Page 64 of Remnants: Disruption
The 400 Block isn’t far from this bar. It’s between the districts but falls closer to the Remnant side of the city.
I glance down at the time on the tablet. At just before eight, rolling up on Revenant might cause a fight.
“Isn’t that what you want?” a voice hisses from somewhere in the darkened bar.
“I thought you guys were giving me the silent treatment,” I grumble, looking up at where the voice had come from, but they’ve already faded away.
I slip off the stool and flag down the bartender. She gives me a grin and slides the bill to me. It, too, is paid for by the house.
“Thanks,” I say, shooting her a small smile that feels somewhat real.
I wave to Kronos who reciprocates before pushing through the crowd and into the brisk evening air.
Groups of Remnants pass by, some in elaborate outfits, others in their civilian clothing.
None of them pay me any notice. None of them really care. Here in the Casket, everyone’s different—everyone’s a monster.
Chapter 28
Interrupted
Eight P.M, October 25th, 1030 A.D.
There are three species on this planet. The first two are known quantities: humans and Remnants. The problem is that the third species has no obligation to identify itself. Gods do not heed to us mortals. The only thing we can do is kneel. When you meet them, you will know to kneel.
Ones Who Remained, Dr. Aaron Carter, PhD, 1025 A.D.
The 400 Block has almost no streetlights—Affliction or otherwise. The entire block is one large apartment building with a central courtyard. Maybe in the light of day, the structure wouldn’t look like an abandoned insane asylum, but in the dreary moonlit dusk, it isn’t beating the allegations.
Hell, even mental health wards in Nye Verden looked better than this concrete block with windows. And very few cities actually supplied the funds for mental health these days.
There aren’t any lights on inside when I approach slowly, shadows swirling around my feet and legs. If my reputation isn’t enough to dissuade a street urchin from pulling a knife on me, I hope my eerie appearance is.
I find the main entrance to the apartment and pull on the metal door. It swings open on hinges that clearly haven’t ever been maintained beyond their original construction.
The inside is just as desolate. The mailboxes in the foyer look abandoned and there’s no sign of anyone behind the front desk.
Darkness cascades out from where I stand and coats a fifteen-foot region around me. Against my will, the tendrils of manifested ink have become like a sixth sense over time. Even when they’re trapped within me, they sense things. Someone hiding in a closet might be letting out short, shallow breaths that will be missed by even the strongest Remnant.
The shadows are never misled. They’re never fooled.
Ink rolls down each side of the hall like a tsunami. The entire lower floor on this side of the block becomes a sea of dark, undulating flesh.
Faces erupt from the darkness. Their cries somewhat dulled by the sheer amount of manifested ink. Instead of antagonistic, though, they seem afraid.
They’re not yelling at me. They feel worried for my safety.
“Don’t,” the whispers seem to get louder as the echoes of my power roll through the halls.
The tendrils weave their way up the banister behind me, moving to the floor above. I can feel the slight drain on my energy as they spread through the large building.
On the second floor, I feel a tugging towards one of the rooms near the corner.
And then my power meets a void. A blank space in reality that shouldn’t be there. A wall of air-tight, hardened nothingness. Something not even light or darkness can penetrate.
Ghostly screams of panic heighten as I move up the stairs, taking them like one might walk to their execution.
The second floor is just as empty and dark. Except I see where my shadows meet resistance.
