The morgue was dark and damp. Cobwebs were hanging on the ceiling, making the place feel like a haunted house more to humans. To Bellators it is just another morgue. The thing was that they can not stand being there. The morgue filled their noses with the smell and senses of blood and death. Even though the Bellators are fierce, natural-born-killer, the place only drove out those without business there, which the guards and the family were there for.
A young Bellator cub, resting in peace, lies silentlyon a morgue table with a white sheet covering him to the end of his shoulders. His powerful blue eyes were closed, his muzzle grown medium, whiskers finely shaved, and black and white fur perfectly shinning and healthy as life itself.
This youth was only twelve years old. He had such outstandingpotential… Such apromise of the ages! But now itwasall wasted,andnow he is at rests with Aura.
Blood covered the sheet where he was stabbed in the chest, gushing a huge inverted scar there. His tail was hanging on the side, lifeless along with the rest of his decomposing body. His family came over to say their last good byes before the funeral.
Bellators are the most fierce and respected (And mostly feared) beings on Gaia, playing major roles in all of history. Living in the tundras of the Northlands, they learned how to be perfected at killing and surviving, being very resilient, known to be shot with a thousand bullets in the chest and heart before (just) blacking out, known to be able to be stabbed through the limbs thousands of times and still move them in perfection, known to be so strong that they still stand while being dead. Along with all this, they have used (and been using,)a very strong material called Starblood for armor, making them known to be “Super Soldiers.”
After a few seconds, Tharros, the thirteen year old cub, slowly took a few steps in this silent room to Nomen’s body, looking to his brother’s face. His eyebrow muscles slanted down, his ears lowered, his tail falling to the ground. He thought of the good times with his brother, play fighting, joking, hanging out, doing what they did best, never happening again.
Tharros slowly rubed his patted hands on the face of Nomen’s cold, dead fur. His head fell porelyto his side towards Tharros. He thought of all the great times he had with his sibling. After all he has been through, he trembled on Nomen’s body, knelling in sorrow and dreadfully crying, weakened with a broken heart. He felt Nomen’s freezing blood on his hands but never lets go. His mother stood there, silently crying. Her slender body falled. How can a mother loose her husband and her son in the same day? And how could a major Bellator city loose three Bellators by murder; a messenger, a cub, and a Baowulf Guardian? Bellators have a 93% better chance of dying from natural causes of being elderly then Murder. This was very unexpected and very embarrassing.
The tigris dreadfullycried in agony and grief, her mind damp and clouded. She blames herself for the death of both her mate and her son. She should have been there to help them. All Bellators are born as a warrior, a defender of their own. She remembered all the times she was there for Nomen, holding him in her arms never more, a cub she will never play with again, a son that will never live again.
One of the two guards, wearing fearful, grey horned armor, and wielding an AD-M16 Battle Riffle, a powerful, hand made riffle that was slender and long with a scope, came to Tharros’ mother. “Tigris, you will have to leave. It’s almost midnight,” said the guard sternly, his voice powerful. The tigris could only see those strong, blue eyes behindhis helmet, showing only a shadow on the visor.
The tigris was trying to turn, fighting to stay up. She finally did, only to fall. The guard catches her. Her throat was clogged up, but she tried to speak. “I’ll…” She started with a cough, “I will… Try to speak to my son…”
The guard was scared to let her fall again, so he decided to tell the cub.
He sorrowfullyshook his head at the tigris, giving her a sign that he would tell the youth. He lifted his fearinghelmet off of his head. Taking his time, he walked in military patterns to the cub. He saw that he was crying, so he gently laid his hand on Tharros. “Cub… You—“ He thought his words to not upset a poor cub more. He was a big softy at heart. “Cub… I understand that you lost your brother…” Then again, he did mess up, but with no consequence, though. He still looked dumbfounded, still. “But it’s getting late. You will feel better in the morning. I promise that the days will get better,” he said softly.
Tharros’ fur was getting colder by the minute by the tundra chill, but he wanted to stay for a little longer, to still see his brothers body before it’s buried. He wiped the tears off his eyes with the fur on his arm and depressingly said “Just… A few more minutes, sir…” He laid his head backed down, slowly feeling better.
After an hour, Tharros was better. Still sobbing, but better. The trigris was much better, to. Not much can be said about the guard, though. He still can’t stand looking at a sorrowful family. Cursed softy Bellators...
Tharros raised up slowly, tripping here and there. His mother held his hand softly, helping him. Never has he felt like this. Never has he been so sad. This is the first time he saw someone close to him die.
“I apologize… But you’ll need to head home. It’s past time for you to leave,” said the guard. He frowned in sadness.
Tharros released his hand and putted it on Nomen's face. He closed his eyes, praying to Aura. He prayed that his brother will rest peacefully. If only my life could have been taken and Nomen could have lived, he prayed.
He took a broken necklace talisman off his neck and laid it on Nomen. He wished for his brother to rest peacefully… Finally peacefully.
Turning around, “I will join the military, mother… I keep us safe,”Tharros started, “I will protect our people, no matter what!” he ended with a strong tone.
The copper on the eye-piercing armor of the second guard was shining, He came to a first guard, then pushed him back violently, pointing, “I am going to be damned for this, you soft-hearted fool!” The first guard was puzzled.
When those single words finished, both of the guards with the tigris and the son left.
The door closed. The only light that wasshown were from two pathetically dim candles. The air was freezing cold, cold enough to freeze the pits of the Darkness. The body of Nomen resting, unbothered, unliving. The shift was happening right that time. No surveillance cameras were around. Who needs to have them there? The only thing that anyone can steal from the dead was flesh and bone (who needs to?).
No one was there. Only silence pierced the air. No rats, nobugs, or anything was in site. Nothing…
In the shadows of the door, darkness was spreading. Not naturally, but strangely…A darkness made of silk.A robe stretched out from the shadows, like a mother reaching out for her child. The creature stepped out of the darkness with a hood on its head. He took a few silent steps towards Nomen’s body without a sound.
It stopped, looking at the body. For a few seconds, there was silence, dark, ghostly silence. The figure stood there. In its thoughts, it focused on the feeling of magic. It tried to feel it, tried to think it, tried to power itself. It held out its hand, feeling magic flow through its blood, feeling it’s power.
A purple ball of fire, steeming and flushing and blushing, appeared slowly above the figure’s hand, but not having warmth. The fire hovered above it’s hand for a second. It slowly went above Nomen’s chest, then decended, went through through the sheet without burning it, since it was magic. Nomen’s chest absorbed the mystical fire.
The scar was healing. The blood was repairing. The chest and was flowing again. The flesh and fur was starting to warm up. The heart was beating again, like the wings of a hummingbird.
“Yes… It worked!” Said the figure with a cold, hellish voice. His hand lowered and stepped back, not to disturbed the ritual.
Nomen’s tail was starting to go back and forth, becoming lively. The body was twitching. The eyelids were moving.
His eyes were dihalating. He shook his head, trying to regain strength. He still had a hard time seeing, still, but was surprised by the figure. He moved the sheet out of the way.
Nomen was coughing out the dust from his mouth and throat. He lumply fell on the floor, making the figure step back even more from getting tumbled. Nomen’s hands grabbed the ground, trying to regain strength, smelling the stence of death, feeling the cold, dried blood on the ground. He was in a bowing stance, trying to get up. He was trying to make sense of what happened all of the sudden. All he remembered at the time was a zweihander piercing him in the chest, his father having a sniper bullet destroying his heart. He would forever remember that, felling anger and disdain forthe person who killed his father, Mal’fateor. His face showed that. At least his eyes were already dihalatted.
A few questions bothered him, though.
“Where am I…?”painfullyasked Nomen, still getting dust out of his throat.
“The morge, sonny.” fearfullySaid the figure.
“Why… Why am I in the…” began Nomen. Now he realizes what happened to him. He remembered the pain, the light leaving his eyes, seeing what’s beyond death. A tunnel of stars and space, then blackness, as if he was in the Darkness.
He looked up at the figure, seeing through the hood, seeing the black skin and the long white hair. Even though he never saw one, he knew what it was.
He tried to stand up, falling each time. The drow had to help him up just for good measure.
“Who are you?” asked Nomen, in a voice that could slice bricks clean in half.
“My name is of no importance,” said the drow generally, “What I’m here for is to help you… And to let you know the importance of that neckless.”
“My neckless? What…” Nomen didn’t realize he wore one until the drow said it. He held it in his hand, remembering it was his brother’s neckless that he found in the woods, a broken talismon.
“Yes… Find the rest of that neckless and take your revenge!” ordered the drow.
“What’s important about this talismon?”
“Nothing at the moment,” the drow answered, “but later on in your life, you will know. It was once an item thathad power unlike anything else! If you find the rest of this talismon, it may help you find the person who did this.” The cubwas about to talk when he was silenced by a finger. “The answers will be solved later in your time.”
Nomen thought for a few seconds, closing his eyes… And now he knew what he must do!
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