After The War

It doesn't matter who you were, but who you will be.

After The War

Another dark night. Not even the moon shone in the starless sky that night. The rain fell softly, drizzling in thousands of long yellow threads in the light of the street lamps. The trees bowed sullenly, the wind biting into their leaves, pulling them along and blowing them far away.

Humans hurried past each other down the street, not looking up from under their dark umbrellas — perhaps they were in a hurry to get home or to work. Children were getting ready for bed, huddled under quilts, cuddling their teddy bears. Elsewhere, teenage girls dreamed of a perfect future with loving eyes, scribbling all their secrets in faded pink notebooks.

Meanwhile, in a tiny village pub, the two regulars were sleeping in a corner, huddled together, oblivious to the vampire sitting opposite them, who seemed to have become quite fond of the idea of easy prey. If you ask me, I can think of a tastier meal than two fifty-year-old men reeking of alcohol and nicotine.

Probably the vampire considered this as well, or maybe he just sensed my disapproving glance. The bloodsucker must have decided it was time to leave and look for more delicate delicacies because he quickly stood up and stepped out into the pouring rain without a word.

I sighed deeply and took out my mug to start my well-deserved cocoa break. I sat down in my familiar seat and enjoyed the rhythmic thrum of the raindrops mixing with the soft hum of the music. It would have been much more enjoyable, though, if the melody hadn't been mixed with the sound of regular number first's wrenching too.

I only hoped that the guy had reached the toilet and didn't think about what an unpleasant night I would have if he hadn't.

So I sipped my cocoa in the utmost peace and quiet. Everything was so unusually calm. Somehow, after the war, everything seemed unusually ordinary and calm.

The winds of war, which perhaps threatened the whole world, suddenly died down. The Fifth King appeared out of nowhere and soon disappeared into nothingness — the world slowly woke up and asked questions. How did it happen? Who was responsible for his downfall? Why and how did he do it?

The monsters wanted answers — as I did, just to completely different questions. How could I get over the pain? Will it ever stop hurting?

If I closed my eyes, all I saw was Jo. Sometimes her face was contorted with fear, other times she smiled, and sometimes I just felt like I was falling apart into a million pieces. Since that day, the painful tightness in my chest hasn't left for a single moment. It just keeps reminding me of the hole in my heart, the emptiness left after Jo.

Sometimes I could hear her giggle, other times I could hear her calling my name, and there have even been times when I could smell her.

So I visited Gironde again. I just had to know, had to know for sure, that Jo herself had not become a vengeful spirit.

"To what do I owe this visit, dear Shaytan?" Gironde grinned and offered me a seat.

I sat down but didn't speak for a moment. Whenever I had to talk about Jo, I always felt as if someone was pressing his fingers against my neck, yet when I touched the surface of the skin, I discovered nothing unusual.

"I want to know," I said harshly, yet the next moment my voice was involuntarily hushed, "Has Jo... has she become a ghost?"

I looked up at the Necromancer and was surprised because he was not smiling. His face, for the first time, looked ancient, as if he had been through hell and back. In that moment, the shadow of his long life was cast across Gironde's almost expressionless, yet pained features. His green eyes had faded, no longer flashing their usual carefree glee, replaced by a dark and painful gleam.

Every night I dreamed of Jo. Many times she would cry out to me that she was dead and tell me a million times that it was all my fault. Other times she smiled sweetly at me and planted a kiss on my lips, and I would have given anything to really have her by my side — for some reason, these were the more painful dreams.

And then, at that moment, I recognized in the Necromancer's eyes the same gleam I saw in my own when I was standing in front of the mirror.

"No, she has not become a ghost," Gironde said quietly.

And I suddenly didn't know whether his answer had reassured me or whether it had upset me even more. Maybe I was a little hopeful that Jo had stayed by my side... that she hadn't abandoned me. Part of me selfishly hoped that she was looking after me and that I could see her again.

"She fulfilled her destiny so she could move on," the Necromancer continued.

What destiny?! I felt my whole insides clench and heard my teeth gnash. What fate?! She was so young, even in human years! How could such a short life be given to such an innocent and kind girl like Jo?

"Where to?" I asked, hating how desperate I sounded.

"I can't tell you, Shaytan, you know that," Gironde replied, and I hated even more the sympathy and understanding in his voice.

When I slammed my fist hard on the table, Gironde didn't scold me. He simply stared at me with eyes that made me feel there was no one else on earth who understood my pain better.

"Bring her back to me, Gironde," I demanded, "I'll give you my life, my soul, my body, anything, just bring her back to me!"

I saw the answer on Gironde's face, he didn't have to say anything. I hadn't let my tears fall since that day, but now I felt my eyes stinging again.

"I cannot bring her back to you."

I didn't want to hear it. I stood up slowly. I wanted to rampage, to smash, to destroy until the pain subsided. I could feel the beast overwhelming me, running through my veins, drinking its way into my flesh. Yet, for moments, I merely stood still.

"How was I supposed to accept this?" I cried out, not wanting to acknowledge that I was shaking with anger. "Should I let it go? And move on? How... how am I supposed to do that?!"

For seconds I gasped for breath, afraid of losing myself, but the next moment Gironde put his hand on my shoulder in understanding. He looked at me with a mournful smile, and I saw something in his eyes that made the shivering stop. What exactly it was that I saw, I had no idea.

"Even if it hurts terribly, you still have a famiglia to stay strong for."

I pressed my lips into a sharp line and hit his hand.

"Fuck you."

Why can't you just bring her back to me?! Without saying thank you, I ran out of the Necromancer's crypt.

(...)

The memories were hazy and faded, like tiny fragments of a dream that, when we wake up, we remember only as faded mosaic cubes. No doubt, I remembered. It felt as if it really was all just a nightmare that you could easily forget if you wanted to.

I would have preferred to forget it: it was terrifying to know that, having lost my head, I had killed on instinct alone — I didn't dare to think that I could have killed Alex or the others.

I talked a lot about it with my brother. He suggested that we try to harness my abilities, to bring out the strength that I was trying so hard to suppress. He thought it might prevent me from going back into a trance and killing again.

He made my first task to accept myself — easier said than done, as I had been living under the impression that I had done this for years.

We started training again, just like when I was a child. We'd been fighting each other for about a week when he asked Alice to join us.

"We decided to resort to drastic methods," my brother declared, "So get ready, little brother! Today's training could kill you!"

Every time he would come up with something like this. As he had never waited for my reply before, he immediately drew his sword and attacked me. Alice, meanwhile, put the arrow to the bow and took aim. No sooner had I dodged Des's blade than I had to dodge out of the way of the arrowhead.

Once again, I had the chance to experience how fast Des really was. He was ruthless and wouldn't make a single unnecessary move. His form was perfect, his sword swing the most dangerous I know — so it was impossible to dodge a couple of his attacks.

My only good fortune was the rapid healing of my wounds. In addition, I had to watch out for Alice's arrows if I didn't want to be stabbed through.

I was careless and he hit my shoulder. I ripped the arrow out of the flesh and the wound closed — we used arrows precisely so that we wouldn't have to open the wound a second time after training, as we do with bullets.

They continued to attack until the sun went down, at which point Des stopped for a moment. I thought he was going to announce the end of training as before. He didn't, he continued to attack without hesitation. The sword in his hand suddenly glowed and although Des' movements were no faster than before, I could barely keep up with him. When I dodged his first blow, I cried out in pain. My shirt had been burned.

There was a huge hole in my shirt and my skin was blistered, even though the attack hadn't hit me directly. After that, I paid more attention and tried to keep as much distance as possible, and occasionally attacked back, admittedly, I was pretty lacking.

"You can't beat me by just running away," he noted after another dodge.

"I know," I hissed.

But I didn't know what to do instead. My movements were slowing down, I was getting tired.

Des's blade was too close to my shoulder — yet that wasn't my biggest mistake. I made it when I forgot Alice was there. An arrow pierced my side, but it was not enough for the seer. He took another arrow and shot it at me. I managed to catch the next one in the air, but by then it was too late.

Des raised his blade to attack and I knew I would not be able to jump away. The moment seemed to slow down. The edge of the sword was coming tantalizingly slowly towards my shoulder, yet I was unable to move — my only instinct was to raise my hand for protection. I closed my eyes and waited for it to strike.

I felt the burning sensation in the palm of my hand, then the stabbing pain and the smell of hot blood. I was sure he was going to cut my fingers off. My heart was pounding so hard it almost drowned out Des's giggles. I opened my eyes and looked up at him in confusion.

"What are you laughing at?"

"For a moment, you seemed to start to change," he declared. "Looks like we just need to put you in a near-death position."

 "But I could change at will," I said. "You've been playing this way all this time?"

"No, this was different, little brother," he replied, "Believe me, I felt it. It was your 'other half'."

After that, Des was even more motivated to pierce me through with his sword — it was only then that I really realized that he hadn't taken me seriously before. His movements became so swift that it was only thanks to the speed inherited from certain ancestors that I was able to dodge his successive attacks.

I got a lot of burns which, although they disappeared quickly, hurt terribly. I lasted barely five minutes facing a despicably motivated Des. After that I just collapsed — unable to move. And the hunter slipped his sword back into its sheath.