The Guardian Of Death

Beginnings

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Alright! Without further ado, let's get on with the story.

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The loud sound of silence did nothing for his nerves as he walked down a long dark corridor. How did I get here, he wondered as his feet continued to lead him down the hallway. The pull. He couldn't fight it. Why would he want to? It was beautiful. It made him feel almost as if he were drunk. It was such ecstasy.

The dark was one thing, but the feel of the hallway was another. He felt the dark. It was as though he was soaked in it, dripping from head to toe with the chill. He could almost hear his own breathing.

He could see a doorway, light flickering beneath what he could only assume was a wooden door. The colored light licked at the cobblestone border around the door and at the marble flooring. Although it was distorted by the colored light, he could see the burgendy color of the stone, his stomach twisting with nausea.

The passage grew lighter gradually as he approached the door to a room lit by a single flame. He didn't think it odd that the door had been left open. No, he didn't notice. He didn't care. All that mattered was the pull. If he could have only one thing in life, he'd choose to follow the pull.

He stepped into the room and gulped. It was both beyond hot and beyond cold. Flames lined the room along the walls, seeming to have no light. In the center of the room was a single flame. He knew instantly that this was where the light was coming from, but more importantly it was where the pull was coming from.

He ignored the question of the lightless flames screaming at the back of his head. He only saw the box. His body seemed to gravitate on its own toward the contraption. How odd, he would have remarked, though nothing left his lips.

He walked over to the flame and reached out to touch it. He could feel nothing as his hand neared the box, or could he? He could have sworn it was scorching. Or maybe it was freezing?

There! He retrieved his hand, barely missing the flame. That voice! It called his name. "James." It was like a lulling whisper. How deep. The voice almost sounded gritty, but it seemed to not quite get to that point. It was seductive, alluring. It called out to his soul. "Kill. Kill." Like a snake, slithering into his mind, he felt it. "Who?" Came the single question, his voice cracked and hoarse. James clenched his fists, barely holding onto a gasp. He felt different, new. He felt better. It was the best feeling he'd ever had. There was a power flowing through his being now. Raw power.

"Death."