• Chapter 9: Civil Sacrilege

    Adeiazo roared again. Viola’s knees felt frail as the world around them turned into a suffocating monotone. The grass under her turned black as the sky above became static. The trees bended like in a horror movie while the moon became a pitch black that seemed to absorb any form of light.
    “A vampire bat,” gasped Viola as Adeiazo bent, his eyes seeming to absorb the light as well. Transformations had never occurred in at least a millennium, if any historic records were correct. “You have the ‘gene’?”
    Adeiazo’s bat head shifted upwards and his eyes focused on Viola.
    Oh no. Oh no! Viola nearly screamed as the Elite lunged at her, his arms outstretched, retractable claws out. She ducked quickly getting her clothes smudged by a puddle of mud. “Aww and that was a new one!”
    The Elite screeched again, killing more of the wildlife. Viola tried to move, but she suddenly felt heavier. He lunged at her again. She managed to move herself just enough to only get scratched on the shoulder, which was not bare before. She felt a pinch of pain move through her body. But there was no blood. Good. Adeiazo’s form only reacts to sound and blood.
    The Lamiae Vespertilionis sniffed the air as Viola stayed motionless, crouched near a wall of trees. No sudden movements, or…
    Crack. Her phone lay under her foot. The screen cracked, which looked strange as the fault line absorbed any form light, just like the moon. A shadow formed in Viola’s eye as the Lamiae turned its head. The shadow ran at the center of its body, splitting it in half.
    The giant vampire bat lunged at her again, but Viola quickly threw the cell phone at its snout. The creature fell back in confusion as Viola stood up straight and ran at it.
    The creature growled.
    Viola cried a makeshift battle cry.
    The creature jumped forward.
    Viola got a fist ready.
    And then silence.

    Meanwhile…
    Reaper Anthos was never a likable man. Vain, coldly sarcastic, and sadistic, he could easily make even the Terminators from those old movies fall to their knees and cry. He grew up as the seventh son out of seven in a rich family. The problem was, his family was one of the most despised places in the entire Paralleliux. Three of his siblings disappeared after the American Revolution due to…complicated reasons. His eldest brother died of typhoid. His immune system was incomplete. His youngest sister was killed in a duel against Andrew Jackson himself (she was in John C. Calhoun’s shadow).
    He learned how to use his negative emotions to his advantage and became a sort of prodigy in school. The Reapers picked him up after three weeks of surveillance. They usually take a century to choose their agents.
    Now he stood as Reaper Anthos, formerly known as Aiken Itza XI. Bearer of the twin Geminus and Gemini, two strange, dagger-like guns that shoot plasma rose thorns. They also double as short daggers for backstabbing. Suitable for his personality.
    He tapped his shoulder with the back of his gun as Chaos and Blixt held back Aftok and Delea’s attacks. He was bored, and the charade was not helping. Exitius stood with his fist clenched, pure magic spluttering from his hands. Silver magic. Could it be that his Muzyka is tainted? pondered Aiken.
    A surge of power ran through his spine. He looked up to see a dome of monotone emerge from about half a mile, at about thirty angles from where his body was facing. So that is where they went, thought Aiken with a smile. But then that smile turned into a frown. Could it be that Adeiazo summoned his true power?
    “Rigeo, Desche,” he called to Reapers Chaos and Blixt, respectively. “I am going to go investigate a little insurgency of power.”
    He walked, on the air, toward the dome of monotone, even though Rigeo and Desche had not said anything, and was shocked to what he saw. The girl and what seemed to be a giant, grotesque vampire bat faced each other. She was injured, but moved slightly backwards. It was clueless of her presence. Time for an experiment.
    There was a cell phone in the grass right outside of the dome, he quickly swooped down and picked it up. And then, with perfect precision, threw it right under her foot.
    Crack! The cell phone’s screen shattered, and then the vampire bat quickly turned around. The girl got up. The bat roared. The woman gave a weak battle cry. The bat lunged forward. The woman started a flying kick.
    Her foot connected with the creature’s snout, but the latter’s momentum carried it to herself, and both fell to the floor, the woman under the creature. A perfect show of physics and animal behavior. Except this creature was no animal. It jolted once or twice, and then it shrank. The wings shattered into multicolored shards of glass, the arms became straighter. The legs lost their extra joints, and the feet became human-like. His hair fell off, showing a pale man devoid of clothes, except for a shadow that covered his… Wait. Is the monotone growing? Aiken looked up to the moon. It seemed to absorb any form of light around it. He looked back down. Adeiazo’s body was gone. And so were what remained of his clothes.
    The Reaper turned around; Adeiazo’s fingers punctured his stomach, and then the scratch of tree leaves and branches stung him.
    “I am not so easily defeated, Reaper Anthos,” said the Elite quietly and quickly. He was sheathed in his Elite cloak again, as if it had been fixed by magic. Aiken nearly questioned how that had happened, but Adeiazo seemed to read his mind. “Anything done by my vampire is undone once I revert to my completed state. Of course, Viola Easton’s sedated state was your doing.”
    “And what are you going to do now?” snapped Aiken, his breath scarce in the monotone. He had five shadows dancing in his eyes. The others had already entered the field. What is this Elite that stood before him?
    Again, Adeiazo seemed to read his mind. “Do you know who I am, Reaper Anthos?”
    Aiken merely shook his head, a bang falling over his right eye.
    “I am Adeiazo Solum, Number Two of the Elites. I am the official leader of this group of Elites that stood before you moments ago,” announced the Elite. With a flourish of wind and leaves, he summoned a nodachi, which he held with just the tip of his index and middle fingers.
    This boy seems stronger than his frail body shows.
    “You are a fool for believing me to be weaker than my frame shows. My power exceeds you beyond imagination,” continued Adeiazo, the slightest hint of emotion under his tone. To prove the point he outstretched his arm and conjured a ball of energy that quickly grew large enough to obscure his body behind him.
    Damn it. There was a click, and then the ball let out a burst of concentrated energy that went straight for Aiken’s head at sixty times the speed of sound.

    Later …
    Nocturn, or at least that is what his name should be, sprawled on his couch to watch TV. His Reaper side would have never let such disorganization take place: a bag of potato chips next to him, breadcrumbs on the laminated floor, and a half drunken cup of Coke that he enjoyed so much. He kicked off his boots and put on a pair of black shoes that many people of his age and nature would wear: wild at times, and dark and sallow at other times. He’d kept the Reaper cloak on, afraid that he would be deemed a traitor if he took it off.
    He had the TV on at a local channel known as CNN, which had the president’s State of the Union Address. She was beautiful beyond comparison, with red hair that moved smoothly with every graceful jerk of the head and blue eyes that could make any cold heart melt away. Behind her sat the vice president, Julian Lorsten: an intimidating handsome Hispanic man. Nocturn wondered if they had ever been caught in a scandal. He certainly would not have minded. Next to Julian was the House Speaker, John Kingston.
    Something about John bothered Nocturn. He had short, blonde hair and green eyes that he kept half-closed, as if he were hiding something. He had a goatee that protruded slightly from his chin and a scar that ran down his right eye.
    “The tell-tale,” murmured Nocturn to himself right before the President started to speak.
    “Republicans and Democrats. House and Senate. Political leaders and the average people watching this in their homes. Thank you for joining us for this important cession.”
    All of the people in the room kept their eyes glued on the President with awe, contempt, or a mixture of both.
    “I understand that our parties are becoming more and more split apart. A civil war seems to be over the horizon. And I resent this growing hatred. I became the first Constitutional President of the United States to be able to be in between this conflict between us. And I am grateful to see that you, the ones sitting before me now,” about half of the room was empty, “are trying to end this prewar.”
    Some shuffled. Others nodded. Nobody frowned.
    “And on that note of war. I am proud to say that the war with Russia is going very well. We may not know who is winning. We may not know whether there will be a winner at all. And—” She stopped abruptly as the picture turned to black and white. Julian and John stood behind her with equal confusion in their eyes.
    Nocturn leaned forward. This is not normal. And then the screen went blank. “What?” stammered Nocturn. A frequency contortion in Washington D.C.? At least he could remember the geography of the nations of the world. No doubt the humans would still be watching. The TV was still working to human eyes, but to Nocturn, the TV died.
    He left his room quickly and strode down the wall when a distinct odor filled his nose as he passed Suite 410. It smelled of what could only be…magic. Magic had a distinct smell that was even more poisonous than ammonia to humans. But to Paralleliuns, that smell was for pure delight. He got closer to the door and sniffed again. It smelled of the sweet, venomous ammonia. But why?
    He opened the door with his claw attempted to twist the knob. But, of course, it was locked. The smell of magic grew stronger. He looked down and up the hall. No one came near, and there were no footsteps sounding from either direction.
    With his claw, and a little bit of magic, he managed to crush the knob and get the door open. There was a single light that was still lit at the furthest corner of the dark room. He located the light switch and the room filled up with light. It seemed to be recently occupied, as the only thing left was a cell phone sitting at the center of the table in the center of the living room. The magical smell became stronger as he got nearer to the phone.
    Picking it up, he felt a slow jolt of magic that protested his very essence. It felt like a mixture of Oscuro and Reloj. Dunkel Chronos Easton. He was here recently. He pressed the ‘Talk’ button on the phone, and it sprang to life with a recording of Dunkel speaking.
    “This is memo Number Six Thousand Twenty-Five from Reaper Chronos. This is to help you, or me, remember your occupation should your memory fade.” Dunkel smiled and then continued: “Today is Monday, December 15, 2025, and the mission today is to hunt down the Creator of the Artifact. Now I am not sure what this artifact’s called, or who this Creator is, but I do know that it is a matter of defeating the Usurpers…or becoming their slaves.
    “I also have to apologize to Viola for what I have done yesterday. I shouldn’t have, but it was part of protocol and a matter of hers—everyone’s—safety. This is Reaper Chronos and this is the end of the memo.”
    The screen went blank momentarily, and then Dunkel reappeared, this time with grief in his eyes. “It’s only been a few hours since the last message, and I am afraid that
    Nocturn eyed the cell phone strangely and placed it in his pocket. That name again. Viola. He left the room and closed the door, replacing the doorknob inadequately, and then left down the hall, down the staircase, and nearly passed the front desk when Francis Skotely stopped him.
    “Hey, Nocturn. Where you goin’?”
    “I have to look for something.”
    “But it’s late, kid. You sure you don’t wanna wait till tomorrow?”
    Nocturn pushed Francis out of the way lightly. “It cannot wait. Now excuse me.”
    “Are you sure you’re okay, Noct? You’re acting awfully different.”
    Nocturn froze at the doorway. “And how did I act before?”
    “I dunno. Less…formal I guess?”
    Nocturn just looked at Francis with cool eyes and left the building. “What is he babbling about?” he snapped to himself as he caught a taxi.
    “Hey! It’s you again!” greeted the taxi driver.
    “Excuse me?”
    “You don’t remember me? I drove you and the girl that one Saturday.”
    Saturday. The gargoyle at the Cathedral. Viola was hurt, remembered Nocturn when he sat down. “I’ve been forgetting many people lately.”
    The driver breathed. “Where to, boss?”
    “Take me to St. Patrick’s Cathedral.”
    “St. Patrick’s again? You must be a really religious man, boss.”
    I’m atheist. “There’s just some…unfinished business to take care of.”
    “Okay, boss. Just sit back and relax while we get there then.”
    Nocturn sat with his arms crossed in the leather street and looked out the window. They quickly sped into Times Square. The lights blended fantastically as the smells of hot dogs and shish-kabobs filled the air. Or at least he could smell it. There was a small drizzle, but the humans compensated with jackets and umbrellas. The stores were still opened, filling and emptying with a seemingly endless supply of people.
    Then they entered the less glamorous back streets that had buildings that towered over and seemed to threaten anybody who stared back by leaning over. There were scarcely any cars parked near the buildings, but they would soon be packed with workers in a few hours. Life as usual. And yet, the Dieu de la Mort and Usurpers live in constant conflict that could possibly mean the fate of the Earth. Nocturn nearly chuckled under his breath. He looked down to cover up the slightest hint of a smile when he noticed that he had changed his clothing without noticing. It was as if it were through nature.
    “Here we are, boss,” announced the taxi driver. “Now you stay safe. It gets kinda crazy at night, you hear?”
    “Right. Thank you.”
    “That’ll be three-fifty.”
    Nocturn failed to notice that that price was too below the correct fee. He paid the money without protest and turned towards the Cathedral.
    “And where’s the girl, by the way? Is she alright? Last time I saw her, you had to carry her home, she was tired.”
    “What girl?” questioned Nocturn, facing the driver with genuine bewilderment.
    “The pretty short chick you were with when you came here on Saturday?”
    Viola. “I am not really sure. I haven’t seen her in a while,” he lied.
    “Alright then. Stay safe, boss.” The taxi drove away, leaving Nocturn alone at the edge of the block that upheld the five story St. Patrick’s Cathedral. He felt a little distraught by the new loneliness. He felt as if he really owed that taxi driver something.
    Putting emotions aside, he strode to the front steps of the Cathedral. This would be as good as a spot as any to…
    The sight of a yellow jacket broke into his thoughts. It was the man’s jacket from earlier. Maybe he had been waiting for him. “Hey!” called Nocturn.
    A group of people walked between him and the man, and then the latter disappeared. Nocturn frowned and pushed through the group. He found the yellow-clad man running down into the Cathedral, which was probably packed by eager religious fanatics. Nocturn bumped through people, knocked down a woman talking in her cell phone, and nearly trampled a nun as he got to the front door. Who the hell comes to a Cathedral at such an hour to pray? And to his distress, he found that there were hundreds of people in the Cathedral.
    A quick movement caught his eye. He turned to the left to see the man walking up the steps to the second floor. Nocturn moved quickly behind, blowing out one or two candles as he passed by them. That did not make a nearby nun happy.
    “Young man! May I ask that you please stop running in a church?” snapped the nun. Nocturn rolled his eyes and ignored her. Wrong move.
    The Confederation of Holy Sisters was created in 2016 to help the growing population of Neimand, or the ‘homeless’ in human terms. Now it was 2025, and the Confederation had grown to be as close to power as the military. Of course, it was made to combat sacrilege and poverty.
    A small battalion of nuns came down to the steps and blockaded the way through. “There would be no further passage through this sacred ground for you. Any further violations and you will be banned from this church for a certain period of time,” warned the leading nun. She had a red sash slung around her right shoulder with a cross badge at the center.
    “I must pass, sister. It is of upmost urgency,” said Nocturn. Why did that man run away like that?
    “There would be no passage for you. There is nothing going on upstairs, and, therefore, there is nothing urgent that you cannot miss,” broke the nun into his thoughts.
    Nocturn sighed and turned away. “Very well, sister.” There has to be another way into the upper steps. Somebody brushed by him, and he fell down.
    “I am so sorry about that,” said a voice quickly.
    Nocturn shook his head as he looked up to the ceiling.
    “People here are so rude. Are you okay?”
    There it is. Framing the ceiling were stone arches that went across either side of the ceiling. At the end of each arch was a stained glass window that led to the second floor. Perfect.
    “Hey!” broke the voice into his thoughts.
    Nocturn looked at the person who knocked him down. It was a woman with long pink hair and blue eyes. She was beautiful, maybe even more so than the President. Nocturn got up. “I’m fine. Just a little stumble.”
    “Oh good,” chuckled the woman nervously. “I’ve already seen one person get hurt today.”
    “What are you doing here than?” said Nocturn, trying to be polite. If he were just to run to a pillar and climb up to the ceiling, he would probably cause more commotion.
    “I just need to find a place to settle down,” said the woman with a nervous tinge. Something suspicious lay just under her voice. “He’s resting now at least.”
    “You mean…?”
    “Oh no, no! He’s alive, thank the Lord.”
    Humph. Thank the Lord, he thought mockingly. You can believe in anything you want. But I think that is just foolishness.
    “Hey, by the way,” broke the woman into his thoughts.
    “Hm?”
    “Have you seen a man in a yellow robe pass by here?”
    Nocturn nearly jumped. Is she looking for the same person as I am? “No I haven’t,” he lied. Something about the woman just did not feel right.
    “Oh, well. Thanks anyway. I’ve got to go now,” said the woman. She strode to the steps and disappeared behind the blockade of nuns, who looked suspiciously at Nocturn. Formal people like the nuns just did not like Nocturn, with his blue hair, dark clothing (or at least that is what he was wearing now), and his menacingly cold complexion. People would think he was a vampire, which is the total opposite of what he really was.
    “Now to business,” said Nocturn to himself. He passed by the guardian nun, who stared coldly back at him. They aren’t going to enjoy what I’m about to do now. A pillar rose about fifty feet into the ceiling. Only a scratch if he were to fall.
    He waited until there were less witnesses around, and then dug his claw into the pillar. He started to climb up, using a knife that he had tucked in his sleeve as a climbing axe. He just got up about ten feet, and the humans closest to him began to notice his ascent.
    “Get down!” yelled one.
    “What in the name of the Lord do you think you’re doing?” called another one.
    “Get down from there, young man!” snapped a nun.
    Nocturn ignored them. That woman was not human. And if she’s looking for the yellow-cloaked man, then he must be important for something. At least a hundred people must have noticed his stunt when he reached the top of the pillar. With his left hand, he grabbed the edge of a white arch that ran to the other side. He looked down to see that most of the people in the church were staring upwards. And Confederation nuns were getting ready to bring him down. One had already started climbing up the pillar, and many more were getting ladders and tranquilizers.
    So much for their peaceful nature, thought Nocturn as he took one space across the arch. The noise from below made the place rumble, and the vibrations threatened to make him stumble and fall. Not that he’d be hurt, though.
    He took another step forward, and then another, and then a fourth. Simple. Unfortunately, the top of the arch was attached to the ceiling. Under the top was a chandelier that hung by a chain. “Damn it,” muttered Nocturn to himself. He looked back to see that the nun made it to the top of the pillar.
    “Stop right there, young man. We don’t want to start a commotion.”
    “We already have,” replied Nocturn, a rare smile on his face. It was covered by the collar of his robe, though, which opened like a cone upwards to cover half of his face. It felt more comfortable than the Reaper robe, as if he had belonged in there.
    The nun moved forward. “Stay right there, and do not move. We are going to get you down.”
    Keeping his smile, he opened his eyes wide to show his eyes fully. The sight of the black irises made the nun fall back.
    “That is not natural!”
    “Neither is this,” said Nocturn as he turned around and jumped to a thirty-degree angle off the arch. The people below gasped, and he grabbed the chain of the chandelier. With a single jerk of his entire body, and some Energía Oscura, he jumped to the other side of the top of the arch and grabbed it with his claw. The metal fingers etched deep into the stone, and he swung over on his feet, leaving the nun with shock, the crowd below gasping and applauding, and the Confederation furious.
    He ran forward, expertly keeping his feet on the narrow arch. The stained glass window at the end of the arch opened, letting a nun get through with a tranquilizer. “You’re getting irritating, you know,” said the nun, arming her weapon.
    “I thought you nuns were more peaceful,” muttered Nocturn. I can either use kill her with my sword or gun, jump off, or surrender. Neither option was favorable.
    “This won’t hurt you at all, young man. It will just make you sleep.” She aimed the weapon.
    Nocturn’s every muscle got ready.
    She pulled the trigger. A needle filled with sedative shot forward.
    Nocturn slapped it away with his claw and rolled in an eighty degree angle, rolling off the edge. He caught it with his left hand and swung around, back on to his feet, a few inches away from the nun’s face. She aimed again without thinking. He slapped it out of her hand.
    “What are you going to do?” questioned the nun, trembling. The man before him was probably the Devil. He managed to do death-defying stunts without hesitating, disrespected the church, and had the eyes and complexity of a demon. She was tempted to jump off.
    “You’re not going to like it, but oh well,” said Nocturn. He picked up the nun with both of his hands, and threw her off the arch. He swore he heard her swear a vulgar word as he summoned his power. “Materia Oscura,” murmured Nocturn with his left arm outstretched towards the nun. A light-purple orb of energy enveloped around her, slowing her decent to a crawl. After several moments, he let go and she fell unconscious a few inches to the ground. No doubt she’d been frightened too much. He turned around to see another nun staring at the floor, her mouth gaping wide open, with a tranquilizer in her hands.
    Nocturn reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out three Oblivion Grenades. When did I put this in there? Was it Umbras, or Nocturn? They were no bigger than grapes, yet had the same explosive force as a military smoke bomb, if they were explosives at all. Instead, Paralleliuns use them to wipe memories of their presence from memories. He threw one down to the ground, effectively covering it with a rising cloud of pink smoke.
    “What was that?” demanded the nun, aiming her weapon.
    Nocturn stayed motionless and speechless as the cloud rose.
    “Speak.”
    Nocturn stayed defiant. And the cloud rose to their level, enveloping them in pink smoke. The nun’s eyes flickered and the irises changed into hundreds of colors. She was in a daze. Nocturn ran forward and brushed by her, into the second floor.
    The second floor was a sort of museum for the Cathedral. People walked around, examining the exhibits of the Stations of the Cross. Others stared with bewilderment in their eyes. He ran, the humans opening a path in between them, as if he were Moses from the Book of Exodus. Throwing another grenade in the center of the room, he rushed up to the third floor.
    And that is where he found the bleeding, dying bodies of hundreds of people as a Wraith with a lantern dangling off its fingers moved up the steps to the fourth floor. And with it was the pink-haired woman, limp and unconscious in its other hand.
    “You’ve come at the wrong time, Nocturn Umbras Shwarze,” muttered a voice from behind. And then he was nearly impaled in the head by a stray scythe.

    Meanwhile…
    Dunkel located Clauda’s dwelling. He swooped down from the air and knocked on the front door of the house at the end of Jackson Heights. He had a small pinch in his rib from running into a gang member with a bat, but he felt great. He could have called Clauda instead of spending nearly three hours trying to locate her energy signature, but he had forgotten his cell phone. Francis had probably taken it out of the room anyway, assured Dunkel to himself.
    The door opened, and Clauda stood behind, dressed in a velvet bath robe. Her blonde hair was tied back, letting her green eyes show fully, gleaming with the moonlight. She was breathtakingly beautiful in Dunkel’s eyes. “Hey there, Clauda.”
    “Dunkel,” muttered Clauda less gleefully. She did not like him very much. In fact, she seems prejudice against the entire Easton family. Looking at his older brothers, it was hard to blame her. “What are you doing here? Since when were you around?”
    Dunkel sighed. “I don’t have time for explaining, Clauda. But it’s a matter of life or death here.”
    “Don’t tell me it’s for another date, Dunkel,” snapped Clauda.
    “It’s not. I wish that were the case. No, it has something to do with both of our siblings.”
    Clauda’s expression changed from cold to an unreadable emotion. “What about Nocturn?” she questioned, letting Dunkel in.
    The house was of a considerable size with a second floor that was connected with spiral stairs. The foyer connected to the living room, which had the kitchen to the left. “This is a great place you have,” remarked Dunkel.
    “I did not let you in to gawk about my house. What happened to Nocturn?” snapped Clauda.
    “Yesterday—Monday I mean—, I’ve sent Viola and Nocturn on a special mission with Ghent and Ignus to retrieve the Nocturnal Arsenal.”
    Clauda gasped, nearly choking on a breath. “The Nocturnal Arsenal? W…why did you—?”
    “Nocturn has enough power to take down at least two Reapers singlehandedly. It was an obvious choice. And Viola…well she needed a second chance.” He was relieved to see that she hadn’t asked what Viola needed a second chance for. “They went to the sewer and,” he gulped and held back tears of resentment, “as soon as they found the artifact, Ignus Pyre betrayed them. Under orders from an unknown Usurper, Nocturn, Viola, and Ghent died in a fire.”
    Clauda’s eyes widened with horror, and she was speechless. She found herself crying as well, which was surprising.
    Clauda was trained in many martial arts to compensate for the lack of any offensive magic. She was taught to be able to control her emotions through any form of torment. Her break up with Aeulus was done swiftly and without resentment. But had never taught her how to brace herself against the loss of her younger sibling.
    She curled up on the floor to cover her face, as tears started to pour from her eyes. Then she felt arms around her. She looked up to see Dunkel looking down at her, grief in his eyes. “I did not tell you why I’m here yet.”
    “Why…why are you…you here?” sobbed Clauda. She still sounded strong.
    “I felt that this tragedy was my fault. I left the Reapers, but now they are trying to track me. I had a run in with a Reaper earlier, and narrowly escaped. I know that completely hiding from them would be impossible, unless I can escape my bondage with the frequencies. Clauda. I know you can do that.”
    “I can,” replied Clauda, wiping the tears out of her eyes. “I can do that right here. But are you sure you want to? You’ll become ill for a few days first, and you will no longer have most of your Reaper powers.”
    Dunkel nodded. “I have nothing else to lose.”
    Clauda got up and placed her hands on his shoulders. “You still have a lot more to live for, Dunkel. This war is not over yet, you understand?”
    Dunkel smiled half-heartedly. “Right.”
    “Well then. Here goes,” warned Clauda. She let her magic move from her heart and through her arms, into her hands, and then onto Dunkel’s shoulders. The magic moved through his entire body, and then he heard himself yelling uncontrollably, and then the entire house was covered in a white, blinding flash.

    Meanwhile…
    Adeiazo was pleased. He managed to destroy one of the Reapers and control use his new powers that he had attained since become complete. There was a ten-yard crater that was left from the beam of energy that he shot at Reaper Anthos. Aftok had been killed (no surprise in that), but he would be resurrected soon enough. For the sixth time.
    Now he stood before Reaper Blixt and Chaos, along with Delea and Exitius. “That stupid Aftok,” snapped Delea. “Give him a sword and some power, and he goes on to kill himself like that.”
    “Ah, but that kamikaze attack of his weakened our enemies phenomenally. Am I correct, Reapers?” said Exitius.
    “Shut it!” snapped Blixt.
    “Surrender now, Elite, and we will make sure that your demise will be swift,” added Chaos.
    “I don’t think so,” said Exitius.
    Delea twirled the Kris in her fingers. “Here we go.”
    The moon was black and the grass was darker. Exitius vanished. Chaos vanished as well. They reappeared several yards from above and started to attack each other at neck breaking speeds. And they thought the battles in those anime cartoons were fast.
    “Hey, Emo kid!” called Blixt’s voice. Adeiazo looked back ahead to see a long stream of black lightning that sped towards him. He vanished and reappeared yards to the right, his nodachi floating next to his shoulder. He was a telekinetic. With another power, of course.
    “Adeiazo, are you okay?” called Delea.
    “I’m fine,” said Adeiazo, his tone emotionless like the environment around them. “Go help Exitius. Reaper Blixt does not seem like much of a challenge.”
    Delea nodded and flew up to the battle between Exitius and Chaos.
    “Tell me, Reaper Blixt. Have you ever fought an Elite Usurper?” questioned Adeiazo.
    “You’ll be my first one, actually.”
    “Then I doubt you know our history, do you?”
    “The hell if I care about your history!” spat Blixt.
    Adeiazo blinked. “Very well. Then we will skip to the battle.”
    Blixt smiled sped towards him, his conjuring orbs of concentrated lightning in his hands. He had taken off his hood, showing blonde hair that curled complicatedly and yellow irises over black sclera. He had sharper fangs than an average vampire. But then again, Adeiazo’s could get sharper than that when he was hungry. And that rarely happens.
    The Elite stayed completely still, and Blixt threw the orbs at him. They exploded, seeming to absorb any form of light around them. “Haha! And the foolish Elite falls! I knew I would win this battle. Now Elti would have to—!” scoffed the Reaper. He choked on his words as Adeiazo emerged from the turbulence of black lightning, brushing his sleeves.
    “I am sorry to interrupt your fantasies, but was that all you can do?” interrupted Adeiazo.
    “How did you—?”
    “I have forgotten to explain to you what my ability was. I am allergic to the light, which is a large clue for my true ability.”
    Blixt stared back with wide eyes. Nothing ever got hit by his lightning and survived, let alone a person.
    “I use the Geist magic,” explained Adeiazo. “It allows me to use the abilities of a ghost, if you will. I can move through objects, conjure energy-sapping attacks, and even move freely between realms.”
    “But isn’t that a—?”
    “A myth. I know. But, as you can see, I this magic ability is by all means real.”
    Blixt shook his head. “Whatever! You’re still going to have to die!”
    Adeiazo frowned. “Don’t you understand? My ability lets me stay one step further than you.”
    But Blixt had already called down pillars of lightning. Adeiazo dodged to the right as the pillars fell to him at even intervals. Half a second, slow enough. Then, the Reaper let tendrils of lightning fly around him like spider webs, running for about half a mile to all directions. Adeiazo dived under one, flew over another, and went through a third.
    “Give up already,” said Adeiazo.
    “Shut up, Elite scum!” spat Blixt. He threw an orb of lightning at Adeiazo, who stopped it with his blade. No more play time.
    Adeiazo sped forward and vanished just as Blixt threw another orb. He reappeared behind him and attempted to impale him, but Blixt had dived below. Adeiazo conjured flurry of anti-matter orbs and sent them to the Reaper. Blixt narrowly dodged them, flying under, above, and around them. The balls landed on the grass, vaporizing it, and revealing dirt the color of static. Blixt was panting as Adeiazo conjured an anti-matter spear. “Are you done yet, Reaper?”
    “Never,” panted Blixt. He grabbed his pole, which was fastened to his back.
    The Elite shook his head and threw the spear. It flew at about thirty times the speed of sound, narrowly missing Blixt.
    “Aww. Is the big and tough Elite getting tired already?” scoffed Blixt, oblivious to the sword getting closer to impaling him.
    “Blixt!” called Chaos. He had been holding back Delea, scratches visible on his face. The Reaper grabbed the woman by the arm and flung her to the anti-matter sword. Blixt turned around as the sword was just half a second away from his body. Delea’s head got in the way and the sword shattered, vaporizing itself and her in the process.
    “Thanks, sir,” said Blixt. But Adeiazo was already inches from his nose. “What the—?”
    Adeiazo thrust his blade into Blixt’s stomach, the blade ripping through his spinal cord. Now, Reapers rarely bleed. Even cuts could not make them bleed as easily as a human. Instead, the lose chunks of their essence, which was, unfortunately, a more painful process than losing gallons of blood. A shadowy wisp left Blixt’s back as the Adeiazo removed the blade from his body. Then more shadowy wisps ‘bled’ out of his body. His essence had started to escape from his body.
    “Blixt! No!” yelled Chaos. Exitius was still fighting him, half-distracting him from the commotion below them.
    “You aren’t going to go anywhere, Reaper!” chuckled Exitius. He had two silver gun-blades in the shape of scimitars in his hands. He was more than a match for the second eldest Reaper alive. Possibly soon to be former second eldest.
    “Hehe. Do you really think you’ll win even if you did manage to kill me?” stammered Blixt, his essence leaving his body faster and faster with every second. He reached into his robe and took out a walkie-talkie. “Green light the summoning.”
    “Right,” murmured a voice from the other side.
    “What summoning?” questioned Adeiazo.
    “You’re dead now,” said Blixt. The shadowy wisps continued to leave his body, evaporating behind him.
    There was a rumble from behind. Adeiazo, Exitius, and Chaos looked over to the Washington Monument as the bricks started to shake in their positions. Then, from the bottom up, the bricks started to fly away from the Monument, scattering in all directions. The static sky filled with black, light-absorbing blocks as the Monument disappeared completely, along with the platform it stood on. And then the blocks animated, changing form into grotesque stone creatures.
    “What in the world?” murmured Exitius.
    “A summoning…” muttered Adeiazo.
    The creatures flew forward, roaring ghastly growls. This happened once before. This happened when the civil war had started.