Guardians of the Dark

Samael peered out from behind the sand dune. He burrowed his feet under the sand to keep himself from sliding back onto the Raider behind him. He gazed from left to right, skimming the Eastern Collection Point and everything it offered. The fence made a constant clicking sound, alerting them of its electrification, and glowed the same blue-white colour as his lasso when activated. It was early morning – timewise, that is – and several Gatherers roamed around outside in insolation suits, gathering the Dark with extractors.

“You see that?” said Theon to no one in particular. He chewed on a piece of gum – or what Samael thought was gum. “Their defences aren’t as stiff today. They probably reckon we wouldn’t attack again as soon.”

“That’s why you raided the water supply?” asked Samael, still with his eyes on the Gatherers closest to them.

They were closing in, inch by inch.

“You might not know this, but we need water too, Sammy boy,” Theon mocked him. He paused to observe Samael’s reaction – a blank gawk – then went on, “But yes, we chose yesterday for exactly this reason.”

Samael adjusted his feet in the sand again. He accidentally kicked some in the person’s eyes behind him, who spat several curses in return. Samael chose to ignore him. He was there to prove himself worthy of the Raider title, and needed to get his head in the game. If only things could move along a little faster …

“That’s it, they’re getting too close,” declared Theon as if Samael had spoken aloud. He flipped around against the dune to face the rest of the Raiders. There were barely twenty of them – a small group, but a nonetheless fearsome one. They were shadowed by a cage on wheels, crawling with quite a few Roamers.

Angry Roamers.

Hungry Roamers.

Growling, writhing, and sputtering Roamers.

“Alright, fools,” Theon went on, barely whispering anymore, “today’s no ordinary raid. While we usually go for electronics and supplies, we’re instead going for the kill.” Several Raiders became restless with excitement. Samael didn’t. “The AOL will scramble to protect the things we usually go for, which gives us the upper hand.

“Remember, this is new territory for us, so we might have to retreat if things go south. Once I give the signal, everyone – and I mean everyone – must follow my orders. If I run, you run. Anyone who disobeys will suffer severe punishment.” Theon glanced at Samael as he said this, who grumbled under his breath.

“Sir Theon,” asked one of the Raiders at the back.

“Yea?”

“I’m ready to release the Roamers upon your orders, sir.” The Raider stood at arms, holding the end of the rope that kept the cage’s entrance together. He flinched when one of the Roamers tried to bite off his hand.

“Yes, right,” said Theon, then stood at full length.

The two closest Gatherers at once took note of him. They replaced the extractors on their backs and reached for the electrical knives on their belts. Before either of them could draw their weapon, though, Theon whirled around and tossed two knives of his own at them. He had impeccable timing, and even better aim.

The knives punctured the Gatherers’ throats. They coughed, gurgled, and collapsed on the ground as one.

“Release the Roamers!” cried Theon, then jumped out from behind the sand dune. “Don’t engage in combat until you’re inside! I repeat, our main priority is to get inside!” He gazed back. “Look alive, Sammy boy!”

Samael set off after Theon. They circled over to the entrance, easily bypassing the battle between the Roamers and Gatherers. Theon gestured for them to plaster against the wall by the entrance, and they waited until the first round of reinforcements jogged out before they jammed open the gate and forced themselves inside.

“Raiders have breached the entrance!” shouted someone from the top of the gate. “Raiders have breached the entrance!”

A series of alarms went off. The entire Collection Point lit up with red-and-blue lights, and the gates that led into the city snapped shut. Theon motioned for the Raiders to split up – “Look for the new recruits. Find them and kill them. Have no mercy!” – then barged through the door that led to the top of the gate.

“Follow me, Tracker!” he shouted before Samael could run the other way.

They ascended the steps. The Gatherers atop the gate saw them coming, and tried to close the door before they reached the landing, but Theon jammed his foot in the threshold. He cursed, but didn’t wrench it out.

Samael rushed in to help him push.

“Go on, slip through already!” roared Theon.

“W – What?” Samael’s cheeks were scalding, and beads of sweat surged down his temples. The last time he had done this extensive labour, was when he almost got stuck in a mineshaft while chasing after a Roamer.

Theon jammed his hand into the door as well. A chain of blue veins throbbed up his wrist into his forearm. He hissed through his teeth, “I’m going to pry it open. Once I do, you have to slip through and take them out …”

Samael had no time to even consider the order. Theon put all his weight into it and pushed the door open on a screen.

“Go! Now!”

“Fine!” Samael slithered through to the other side. The moment he did, Theon let go of the door and it slammed shut. He looked from the closed door to the three Gatherers next to it. They were three grown men, certainly not recruits, and each with an electrical knife in their hand. The one in the middle charged first.

Samael ducked just in time. He rounded to the opposite end and removed his staff from behind his back. He whipped it down his side and it lengthened. The Gatherers were taken aback by the sight of it. The staff surged with electricity, even attracting some current from the fence. Samael shook it, and the blades deployed.

“Samael!” shouted Theon from beyond the door.

“I’m working on it!” he replied.

Samael twirled the staff in his hands. He wacked at the Gatherer in front of him while dodging another’s attack. He tripped the second Gatherer, who fell onto the first, then charged at the third one who protected the pad next to the door. “Open it, now!” Samael demanded, but the Gatherer didn’t budge.

“Never!” he countered.

Samael thought of Hermann in the Mining District, and how he too had refused to obey. Threats usually worked on the Corrupted. He never had to take any real action, whereas now … he wasn’t so sure anymore. The Gatherers were different. If this guy didn’t obey, he’d actually have to … he’d have to kill him …

He repeated, “Open the door!”

But the Gatherer stood his ground.

This was it. He had to do it. Samael held his breath and drew back. He was just about to toss his staff, when the other two Gatherers grabbed it from behind and yanked it out of his hands. Samael spun with a roundhouse kick, forcing one of the Gatherers to grab his staff right in the electrical part. He screamed aloud, his skin outright sizzling. The smell of burning flesh surrounded Samael, wringing his stomach.

The Gatherer stumbled back, clutching his hand, while his comrade still yanked on the staff. Samael just moved without thinking. Everything happened too fast for him to control his actions. To control his instincts.

He grabbed the other end of the staff and yanked on it as hard as he could.

The Gatherer mustn’t have had a good grip on it, as it slipped out of his hands, and Samael hyperextended to the back. The sound of the rear blade penetrating flesh rang in his ears, followed by a diluted, “Oof …”

Samael turned. His staff turned with him, twisting deeper into the Gatherer’s chest by the door. He grasped at it, trying to pull it out, but as the life drained from the Gatherer’s eyes, it also drained from his arms and legs.

He slid down the door to the ground.

“Samael!” repeated Theon, breaking the spell.

Samael made over to the door. He raised the limp Gatherer’s wrist, swiped it across the panel, and hopped back. The door barely opened on a screen before Theon barged through, stumbling over the bleeding corpse.

“Nicely done, Sammy boy!” Theon’s face contorted to something that almost resembled admiration. Almost. Once he saw the other two Gatherers, still alive, his scowl returned. “It appears I spoke too soon …”

Samael stayed by door, watching but not really registering, as Theon took the other two Gatherers’ knives from them. “I needed two new ones anyway,” he said, picking the Gatherers up by their collars and hoisting them above the ground. “What do you say, Sammy boy, are you man enough to finish what you started?”

Samael fought against looking away. His eyes caught the Gatherer on the ground again, and his mouth filled with bile. What was wrong with him? He had killed many a Roamer in the past. But that was different. Those Roamers were hunting innocent people. They didn’t speak or think or really experience pain.

But still, what was wrong with him?

He was a Corrupted, wasn’t he?

“Samael,” Theon repeated.

Samael plucked his staff from the Gatherer’s chest. He forced as much of a growl as he could, and pretended to be unphased, to be wicked, like Theon and everyone else expected. He only faked it at first, but then –

Little to their right, at the bottom of the gate in the courtyard, a fleet of young men and women, new recruits, flocked toward a building. They moved fast and with haste, not exactly in orderly lines, but led by a man …

A man in a beret.

Samael no longer had to pretend. His usually tight chest tightened even more, and a different kind of bitterness filled his mouth. It dried up the bile, returned colour to his face, sped up his heart, and quickened his breath.

“Get your damn head in the game, Tracker! I’m your commanding officer, and I’ve given you a direct order!

“It’s him,” muttered Samael.

Theon dropped the Gatherers, but stepped on their arms so they couldn’t crawl away. He glanced in the same direction as Samael and a grin formed around his lips. He put his fingers in his mouth, then whistled.

“Attention Raiders, we’ve found them! We’ve found the recruits!” he hollered.

Multiple whistles responded from across the Collection Point. Then, seconds later, the team of twenty Raiders emerged from the windows, alleys and buildings all around them. They charged into the herd of recruits, hacking and slicing as far as they went. Some recruits actually fought back, whilst others sought protection behind a fleet of incoming Gatherers. The man in the beret, however, reversed off the battlefield.

“General Bentley Traynor,” hissed Theon.

Samael jumped onto the knee-length barrier at the edge of the gate. He wielded his staff in front of him, hoping to catch the General’s attention. He did, and he was never more satisfied than when General Bentley Traynor’s eyes widened, and his lips slightly parted. He certainly recognised him alright, and he was terrified to the core.

As he should be.

“Care to make things interesting, Theon?” said Samael, almost automatically. He didn’t take his eyes off the General.

Theon put more weight on the Gatherers’ arms. They squirmed in pain, but that only compelled him to stomp down harder. “What’re you saying, Sammy boy? You want a piece of the General?” He snorted. “You couldn’t even finish off a couple of Gatherers, never mind the man who raised you for the first years of your life.”

Samael set his jaw.

“That man didn’t raise me,” he said and, before he could stop himself, leapt from the barrier. He landed with a tumble, rolled into a crouch, then glanced up at a visibly stunned Theon. “The first one to kill the General, wins.”

“You really up for this again?” asked Theon.

“I won’t hesitate this time.”

Samael jumped to his feet. He wiped across his upper lip and forehead, then marched right onto the battlefield. He blocked several hits aimed at him, pushing away anyone who obstructed his path. He stepped over a trail of corpses – fallen Gatherers – without looking down. Well, until one of them caught his eye …

“Kasen?” Samael gasped. His inner-fire momentarily faded. It only lasted for a second, though, as someone knocked him over from behind, and he fell right onto the alleged Kasen. He turned the boy’s head and recoiled. It wasn’t him. He could tell so in the boy’s eyes – in the way they lacked that certain Kasen-like spark.

Samael scrambled to his feet again. He kept rotating around as he made across the battlefield, no longer stabbing and shoving as recklessly. How did he just forget about Kasen like that? His own brother? He scanned the recruits, both dead and alive. If Kasen was indeed there, he had to find and protect him.

“Kasen!” he called out, surprised at the quiver in his voice.

No answer.

“Kasen!”

“Why are you looking for my son?” asked someone in his wake. It was him. There was no doubt about it.

General Bentley Traynor.

Samael whirled around with such vigour, he nearly dislocated his shoulder. The tip of his staff bounced off the concrete wall, missing the General with too many inches. He heaved from his chest, out of breath and drained, but he couldn’t stop now. He couldn’t stop until General Bentley Traynor had paid for what he did.

“Why are you looking for Kasen, Samael?” the General repeated, a single pace from the still-raised staff.

Samael lowered it to his side and strutted forward, off the battlefield. With each step he took, the General retreated two. This went on until they entered a building: the cafeteria. The General rounded one of the tables.

“Where’s Kasen?” Samael countered. “Is he here? Is he out there, fighting?”

General Bentley Traynor drew a knife from his belt. He held it crosswise over his chest, the sharp edge toward Samael.

“Kasen’s in the city,” he said.

“What? He wasn’t selected as a Gatherer?”

“No, a Guardian.”

Samael’s chest loosened a little. Kasen? A Guardian? At least that meant he was safe. Safe from all this chaos, and safe from discovering what a monster his brother had become. He didn’t have to watch as his father died.

“Today, General Bentley Traynor,” said Samael, wielding his staff, “you’ll die by my hands.” He lowered, narrowed his eyes, and charged at the table. He leapt on top of it, catapulted through the air, and lashed his staff at the General. That night replayed before his eyes – the night he ran after his then father, only to have the gates of the Eastern Collection Point slam shut in his face. Only to be abandoned in the Dark.

A four-year-old child.

All alone.

General Bentley Traynor dodged his blow. He slashed at Samael with his knife, grazing the skin of his outer thigh. Samael plummeted less than gracefully. He rolled across the ground, but still managed to raise his staff and toss it. The General ran across the cafeteria to an opposite door, where he safely slipped outside.

The staff fell in the doorway.

Samael set off after him. He grabbed his staff, and was just about to draw back on it again, when a guy jumped out at him from around the corner. He had dark skin, curly hair, and wore a recruit’s uniform.

“Stay away from the General!” he snapped with too much confidence. He clutched a knife of his own, but not quite as comfortably as a Gatherer should. He slashed in front of him. “Nice to meet you, Samael of the Dark.”

“I’m afraid the feeling’s not mutual …” Samael whacked his staff at the recruit, who was surprisingly quick with his knife, though, and stabbed him in the shoulder. The blade penetrated his flesh with ease.

Samael groaned from his throat. He yanked the knife from his shoulder, winced at the blood, and dropped it. It bounced off the concrete, a trail of red sprawled in its wake. Samael pushed the recruit up against the wall.

“Kasen’s an idiot for ever believing in you,” hissed the recruit.

Samael huffed. He wrapped his hands around the recruit’s neck and squeezed. His left arm might have grown heavy from the stab, but he still had enough strength to strangle someone if needed. He pushed the recruit harder against the wall, tightened his grip, and snarled, “What the heck do you know about Kasen?”

The recruit parted his lips to speak, but a shadow passed over them, distracting Samael. The shadow leapt from the roof, shrinking as it neared the ground, and shortly followed by a person – a beast of a man. His boots met the concrete with a massive thump, but he kept to his feet, not at all affected by the impact.

Easy.

Effortless.

“I knew you’d get distracted, Sammy boy.” Theon cracked his knuckles. Without lowering his fist, he approached the General by the fence. They were enclosed by buildings, and with only the cafeteria as a way out.

“Trapped, are we?”

“Yes, you are,” spat General Bentley Traynor in return.

Theon licked his lips. He equalled the General in size, both of them tall, hulky, and with a much too squarish jaw.

“Theon, stop! He’s mine!” snapped Samael.

“Not if I get to him first.”

Samael bashed the recruit against the wall a final time, then let go of him. He turned, readjusted his staff in his hand, and charged with everything he had left. Blood gushed from his shoulder, soaking his shirt, and every tendon in his arm throbbed and ached and seared. He almost couldn’t feel his fingers anymore …

“You two are equally as pathetic!” growled General Bentley Traynor, still reversing. “I’ve dedicated my life to extinguishing your kind, and I won’t shy away now. You might think you’ve won, but just try and come at me!”

“You bastard!” Samael screamed at the top of his lungs. He grabbed Theon by the arm, then yanked him around so he fell on his back. Theon reached for Samael’s feet, but missed. This was his fight. His duty. His legacy.

Samael met the General head to head. He whacked his staff at him, but the General blocked it with his knife. He drove his knee right into the bottom of the General’s wrist, which forced his fingers to snap open. He dropped the knife and Samael kicked it out of reach. He shoved the General back, almost against the fence.

The sound of electricity crackled behind them – the song of his victory. Samael put his staff behind his back.

“Look at that. You’ve got nowhere to go except through the fence,” he said. “Nowhere, except into the Dark.”

“Samael –”

“Shut up!” shouted Samael. “I could’ve died out there, and you didn’t care. If you were just going to abandon me, why did you take me with you in the first place? Why didn’t you just leave me to die that first day?”

“I thought you could be good. I thought you could be saved.” The General stood up straight, visibly preserving whatever pride he had left. “But, I was wrong. You’re a Corrupted. The son of the devil himself.”

This was it.

His trigger.

“I hate you!” Samael yanked out his staff and thrusted the bladed end at the General’s chest. His heart skipped a beat. Time slowed, and everything around him became silent. His pain dulled, along with his senses.

But the blade didn’t enter the General right away.

The recruit, who had stabbed him, leapt in front of the staff at the last moment. He tried to stop it with his hands, alas to no success. The blade pierced his flesh, smoothly, fluently. It passed through him into the General.

Samael’s eyes widened. He held on to the staff, even after both the recruit and the General had collapsed.

“C – Clay,” muttered the General, “why did you d – do this?”

Clay, the recruit, tilted his head to the sky. He opened his mouth and blood came out. “I – I know what it’s like to lose a parent.” He coughed, fighting to stay awake. “I – I couldn’t let Kasen go through that pain.”

Kasen.

Kasen?

Samael let go of the staff and stammered back.

“He already lost a brother.”

“Try to save your energy, son …” said the General, even though he himself sported a bluish tint around the cheeks.

The recruit – Clay – grinned vaguely. “Kasen’s the strongest person I know. He’s not like those other Guardians. You should be proud.” And with that, his entire body relaxed. His eyes, still open, turned to glass.

Samael looked beneath the recruit at the General, who stared right at him, alive, but clearly not for long. A trickle of blood seeped from his mouth, all the way down his chin and onto the concrete. Drip. Drip. Drip.

“Sammy boy, you still with me over there?” asked Theon behind him, but also from somewhere far, far away.

Samael nodded, although his entire body toppled to the side, weighed down by the arm he no longer thought he had. He couldn’t move his fingers, palm, or wrist. He couldn’t even bend it enough to reach for his staff.

Theon cursed and rushed in Samael’s aid. He seized his staff and scooped him into his arms, letting his injured arm hang free, painting the concrete in red. “You’ll lose your damn arm if we don’t go now,” he said-half-grumbled, then whistled through his teeth. He whistled the entire way through the cafeteria, right onto the battlefield.

“All Raiders, retreat!” he shouted.

The Raiders stopped fighting.

“The General’s down! Retreat!” And this was the last thing Samael heard Theon say before his eyes drooped shut.