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Virgil 'Little Night' Boone

The cold metal of the chains presses against my wrists as I sit among the other men in this smokey cell. Trails of cigar clouds surround me as I try to uncover my situation. Fear gnaws at my insides, but I try to hold it together, to be strong like the others around me. They may appear harsh and formidable, but we are all restrained, helpless against whoever took us. I am in the same danger as them. Surely they can't take advantage.

The last thing I remember was running from the nearby baker, holding bread in my arms for Vernon and a small milk bottle in my father's too-big boot for the other three. Then, nothing. My memory stops abruptly in the street. I know I was caught, but I don't know how.

Across from me, the man in the chair exhales a cloud of smoke from his cigar, his face hidden in shadows. The lights in the room come from soft gas lamps, obscuring the man's face alongside the smoke. It's all suffocating, and the silence is deafening, broken only by the occasional creaking of the wooden floorboards beneath our feet. My breath is light, held into my chest carefully, but those around me are rough and heavy, as if full of anger or panic.

Suddenly, a man from our group dares to speak, stepping up with a raised hand, perhaps to challenge our captor, but a deafening blast rings out before a word escapes his lips. The man's head explodes only two people over from me, covering me in blood and brains. No one has the gall to speak again, leaving behind a chilling silence as the smoke from the revolver mingles with that of the cigar.

The realization hits me hard, and my heart races in my chest. I can't move my eyes from the blood, but I can't wipe it off. It'll be too loud. I don't want to die, too. They need me. Panic wells up inside me, but I force myself to remain still. I have to. Push it down, Virgil. Push it all down into the darkness. Panic later.

I recall my father's words, echoing in my mind like a mantra from when I was very young.

"A man takes care of family without flinching. If I am to be scared, I do it while sleeping. One day, you'll have to take care of this family. Life is short. Mine will be no different."

The responsibility weighs heavily on my shoulders, partially fighting off the blood dripping down my arms and fingers. But even as I slowly calm my breathing, I am acutely aware of the flowing liquid. It's impossible not to be as the clouds of smoke waft through the room, entering our faces and smothering us.

As the silence stretches on, the man with the cigar finally rises from his seat, the dim light flickering across his face with the top part covered by white fog. It's impossible to see who he is, but a skull is tattoed on his neck, denoting some kind of affiliation. I don't know who it goes to, though. Some sort of Hunter? Oh no... what is this?

He looks at each of us in turn, the light of his eyes somehow piercing through the smoke. My heart thuds loudly in my ears, and I can't help but feel like a trapped animal, desperate for a way out. But like an animal in front of its greatest predator, I can do nothing but wait for my end.

The man finally speaks, his voice low, gruff, and without an ounce of negotiation. His gun waves in front of each man, one by one, as he enunciates his words until landing on me, the person on the furthest end.

"You have all been given an opportunity to escape the fate you have been dealt. Most of you are thugs, thieves, and minor Outlaws, but a glorious benefactor has decided to put you to a higher purpose. As long as you can survive the next day, you are no longer a wretch but instead a soldier. And as a soldier, you will become greater. More powerful. Money will flow like water as long as you complete the missions given to you. Though... it will not be easy. Only one of you will leave today. The rest will meet the Pale Lady. And I have my bet on which will be which."

As the man finishes speaking, I lock eyes with him, and an unspoken understanding enters my mind. He thinks I'll win? What? Why? I'm the youngest here by at least three or four years and the shortest by a foot. Nevertheless, the man leans in and whispers into my ear.

"The Tree found you intriguing. He hopes you can live up to his expectations. But there are no handouts. If you die, you die."

The words shake my brain, giving me some form of lucidity as the man leans back and waves an arm. The scene continues as if clouded by a dream while my mind stutters to start. A half dozen masked servants enter the room, unshackling us as we're led through a long, dusty hallway deep underground. I can't focus as I walk. All I do is stumble at the back of the group, pushed forward by a servant with a dagger to my back.

A single word, one I've long forgotten, wakes me from the stupor of this illusory realm made real in the Otherworld.

The Tree?

Eli was the one who got me kidnapped and put into the Damned training? How? Why? What? I forgot this?

I don't understand.

Well... maybe. Is that why I was let out? Am I part of some master plan of his? Am I a Root?

No... I can't be. They can't think for themselves. They are merely vessels for his sight and hands.

The only thing I can grasp is that I forgot this little detail. These beings must have extracted it from some profound depth. What comes next in this memory made me forget and block out all that came before. I completely forgot Swashbuckler was the one who introduced me.

I hated doing it when it was my turn. At least I didn't have any kids to watch die, though. Which was odd. There were few other kids now that I think about it, and they were all older than me. I take a deep breath, focusing on the now instead of the past.

Now that I'm conscious, I step through this memory. I immediately reconnect my Ether with the real world, but after a second of trying, I find no connection to be had. Am I lost, unable to return? No. Something must be blocking me. A being must have found me—something deep in this realm, known only to me, unfathomable creatures, and the Bakwa.

I quickly step through into a familiar cave as each person is led away by a different servant. Faint glimmers of moonlight filter through the cracks in the ceiling as the vast expanse showcases itself to my eyes, casting eerie shadows on the rocky walls. I clutch the small dagger given to me tightly in my hand.

It's all so familiar. I think I know what I have to do.

I have to repeat it all. All the killing.

Inadvertently, I shudder, the memory of this night long pushed into that depth of darkness I keep inside myself.

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The other prisoners stand at a distance, hidden by some curve or darkness in the cave away from sight. We've all been thrown into this grim contest, forced to fight for our lives until only one remains. My captors only want those with the drive to kill among them. And... apparently, they thought I, a young thief stealing bread and milk, had it in me.

I glance around shortly but know where I must go. I know nowhere else, after all. And it is the same I did that night, long, long ago.

The shadows are my refuge as I creep around the edges of the cave. I attempt to rotate Ether for Shaded and Mask, but nothing happens. It seems I'm crippled here. So, I return to my roots, only far more experienced. Gliding along the sides in the dark, I stay hidden.

I observe as the combats unfold, observing the mistakes and tactics of the others, of which there are many, biding my time until the perfect moment to strike. I wait for weakness to show itself, for exhaustion to take its toll on the other prisoners. And when the opportunity presents itself, I pounce, swift and silent like a hunting panther. My dagger finds its mark with deadly precision, and I withdraw before anyone can react.

I did this back then, too, but I nearly died after just one kill. The second almost broke my mind. The third... the third I did to survive in the end. But on this night, I don't have the time. Who knows how time passes in this realm?

Hastily, I strike, moving from prey to prey with an additional dagger I stole from my first kill. Too many sights have crossed these pupils for me to waver at a single murder. I have not the purity of many I know. In fact... I am confident none have done worse things than I have.

They all fall before me from one to two to ten to twenty. My muscles scream in pain and terror for my efforts, my whole body trembling. I ignore it all. And once all my opponents die, Swashbuckler reappears, the clacking of his boots in the cave evident to my heavy breath. He presents a ten-dollar bill to me from his high posture, as if looking down on me. Back then, I took it happily.

"Amazing. I knew you would do it. Here, payment. Next week, there shall be another challenge. Feed yourself. Get a weapon. On Monday, you can have a partner. Two will make it out that time, Little Night."

He told me to eat, to replenish myself, to heal.

I did not. All ten of those dollars went to Vernon, Victor, Nora, and Aron. I was stabbed, bleeding, and severely hurt. But... I lived. And when I arrived that following Monday, still bleeding, I found my partner, Dennis.

He was clumsy, stupid, and slow. Yet he was like me, young, weak, and poor after being expelled from his family. He was only three years older than me. Together we fought, together we bled, and together we lived. I hope he's doing fine. Not that I have much hope, though. He wanted to get back at the Harveys.

No one gets the Harveys.

And so, as Swashbuckler, his real name unknown to me even now, holds the dollar out, I strike, stabbing his neck and heart simultaneously as I tackle him to the ground. He quickly dies, unlike how the real one would, dissipating into shimmering bolts of Darklight. Terrified of being infested, I leap backward as a ghostly figure, covered in tentacles and fur, materializes beside me. Some remnants of the Bakwa show, like the bulging eyes and limbs with bizarre and unorthodox lengths, but all of it hastens my heart.

"Purrrrrre you arrrrre. Such purrrrrre darrrrrrk. Stay. Stay forrrrreverrrrrr. Eterrrrrrrrrnal life. All power. Joy."

Its voice crackles and rolls on its 'r's as it speaks, staring intently at me. What being is this? I've never heard of anything like this before. Where does Flicker truly take me?

"Void. The space between space. The time beyond time. Life beyond life. The soul between souls."

I receive an answer to a question I don't ask. It's cryptic, confusing, and unfathomable, but it is an explanation.

"Who are you?"

But I don't receive an answer to the question I do ask.

"I will be watching. Join us. Too few. I will be waiting."

Then, without another word, it fades away into nothingness as my vision begins to crackle and break, returning me to the real world.

Several seconds have passed since I left, and I reappear beside Wyatt, who now has his lungs once more. My leg still thrums in incredible pain, but I wipe away the encounter from the 'Void' and strike at Sequester as he doesn't expect me.

Nightwhips lash out and form into a Silhouette, turning the fight into a one versus three as the Bloody Palm rages against Sequester. Yet, once I return, I notice a light materialize in Wyatt's eye, unobscured by the mask.

He slides back, letting the wind push him as he shouts to me.

"Wolf-fight!"

Sequester's head twists oddly at the combination of two words, but I nod. He refers to our defunct technique of fighting Tomas. In Bent, we practiced often, coming up with ways to defeat even Marshall's most outstanding soldier.

Wyatt kills. I restrain. The wounds licking Sequester's armor alongside his evident exhaustion give me some hope with how energetic Wyatt seems. Especially as that mask breaks off, reforming his left hand with a shimmering bolt. Not to mention the waiting Abraham. We can do this.

But as the bolt forms, he runs his other hand over the Blooming Spider Lily, not quite touching it but drawing my attention.

Got it.

One shot.

He will likely sacrifice an awful wound to get the shot off, as he'll heal afterward. But I need to set him up first.

Okay... okay. One last run.

Our understanding passes in less than a second before Sequester charges Wyatt. Gales push the back of the armored Nahullo as he speeds for the young man, and I follow, unwilling to Flicker anymore. That being... it seemed neutrally curious? Regardless, I don't want to meet it again.

I rush forward, using additional Nightwhips and Shaded to supplement and augment my busted leg as my Silhouette dashes ahead of me. Wyatt quickly clashes with Sequester, blocking a swing as a chunk of Earl's prosthetic breaks off. Yet, in exchange, he aims his Ballista under his broken arm.

My Silhouette wraps around Sequester as he moves to dodge the Ballista, and while it can't stop him entirely, it holds him enough for the attack to scrape him, breaking open a large portion of armor on the side of his helmet. Just enough for the Blooming Spider Lily.

I watch as the Silhouette is broken with a raging gale, and I conjure another as my vision crackles, a foggy mist covering all. It did do something to me! Fuck! Shaking my head, I try to break out of it, only to realize I'm right beside Sequester, precisely where the mist in my eye was.

Pivoting onto my good leg, I barely dodge a half-hearted swing as Sequester focuses on Wyatt, supremely pissed by how hard the two of us are to kill. A half-smile pulls itself onto my face as Nightwhips grow into a Silhouette.

"Why won't you two die!? JUST DIE! You're like a damned cockroach! C'mere, ROACH!"

Mist appears in my vision again uncontrollably, but I try to prepare for it. Wyatt is readying his gun, and I need to give him a chance to use it without it being evaded. So, I let all my Nightwhips grow out, pushing my very limits as several lick out of my Silhouette to help Wyatt.

Then, as the fog consumes, I reappear at the location it was, on the ceiling. And like my title, I fall, dispersing my wrath with a volley of restraining dark whips. They lash out, wrapping around Sequester's limbs as my shadowed figure joins, grabbing onto him as well.

The moment I have him held, I shout for Wyatt before Sequester breaks out.

"NOW!"

Wyatt doesn't wait a moment. Moving with such speed, he almost teleports and reaches the barrel of the Blooming Spider Lily for Sequester's cheek from the side. The Nahullo bursts out with a roar of effort, and my body screams in pain as he tears my muscles apart. Yet, the moment before I'm forced aside, the pain lessens, a choked gasp from a nearby half-Nahullo. With the opportunity provided, Wyatt squeezes the trigger while the Nahullo rages, crashing the Colt's barrel into the opening of his armor.

The Lily fires. Instantly, Sequester slumps and weakens. His whole form languishes as he falls to one knee. I quickly slide off him as Wyatt steps back, exhaling his breath and similarly falling.

"Fucking hell, Virgil. He almost got us."

Nodding, I raise my hand and push Ether to the tip of my finger as Sequester lifts his head with a growl. I aim Illuminate for the gap in his visor as I gradually build up the verve. It seems not impossible to do underground, only far more demanding than at night. Earlier, I reached for it with no response, though. Perhaps it is because it was noon? I'll have to test that out another time.

The Nahullo isn't dead yet. The tough bastard pushes his hands on the hard steel as he shambles up with deep, wrenching gasps. But before Sequester can do anything else, a beam of light, one so blinding it fills the whole hallway with radiance, enters his visor, and exits the back of his head.

"Yeah. Not quite, though."

The bastard quickly falls, slamming onto his back as his armor reverberates through the enclosed space. Furthermore, a moment after he dies, his armor melts and turns to liquid as it falls to the ground, joining the metallic floor.

Once he's dead, confirmed dead, my leg finally gives out, and I slide down the bloody wall to land opposite Wyatt.

"Thanks."

The young man speaks aloud, though his words are curious. His eyes stare at the unmoving corpse as he stays quiet after the one word.

"Thanks about what?"

Wyatt shakes his head, tapping his ruined prosthetic against the floor as his wounds heal to the visible eye. I sure wish I was like that. I only heal while sleeping, and while it's far faster than usual, this leg will take at least half a week with all the breaks in it.

"Nothing. I was talking to the Bloody Palm. It's... it's growing more sentient. Not quite intelligent, but close."

I can't help but bite my lip at the thought. The damn artifact is dangerous enough without a mind. With one? I loathe to imagine its deadliness. Sighing, I retrieve a box of matches from my pocket, opening it to feel the contents. The motions calm my racing heart as we wait for the others to arrive.

"You smoke?"

Wyatt asks me another question, but I shake my head.

"Vernon did. Sometimes. I just fiddle with the things."

He nods approvingly, then asks another question like usual. Though, unlike the standard ones, this one is beyond stupid.

"Should... should I give the Palm another Sigil?"

Instantly, I shake my head, but as I do so, I gradually stop. It's... no longer what it once was. In Bent, they formed a connection. And here... he came back so smoothly during a fight. It seemed like he was simply given back control, not fighting for it.

Not to mention the power. I could only hold back Sequester by constantly turning ethereal and impossible to hit. He, however, as opposed to the rest of us, actually fought him one-on-one for a while there.

And that mask... gave me chills just seeing it. But the increase in power was pronounced. He moved five times faster and with twice the strength. If he was a 6th Sigil, with more Ether and a few more skills on his belt...

He just might have been able to win.

"Maybe. But... only if you trust it. Don't do anything you aren't absolutely sure of."

Wyatt nods his head back and forth, lightly tapping the back of it against the wall while I lightly rub my matches.

Another fight. Another day.

Slowly darkness encroaches over my vision as fog appears, drowning out Wyatt's voice. Tiredness sets in as I battle it and fail. The thing in the Void wants to see me.

And I can't say no.