Yesterday, 12:09 am.

The room had the appearance of an old Japanese dojo, with soft lighting, padded floor and fusuma, or rectangular wall panels. A pair of illuminated fountains at either front corner of the room provided gentle, soothing sounds of water steadily falling. Between and slightly before them knelt a figure whose meditative pose, with his legs crossed beneath him and hands lightly held to the sides, was at odds with the sheer menace of his physical appearance. The immortal didn't always look like this but given the fact that he was currently absorbing chaytan, he was a solid ten feet, his skin, dark red, as though he'd been covered in blood. Horns had also formed from the sides of his head and by the time he'd be done, he'd have dark red wings as well. Silas was monstrous. Even sitting now, as he was, the figure still towered above most men.

The rough, yet, soft dark red mixture that covered his skin, was called Bloodpaste. It was formed from the hearts of the men and women he had his men capture (and butcher), after the purifying incantation has been cast. It was how mindmen fused chaytan into their being to improve themselves. Agreed, it wasn't the most sightly thing to behold and it smelled terrible as well. But it was worth it. The benefits could never be overemphasized. After all, choosing not to use the Bloodpaste would be a waste as nearly fifty hearts had been used to make the quantity needed to cover his naturally six foot, nine inch body. Not using it would be a painful waste of nearly six hundred million dollars.

It was necessary for ascension. It had a purpose. That was why he didn't care about how it looked or smelled like and just did it. That was also what killing was to him. As barbaric as what he did seemed (and given how he currently looked like), the Umbrakinetic mindman immortal wasn't actually a mindless killer, like most people who knew about the cult he headed believed. Silas killed a lot, yes, and he'd never stop doing that. But what most people didn't understand was that he would only kill when he had a reason to and not mindlessly. And currently, his reason for killing, was providing enough chaytan to power up the incantation for the Realm Thaw.

As he meditated, slowing absorbing the paste that covered his skin, he let his mind wander to the first time he proposed the idea. That was a few centuries ago, when he was much younger and had just been inducted into the junior ranks of leadership in the cult. He wasn't even an immortal then. The other Pillars refused, every single one of them reminding him of how dangerous it was to open a Realm Thaw to a Sacred Realm. They didn't see reasons with him then but now, after witness a single C-class M'gen kill a high ranking mindman, the discovery of Aelkoes that could permanently injure an immortal and the emergence of The Wanton Beasts, the horrific group of demons that left nothing but death (mindmen, m'gen and human alike) in their wake, they all saw it as the ultimate solution. The world was evolving and this was the only way they would remain the most revered race.

Redstone City was the easiest place to settle. It was relatively smaller than most cities but it was safer. Also, it had something that nearly every city in the country didn't; no other cults resided in it. They were the first group of mindmen to take territory in the city. Other groups had visited the city but none of them had actually stayed or caused any disturbances for the Dark Pillars and their activities.

Speaking of disturbances, just as Silas nearly finished absorbing the Bloodpaste (his body had nearly returned to it's original size) that covered his body, there was a knock on the huge door that prevented anyone from entering the Pillar's personal meditation chamber. The knock was quiet, yet obviously agitated. Didn't they know what time it was? No one was to disturb him till tomorrow morning. What—

“I'm sorry, father,” a voice spoke in his head, interrupting his line of thought. “I know I'm not supposed to bother you, but something has come up, and it requires your attention immediately.”

Finally opening his eyes, Silas replied in the same manner, “Give me a moment.” Absorbing every bit of Bloodpaste that happened to remain on him, revealed a bald, bearded, dark skinned man with a huge scar that cut across the man's torso. Picking himself up, the naked immortal reached out to pluck his pants from the nearby shelf, tugging them on. Leaving his chest bare, he moved to the sliding door and used his power to push it aside. Beyond was a much heavier steel vault-like door with a spinning lever, (one that only a trained mindman could move past with his power to the inner one to knock on) which he cranked three times before pushing it open with a grunt. Powerful as he was, he made it a point that his inner sanctum would be difficult for almost anyone to penetrate. The heavy door was a part of that.

The second the vault door had been pushed open, the meditative peace of his sanctum was filled with blasting, ear piercing noises that reverberated through the large hallway. It was coming from the warehouse that lay directly above. That warehouse served as one of several public fronts the Dark Pillars used in the transportation of the humans and awakening mindmen they abducted. The corridors he now stood in (as well as his actual sanctum) were actually heavily refurbished drug smuggler tunnels. The bootlegger who’d had the tunnels built originally had designed them large enough to drive a truck through to reach the basement of his illegal bar at one end. The other end of the tunnel, meanwhile, came out several blocks away through an ordinary-looking storm drain. Silas had paid a hefty fee to have the tunnels shored up, put new entrances in leading to various buildings in the neighborhood for his people to get in and out of, and added a few defenses and security here and there in addition to rooms that would suit his taste and that of the other Pillars if they ever choose to visit. It’d cost a pretty penny, but being safe (not to mention comfortable) was worth it.

Stepping out of his personal meditation chamber, he was immediately addressed by a man dressed in black pants and a long sleeved blue dress shirt. He was very fair skinned and was most times mistaken for an albino. He wore dreadlocks and looked like he was of Welsh descent. It was one of the major reasons no one knew he was Silas's three hundred year old son.

This was Nimkor, the second and only Dark Pillar that had accompanied Silas to earth. Right now, he looked agitated and actually worried, which was a rare look on the immortal.

“There’s been a problem,” he informed Silas curtly as soon as he emerged, standing a few feet away with his hands clasped behind his back. “We're under attack.”

Pausing, Silas took a moment to consider his response before asking, “A cult?”

“No. It's nothing like we've ever encountered since we arrived on earth. They are a group of mindmen, M'gen and humans. They're working together against us and they have nearly overpowered our men.”

“Where is Reed and Hush?” Silas asked, “Get them up there.”

“Reed is in the city, busy with Prince,” Nimkor answered. “and Hush is up there already. The other Pillars are not going to be happy about this. They expected to see positive results upon their arrival, tomorrow.”

Starting to walk down the large, refurbished tunnel, Silas ordered, “Let me worry about the others. They are not here now and this... disturbance won't live past tonight.”

Reaching the end of the tunnel, he opened the elevator door that was there and walked into it alongside Nimkor. The elevator was a manual one of sorts. It was made of two feet thick steel all round. It was manual in that the only way it could be moved was through telekinesis. It was the only access to the tunnel from the warehouse above. It was an effective way of preventing unwanted access.

As the elevator moved upwards, Silas dropped his head and heaved a long sigh. “Thank you, Nimkor; for refusing to use your powers and inform me of this instead.”

“Of course, father. I would not have done anything else.”

A moment later, there was a jerk in the elevator indicating that they had reached the warehouse. As the elevator opened, it revealed a wild, bloody brawl. It was one-sided and his men were the losing ones. Bodies from both parties laid scattered obviously dead. Just like Nimkor had told him, the opposition consisted of mindmen, several A class M'gens and large number of humans dressed in enchanted high-tech armours. Whatever cult these people came from, these people didn't care about the difference in races.

How barbaric.

“Nimkor,” Silas said not taking his eyes of the fray. “I'd appreciate it if you sat this one out.”

The other Dark Pillar obviously annoyed that his father didn't trust he'd be able to control his power, grudgingly obeyed and went back into the elevator heading back to the tunnel.

His son gone, Silas walked into the fight. It was then his men finally noticed him. The battle stopped then and his men immediately retreated to his side. As that happened, the other group organised themselves and soon, a human dressed in slightly different armour appeared out of the lot.

“Silas, I presume,” the man began. “I am—”

“Go home,” Silas interrupted the man. “I don't care to know who you are. I'm in no mood for petty cult battles tonight. Go home, and I would ignore the disruption you've caused. We do not want anything to do with your cult.”

“You still thinking we're a cult means you don't know who we are. And it means the protective incantation works.” He said the last part looking at his men before facing Silas once more. “We are earth's resistance and if you think we are just gonna let you open a portal to Devaria and let you bring in that bastard god, you got another thing coming.”

And immediately, his countenance changed. The lax and not bothered look the immortal had on his face earlier, disappeared and was immediately replaced by a bloodlusted one. “You shouldn't have said that.” The moment the words left his mouth, a black slash appeared and moved swiftly past the human and his allies.

And their heads dropped.

Out of the large group of almost sixty men that attacked his base, only a mere twenty remained. The rest had been beheaded. Behind him, Hush and six other high ranking mindmen suddenly used their powers on their comrades, killing them all.

“Many of my men don't know that,” Silas stated in a dark tone, still facing the man. With a wave of the hand, he ordered Hush and the rest to return to the tunnel, leaving him alone with them. “You shouldn't know that either. And that means, you, your comrades and every other member of your organization die—”

Several humans opened fire from their enchanted guns while a number of M'gens lunged at him with their weapons in hand. The mindmen flew into the air to attack with their long ranged abilities.

The bullets did nothing to Silas because just before the bullets could make contact, literal darkness poured out of the man's body and covered him entirely. The bullets didn’t penetrate, but nor did they ricochet away. Instead, as the bullets struck the strange, summoned darkness, it rippled slightly, almost like water. Tiny tendrils of liquid-darkness encompassed each bullet where it struck, holding onto it to arrest its momentum before letting it go so the bullet would fall harmlessly to the ground. It all happened in a millisecond, impossible to see with the naked eye. Each bullet would start to penetrate the liquid-like spot of darkness and get caught by the miniscule tendrils, and was then pushed out to fall onto the ground in a shower of bullets. To the naked eye, it looked like the bullets were hitting the man and simply falling to his feet.

“Okay,” Silas said after the men stopped firing, obviously out of ammunition. “My turn.” Raising his hands, six small balls of darkness formed and flew at them. The orbs reshaped into blades, solidifying just in time to cut through the decade of M'gens that had lunged at him, and the flying mindmen directly behind them.

Leaping into the air and remaining there with the aid of his telekinesis, Silas formed a much larger ball of darkness. One that after reaching a certain size began firing spears in rapid succession. Each and every one of the spears were precise and killed everyone it came in contact with. Even the pyrokinetic mindman who made a dome of fire to protect himself and a few of his comrades had been annihilated within the moment of the spear's impact. No one here, M'gen, mindman or human stood a chance against Silas.

After watching the group die, Silas dissolved the weapons he'd made with his darkness and absorbed the liquid-darkness armour he had on. Afterwards, he floated downward to meet the only man he didn't aim one of the spears at lethally. The leader of the group. The one who had addressed him. Lifting the man with his power, the Dark Pillar walked toward him and ripped his helmet off. The middle aged man under the helmet was visibly terrified.

“Ah,” Silas said satisfactorily. “Finally, your thoughts are mine to read. That is truly good armour. Mind telling me the M'gen who made that? Alongside everything about your organisation. I'm really not in the mood to pry anyone's thoughts tonight.”

“Fuck off, I ain't telling you nothing,” the man spat the words amidst the great pain he was under from the loss of his legs and the fear that had overwhelmed him. Not the fear of his death but the fear of causing the failure of the only plan they had to stop the Dark Pillars. He had to try. Try to keep the thoughts about their plans out of his mind. He had to try to not think about—

“You really don't know how this works, do you?” Came Silas's reply. Thinking about it is just as effective as trying not to think about it. The more you try to hide what you know about your organisation, the clearer it becomes. It is very counter-productive.” Putting on the lax look he had on earlier, Silas shrugged as he placed his hands behind his back. “But like I said, I'm not in the mood. So I'll make you an offer. Tell me everything you know about this... Duncan, his plans, your organisations... everything.”

“And I promise to make your death as painless as I would let myself.”