The Stronghold 2: Immortals

Towers Of Tombs

Through the metal door was a gigantic warehouse. I hadn't got a proper look at Pridian before the lights had blinded me the night before and so I listened intently whilst Blade explained the layout.

"There are offices built up and around this place," he stated. "You see? The roof is made of glass and so are the walls so you can see inside no matter what level you're on. The top levels are mostly kept empty with everybody working on the ground floor just in case somebody who doesn't work for Pridian wanders in. It's easier to pretend that we're just some boring old company if all the training is done up high."

"What sort of training?" I asked, gazing around in wonder at the towering piles of crates, files and freezers.

"Fighting skills, attentiveness, general knowledge, blending in, all sorts," Blade replied. "Whatever is required for the missions or tests to make sure our agents aren't slacking."

"I'm guessing I have to go through all the tests?" I said flatly.

"Only some. I can vouch for your fighting skills and so can my wonky nose." 

My eyes widened and I cast some light to look at the damage I'd done properly. "Oh my gosh, I am so sorry," I gushed, seeing Blade's nose pointing sideways. "Here, I can fix it." The light spread from my fingers and danced around Blade's nose, moving it back into the correct position. He went cross-eyed in an attempt to watch the magic at work and I smiled. 

"You look stupid," I informed him.

"So does your hair," he retorted. I scowled and Blade laughed, moving deeper into the warehouse. Shadows swallowed him and I turned my hand into a torch so that I could see into the darkness.

"What's stored in here?" I asked. 

"Dead agents and all the information regarding them," Blade replied casually. I stopped in my tracks, eyes wide with fear, skin paler than usual. I've seen my friends die loads of times and felt my own death even more than that but I can never get over the sense of death in the air. It's like despair, and hatred, and a mournful peace that only comes with being trapped somewhere the living can never reach you. And the worst part for me is that I've been with them, four times now. Each and every time I try to kill myself I only die temporarily before I'm dragged back to life by my own immortality. I used to hate it but I don't care anymore, I live with it. The only bad part is that I can still feel pain and if you ever want to know what being run over by a truck feels like, I can tell you. In great detail.

"Why the hell are they in the middle of your offices?" I squeaked at last. Blade turned around, a smile on his face that was rapidly fading.

 "Are you okay?" he said in concern. "You look as if you're about to pass out."

"I... I don't do well with corpses and stuff," I mumbled, willing the blood to return to my head before I fainted. "I've seen so much death in my time that I'm beginning to develop an allergy to it."

"Oh really? What are the symptoms of an allergic reaction?"

"Going pale, feeling weak, nausea, extreme surges of emotion," I said, smiling weakly. "No big deal, really, but then the fainting comes along with horrible, horrible nightmares. You saw how I have shadows? Well, they get stronger around dead people. Demons gave me those powers and my demon murdered the people that I trust, that I care for." I coughed and lowered my head, looking up at Blade out of black eyes. "So yeah. I don't do well with death."

"We're too far in to get out now," Blade said. "You're going to have to keep walking. Do you think you'll be alright?"

"Possibly," I shrugged. "It depends on how old the bodies are."