Heart of Darkness

Chapter 12

The town of Ambervale lay within a protective circle of mountains, a peaceful little place that had sprung up within the perfect little valley. Snow melted and formed small lakes which in turn watered the plentiful fields that produced well-fed cattle as well as vegetables and grain for the inhabitants. Generally speaking, it was an idyllic place with picturesque views and room for all. It was, in truth, more village than town, but those who were in positions of prominence were hoping to get a billing as the best little vacation spot around. Ambervale prided itself on being pretty and peaceful.

Which was far from what it was this evening. Shades of amber and orange lit the area, shouts and screams ripping through the shattered buildings and empty husks of fields, echoing off of the rocks in the mountains that reverberated them back like some strange mockery of the disaster in progress below. The watcher sat in those very rocks, eyes fixed on the village below, listening to the utter chaos that had come to town.

Ambervale was on fire, people and houses set aflame by the cloaked figure that was standing atop a tall chimney. By the morning rising of the sun, the entire valley would be a loss, but that wasn’t the watcher’s concern. What concerned him was the abject raw power held by the cloaked figure, the absolute heavy-handed and blunt lack of finesse that brute-force blew its way through the village and left terror and destruction in its wake. It was somewhat akin to watching someone use a Dragon Slave to kill a bug. While the end result was that the bug was dead... so was everything behind it for as far as the eye could see. It was an overkill that completely lacked in style and class.

Oh, sure, the destruction below was efficient… but in the eyes of a Mazoku, it was practically pointless. You see, mortals were just so short-lived, and there was a finite length to what their pathetic little physical shells could endure. The flip side of that, of course, was their near boundless capacity for emotion. Provided that one wasn’t heavy-handed, one could extract whole ranges of fear and anger, some sweet and cloying, others fierce and raw as fire. It could last, with care, the entire natural lifespan of the victim.

What was going on in Ambervale, however, was nothing short of a travesty. Emotions were being squandered, thrown away, wasted without even being so much as tasted. Mortals young and old went up in flames, their meager lives extinguished before they even had a chance to truly feel the fear. It was the worst crime a Mazoku could conceptualize… right up there after all that peace and love claptrap that was tossed about and upheld in the White cities of Saillune and Sairaag.

The temple exploded with a sudden and ear-shattering bang, and the watcher sighed in disappointment. Temples were his favorite. He loved standing in the doorway, drinking deeply of the fear and despair that the followers of Cepheid radiated as they realized that Cepheid was still a mostly-dead god with only barely enough life to empower the Cepheid Knight… who was far more interested in taking care of her tables and customers than a small town in the cradle of the Kaatart Mountains. Ah well, thought the watcher. I suppose that it’s finally time to go take matters into my own hands. I knew I’d have to get them dirty eventually.

Almost reluctantly, the son of Juuou rose from his rocky perch and lifted into the air. He oriented on the cloaked figure, and than began his careful descent, making certain that the other would be aware of his arrival ahead of time. While the chances of him being injured by the other were slim, he didn’t feel the need or desire to be fricasseed.

“Well, you’re certainly making a fine mess of the disgustingly lovely town of Ambervale, aren’t you?” The watcher asked nonchalantly as he alighted near the figure. “Think I could join you?” He kept his voice light, kept the smile on his face, and tried to see into the cloak the old fashioned way. Whoever it was had managed to conceal his Astral presence as if it were second nature.

When the other made no comment or motion to refuse, the watcher turned and cast his gaze down to the village. Ah, yes, there. A lost child. Without moving, without shifting his gaze, he entered her thoughts. Fear, rich and deep ran through her, sending a rippling thrill over him. But it could be better. So very much… better. An ear-piercing shriek escaped from the girl, adding a harmony to the fear, a new depth of emotion opening like a vast and deep lake. Another touch, another probe, and the fragile figure crumpled in the street, the perception of pain lacing through the fears and adding another layer, the three combined far more sweeter than before. It was akin to ambrosia.

He had the cloaked figure’s attention; he could feel the gaze as it raked over him. It proved enough of a distraction that he inadvertently killed the child, the emotions draining as fast as if someone had blown out the candle, for in a sense, he had. As the tingle of fear and pain washed away from him, the one who had been the watcher became the watched. He lifted his gaze to the cloaked figure and found that the hood was down, the burning ice cold eyes watching him. Affecting his jovial smile, he sketched a sort of a bow to the figure and decided that it was high time he introduced himself. “Good evening to you, Grandson of Rezo the Red Priest, holder of the power of Shabranigdo. I am the son of Juuou, and I am very pleased to meet you. If I may address you as Zelgadis, then you may address me as Jedah.”