Ezeikel's eyes, as distant as they were, scanned their distasteful surroundings. He spotted a pile of dirty clothes sprawled across the floor in one section, a faint pile of rotting flesh and a single narrow jug of bioluminescent liquid placed in another. He saw the engravings he usually drew on the walls as a kid, as well as some of the items he used to enjoy playing with in the past. Though they were not exactly toys, back then, they might as well have been, filling him with mirthful bliss, sheltering him from the horrors that plagued the world they live in.
Then, his gaze moved back to the man seated in front of him, his eyes not straying from his meal, as they usually would.
'Hard to believe all of that really happened... It's insane,' he thought, recounting the events that took place after the Rumbling begun—the owner of the tailor shop rushing in, drenched in sweat, ordering them to flee for their lives, him and his father running away from Darion, and the part when Raphael appeared to save them from being executed.
Everything happened within a criminally stout span of time. All the horror, the bloodshed, and lamentations—they came and past, chained by the unforgiving hands of time.
Though it was clear that everyone else had moved on from it all, burying their agony deep within their hearts.
Suddenly, an image of a feminine hand caressing his skin assaulted Ezeikel senses, his eyes growing wide as her harrowing flesh pressed against his.
A scattered array of words escaped her shaky lips, echoing in his mind repetitively.
'I... love you... Ezeik-'
The sentence was never completed, fruitlessly rotating nonstop.
Then, a piercing scream harassed his hearing, an otherwordly creature with an odious grin staring town at him with gleeful disdain.
He parted his lips, addressing his father.
"I'm glad we're safe, dad..." His voice lingered at the end, drowned by the voracious darkness flowing all around them.
Moments trickled by in tenebrous silence, untill Kennedy responded:
"So am I... Who would have thought that the Supreme Sovereign would have mercy upon us. For a moment there, I believed it was all over."
Ezeikel lightly nodded his head, remembering Darion's crimson rapier drawing dangerously close to his father's neck.
He clenched his chest tightly, the gluttonous pain intensifying as their conversation dragged on.
"... Yeah, me to...," he remembered the the way Raphael addressed his subordinate, his nonchalance towards the lives that were taken away.
His brows furrowed, deep sorrow giving way for frustration.
But then, a single line of thought tore through the formless abyss encamping within his soul.
'If... If Raphael hadn't arrived when he did, then... we wouldn't he here, alive right now...'
This was the irrevocable truth. Raphael, Leader Of The Abyssal Gang, a tyrant feared by the whole town, was the one who had saved them when all hope seemed lost.
'No, he's just as responsible for their death as Darion is. Plus, it's not like he doesn't have his own fair share of blood on his hands.'
The small space grew barren of verbal articulations, both focused on their meals, consumed by their own bothersome inner monologues.
Then, Ezeikel concluded the prickling silence with his next set of words.
"Father, there has been something that has been bothering me for sometime—something that has to do with the Abyssal Gang."
Kennedy raised an eyebrow.
"... And what might that be?" He asked.
Ezeikel waited a couple moments, gathering his thoughts before responding, letting go of his chest as his thoughts drifted elsewhere:
"How are they so powerful? I thought only those of royal blood could be so fearsome. But not just them; all the gangs ruling the towns and cities—how come their power is vastly greater than the rest?"
Kennedy didn't respond immediately, pondering over the question.
"That's because lineage isn't the only factor that determines one's power. I thought you'd figured this out already. There's another probability that determines one aptitude for blood magic," Kennedy explained.
"... And what would that be?"
Kennedy's voice grew heavy as he replied:
"Mutation..."
"... Huh? Could you elaborate please?"
Kennedy sighed, then continued:
"Amongst those lesser than royalty, there are people who's bodies undergo an unexplainable process from birth, one that grants them power to surpass those around them. The degree of mutation is different for different people, meaning that amongst the mutants, as they are referred to, there are ranks amongst them.
"You can already see this with the Abyssal Gang, since they're all mutants—commoners with fearsome powers. That why these criminal organizations are able to rise and torment those weaker than them.
"Though they are powerful, their might is but a mere spark in the midst of the royals," Kennedy said.
Ezeikel nodded in understanding, processing all he had just heard.
'Mutants... Hmm, I prefer calling them tyrants instead...'
Ezeikel cleared his throat before asking:
"But then, what determines whether someone will mutate or not? What are the factors that determine the possibility and rate of mutation?"
Kennedy chewed down a piece of meat before replying:
"No one really knows. It just seems to happen sporadically. However, there have been speculation flying around that the reason behind these mutants appearing is in accordance with the will of the Supreme Sovereign
"People say he wishes to overthrow the tyranny plaguing the empire, to create viable counters to combat the uncaring monarch and his relatives."
Ezeikel's eyes narrowed.
"If that's the case, then it was a terrible idea. These tyrants are simply doing whatever they wish—killing, plundering, assault—these vicious fiends know no sense of morality!" Ezeikel's words oozed with malice as he spoke.
"True, I myself don't believe those rumors—that's why I explained the cause of the mutations is inexplicable—we simply have no way of discerning what is truth from falsehood, especially not with the way things have been."
"..." Ezeikel didn't know what to say in response, eventually retreating back to the meal before him. Consuming what little they rationed, they needed to get their rest. The day ahead of them held no lingering emotions for the past terror.
***********
In a different part of Fluxton, in a decently-built enclosure surrounded by dark-coloured flora, two young vampires stood guard before an entrance leading into the tenebrous enclosure.
A brief hallway snaked into the enclosure, numerous doors aligning it from both sides.
In one of the rooms, Raphael stood before a man clad in chains, his body hanging above the ground.
Blood trickled down Darion's bruised lips, his body a dreadful maze of severe blows and lacerations.
His eyes shivered as they glanced at Raphael, his lips uttering a word subtle enough for them both to hear.
"I'm sorry for disobeying your orders, brother..."
Crimson aura coated Raphael's fist, connecting with Darion's face the next moment, spewing more blood from his mouth.
"How dare you go against my direct order? Oh, did you think that just because it was your wife who got involved, that I would let it slide? Do you take me for some lax gentleman? Eh, Darion?" Raphael sneered, his lips curling into a nauseating grin. "You already knew that every transgression has its punishment, and that it doesn't matter what the circumstances are. No one, disobeys me and gets away with it."
Time and again, the lightless space was illuminated by crimson light, loud grunts and occasional screams colonizing the eerie atmosphere.
His blood magic became the tool with which he abused his subordinate. He would use blood hardening and punch Darion, create blood whips or swords to flog or stab the transgressor. And at times, he would grab his brother by the neck, augmenting his strength with his blood magic, his enhanced strength threatening to cease the latter's life.
He laughed, every ounce of pain he inflicted drowning his soul in a seemingly endless sea of euphoria. His grin grew wider as the torment progressed, the guards stationed right outside the door shuddering as they exchanged nervous glances at each other.
"R-Raphael must really be enjoying what he's doing..." One of the guards whispered, his hands clasped tightly against his chest, struggling to keep himself from vomiting the next moment.
The other guard lingered for a while, sweat streaming down his face as his shaky eyes scanned their surroundings. Then, he brought his index finger to his lips, eyes wide in terror.
"Shush! Have you forgotten that he can hear you?! What if he gets more ideas next after tormenting Darion?!" The other guard warned, avoiding the other's gaze as he resumed his duty.
The first guard nodded reluctantly, averting his gaze as well.
'What a devil...' the thought rung deep in their minds, their hands pressed hard against their sides.
Meanwhile, back in the room, Raphael seemed to have grown bored of exerting discipline upon his subordinate, wiping the blood from his hands with a satisfied smile on his face.
"Ahh... I really needed that. I've been keeping a lot of pent up frustration lately ever since that damned Night of Crimson was announced to be coming soon," he spoke, his words falling on deaf ears.
Darion remained chained, unmoving. His consciousness slowly drifted away, leaving only a living corpse in its wake.