Guardians of the Dark

“Are you sure about this, Samael?” asked Yung. He surveyed the murky streets, rusty cars, and crumbling high-rise buildings. They were in the easternmost district of the Dark Capital – the Deserted Area, or otherwise known as home to the Roamers. (Despite their lack of wits, the mindless also sought shelter against the cold.)

“I agree, this is out of our derestriction. You know we’re only supposed to hunt Roamers if they’ve crossed into an inhabited area,” added Carrie. She walked tightly against Yung, keeping her hand on her belt – on her own staff – at all times. Samael had made each of them a Light staff of their own, although theirs were slightly smaller.

“In that case, I’m granting you access for the night,” said Theon, marching ahead of them without so much as checking where he stepped. He tossed aside random pieces of metal and kicked at every can in his way.

“You don’t have the authority to do that,” insisted Carrie. She turned to Yung and Samael. “He can’t do that, right?”

“No, he can’t.” Samael sped up to walk alongside Theon. He scanned every alley as they walked past. The last thing he wanted was a surprise attack from a hungry Roamer – from a pack of hungry Roamers. Whether corrupted or uncorrupted, meat stayed meat and any blood made for a refreshing drink. “But I can.”

“You can?” asked Yung and Carrie at the same time.

“Does it matter? We’re already here.” Samael held out his hand, stopping both of his comrades in their tracks. He listened for a moment. The wind howled through the broken windows, and sand gusted against the buildings. They were in the middle of the street, encircled by shells of old vehicles. “Theon, stop, this is far enough.”

Theon didn’t obey straight away. He strutted to a turned-over bus ahead of them and clambered onto its side. Once on his feet, he let out a rumbling lungful. “Alright, Sammy boy, show me what you’ve got!”

“Samael, you don’t have to do this,” warned Carrie.

“Yea, you’ve got nothing to prove to him,” said Yung, grabbing at his shoulder. Samael yanked away from him.

“What do I get if I win?” he asked.

Theon raised his brows. He paced to the edge of the bus, where he lowered into a crouch. “If you win?” he said-half-laughed. “I admire your optimism, Sammy boy. I’ll tell you what, if you win, you can lead tomorrow.”

“What?” Samael choked. Was he serious? “Do you really expect me to believe you’ll put me in charge of the raid?”

“If you win, yes. It’s an easy bet.”

Samael looked to Yung and Carrie, both of whom shook their heads at him. They had drawn their staffs and stood back-to-back, scanning the surrounding area. Low growling sounds echoed through the streets, and the wind had taken up, no longer howling, but wailing. Perhaps he had made a mistake in coming here …

No.

This had to be done.

“Fine, I’m game,” said Samael, much to Yung’s disappointment. But Samael didn’t care for any of his sighs. He had to do this. He had to show Theon that he was worthy of the Raider title, that he was more than strong enough.

A grin curled around Theon’s mouth. Not the sincere kind, but the kind that would make any sane person doubt their decision. Samael mustn’t have been sane at all, then, as instead of cowering, he took a step forward.

He said, “The first one to chase down and capture a Roamer, wins. Does that sound fair enough for you?”

Theon hopped off the bus. His bones crunched as he landed, his buckles, zippers, and chains rattling from the plummet. “Sure,” he said, “but not just any Roamer. The two of us have to chase after the same one.”

Samael thought it over. Both of them? Pursue the same Roamer? That would make things twice as difficult, if not more. Luckily, he had twice the skill of an average Tracker. Twice the speed, and twice the efficiency.

“If you’re up to it, sure.”

“You better watch out, Theon,” commented Yung from behind them. “Like we said, Samael’s the best of the best.”

Theon approached. He stopped right in front of Samael, so close he could smell traces of nicotine on him. Nicotine and sweat. He nonetheless gazed up at Theon – or the part of his face he could actually see from down below – and narrowed his eyes. Some stray hairs sprinkled Theon’s chin, sharp, golden and coiled.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” hissed Theon. His smoky breath wafted in Samael’s face, and he supressed a cough. Theon stayed frozen for a moment, then he drew his knife, twirled it in his hand, and turned on his heels. He cupped his mouth with his hands, shouting, “Hey, Roamers! We could use some action over here!”

Carrie ran toward him and yanked his hands down. “Hush up,” she warned, “you’ll lure the entire neighbourhood toward us!”

But Theon paid no attention to her. He pushed her to the side and let out an animalistic howl. A chorus of growls promptly replied – an entire pack of Roamers approaching from the other side of the bus. Carrie and Yung doubled back to the nearest car. Samael held his ground. He reached for his staff, but didn’t draw it yet.

“Ah, listen to them squirm,” said Theon with a sickening grin.

More and more Roamers gathered beyond the bus. They scratched, clawed, gnawed at the wreckage, attempting to scramble on top, but their lack of coordination rendered them helpless. They nonetheless continued to try, hungry, ravenous for flesh, for blood, for the Trackers who’ve captured so many of their kind.

“Yung, Carrie,” said Samael, joining them by the car, “you have to go back.”

“Samael, no,” insisted Yung.

“We can handle a few cranky Roamers,” added Carrie.

Samael faced them. “I know you can, but I don’t want you to. If either of you got hurt … like you said, we’re out of our derestriction. This isn’t our job.” He briefly glanced at the bus behind them, then went on, “Go back. Even if you wait for me by the edge of the district, just go. This isn’t your battle and you know that.”

Yung made to say something – perhaps contest some more – but Carrie covered his mouth with her hand. “Alright,” she said for him, rummaging in her satchel with her free hand, “but at least take the lasso with you.” She handed Samael a roll of wire. He took it from her, then hooked it on the side of his belt.

“Thanks,” he said, stepping back, “now go.”

Carrie nodded. She pulled Yung away before he could resist, and they ran down the street from hence they came. Once their footsteps grew almost inaudible, and their silhouettes blended with the Dark, Samael spun around. Theon wielded his knife, revelling at the out-of-control pack that had gathered beyond the bus.

“You think I could keep one as a pet, Sammy boy?” he asked as Samael joined him. “I’d like to play fetch with it.”

Samael rolled his eyes. He jumped back when the bus all of a sudden began to shake from side to side. It rattled and quaked, practically falling apart. He leapt back even further when one of the doors broke off, and a single Roamer charged through. He showed all his teeth, rotten and chipped, and had blackish drool that ran down his neck. His wore ripped clothes, and every inch of his skin throbbed with veins.

“Come here, you ugly thing … I’m ready for you. It’s showtime, Sammy boy!” declared Theon with another one of his howls. He wielded his knife, but the Roamer charged right past him at Samael. “Hey, what gives?”

“This isn’t the time for one of your ego tantrums, Theon. We must isolate this Roamer and get away before the others break through.” Samael grabbed the end of the lasso on his belt and whipped it against the tar. The wire immediately lit up – the same shade of blue-white as the Metropolis of Light’s fence, as well as the electrical part of his staff. He lashed it at the Roamer, who shrieked and turned the other way.

“Another fancy weapon? Gmf …” scoffed Theon.

“Nope, not a weapon,” said Samael, lashing at the Roamer again, “just something to keep the control.” He courted the Roamer to the nearest building, where it crawled through the window to escape the light.

“Now it’s showtime,” mumbled Samael, just before he jumped through the window after it. The entire interior lit up. He saw what remained of a front desk, a waiting area and a children’s playroom, but no Roamer.

“See you on the other side, Sammy boy!” called Theon from the street, then his footsteps echoed down the alley.

Samael rolled up the lasso. He patted it and the light went out. Ah. Much better. He stood still for a moment, taking in the sounds of a decaying building. The walls creaking … the ceiling shifting … a soft growling …

A soft growling?

“I’ve got you,” declared Samael and set off up the staircase. He stopped on the first-floor landing, then surveyed the room. The building must’ve housed a newspaper office once, as there were stacks of papers everywhere.

Samael picked one up. He read the headline, “Mysterious Dark sweeps across the earth, turns countless into zombies.” Zombies? Ha! He browsed the paper for a date: 24th of April, 2025. More than five-hundred years ago.

Samael crumpled the paper in his hand. He tossed it on the ground, just to have the Roamer jump out after it. It took the paper in its teeth, shredding it. Once the Roamer realised what it was, it let go of the paper and howled at the heavens. The sight of it was disturbing, even for Samael, who worked with Roamers all the time. He unrolled the lasso again, without lighting it up, and approached the Roamer, ready to reel it in, when –

Something bulldozed him from the side.

Samael hit the staircase railing with his right arm. A jolt of pain shot into his shoulder and he let out a scream.

“Sorry,” said Theon, “but I’m not about to lose.”

Samael pushed away from the staircase. He rounded the corner after Theon – who charged directly at the Roamer – and did the only thing he could think of in the heat of the moment: He snapped the lasso at Theon’s feet.

Theon fell on his face, dropping his knife. He roared, not in pain, but in frustration. His fall rattled the entire first-floor, which quaked into the walls. The Roamer took one look at Theon, then ran the other way. It jumped out the window into that of the next building, still growling-half-screaming the entire time.

The office became silent.

“I’ll kill you for this!” shouted Theon, reaching for his knife. He tried to cut himself free, but the wire wouldn’t budge.

Samael yanked on it and Theon’s feet became loose. He reeled it in, hooked it on his belt, and dashed across the office. He jumped through the window after the Roamer, although his landing went less smoothly than intended.

He fell on all fours.

“Ugh …” he groaned, squeezing his jaw. But, before he could get up, Theon leapt in after him, right on top of him.

“I don’t think so, runt!” he snarled.

Samael held in a yelp of pain.

Theon stomped on his back, right onto his spine. It didn’t hurt as much as before, partly because he had lost all feeling in his upper body, and partly because the floor gave out under him. Samael fell into a cloud of murk, right onto an old desk. The desk also gave in, and he plummeted amidst a pile of stone, dust, and wood.

Samael rolled on his back. Theon remained on the first-floor, looking down at him through the hole in the ceiling.

“Get up,” he commanded, “I want you to watch me win.” He wiped the dust off his shoulders, stepped over the hole, and set off to somewhere. He left a trail of cracks in his wake, all the way to the staircase.

Samael scrambled out of the rubble. Not only did he have to catch up to Theon, but he had to get out of there before the entire ceiling collapsed. His back cracked when he got upright, and his left foot ached, but he ran-half-hopped to the stairs. He followed Theon’s footsteps to the roof, clutching the railing all the way.

Samael could hardly walk anymore when he reached the top. He put his right hand on his back and straightened as much as he could. He bit his tongue to stifle his wheezing, then upped the last few steps. The door to the roof stood open on a screen. It barely hung on its hinges, and the moment he pushed it open, it fell off.

The sound of metal colliding with concrete echoed through the open-air. The roof deemed empty, abandoned, save for a single person. Not a person, but a Roamer. It ran in circles along the edge of the roof, trapped.

Samael looked around for Theon. Nothing. No one. But he had to be up here. The buildings on either side of them were a good two or three flights taller, and he wouldn’t have climbed up there even if he could.

It just made no sense.

Samael shoved his concerns aside and unrolled the lasso. He whipped it against the concrete, lighting it up. The Roamer immediately took note of him, and retreated to the edge of the roof. It leaned back so far, it lost its balance and toppled over. Samael lashed the wire at its feet to stop it from falling, but then –

A knife shot through the Roamer’s head.

Its screams dulled, its face straightened, and it tumbled over the side of the building. The lasso fell on the ground.

Limp.

Empty.

“No!” shouted Samael. He let go of the wire and rushed to the edge. He peered over it at the concrete below.

A Roamer-shaped splotch lay on the sidewalk.

“I win,” came Theon’s voice from somewhere behind him.

Samael spun. He looked up, right on top of the building that housed the stairs. The beast stood erect on it, his hands on his hips, and his chin to the sky. He stood like that for a moment, cemented, then jumped down.

“How did you possibly win?” Samael shouted. “You killed it!”

Theon shrugged. “Of course I killed it. And I won, Sammy boy, because I managed to do it before you did.”

Samael had no idea what came over him. He ran up to Theon and pressed a finger against his chest, hard. “We’re not supposed to kill the Roamer, you imbecile! I said capture, not kill! There’s a difference!”

“Um,” Theon began, showing his teeth, “firstly, get your grimy finger off me. And, secondly, you never said that.”

“Trackers don’t kill!” bellowed Samael.

Theon took a giant step forward, bulldozing him several steps back. “But Raiders do,” he hissed in reply.

Samael didn’t know what to say to that. He took his finger off Theon’s chest, and pretended to roll his wounded shoulder as he paced to the edge of the building again. He glanced over the side. Several Roamers had surrounded the fallen one, not grieving its loss, but feeding off its remains. He shut his eyes and turned back around.

“A Raider must not only be able to kill,” Theon went on, “but must also be able to look at the result of their work.”

Samael still didn’t say anything. He bent down, gathered the end of the lasso, and began to roll it up again. It was still ignited, and dragged across the concrete as a lightning bolt in the sky during a thunder storm.

Quick and imprecise, but dazzling nonetheless.

“You’re weak, Samael of the Dark,” said Theon after a while.

Samael hooked the lasso on his belt again. He lowered his voice. “I would’ve killed him if we’d clarified that.”

“Would you?”

No answer.

Theon walked right up to him again, but not to intimidate him this time. “I sometimes wondered whether your stay in the Metropolis of Light had affected you. You were always so quiet and mysterious, but I just reckoned it was your own strange way of breeding the Dark inside you … I see now that I was wrong.”

“What?”

“You weren’t breeding the Dark, you were breeding the Light. Isn’t that right, Sammy boy? Did I figure you out?”

Samael pushed Theon back against his chest. “You don’t know anything. If I had half a mind to do it, I’d have killed you right here, right now.” He balled his hands into fists. “I want to be a Raider, because I want to seek vengeance on the Metropolis of Light. I want to make them pay for the way they treated me.”

“Is that so?” asked Theon, not really convinced. “Well, if I had half a mind to do it, I’d have kicked you off the squad for pushing your second-in-command. But, since you’re the Emperor’s favourite, I can’t.”

“Stop saying that.” Samael made to push past Theon and head for the stairway, but Theon pulled him back and walked ahead of him instead. He kicked the broken door further to the side, and skipped down the stairs.

“I’ll stop saying it the day you prove me wrong.”

A pause.

“The day you prove to me you’re worthy of your title as Samael of the Dark.” Theon abruptly heeled and Samael bumped into him. “I’m keeping my eye on you tomorrow, Sammy boy, so you better tread carefully.”