The Promethean Spark

Prologue

A sliver of light stretched slowly across the dusty floor of the dark room, accompanied by the screech of rusted hinges as the door swung inwards. In hobbled a small, frail looking old woman with thick white curls and massive, ring rimmed glasses. She reached out a withered hand and flipped a switch. Electric light filled the room, coming from a bulb that hung dangerously from the ceiling. The room was revealed to be full of various chests, pots, and other assorted storage devices. The woman hobbled further into the room, calling over her shoulder in a sweet voice.

"Please excuse the mess, not many customers come for these sort of things anymore," and then, mumbling to herself, "No, not anymore. Not for a long time." A tall man, with close cropped hair and a scar that curled over his ear and down his jawline walked in after her. He smiled amiably as he looked around.

"Oh it is quite alright Miss." He spoke, his voice smooth, soft, and pleasant. The old lady hobbled around the room in search of something while he waited patiently. Eventually she found it.

"Aha, here it is! I knew it was back here." She said triumphantly as she pulled a cloth covering off a large crate. She started trying to lift it, but the man stepped forward.

"Please, allow me." He lifted the crate, and, at her direction, set it upon a small chest. The Old Lady retrieved a crowbar from somewhere, and handed it to him. He used it to pry open the crate, and they both peered in. There was an assortment a random trinkets piled within. The woman reached in and pulled out an onyx colored box inlaid with a crimson stone surrounded with golden tendrils set into the box.

"Here we are," She said as she handed it to him. He took it gratefully, holding it almost reverently. Slowly, he undid the metal clasp that sealed the box, and opened it. He smiled, obviously seeing what he had been looking for. He reached in and removed a small obsidian stone.

"Why is this so special to you?" The Old Lady asked. The man grinned as he held it to the light.

"This," He said, "This is my way home. I need one more thing from you though." He set the gem back in the box and, leaving it open, set it precariously on the edge of the crate.

"And what might that be young man?" His smile turned dark.

"Your soul."

His hand was suddenly on wrapped around her throat, lifting her into the air. She gasped in alarm and started to struggle, clawing at his arm and kicking wildly in the air. The man seemed bored as he held her, waiting for her life to drain from her. He even turned away, looking at his nails as she thrashed violently in his grip. That is, until she landed a solid kick to his gut. He glanced angrily at her, and tightened his grip until a splitting Crack! Filled the air. She stopped struggling.

He tossed her limp corpse aside, and turned back to the stone, which was now glowing. Slowly it began to melt, spilling over the lip of the box, down the crate, and onto the floor. He watched as the stone produced more liquid than should have been possible. Continuously pumping out the black, thick liquid. The liquid began to coalesce on the floor, slowly rising and forming a shape. The man, turned, and started to walk away.

"As much as I'd love to stay and watch you rise, mi-lord, You do have a nasty reputation, and I rather value my life, so I must away," He turned as he reached the door, the shape was now vaguely humanoid, and was watching him as it grew. "Enjoy your new reign, Death." The man said. He closed the door, and started whistling a joyous tune. He continued whistling as he left the shop, and turned right, heading down the busy street with a skip in his step.