Boots dangle indecently from a rooftop; the strong wind caressing coldly glittering eyes.
"How cruel of you, Tristan."
Slender hands reach; the black nails settling upon an unresponsive face.
"I suppose you thought you'd won?"
His hair tangles intimately within alien black strands; trailing fingers drifting over a masculine jaw and stiff bottom lip.
But the air silently, viciously curdles—
And cold eyes blaze. "Did you think I wouldn't retaliate?" Black claws grow—
Digging into flesh already stiffened by the cold.
A smirk, and the body topples backward without support, dully clacking against the shingles.
"You'd dare show yourself to me?!"
But darkness soon swallows the slender fingers now strangling Tristan's cold, unmoving throat; the pale digits lifting his corpse to dangle helplessly in the air.
But the body's carelessly tossed aside. "This feeble act of sacrifice—!"
A green light rains fire upon the dead, and ash slowly flies.
"Be glad I didn't find you. In any life, you will always be my enemy!"
The ash softly drops upon the rooftop like snow. "Ingrid."
"Yes, Master." Eyes of deepest twilight stare at the ground; the creeping shadow slithering in the air.
"Gather his ashes. Scatter them above the Land Between."
The shadow stills. "Master?"
"I don't wish his reincarnation, Ingrid. He—" The whisperer snarls, "—doesn't deserve it."
"Yes, Master." Ingrid shrinks, slipping between—
"Ingrid."
"…?"
Full lips twist. "Destroy the Three Stars Sect by the end of the night."
"It shall be done." Her shadow dissipates.
He dances in the darkness; a sword glinting in the moonlight as the band within his hair sways in the breeze.
"I'll let it all burn, Tristan. You—all of you—! You left me in the darkness!"
The sword fades into its dimensional pocket; not to be pulled for many, many years to come.
"This favor, I'll return to you…!"
But his breath fogs the air cold.
"It's cold in the darkness, Tristan. How could you leave me in the darkness…" The breeze subtly shifts.
Slowly, gradually stops.
"I wanted your blood to heat my hands, brother. You stole that from me, too."
He stares sightlessly at the sky; moonlight shining upon the rampant green. "I'll watch this sky for you, Tristan. I won't stop until it's done!"
But darkness soon envelops the delicate beauty marred by blood splatters and violent green eyes.
Yes, he'll surely watch them bleed. And this tranquility won by Tristan's deceit? He'll rip and tear asunder.
The sun will dawn a bloody hue.
***
Three Stars Sect. Silver Moon. Breaking Wind. White Mountain. The Six Strings and Eight Faceless…
Many, many years went by in this fashion; the slaughter turning into two. Then three.
Perhaps the blood congealed beneath his fingertips. Perhaps…
In the end, his eyes curled pleasantly, watching his old friends falling from Immortality down to the Hells below.
People whispered about it, his overwhelming might; his indifferent eyes frightening in the face of fleshy blood and acrid rot.
What arrogance! What majesty! What furious, mad eyes…
But then years turned into decades and decades into centuries; his enemies all but blindly running away.
And in this new world, what joy could be found in releasing his anger? All of them were dead.
"Master."
He lounges atop his throne; his forehead languidly resting within his fingertips. "What is it, Ingrid?"
Candlelight barely touches her pretty face as she bows. "There's…"
The fountain at her back ceases all sound. "It's unusual for you to vacillate, Ingrid."
"…"
"Tell me." The torchlight flares; marbled gold beneath his feet.
"There's been talk of the experiments. The remnants have been found."
"Oh?" His other hand tightens around the armrest.
"Recently, a new society has formed in the Empire's Capital. Their goal seems to be the same as the Three Stars—"
The torches wither and the candlelight dims.
He taps a finger against the stone; his precious ring rhythmically clinking. "Is that so?"
Silence.
And a cold draft blows.
Ingrid flinches; the runner beneath her feet blurring beneath her eyes. Who would dare look up at Master now? His gaze like looking at shredded, rotten meat—
Her neck tingles.
There's something heavy in that darkness—
Her lungs tighten.
Something unnatural in the breeze—
She whimpers.
Such a sinister air he's emitting. She clenches her fingers, biting into her lip.
Such a cold, fiery rage—
"Ingrid."
"Yes, Master."
"Over the course of a thousand years, not once have you taken refuge."
"Master?"
He smiles faintly. But not with his eyes. "Why not go gallivanting the stars, my dear? I will take over from here."
Ingrid shivers. Another bloodbath awaits. But this time, he's telling her not to follow.
What kind of chaos is he planning—
"Ingrid."
"As you say, Master." She bows lower; covering the brown of her eyes.
His voice darkens. "It seems a good time to revisit this earthly realm. I will quite enjoy it…"
He snaps his fingers; Ingrid disappearing in darkness as the world turns.
"You left me something quite fun, Tristan. I'll be sure to destroy it."
He stands regally; his robe gliding lightly against the marble as he moves.
The Capital. How long since he's seen the black spires of the palace? The dungeon keep? And yet, these fools send him such an invitation.
In that place of blood splatter and broken wings, he'll be sure to reap what he's owed.
A phantom sting in his back, and he smiles cruelly; his black nails extending into black claws; the scales covering his hand iridescent in the night.
Will this festering wound ever heal? In darkness, it remains…
***
But two weeks, three days, and thirteen hours into his return, he finds new purpose? Newfound joy?
It isn't anything so sweet. But upon a field of pretty, viridescent petals, he watches the blood flow and the body falter—
And smiles.