearest of them two – crossed his spear over it, almost cutting off Samael’s thumb. He retracted his hand just quick enough, but kept it hovered over the panel, over the spear.

“I’m sorry, Samael,” whispered Ollie.

“Don’t apologise, you dimwit! No one’s to see the Emperor without a formal invitation. Those are the rules.” Olaf approached Samael. He turned his spear crosswise, and jabbed it at his side. “This is your final warning –”

Samael grabbed the end of the spear and wrenched it back, out of Olaf’s hands. It clattered onto the floor. Then, he pressed Ollie’s spear down with his foot, while at the same time allowing the panel to scan his wrist.

The panel whizzed, and, unlike before, flashed green. The throne room doors creaked before they peeled apart.

Olaf’s face fell. “What – How –”

“I’m shared second-in-command of the Raiders now, haven’t you heard?” Samael taunted, acting himself offended.

Olaf and Ollie stepped away from the doors. Ollie mouthed yet another apology, while Olaf merely grunted to himself and reclaimed his spear. He followed Samael inside with his eyes, all the way until the doors closed.

“Samael,” announced the Emperor as if he wasn’t surprised to see him. He stood by the farthest line of windows, looking out across the wastelands. The Metropolis of Light lay quite a way off, yet it lit most of the throne room.

Samael kept along the kindled panels on the ground. It felt wrong, forbidden, to step off them without permission. He nonetheless got to the point: “I was there last night. In the desert. Who was that person from the AOL?”

Emperor Sumuri stayed put, facing away from him. He raised his hand and said, “Come. Join me in this view.”

Samael hesitated, but stepped off the panels. He padded across the room to the windows, but stopped a little way from Emperor Sumuri. He looked at his, the Emperor’s, face in the glass, meeting his wild, black eyes.

“Are you working with the AOL?” he repeated.

Emperor Sumuri sighed, a grin forming around his lips. “You know, Samael, you’re the only person in the entire Dark Capital who talks to me like I’m your equal.” A pause. “And that’s why I admire you.”

“Are you –”

“But that’ll also get you killed.” The Emperor turned to his side a little. “No, I’m not working with the AOL.”

Samael walked all the way up to the window. He briefly peered down at the city, at its pitch-black visage. In such everlasting night, one would hardly believe it was only 9 in the morning. And in the summer, too.

“The AOL is working for me,” the Emperor clarified. “Or, at least, one of them does. But that’s none of your concern.”

“I heard the two of you discussing a plan. Your plan.” Samael spoke without taking his eyes off the Metropolis of Light in the distance. He could barely see the houses in the east, and just about made out the beam, a thin line that shot in the sky, protected by Guardians. By Kasen. “What could this person possibly offer you?”

“In fact, it’s more about what I can offer them.” Emperor Sumuri traced his fingers along the glass, framing the reflection of Samael’s face, of his jaw. A moment passed like this, but then he pushed away, turned, and strutted across the throne room, out of the light. “The person I met with will guarantee our way inside.”

“Into the city?”

Emperor Sumuri nodded. He lifted the ends of his kimono as he upped the steps to his throne, then sat down with utmost grace. “And all I had to do was promise them an easy life once we’ve taken over the Metropolis of Light.”

“How do you know you can trust them?” Samael wanted to know. He remained by the window, relishing his moment of freedom. If he followed the Emperor back to his throne, he’d have to keep to the panels again.

“I trust you, don’t I?”

Samael froze in place. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You too come from the Light. You lived there for four years of your life. For all I know, your entire abandonment could’ve been orchestrated, and you might still be working with them today,” said the Emperor.

“Working with them? Seriously?”

Emperor Sumuri shrugged.

“I don’t believe it … I’ve served under you for fourteen years of my life!” Samael surged forward, his cheeks searing and his shoulders stiff. “I’ve captured you thousands of Roamers! I put the General in a coma!”

Emperor Sumuri chuckled to himself. “Relax, Samael, I’m just joking with you.”

Samael took a moment to breathe. His chest rose up and down, his jaw worked, and his fists wouldn’t unclench.

The Emperor went on, “I trust my contact, because whether or not they betray us, our plan will go on without a hitch.”

Samael didn’t say anything in reply. He marched to the line of panels, then reclaimed his place as a loyal subject, as a pawn. How silly he was, believing himself crucial to the Emperor’s rule, believing himself unique, exempted.

“Are you angry with me now, Samael?” asked the Emperor as though they were two friends in an argument.

“It doesn’t matter whether I’m angry.”

The Emperor put his one leg over the other, revealing his hairy, pasty legs. “Alright. Ask me about the plan, then.”

“When does all of this take place?”

“Tomorrow night.”

Samael’s head snapped up. “What? That soon? How is that even possible? We’ve already attacked the city twice this week.”

“I’ve been planning everything for almost a year and seven months, Samael. The other two attacks, as impromptu and chaotic they might’ve appeared, were both a part of the much bigger picture. As are you.”

“Me?” asked Samael, surprised.

Emperor Sumuri nodded. “You don’t have to worry about anything. All is taken care of. You just have to keep your eye on the prize. On your mission.” He lowered his voice. “You must tie up all loose ends.”

“Loose ends?” Samael raised a brow. He only realised what the Emperor was talking about once he thought back a bit. Once he recalled the past two days. “You want me to – to go after Kasen? The General’s son?”

Emperor Sumuri laughed. “If you run into him, be my guest! But what I’m actually referring to, is that father of yours.”

“The General’s not my father.” Samael knew Emperor Sumuri was annoying him on purpose, but his past always got to him. He upped the first step to the Emperor’s throne. “I don’t have a father. You know that.”

“Everyone has a father,” sang the Emperor.

“Not me.”

Emperor Sumuri shifted in his throne. “Listen, I don’t know what happened to your biological parents, and you might not be particularly fond of your adopted ones, but – I’ve always thought of you as a son.”

“You have?” Samael supressed a gasp.

“No, of course not, I’m way too good-looking to be a father. I just thought the moment called for something like that.” The Emperor chortled at his own wits. “So, Samael, are you clear on your mission?”

“To finish off the General?”

The Emperor shook his head.

“But, what about the plan? The rest of it, I mean.”

“A little detour won’t harm anyone. My AOL contact has everything perfectly planned out. There’s enough spare time to make an appearance at the hospital, take care of business, then return to switch off the beam.”

“And you’re prepared to take that risk?”

“General Bentley Traynor must die, Samael.” The Emperor’s voice husked, and he cleared his throat to restore it.

Samael still wasn’t sure. “But, what about Theon? He certainly won’t agree to it.”

“Theon is no longer your superior, remember. You’re shared second-in-command now. He goes where you go.”

Samael thought about it. He turned to the line of windows again, then narrowed his eyes. He thought of that day at the Eastern Collection Point, followed by Theon’s outburst at the banquet. Was he really going to sit down and comply without a fight? Probably not. But he couldn’t let another chance like this go by.

He had to redeem himself, prove himself worthy.

“I won’t let you down, Emperor Sumuri.” Not again. Samael set his arms by his sides, and tilted his chin in a display of honour – or, if not honour, whatever one called a vow to murder someone you already hospitalised.

“Good.” Emperor Sumuri curled his fingers through the air. His many rings glittered in the light from outside, as did his golden front tooth when he smiled. “This is it, Samael of the Dark, the time to prove yourself as more than just an abandoned baby.” A pause. “And, if you succeed, I might just promote you some more.”

“Another promotion? Really?”

Emperor Sumuri grinned, then craned his head to the left. “Well, let’s just say there might be enough space in here for another throne.”