Another of Nero's night terrors was interrupted. As his mind replayed the time he became a beach lover after escaping Uncle, he once again was tired.
He outside, in the rain, behind a dumpster in a bleak alleyway wearing nothing but flip flops, a pair of pants, and sunglasses. They did nothing to protect him from the sudden downpour.
While Nero planned over where he should try and sleep tonight, the rain stopped.
Or rather, it froze in place.
The sounds of the street disappeared, the world became grayer and he went on high alert. He pulled out a pocket knife from the back pocket of his pants and abruptly stood up.
A man approached him, the only other part of the nightmare not frozen in time.
The man in the tye-dye shirt held up his hands in a defensive pose, slowly backing up, bumping into the frozen in place water drops. They would echo in the void, making the same sound as wind chimes, bumping into each other, and then crashing into the ground, their sound louder in the silence.
“I have been trying to talk to you!”
“About what!? You’re a pervert, a-”
“Your mother sent me,” the man said.
Nero walked through the windchimes of rain and made the most offensive gesture in his culture, taking the back of his hand and putting it up on his own left cheek, and then rubbing it under his chin, threatening that he would slit his throat.
The man bristled at the act, his eyes flickered black, offended that he had come so far and done so much to be treated rudely, risking his life for a crazy man.
“You don’t have to be like that,” the man said.
“Huh. So you are from the Empire,” Nero snickered.
He did it again, this time slower, and the man grunted in disapproval.
“My name is Tamuz, and I can go into dreams,” he said. “I have been trying to use my ability in conjunction with your mothers to warn you of your death.”
Nero went stiff, the son of Mint was before him, weak in his dreams, forced to witness her own murder. The blurry images sent made sense, it was not his memory, his brain couldn’t fill in the blanks of things he hadn’t experienced nor seen.
“Shut your mouth, born liar, ” Nero spat. “I see the sunspots on your arm, with your sleeves short, the same mark all of you have. Why should I believe you?”
“We both know the truth. Don’t lie to my face,” Tamuz replied. “You and your family are illegitimate, but I would rather have Our Lady returned to her place than continue to let Leofric ruin everything my people have built.”
“You need to leave, or else. ”
The sides of the background burned, from the edges, fire incinerating a photograph, and Tamuz was not deterred, his threats were useless against him. Tamuz wasn’t stuck in there with Nero, Nero was stuck in there with him.
“She has tried to send her messages of the future, but you never listen,” Tamuz said. “It is so difficult for her to reflect these messages to you, even harder for me to show images I have not seen.”
Nero continued to burn everything away, circling him, and Tamuz couldn’t understand how someone would deny the truth in front of them, so stubborn, and he was disappointed. He hoped it would be a wonderful reunion of him and his mother, but clearly, Nero wasn’t interested.
“My mother would never leave me here! She knows what will happen! She would never let people hurt me, knowing the future!”
“....”
“She would never do that to me! She would never, she is dead, and you’re a horrible person.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
Everything was gone, and now Nero was setting his own mind ablaze to push Tamuz out. He held his head, screaming, everything going red, telling him to get out.
“You’re a liar,” Nero screamed.
“A liar.”
“ Disgusting.”
Nero awoke with a fright. He was in a dark room, hands tied behind his back, feet submerged in a large pail, filled to the brim with water, and plugged-in toasters nearby. He screamed for help, his mouth gagged with filthy, cut-up sheets.
Fenton had been awake for a long time and had accepted his fate, saying nothing as Nero struggled, getting water all over the bloody floor.
Nero immediately tried to set the ropes on fire, but he could not. He tried calling out for Unas, but he could not hear him, he was too far. Fenton tried to stay calm and assess the situation, but there wasn’t any item within reach he could use to get free.
Blood streaked the ground around them, at various stages, fresh, caked, or moldy on the floor and walls.
Around their ankles were grounders, making any usage of their abilities void. Whoever had gotten them knew what they were doing, and it wouldn’t be their last time either. Nero and Fenton heard laughing in the distance and struggled to break free, but all they did was get water all over the floor, mixing in with the dirt and blood on the grey cement floor.
A bright light shone from an opened door, and three men walked into the room. One of them was in charge, from the way he walked, and the cold, apathetic look on his face. If it weren’t for the fact that they were bound and gagged, one would think he was waiting in line at the grocery store.
He wore a black business suit, with a red tie, and a golden watch. His seaweed green hair was parted neatly as if he were on his way to a business meeting. The smell of cigarettes and cologne on him was strong. His striped white and blue skin seemed to bristle, and shift upon the site of his captives.
Araka was another Kina, but unlike most he was carnivorous, and he was hungry.
Strangely, he held a plastic fishbowl with a singular goldfish inside.
“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you,” he said.
Nero was wondering if he walked into a trap set by Fenton when they met at the bar, but didn’t understand why he was tied up as well. With care, the fish-man’s cronies removed the gags from their mouths.
“People will be looking for me,” Nero shouted.
“People already are,” he replied. “I’m considering turning you in for the reward money instead of killing you.”
“Just let us go,” Fenton pleaded. “We were just drunk.”
“When I get drunk I sleep with pretty women, and buy too much food," he replied. “This one destroyed weeks' worth of my shipment. If I were to let him go, then anyone would take what’s mine ."
Fenton noticed that the fish-man was speaking, but his lips weren’t moving.
“How are you talking without moving your lips,” Fenton asked.
“I am moving my lips! You are rude,” he replied.
The goldfish swam erratically in his small bowl, and then Fenton sighed.
“Yeah. Of course, you’re in charge,” he groaned. “ This is how this bullshit works. ”
“I am in charge,” the goldfish, Mr. Carassius Auratus said. “Know your place!”
Even though Nero was about to be killed, he respected Crassius’s business methods, agreeing that he too would have done the same. It was fair after all. Nero wouldn’t let anyone take what was his, either.
“I will take you to somewhere more comfortable," said Crassius. “You two, untie him and take him up to the suite." The two men freed Fenton, and he got up from the chair, feeling uneasy.
Araka, Crassius’s personal bodyguard, helped him to stand.
“Be careful. We gave you some drugs while you were knocked out."
“I’m not leaving him here," said Fenton. “I’m responsible. I brought him to the bay without thinking. This-”
Araka smacked Fenton so hard, he fell to the ground. His vision was blurred, and his head hit the ground with a solid thwock. Fenton struggled to sit up, and he felt blood on the side of his face.
“Why must you test me like this? Why is this Ionadian so important to you,” Crassius asked.
Fenton tried to talk but he couldn’t. Everything felt jumbled, his tongue somehow didn’t fit in his mouth anymore.
“Mah jub to hep,” he mumbled. “Halp.”
Crassius began to laugh, and his cronies joined in with him. “You’re willing to die for this scrawny thing," he asked.
“It's my… it's my jub...prutect those who can’t ..."
Suddenly, Araka grabbed Fenton’s hand and saw the ring. The Ring of Fealty. . He was disappointed, different from his taunting from earlier.
“Oh no," said Crassius “ You’re one of those."
“We can’t let him leave here alive,” said Araka. “I just can’t. It would send the wrong message.”
“I don’t see how you think that Ionadian needs protection," said Crassius. “He had that filthy, rusty sword on him. I don’t know how he even held it, it’s hot to the touch."
“Everyone needs protection from people like you,” Fenton groaned. “People like you just take and take.”
Araka’s eyes glowed a deep dark red and he leered at Fenton.
“I’m going to kill him first, and then I’m going to kill you. Don’t worry, I promise to make your’s quick, and his slow,” the fish-man replied.
Fenton began to breathe hard and raspy, the drugs taking effect. He closed his eyes, his breathing deep and shallow, and Nero felt a bit of guilt that someone was willing to protect him, as most of the authorities in town would have left him to die.
Araka rubbed his nose, he didn’t like being down in the basement too long. It hadn’t been cleaned in quite a bit, and the smell was starting to unsettle him. He ignored Fenton and walked over to Nero.
Nero looked Crassius straight in the eyes, glaring unwavering. He was prepared for whatever they would do to him.
“Let him go, Ass-i-us.”
The cronies all laughed, Araka smiled, and Crassius’s bowl filled with many bubbles as he screamed various racial epithets.
“Stop calling me that,” Crassius screamed.
“Stop kidnapping me like every other month,” Nero groaned.
“You came into my part of town this time!”
Nero shrugged and nodded, rolled his eyes, and then yelled at the top of his lungs, repeatedly, until Araka smacked him in the arm, his rough, jagged, skin, leaving scars.
"Crassius can’t get no ass", was what Nero repeated over and over.
“Are you unwell,” Crassius asked.
“Yeah, pretty sure.”
The bluntness of the answer was worse than if he denied it entirely.
Araka silently handed Crassius’s bowl to another henchman. Before Nero could make another sexual joke, he began to choke him. The chair began to shake as Nero tried to break free, but there was nothing he could do.
Suddenly Araka stopped, his hands still around Nero’s neck, eyes fluttering, gasping like a fish out of water. The moment he caught his breath, Araka began again, reminding himself to squeeze hard, but not too hard.
He couldn’t die until Crassius had his two prizes.
Feardorcha and the government bounty on Nero’s head.
Araka sighed, opening his mouth, and Nero could see his many rows of teeth drool dripping, it was late at night, he wanted a midnight snack. Araka’s face became flushed, he was excited, his favorite part was about to happen.
The part when he could see their aura change color, from the intense fear of death approaching. It changed to a color that only happened when they knew the end was near. It was beautiful, and it sparkled and let out a wonderful afterglow.
It was the best color ever, and he could only see it when he killed someone. The color was much more intense as he prolonged the death, a color invisible to the naked eye, but his ability let him see it, the cruel irony that Fenton might die at the hands of someone with the same ability as him, and in another world, they might get along quite fine.
Araka let go, and Nero coughed, his fun complete for the hour, and it was time to notify his guardian that he needed to come quickly
Araka’s eyes glowed a deep red, and suddenly, Nero’s chair began to spin.
It spun, and spun, and spun until it stopped. Then it spun again in the opposite direction. When it finally stopped, he threw up all over his clothes and the vomit spilled down his legs.
Nero coughed up whatever contents were left in his stomach. He felt slightly better from whatever they had put in his system.
“Let him go," said Nero. “Let him go and I’ll tell you anything you want. I’ll even give you a night to remember.”
Araka showed a look of genuine disgust.
“Don’t be like that," replied Nero. “Everyone knows you bigots are deep in denial."
“No, you’re just disgusting. Even if you had the right parts, why would I fuck a woman covered in vomit.”
Nero nodded and grunted in approval, still upset that he had person all over his good shirt.
“And what if I kill him," replied Araka. “What then?”
“If you kill him, and then kill me, you’re going to have two dead bodies, zero information," replied Nero.
The promise of tricking Alto Feardocha, killing him, gaining more territory, and the government’s bounty was too tantalizing to pass up.
Araka was going to kill him anyway and didn’t see a difference if Nero breathed for a few more days.
“Throw out the other one,” Crassius said. “He’s useless.”
The goon that looked the most human, Robbie, took a blindfold out of his pocket and covered Fenton’s eyes. It was one of many he kept on him for work. The other, Hino, with an aquatic body and gelatinous eyes, gave the bowl housing Crassius back to Araka.
Robbie and Hino dragged Fenton out of the room, one carrying him by the arms, the other by his legs.
“No," said Fenton weakly. “Don’t…” Robbie smacked Fenton on his head again, and he passed out. They took him out of the same door they arrived in.
Araka took the pail of water Nero was placed in and dumped it over Nero’s head. The vomit slid off his body as he shivered in the cold room.
“Finally the stench of a pale face is gone," he shouted.
Nero glared at him and stared right into his eyes. He didn’t want Fenton to go through what Godiva did to him.
He could only understand others that hurt the same way he did.
“Stop looking at me you freak," barked Araka. “I already told you I don’t want you." Nero’s gaze never wavered, and Araka didn’t like it.
“Teach him a lesson, Araka. Cut off his hair,” Crassius commanded.
Araka grabbed Nero by the hair, and he screamed the harder he pulled. “Let’s send Feardorcha a gift, shall we?”
Using his pocket knife, Araka cut off large chunks of Nero’s hair. He cut, and cut, and cut until his nape was exposed. “An Enemy tattoo," observed Araka. “So you’re a fag, and a traitor. Amazing."
Araka cut off one final piece and stuck it in his pocket.
Nero tried not to cry. He hated people looking at his neck. It made him feel naked, and Araka noticed, making him scoff.
“Stop trying to put on a brave face, he’s already gone,” Crassius said.
“I don’t put on airs, I am brave !”
“That's what they all say," said Araka. “I’ve killed enough men to know fear when I see it. It’s such a beautiful color."
Araka and Crassius promptly turned and left Nero sitting in the chair, in the dark, before he could say anything back. The conversation began to bore Crassius and Araka was worried he got vomit on his shoes. Araka was disappointed that someone would risk their life for Ionadian imperialists.
They were all the same, brutal colonizers, filthy racists. They had to be killed before they could do it first, as they had done to their ancestors, time and time again.
