Scattered Fragments

Chapter Six~ The Dreads of Night

    The corridor were alive. A thick darkness clotted the walls, making the hall seem as if it could stretch on for eternity. The lamps cast a faint purple glow that hardly illuminated the path before him, but it was more than enough. He was quite familiar with the darkness and how it toyed with the eye; how it seemed to love playing tricks on people. Those who live in the light are most blinded by the darkness, which made them weak to its embrace. It made them easier to possess; Control.
    The shuffling of his silver armor was the only noise cutting through the silence of the corridor. His torn cape flowed lightly behind him, his skin a pale grey, and his eyes a bottomless pit of black around his glowing blue pupils. He neared the end of the corridor to an iron door. There were multiple voices on the other side; some laughing, some calm, all violent. He opened it and entered the small chamber.
    The conversations stopped. His warriors turned to him, each one shooting him a different look. The man descended the steps and noticed a great door at the other side of the room being guarded by two men.
    "Firion, it's about time you got here, we've been waiting here hours for you," said one of his men, garnishing a large feather on the hat he wore. It did little from taking the attention away from his rather pointy nose.
The man stopped in front of him, taking in the feather for a heartbeat until moving past him.
    "Xena," he called.
A woman pushed off one of the walls she was leaning on, shoving the cloak she wore behind her. "Yes, Firion?" The look on her face was bored, annoyed, and uninterested all in one.
    "Has Albion arrived yet?" He asked
    "Hell if I should know," She responded. "Hey, Kain! You see Albion anywhere?"
A large man, bulked in muscle and brawn, looked at both of them; his giant iron hammer catching in the light. He shook his head.
    "Well there you have it," Xena said. "He's probably out hunting for dragons or something."
Albion was never one for business meetings. No, he was born on the battlefield. A cold blooded killer who took great joy in slaughtering and tormenting anyone who got in his way. Corpsemaker was the name his Dread had given him, and wore it proudly he did. Him not being here didn't surprise Firion one bit.
    The giant iron door shook alive, dragging along the chamber's smooth tiles. The darkness from the other side of the door seemed to pour into the room.
    "We're finally being summoned," said Xena.
His seven Dreads approached their leader. He turned to them, looking them over once. It was a silent understanding: I do the talking, so shut up.
They marched into the throne room, the dark mists wrapping around each of them.
            The Dreads approached the dark throne. The moon served as their only source of light as it cast from the giant windows behind the throne. Firion could barely make out the silhouette sitting on the throne, save for his brown boots. Although he couldn't be seen, his suffocating presence  made it clear that he was there. His twisted Essence seemed to wrap around his throat, making it hard to breathe. Was he intentionally doing this, or was his Essence too powerful to be around?
    "Firion, step forth," His voice was deep, commanding.
The man with the ruined cape, and strange eyes approached the throne, his body seemed to move on its own. He stopped a couple feet from the throne and kneeled on all fours, the heavy force of the man's essence pressing his face to the ground.
    "You have gathered a strong party, I am impressed," The man on the throne said.
He kept his face to the ground, "Only the best for you my King."
There was a slight pause. Every single Dread felt the king's attention on them, they dared not look up.
    The man on the throne tossed a blade up into the air towards Firion's body. The warriors dared not intervene and attempt to stop the blade. Firion was well aware he was not to move an inch either. The blade spun a couple revolutions before diving down. No one flinched as the sword's tip buried into the floor tiles with a sharp slice, just an inch away from Firion's head. "This blade is to return, coated in the blood of an Etran royal. Fail to do so and it will be yours that will take its place." There was no humanity in his words, as if the man was possessed by malice itself. "When you are done, you and your men will meet me at the Egrei with the blade in tow."
    He looked up to the blade and saw his own twisted reflection in it. "Consider it done," Was all that Firion said, before getting up.
            "Oh and one more thing," the shadow King said. "If you happen to come across a peculiar boy, make sure you tell him 'the Monoliths were only the beginning. The Ascension will begin soon.'"
He was confused by what the man just said, "How will I know who the boy is?" He asked, not daring to mention what he meant by the Monoliths.
            "His essence will give him away." Was all the man replied with.
Not wanting to pester the king any longer, Firion pulled the sword from the ground in one clean swoop and turned from the king, heading towards the exit, his men followed in silence.
                                                                                               ~