Guardians of the Dark

Samael burst through the door onto the hospital roof. He had thought about braving the streets to Craedor Fortress, but a fleet of Monitors, combing the city centre for leftover civilians, rendered it impossible for him not to get caught. The sky-approach was more his style anyway. He frequently jumped buildings in the Dark Capital, as Roamers were often too fast to chase on foot. And those buildings stood much farther apart than these.

What a piece of cake.

Samael smacked the sides of his boots. Sand spilled from his soles, socks, and trousers, lightening his steps. He scanned the streets below – the jammed line of railway pods – then raised his eyes to Craedor Fortress a couple of blocks away. He held his breath, crouched, and set off, jumping to the adjacent building.

His fight with Theon had drained him too much, and he tumbled after just the first jump. So much for a piece of cake.

He rolled on his back, laying still for a second, looking at the sky. A bunch of clouds clotted together around the sun. The actual sun. He had tried to glimpse it from Ominoura Tower many a time, but he barely saw the beam from that far off.

Oh.

Yea.

The beam.

Samael scraped to his feet. He dusted off his elbows and prepared for the second jump. Much narrower than the first, he easily made it across. His knees locked as he landed, tar scattering in multiple directions. He kept to his feet though, with the exception of nearly losing his balance. He paced to the edge of the building.

The previous two buildings had but an alley between them, whereas the next one sported a much wider railway track. A pair of Monitors crossed it, checking each pod for civilians. They talked as they walked – “Yea, and then this Guardian kid bulldozed right past us. I mean, it’s not like someone’s trying to flip the switch or something. The least he could do was calm down a bit. Those crazies!” – neither of them looking up.

Samael reversed several steps. He waited until the Monitors had rounded the corner, before he slapped his thighs and rolled his shoulders. He took a deep breath, then set off. He raced across the roof, launched off the side, and hurled through the air. The edge of the adjacent roof raised up, up, up before his eyes. No … he didn’t have enough speed, enough velocity … he wasn’t going to make it … he wasn’t …

Samael grabbed the edge of the roof with the tips of his fingers. He slammed against the brick wall, hanging with nothing to grab on to, and nothing to support his weight except the dents between the bricks.

He huffed-half-groaned. His fingers twitched, starting to slip, and his wounded shoulder felt as though it might dislocate at any moment. He caught his reflection in the window. He had a mirror in his room, of course, but amidst so many Corrupted – all of a similar appearance – he never really saw himself for what he looked like, what he really looked like. In his mind, he was never quite as pale, and never had such dark circles around his eyes.

“Damn,” he sighed.

Samael pressed his forehead against the window. He thought back to when he first saw Kasen in the hospital. He thought of their fight, and the pain, the determination, in his brother’s eyes. He thought of Marian Traynor, and how she wasn’t at all angry with him about the General. He recalled how she confessed her love for him … not her fear, nor her hatred. Her love. Yes. He couldn’t give up. Not now. Not like this.

Samael gathered every ounce of strength, of drive, he had left, and pulled himself to the top of the building. He rolled over the side, gravel crunching under him. His arms lay numb next to him, and his fingertips properly seared. He raised his hands and looked them over. They were red and throbbing, but still intact.

The rest of his journey to Craedor Fortress proved slightly less challenging, as the further he travelled into the city centre, the narrower the alleys became. Craedor Fortress, as high as it was, proved a couple floors shorter than its neighbouring building. The beam of Dark made it seem the highest building of all, when, in fact, it came together at but a mere fifteen floors – which meant a five floor plummet from where Samael stood.

He rubbed up his wounded arm. His ankles ached, and cramp-like spasms travelled up his hamstring when he moved.

Samael prepared himself, but didn’t take a breath this time. He started to run, letting out a scream that echoed across the city. He launched off the edge, down, down, down. He tried to absorb his fall, but his body shuddered upon impact, colliding with the concrete roof of Craedor Fortress. He fell over, but immediately scrambled upright. The beam pulsated next to him, nearly deafening him, but feeding him with strength, with power.

“Wow,” he breathed, looking up at it. It shot into the sky, into nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

Samael looked around him at the city, at the buildings and streets and man-made ponds: The breath-taking Metropolis of Light. It looked nothing like it did from afar. His heart swelled at the greenish plains to the west – the Western Collection Point, the Farming District. He gawked at the series of dams in the north, then paused on the Northern Collection Point. Billows of smoke still merged with the Dark beyond, withering and puffing.

Samael craned his head to the east, searching for the Dark Capital. He couldn’t see anything except for black.

Black, black, and black.

The Eastern Collection Point resembled the Northern’s condition, except less as smoky. How many people were risking their lives to save it? How many had already died in doing so? And all because of him … because he was easily fooled, easily manipulated into thinking Emperor Sumuri cared for him. That he had saved him.

Samael gritted his teeth. He made for the door atop the roof, disappointed to find it locked with another combination. He punched in Gatherer X’s code, but the panel flashed red, followed by a surge of electricity.

“Ugh!” He yanked away. “These damn panels …”

Samael removed his staff. He groaned as he raised his arm, and huffed when he bent it, but managed to whip the staff down his side. The staff elongated, and the blades deployed at the ends. He held the staff in the middle, then used the electric side-parts to short-circuit the panel. The panel fried, but the door didn’t open.

Samael cursed. Of course, he should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. Craedor Fortress not only housed Emperor Hamman, but also served as the heart of the city, as the vault of the one thing that kept it in the Light: the Dark. He looked around for another way in. An air vent maybe? A radiator of some kind?

Nothing.

Samael gazed to the edge of the building. His muscles ached just thinking of it, but it might just be his only way inside. Yes. He had to do it. He had to dangle over the side of Craedor Fortress and shatter one of the windows. He flicked the blade on one end of his staff ninety degrees, then hammered it in place against the ground.

“Here goes nothing,” he wheezed and neared the edge. He leaned over it, gazing down fifteen floors of tinted windows, followed by the sidewalk below. His heart tremored, but he hooked the blade to the safety railing and climbed over, balancing on a foot-width ledge. He tested the staff, then wiped his hands on his pants.

Samael clutched the centre of the staff as he lowered over the side, slowly, carefully, hesitantly. His biceps already ached, and he had only just started. He slipped a little – a lot – all the way to the point at which he grabbed the bottom blade. He hung too low now, and couldn’t adjust his grip without touching the electric part.

The top blade wiggled against the railing, and the bottom blade cut into his hand, blood surging down his arm.

Samael looked through the window, although he couldn’t see inside through the tint. He nonetheless rocked back and forth, kicking at the glass with his heels. Nothing. He groaned, not only from pain, but also from frustration. He reeled up his legs a final time, and angled the metal lining of his boots at the window …

It cracked.

It shattered.

Samael hurled inside. He fell on his knees with his hands on the ground – cold, marbled tile. He took a moment to breathe, to recollect himself. Glass crunched under him, but the floors soothed his burning, bleeding palms.

He had made it …

And with everything still intact …

Someone cleared their throat.

Samael’s head snapped up. Emperor Gorgo Hamman stood atop a stage-like platform, surrounded by an assembly – a fleet was more like it – of Monitors, Gatherers, and Guardians. Some sat in the cushioned seats that faced the stage, while others made themselves busy by the air vents, an electrical board, and the exit.

They all stopped what they were doing and turned toward him, readying whatever weapons they had at hand.

“Identify yourself,” said the Emperor, strutting down stage’s steps. He stopped at the bottom, awaiting an answer.

Samael scrambled to his feet, almost slipping on the glass. He wielded his staff at them. This was not the welcome he had expected … “How do I get to the control room?” he asked, disregarding the initial question.

Emperor Hamman took another step toward him. A pair of Guardians flanked him, both with knives in their hands.

“The Emperor asked you a question, Corrupted!” they snarled.

“Samael of the Dark,” he said, for the first time with a hint of pride. “I need to get to the control room this instant.”

The two Guardians made to launch at Samael, but Emperor Hamman stopped them. He motioned for everyone in the theatre to lower their weapons – including Samael. He only obliged when everyone else did.

“Samael of the Dark, eh?” said the Emperor. As a lanky man with ashy hair and a soothing voice, he proved the exact opposite of Emperor Sumuri. He wore a suit with a lab coat, and a pair of pointed shoes that were way too big for him. And he didn’t even have to threaten anyone into obedience. “Have you come to seek revenge, then?”

“If only …” Samael paused. He thought about explaining everything, but figured it wouldn’t help at all. No one would believe him. “I’m only going to ask once more: How can I get to the control room? Answer me, and no one gets hurt.” He raised his weapon again, and every AOL soldier in the theatre imitated.

“We should just finish him off now, Your Imperial,” said a man, a Guardian by the looks of it, by the theatre doors.

“No, Felix,” said the Emperor, “he’s a guest here.”

A guest? Samael scoffed aloud at that. He marched up to the Emperor and said, “If I don’t get to the control room, the entire city will go down. This might be difficult for you to believe, but I’m not the enemy here.”

“You nearly murdered the best General this army’s ever had,” replied the Emperor, with a touch of aversion now.

“Well, if you don’t tell me the way to the control room, the city might just lose the best Emperor it’s ever had …”

Emperor Hamman raised his left eyebrow. Samael sneered at him, waiting for him to order his soldiers to attack, but instead, he grinned. It wasn’t an amused grin, but rather an impressed one, a fascinated one.

“Even if I wanted to show you, I can’t.” The Emperor motioned to the doors. “We’re all locked in here.”

“What?” Samael blurted out. He strutted down the aisle to the exit. The soldiers parted for him, but didn’t stand down. In fact, they only tightened their grip on their weapons, and growled at him when he passed. He made to the pair of double doors – more tinted glass – and examined the panel next to it. It sparked, clearly fried.

“Your informant, Felicity Meyers, locked us in here.” The Emperor spoke calmly, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “For a team of Corrupted, you sure lack communication. Why would they send you up here?”

Samael spun. “I’m not a part of their team.” He spat a little. “I’m trying to save your damn lives, don’t you get it?”

Emperor Hamman seemed intrigued. “Oh? And why would Samael of the Dark suddenly be interested in helping us?”

“I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for Kasen.” Samael popped a blade in between the glass doors, then used his staff as a lever to pry it open. The doors parted just wide enough for him to slip through. Once on the other side, he yanked out his staff, and the doors slammed shut again. The soldiers on the inside banged on the glass, shouting after him, ordering him to free them, but he just turned and made for the elevator.

Great, another panel.

Samael sighed into his boots.

“Can’t open it, eh?” came a voice from the doors. Emperor Hamman. He stood by the glass, his figure just about visible behind the tint. “You require someone’s wrist. Mine, if you want to get to the control room.”

Samael strutted back to the doors. “What do you want in return?”

“If you’re truly on our side – or Kasen’s – why not let us go?” The Emperor showed Samael his wrist. “I’ll grant you access to the control room if you do. We didn’t attack you before, and we won’t attack you now.”

Samael hesitated, but after another glance at the elevator, agreed. He jammed his staff into the doors again, and pried it open. This time, the soldiers grabbed a hold of the doors, and pushed them all the way aside.

They piled out, nearly trampling Samael. He stood his ground, shouting at the Emperor, “Now for your end of the deal!”

Emperor Hamman looked at him with a smile, although no longer one of fascination. This one proved unsettling in a way. He raised his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Samael, but you know I can’t let you down there.”

Samael felt a red-hot sensation in his throat. He charged forward, rounded the Emperor, and pressed the staff to his throat. Not the centre part, but the upper electrical part. The soldiers stopped in their tracks, all wielding their weapons. The Emperor gestured for them to stand down, but no one listened this time. No one, except for the Felix guy. He pushed through the crowd, stopping short of Samael and the Emperor.

“I know Kasen,” he said.

Samael flinched, but regained his composure. He couldn’t express weakness, not now. Not when so many AOL soldiers surrounded him, and while he restrained their Emperor. “Of course you do, you’re a Guardian.”

Felix raised his hands above his head. His face smoothed into a look of such vulnerability, such honesty, Samael had to think of Theon, of Gatherer X, to rile himself up again. Felix spoke, softly, “I know how highly he thinks of you, Samael. He’s defended your honour multiple times, each time referring to you as his brother.”

Samael snorted. Kasen might’ve done that then, but he certainly wouldn’t now. He tightened his grip on the staff, and pushed the Emperor forward, forcing Felix to make away. “I only want passage to the control room.” He steered the Emperor to the elevator. “There, flash your wrist! Do what you have to, to get me down there!”

“Your Imperial, don’t,” advised Felix. He spoke to Emperor Hamman, but looked right at Samael, at his eyes.

At his soul.

Something fluttered in Samael’s stomach. He swallowed in an attempt to dull the feeling, and it just barely worked. “Open the door, or I swear I’ll slit your throat!” he shouted in the most Theon-like tone he could manage. He had tried to convince them of his change of heart, but then they just had to go and double-cross him.

Again.

Emperor Hamman reached out and swiped his wrist three times across the panel. The elevator opened, upon which Samael reversed inside. Once in, he pushed the Emperor away, and, just before the elevator closed, he said, “If you value the Light, you’d get the Emperor to a bunker.” Then, the doors slid shut.

Samael tapped his foot on the ground, unable to keep still. He kept thinking of Felix – those dark eyes, hooked eyebrows, and chiselled jaw. He kept hearing his voice – a perfect blend of smoothness and husk …

No.

Stop it.

The elevator bounced to a stop and Samael darted out. He fried the panel next to it, just in case someone – that Guardian, Felix – thought about following him down there. He took a deep breath, gathered his thoughts, stabilised his mindset, then set off down the corridor to the cave with the hidden tunnel.

Samael ran down it at full speed, all the way across the city to the opening in the canyon. Voices cried his name: Carrie and Yung. Relief flushed through him. They had made it past the Raiders, and just in time too. He approached the door, recalling Gatherer X’s code: Three. Three. Three. Six. The panel flashed green.

Carrie and Yung bundled inside the moment the door opened, and Samael promptly shut it again, afraid the rest of the Raiders might be behind them. “I’m glad you guys made it,” he said, facing his two comrades.

They were sweaty and jittery, breathing too heavily to properly speak. Carrie said, “The Raiders – they nearly saw us.”

“Yea,” added Yung, “but we showed them what Trackers can really do.” He slapped his shoes and sand showered across the floor. He tapped the lasso on his belt, and it lit up. They could see each other clearly now.

“So, you need help containing the Guardians or something?” asked Carrie. “I make a mean leash with the lasso.”

Samael shook his head, suddenly uncertain. He had promised to tell them everything once they were here, but didn’t really know what everything entailed. Yung and Carrie hated the Light, and would never agree to help.

“Actually, things have changed,” he said.

Yung raised an eyebrow. He followed Samael down the tunnel, keeping short on his heels like whenever they went tracking. “Changed? How?” His voice took on a tone of amusement. “Did the almighty Theon die?”

“No, I’m no longer a Raider.”

Carrie and Yung both gasped. Carrie reached for his lower arm to pull him back, but he yanked away and continued down the tunnel. He upped his walk into a jog, then into a run. They nonetheless caught up with him.

“What do you mean you’re not a Raider anymore?” Carrie wanted to know.

“I found out Emperor Sumuri murdered my parents. My real ones. I’ve been his pawn, his puppet, all along, raised specifically to do his bidding. To destroy the Metropolis of Light.” Samael’s mouth tasted bitter just thinking of his parents. Two people he never got to know, and who were killed for no reason at all.

Just so he could suffer.

“That’s awful, dude,” noted Yung. “So, if you’re not a Raider, what are you? And what are we doing here?”

“I’m not on the Light’s side, but I want to help my brother, Kasen. I’m going to stop the Raiders from pulling the switch.” Samael let it sink in for a moment. “And then I’m heading back to the Dark Capital.”

A pause.

“To kill Emperor Sumuri for what he did.”

Yung and Carrie didn’t say anything at first. They ran in silence, all the way to the city centre. The end of the tunnel neared, and Samael stopped in his tracks. He turned to face them, or whatever he could actually see of them in the little light. He wasn’t used to not being able to see, which made it refreshing in a way.

“I know you guys said you hate the Light. And I’m not going to force you into doing anything, but if I know one thing, it’s that the three of us are a team. Just know, I’ll understand if you want to help the Raiders instead.”

Carrie and Yung shared a glance. It briefly seemed as though they might consider the latter option, but then Yung deployed his own staff. His eyes glistened in the light from his lasso. “You’re right, we don’t like the Light.”

“But we like the Raiders even less,” Carrie finished for him.

“Are you sure about this?” asked Samael.

“Sam, even though we said all those things about how we couldn’t wait to see the Metropolis of Light fall, we only said it because we had to. We Corrupted shouldn’t like the Light. But the thing is, we don’t know anything about it at all. One thing we do know, however, is you. You’re Samael of the Dark for crying out loud!” Carrie wielded her own staff. “We’ll follow you all the way to Emperor Sumuri’s throne for Dark sake!”

Samael’s eyes watered. His blinked it away and grinned. The moment he did, Yung wrapped an arm around his neck and squeezed. He couldn’t breathe, but Yung’s embrace was all he needed to restore his strength.

“And, as a bonus, we’ll finally get to see the inside of Ominoura Tower,” he boasted.

Samael wormed free. He smoothed his collar and rolled his shoulders. “You won’t if we don’t finish this first.”

“Lead on, then, boss!” said Carrie and Yung together, trailing after him into the cave, followed by the building.

They ran down the pristine white corridor, Yung and Carrie tempted to touch everything in sight: the walls, the computer pads, the collection tanks … They followed the sounds of commotion – of someone screaming – through a series of three shattered doors, then down another corridor into a tiny room at the end.

Samael grabbed a knife from a shelf in the room, and made for the opposite door. He felt a wave of Dark pulsate through him as he entered, and gawked at the beam in the centre of the space. It felt as though he could breathe again for the first time since the roof – as though the Dark provided him with breath, with oxygen. His lungs at once deflated again, though, as he surveyed everyone around the beam.

The Raiders.

Theon.

Kasen.

Theon held Kasen up against the glass, his hand around his neck. Kasen’s face had a bluish-red tint to it, and he struggled, writhed, and gagged. Theon raised his knife. He held the sharp end to the inside of Kasen’s neck, saying, “Now, where to begin … so many choices, and all with the same fantastic result …”

Samael’s hand trembled in horror. In horror and anger and revulsion. He watched as Theon raised his hand, ready to slice down, when a jolt of strength rushed through his body. He didn’t aim, just tossed.

The knife pinned through the air, then penetrated the back of Theon’s hand. The sound of metal slicing through flesh and bone echoed through Samael’s head. The knife ricocheted his hand all the way against the glass, forcing him to drop the knife. Kasen slithered away and snatched the knife off the floor, looking around.

“Bastard!” screamed Theon, clutching his hand with the knife in it. He met Samael’s eyes, and his scowl deepened.

“Wicked aim, dude,” mumbled Yung under his breath.

Samael tried to control his breathing, yet couldn’t help but sound as though he was about to faint. In fact, the room did briefly spin, but the moment he locked eyes with Kasen, he regained his footing, his balance. “In case you forgot, Theon,” he announced, still with an extended arm, “the Emperor gave Kasen to me.”