Age of Darkness (11 page)

Two Royal Guards stepped forward from their
formation around the perimeter of the room. They didn’t wear any helmets for
protection. They didn’t need to—they were renowned for their combat skills and
were never struck upon the head. They wore what looked like simple tabards
rather than thick knight armor that would prove as a much stronger protection
against attacks. But looks were deceiving—all of the members of the Royal Guard
were given a layer of abyssalite armor to wear beneath their plain white
tabards. Abyssalite was the lightest ore in the entire world, yet it was also
stronger than steel, mined from the darkest abysses by dwarves and other
creatures that lived deep within the shadowy mountains to the north.

The pair of Royal Guards wore their blades
sheathed at their sides, and they bowed their heads in the direction of the
king as they moved toward the door and gripped the two heavy latches. Their
sleeveless tabards revealed their bulging muscles and showed the strain on the
soldiers as they began to pull the massive doors open.

The large, metallic doors creaked as they
were pulled open, revealing two more Royal Guards who began to walk forward, carrying
a large chest between them. Holding the chest as if it were as fragile as glass,
they slowly carried it to the center of the throne room and set it down gently.

The king smiled as he nodded toward one of the
guards, who allowed for another man to enter from a side door in the throne
room. His clothes look tattered, as if he had just gotten into a fight with a
bear. His face was caked in dirt, and heavy bags hung underneath his tired
eyes. “This is June,” the king introduced the man. “He is the most skilled
human in the entire world for creating keys and lock picking. This chest holds
the reason we went into Bakaara many years ago.”

“It wasn’t to save me or take the land?”
Aika asked with a raised eyebrow. She had thought that the entire operation had
been in response to her kidnapping.

“No,” a cloaked man said with a light
chuckle, suddenly appearing in the center of the room. Darkness curled around
his body in a black mist that hissed with life.

Blades were brandished and, within seconds,
all of the Royal Guards around the perimeter of the throne room had unsheathed
their swords and pointed them at the single man in the center of their
formation.

“And why are you threatening the man who
has merely come to make a proposition?” the man said with a smile, pulling back
his hood to reveal his bald head. His purple eyes lifted and met with the king’s.

“Proposition? I don’t believe that we
negotiate with terrorists,” the king muttered. “You told us that you would
deliver the chest many years ago. However, you failed to do so. It took us
years of scavenging in order to finally find it.”

The Bount reached up and scratched his
neck, shrugging as he smirked at the king. “So, what you mean is that you don’t
negotiate with terrorists anymore? Since when did you change your mind, milord?
So, you hired the world’s best picklock in order to unlock a chest that is
sealed with the strongest and darkest magic in existence.”

“If there’s a magic seal, then I’ll get a
mage or wizard to dispel it….”

“There are some things that are out of even
your reach, milord.”

The king raised his eyebrow and glared at
the man before him, tapping his index finger impatiently on the arm of his
throne. “What is your name?” the king demanded.

The Bount smiled wickedly, his lips
stretching from ear to ear. “My name is Junko of the Bount organization. You
see, I’ve traveled quite far today to reach you. At any moment possible,
everyone in this entire room could be dead at my feet, so it is clear that I
haven’t come to harm you. I have a particular proposition, however, that could
possibly interest you.”

“And what is that?”

Junko nodded his head over at the chest,
not taking his eyes off of the king for a single moment. “The boy whom I seek
is also the one who has the key to this chest that you have before you. I can
tell you his name and what he looks like. I can also tell you the name of his
clan, which will immediately identify him to any of your men.” He tilted his
head back as the dark mist began to rise upward and wrap around his body once
more. “I suggest you tell your men to stand down. I do not come to harm any of
you.”

The king gave a slight nod, and the Royal
Guards lowered their swords and retreated to surround the king, standing
between the throne and the foreigner Bount. Their blades were still held up but
were no longer directly pointing at Junko.

The king sighed, calling out to the Bount, “Who
is the boy that you are looking for, and why is it that you want him?”

“I want his body, his eyes, and his DNA,”
Junko said, licking his lips lightly with a chuckle. “His name is Keimaro
Hayashi, and he is one of the last of the Hayashi clan. He is age eighteen and
perfectly capable of fighting. At the age of fourteen, he obtained power from a
meteor that granted him the ability to control flames. The destruction of
Bakaara led him to great grief, which thus filled the Shokugan with immense
power. The boy was given the key to the chest by his new father but has now been
separated from the chest. He is on his way to reclaim what belongs to him.”

“And you believe that we are incapable of
handling a simple boy?” A general by the name of Mundo stood tall and began to
walk forward through the large door to the room, after watching the series of
events unfold before him. He was wearing golden armor that gleamed upon his
chest, his armored leggings clanking against his heavy boots. He looked like a
shining angel sent from the heavens. His skin was a dark tan, and his eyes were
a glistening blue. His hair was black and curled, and he had a shaved goatee
that was trimmed at his chin. “If he’s a member of the Hayashi clan, then the
gods have already condemned his soul to hell. He is already going to be killed.”

“You see, sir,” Junko said, holding up two
fingers as he addressed General Mundo. “This young boy is beyond your human
capacities. However, I understand that you want to handle this situation by
yourself, correct? That is fine! You are free to call me whenever you would
like.” Junko turned away toward the closed doors of the throne room. “However,”
he said, stopping and glancing back at the king over his shoulder, “the Bount
organization will obtain control over Keimaro. And once we do, we will not give
the key to you.”

“Wait,” the king muttered.

“Milord,” General Mundo warned, his head whipping
around as shock flashed across his face. “You cannot be considering actually
cooperating with these terrorists! It was bad enough that we did it once! We
don’t need an entire terrorist organization’s help in order to capture a single
boy!”

“Silence,” the king said, holding up his
hand as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The general gulped,
straightening his back as he looked at Junko. “What is it that you want, Junko?”

Junko raised an eyebrow with a light smile
and turned back to face the king. “What is that it that I want? Power. Allow me
to be your advisor, and I will ensure your capture of Keimaro Hayashi.”

“That is out of the question!”

“Then we don’t have a deal,” Junko said
with a loud laughter that echoed off the walls of the throne room. “Just call
if you need me, milord! It won’t be long before you understand the danger that
you’re in!” He stepped through the door, his body exploding into a burst of
black mist that vanished in a mere instant, leaving the throne room completely
silent.

The king put his head in his hands and
groaned, leaning back against the golden throne. “Master Locksmith, continue
your work on the chest and attempt to open it. General Mundo, I want you to
find this boy. He will most likely be coming for the chest. There is no doubt
about that. We will intercept him. I don’t care if he’s alive or dead. You need
to—”

“Father!” Aika exclaimed, her heart
pounding rapidly. All of this talk … Keimaro Hayashi! That was the boy that she
had met many years ago, the boy who had saved her life twice. It was because of
him that she was still alive. Her hands were tightly wrapped around the ends of
the throne arms, gripping them so hard that her knuckles had turned a ghostly
white. “There’s no need for more bloodshed! You can—”

“He’s a member of the Hayashi clan.
Therefore, he is a demon, a monster, nothing to society at all,” the king said
with a shake of his head at his daughter. “He will be either executed or killed
on sight. It is preferred that he is brought in for a proper execution.
However, in the end it doesn’t matter which way he is killed. The gods have
made it quite clear that the Hayashi clan is never to be trusted and that they
are to be eliminated. Huh, I thought we killed off the last of them years ago.
To think that there were some of them walking amongst us … those sneaky
bastards.”

Aika leaned back against her throne and
gulped, shaking her head in disbelief. She remembered when she had first told
Keimaro about the Hayashi clan. The memory was a bit blurry after four years, but
she still remembered seeing the pain in his eyes. He had thought that he was
the same as everyone else. What was the difference between him and another
human? They looked the same. Only the eyes made him look like a demon, but that
wasn’t his fault. What gods would declare the complete eradication of their own
creation?

Her eyes lowered, and she sighed, knowing
that arguing with her father wouldn’t result in anything but him angry. Aika’s
father always wanted things his way and for him to always be right even when he
was blatantly wrong. She just wished that she could at least see Keimaro again,
just once more.

***

Tobimaru stood on the peak of a mountain,
the freezing air biting at his cheeks. His skin was pale, and he felt the heat
being sucked from his body, turning him as cold as a corpse. But he stood
nevertheless, watching outward over the land with his demonic, glowing red eyes
locked onto the massive Faar Empire that stretched across the land. His black
hood was pulled tightly over his head, and he scoffed, his hands pressed
heavily into his pockets. With every breath a cool mist gently left his lips.
His boots were deep within the several feet of snow that covered the ground,
making his toes feel numb from the cold. A strong wind gusted behind him, and
he glanced over his shoulder at Junko, who had just appeared. “So? How did it
go?” he asked, turning to face his superior.

“They didn’t accept the offer, as was
expected.”

“So, we allow Keimaro to wreak havoc on Bassada?
The soldiers could kill him,” Tobimaru muttered. “How do we know that Keimaro
has the heart to destroy? For all we know, he could be a weak, peaceful man. He
might be captured easily by Faar.”

“Peaceful?” Junko almost burst out laughing
on the spot. He walked forward to the edge of the peak, looking outward over
the land as Tobimaru had been doing. “Why would a man who lost everything he
loved be peaceful? Once someone’s soul is tainted to such an extent, he has
entered an abyss so dark that he will never find his way out. Keimaro has
experienced a taste of pain and intends to cleanse himself through revenge. He
is a lot like you, craving vengeance, but he will come to our side with time.”

Tobimaru scoffed, glancing away from Junko
and instead looking at the blanketed snow that covered the peak of the
mountain. “If he gets attention, then he will be found by
him.
”

“In the end, none of that matters. We’ll
kill everyone who gets in our way and obliterate anything that isn’t of any
worth to us,” Junko said with a sigh. “It’s a shame they didn’t take the
opportunity right away. That would’ve saved a lot of time. Oh well, let Keimaro
mess around in Bassada like the little child he is. They’ll come to us begging
for help sooner or later.”

“And what if they don’t?”

Junko turned and smiled at Tobimaru with a
small, childish giggle. “The Bount organization contains the world’s strongest
individuals who have mastered power beyond belief. Nothing is out of our grasp
except numbers. Kuro will be awakened, and our goals will be complete. If the
king doesn’t come to us, we will go to him once more—and we will take the crown
by force.” 

The hot sun beat down on the young men as
they continued forward across a green field, their boots crushing blades of
grass in their wake. Keimaro felt extremely uncomfortable while wearing the restricting
armor of the escort soldiers. The armor felt heavy in comparison to his cloak,
which had been made out of abyssalite and was given to him by his father. It
was supposedly the symbol of a Hayashi clan member, though he didn’t understand
why his second father would have such a possession, seeing as he wasn’t a
member of the clan. Perhaps it had been passed down, but Keimaro never got to
hear the story about what had happened to his real family. In the end, his
second father had died with whatever secrets had been locked up within him. No
key would be able to unlock those secrets. Still, Keimaro had been given a
particular key, which had dangled upon his neck for several years. He wore it
in remembrance of that night when he’d lost everything.

His head ached from the heavy helmet
clamping down upon his face, and he groaned, walking beside Yata, who wore the
same armor. They couldn’t even recognize each other without looking up close to
examine each other’s faces. “How the hell do soldiers wear this all of the
time?” he muttered, tugging at his collar as he sighed, the heat increasing
dramatically within the helmet.

He looked forward at the massive towering
walls that looked down on him like an insect, leaving him in their shadow. He
whistled as he studied the dirt path before him, which began to wind toward a large
opened gate made of some type of stout wood. Perhaps it was from a yew tree;
Keimaro had read that those were some of the strongest trees with incredible
trunks that would withstand days of lumbermen axes. Or maybe it could be the great
oak, which was decently strong as well. His curiosity as a child led him to
read about so many different types of trees that existed in the world. It was
wonder how there were so many varieties. He wondered where they all came from.

After a long two hours of walking, they
finally reached the gate. The caravan’s horses slowed to a stop, and Keimaro
raised an eyebrow when Gavin began to engage in some type of silent
conversation with the guards at the gate. He couldn’t tell if Gavin was trying
to help them get through, or if he was ratting them out. His hand was wrapped
tightly around the hilt of his sword in the event that he would need to act. However,
only moments later, the guards stepped to the side and let the escort continue
through the entrance and into the city.

Keimaro blinked a few times as he walked
through the gate. The bright sunlight began to shine down on him once he walked
through the gateway. His eyes widened and glistened as he looked at the
wonderful sight before him. It was the city—Bassada, the capital of Faar, and
therefore one of the busiest, liveliest places on the planet. Everywhere he
looked, he saw people busily minding their own business. The crowds surged as
if they all had somewhere to be, pushing past each other and talking. Their
words melted into a giant rambling sound that Keimaro couldn’t quite make out.

He swiftly took off his helmet, flipping
his hair to the side before looking outward and taking in a deep breath of
fresh air. “Wow, this is something,” he said in awe.

“Twenty times busier than Bakaara,” Yata
whistled. “No, make that a hundred.”

“So, I got you in,” Gavin muttered, folding
his arms as he leaned back against the wagon. “I’m assuming you don’t actually
intend on delivering this cargo, do you?”

“Nope,” Keimaro said with a sly smile. “We
are going to find a place to stay. Meanwhile, we will discuss our plan. But,
Gavin, don’t think that you can get away from us,” he muttered, tossing his
helmet into the back of the caravan with the rest of the boxed cargo. “A single
move that indicates that you’d betray us, and I’ll kill you.”

“Got it,” Gavin said with a sigh as he
began to walk forward, holding the reins of both of the horses that pulled the
cargo wagon. As he guided them through the streets, the people began to
separate around them, letting the animals trot forward on the tiled streets.

The buildings around them were much more
complex than the houses in Bakaara. They were built with stronger wood, and
some were even made entirely of stone. The rooftops were tiled and looked much
more beautiful from their bright red coloring. The street constantly branched
off into more walkways that looked nearly the same as the one that they were
walking down, making Keimaro believe that perhaps the city was much larger than
he’d believed. He imagined that it was like a giant tree and that they were
traveling along the trunk. Many branches of streets came off of the main trunk
and split off into even more alleys and roads.
Is every part of Bassada
packed like this?

He noticed the houses began to get more and
more advanced as they continued along the main road. Some of the buildings were
taller and much larger than others, and others were painted in different ways.
Keimaro’s eyes locked onto a rather large curved stone archway with a stone
path that led down straight through a lush, beautiful lawn to a massive mansion
that towered high above the other buildings. White pillars supported the orange
tiled rooftop, and a long cobblestone pathway led to an auburn wood door with a
golden knob on it. No doubt that this belonged to someone of royalty or wealth.

Keimaro stopped suddenly when he saw a man
with slicked-back red hair, standing there in front of the door of his mansion.
He couldn’t help but see that the man was also wearing a black cloak that
looked considerably similar to his own. Perhaps he was a Bount? He closed his
eyes, tearing his gaze from the man and his house. He shouldn’t have been
making assumptions. Right now, he just had to concentrate on the task at hand.
Yata touched his shoulder.

“What’s wrong, Kei?”

“Nothing,” Keimaro murmured as they
continued forward. The buildings went by quickly, and soon he found that they
were walking in a marketing area. The city’s main square was similar to that of
Bakaara’s, except on a much larger scale. It was probably thirty times bigger
with stalls, tents, and buildings installed everywhere in order for merchants
to maximize the amount of products that they sold and to advertise what they
were selling. Men and women yelled and called, bartering with merchants as
Gavin led them away from the crowded square. People were everywhere, making it
near impossible to walk without bumping into someone.

Keimaro turned and saw a large stone statue
of a man in the center of the square on top of a fountain. Glistening water rained
down around the majestic, strong man that held a mighty scepter up into the
air. The cascading water made his image glimmer, making him look superior to
everyone around him from his height and look. As the boy noticed a crown resting
upon the statue’s head, his hand slowly tightened into a fist, his knuckles
cracking. So, that was the man who was responsible for the massacre of everyone
in Bakaara … and the death of his mother. He memorized the face in an instant,
and turned away to find that he was walking out of the square and down a street
lined with taverns, bars, and inns.

Keimaro’s eyes wandered to the swinging
sign that hung from the rooftop of a large building. The sign bore a symbol of
a large mug, overflowing with ale beneath a simple name:
The Hearth.
What
a name for a tavern. Surely enough, Gavin decided to lead the horses to the
front. By now, people were complaining that they were moving horses through
crowds of people.

Keimaro glanced over his shoulder and saw
two guards who began to walk in their direction, making him suspicious that
leading a wagon and horses through the city was illegal. He glared in Gavin’s
direction, knowing the boy had something to do with this. The soldier hadn’t warned
them, and their movement surely did attract a lot of attention. Could he have
purposely led them through the city in an illegal manner to attract guards? “I’ll
deal with you afterward. Yata, stay with Gavin and make sure he doesn’t make
any sudden movements.”

He turned and began walking toward the
guards.

“Hey, escort,” one of the guards said.
Keimaro recognized his tabard and insignia almost instantly. It was the same
one that he had seen many years ago on the day of Bakaara’s destruction. The
man was in his mid-forties and had a rather short, brown beard. He sighed,
tapping his helmet as he stopped a few feet from the young boy. “You’re the
ones delivering the
special
cargo, right?”

Keimaro blinked for a moment, glancing over
his shoulder at the wagon and the cargo inside, covered by a white blanket.
Special cargo? Suddenly he felt as if whatever they were carrying around in
that wagon was of actual value. He turned back to the guard and nodded his
head, going along with the conversation. “Yeah, that’s us.”

“Really? I thought there would be more of
you, considering the importance of the package.”

“Well, most of us were assaulted in the
Forbidden Forest,” Keimaro said with a sigh of exhaustion, shaking his head as
if saddened. “Many monsters of the night came at us, and we barely made it out
alive. But, we managed to hold on to the cargo, and we made it in one piece.”

“That’s disappointing that you lost so many
lives,” the guard said with a shrug, clearly not actually caring. “Well, what
are you doing all the way over here anyway?” He put a hand on his hip. “You
were supposed to deliver the cargo straight to the king, were you not?”

“Yeah, but we just figured we would stop
quickly—”

“Do you even understand how important this
cargo is?”

“Not particularly, we weren’t told what was
inside.”

The guard sighed and shook his head in
disbelief. “Privates. Oh well, the king has sent us to escort you to him to
personally deliver the cargo. I expect that he has something he wants to talk
to you men about. Perhaps a report on the mission, nothing big. So, whoever is
in charge of you guys should come with us.”

Keimaro blinked a few times and finally cracked
a smile as he nodded, walking forward with the two guards. “Take care of Gavin,”
he called to Yata over his shoulder as the two men from the Royal Guard led him
away.

A shadow fell over his face as darkness
welled up in his heart. This was his chance, practically handed to him on a
platter! They were allowing him to waltz up to the king himself. He would be
able to kill the man who was responsible for the destruction of his family—well,
one of them, at least. The others were the Bounts. He would have to plan this
assassination carefully; otherwise, he could jeopardize his own life. But in
the end, he wasn’t thinking about careful procedure. Rather, his mind was
consumed by the very thought of the king’s absolute annihilation, nothing more.