Chapter 2:

[The Failure Assassin of Silar]

Zariff laid writhing in pain on the dusty white floor, gritting his teeth as he endured the void surging in his white eyes. It continued to spread out further away from the eye he had sacrificed and slowly, but hellishly, it seeped through his brain. His cries escaped from his mouth and echoed in the isolated laboratory.

Aneran—Dark Seeran—was pulled into his nostrils, absorbing it into his Feren. Though it gave him brain splitting headaches, he could feel it slowly halting the corruption and sometimes even pushing it back. He continued breathing in the air to repair the Feren as the void syphoned it.

This was the price of using a void ritual. He had been stuck in this starseeker laboratory for at least forty days now because of it. The consequences of ignoring the costs for power was torture. This is something he should have to bear, but he did not want to accept it. Yet it will destroy his soul otherwise.

Even while he was suffering, he forced out a question, “I need… another option out of this… got any ideas?”

‘Bear with it for now, it should die in an hour or so now. But I do have one alternative if you don’t mind ruining your face?’

“Yes! Let’s go with that!”

‘Concentrate your Atra Flames on your fingertips and cut off the corruption at the root. Don’t expect your face to survive, though it may just make you look better.’

“Ahhhhhh.”

Zariff shot out a thundering wail as he pressed his fingertips on his eyes. They were alighted with Atra Flames that dissolved into acid and burnt his skin. But he could not stop, because it was working. It was like hell. The only thing that stopped it from melting his skin was his resistances to it.

The void roots felt it too. He could feel them slowly losing their hold over him and burning out to his Feren until it finally died. Clearing his head of headaches and pain. Pain related to the void as he was still burning to the acid.

One last problem.

Black. That was all he could see as he manifested the Shadow Coat over his face. The acid reacted to it violently. It stung his face repeatedly until it was eventually killed out like the void. Regardless, it was finally over. He unwrapped his face and got up, feeling refreshed and clear like the rivers that the greedy want to destroy.

‘Good job. I didn’t think you had the drive to do it, but you did it. How are you feeling right now?’

“Hungry,” he said with a groan.

‘Good, it means you’re still alive and human. Not that I know how things from the void feel, but it’s a good sign nevertheless.’

“I thought you disliked me.”

‘Even I have preferences. I would rather have an idiot like you over a corpse that only knows how to say yes or no.’

“I hate you,” Zariff replied.

Heartwarming to know that his Guardian cared somewhat.

“So the void is weak to fire?”

‘I’d guess it’s weak to Aneran. We’ve faced fire Servants before and none of them could save themselves with their own flames.’

“Yeah, but, we hadn’t met someone willing to burn themselves.”

‘Depends on which underworld they want to go to, though I think fire is not too bad compared to some very obscure thing like the void. I can tell you that all of the underworlds are hellholes, but I don’t know how bad the void is.’

“Yeah, stab me in the heart before I get corrupted,” he said jokingly.

‘But I can’t do anything.’

“Then it will be your fault when we get sent to the void.”

Zariff retrieved his white mask from the clean white square tiles and placed it over his scarred face to hide his mistakes. Though, the blood of his victims were stained on the clear clothing. If he were to go outside, he would be judged and gazed at by the fearful public. He still left anyway.

The hallway was empty and removed of most of its contents, though he could still see some of the machines the starseekers used to dissect the marks of children they kidnapped. It made him shiver with just the thought of it. These people believed that they were the true gods and that religion was weak so they resorted to many atrocities.

Yet two of them still lived.

If only I could kill them when I had the chance.

Lunilion, his leader, suggested to him to restrain himself from killing them at the time. If he could have guessed, his friend might have thought they would be executed for their crimes; something that has happened to people that did less than them. He thought wrong. The corrupt higher ups seized the chance to hire those criminals.

Zariff ragingly slammed his arm at the wall next to him, denting it and his Feren. The Underworld? The Void? Hell? None of those compared to how shitty Silar was. Maybe death was not so bad compared to living in this corrupt poisonous pool of snakes, pigs and dogs. Filled with many that were dumber than Ferols.

“Will I ever be free?”

‘You just need to free yourself. Or are you still attached to that girl.’

“Will we all ever be free?”

‘Do you want the honest answer?’

“No.”

‘Yes.’

The answer he wanted to hear. Yet it hurt the most knowing that it was a lie. A lie he had to bear. A lie he had to prevent from becoming true. A lie he alone should endure. The time for freedom shall come soon. And he would use his abilities to bring it closer and closer to reality.

After reaching the stairs, as he walked up, he remained silent all the way, until he eventually reached the roof. The shining white sun bathes his body in light, illuminating the Reaper’s ascension to the world of the living before he eventually goes back into hiding in the shadows.

His eyes struggled to get used to the sunlight, but that was but another cost for the power he had. Zariff trod onto the edge of the building to get a view of the populated streets that were filled to the brim with marked in the region; especially marked children. The Starseekers picked the perfect spot for kidnapping children easily.

I could kill them myself.

He gazed upon the horizon. Feeling flat and still as the wind brushed past his skin. Deciding he wanted to die or not. What was the perfect answer for such a question?

There were none.

‘Hey! Are you listening to me, Idiot?!!’ The voice nagged.

“What do you want?”

‘You were ignoring me for a second there, can’t have that now.’

I really do hate this shitface, swiftmouth, asshole. Even those swift assholes down the west have decency to shut up, but this jackass loves to ruin the damn mood.

Zariff let out his breath, “Will we always be bound together?”

‘Until you die.’

He laughed off the response. Such a very fitting fate for them, to be bound with each other until death. He could either make the best of it and bond with his Guardian he lacked the name of, or he could cut an artery. Neither seemed plausible, but living was always better than dying. Probably.

There would be no place up there for him after he did so many crimes against the ideals of Albadol. But it was funny nevertheless.

“That placed me in a good mood, Guardian. I’ll answer any question of yours right now.”

‘Remember the one from forty-two days ago and yes, I counted the days while you were suffering. Don’t ask me how I did it.’

“No,” Zariff said bluntly.

‘Explain it.’

Zariff yawned, “It’s used against people that wear one particular colour mostly. Like whiteskin and greyskin. Understand?”

‘That is… extremely stupid. What the hell? Why are people divided by the colour of their clothing? That’s worse than being discriminated against based on skin colour or eye colour. This makes no sense at all,’ the voice went on a rant.

“Yeah, Aldaconian traditions are extremely weird and limiting of freedom for no real reason. I don’t even think there are any other gods we worship except for the White God.”

‘Oh… interesting.’

“Huh?”

‘Nothing, you should probably call your superiors, Hakalin.’

The Guardian actually paid attention to the book? That was surprising, but made sense as a taunt. Hakalim Golfor was the protagonist of “The Caged Slave,” hated by Marked critics for being too overly dramatic, but loved by the Markless for speaking out. The writer was even killed for writing it. Most likely by the Marked that hated him. Though, Zariff knew the voice did not mean it in a positive way.

Nevermind the foolish voice.

Zariff took out his white Linker, a small device that resembles the phone that the rich have, but only has a few functions and is purely meant to call your friends, or in his case, associates. He called his leader, Lunilion. After a while of waiting, he finally received an answer.

“Who is it?” Lunilion actually answered. The leader of the Night’s Reapers team three and one of the only members he cared for beside Cairi.

“It’s me, Zariff. I’ve—”

“Zariff? Where have you been? Taisil and Rugor reported back to me saying that they couldn’t find you so I thought you had died trying to take down Sareel, but you ran away instead?” he spoke in a concerned tone even while accusing him of such a thing.

Tempting.

“I locked myself in an abandoned laboratory of the starseekers to fight the void again. Unfortunately it took longer this time. It actually almost got me.”

“That is why I told you not to rely on that thing. I’m sure you had better alternatives that wouldn’t cost you your life.”

“I needed to clear out the way to get a good hit on them. Enough about that, I have something important to report.”

“Go on.”

“Sareel was a Ferolcaller.”

“That is important… but not right now. Return back to base so we can discuss this with the others, and I’ll make sure the guards shoot on sight when they see you. Praise the White One, Al Whit.”

“Praise the Heroic Saviour and the Champions of Helsond.”

The call had ended, but he could not just bring back a Ferolix with him; the higher ups would want it for themselves. Zariff reached into his pocket for the black ball that had repaired its crystal halfway. He stashed it away inside one of the cupboards and left the shards from when he had shattered it inside of his pocket.

‘What are Ferols?’ the Guardian asked.

“Creatures created by evil gods to kill humanity. They look like us, but deformed and lacking some features. We’ve been fighting them for centuries, but some time ago, a cult formed and sided with the Ferols and against their own species for power. Lunilion told me that we’re currently at a war with them right now in the nation of Albios.

“They’ve destroyed cities, killed thousands of people and brought ruin to us for the last few years now. Lunilion knows that if we defeat the Ferolcallers, we will no longer be needed and be realised of crimes we have never committed at all so he fights towards that, but I know it’s a sham. There’s no one worse than Tillon to be working for in the council.”

‘They do sound dangerous. Or are they fodder?’

“They die as easily as humans when struck by a blade, maybe even more. But… bullets don’t work on them, explosives do, but we lack those right now.”

‘I understand. I thought your people had it easy, but with monsters like that, you must be constantly fighting just for survival. I think I’ve grown some respect for you at least. Now, please read better books.’

Zariff chuckled. The Guardian will not change his ways, but he did not mind that. It kept life more interesting to butt heads with someone you disagreed with every once in a while. What did need to change was the Ferolcallers. They should not be allowed to live here, not after destroying four different cities in Albios. Taking lives was never his thing, but theirs were in need of some cleansing.