Dark Legacy: The End of the Kai

Chapter I

The golden rays of the setting sun retreated from a wealth of ash grey clouds. Saddened by this the evening sky ignored its inevitable death by listening to the songs of doves that flew gracefully over the city-galaxy of Atlas. There, below, upon high sea cliffs and long stretching plains stood the many sky-towers of Atlas pulsating a million dots of light. Illuminated streets crossed and weaved an infinite number of webs as uncountable vehicles moved and flew over the coastal terrains of the Atlantean capital.

A dove descended into Atlas, and she found too much for her eyes to bear and for her mind to comprehend. Things that sounded high-pitched shrieks flew past her. These things had two white lights for eyes and tails that bled in bright red, but they did not bleed for she soon realized that their tails were also lights. And far down below her there were rivers of lights. Scores of stars flowed within these rivers like ten thousand leaves flowing down a glistening stream. But they were not stars. They were those birds that were not birds that flew in lines and curves. Everything was moving. There were massive images–alive and moving–covering the sides of many sky-towers. And the noise. Sound was everywhere. It was loud and long or high-pitched and short. There was too much for the dove to see, hear, and feel. She could do no more than fly in a daze of fright.

Up there, in the dusty air, was a sign of white hope, and a homeless boy stepped back to notice this beauty in the sky.

The dove took a deep breath and glided between the sky-towers before flying over a great chasm. Now in the more industrial part of the city she looked down, saw the boy, and danced for him. The boy, remembering how someone he had recently lost enjoyed watching urban birds soar, smiled at the angel in the sky; and for a brief moment he too was free. The hunger, the pain, and the scars were no longer part of his reality.

In the distance, dark clouds marched toward Atlas. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed. The boy held his breath. There was a second flash of light. He waited for the grumble of thunder but heard a sharp pop instead. Frightened, he stood still. He smelled it–the burn of death–and saw that the flying dove was no more.

On days of ill will the young boy with his tribe of friends sat in back-alley streets shooting birds with rusted guns. They competed for the most kills for the winner was awarded the drug or prostitute of his choice.

He was a child of the Ideo; the sector of Atlas reserved for those who had no place in the thriving, legitimate light of Atlantean society. He had nothing to contribute to their politics, finances, and wars. He had no legitimate name, no parents, and no citizen chip embedded into his skin. He was, in all senses of the word, a ghost within the Atlantean system.

When other children his age, beyond the borders of Ideo, were in schools learning and eating candy and crying over scoops of ice cream that fell from their cones he was living deep within the tunnels of Ideo's sewers hungry, sick, and hiding from the SK's.

Fornax-Serpen was what the SK's were officially referred to on digital documents buried away within government and military mainframes. They were secretly approved, built, and deployed to patrol the Ideo sewer systems to prevent the flow of illegals–Ideo ghosts–into the citizen sectors of Atlas. But, the Fornax-Serpens did not patrol–they hunted. They were machines designed to seek and kill all things found within the dark, damp, sewer labyrinth of Ideo.

The boy had lost many from his tribe to the SK's. His tribe was composed of trusted and skilled companions who knew how to survive and journey through the tunnels of the Ideo underworld. They were often utilized by one of the various competing Ideo-clans to smuggle potion-magics, weapons, sex-slaves, human and animal body parts and organs, and pirated technological goods–both software and hardware–into and out of the Ideo sector. The money they gained for their services was considerable within Ideo, but it never lasted them more than a few days for they always gambled and spent more than they could afford on women, alcohol, and drugs.

To this boy it had never meant a thing to take life. He had never contemplated the act. And why should he have? He was an unwanted child of Atlas; nothing of any moral significance was ever taught to or expected of him. He had only known abandonment, abuse, and the sweet hypnotic pleasures of the potion-magics he bought and used to pollute his veins. His tribe and he had always fed the flames of greed, lust, and wrath within the underworld of Atlas. But somehow, now, he had begun to understand the tragedy of death.

In the alley across the street from him lay the mangled dove. He stared at his wet, filthy shoes and crossed the street with little care for the vehicles that sped passed him.

Questions howled in his head: Why was she so stupid? So, so, stupid! I told her. Stupid bitch. I'm going to fuck those SK's. I'm going to fuck them. Shit! What's the fucking point? Why live in this? Why fucking deal with this when I can just put a gun to my head? Why the fuck did they have to shoot that stupid fucking bird? Why did I look up? Why did I have to see it? I should have just ignored that piece of shit. I hate this ... I hate this!

The boy looked up to the dark sky and screamed, "I hate this fucking city!" A man walking toward him replied, "Then fucking leave!" The boy met the man's eyes with a glare that furrowed his forehead and bent his brow. Adrenaline shot through his veins. His pores breathed anger. His muscles clenched. He wanted to reach into his tattered coat, pull out his short sword, and show the man the weapon that would end him. He wanted to see fear in the man's eyes; see his face turn into a pathetic plea for mercy; see his hands tremble; his knees give way to gravity; his bladder release urine. He wanted to see the man cry and beg for mercy.

What would he do? Yes, he would toy with him first. Kick him in the face to make his nose bleed. Grab his arm and slice it open. No, he would pull out his gun and shoot him in the kneecaps and make him kneel. He would grab his hair, pull his head back, and shoot him in the mouth–no, the eye. No, he would stab him straight in the heart and listen to him cough and choke as he twisted the blade in his chest. He would kiss his lips when he coughed up blood and spit it in his face. Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him!

But nothing happened. The man continued walking and disappeared around a street corner. The boy simply stood balancing between the edge of the sidewalk and the street. Vehicles continued to pass blowing up wind that caressed the back of his neck. The wind; it called to him. It whispered into his ears. He relaxed. His shoulders dropped; he unclenched his fists; he bowed his head. He took in a short breath and felt the weight that pained his heart. He inhaled again and again, each breath longer and deeper than the one before. He covered his eyes with his dirty hands; and although there was no one to hold him, to comfort him, there was something. Perhaps it was the wind.

When he had regained composure, he took several steps into the dark alley and stood over the dove; the dove was lying on the broken bricks and cobblestones that lined the alley street whimpering, staring into the boy's eyes, begging for death.

"Shit, shit, shit," he said seizing his hair with his hands. He looked at his surroundings searching for any object that would end the dove's suffering. There was rotting waste along the walls of the alley and two rusted garbage dumps–a sad reminder that these streets were forgotten, no longer serviced by the sanitation department. Rats scurried into and out of crevices and thin streams flowed into the street. The smell was typical of an alley: the scent of urine, vomit, rotting food and waste.

A large, muddy brick was the object the boy chose to end the dove, and as he picked it up a raindrop splashed upon his hand; the sky had begun to weep; and when the boy lifted the brick over his head lightning flashed and thunder boomed.

The dove looked up and saw the silhouette of her executioner. It was time, and she closed her eyes and accepted the end.

Blood flowed into the filth of the alley. The boy kneeled beside the crushed dove for a moment before leaning against the concrete wall of an abandoned building. He looked down at the beaten cobblestones of the alley street and lulled himself to sleep as the cold rains fell upon him.