Guardians of the Dark

The elevator shook to a stop, and Samael grabbed at the wall. He reclaimed his balance, smoothed back his hair, and adjusted the staff on his back. It pressed coldly against him, even through the thick leather of his jacket. The doors slid open on a screen. He pried them apart with his hands, then stepped out into the lobby of Ominoura Tower. Someone seriously had to fix that. But who? The Dark Capital didn’t have the proper resources to fix a water pipe, never mind an elevator. Maybe they could get their hands on parts during the next raid?

No, Theon would never go for that.

Samael strutted down the lobby to the main entrance. The front receptionist-slash-guard – a young man with reddish hair and pointy ears – smiled at him as he passed. He returned the gesture, although it felt more like he was grimacing than smiling. He bit his tongue, trying not to blush. They were both on duty.

“Evening,” said the guy.

“Isn’t it always?” replied Samael, then gnawed harder on his tongue. Isn’t it always? Why would he even say that?

Samael halted at the main entrance. He raised his wrist to the panel on the wall, but the doors suddenly opened on their own. He flinched when they did, and his eyes swerved to the guard-slash-receptionist, still smiling at him with slightly parted lips. His hand was under the desk, likely by a panel of his own.

“Have a nice patrol, then,” said the guy in a much lower tone than before.

Samael straightened, recovering from his fright. “You didn’t have to open up for me. My Chip’s registered here.”

“I know,” the guy insisted. He kept looking at Samael without blinking or moving, perhaps waiting for him to say something, do something, else. But, when nothing happened, his smile faded and he went on with his work.

Samael did the same. He left through the doors and marched down the steps to the sidewalk. The staff on his back bounced with the rhythm of his stride, and his heels clicked against the concrete. He stepped on a wobbly inlay, and it bounced the other way, clattering down behind him. Crash. Click. Crash. Click.

Two figures waited for him by the sidewalk.

Two Trackers.

They were Carrie and Yung, the only two Corrupted in the Dark Capital he didn’t fully despise. He could never decide whether this was due to their vibrant personalities, or because they were rendered his subordinates when assigned to his tracking team. Either way, the three of them always had something to talk about.

“There he is, Samael of the Dark, the greatest Tracker of all time!” announced Yung, raising his hand for a high-five. When Samael merely looked at it and moved on, he lowered it again. “Hello to you too, then.”

“Wow, boss,” cooed Carrie, staring up the length of the tower in his wake. She cupped her eyes, even with no light to blind her. “I still can’t believe you get to live in this … this mansion with the Emperor himself.”

“Maybe we should also get ourselves abandoned in the Dark …” droned Yung with a hint of retaliation in his voice.

Samael glanced over his shoulder at Ominoura Tower. Some hundred years ago, before the Dark mysteriously swept across the earth, it had been known as Cairo Tower. It sported ninety floors back then, although little over forty remained. The years might not exactly have been kind to it, but at least it still stood, which proved impressive compared to most other buildings. Almost everything had gone to shreds over the years.

“Believe me, it’s not all that fantastic,” said Samael, returning his gaze to Carrie and Yung.

“What do you mean?”

“Privacy, for starters. It’s like my every step’s being scrutinised. The Emperor’s got two guards on my case.”

Yung pulled his mouth. “Well, if privacy’s out, I’m out. My ol’ pad doesn’t sound too bad anymore, does it, babe?”

“Nah,” Carrie insisted, “I’m still a hundred percent for the tower.”

Yung pretended to be insulted, upon which Carrie pulled him in and nibbled him in the neck. Samael adjusted his jacket and cleared his throat. Their public displays of affection always made him more uncomfortable than it should. They’d been together for little over a year now, and he still hadn’t grown used to them.

“Tonight might be our last mission together,” he said, attempting to divert their attention off of each other.

Carrie and Yung both turned to face him.

“You’re quitting?” asked Yung.

Samael shook his head. “Not quitting, no. Emperor Sumuri gave me a chance to prove myself at becoming a Raider.”

“Damn,” Yung blurted out. He let go of Carrie and outright slapped Samael on the back. He kept his hand there, even despite Samael’s downturned mouth and narrowed eyes. “You’ve wanted this for so long!”

Samael pried away from Yung. “Yea, and I better succeed at it too. I’m tagging along on a raid tomorrow morning.”

“A raid?” asked Carrie. “Where to?”

“The Eastern Collection Point.” Samael turned toward the Metropolis of Light. The city itself lay hidden behind the buildings and sand dunes and waste piles, but it cast a fluorescent, dome-shaped outline in the sky.

Yung stepped in front of him, blocking his view. His face was featureless, shadowed by the light behind him. “Samael, isn’t the Eastern Collection Point under the General’s command? Your old, you know, father?”

“That man is not my father.”

“I know, but still –”

“He means nothing to me.”

Yung parted his lips to go on – to press on – but Samael pushed him aside and strutted down the sidewalk. The moon cast his shadow across the concrete from above, tall and crooked, almost like a scorched tree.

“Let’s go, we’re wasting time.”

“Uh, we sort of … can’t,” Carrie’s said, uncomfortably. Samael spun around to see her scratch behind her head.

“Why not?” he asked.

“We’re … well … waiting for someone.”

“No, we’re not. It’s just the three of us.”

Carrie took a step forward. “I also thought it was strange when we received the orders, but, you know, we can’t –”

“Carrie, who are we waiting for?”

“Me,” declared someone from behind them.

Samael revolved around. He looked up at a broad-shouldered, short-necked, giant of a man – of a beast. He gritted his teeth, suppressing a growl. Of all people, it just had to be him. What did he think he was playing at?

“Theon,” he just about hissed.

“It’s been a while, Samael.” Theon made a point of it to scan Samael from head to toes. He pulled his face and scrunched his nose. “Is it just me, or have you gotten smaller since I last saw you? You’re definitely shorter.”

“Perhaps you just got bigger,” commented Yung, but he shut up when Samael cast him an annoyed glance.

“What are you doing here, Theon?” Samael demanded to know. “Tracking’s not exactly your area of expertise.”

Theon bent down to Samael’s level. His cargo pants crackled as he did so. He said, “You’re absolutely right, Sammy boy. Can I call you that? Well, while I don’t usually run around with insects, I unfortunately have to.”

“Get to the point already.”

“I’m here to check up on you.” Theon rose and put his hands on his hips.

“Check up on me?”

“Yep, I’m here to see if you can actually do anything.”

Samael outright scoffed. He motioned for Carrie and Yung to follow him down the sidewalk, then rounded the beast. “I’ve trained with the Raiders since I was a small boy. I don’t need to be checked up on by anyone.”

“You do if you want to be promoted from a Tracker to a Raider.”

Samael stopped in his tracks.

Theon let out the tiniest giggle a man of his size could manage. “I’m the second-in-command, remember?”

Indeed, Samael did remember. How could he forget, when it was all he had thought about the entire day. Theon hardly ever came into training, but when he did, he used brute strength to impose his dominance. He couldn’t run or dodge if his life depended on it, never mind round up a crowd of out-of-control Roamers.

“If I let you come with us, you’ll promote me to a Raider?” asked Samael, forcing himself back around again.

“If you impress me, sure.” Theon licked across his crooked front teeth, visibly relishing Samael’s torment. He rubbed his hands together. “So, what’s first?”

Carrie tapped her transmission band, and a map of the Dark Capital popped up. A red dot flickered somewhere in the outskirts of town. “Looks like our first target is in the Mining District. A boy, recently turned one.”

“What do you guys reckon?” asked Yung, pulling at his belt. “You think he’ll be a brainless Roamer or not?”

“A one-year-old?” snorted Theon. He stayed put as they set off. “Don’t you have anything more exciting on that band of yours, doll? I’m not here to watch you guys pry open a baby’s eyes and comfort his wailing mother.”

“This is part of a Tracker’s job, Theon. It’s not always out-of-control Roamers for us. And, if that bores you, feel free to stay here.” Samael spoke with his back to Theon. He set his arms by his sides and walked on.

Carrie and Yung hesitantly followed.

For a moment it seemed as though Theon had chosen to let them be, but then his boots rang off the concrete after them. He marched-half-ran ahead of Samael, and, without turning, said, “I’m checking you out one way or another, Sammy boy. Even if I have to chase you around town myself, I will see you fight.”

Samael didn’t know what to make of that. He also didn’t care, as he kept reminding himself of his reputation: the best Tracker in the entire Dark Capital. He had worked hard for his title, and Theon better know it.

They arrived in the Mining District to a crowd of Corrupted gathered in the street. They wielded pickaxes and shovels, blocking the door to one of the houses. A woman stood in the window with a boy against her chest.

Their target.

“Are these Corrupted resisting the law?” asked Theon, mostly to himself.

“Not such a boring mission anymore, is it?” said Samael and Yung at the same time. Yung raised his hand for another high-five, but Samael once again shot him down. He sighed and muttered under his breath.

“Cheer up, babe. I’ll high-five you,” offered Carrie, twirling a reddish-purple lock around her index finger.

“Nah, it’s not the same,” said Yung, again with a sigh.

“No one is high-fiving anyone.” Theon rolled his shoulders and pumped out his chest. He approached the Corrupted in the street, ready to draw his knife. “People of the Mining District, I am Theon Crux, second-in-command of the Raider fleet. We are here by Emperor Sumuri’s orders, so I demand you make way.”

“We’re not going anywhere!” shouted someone.

“Yea, the Raiders have no authority over this district!” added another.

“Alright,” Theon yielded, somewhat disgusted, “I guess you leave me no other choice than to impose my authority with force!” He drew his knife.

“Theon!” shouted Samael. He darted forward and pushed down the knife. “This is not how Trackers handle things.”

Theon chewed on his teeth. He locked eyes with Samael, and they stayed like this for about ten seconds – without blinking – before he put away his knife with a stiff movement. It clicked into the holster on his belt.

“The floor’s all yours, runt,” he sneered.

Samael turned to the crowd of Corrupted. They had grown restless now, even more than before, and some of them brandished their weapons through the air. He made himself as tall as possible, reached for the staff behind his back, and drew it. The stainless-steel glinted in the moonlight – or what little of it shone through the Dark. He twirled it twice around, then strengthened his grip in the centre, absorbing its coldness.

“You’re not welcome here, Samael of the Dark,” declared the Corrupted who had insulted Theon minutes ago.

“We’ve talked about this, Hermann,” said Samael, “this is for the city’s safety. Maybe if you didn’t give birth all the time, I wouldn’t have to come here as often. Step aside, or we’ll repeat what happened last time.”

“Last time was a fluke!” spat Hermann. “Alistair didn’t know what he was doing. He was young and immature.”

Samael took a step forward. He drove his heel into the soil and twisted it to secure his stance. “You must all have debris in your ears … I said, step aside and let us do our job.” He whipped the staff down his side, and it lengthened to twice its size. The steel split in three, each section held together by a bolt of crackling electricity.

“What is that thing?” asked Theon.

“Pretty cool, eh? He made it himself,” explained Yung. “I call it the Light Staff, but he refuses to give it any other name than just a staff. The wires are from the Metropolis of Light’s fence – ones they tossed away as scrap. I don’t know why, though, since they work great. Don’t need any charging, just the occasional element replacement.”

Samael grabbed the staff in the centre, then twirled it around himself. Upon the final twirl, he stabbed it in between the crowd of Corrupted, who at once parted. He swept it to either side, chasing them off even further. Hermann kept his ground in front of the door, wielding a staff his own, although a less as flashy one.

“Move, Hermann,” ordered Samael.

“Over my dead body.”

“I think that could be arranged.”

Samael gave the staff a shake, upon which blades deployed on either end. He drew back, aimed, and tossed the staff – now a spear – right at Hermann’s head. The man dove to the side just in time, avoiding the spear as it pinned into the door. He crawled out of Samael’s way and into the alley, followed by what remained of the crowd.

“That’s how Trackers do things. Useless threats don’t work on these people. Sometimes you have to make an example of someone to enforce the law,” declared Samael, walking up to the door to retrieve his spear. He plucked it out of the wood and whipped it down his side again. It retracted back into a tiny, insignificant rod.

Samael knocked on the door.

“Madame,” called Carrie, “open up the door! We’ve come to make sure your baby boy’s not a danger to the city.”

“Clever, Carrie, that’s certainly going to persuade her,” scoffed Yung.

Theon surged past all three of them and kicked open the door. It scraped across the floor, giving way to a stuffy-smelling interior with barely any furniture. Samael took a breath – a dusty one – before he entered. It was always hard visiting the Mining District, as of the already hardened circumstances, they, the miners, had it the worst.

The woman from the window sat huddled in a corner at the far end of the room. She clutched her boy in her arms, both her hands across his eyes. Tears gushed down her cheeks, and her bottom lip trembled.

Theon made toward her before Samael could do anything to stop him. He wrenched the boy from her grip and practically hurled him over to Carrie. The woman launched to her feet, but Theon pushed her back down.

“Theon!” Samael knocked him in the chest. The beast barely even flinched. “You’re here to check me out, remember, not assault innocent women.” He extended a hand. “I’m sorry for his behaviour, madame.”

The woman didn’t take Samael’s hand, so he retracted it again.

“Not such a great feeling, is it?” joked Yung.

Samael ignored him. “Madame,” he said, “I promise, if your child’s fine, we’ll give him back and be out of your hair.”

Still no reaction.

“Carrie, what’s the verdict?” he asked, turning away from the woman. They had to finish this before things got even uglier.

Carrie put the baby on a rickety table in the centre of the room. Yung held him upright, while she pried open his eyes and flashed a light in them. She turned the boy’s head from side to side, then gulped aloud.

“Carrie?” Samael repeated.

“I – I think you should come and see for yourself,” she said, shakily.

No.

Not this.

Not now.

Samael and Theon both approached, but Samael slinked past him to reach the boy quicker. He took the light from Carrie and she showed him: black. Solid black. The baby had no pupils at all – similar to a Roamer.

“M – My baby,” the woman stuttered, rising to her feet again. “What’s wrong with my baby? He’s fine, right?”

“This boy is a Roamer!” Theon roared, again before Samael could stop him.

The woman surged toward them. Theon held her back with one arm, but she clawed herself past him to her boy. She wrapped her arms around him, prepared to protect him with all she had. Her entire body trembled and shook.

“Madame, we’re not certain yet,” Samael began to say, but Theon pushed him aside and jerked the child off the woman.

“Actually, we are sure. This baby is a Roamer, and we’re taking him with us.” Theon pushed the woman to the floor and held the baby by his collar. The boy erupted into shrieks, upon which Theon shook him around.

Samael pulled Theon back as he made for the door. “Theon! Put down that child!” He practically spat the words.

“What do you mean, Sammy boy? This baby has no pupils. It’s a Roamer, and we’re obliged to take it to the Emperor. This is your job.” He wielded a finger at Carrie and Yung, also approaching. “This all of your jobs!”

“He’s – He’s right, Samael,” agreed Yung.

“What? You can’t be serious. Our job isn’t to steal children,” snapped Samael.

“This is not a child, it’s a demon.”

Carrie also nodded. “It’s a Roamer, boss.”

“How can you be so sure after just one look?” Samael reached for the baby, but Theon wrenched him back, out the way. “Theon, hand me that child. We’ve got to be entirely sure before we declare someone a Roamer.”

“You want the baby, eh?” asked Theon, tauntingly. “Why don’t you just take him from me, Sammy boy?”

Samael needn’t think it over. He had wanted to launch at Theon since the moment he ruined his final tracking mission. He crouched, then charged right into Theon with his head, pushing him back against the door.

Theon huffed, loosening his grip just enough for Samael to grab the boy from him and hand him over to Carrie.

“Check his pupils again!”

“But, Samael –”

“Just do it for Dark’s sake!”

Yung approached to join the brawl, but Samael showed his hand at him. “Help Carrie, Yung. This is my fight.”

Samael had barely enough time to see Yung show him a thumbs-up, before something, someone, rammed into him from the side. He fell on his face. The floorboards creaked under him, and dust rose all around.

“You might know how to use a staff, Sammy boy, but you’ve got no strength!” Theon drove his heel into Samael’s stomach.

This time, it was he who spat.

Samael grunted. He grabbed Theon’s foot and yanked his leg out from under him. The beast of a man fell on his back, but not without kicking Samael in the jaw. Blood slung through the air and across the wooden floor.

“Samael!” cried Yung.

Samael rolled on his stomach, then jumped to his feet. Theon grabbed him by the arm, but he revolved around, turning the tables on him. Something cracked – snapped – in Theon’s elbow, but Samael kept ramming it upward. It was about time someone brought him back to earth. It was about time someone –

Theon grabbed Samael’s left leg with his opposite arm and flipped him right around. He tried to soften the impact with his hands, but a sting shot up his wrists. He rolled over on his back, vertebrae by vertebrae.

The pain was excruciating, and the humiliation even more so.

“Just because you’re the Emperor’s pet, Samael of the Dark –”

“He’s right … Samael was right!” Yung chimed in.

Theon stepped away from Samael to face Yung and Carrie with fire in his eyes. “What are you going on about?”

Carrie took the boy off the table and handed him over to the sobbing, shuddering woman. She hugged her baby tightly against her chest, then retreated back to the corner in which they had initially found her.

“The boy’s eyes are just a very dark brown,” Carried explained. “He isn’t a Roamer, so Samael was right.”

Samael struggled to his feet. He kept his groans to himself, pretending as if his entire body wasn’t crackling, and his head wasn’t throbbing. He adjusted his back, rolled his neck around, and pushed past Theon to the door.

“Just because I’m the Emperor’s pet, eh?” he said, almost inaudibly. “I can take you anytime, anywhere, Theon Crux.”