Nicholas

-- Just so you know, if you haven't met Daman yet, you can read about him in the post before this one: Daman Slade --

Daman walked up to the luminous screen; its dark glow filling the room with a eerie and shadowless light. He reached out and let his thumb rest on a large button. It was time he learned the truth about that boy: who he was, what he could do. The one thing that Daman could not bear was the inability to understand a person, their motives and feelings. The boy Nicholas was unlike anyone Daman had ever encountered; and he wanted to know why.

The screen beeped as a message ran across the display. This was his one chance of understanding what the boy could do, by looking back and viewing those things that he had pushed down and hidden. Daman waited a few seconds, staring at the screen, deciding if he was really going to do this. He closed his eyes, nodded to himself, and pressed the button.

“-Memory Replay activated - please select memory to review-”

…

“-file “Nicholas-thebeginning.mem” chosen – please wait while the memory loads-”

…

…

…

“-file loaded – initiating Memory Replay sequence-”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

“Daddy, why are we hiding? I thought those men were your friends. Why are they chasing us?”

The subway station is dark and lifeless. The few people present looked only at the ground, taking no time to notice their surroundings; New Dirsha is a rough part of town, the crime rates are high and at times like these, when the sun had gone down, it was unwise to wait too long in any one place.

“Daddy, why does my head keep hurting?”

No one pays any attention to the two figures in the shadowed corner; one older, with graying hair and a scruffy look, one young, no more than five years. They are shrouded in the darkness. Even the boy's voice, echoing through the station, is ignored by the ears of the commuters. None have the time, money, or compassion to give aid to the father and son.

“Daddy... can we go home? I'm tired and I hungry.”

“No! Nicholas, we cant go home! You don't understand what's at stake here!”

The boy, Nicholas, begins to cry.

“No, Nicholas, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout. I... I'm just under a lot of stress right now. Please, Nicholas, please stop crying.”

Sniffling, with tears in his large brown eyes, Nicholas begins to speak, “I don't want to run anymore. I miss mommy and Annie. Can't we go home and see them?”

“We can't go back, Nicholas. We can't ever go back.” A tear streak appears on the man's grimy face. “Mommy and Annie are gone. We don't have a home anymore.”

The man looks up, glances over his surroundings and looks back to his son's watery eyes.

“Nicholas, do you remember that day when I took you with me to the Lab?”

“Yes”

“What do you remember? What did we do?”

“I... watched the fishies in the big tank and I ate lunch in your office. And you took me to the big white room with the lights.”

“Yes, Nicholas, and I am sorry I did. I had been working on a big project at work for a long time, but my boss wouldn't let me test my machine on anyone. It was dangerous. But then I brought you and decided to test the machine with you while no one else was there. Do you remember how you used to wear glasses?”

“Yes, but after I went with you I didn't need to anymore.”

“You're right. That is what the machine was supposed to do. It helps fix people that don't work anymore. But I wasn't supposed to use it on you, Nicholas. And I hadn't tested it enough yet.”

“But isn't it good? Cuz now I don't need glasses.”

“Well, Nicholas. The machine kept on working after it had fixed you. It tried fixing parts of you that weren't broken. I tried to stop it, but I couldn't. It made you change. That's why you have your headaches and why we are running; because I wasn't patient and I did things that I wasn't supposed to do.”

“Is that why I can still see the lights when I close my eyes; the lights from the room?”

“Yes, the lights are still there. They live inside you, always trying to fix you and make you better, changing you.”

A man in a dark suit walks into the station. He is tall with a dark complexion, a large jagged scar running down his left cheek. He turns, seeing Nicholas and his father in the corner. He looks down at his watch and begins to walk in their direction.

Nicholas' father speaks, “No, Gregor, you don't understand. You can't do this.”

“No, Doctor, I think it is you who doesn't understand.” The man's hand reaches into his coat.

Nicholas' father senses what might be coming and moves to put himself between Gregor and his son. Behind him, Nicholas suddenly spasms, falling down to sit on the ground.

“Daddy, the lights are getting brighter. My head hurts. The lights are hurting me.”

Gregor's hand moves out from his pocket. He is holding a gun, a long black pistol. A shot sounds, echoing through the station. People begin to scream. Nicholas' father groans and falls to the ground. People rush by, trying to get away from the danger as quickly as possible.

“Daddy! The lights hurt. They hurt!” Nicholas is curled up in the corner, eyes tightly closed, clawing at his head. He has skin and blood under his fingernails; his own skin and blood. “Stop them from hurting me!”

Gregor reaches the boy and bends down to grab is arm. As his hand closes around the skinny arm Nicholas' stops crying and clawing.

“Daddy, help me...”

Nicholas' eyes snap open and a green light bursts forth from them, filling the subway. He is completely stiff, not a muscle in is body is moving. Gregor relinquishes his grip on Nicholas' arm and backs away. The light grows, now emanating from all of Nicholas, his eyes, mouth, even his skin, becoming brighter than a summer noon-day sun, and still growing.

Gregor shouts, “Whats going o-” Suddenly, he is thrown across the station by an unseen force, smashing against the wall violently before falling to the floor.

The light grows, filled with pain and rage.

“Daddy... please.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – 

“- Memory reading complete – shutdown process activated”

Daman backed away from the machine, his hands shaking. Trying to process everything that he had seen. He stood still for a few seconds before finally getting control of himself. He started to move towards the door of the room but stopped suddenly as his mind caught a hold of another presence in the room.

“What were you doing in my memories, Slade?”

Daman turned to find the source of the voice and saw the present day Nicholas, standing in the corner with tight fists by his side.

Daman Slade

As Daman entered the room, he began to take in his surroundings. The room was small, housing only six people, including himself, and a few pieces of furniture. There were three girls in the room, two of which seemed to be twins. The twins, who looked to be about seventeen years of age, were both blond, and from Daman's quick assessment of them, they seemed to act the part as well. The other girl, who was reaching her early years of adulthood, had bright, almost unnatural red hair and heat seemed to be emanating from around her. From what Daman could assess, she seemed to be intelligent, but highly volatile, listening to her emotions first and reason later. A sign of weakness from Daman's view.

The most surprising of the attendees to this 'meeting' was a young boy in a bright green jacket. The boy looked to be about eleven or twelve, not quite having reached the teen ages yet, but everything about the boy besides his appearance seemed to suggest otherwise. His entire essence seemed to be comprised entirely of intelligence. Before Daman could take a closer look at the boy, he noticed something else that demanded his attention; the room seemed to be filled with a strange sort of darkness. Although the room was well lit, shadows were flickering in places where shadows should not logically be placed.

The center of this phenomenon was around the man who Daman immediately recognized as Geth de'Erebos, shrouded in his unnatural shadows. Dark shapes moved on the floor and walls around him. He was standing at the end of the room behind a large ornate desk, which, by the carvings, Daman recognized to be hand-crafted by a carpenter from some part of the Northwood.

Daman began to asses the man, trying to acquire every detail that he could about him in as little time as possible. Geth had dark, near black, hair containing silver streaks above the ears: Geth must be beginning to feel the influence of his age. His face was strong; he had a powerful chin, a broad nose, and a thin mouth: the face of a politician and a leader. Geth wasn't tall, but strongly built, a low center of gravity: he could hold his own, physically. The shadows around Geth's face shifted and Daman got a view of his eyes; deep set, dark grey. They seemed to be surveying Daman in the same way that Daman was surveying him. The eyes showed intelligence and wisdom, but also apathy, lack of emotion. Daman was looking forward to find what had caused that in a man with as righteous a cause as Geth had.

Daman closed his eyes and let his mind begin to open. He immediately located Geth's presence and moved in on it. He wasn't surprised when he was met with opposition. Geth had been trained to block out the attacks of a psychic. He was a politician, and for a politician, your mind is your way of life. Daman felt around the wall, looking for weak points. The wall was strange, not a form that Daman had ever encountered before, not even very strong. It seemed to be more geared towards keeping something in, rather than keeping something out. After a few seconds, his mind caught hold of a chink in the wall. Daman sent all his energy at the flaw and within moments he broke through. As he entered Geth's mind, darkness closed in on his consciousness. Overwhelming waves of black power rushed into Daman's mind. He immediately released his grip on Geth's mind and retreated back into his own, eyes shooting open, grasping for a hold on reality. When he became aware of his surroundings he found himself staring into Geth's cold, dark eyes. The essence of this man seemed to fill the room around Daman, almost crushing him. Geth blinked, and the shadow's of his imprisoned memories seemed to flash across his eyes. Finally, Geth looked away, turning to focus on the other members of the meeting and the overwhelming feeling vanished.

“I would like you all to welcome into our presence Daman Slade, a criminal, a psychic, and the newest member of our revolution.”

Geth de'Erebos and Apollo Kiran

The blight spreads over this land, consuming all it comes in contact with; the white oblivion that swallows all freedom and choice. And the people, they welcome it, they praise it. They give all they have to usher in their own swift destruction. It rides in, waving its pure banner, lighter than the clouds it seems to be made from. Its standard is raised by more and more deceived masses.

Why don't they see it as I do? I was once esteemed by them, the citizens of the Drystan Isles. I was a leader. But, when I tried to reveal to them that they were mistaken, that their hero was corrupt, they turned against me, afraid of what I am, of what I can do.

I, Geth de'Erebos, have been given a blessing and a curse. I have been given the power to control the darkness that embodies their fears. The shadows that I command I use only to protect my people, but still they fear what I do. Their deepest nature compels them to hate the black night. It is this nature that blinds them. They look to the light, willing to ignore his flaws, the flaws that will be their destruction.

My former friend and business partner, Apollo Kiran, political leader and head of the Lumi, is the light that blinds them. In our youth, we had plans; plans that could save the Drystan Isles from its rampant crime. But, before our plans could be initiated, the day came when the Drystan Isles were thrown into a state of utter turmoil. Soon after, I discovered my curse—the darkness, but Kiran discovered a curse of his own. He had received a light—a cursed light. His light brought him pride.

After the turmoil in the Drystan Isles had settled, Kiran proposed a new plan. He proposed that our gifts had set us above others, set us in a position to rule them. I disagreed. We were given our powers to help the people around us. Being chosen to wield this light and darkness was a sign that we were meant to protect and empower those people that Kiran has deemed 'lesser.'

In the beginning, I failed to speak out against Kiran. He had stood by me for as long as I could remember, I was afraid of losing my lifelong friend. Things began to get out of hand. Kiran began amassing followers. He continued to pressure me to join him. Finally, I spoke out against him. An argument ensued and from that argument stemmed a conflict. It was that day that the world learned of our curses; the day light and darkness clashed for all to see. In the end, I was overpowered by Kiran. As he stood over me, I saw the horrible light burning in his eyes and knew that he had lost himself to his own power. As all the light in the world fell upon me I used the last of my energy to escape.

When I awoke, the world had changed. Kiran knew I had escaped and had convinced the world that I was the scourge that would destroy the Drystan Isles, not he. Due to his deceit, the world had turned to him as a savior, when all he could bring them was destruction.

And now I wait, biding my time and growing in power. Kiran, or the Light, as they call him now, must be stopped. My greatest fear is that I will not be able to stop him, for as quickly as my power is growing, his is increasing faster.

But I have found a weapon that he has no knowledge of. I found more who are like us; more who were given opportunities and gifts by the catastrophe that none seem to remember anymore. I have begun to gather them together, those beacons in a dying world; those candles that shine out in the night. I have started a movement that can only end in war. I am gathering the Flames.

It's Been a While...

I haven't posted on my blog for... quite some time now. I think it's because I just don't have time anymore. I spend all my time working and going to school and when I'm not doing that I am hanging out. That doesn't leave a lot of time for my blog. Anyway, onto the next Ezekiel Tyrus. Just so you know, it is super cheesy, I was just going for sensory detail, not plot development.

Untitled - Ezekiel Tyrus

 The nearest city, Northpoint, was about a day's walk away. Most of the men had frostbite. Well, those who hadn't already died from the cold. Another day of walking would mean the end of this fool quest. But they had come so close. They could not stop, not now. They taken this journey north, farther north than any had ever gone before, past the end of the world and into the worlds that lie beyond. They had braved terrors that the average man would rather have died than face. Now they were going to be beaten by none other than the cold. The frosty air had already claimed more lives than any of the other trials had.

Tyrus shivered as he calculated. In the present conditions only a small handful of men could possibly survive to see the journey's end. Only the strongest, fastest, and most durable would see their families again. Tyrus knew he was not one of those men. Being the age of eighteen, he was not as physically mature as most of the men and had less of a chance of survival.

A large pass of jagged rocks loomed ahead, but the glow of a city could be seen distantly through the daggers. Tyrus wanted, more than anything, to make it through the pass alive. The possibility of a supply post on the other end was enough to give him the strength to press on. As he trudged through the snow, his foot caught on an unseen obstacle in the snow. He gasped as the ground rushed towards his face. He flailed his arms, trying to catch himself on something. As he hit the snow a sharp pain pierced his skull. He could feel the cold of the snow around his face, but a warm stream of blood flowed forth from a new-found gash that made it's way across his forehead. He tried to stay focused, but could feel his mind slipping. A slow frost crept across his consciousness and he lost grasp of reality.

He was standing on a hill looking into a wide orange gorge. A flag flew above him. The symbol of the bronze falcon taking flight across the banner. The gorge was massive, looming over Tyrus; two grand walls of fiery stone rising from the plains in blazing glory.

Filling the rocky canyon floor between the two enormous walls of stone waited a band of soldiers with a flag raised above their heads. The flag depicted a black boar, marking them as followers of (dictator's name here.) The band consisted of about fifty men, all clad in dark armor with weapons drawn and senses sharp. At the head of the band stood none other than Crios A'Tuana.

A'Tuana shouted something that Tyrus could not hear and the band began to charge towards Tyrus's hill. Tyrus, being vastly outnumbered, turned to look for a way of escape but saw that he was backed against a third massive wall of red stone. Tyrus looked around, frantically searching for any means of escape or safety.

Tyrus looked to the base of the wall of stone and saw something glint that he had not noticed in his madness before. He walked closer and beheld that it was a sword, protruding from the base of the monolithic wall. The sword was of masterful workmanship, forged after the manner of the blades of the long dead ancient lords. In the hilt was encrusted a large red jewel that seemed to have it's own ethereal glow to it.

As the band of dark soldiers grew nearer Tyrus grasped the handle of the intricate blade and felt a small spark of power flash through his arm. Tyrus turned, still holding the hilt of the embedded blade and looked at the running A'Tuana.

A'Tuana stopped just a few yards in front of Tyrus. “Your time has finally come, fool boy. You could not evade our grasp forever. And now, with you out of the way, we will finally seize control of that which is ours!”

Tyrus looked A'Tuana in the eye and grinned, pulling the sword free of the stone. A bright light filled the area, the band looked to see the silhouette of Tyrus, wreathed in fiery glory.

Tyrus woke up to find himself lying in the snow.

HI

So this blog post is being done my none other than a Mr. Andrew Miles. While Tyler is vacuuming. Hopefully he doesn't notice. This is quite hillarious actually. I could say a lot of stuff about this man that the world at large doesn't know........ oh the facts that I could tell..................
Oh well, I'll will give him the respect he deserves, and not tell everyone about a certain Christmas present. Teehee! Now what? What am I supposed to put here anyway? I can play an ocarina.

You're Coming Home - A Song of Death

Pillars of smoke rose into the grey twilight from many areas of the fields. Too many pillars to count with only your eyes. The scent of burning flesh bombarded every surviving man. The survivors were searching the fields for every last body. None should, or would, be left for the carrion eating crows. Body of friend and foe alike were tossed into the blazing infernos, their ashes lighting the dark blue sky. As the corpses were gathered others attended to those who had been wounded in the medic camp. One wounded and dying soldier began to chant in a raspy but powerful voice.

"The sky is crimson

with the blood of our dead.

The earth doth shudder

for that which was shed."

The wounded man coughed; a red spew appearing on his torn jacket. He regained as much of his composure as he could muster and continued with other voices joining in his mournful song.

"For death is calling,

calling from our graves.

The black mists whisper;

for us, it craves."

A thin stream of blood began to run from the man's mouth. He took a deep breath. His voice began again, but was drowned out by the mass of other voices rising from all parts of the fields.

"The dark hand, grasping,

pulls me close.

And to me utters, 

'you're coming home,'"

The man let out his dying breath, his last song still upon his lips. All the men on the fields were now singing; finishing the hallowed tune that he would never complete.

"'Back to that brightness

from whence we came,

back to the luster

where all is same.'"

The Fruits of my Thought

So, in my many ideas that I have had, a few specific characters continue to show up in my stories. These characters are essences, not actual named figures, but they all seem to play a part in my ideas. The main three usually show up as follows: Tyrus, Dark, and Storm. They may not always come under the same name, but the emotional sides of the characters are always present.

Tyrus:
Tyrus is most commonly seen in the form of Ezekiel Tyrus, whom you have all met twice. He always shows up as a kid of noble birth who ends up losing everything to some unstoppable and evil force. He then swears his revenge and goes on a super long quest to regain that which is his (this may be his dignity, home, or woman). He always does things in the name of goodness and is your everyday awesome protagonist. He has appeared under the names of Max, D.C., and the ever famous Ezekiel Tyrus.

Dark:
Dark is a bit of a change from the oh so average Tyrus. He takes on a bit of a different approach to goodness. Dark is always characterized by possessing some horrible power that he uses for good. The only problem being that the people he is trying to save hate his guts. He usually has a small band of a few followers and he always fights against "the light." That may sound bad, but in these stories the light is always a oppressive leader who uses the innate goodness of light to make himself look like a good guy when really he is a crazy evil guy who is trying to destroy stuff. Dark's stories are also characterized by bittersweet endings. He usually ends up a martyr for his cause. Dark has only appeared in stories under the name Dark.

Storm:
Storm cannot accurately be described as a protagonist. He is completely rouge. He is characterized by his genius nature and, if power is involved, a distinct taste for lightning. The character of Storm is based around mechanics. He builds machines of grand and epic nature that are usually extremely far-fetched. He fights for what he wants and to survive in his ever changing surroundings. Storm has shown up in stories under the names Storm, Randall (as the antagonist to Dark), and even D.C. (also like Tyrus).

Well, they are only a few of the ideas I have, but more will be posted. If you want to hear any of the stories about these guys, just contact me. I will gladly post some on the blog.