Nemesis sat in the VIP glass observation box of Estadio Latinoamericano, leaning against the side of his massive leather armchair while peering through the lingering hurricane.
Water fell across the battle-scarred stadium as he watched a fight between random Beastkin looking to show their worth to the masses; many people used the area to escape the downpour while also providing entertainment.
His sharp yellow eyes drifted down to stare at his ripped and blood-stained brown pants, showing clear signs of the fights he’d been in that morning, to fixate on his gold-furred thighs. When the lights spread across the heavens, his entire body grew thick fur as he transformed into a lion.
Khewzi, his former master, thought it hilarious—he was a beast before the metamorphosis—the champion of the African warlord’s favorite sport, and now he’d truly become one.
All he’d known from the age of eight was how brutal and cruel the world could be; Khewzi and the others like him had a blood sport in the lawless zones of Africa—a sport that involved training boys in a similar manner to cock fighting but with humans. Of course, there was a female competition, but it was segregated unless the match was being treated as an execution for some crime.
He was Greek by birth and had found himself in the jaws of the vicious warlord during an African humanitarian aid mission done by a small group his parents were in. They’d gone to a wartorn area in the country to help provide advanced scientific help to the community, and it was supposed to be safe—of course, that’s always the story until it’s not—and another uprising took place.
They didn’t make it out in time, and the result? His parents were abused and butchered—he and his older sister, used in the human cock games—he couldn’t even remember his childhood before that point. All he’d known was the struggle to live and eat, and if you wanted medical attention or painkillers from the vicious battles, you had to win.
He didn’t know what happened to his sister; she was long dead in all likelihood. It was possible she still lived, but he couldn’t even remember her face past the mountain of corpses he sat on. Life was simple—no need to learn anything but how to be more efficient at surviving and killing.
The biggest prize of the fights was to knock out the opponent without much physical injury to steal him from his own master—many disputes carried that condition—knocking out the other transferred ownership.
It was a brutal game, and glory came with many benefits to incentivize the fighters to reach the top; you received women, good food, clean water, comfy living quarters, and what most relished, longer breaks between matches.
He’d long forgotten his birth name; it didn’t matter. Nemesis earned his title through eighteen years of battle—he was the king of the ring—Khewzi’s Nemesis was what other warlords called him, and he’d earned the man a great many friends and contacts through the popular underground sport.
Wealthy individuals from many countries made friends with the warlords to have access to the illegal sport, and it was from those criminal empires and corporate fiends that his master learned about the plan to make Cuba their own little stomping ground.
His illuminated cat-like irises drifted to his lustrous golden hand, flexing his claws while watching the colossal muscles bulge; he’d taken countless lives, and these new powers gave him the one thing he’d constantly desired—freedom. He’d started with nothing—even his own body wasn’t truly his—yet now, he had everything.
However, all he knew was a life of violence, and killing Khewzi hadn’t been an act of vengeance as much as taking over the throne; it was all he knew. Kindness was a death sentence, and he’d seen it countless times. Foolish women or men that thought themselves saviors would be brought in and try to offer help; he’d never bought into the idealistic people brought up in first and second-world countries.
It was endless, the humanitarian aid workers implanting hopes in the hopeless, only to see their savior’s morals crumble in the face of adversity—everyone had a price, be it a level of violence, money, or pleasure—and he’d seen countless enslaved kids betrayed those that they foolishly believed.
Nemesis subscribed to something tangible, something that worked, and the only thing he could rely on was himself—power was the only thing that mattered in the world. He was the Myth of the Nemean Lion, and all he responded to was power.
He glanced left to see Jaume Esparraguera—The Legend of José Martí—giving him a slight frown. The intellectual man was an excellent tactician yet lacked the strength to take control; still, he’d maneuvered himself into an ideal position to act as a regent of sorts over the empire Nemesis had built over the past month.
It was fine by him; Nemesis had no issue with him keeping the city and people functioning in a free and prosperous manner so long as they worked. Nemesis had no patience for the lazy and leeches of society—children, teens, the elderly, it didn’t matter—everyone had to contribute, or they were thrown out.
Jaume worked with the simple rules Nemesis gave to develop a relatively sound system, even if he didn’t like the punishment paradigm. There were no prisons; if you broke the law, you forfeited your freedom and were subject to entertainment to the masses. You fought until you died—of course, there were methods of regaining one’s freedom—although none had achieved it thus far.
He was an idealistic man, much like the woman beside him; Ana Isabel Tudela—the Legend of Juana Inés de la Cruz—who worked with Jaume to support the effort of giving the women of Cuba more of a voice while acting as Nemesis’ primary healer.
Ana had gained some form of flame-like healing abilities that named her the Phoenix of Havana by the people; she’d been instrumental in organizing the surviving medical professionals, the changed people that could heal, and charitable work in general within his growing empire.
Naturally, the two were far from happy with him, but he didn’t care; they kept things functioning, which was important when he didn’t have the best grasp on how societies were governed—he was smart enough to surround himself with people that could do what he could not.
They had no problem using him as the power behind their movement, and he had no issues using their understanding of a structured economy to keep things in motion. Every pack needed a decisive leader to enforce the law and help direct affairs in the finer details. In the end, he was the king, though, and what he said was law.
Mara Moliner—the Myth of Iara—was the final individual present at the end of the night; she currently sat beside him, fine copper legs crossed while combing through her lush green hair as she observed the battle below.
In water, the woman could grow a tail and had increased water combat potential but was generally a manipulator by ability—still, Nemesis admired her military mind and combat skills, despite her specialty—Ana and Jaume weren’t fans of her more brutal tactics that were more aligned with Nemesis.
Clearing his voice, Jaume picked up a long discussion he’d been on about over the past few days; they spoke in English since it was the only language they all shared. “Do you still plan on fighting Noah to the death?”
A small smirk lifted the side of Nemesis’ black lips, showing his glistening white fangs while brushing out his golden mane. “If I knew any better, I’d say you were actually concerned I wouldn’t come out on top?”
Mara giggled, shimmering light-brown irises drifting to the uncomfortable man. “Honestly, Jaume, the Bronze Titan certainly is strong, but we’ve all seen Nemesis kill every contender without difficulty.”
“Without difficulty?” Ana grunted, dark eyes peering down at the exotic myth. “Who do you think patches up his wounds? I’m the one who sees him bloodied and scarred after each fight—he’s not invincible—and we all know he’s the only one keeping this place in order. If Nemesis dies, do you think Noah will be able to keep the peace?”
“She’s right,” Jaume grunted, walking to the window to stare through the tinted glass at the crowds of people seeking shelter in the stands as cameras sent the battle to the large screens around the stadium. “Noah’s spread himself thin—yes, he’s helped a lot of areas, but he’s expanding too fast, and corruption comes from haste.”
His lips pulled in, arms tightening against his chest. “As much as I hate your tactics, Mara, I’ll admit it’s effective—but only if there is a symbol to represent it—you and Noah can’t both be the iron fist that holds stability in your palms. Yes, Noah’s strong, and he’s a symbol in himself, but it’s not strong enough without proper communication.”
Mara snickered, adjusting her light brown thigh-high dress while leaning against the opposite side of her chair to stare at the concerned legends. “You act as if I’m not aware of the circumstances.”
She played with a green lock of her hair, a slight smirk lifting on her plump lips shaded by sky blue lipstick. “Noah certainly has a symbol in the works—the Bronze Titan—heh, which fits his giant look, and you’re worried he won’t have the power to maintain such a large area because it’s already showing cracks as it is.”
Her glowing eyes drifted to Ana. “I understand your worries, and they’re somewhat grounded—I admit—considering win or lose, there will be consequences. Yet, you’re missing one critical point, my dears.”
Nemesis did love to hear them bicker—in a way, it was another type of battle he’d never been able to be a part of, and with every conversation, he learned much. So, he continued to ponder and soak up the grains of wisdom and knowledge each party added.
Jaume ran his hands through his somewhat messy brown hair with a sigh. “Are you saying there’s no escape from the ensuing anarchy, and we’re being naive?”
“Really?” Ana sniffed, glaring at the smug green-haired woman. “There must be a way we can unify without pointless bloodshed! Yes, examples need to be made, but that’s entirely different than plunging a few provinces and areas back into complete anarchy. Why can’t we work with Noah instead of fighting with him? It’s stupid—men are stupid—it’s needless bloodshed for the sake of flexing whose muscles are bigger!”
“Mmh-he-he-he,” Mara held her fingers up to her mouth as she held her shaking belly. “C’mon now, Ana, don’t be sexist—men aren’t the only ones vying for power. How many women have tried to kill you to get rid of Nemesis’ healing hand? Of course, not that you’re all that needed anymore in that regard—I myself am guilty of being in the camp of what you would term needless bloodshed for the sake of flexing whose muscles are bigger.”
She directed her smirking gaze to the wall. “Although, I like to go about things in a more—refined manner regarding my flexing, as you’d call it.”
“Humph,” Ana leered at the myth, “as if I’d consider you a woman—you’re every bit of a man excluding the tiny bits between your legs.”
Mara pressed a hand against her breast, her tone turning lilting. “Sure, I may gain a tail, but Sweetie, I believe you forget my other genteel feminine traits. Surely I’m more womanly than say … others that occupy this room,” she mused, vision lingering on Ana’s more petite figure.
“Right,” she sneered, looking at the woman’s exposed legs. “You’re more of a fish than a woman or man.”
Nemesis chuckled at the visual daggers Mara sent the legend, enjoying the banter more than the mediocre fight below.
Jaume groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Ladies, can we please stay on topic—as you pointed out, Mara—I’m troubled by what will happen regardless of the outcome. You may think Ana and I are naive, but we can’t help it; if the Golden Lion of Havana or the Bronze Titan of Havana fall, then it will cause chaos in one of the two territories—both if there is significant damage to the remaining leader.”
“Correct,” Ana huffed, still glaring at the green-haired woman. “Who is going to suffer most if that happens? Women! We’ve gained a level of freedom we’ve never had, which I’m grateful for, Nemesis, but that can change at the drop of a needle. You have a solid image and rule so far from Havana to the western border, and in less than a month—it’s amazing; it really is—yet as Jaume said, we shouldn’t expand recklessly like Noah.”
She moved a bit forward for him to look at her. “Noah has good intentions—I sympathize with them, and I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same—but there are serious cracks in the fragile society he’s put together, and the slightest pressure could break it … such loss in confidence from your conflict, which you said yourself,” she swallowed, clearing her throat, “he’s a worthy opponent.”
“He is strong enough to make my blood pump,” Nemesis shrugged, yellow irises lifting to look at the open center of the colossal stadium to follow the roaring heavens. “I can’t say he’s my equal, but he’s the closest thing to it that I’ve met in this city.”
Mara rested her elbow on the chair, the back of her hand coming up to her cheek. “Precisely, my King—in the end, it doesn’t matter—your philosophy stays true; the strong will survive.
“Yes, it will be sad; many will die in the chaos that is humanity, but unless Ana and Jaume want me to lull everyone into a perpetual state of bliss and subvert their free will, their dream of a world without conflict is moot. If there is free will, there will be violence—it is without question, and you cannot point to a single point in history to contest such a utopia—the definition of which is fantasy.”
Her mocking gaze settled on the pair. “Noble as the two of you claim and seek to emulate, I see you as no more than innocent children living in luxury with their heads in the clouds. It is easy to believe in people when you have not lived with them at their worst; give an inch to the depraved, and they will take your neck.”
Ana returned the look. “You act as if we’ve never experienced hardship, Mara—we both know Cuba was no paradise, and I am far from hopeful when it comes to a perfect world when men live in it. So… yes, I know my hopes for women to live in peace is a dream, but it is one I can push forward to.”
The Legend’s nose twisted while glaring at the smiling copper-skinned Myth. “Much less when we have women that choose to take on so many masculine characteristics like yourself.”
“Mhm,” Mara smirked. “Could it be that your whole paradigm is just flawed, to begin with, and it’s just some kind of coping mechanism? Heh, I could get you a pipe to smoke some more if you wish because you seem to have the product in spades.”
Jaume’s head pressed against the cool glass; he’d acted as a buffer between the two women for weeks. “Nemesis, I’m just asking for you to wait just a bit longer—strategically, we should focus on the northwest first—a smaller area that can easily be absorbed and a people willing to come under your rule.”
A hot puff of air shot through Nemesis’s dark nose as his whiskers twitched; he understood each of their points, and all of them were valid from a ruling view.
Ana wanted time to funnel in and spread the news about safety to the women of the other warlords’ areas to prepare for an exodus in case of chaos. It was something he’d seen many women seek to do in Africa until met with real opposition and their life was on the line; there’d only been a few willing to die for what they claimed to believe—and they did.
Still, he’d judged Ana to be in that latter camp, and she certainly would have fallen to more than a few men or women who stood in her way.
She’d been instrumental at the beginning of his campaign when his body wasn’t so sturdy, and there had been at least a dozen in the thousands that challenged him to mortal combat who had posed a severe risk as he climbed the physical hierarchy until standing at the top.
Not a scar was left on his body through her tender care, which was shocking considering how vehemently she hated this violent part of their society—she never let him down, and there were times when Ana could have easily swapped sides, yet she stayed true. There was also some past trauma he suspected involved a man; she often commented how foolish the opposite sex was yet wouldn’t turn them away.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Jaume was a pillar of sound wisdom when it came to navigating the political scene and building him to be a symbol of strength to keep the peace; it had been the only option to him when hundreds of gangs erupted out of the chaos.
On the other hand, Mara was a vicious war strategist; in fact, the siren was originally his rival until she’d witnessed him slaughter a large chunk of her opponents when they’d gotten in his way. Since then, she merged her group with his, choosing to follow by his side instead of lead, which he wasn’t opposed to.
She was the one that suggested the stadium to Jaume as their base of operations and as a physical outlet for the many Beastkin that had trouble releasing their pent-up instinctual urge to fight.
In addition, it would serve as an excellent stage to challenge any gang that aimed to take his swiftly growing empire. The bait was too much for the power-hungry fools; it was easier when they came to you in mass, the woman advised, instead of hunting them down in their dark allies—especially when they had Ana to heal him.
Glancing down at his muscular, gold-furred chest, scratching the place where an arrow had pierced his unbreakable fur. A week ago, an assassination attempt occurred while in the stadium; so far as he could tell, a South American Mythickin that—he was told—likely resembled the myth of Mapinguari.
It was annoying, but the Myth was one of the few people he couldn’t track; his scent vanished, which actually made him laugh, considering he was a massive, twelve-foot-tall hairy ape-man that carried a bow so big it felt impossible to miss, yet he’d escaped all notice.
There were still enemies worth facing in Havana, and he was nearing the point of restlessness, which was the primary concern for Ana and Jaume. He was a lion, and he accepted that—a challenge was what he craved—and if his kingdom was peaceful, then it was wonderful, but that meant he needed to expand.
Not only was he a lion, but he was also a king, a fighter, and a human that craved competition. Over four weeks, he’d felt more at home than ever before—he thrived in the chaos of battle, and just by sitting here, he could feel his claws dulling. Still, the king and human side in him knew there were benefits to biding one’s time.
He’d long made up his mind.
Getting to his feet, Nemesis stood before the glass to see his reflection in the dull light; he towered over the others at 7’8” tall. He now had the head of a fierce lion, a thick golden mane that matched the fur across his muscular body, and talons that could rip into just about anything. He could fight with many weapons but primarily used his own strength—his claws, knees, elbows, teeth, head, and powerful grip—Nemesis’ own body was usually the only thing given to him to use when growing up in the mud pit arenas.
Yes, he was powerful, but his true strength was in his resilience and stamina; he could go without sleep for a week, fight without rest for hours at peak performance, and absorb or deflect savage blows as if thrown from toddlers. Bullets had long lost their sting, and it took specialized ammunition—magically enhanced—to even try to bruise his skin, and much of that was due to Ana’s continual support.
He didn’t have rapid regeneration or advanced healing factors like many other people; his most effective attribute was his defense. Although, that didn’t mean he didn’t have power; he was confident enough to bite into the Bronze Titan, at the very least, and the last attack that penetrated his defenses wouldn’t so much as tickle now.
“I get it, Ana, Jaume…” The two grimaced at each other before returning their gaze to him as he continued, watching his pink tongue slide across his black lips. “I fight whoever stands before me, and if Noah steps into that ring, I will meet him, but for now, I’m willing to wait until he’s at his best … It seems there’s something else that requires our attention.”
A sigh of relief came from Ana and Jaume as Mara giggled, likely knowing how he’d respond.
He turned to the side as he heard two individuals running down the hall toward them, hands resting behind his back; there seemed to have been a commotion passing between a few guards earlier that was finally reaching his attention. Personally, he didn’t want the security but had it primarily assigned to Ana, with whom he was currently with.
Salvador, her verbal meat shield that was used to listening to her tirades, came panting in with a Beastkin tiger he’d spared with at the start of the change; he’d been a good fight early on and helped to push him a tad when attacking as a group.
“What is it, Youssef?” Jaume asked, noticing the concern in the tiger man’s green eyes.
“M-My King—I came as fast as I could—the U.S. military has made a play for Cuba!”
The news quieted the room as everyone digested the information, and after a moment, a chuckle rolled through Nemesis’ gut. “It’s about time things were shaken up again. Give me the short version.”
Youssef recounted what he’d heard from the radio report and confirmed a woman claimed to be a part of the U.S. military; it was all he needed to know—before anyone could shout out, Nemesis leaped over the pair and was halfway down the hall, passing air pulling his mane back.
The U.S. military and some gorgeous bunny girl heading much of the operations? It’s too much to take in without meeting her myself!
A big smile tilted his mouth, peeling back his lips as he ducked into a branching room to leap out of the open terrace to the ground three stories below. Rain followed his fall, mixing into his coat and elevating the pulse in his veins. Finally, a new opponent!
All he needed was one sniff of her scent to know the woman’s worth; certainly, a changed person in the United States military would be a good challenge, but he had to be sure.
Water-soaked his fur as the crack of lightning sounded overhead; few people were out in the pelting rain, but in the veiling tempest raging around him, he wouldn’t be recognizable at the speed he moved.
The bar mentioned wasn’t far from the stadium, and he’d made a point to travel every street of his territory, memorizing every alley, which was why he traveled through the bridging paths to arrive at his destination, yet his progress halted just before reaching the side entrance.
He slowed, the whistling wind dying down in his pulled-back ears as they straightened, water dripping down his thick pelt while staring down at the ground. Who is this scent … A woman by the perfume and lingering hormones; although, the rain muddles the finer details.
Taking in a long sniff, his fingers tightened into fists. Is this the person they mentioned? No, but I don’t smell rabbit, and even if they don’t have the exact same scent, Beastkin are similar to their counterpart at a fundamental level … This is entirely human.
A low rumble shook his throat as he looked ahead, liquid running down his long nose, making it tickle. Strong…
Proceeding to the side door, he opened it up, trailing water as the few occupants stiffened upon seeing him.
“K-King!” Antonio muttered, taking a quick bow as the other Beastkin girls mumbled various things in Spanish.
Nemesis’ focus first went to the three Beastkin working security in the area, recovering after what seemed a scrap, and by the looks of things, they were easily overpowered. However, that soon swapped to the back corner table, breathing in deeply—his heart practically stopped for half a second.
Strong … They’re all strong.
Sticky saliva filling his throat, he grunted, “Who sat at that table—make it quick.”
Uxia, the dog serving girl, cleared her throat and hurried over. “U-Umm—a bunny-girl…”
“Hare,” Nemesis corrected, instantly differentiating the scents; he was a bit disappointed the Beastkin hadn’t varied her senses to do the same.
“R-Right, I’m sorry,” she forced a smile, “umm, the hare girl seems to be the leader of some U.S. military operation that is gathering information in the area. She has a good man that frequents the bars and helps local girls with their issues,” she swallowed, “ahem, his name’s Vasishtha—a man from India.”
The other girls were nervously trying to listen, likely not understanding English as well as Uxia as she gestured to the sullen guards lined up to face him. “They tried to stop them, but…”
“There were two others,” Nemesis growled, intense yellow eyes darting to stare down at her, “tell me about them before continuing.”
Her throat constricted, ears pulling back as she backed away, head lowering. “Y-Yes, umm—the hare’s name was Rachel, a-and she seemed to know the dark-haired woman named Relica—they didn’t seem to be friends. Although…”
She glanced back at a cat woman in her early twenties who hastily spoke up, having a bit of trouble with English. “Mhm! Rachel w-warned the man—t-that h-he would—no, the Noah man—he was being searched for by Rachel to do something—warned him not to talk…”
Recovering her voice, Uxia clarified as the others mumbled in Spanish to the bartender to help them translate; Uxia couldn’t take her focus off his dripping mane, trying to avoid his eyes. “Rachel seemed to believe Relica would kill indiscriminately if she was upset and told one of Noah’s men to let her do the talking—it seemed she had some power that allowed her to be at Camagüey during the U.S. invasion, and she didn’t remember how it concluded.”
He frowned, watching the woman fidget with her dress front while doing her best to not stumble across her words; the language barrier was annoying.
“Umm—Rachel appeared to want to kill her, but I don’t think she was real—or that she was some kind of projection of some kind—I don’t know. I just know that she was frustrated Relica showed up to interrupt their meeting, and the new person she brought seemed to put her on edge—I think. Both of them vanished, and Rachel ushered them to leave…”
The bartender cleared his throat, smacking his lips as he hesitantly shifted his vision from the solemn Beastkin to him. “E-Excuse me, King, but eh—they be sorry…”
Uxia ran a hand through her hair, hissing out a long breath before snapping something that sounded like they should shut up since they can’t speak English well. Turning back to his patient gaze, her nervous tone returned. “S-Sorry, King, but—umm, they tried to stop Rachel from leaving, but she moved like a whirlwind—none of us knew what happened and t-then she had Pol in the air—choking him, and he couldn’t do anything to stop her…”
His gaze lifted to the frustrated Crocodile man, quivering arms shaking at his side. He’s afraid of Rachel … yet she leaves them relatively unharmed. Interesting.
The dog Beastkin gestured to the counter where two wads of Cuban currency rested. “Relica introduced her friend as her royal Legend, Queen Ranavalona the First—I think, and Rachel as the Myth of the Lunar Hare, and Vasishtha as the Legend of Arjuna … They paid a huge amount for the trouble and left…”
Having heard enough, Nemesis took one more deep breath and walked past the group, exiting the bar to follow the scent; the storm embraced him again, but this time, he took his time, long tail swaying behind him.
He made it several yards before a shiver ran through his body, yet he pressed on. All Legends and Myths … Vasishtha is the weakest of them, but I get the feeling he could still put up a fight … Rachel, on the other hand…
Nemesis stopped in the middle of the street as something overwhelming attacked his senses. Who … some beast I’ve never smelled before and this man … I can’t win.
Never since changing had he felt so small than the sudden spark of potent raw force that seemed to have only passed through this area several minutes ago, yet it was only in this area and with Rachel’s party.
Narrow vision rising to stare through the weeping heavens, he spotted a lone figure, a woman holding an umbrella against her shoulder while observing him—Rachel.
She stood out like the moon against the dark sky, sparkling pink, white, and orange hues that gave her shapely figure an almost mystical allure. One look at her large, slightly bowed ears told him she could likely hear everything in Havana, and she was as strong as him—possibly stronger—yet an unease he’d never felt twisted his gut.
He typically would have charged right in, but at this moment, he just sat in the heavy rain, returning the elegant beauty’s pensive stare. There was something magical about the way she looked, despite the unusual outfit that revealed much of her skin and the hooved boots she wore, emanating an unsettling flame.
Rachel’s hypnotic, eclipse-like irises were framed by pink four-leaf clovers, drawing him in and making him wonder what the woman was thinking; she was without a doubt a Mythickin but radiated a far more stunning aura than Mara.
A mental or hormone attack? No … I’ve trained to be heavily resistant to all of those … This is just natural elegance and beauty … poise … powerful, confident, yet reserved and controlled. She’s allowing me to size her up and determine the next move … masterful.
He hadn’t realized the saliva sticking in his mouth; swallowing the liquid, he rolled around his neck to loosen up his muscles. In the veil of rain pattering against the buildings and road, he momentarily lost himself in what he could only describe as a fateful meeting.
At first, his blood was hot, but after seeing the Lunar Hare, his flared emotions had settled; Nemesis took the first step forward, closing the distance between them while breathing in her scent on the moderate gusts.
Calm and serene, yet I can sense a pulsing thirst to do battle … There’s a duality in her—savage yet dignified—harmonious yet chaotic—the cold night yet solemn moon guiding the lost—she’s worth more than just another opponent … far more.
He came to a stop two meters from her, unsure exactly what to do next, which was new, so she took the first words, somehow sensing the unusual atmosphere he was in.
The lunar woman’s full pink lips turned into a small, pleasant smile as she spoke in a cultivated tone he hadn’t experienced; her voice was lovely and soft, knowing he could hear well with his acute ears.
“Hello, Nemesis. I’d hoped to meet you in a more, hmm … he-he, a more suitable environment. Although, consider me surprised; I thought you would immediately attack me once becoming aware of my existence, but it seems misfortune is still in my favor…”
She paused, and he caught every movement of her figure as she turned to the side, ears straightening a tad. “Mmh … Why don’t we walk and talk?”
Her eyes turned somewhat mischievous as they returned to him. “Unless you’d like to test out whatever you're sensing about me that clearly unsettles you—you needn’t restrict yourself—I won’t hold it against you.”
Nemesis took one breath, closing his eyes and searching the mixed emotions swirling inside his breast; after several seconds where only the rain met his ears, he slowly shook his head. “Perhaps once we’re finished, but for now … I’ll listen to what you have to say.”
“Wonderful,” Rachel smiled, gesturing for them to walk down the partially flooded streets; she didn’t seem disturbed in the least, which showed him just how much of an advantage her wide range of hearing was. “I sent the others ahead so we can have our privacy. Now, where to begin?”
Nemesis didn’t know exactly why this woman stilled his urge to test his strength against her—in fact, he did still want to—he was just more intrigued by the mysterious cadence she delivered. No one had captured his attention in this way, and the confusing part was that he knew it wasn’t magic—it was just her—he wanted to learn more about her.
* * *
The colossal window of the backyard came into view as Anthony reached the second-landing staircase; he slowed to a stop to peer past the magnified light, the rise and fall of the sea in his ears increased, and in a moment of confusion, he realized the sun wasn’t in view to cast its rays.
Four fingers in each pocket, his thumbs tightened against his jeans. None of this makes sense … Did I lose my memories … Amnesia? Is that why I’m back home … No, but that doesn’t explain why everything’s so bright … A concussion … maybe?
Blinking, he hissed out the air trapped in his lungs, catching sight of the advancing fog; still, there was an unusual tug against his chest to stay inside. On the other hand, there was that woman’s voice that had spoken to him inside his mind; it sounded crazy, but he couldn’t deny it.
He snorted, a half-smile lifting his lips as the unease sparked a degree of curiosity that helped push him forward. “Let’s see where this leads,” he mumbled.
Descending the stairs, Anthony turned the corner and proceeded through the hallway to the kitchen; it didn’t take long to see the double doors leading to the back. Again, the light was so bright that it made it difficult to peer beyond the glass.
A frown darkened his expression as an unseen current gradually flowed against every cell, attempting to slow his progress; typically, he’d find that a red flag and retreat, but now, at this moment, it felt like something was trying to keep him from answers.
Hand reaching out as he neared, Anthony struggled forward and grasped the metal; he winced as an invisible force dug its claws into his mouth and nose, trying to shove him back, but he wouldn’t be denied. “What … are you keeping me from?!” he growled, and the instant the handle turned, the pressure vanished.
Stumbling forward, he somersaulted before rising back to his feet to be met by a warm sun and welcoming, nostalgic breeze. Saliva thick, his eyes darted around the large field of statues, fruit trees, garden, and neatly trimmed grass; not a thing was out of place.
Chest heaving, Anthony took a few breaths to relax his thumping heart. It didn’t take long to discover there was something that changed; the roar of the ocean collapsing around him had strengthened. Smacking his lips, he tasted salt again.
Anthony cautiously moved onto the stone patio, rubbing his throat; the part of the ocean he could see from the slight rise and path leading to the cliff bowed up and down from the wind’s currents.
“Hello?” he called, finding it strange he hadn’t met a single person other than his younger self and uncle; on second thought, he’d seen a double of himself—a child version—and he hadn’t even lingered to ask questions.
Arms folding across his chest, he shifted to stare at the manor for a moment. Should I go in … And why is the ocean so loud? None of this is making any sense. Maybe I should…
His vision flew open, hands closing against his ears as a bell reverberated against his skull; it was exactly like the curfew signal to the boarding school he’d attended in his early teens.
When it passed, his spinning vision cleared to discover the backyard hedges; he’d fallen to the earth. When…
A shiver ran through his spine as a murmur carried into his mind, an invisible woman’s voice floating across the sea’s crashing waves. “Can you hear it? Voices fill the spires … I hear them again…”
Wincing as the bell returned, Anthony struggled to his feet; the mist rolling off the sea was practically right on top of him.
“Hello … Is someone there?” he called out, spinning in a circle and looking for the voice, but his knees buckled as a dark decay reached his soul and sunk its claws into his core; a dark cloud hung over his family manor, now rotted and decayed.
A pulse shook every fiber of his being while a heavy breath filmed over his damp frame—yet his skin and clothes weren’t wet—and maroon-tinted lightning flashed through the blackness overshadowing the heavens; the spark illuminated a mutating tar-like void as the clouds lowered to consume his childhood home.
The twisting mass of flaming electricity glinted, making perverted, shapeless horrors, yet his mind gave form to them in any case, overtaking his thoughts to sink unholy fangs into his eyes; a soft feminine voice pulled him out of its jaws.
“Can you hear it?”