A Light In The Darkness - Christa

[Gildarts]

Cold blue eyes sliced through the night air of the Pale Moors. After her wandering around in the Nexus for over a couple of hours, she had finally found her way to the murky gate of the Moors, and dared to step inside. Icy wind whipped at her skin. She grimaced against it, as she exhaled a breath of steam.

Her mind flickered back to the blank canvas of the Nexus. Mornel, Ginas-or Marko rather... They had delivered a half-heard message to the freshly instated Prime, Christa was now following up on that. Her white teeth sparkled in the pale moonlight, while she thought bitterly back to the parting of her sister, she ruefully wished she could be with her now, but old debts had to be paid, and as promised, Christa was here.

Ever since Christa had been reunited with her sister, the doubts, fears, and pain that had veiled her personality had been abolished... For the most part. If ever in dire straights, Christa herself knew she could ‘channel’ them once more, a survivor only learns to be one once, after all. And of course, ironically enough now that she was a Prime, old habits, die hard. Plenty had happened in the Vasty Deep, but mainly, Christa had left feeling positive. That feeling, had turned to butter in her stomach, and oozed with worry once more. But Katia was no warrior, and Christa certainly couldn’t bring her kid sister on missions that could cost people their lives. No, Christa wanted Katia safe, and there she would remain.

Still, branches of doubt found themselves nagging in the woman’s mind as she worked on summoning some gear to battle the cold; a sniper’s fingers were no good cold. The woman had great aim, and an even better set of eyes, which swept the darkness now. She never had needed night-vision goggles, and instead, relied on a sense she got in her gut. Since she had become a prime, however, parts of that feeling had dissipated, I guess I’ll just have to earn it back. She told herself and moved on, her pistol comfortably hugged the side of her hip and Christa had a few knives up her sleeve, literally.

Large, heavy boots descended on the crisp, frost-covered ground and made crackling noises, similar to that of a fire. She blinked away the cold some more, and her long legs propelled her forward. She didn’t much like missions like this, going out into the blue, not knowing what to expect, she liked to be briefed with intel, so she could arm herself with the right kinds of tools. Though, Christa guessed as a Prime, one could always summon them, but in the heat of the moment, you were lucky to have three safe seconds not to mention minutes. The sniper planned to go to Darkshire, to see an old friend, and to speak to someone, hopefully, about what Marko had told her before he died in her arms at the Nexus.

As Christa had seen, or rather perhaps, learned, not everyone could be saved. Nor were they meant to be. Martha re-married and had children of her own with her new husband, immortality was a blessing and a curse, but Omni’s version of it was just plain hell. How was she supposed to know how to help these people? She couldn’t very well bring everyone who had ever died back to life, and then, even if she could, what would the meaning be? No, instead, she would prevent as many bastards from dying as she could, and hopefully, just hopefully, her sacrifice would mean something when she would have to die for the final time.

...

The air bit at her nose, and caused a continuous squint to dwell on her face. It was a truly frigid night, she had bundled in a had, gloves, and scarf, all piled atop her usual garb, which was composed of the kind of things she used to wear, combat pants, a tank, and a her boots. Now, she had added the accessories, as well as a nice-looking black leather jacket. It didn’t suit the person she wanted to be around her sister, not in the slightest, however, Christa had a good sense of who she had been trained to be since she had gotten involved in military affairs. Since before she could remember, she could never tame the fire of combat that raged on within her, but she could mask that part of her when her sister was around.... Maybe that was the true reason Christa had left, so she could be herself again.

A sigh escaped her parted lips. Life was too complex. All she really wanted was family, good sex, and someone to shoot at. The rest of the details could go bite itself. Heavy eyes remained in their sockets while Christa crawled through the forest with a sniper over her shoulder. Its familiar strap and accurate weight made her tense shoulders rest a little easier as she stalked in the night, for she knew just what monsters that this darkness held.

After what seemed like an eternity of watching her back, turning her chin over her shoulder, and drawing her pistol a few times, Christa finally approached the small dirty pathway that lead to Darkshire’s gate. A feeling in her stomach fluttered as she rejoiced, after a creeping night, full of hollow but still real fear, there was nothing better than a familiar place. Christa had no home but she was thankful to be back here, thankful to see the familiar faces she had once left behind.

The rogue padded up the pathway, with simple ease laden in her movements. Immediately at the gate, she was hailed to, “STOP!”

Christa looked up at the drawbridge, and to the tired man who held a ranged weapon aimed in her direction, meanwhile, a rusty sword hung off his hip. Christa sighed, “I’m here to see Mornel. Open the gate, I’m not a friggin’ zombie.”

The young man appeared taken aback, “Wha’s yer name?”

At least he hadn’t called her ‘miss’ she thought disdainfully as she grunted in a lower voice now, “Adams. Christa Adams.”

A glance was exchanged with another guard who muttered out of her earshot, “You better let her in son.”

The drawbridge creaked open, she could hear the mechanisms stirring from within the lever of the door, and Christa checked her back to make sure there was no one behind her, she’d hate to have her admittance cause some sort of raid on the deteriorating city. Content with the information that her eyes brought her, she spun around, and rolled right into the town, until she was stopped by an older gentleman thumping his way down a set of very withered wooden stairs.

Christa wouldn’t have been distracted by such a minor movement, but since it was toward her, her senses stayed on edge, while her ear stayed on the old man, who now followed her, and beckoned for her to wait.

“What business do you have with me?” Christa blinked and looked at the man, dismissively.

“Don’t you recognize an old friend when you see one?” the old man coughed after speaking in such a hoarse voice. The night’s chill had not been good for the old man’s bones.

“Shouldn’t someone who claims to be my friend, know I don’t have any?” She offered him a gracious smirk, which he exchanged, heartily, “So what the hell happened to you?”

Christa’s comment probed the cause of his age, which had perpetuated by a rate of ten, her young friend of twenty eight when she had last seen him, now looked ninety-two. He had been forced into a diminishing state of health, just as Marko had been, before his death. The man coughed some more, “I could ask you the same thing,” he grinned and referred to her primehood, which somehow, was written all over her face.

It was kind of sad. No, very sad. Christa gazed at an old friend, who’s life had come and gone, one she had missed when she had been merely blinking. Now she was still young as ever, destined never to die, while her friend here, had remained loyal to Darkshire, fought the noble fight, and it appeared he had paid the price. Her thoughts went to what kind of illness, potion, or curse that could have caused this, but there just wasn’t enough information for it to be conclusive.

“Here, why don’t we get inside,” Christa guided him, after noticing just how badly his hands were shaking. She lead the way to where she had remembered the last bar being located, and as she strolled through the desolate streets, finally she delivered him to the room full of warmth.

After they had sat down, and ordered two cold ones, he looked more refreshed, “I see you came with the frost.” his eyes held on hers, while his words sounded as though they carried an omen.

“Oh, uh... Yeah, it was pretty cold out there, also, I didn’t think men your age could down ‘em like you used to,” she looked at his beer, which had been chugged faster than her own.

“Old habits, die hard.” he confirmed with another heaping slurp, he set down his glass now, and a stoic expression weighed on his face, “Listen, friend, there is something you must know,” his voice fell into a whisper, despite the emptiness of the bar, “A grave danger is soon to come to us, not just the Pale Moors, but all of the Omniverse...”

The warning rang in her ears while his voice fell away, he heaved up a bit of phlegm and kept his bright golden eyes glued to her, as if every moment were his last. She felt the sorrow for him in her bones, she really did, it cut especially deep to know she could do nothing to stop his rapid aging. “Damn it Mornel, cut it out, you know I like things straight and to the point, what the hell is wrong with you? And why won’t you outright say it?”

The sexy bartender did not appear stirred by her words, and Christa’s relentless questioning carried on in her fierce gaze, finally, her companion spoke again, “You haven’t changed a bit,” he concluded smugly, “It is because there is no hope for me to be saved, however, there is hope for the rest, those who see my face and think that this age has come naturally, or perhaps out of malnutrition. Those young and unknowing, those are who you are now fighting for.”

The truth burned within Christa, who shook her head stubbornly, “Not clear enough, Mornel, I need more information if I’m to-”

“Ah, youth, everything is so simple. Find out who the bad guy is, ready your blade, and find the best way to strike. It’s impressive to us older folk, who have very little energy to be so hard hitting.” Christa felt her eyes sag with guilt just looking at him. She could’ve sworn her old friend had sprouted more white hairs on the top of his liver-speckled head since they had been talking. 

“Christ, Mornel, why don’t you just brief me?” she gave up, her patience ran too thin, these days.

“Because, Christa, I want you to know what serving has meant to me. And I want you to consider it, before I give you a lead on the solution to our problem.” Christa gulped as her eyes fell upon the parting in his collared shirt, where she could see his dog-tags hung. He would die in them. Even if not in combat, than in the war against age. The rogue had never disliked the man, and always found he was a good drinker, but now, she found a bit of malice attached to him, for holding those shackles he called ‘loyalty’ higher than his own life.

He saw the look on her face, and his gaze shifted, she had quite a nice figure, and was even more beautiful than he remembered, the color of her eyes, clear blue, but what was most resounding, was the eternal fire that burned in them. His golden eyes fell on her skin, of what he knew could have been, it spoke agony for the both of them, “I died for my cause, what I believed in. Adams, I want you to know I considered you a good friend-”

“You’re talking as though you’re already dead, goddamnit!” her fist slammed down on the table, only to break it, and spill their beers everywhere. She looked at the aftermath of her anger, and then caught the glimpse of the bartender, who’s expression said ‘you’ll be paying for that.’ Mornel shifted the dentures in his mouth, and felt the bristling pale hairs that were growing out of his chin. His gaze stayed on hers, as though asking her what was the cause of her savage outrage. She decided time was of the essence, and would waste no more of it, “Marko died in my fucking arms, Jesse.”

Nodding, Mornel understood her rage a little better, and paused thoughtfully before speaking, “So you see my inevitable fate, then. So you see, what it is most important that I should want to pass the torch on to someone -the only person- I know who can live up to what expectations I have.”

Distractedly, Christa’s eyes fell on the freshly-halved table, “I got my sister back, Jesse. She’s waiting for me, she’s starting school again...”

“So that’s it then?” Mornel took a breath, and felt the hefty burden of a single man, who was fighting a war with an army he didn’t have. The enemy was out there, and enjoyed lurking in the shade of night. The enemy which Christa knew was both monster and man, “You’re giving up, despite the fact that you’ve been given a gift some of us secondaries couldn’t even have dreamed of!”

“Hey, I was one of you too y’know!” Christa protested, and waved the bartender down with the wag of her hand, “Don’t treat me like this is some kind of... of... Race, because it sure as hell isn’t. Mornel, I became a Prime to save my fucking sister, not to deal out a can of whoop ass on anyone who has ever caused me an issue. I left that behind, it’s why I’m not in Coruscant right now, hunting down anyone who had something to do with Katia’s kidnapping and murder.”

“Christa, if you look at the larger picture of this, I think you’ll see things the way I do.” He spoke curtly and wisely, while Christa began downing her fresh glass of ale.

She swallowed hard, “You’re being ridiculous Mornel, better Primes have tried and failed, I know you’d like me to use my new ‘influence’ for good, but I didn’t gain much from Omni other than this, and I don’t see what I’m supposed to do about the tragedies that come my way. People die, and I have to watch. Not a damn thing has changed.”

“Everything has changed.” he spoke with conviction, “Christa, you’re talking about real people, real lives out there that need someone to lead them, to guide them, someone to help them dig themselves out of a world that has buried them alive. Are you telling me, you’re going to turn your back on those people, especially when you were one of them?”

She could’ve slapped him. But he was an old man. She stared at the lined skin of his face and blinked away the obstacle that now faced her, hoping, in the back of her mind, that this reality wasn’t the truth.“I still am one of them, Mornel, you’re not one to treat me any different had I lost a goddamn leg out there, so why do you expect me to fight for them? They never accepted me, I was shunned like the freak I am, why do you think I bore the name ‘rogue’ and deserted? I’m probably not even welcome in Darkshire, considering the circumstances.”

“Barney knew you’d never stay, he gave you a sword because I told him you would fight during the crusade.... He was proud of you. Especially since we won. If only you knew how proud I am, you’ve come a long way, Chris.” His hand shook and clasped one another, it seemed he had lost his taste for ale, and they steadied on the remains of the broken wooden table. “If you’d have died out there, tell me, what would it have meant to you? You would not be where you’re sitting now, nor would you have a sister to remember.”

“I was a fool then, to throw away my life for a battle I didn’t want to fight. Don’t you see Jesse? I didn’t make a difference then, and I don’t now! Fuck it, I’m better off rotting in the Underverse than staying here, trying to battle my way out of this conversation with you! Why don’t you see Jesse? I’m not just misunderstood, I’m a mistake, I’ve killed good people and bad, their names and faces mix together like passing street names. I’m a murderer. And I don’t deserve the luxury of having a family, a community, I can only hold onto the idea of my sister, apparently, because I’m not even there for her now! She’s got no mother, and she hasn’t even got me!” Christa hadn’t realized that her voice had raised until the last words, which had flowed out of her faster than a river. A shockwave of pink flushed on the pale skin of her face and Mornel seemed content. It hadn’t taken much, for her to reveal her weaknesses to the old man. Perhaps it was out of pity, perhaps fear, or perhaps, she just wanted it off of her chest.

The bartender was working hard not to look as though she was eavesdropping, and would’ve left the room to use the ‘bathroom’ had it been regular townsfolk, but she wouldn’t simply leave a Prime unattended in her bar. She had invested too much time in it.

“Christa, maybe, d’you think, that if Omni made you a Prime, you might feel a little more worthy?” Her gaze shifted away, with ample reluctance. There was fire in her fists and it showed on the pale patches of her crunched knuckles. The woman didn’t like feeling wrong, and this time she felt pretty terrible too. She was silent, for once in her life, and couldn’t even force herself to meet the man’s eyes.

He had been young, not long ago, now he had lost his life. Many more would lose their lives. She knew he was right, even if he went about it in a way she disagreed with. “Mornel, I don’t have to choose your lifestyle,” she clasped her glass in her hand as condensation formed, “In order to fight for mine.”

Mornel looked deep into her eyes, and found she was speaking a truth she knew well enough. A rogue like her couldn’t be convinced to join the infantry levels of his army by a few motivational quotes, chosen and spoken at the right time. He smirked, he saw her way a little easier now, and her familiar stubbornness was refreshing. Even if it defeated part of his spirit, “You’re such an asshole, you know that?”

“Yeah yeah, add it to the list,” she responded, “And while you do that you can buy me another beer. You know, I once had a fella compete shots with me, joke was on him though, right? He was buying.” she scoffed, but the joke seemed distant on her friend’s old ears. “You know, Jesse, had you just wanted me to investigate, that would’ve been one thing, but I can’t just fill your shoes for you here, I’m closer to a mercenary than a soldier. You of all people should know that.”

“You have the determination of both.”

“Yeah, maybe, but that doesn’t mean I’ve the heart to wake up every morning and fight a losing war.” her words caused him to wince, she sympathized, “Jesse, you can’t tell me that you thought we were winning this thing?”

“Perhaps my hope has gotten the best of me, after all, I am an old man yet, whose days are numbered.” Mornel admitted, “You know Chris, I always thought I’d die out there, on the battlefield. Now... Now every day I wake up and am forced to think ‘am I dead yet?’ as though this thing has a mind enough to take mercy on me.”

“You’re talking about life, not war, Mornel.” Christa surmised.

“There’s not much of a difference,” he scoffed. “Alas, I had hoped you’d see it my way and perhaps take care of the town when I died, but honestly, I suppose Darkshire’s future is looking pretty bleak, and not just because of the monsters.” A course cough followed as he lifted his chin and took off his dogtags.

“I don’t know how long I have, Adams, but I died in battle the moment it put its clutches on me. It’s got eggs, and now, surely there are more of them. Take my tags, when I close my eyes for the last time, and they finally find me, they’ll know who I am by the number on my house, not the name I once used during the time I served.” he took a breath, “Just tell me one thing, did ya meet Omni?”

Christa blinked as the tags were forced into her hands, she couldn’t very well pull her hands away, for his were shaking with arthritic spurts of age, and Chris couldn’t bare to prove her newly found strength to the man. A long, exasperated sigh left her lips, “Yes, I met him.”

“And was he... Real?” Mornel’s golden eyes glistened.

Christa blinked. What a question. Though it shouldn’t have surprised her, doesn’t everyone want to know if God is Real? She wanted to say ‘more or less’ but couldn’t quite find it in herself to shatter Mornel’s heart a second time. “Yeah, he’s real.”

“What was he... Like?” Mornel asked her in a hushed tone, as though it was a secret, meant for only his ears.

Pain flickered only for a second in Christa’s eyes, “He was uh...” Undefinable was the best word for the deity, but that would be a let down, given the hope in Mornel’s eyes, “He was worth it.”

It wasn’t directly a lie, but it was a strange way to it. Worth every ounce of effort because he had indirectly given her back her sister, but the ‘god’ as Mornel seemed to view him, was oddly human for Christa’s liking, however, the girl had respected Omni’s decision to remain more or less a third party in their encounter.

With her delivery, a look of relief unraveled across Mornel’s face. Christa scoffed, “You don’t honestly think you’re going to meet him when you die, do you?”

Mornel remained silent. Christa had no time to feel sorry for him. “Tell me, tell me of the creature that did this to you, and just how many more of them you think there are.”

A deep, resounding sigh filled the bar, Christa realized just how much old people had to breathe, and the distinctive manner, which resembled that of soft waves, slow and long. “I am not sure what they call it outside of Darkshire, but I have named it the Life-sucker. Since it seems to feed on any creature’s age that it can get its hands on. I have a roughly drawn sketch of it, that I obviously drew when I was younger, when I could grasp a pencil in my hands.”

He pulled out the folded piece of paper from his coat jacket, and placed it on the table before sliding it over to Christa, who, as soon as it was within reach, let her hand shoot out quickly to grasp the paper, and open up the folded picture.