The Dawn of Malice

Descent into the Past

Three days had come and passed, and the weather was becoming all too cold.

The refugee camp was a sprawling maze of makeshift tents, crowded with displaced souls seeking solace from the ruins of their once-thriving city. Among them stood Caerus, who felt strange at the ignorance that others gave him. A month prior they would have stoned him for merely walking the streets, especially now that they need someone to blame for their misfortune. His heart was heavy with the thought of Elaine walking the streets starving and in pain. His burning desire to retrieve a once vital possession from his past pushed his feet forward.

A cool breeze rustled through the camp, carrying the scent of desperation and hopelessness. Caerus adjusted the strap of his worn backpack, his eyes fixed on the distant remains of his tenement building, now a skeletal structure that defied gravity. On the third floor, buried beneath the rubble, lay his old journal — a treasure trove of cherished memories, dreams, and the key to unraveling a mystery that had haunted him for years.

Taking a deep breath, Caerus steeled himself for the journey ahead. He had heard whispers of dangerous scavengers prowling the ruins, seeking to profit from the misfortunes of others. But he couldn’t let fear consume him. Clenching his fists, he made his way through the labyrinthine paths of the camp, weaving between huddled families and the distant echoes of sorrowful cries.

The sky above was an endless expanse of gray, mirroring the bleakness of the world below. A pall of silence seemed to hang over the camp, broken only by sporadic conversations and the occasional shuffle of weary feet. Caerus’s determination carried him forward, his steps growing purposeful with each passing moment.

As he approached the outskirts of the camp, the remains of his neighborhood emerged before him – a haunting testament to the ravages of war. The buildings that once stood tall were reduced to crumbling edifices, their skeletal frames offering glimpses of shattered lives. With a heavy heart, he made his way through the ruins, sidestepping debris and memories of a time long gone.

Finally, Caerus reached the foot of his half-collapsed tenement. The structure loomed above him like a wounded giant, its gaping windows, and jagged edges a testament to the violence it had endured. Bracing himself, he started to ascend the uneven pile of rubble, each step threatening to send him tumbling backward.

“Oy!”

Caerus turned, only to see the familiar face of his relentless torturer. Julio grinned a demented grin, a grin that Caerus knew was a pleasure for the misfortune of others. The once proud and bullheaded hunter has now become an opportunistic scavenger.

Armed with Caleb’s short bow and his father’s blades, Caerus descended from the debris pile warily, his footsteps echoing through the silent streets. The sound of his boots on the pavement sent a ripple of uncertainty through the void between them.

“I see I’ve caught another fool trying to steal our spoils of war, lads,” Julio said. “No one steals from me and mine.”

Suddenly, figures emerged from the darkness, their eyes gleaming with a mix of desperation and malice. They brandished crude weapons fashioned from scrap metal, ready to defend their ill-gotten gains. Julio stood at the forefront; the blunderbuss strapped to his back now in hand. Caerus squared his shoulders, his grip tightening around the short bow as adrenaline coursed through his veins.

“I reckon you’re either a good pal of the bloody Laresian or his lover,” Julio snickered. “I’m happy to tell ya, he’s dead.”

“What I’m doing here doesn’t concern you,” Caerus said.

“What concerns me and my pals here is that we own this territory, ya hear?” Julio gestures to his companions. “Ain’t that right, lads?”

The scavengers laughed, while some snarled at Caerus, eager to start a fight, eager to make him bleed. Caerus grimaced, he remembered all those years of torment at the hands of Julio and his cronies. Julio raised an eyebrow at Caerus and gave a small knowing smile.

“Now, ain’t this a curious sight.”

“Wassat boss?”

“’member old redhead? The boy we’d wail on for a good laugh?” Julio said. “Take a good look at his compadre here. Don’t they look similar?” Caerus cringed. And as if it were confirmation that scavengers’ eyes grew large. And without further hesitation, the first scavenger lunged at him with a rusted pipe.

“If I get a good hit in boss, I get the first pick of the spoils.” Shouted the scavenger.

“Sure,” Julio said. “But it won’t be much of a challenge, now, would it?”

Caerus sidestepped the attack, delivering a swift kick that sent the assailant sprawling to the ground. Before another could take his place, Caerus swung the shaft of his bow, connecting with a sickening thud against the scavenger’s jaw.

“Not much of a challenge indeed,” Caerus replied.

The battle had begun in earnest. The air filled with the clang of metal meeting metal, grunts of pain, and the occasional gunshot. Caerus fought with a ferocity born out of necessity, his every move calculated and precise. He parried blows with his bow, delivering bone-crushing counterattacks that sent his opponents reeling. All the while sending chills down his opponent’s spine with his crimson-glowing eyes and fiery hair.

Julio managed to shoot his blunderbuss – and barely miss Caerus – a total of three times. Amid the chaos, Julio even managed to hit one of his companions. But he did not even manage a look of concern on his face as he reloaded his blunderbuss to try again. With each defeated scavenger, Caerus stepped closer and closer to Julio. He fought not just for himself but for the innocents who had fallen victim to these ruthless marauders. Their imagined cries for help echoed in his ears, fueling his determination to rid the city of this scourge.

As the battle raged on, more scavengers joined the fray. Julio hung back, enjoying the bloodshed, yet his face was unsure. He’d shoot his blunderbuss in close intervals with Caerus miraculously managing to evade them all. The odds seemed insurmountable, but Caerus refused to back down. He guarded against the swinging blades, dodged makeshift arrows, evaded bullets, and retaliated with lethal force. His movements became a dance of survival, a symphony of calculated violence. When his opponents began to let up, he glared at Julio in the background who was now inching away.

“Coward!” Caerus shouted.

“I’ll get ya soon enough ya lil’ roach.” Julio glared back and smiled. He pointed two fingers to his eyes and pointed them back at Caerus. A weak warning from a worthless man.

Despite the mounting opposition, Caerus managed to hold his ground. His perseverance and combat skills had caught the scavengers off guard, shaking their confidence. One by one, they began to retreat, realizing they were no match for the resolute figure standing before them.

As the last scavenger disappeared – running after their cowardly leader, a deafening silence settled over the city. Caerus stood amidst the wreckage, panting heavily, his body battered and bruised. The adrenaline subsided, replaced by a deep sense of satisfaction. He had defended himself and struck a blow against the chaos that had consumed the city.

The clouds began to part, giving way to the first light of the day. The city, once overrun by looters and scavengers, now stood as a testament to Caerus’s resilience and determination. He knew that his fight was far from over, that there were countless battles yet to be fought. But as the sun shone across the city, Caerus vowed to protect the innocent and restore hope to a broken world, one victory at a time.

Caerus went back to the mound of debris and reinitiated his ascent. His heart raced as he approached the third floor of the rundown tenement. The wreckage was perilous, with twisted metal and shards of glass jutting out at odd angles. Caerus’s hands trembled as he carefully navigated the treacherous terrain, his determination unwavering despite the dangers that lurked around him.

At last, he reached a small opening—a glimpse of the familiar space where his room once existed. He crawled through the narrow passage, squeezing his body past debris, and emerged into what was once his sanctuary. The room was left unscathed, the walls covered in dust and grime yet remained firm, and sunlight streamed in through the window he’d left open the night he’d first met Lucian.

With bated breath, Caerus scanned the room. Among the dust-covered furniture and meager belongings, he spotted his nightstand. Gingerly, he approached it, brushing away layers of dust and ash. And there it was—his journal waiting to be reclaimed.

He clutched the journal to his chest, feeling a surge of triumph mixed with melancholy. The weight of the past pressed upon him, but he knew that within those pages lay the solution to repair the damage he’d caused.

Carefully making his way back through the treacherous debris, Caerus descended from the wreckage, each step a testament to his resilience. The camp awaited him, a temporary haven amidst the chaos, but with his journal firmly in hand, he carried the hope of reclaiming his future.

As he rejoined the camp, the weight on his shoulders felt heavier. Caerus knew that the conversation he was about to have would torment him but armed with his rehearsed lies and the resolve to protect those dear to his heart, he was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.