Chapter Text
—— 2026, Kingdom of Evigheden ——
Every Saturday a small host of children gathered in the Capital’s library for an excited hot chocolate and storytime, relaxing under the gentle red glow of the sunset as it filtered through the windows. The tall and stern-faced librarian finally pressed closed the cover of the book that he held on his lap, smiling as the many children looked up in intrigued curiosity.
“Was that a real story, mister Elswyth?” A little girl sat on a beanbag chirped, holding a teddy bear close. The boy next to her was trembling, holding onto the girl’s arm as if the book itself would bite them.
Elswyth’s smile remained fixed on his features, and he gently pat the handle of the girl’s hot chocolate, pushing it towards her. “It is not, little one,” he replied, before he slid the book back onto the shelf with a thoughtful hum. “Lords of Dark did not exist, nor did Lucrece. It is all a tale, sparked by a very imaginative poet.”
Everyone knew the story of Lucrece. It was the story of a prevailing kingdom once peaceful, torn down into dust after an evil scourge descended down onto its surface. The monster, many theologists believed, was completely metaphorical; the kingdom itself fell to anarchy, some say, and the Lord of Dark was merely a horrible entity born from their unrest.
But what truly happened to the kingdom was a mystery, just like the origins of all fairytales.
The boy seemed to relax a little hearing that, and he loosened his hold on the girl with a tired sigh. “Good. I don’t need meanies like that ruining book time…”
Once the red glow outside the window faded finally into black and after the children had filtered out of the library, being picked up by weary-looking parents, Elswyth cast once last appraising glance at the spine of the book, his eyes distant as he adjusted his glasses. He always adored fairytales, but there was something about Lucrece’s that had always fascinated him. Maybe it was the monster itself, and the mystery behind how little was known about the entity? Or maybe it was the idea that such a beast can be borne from such a seemingly peaceful civilisation to begin with?
It wasn’t just him that had a fascination with such a mystery. Elswyth could recall the names of at least three urban mystery podcasts that speak of it within seconds, all of them bearing the same excitement and speculative nature. The same eagerness towards an elusive legend.
Elswyth couldn’t suppress a smile as he pulled the curtains closed to the library, before he retreated over to a small nook in the bookshelves in the far back of the spacious room. He pulled out a worn-looking key, unlocking the nondescript oak door that sat between, just at the back of the nook.
As the door swung open the pleasant chill of air conditioning hit him like a gentle touch, billowing over his skin along with the familiar chatter of the television that sat in the room’s corner, atop a cardboard box meant for oranges. The apartment itself was nondescript, a worn visage built up of old and cheap furniture, haphazardly strewn piles of books, and all made up of a colourless combination of blacks and purples. Elswyth reached down for the remote that sat on the moth-eaten arm of the leather sofa, his finger hovering over the power button.
Only to stop, eyes drawn immediately to the television screen.
“…The situation escalates as countless reports flood in about a strange man in armour disrupting customers at Apricity City’s McFlipper. According to witnesses, this man was seen calling all within the restaurant sinners, and even assaulted security guards when they got involved.”
Elswyth’s eyebrow twitched in tired frustration. Another nutcase, no doubt, probably high on matango. Apricity City… How bothersome. A pang of concern flooded him as he focused more on the broadcast, painfully aware how close the local McFlipper’s was to the library. Surely, after such an uproar, the man was caught?
“This man is still at large after he managed to evade police called to the scene. The public is warned to keep an eye out, and report any suspicious behaviour.”
A vein popped on Elswyth’s forehead, and he almost fumbled his glasses. Fuck.
—
Odio has long since lost count of how many decades have passed since Lucrece fell, even if the Great Silence only felt like yesterday. How many times have his footsteps passed along the halls of the same empty castle, darkening the red rugs into blackness after so many decades of dust and rot settled on them? In the corner of his mind, he could feel his other incarnations thriving in the chills of their own reign, and not for the first time, curiosity struck him.
He wasn’t sure if it was time wearing his magic down, or if, unbeknowst to him, the empty solitude had dulled such a blazing hatred, but he could no longer peer into the times, his originally powerful thread to them wavering as the years ticked on. Did he even want to peer into them?
He felt safe in solitude. No longer could humans turn reproachful eyes towards him, nor could they spit in his direction and call him a beast. Yet, he couldn’t shake the dull ache in the centre of his chest, an emptiness that settled like mist over a cold prairie. The humans deserved their fate, aye, all he did was teach them a lesson. But as every day passed his heart became increasingly more ripped and twisted in two different directions, loneliness and the lingering of hate fighting a bloody war for dominance. Every nameless grave he saw, every pile of bones and ancient spray of blood, his eyes lingered upon. The endlessly wandering footsteps stalled to a close, and he felt with bitterness a side of his mind that he long believed had faded away.
A side of his mind that sobbed uncontrollably at the sight, at the memory that once was.
The grave by the riverside was only one of these. It was hastily made, crafted from the torn-off wooden head of one of the nearby signposts, and not a word was visible on it's darkened surface. Nobody else would recall the man that fell here, but to Odio, the sight was as fresh as last morning's rain; a terrified man shielding his wife. Absently he placed a hand on the top of the makeshift wooden gravestone, and he didn't realise how tightly he clutched it until his knuckles turned white. His body refused to allow him to move as he recalled the blood that settled on his hand, the sickening warmth. His chest twisted even further, causing sickness to rise into his throat.
No... He shouldn't pity them. He has seen their grotesque, raw nature for himself. How many of them believed him when he reached out his own hands, desperate, but with words failing to escape him? None. Mayhaps there was a side of his mind that still drowned in what once was, but he had no doubt about why it was; that was the side that still clung onto foolish hope. Hope that mankind's warmth wasn't just a mirage, a fairytale sight impossible. They deserved what came to them.
Odio was about to turn away, but the sight of something glistening caught him dead in his tracks.
What? Shock and confusion flicked through his eyes and he glanced down, plucking something out of the shallows of the river. It was drenched and filthy, but the glass glittered in the sunlight, silvery rays reflecting even through the blotting, smeared sand. A cork was carefully fastened inside the neck of the bottle, and Odio caught the sight of something small folded up within. A note?
It was upon reading the contents that the Lord of Dark realised that his empty days of wandering the kingdom were going to come to a close. He never actually stopped to think about the lands beyond Lucrece until now, but he felt the bitter draught of hate once again welling up in his chest, biting at his mind. He shouldn't rest on his laurels. There was an entire new side of the world that needed to be taught a lesson, and it’s he who will bring those beasts to heel.
---
It is a pity, however, that the new realm evaded his understanding in every way possible.
The looming concrete boxes that stretched all around were dismal and dark against the sunlight, only in comparison to their strange elongated windows which shone like starlight. He witnessed as much from a distance when he was gazing through the eyes of Inko, but faintly witnessing such alien architecture and directly being in it were an ocean's expanse apart in feeling. For as little faith as he had in humanity, he could at least admit that the advancement over thousands of years... It was an odd sight to behold.
And now, of course, he was on the run. He was the Lord of Dark! His power was immense, and his sword should be cutting through these fools like butter, his magick unbeatable.
...That is, until he was reminded about something- guns exist. At that moment, he realised just how valid the power craze that O.dio had actually was..
"Stop! Police!"
A deafening snap split the air as the wall beside him splintered, debris and dust trickling down onto the dismal alley floor. He once again spread his wings, hoping to take off, but pain lanced through him at the very movement; these fools had pierced them with shells, preventing the opportunity for takeoff in the very first heartbeat. Even dismissing the wings and re-summoning them from the mist failed to rid the wounds, and Odio idly wondered if he underestimated these fools.
Odio briskly threw a hand to the side as he ran, forcing bitter energy to course through them and materialising beside him as grotesque eyeballs, bleeding into the walls, bloodshot and writhing.
Both officers briskly stopped in their tracks, shocked and horrified gasps resounding out from behind Odio. The man snapped up the opportunity, and an explosion of light shattered through the night, breaking what was once empty and cold.
Two rats were dealt with. Still, he needed to play it more careful here than he originally anticipated. he had grown too bloody cocky in that restaurant, and now he was dealing with the consequences of that.
Odio knew where to go now, at least. Thankfully the streets were busy, and even with his attire, it wasn't difficult to melt into the crowd. One of the strange metal beasts snapped by on the road beside him, a deafening sound splitting from it, but nobody around him paid it any heed. It must hurt like hell to be hit by it, he thought idly. Very soon he caught sight of a sign at the side of the road and snaked into one of the side streets, the crowd thinning out as the quietude of a smaller corner in the urban jungle called out to him. It was framed by a few of the odd brick marketbuildings that the main street held, but he could see from even the briefest glance of them that they weren't well maintained.
The main signs above the doors were chipped away and blackened, many of the vast illuminated 'painting' canvases (???) flickering, like a candle about to go out. The windows could barely be parsed from the walls, so dusty and marred with dirt and grime that it was difficult to believe that they weren't abandoned. Maybe they were.
The shops, either, were hardly any better, but at least they seemed to put effort into their exteriors. A tiny library sat at the end of the street, and the wilted but still colourful potted plants that sat outside its rotating door seemed like a meagre smile in a world of grey. A small corner shop at the side that seemed entirely made of posters screamed in comparison, demanding attention for whatever it was selling. But the posters at least provided something different to look at which wasn't cold brick and concrete.
At that moment, the memory of the words that Odio overheard in the tavern flooded back to him, and he mentally re-scanned them.
"In Oak Road, I heard there is an abandoned warehouse. Place is definitely haunted, I'm surprised they haven't knocked it down by now."
If the warehouse truly was abandoned, well... It was better than nothing. After raising the ire of this realm's knights, trying to book an inn would be risky, to say the least. At least any presence would be unlikely here. He briskly cast a glance back the way he came, looking once again back at the sign he just passed; Oak Road. It seems he was in the right place. He just had to find a way to hide if those odd knights ever decided to patrol the area.
Odio stumbled, feeling pain arch through him as he leant against the cold wall, his form shaking as his head swam from the pain and blood loss. He needed to get inside as soon as he could. He couldn’t afford to let the medics here treat him. The only one he could rely on was himself.