The swamp—basked in the midday sun's oppressive heat, buzzed relentlessly with the song of cicadas clinging to sun-drenched cypress trees. A song that seemed as if it were some sort of chant that thickened the air. The scent of dirt, both wet and dry, wafted through the humid atmosphere, adding an earthy note to the swamp's symphony.
In the midst of this serenade, Noir Bordeaux stirred from his slumber. As he sat upright, the dusty wooden floorboards of the boat met the bandages on his feet. The boards whispered with each shift in pressure as if they'd give way at any moment.
Once a lively tourist attraction, the steamboat now sat in quiet nostalgia. Its timeworn walls creaked, and its faded wallpaper from livelier days barely clung to them as if a draft from an open door were all they needed to peel off. The musty scent inside was a blend of aged wood and dampness that hung in the air like a testament to the boat's journey through time. In the confined space, Noir was surrounded by echoes of a vibrant past, now hushed.
Beside him on the floor lay a small cloth sack, swollen and round, appearing to contain something in all its completeness. With its contents jostling within, he retrieved the sack, emptying it into his palm. However, all that spilled out were a few crumb-sized alligator scales as the sack collapsed, its former plumpness vanishing like a sigh.
Clasping his hands together above his mouth, Noir sat in deep contemplation. The once lively eyes of a little boy now appeared hollow, void of their former spirit. Their bright honey-brown tone had paled over the years due to the trials and tribulations weathered within the isolation of the swamp. His soft hands had grown rugged, and his fingernails had become chipped and black, filled with dirt. Unkempt brown hair which also had paled, framed his face, falling untamed around his features, adding to the rugged, wild aura that permeated his appearance.
UNDER THE SCORCHING GAZE OF THE SUMMER SUN, NOIR PERCHED IN WHAT RESEMBLED A patchy dirt yard atop a weathered tree stump, mere steps away from the battered steamboat that served as his refuge. His posture mirrored the one from his bed, a haunting stillness amidst the swamp's ambiance. His eyes were fixated on the nearby water, a subtle yet dangerous region. Despite being at his doorstep, it was simply one of many veins that connected to a much larger river. Stretching 50 miles in one direction and 87 in the other, the Mille Dan was the only river in the kingdom's territory.
The heat was high as always in Meteor Kingdom, even more so in the swamp, but Noir didn't mind, even while donning a cloak he'd found amongst the sparse luggage aboard the boat.
Emerging from across the water's murky shallows, three sets of alligator eyes glinted in the sun's reflection, their primal stare piercing through the humidity. The closest of the reptilian observers locked eyes with Noir, initiating an unspoken challenge—a contest of unwavering gazes that lasted until the alligator conceded with a leisurely blink. The air seemed to thicken as nature observed the silent exchange—a confrontation between two elements of the vast, untamed wilderness.
With that, Noir rose and approached a solitary tree nestled in a grassy area at the edge of his yard. Embedded deeply within its bark lay an axe whose wooden handle bore the marks of time. Its face was painted jet black with a silver blade spotted in rust. Retrieving the axe, Noir placed it within the aperture between his belt and pants. It served as a companion to his intent.
The mud squashed beneath his feet as he made his way to the water. Each step sank into the soft earth, leaving imprints that quickly filled with murky liquid. The sounds shifting from wet squelches to light splashes marked Noir's progression toward the seemingly motionless river. As the water level gradually rose, his movements transitioned into swishes, disturbing the stillness of the shallows. The algae-scattered water submerged him just below his knees.
Having ventured into the middle of the river, the set of eyes from earlier met Noir's once again, just feet apart from one another. Despite the thick, humid air brimming with tension, he remained composed. His axe's silver blade dully glistened in the sunlight, an accessory bolstering his confidence against the reptilian observers. Being in a place where the enemy held the advantage did little to rattle his demeanor. He felt nothing—not fear, nor caution, as he stood there staring. His opponent was backed by two sets of eyes, which turned to four, six, and then eight as they surfaced in the water surrounding him. Steadily, they enclosed him in a ring, prepared for their next meal.
No stranger to battling his food, Noir stood there, maintaining eye contact, completely aware of the increased numbers. It was no news to him that, where one gator prowled, a silent congregation lay in wait. Standing there, he gripped his axe as he let time slip by, waiting for the first move to be made.
Without warning, a scaly predator struck from behind, its jaws gaping for Noir's head. Swiftly and preemptively, Noir reacted. Drawing a deep breath, he pulled the axe from his hip, positioning his hand just below its head. Squatting low, he allowed the alligator to close in directly above him. Agilely, he wielded the axe, looping its handle over the gator's neck and securing the other end in his hand. With a mighty heave, Noir brought the weapon down, channeling every ounce of strength he had to snap the reptile's spine against the handle, rendering it motionless. Using the momentum, he tossed the lifeless creature over his shoulder.
Despite his unwavering resolve, the other alligators surged forth, their ridged backs propelling through the water at an alarming pace. As they leaped from the murky depths, Noir executed swift swings of his dull ax, aiming to evade and cut through their scaly hides. Yet, no matter how many he cut down, their relentless attacks showed no signs of abating.
Seizing an opportune moment, one alligator caught him off guard, clamping its jaws around his leg and wrenching him beneath the water's surface. As it began to roll and spin Noir, the other creatures joined in, tearing and gnashing at him in a ferocious frenzy. Struggling for breath, Noir fought desperately to free himself from the onslaught.
But despite the splashing, hissing, and bellowing, he heard a faint sound—the muffled sounds of coughing and gasping for air. As his last breath of air thrust itself from his body, sending bubbles to the surface, he let out a bellow of his own—not one of anger but of annoyance. Something felt familiar about the sound, but the reason why was lost to him. All he knew was that it made him uncomfortable.
Mustering all his strength, he tried to break free from the alligator holding his leg hostage, but there were just too many attacking him at once. As his oxygen ran out, his vision darkened, his fist clenched tight in an attempt to hold out. His body was lost beneath the red water as the frenzy of alligators climbed over one another to get a bite out of his corpse.
As the daylight dimmed into the late evening, Noir's naked body slowly bobbed back and forth as it teased the land before eventually washing ashore. The alligators had ripped his clothes to shreds and left him with nothing but the necklace around his neck. His skin had begun to pale, and his body was still. Not even the subtle expansion of his torso could be seen from oxygen circulating through his lungs.
But, after a few moments, a light began to glow beneath him. His body twitched twice before he began aggressively coughing up water and filling his lungs with air. As if the event hadn't even happened, he stood to his feet, and began walking. He held a dead alligator in one of his hands, and his facial expression remained just as blank as when he entered the water. This wasn't Noir's first time dying, and he figured it wouldn't be his last.
That evening, he descaled the alligator and refilled his pouch with the gathered pieces. With that done, he sank his teeth into the raw alligator meat, savoring the day's hard-earned catch. If he had access to refrigeration, this bounty would have fed him for a long time. However, in the unforgiving swamp of Mille Dan, such luxuries were unheard of. It was a land untouched by human convenience, where nature reigned supreme. By morning, the remains of the slain alligators would vanish, consumed or carried away by other predators eager to satiate their own hunger.
LATER THAT NIGHT, AS THE MOON CAST A SILVERY GLOW OVER THE SWAMP, NOIR ONCE again found solace in the comfort of his rough-shapen mattresses aboard the worn steamboat. His body, weary from the day's unforgiving trials, felt as if it were thanking him for resting. Despite the enclosure surrounding him, the persistent ambiance of the swamp seeped through the boat's frail walls, a familiar lullaby that soothed him to sleep.
Within the realm of slumber, where the boundary between reality and dreams blurred, Noir found himself among the shrouded darkness that was his subconscious. A gentle voice, distant yet beckoning, resonated through the dark void. At first, its soft cadence was a faint echo stretching through his mind—a mere murmur even in the silence. But with each passing moment, it drew closer, weaving through his subconscious and gently tugging at the threads of his awareness.
"Noir," the voice whispered in a melodic tone.
Noir's eyes slowly opened within the dream, revealing a glimmer of recognition.
"Noir? Ah, there you are, my beautiful boy," the warm voice caressed his senses, imbuing itself with familiarity and affection.
Noir's curiosity awakened, prompting him to engage with the ethereal presence that seemed to be addressing him directly.
"N-Noir," he sounded out the name. "Am I, Noir?" he asked slowly, being careful in his pronunciation. "Do you know who I am?" he wondered aloud, as if he were too tired to wrap his head around what was going on.
Although the enigmatic woman's eyes were shrouded in mist, her body bore scars that could turn even the most iron of stomachs. As she floated closer to Noir, her ethereal essence cast a soft glow against the darkness. How could something so difficult to look at be so paradoxically beautiful?
"I do," she answered, her voice filled with wisdom. "I've pleaded with the council for quite some time for this moment as well as another. For now, I've come to warn you."
"Warn me? About what?"
"It's time to wake up," she murmured, floating closer still, her presence close enough to warm Noir with its glow. Each word she spoke held a promise of guidance, quickening his heart.
"Listen closely, Noir. Tonight, you must leave this place and never return," she advised. "The clock is ticking. You may think you're indestructible, but we are all made beautiful in due time. And if that time were to be upon you in the coming days, it would be far too soon."
She smiled, extending her gentle yet battered hand toward his face. Noir's visage maintained its blank expression as her hand inched closer. His heart pounded in his chest, only to be settled once her delicate touch fell short of his cheek. Her smile faded before she spoke her final words to him. Time was against them both.
"The past as you know it—this boat and this swamp—ends here, and the future begins now. There is no need to run or hide from it because it will come regardless. You can either welcome it as a conqueror, and face it head-on, or live in fear. It will still come for you, as it has come for us all."
"Leave? Where else is there?"
Before his sentence could settle in the air, she cut in, her interruption swift and final.
"My time is up for now." The woman's voice trailed off into an echo that faded into nothingness.
Wait, he thought to say, but hesitated.
If anything, living in the swamp alone for a decade stomped out every bit of emotion he had, leaving him an extrospective canvas unable to paint its woes. All he knew was killing, eating, and surviving. So what was it that made his heart quicken?
The dream dissipated like vanishing fog despite his confusion, and reality forcefully intruded upon the scene. Noir found himself awakening upright in his bed, the moonlight casting a pale glow upon him like a spotlight.
A few thoughts danced around his mind, still unsure what to make of the dream. Thoughts like who the lady was, what she warned him about, and most importantly, the name, Noir. Did the name truly belong to him? He'd long since given up on the idea that he existed to anyone before the boat. If he did, then surely he would've been found by now.
But just like dreams tend to do, the questions, along with the woman's appearance, vanished as a flicker of light caught his attention through the window. In the distance, beams of light pierced through dense foliage. With his curiosity piqued, he fled his room to get a better look from the top of the boat.
THE STILLNESS OF THE NIGHT WAS SHATTERED AS TWO FIGURES EMERGED FROM the darkness, their lanterns squeaking and flames dancing as they walked. These were no ordinary individuals; they were Dread Hunters—notorious beings who prowled the shadows, seeking treasures and victims to sell on the black market, whether it be for bounty or slavery. As long as it paid well, it was of no moral dilemma to them.
But tonight, these two hunters faced their most peculiar assignment yet. The job had come directly from the top brass of the black market, known only as The Marketeer—a name respected by all Dread Hunters. Their mission tonight was to capture a demon, a task that stretched the boundaries of their grim expertise.
Theo, the more talkative of the pair, attempted to go over the plan once more. But his words were left hanging in the air, ignored by his older brother, Neil, whose vacant gaze hinted at a mind lost to some distant realm. Frustration crept into Theo's voice as he futilely attempted to gain Neil's attention.
"Are you listening to me, Neil? I'm not sure what exactly we're after, but we can't afford any mistakes. The Marketeer said this was a high-priority job," Theo reinforced, his rugged country drawl making itself known.
Neil, seemingly oblivious to Theo's words, abruptly silenced him with a firm grip, covering his mouth. His intense look pierced his younger brother Theo's eyes as he warned him about speaking too loudly.
"Keep it down, or it'll hear us, Theo."
Perched on the highest deck of the three-story boat, Noir observed the glow of the Dread Hunters' lanterns from a distance. Silent and still, he waited patiently to see what move they would make.
Finally heeding Neil's warning, Theo nodded in agreement. Momentarily subduing his exasperation, he muttered. "Right, let's just get this over with so we can get paid."
Pulling out a worn, folded map with pictures roughly sketched onto it, Theo continued on. "So we started here," he indicated, pointing to the map where he had written the word start, "and now we're here." His finger traced the river from top to bottom, where they were now, which was marked with a childlike drawing of a ship wreckage.
As the two peeked through the brush at the boat, Neil stated the obvious. "That doesn't look like the drawing on the map. Are you sure you got this map from The Marketeer?"
"Yes, I'm sure. He handed it to me himself," Theo replied, annoyed. "His specialty is information. He's not an artist."
With a sharp fold, he tucked the map back into his pocket. "Let's check over our gear again," he suggested. "Whoever or whatever we're here to capture probably won't go down easy."