The Living Dead

1

The days had become a meaningless blur, the past decade had all been the same. Day in, day out. Only two events having stood out at all; major catastrophes to most, definite and inevitable points in time to one.

 The skeleton of the once grand castle loomed over the tall grass that had been growing for the past nineteen years in Kingdom Valley. The long abandoned grounds being less so explored as wandered by a figure of dark. Wading through the bladed sea till it parted into streams as the green waves met forgotten brickwork, stopping and looking around the rotten walls, the destroyed and forgotten robots left to rot by the last breathing beings to traverse the now shapeless halls.

Forgotten.

That’s what this place was for, the forgotten. The things that took place in those walls and the horrors they caused, forgotten by all but those who had the misfortune to experience it. 

He studied the engravings in the worn and weathered bricks, glaring at the inaccurate shape of the more than familiar deity depicted in the stones. Everywhere he stepped in the god forsaken kingdom lay more imagery of the same god who forsook them. 

The day was hot and the air heavy, he was told it was humidity. But he was unconvinced; humidity entailed the promise of rain, but the air was crisp and dry. He had briefly considered seeing forward, but the threat of rain was unbothering, and the reckless use of sight was a waste of energy he didn’t have to spare for something as trifle as rain. The air had only gained more oppressive weight the closer he approached to the centermost room of the desolate castle scape. The crumbled walls bisected the room with shade, creating an incomplete yin yang as he basked in the heat of the sun. Like a lizard trying to warm its blood.

But there was something wrong, an unnatural static. It felt artificial. A point formed in the center of the desicrated room. Not visible, but certainly there. As if by instinct The Dark returned to his base form, akin to a sort of primordial ooze, quickly soaking into the shade cast by the swaying grass. He watched cautiously from the shadows as the point became a visible scar on the fabric of the world. It seeped energy like a bleeding wound. 

 He absorbed a portion of the energy involuntarily, a nature he no longer had control over. He was surprised to find it somewhat satiating in a way nothing had been in a long time. He stewed in the shade watching the mark on reality become more wicked; cracking at the edges like a bullet hole in glass, fracturing further as a great sound of agony rang from inside. The sound was distorted like a poorly connected phone call. The rip in the world began emitting a brutal red light, it was bright enough that the silhouette of a better man hadn’t actually seen the mobian appear.

 But when his sight was clear again, there he was. There was a soft clattering of metal against the ancient brickwork. He appeared to be some sort of monochrome canine, the variety uncertain. He was on his hands and knees, fists clenched, snout parallel to the ground though obscured by his long white hair. He stayed completely still except to slowly and methodically reach for the black and chrome mask that lay loyally at his side. Only attempting to stand once sure his geometric masquerade was firmly on his face. He shakily got to his feet, clutching a spot on his chest like it burned. And it could’ve been, enough heat surrounded him to kill a normal being. But he seemed largely unaffected. The dark slinked through the shade silently, trying to come to a conclusion about the masked stranger. 

The hound was attempting to catch his bearings, looking around at the crumbling structures, when he froze. Not abruptly, or obviously in any real manner, but his movement softly ended. His hand left his chest as he fixed his somewhat stooped posture, hiding any physical weakness in possibly false confidence. 

“I know there’s someone here. Show yourself.” He spoke to the air. The shadows began to pool in the corner, then collected like smoke into a bipedal form to the right of him with a chuckle.

“Your senses are impressive. Most can’t detect me while hidden this way.” The canine took on a more offensive stance. 

“I should have known you would come to mock me in my time of weakness.” there was a hint of growl in his voice. The dark one cocked his head to the side and stared back blankly, unblinking. “Don’t play the fool just because the role suits you, Shadow the Hedgehog.” he accused. There was a silence. And then a laugh.

“Or perhaps I was wrong. You seem to trust your eyes too much. Thankfully for both of us, I am not that wretched hedgehog.” The canine’s one visible pupil eyed him warily, stance not changing. 

“No.” He finally decided. “You’re not him. Who are you.” It was less of a question than a demand, he didn't let his guard fall. The shade thought for a moment before deciding to humor him despite his rudeness. 

“I am Mephiles the Dark, but you need no introduction. You were the bane of the resistance, a war criminal, and missing in action on the last day.” He rattled off facts like he had been there. “Yes, I know who you are, Infinite the Jackal.” 

“Is that supposed to be impressive? I’m well aware of my infamy, it’s useful.” He replied bluntly. “Are you a part of the resistance?”

“No. I was…” Mephiles searched for the right word. “…encouraged against participating. I would have swayed the outcome too much.” Infinite scoffed like he didn’t believe him. “Not that it  matters now,” he continued like he hadn’t heard him. “there is no resistance to be a part of anymore.” 

“What do you mean, did we win?” He asked warily.

“Oh. No.” he said nonchalantly. “Very much the opposite in fact.” He paused, something occurring to him for the first time. “How long do you think you’ve been gone?” He narrowed his eyes while asking, eyes not so much closing, but the shape changing to be slim.

“How long? I’ve only-“ Infinite began responding, before stopping to think about it. He had fought tooth and nail to return to the normal reality, but it was entirely possible he had perceived time differently. “Four months.” He stated, not entirely convincing himself. Mephiles cocked his head like a confused dog, still unblinking.

“Hm…” 

“What.” his patience had began visibly wearing thin.

“Oh nothing, you’re simply off by about 61 months, give or take.”