Driftfall: Gravestone Reunion.
What?
Darkness. A cemetery for the corrupt.
I heard Dad. I called, but now I'm here.
A bioluminescence illuminates a nearby tomb.
Is that . . . my grave?
Dripping inky oil from the floor upward, gravity alters in treachery.
Veiled within the depths of the dusk of absurdities lie impossible faint geometries, shapes that can't quite be understood by the human eye; a background from another plane of existence.
Flickering symbols of marks blink with slight white glows outlining their presence, blossoming. A trial built in reverse?
Whispers shroud him. They echo: "Malik . . . Malik . . . come forward . . ." They hush.
"Father is expecting you . . ." They continue.
Malik glances around the abyssal plain. Shakily, he walks toward the gravestone. Getting a closer look, the grave says 'Malik'; however, the letters juggle in spite, rearranging to-
Bayonet . . .
The grave reads: Malik.
Then the letters writhe like worms, plastering onto Malik's white T-shirt, forming as he stares.
Bayonet . . .
What the hell?
Suddenly, a pale, charred hand claws out of the grave. It drips ink, twitching, moving at a pace where it blurs in a spasm. Another arm arises from ash, then the head rises; blind, stubbled, and smirking.
No . . . no, this can't be.
The hand pulls itself out, revealing the upper body. It's covered in charcoal with a slim figure, facing downward, making it tedious to identify.
"Hello, son . . . or should I say . . . Bayonet?"
Trembling, Malik clenches his fists, his nails biting into his palms. He wants to scream, but his voice won't allow it.
It spoke.
Looking upward, it's a familiar face; a face forgotten by the realms, but not by Atlas. With two blind eyes, he cackles. Scornfully smiling, showcasing his full set of teeth, his heavy, unkempt stubble glides with it. Empty fire scorches out of his visionless sclerae; what is he?
That voice. The voice of Sorrow.
"You were born to be free . . . not used like a toy. Not ruled like a servant. So why be a pet?"
He growls, his milk-white eyes dancing with flames beneath the undead irises. The voice echoes behind him as if whispering into his ear despite being in front of him.
His mouth moves, but the voice has a delay that transfers to my eardrums.
He couldn't do that before . . . he's gaining control.
"You're so much more, boy . . . oh, they're scared of you . . . and you live with it; so why be ungrateful?" He palms his head with both hands maniacally as he howls, glimpsing upward.
Clenching, Malik balls his fists in contempt, as his palms leak black blood from his nail-dug palms.
He howls.
"IS THIS FREEDOM TO YOU, YOU CRAZY BASTARD!?" He shouted, and his echo was heard throughout the realm, observing in intrigue.
"Oho . . . ignorance is bliss from a young soul of the dark. I saved you, yet you're blinder than I am. But I can't say I don't blame you. These thoughts. These visions. They aren't favorable . . ." Grinning sadistically, he continued.
"However, your knowledge of this is close to none. Hell, if I told you about the realms and everything in between, your psyche would scatter in the wind like broken glass."
What is he talking about?
"Hey! What does all that mean to me, huh?! To me, it looks like you just tormented me for the sake of it. Because I can't have anything, can I?!" Malik rebutted.
"Don't be naive, child . . . You know, as your father, you quite resemble me when I was young, and you're like your o-"
Leaping hastily, Malik gouged his full-grey eyes out with two fingers. His eyes squish like black grapes in their socket.
Black blood leaks like a faucet.
"You may be my father . . ." He paused. "But you're NOT my dad!" Malik barked intensely.
No reaction whatsoever; he withstood it.
There's no way . . .
"Ohoho . . . no point in that. I'm already blind. You'll learn our kind is the same color on the inside. You in particular . . . succumb to the Bayonet, Malik."
Why is he talking . . . no, why is he even breathing???
Laughing, laughing into forever, he can't stop.
"OHOHOHOHOHOO!!!!"
Laughing . . . why is he laughing . . . is he the reason why I'm me?
"You still carry the burden of my flame, child. You burn too, Bayonet. The more you resist, the sooner you'll be ash. Burn, you'll burn them all before you're through with it."
What is he talking about?!
A heartbeat commences. Multiplying.
"Accept it, boy. Without it, you'll only die. Like a soldier rejecting a firearm. You are blind and naked. Oho . . . I guess both of you aren't that different after all."
How can I embrace life when my creator chains me down like a dog?
"Your mind is comical, Malik. You really can't know if anything is real anymore, except blood. That's why the ocean is perfect for you. Everything else will overwhelm you. That overwhelming will put you down mercilessly."
Every word the man speaks makes Malik's veins pop as if attempting to escape. A burning sensation shrouds his arteries as well, with a faint jet-black color flooding into them.
Without noticing, his feet were bonded with the tar floor, rendering him stuck. He notices and then starts worrying. His feet sink deep into the tar.
I can't move. His blood flows like a river, and he keeps talking. Am I . . . in another hell?
"Now now, relax. One last question. If you've never met me, then how will you know that I'm real?"
Smiling, he continues.
"Don't answer. It was a rhetorical question. I made it this way, but I wanted you always to question things that conflicted you. That is the pathway to tranquility even when enduring adversity."
Question?
"After all, this is the only way to surpass order: take a step back, question what is real, and what is fabricated by indoctrination, by fearmonger, by grandiosity."
"It's in the blueprint to overcoming, and your blueprint will follow it."
Why can't I just live without obligations . . .
Malik looks at his father with a bullseye stare, with compassion for odium.
"I see you're deprecating my view . . . Oh well, time heals all wounds."
Freakishly, his eyes popped back in his head from his sockets, like a dispenser.
"And it will heal your wounds. Farewell for now, Malik. Just know, I did it for you two . . ."
Sinking, the blind man sinks into oblivion as he waves goodbye.
Malik howls with all his might, attempting to escape the grasp of the tar.
"The hell you mean 'you two'? Make sense, old man!" Malik barks furiously.
"You talk about me like I'm some freak! If I'm a freak, then what are you, huh?!"
"Enlightened," the man replies, sinking further, his voice muffles as he sinks deeper.
"Yet damned . . ." he continues as the sound of his voice drowns in soil.
Brightening, the dark veil drowns out as the bright white light is uncovered.
I can't see anything. Am I dead? It's all white. Like a light shoved into my face point blank.All I feel is my feet. Does nothing exist here?
Whispers can be faintly heard, but are illegible.
Maybe if I walk closer to it, then I'll hear what it's saying. I'm hearing something. But I can't tell.
All of a sudden, it's made clear. The voice echoes from below.
"You'll understand when the Trial chooses you. All of them will."
No . . . NO! Is 'he' here too?!
Malik stresses as he hears another familiar voice, this time calling from above.
"Yo! Sleepyhead, wake up! It's time for dinner, bro! Open those eyes!"
Huh? Open my eyes?
The voice echoed into the world, then—
SNAP!
Driftfall: Complete
"Finally. This is over. All an illusion, huh."
. . .
Like the sound of someone breaking through the water's surface Miraculously, reality has returned. Opening his eyes, his first view is of the ethereal amethyst sky sprinkled with clouds here and there.
Thank the lights, I'm awake.
Malik turns his head to the side and is faced with his brothers making a kissy face at him.
Imitating a girl's voice, Zayne says, "Oh Malik, I missed you so much, I'm so glad you're okay." He makes flamboyant gestures as to mock the trope of a damsel in distress. Rambling on as Malik cannot cease his laughter.
Zayne's smile faltered for half a second when he looked into his eyes, as if he saw something deeper. But he laughed anyway. Continuing with his gag, he glances at the doorway and spots Kaya with wide eyes and a misanthropic look in her gaze. She puts 2 arms in the shape of an 'X' to call a time out.
Gulping, Zayne quickly turns his head as Lias is still making kissy faces. He slaps sense into him and points at Kaya still making the threatening gesture. Whispering, "Dude, stop that!" Lias rubs the area he slapped and nods with widened eyes.
"Hmph." Kaya expresses with disdain as she strolls away.
Rubbing his eyes, Malik still contains a worried undertone in his face. "Guys, I saw him again."
"Oh god . . ." Zayne mumbles.
Lias and Zayne both scratch their heads until Lias decides to help him out of bed.
"Alright. let's get you out of bed man," He comments in a monotone manner.
Sitting upright, Malik inspects the mark on his wrist that has its own pulse. More like a branding than a mark; appears as if it's from a tribe with strict tradition. A shadow buries the lively sky as a red throne-like chair from the Victorian era lays with a familiar man looking down.
Glancing slowly upwards, he smiles.
"What the f**k!? WHY ARE YOU HERE?!" Malik exclaimed.
"Malik, you good bro?" Zayne shakes him as he stares into the corner of the wall.
"Relax, boy, they can't see your old man, don't freak out. Just a reminder to you." He pauses.
Malik intensely stares at him with eyes of a honey badger; its claws ready to strike.
"Like I've said time and time again, it'll all click when the trial chooses you. After all, the gods gamble with you like a dice, Malik. You're the last piece left. However, it is in your odds of the outcome as you are the decider."
"OHOHOHO!" He cackles maniacally as he and the chair fade back, recovering the lost light that it once took.
. . .
Palming his head, Malik growls in contempt.
"God damn it, I saw him. He was RIGHT THERE!" Malik pointed whilst shouting, possibly straining a vocal cord.
Zayne grabs him and violently shakes his head as if he were a doll, staring profusely at him with pure urgency.
"Get a hold of yourself man. Cap's worried about you . . . you can't be doing this sh*t again."
Instantly, Zayne lifted him out of the bed and laid him gently on the ground like a precious antique. Patting his head, he remarks, "My little brother from another mother, we gotta head to dinner, ya' know. We'll talk about that later."
Lias barges into the conversation as the three walk out of the ship's medical room, passing the door frame. "Cheer up, Malik, we've got grub to munch!"
"Never say that again bro . . ." Zayne asserted.
In front of the medical room, Captain Cyrus normally lays out a gargantuan table fit for a family to eat at sunset.
The three finally reach the table to see the entire crew seated. Not a sound, not a word.
They all look downward as Samir and Cyrus both stare out into the merging of the warm yet dim grape-orange piercing sky, which blurs gracefully into haze as the sun quietly falls.
"We eating, right?" Zayne tilts his head in confusion at the matter.
Zayne keeps an eye on both of them whilst quietly pulling out a chair and making a noticeably loud creaking sound. He cringes as he pulls the chair back further and notices everyone at the long white round table staring deeply at him.
"Sorry." He whispers as he covers his mouth with his hand, politely sitting down at the same time.
Ambience.
A few at the table glance around. Kaya has her hands together on the table, Amaya slouches in her chair playing with her hair as she looks up, and Kamil looks down at his cartoon-like frog charm, fidgeting with it playfully with a light grin.
Cyrus and Samir remain still as statues at the head of the table—Cyrus with his arms behind his back, and Samir with a stiff yet tired stance.
A moment of silence for the fallen. The battles forgotten and washed up in this ocean. For the battle today in which three beloved souls would've been lost if fate wasn't on their side.
The soft wind brushes their faces like paintings, sculpting expressions. The ocean is exhaling as the crew takes it all in. That low shine of the sun's wave goodbye is truly one to behold.
Lias and Malik both sit down, staring at the colorless table with a silk fabric and a cream-like odor.
Plates are laid out for every individual seated. Empty. They're all empty.
No meat. No rice. No nothing. What's this about? Malik pondered.
Zayne's stomach rumbled louder than the infinite sea.
Is it infinite? Or just what humanity has reached? Or known of?
How daunting.
Interrupting the silence, "So uh . . . we doin' a fast or something?" Zayne mumbled.
He rubs his stomach like stirring a pot of soup.
Kamil speaks softly, still fidgeting.
"We . . . ran out."
". . . Seriously?" Lias blurted as he waves his hair in the air.
"And you just let that happen?" Malik remarked.
"I mean, yeah, the two over there are the only ones that know how to work a stove."
The three men shook their heads in disdain. Finally turning his head to the six at the table, Cyrus finally glances with the light bouncing off his dark eyes. He cranes back to the sky, like a child petrified to look under their bed.
Speaking without looking, "We almost lost three brave men today. Tell me, what is the purpose of rationing if there's none left to eat?"
That hits everyone unexpectedly. Malik grips the edge of the table, narrowly ripping the soft fabric of the silk cover.
A pause commences, longer than necessary. The sky begins to darken.
"Fate struck again. I was afraid to lose my men. My son included. That is my fault as Captain, and I dearly apologize." Cyrus forced his voice with a strict manner.
"Never again. I will do better. That is my promise. And I apologize for not cooking anything today; I couldn't think of it whilst my mind fogged with the thought of losing men that I raised like my own," he states as he exhales after uttering the last word.
Samir interrupts, "Well, we did kill something, did we not?"
Kamil perks up curiously, flaring his ears.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Kamil grins.
"Oh, hell yeah." Lias grins, catching on.
Zayne and Malik blink rapidly.
"Wait, wait . . . you mean that thing? That one? That almost devoured us?" Zayne replied worriedly.
Kamil smirked, "Well, yeah, you kill it, you eat it, no? Mercenary, and even pirate law."
Cyrus finally cracked a smile under his tough veil, "It's not any law. It's survival. And celebration. Smoke that beast! Let the lads eat what they slayed . . ."
"For life! For the Mercenaries of The Messengers!" Cyrus raised his hand up ecstatically.
The men followed with a cheer as well, extending their arms to the skies.
Malik, cheering, thought to himself.
I never really understood the hype behind the realms, maybe because I've never been to one. Maybe one day I'll see how great they really are.
Cyrus, Kamil, and Samir go to the bow to pick up the freshly chopped meat as Zayne and Malik watch from afar.
Kaya, seated quietly, looks around and turns to Amaya, who is playing with her hair.
"So what are you thinking about this?" she asked with a long smile.
"Honestly, don't care, as long as I get to eat, I'm chilling. It was a nice speech, though," she said as she sat upright from her slouched position.
"Say, Kaya dear, is it just me, or do I notice a slight blue tint in your lashes?" Amaya pouts.
"Yeah! Glad you noticed!" she laughed, displaying her canines along with faint dimples.
"I think its cute! Charming smile, too . . . you're trying to impress someone, aren't you?" she asked unexpectedly.
Kaya giggled nervously, "Ha! Who knows. You've got quite a keen eye." Both girls giggled.
Kaya notices Amaya in a better mood than usual. "Hey . . . is that blush you're wearing?"
Amaya halts her laughter, "What'd you say?" she says in her normal tone.
"Is it Kamil? He's quite nice."
"You see, normally I'd give you an ass beating, but it's your first day, so I'll pretend I didn't hear that." She shrugs, crossing her arms and looking away.
Hehe, I made that up. Looks like I hit a jackpot in the process.
Kaya silently giggles.
Later, they finally pull the giant head of the dead serpent up, holding it like a trophy. Kamil and Samir struggle to lift the head, which is the size of half a great white shark. Samir slips and tumbles over as he lets go of the head. Kamil then drops it, causing a loud crash.
"Hah! Looks like you ate shit my man!" Kamil laughed.
"Yeah. Looks like I did!" They both continuously chuckled.
"Alright, let's get ya to the station," Kamil stated as he grabbed the serpent by two large teeth sticking out, pulling it with ease.
"Woah . . . you some kind of brute, Kamil?" Samir sneered.
"I guess. I don't like the practice though."
Malik, watching from a distance, ponders once again.
Brute? Odd way of phrasing it.
The head, dragging on the floor, still leaks a trail of blood from the beast.
"Hey, hey! That's gonna be a nightmare to clean, take it easy!" Zayne barked, waving his fist.
In the kitchen, it's a fully white room filled to the brim with utensils, cabinets, and cleavers.
"Step back, Kamil, I'll show you how a realbrute shows his strength." Kamil scoffed as Samir made the huge cut. Cyrus watches from a distance.
"Need help, boys?" Cyrus intervened.
Together, they cut the beast into multiple parts, only leaving slabs of meat, whilst the bones were set aside. Its tradition for sailors to cook what they catch, but to this caliber is unheard of. Spices of pepper, salt, paprika, and onion fill the outdoors from the kitchen with nostalgia. Collages of flavor collide into a spectacle for every nose.
Warm, the heat of the slain ancient leviathan's cooked flesh fills the table with a smell of freshly cooked fish with a hint of medium-rare steak. The crew erupts back into movement altogether. A memory.
A soon-to-be dinner for ages. As they eat, they multitask like children who are picky eaters.
Lias pulls out a bottle of something most definitely illegal, Zayne and Malik play rock-paper-scissors, while Amaya does Kaya's hair.
"Ya know, there's a stash of soup Captain hides in a lower cabinet, don't know why he never used them. Wanna make some along with this dish?" Amaya commented.
"Sure, lets go!"
"Well . . . thing is, I always get Kamil to help me out in microwaving it, and I'm scared of microwaves."
"Oh jeez. Alright, I'll help you," Kaya replied with a slight laugh contained in her voice.
Nighttime, the sun is in slumber.
Violet moon.
Zayne stares at the sky, "Alright, let's light a candle."
Malik endlessly gazes at the little lights.
What are their names?
I see them. The lights that nobody sees. I don't mention it. But they're there.
My saving grace of night.
. . .