Page 70 of Remnants: Disruption
“Gods of Nye Verden,” I whisper out, before grabbing the spine and making my way back to my seat.
I place the book on the table in front of me and flip it to the first chapter.
The oldest Remnants date back before the Second Disruption. It was only then that we officially began the usage of the A.D. nomenclature (After Disruption). As such, the dates in this book will be listed using the Christian dating system that, coincidentally, follows the same structure.
In 1700, the event that became known as The Disappearance took countless lives and left the world with few Remnants and even fewer humans. It was then that whispers began about two beings of unimaginable power.
These were not gods in the religious sense, but by virtue of the pure inhumanity that each being possessed. The available, overwhelming evidence suggests that these beings may never have been human to begin with. It is not even certain if they are, indeed, Remnants at all.
Darkrend first appeared in Europe in the 1700s. The being’s origin, identity, and motives are still yet unknown. Yet, wherever Darkrend went, death and destruction followed. Despite this, Darkrend never made attempts at conquering world governments, instead he seemed content to simply meddle.
The chapters repeat the same warning over and over. Each time, the message is clear: To meet Darkrend is to meet uncertain death.
The latter half of the book switches focus.
After the Second Disruption, it became clear that Darkrend is not the only god in Nye Verden.
Bloody Mary, unlike Darkrend, has not been properly identified. It is assumed the being is feminine, though that, too, has never been confirmed. The very few attributed sightings place her somewhere between beast and human. At times, it is believed she is nothing but an Afflicted animal, roaming the countryside. At other times, a humanoid figure, basking in power that ripples the reality around her.
Her exploits have always been difficult to assess, but she has never been as sadistic as Darkrend. Instead, documented encounters express a nomadic being that brings exacting violence whenever necessary. And, unlike Darkrend, her goals do not seem to be tethered in chaos, rather in discovery—though of what is still unknown.
When rumors of her activities emerge, they are often linked to strange deaths and inexplicable displays of power. As such, rumors are often dismissed as her very existence is still up for debate.
Clothing ruffles as someone slides into the chair across from me. I glance up and let out a small shriek.
In the din of the shop, no one notices, but Mary’s quirked lips pause my call for help.
“Dignified as always,” she purrs, her grin seemingly genuine as she swirls a cup in front of her.
I blink a few times as my mind tries to process the woman across from me.
Rather than the black robes and hood, this woman wears a pair of light grey slacks. Her off-white blouse is tucked in neatly and a dark grey peacoat hangs around her chair.
If she’s wearing makeup, I can’t tell. Yet, her ruby red lips are as plump and bright as ever.
Dark hair is pinned back behind her head; the messy bun somehow looks refined on her. Her slim neck ends at just visible collarbones.
The entire look is captivating.
Bloody Mary is downright stunning.
“What—” I gulp out, staring around at the people beside us. No one seems to realize the danger that just strolled into the shop. That a goddamned eldritch being is simply sitting here, sipping her coffee.
“To see you, of course,” she says, lips pausing at her cup again.
Her nonchalance shoots a flare of anger through me.
“If you’re going to kill me,” I hiss, leaning forward, “get in line. I’m turning myself in. I just wanted to enjoy a book and a cup of coffee.”
Though the coffee doesn’t even look very good anymore.
Mary’s grin falls as her eyes widen. Eyes that glow a soft orange. Not enough to be noticeable, but enough to be different.
“I can’t beat you. I can’t beat DAEMON. And the world thinks I killed—”
I let out a choked wheeze, feeling like the world has me in its own vice-like grip. My head throbs painfully as I try to collect my scattered thoughts.
I meet Mary’s eyes and find something like distress in the orange irises.
