Birth of a Nightmare Man

Chapter Seventeen

Humans adapt to pretty much anything. Weather changing, seasons turning, moving from one place to another. Death of loved ones, missing people that they care about… the human mind could get used to a lot of things.

People in the magical community in England adapted to the notion of a quiet dark lord roaming the lands, bringing with him nasty creatures, and silver-eyed servants made out of people who tried to hunt him down. Although they never saw more than one of these servants, a woman who apparently had been part of a bigger bounty hunter family.

Muggles in England adapted to the knowledge of villages burning, an unknown force, scary but unseen. They became alert and suspicious towards all and any strangers, a behaviour they took on all too easily. Humans weren't humans unless they could put blame on someone else than themselves, more or less.

The Nightmare Lord took this all in a stride. Years passed. He grew older, yet remained young. He was chased, but always emerged as the victor. Not always undamaged, no. It happened from time to time that he made it out and immediately collapsed due to loss of magic, or organs… one time his entire right side, arm included. That hurt a lot to regenerate, and it took a long time too. There were times where he slept for days at a time, and had trouble finding a good reason to rise at all during harsh winters.

Elise, his servant, remained at his side at all times during that. Her mind never recovered, and she didn't remember the torture. The Nightmare Lord did. He remembered her every scream, and wondered briefly why he dreamt about it, feeling cold and disgusting for a moment at what he had done to her. Then he'd forget about it until the next time he had a dream concerning her.

For some time, Elise was the only human being around him. The Nightmare Lord simply couldn't stand human companionship, no matter how much he might yearn for it. He only remembered how much he hated people once he tried to interact with them. He remembered how bad he was around children, those fragile, tiny things that were innocent. He had carried a few, heart thudding against his chest, fearing he'd drop the child, or crush it.

Orphans were the worst. He felt pity for them. He wanted to tell them things he didn't mean, like things would be alright one day, that they needn't cry anymore… the Nightmare Lord kept turning those words around in his own head, and wonder where they came from. Certainly not him, why would he reassure anyone?

He was chased. There were those who didn't give up. Some years after Elise became his servant, one magical village gathered enough money to send people after him. The Nightmare Lord left one witness in that village alive to tell the tale how well that went. He began to do that, and soon people grew more careful, both in chasing him as well as even speaking much about him at all.

By the time he passed one hundred years old, and he was seeing the middle of the fourth century of England, something new had been born in the minds of those who didn't know better. The magical community believed that the Nightmare Lord was a title passed from person to person, that the whole notion of a Dark Lord was created by a cult. They didn't believe he was immortal. They thought the new Nightmare Lord was always a young-looking man, and that they all were insane. The magical community shouted out that the immortality was faked to bring more fear.

The lord had a laugh at that, and let them believe whatever they wanted. It was good for him too, because that meant the amount of people chasing him to become immortal themselves lessened and he was bothered less in his own home.

He still captured people, but hadn't found someone he wanted as his servant. He knew people thought he had several when they'd only seen Elise. However, he wanted more, if only to have them talk to each other instead of bothering him. He wanted to be alone at times, but Elise rarely left his side. Her eyes followed him, and him only. Perhaps he had made her too loyal.