He stood in the light of the crescent moon, his dark cloak billowing frantically in the arid wind. Blood flowed down the spear he held, down the metal shaft from its tip, painting his calloused hands red.
Death danced like an entranced snake with the ash that coursed through the air. Smoldering remains of dogs, cats, sheep and men were scattered upon the earth.
The entity looked forwards and began his approach towards a lone woman sitting at the base of a wooden house.
She muttered curses on her lips as she passed her shaking hands through her hair frantically. Tugging and tearing it. She had believed the entity was a saviour from her god. A light she could look up to.
She couldn't have been more wrong.
The trudge of heavy footsteps grew louder as the entity approached her. Crows cawed in the skies above. Lately, they had been enjoying feasts like this all through out the land.
Soon the entity stood in front of her. After a long pause, a cold voice rasped in the wind.
"Woman, make your decision; do you choose to die...or you choose to live..."
The curses grew louder, turning from mere mutters to frantic yelling.
She looked up and glared at him, the monster that had taken everything she had held close away. A godless monster. With no heart or mind, to love or accept.
Her pupils dilating wildly, her breathing hysterical, she jumped at him, screaming.
"Die, you mon–".
In a single moment, her throat lay on the grass away from her, blood shooting out of the cavity.
She was in the arms of the entity.
It held her gently, and slowly placed her down.
Her eyes reddened as her pupils slowly rolled back, blood gurgling in her mouth.
Finally, there was silence.
The posters called him Rahiel.
A demon in human skin. A murderous cold-blooded killer who had laid waste to countless hamlets and villages. Merciless and brutal. His supposed likenesses were crude sketches on posters all over Rhea-Nori. His name had spread across a decent chunk of the empire. Standing in groups of three, four and five, mercenaries, bounty-hunters and adventurers discussed how they would cut off his head, boasting of their abilities to one another.
But the monster had a name.
His name was Quantum.
And he was among them. A notorious bastard, as they referred to him, trudged his feet right through the West Gate of the city. He was barefoot, filthy, with a lone rusty spear supporting his steps. Dirty bandages covered him, all underneath a dark, tattered cloak.
The city groaned with life.
Quantum trudged through the central market, where farmers and merchants barked at passing customers, and horses clopped along on the cobblestone road, pulling carts containing goods and people. The sweat, spices, foodstuffs, dirt and dung all choked the air.
No one took notice of him, to even spare him a glance. Everyone minded their own business. Rhea-Nori was a border town; upon the very fringes of the Karakhian empire, a haven for mercenaries, assassins, slave-traders and all manner of men with dirty work on their hands. A miserable looking cloaked stranger, was nothing so impressive.
Still, Quantum noticed everything.
He saw the gaunt farmers with their baskets of onions and grain, bargaining with customers like their lives depended on it. Well, their lives did depend on it.
The sharp perfume of harlots passing through the crowds on the street, slipping their arms around the hearts and pockets of desperate men.
In the darker alleyways, there were exotic creatures being sold to collectors, along with chained slaves twitching in cages. Beggars and drug addicts looming on the verge of insanity sprawled across the alleys fighting with dogs and rats over scraps.
To him, humanity was one pitiful set of civilizations. They looked so impressive on the outside. But they were rotten inside; more likely to destroy themselves than any apocalypse was.
Quantum continued to trudge through the market place, until he found a relatively 'safe' haven. He dropped at the entrance of the alley between a meat stand and a clothes stand. Deeper in the alley, was a maze of crooked homes and little rooms, where harlots drew in customers. Alongside them were gangs of boys, some whose ages hadn't reached double digits.
They lured in the unsuspecting and robbed them of everything they had. Sometimes, even taking their clothes. This was Quantum's dwelling now.
He would wait.
After all, he was there to die.
He would let the sons of men take his ancient soul. He had wandered the earth for millenia, witnessing humanity rise, following a distant voice. The voice of his creator. Now, he had had enough. His body had sustained hundreds of years of tearing, breaking, mending, and healing.
It was at the end of its strength.
It was sickening, and pitiful, watching children rule over children.
He sat against the wall of the meat stand, the aroma of smoked and grilled meat thick in the air around it. In his hands was the final piece of his godly origin; his spear. It had lasted as long as he had, its rusty metal blade covered with splotches of dried blood.
It stood as the last thing that mattered to him. He held it, as precious as it was to him. Almost ready to let go, in due time.
During the day, he moved to the roadside, desiring to feel the sunlight on his broken skin. He watched the people marching along the street. Children darted here and there. Customers spoke with shop owners. Guards patrolled within the crowd. Mercenaries studied the posters of Rahiel.
During the nights, he'd retreat to the alley, spending the nights with his eyes open, blue spots in the darkness. He pondered in the quiet of the darkness, his thoughts constructing neat little shapes in his mind, reminiscing of his past.
All humanity was chained. And doomed. He would most likely leave as the last possible redemption for them.
It was sad, as he saw that no man was truly free. There were some 'free' men who were more of slaves than actual slaves. Serving their desires, and men who manipulated them in the higher up on the ladder of power.
They seemed to reflect him. He had burdens of his own, as well.
One fateful day, he watched the shopkeeper of the meat stand beat a boy until blood poured from his face. Apparently, the boy had been caught stealing a piece of meat. The crowd passed around the scene, uncaring and indifferent. Mothers directed the gazes of their children away, doing their best not to get involved. Of course, no one wanted a burden if they saw it coming.
'Wretched', Quantum thought. 'Humanity is wretched'.
Their destruction would certainly come, by their own hands. And he was happy, that by that time, he would have been long gone.
He had known humanity years before Rhea-Nori, and it had never ended well. When he showed them kindness, they tried to manipulate him and use him. When he showed wrath, they cursed his name and called him a destroyer. Ever since they had begun calling him Rahiel, Quantum could always smell the ash and mutilated corpses of the villages he had laid waste. Simply because they desired to kill him, or use him for their selfish gains. He wanted nothing more to do with them.
And so the days passed.
The sun crawled east to west, again and again. It was only a matter of time. Rahiel was well known, and hunted, after all.
It was all the people could talk about. They used his name to swear. To scare themselves with stories of horror. He was as infamous as he was legendary. The name Rahiel itself stood for 'cold-blooded killer' in native Karakhian. He had done much to earn the name.
The evening sun shed its red-orange rays across Rhea-Nori. Quantum sat silently in his little corner, as the final trades were being made. People still passed the streets, most heading home, a few rushing to get the things they needed before the shopkeepers closed. A group of mercenaries stood on the opposite side of the street from Quantum, laughing at the silly sketch of Rahiel.
It had been gleefully edited by a group of naughty street kids, and now looked more like an adorable man with whiskers.
Then, suddenly, Quantum saw the boy.
He had dismissed the possibility so much, that it had blinded his perception.
The boy stood a few feet away staring, wide-eyed, within the light crowd that passed to and fro. In the distance were the cries of a worried mother. The child tilted his head slightly, as though seeing something no one else could.
Quantum stared back.
He was genuinely passive, however, on guard. It wasn't normal for a child to simply stop and stare.
The child opened his mouth and spoke one word.
"Rahiel."
His voice was soft, bubbling with innocence, yet it cut through the bustle like an ugly blade. The mother suddenly appeared from the fringes of the crowd, yanking her child away.
All eyes were suddenly turned to the boy, and his mention.
Almost like clockwork, the posters on the walls began to billow, as a strange breeze passed through the street. The mercenaries at the poster stopped laughing, their eyes locked onto Quantum.
It seemed they were putting the pieces together. An amusing occurrence it was, yet, all eyes were suddenly drawn towards the man seated at the edge of the alley.
Insecurity began to take its seat.
Bandaged. Holding a spear. Bare feet.
The boy continued.
"That's Rahiel."
His mother slapped his hand, and he began to wail in a distressing voice.
All of a sudden, people began to realize Quantum's strangeness. He didn't seem like any other miscreant living on the sidewalk. His eyes burned with a dark force.
"Hey…did that kid just say Rahiel…", one of the mercenaries murmured.
Of course, it seemed silly, but no one could eliminate the possibility that Rahiel could be dwelling amongst them. Underneath their very noses. It would prove to be common sense. That the best place to hide from the bear, would be underneath its fur.
On top of everything, no one had taken notice of the stranger before.
The insecurity rattled like the warning of a rattle snake.
Rahiel was a legend so feared it was part of Karakhian culture. Supposedly unkillable, with the hatred of thousands burning against him. If this horror had slipped in, it would mean something monumental.
For the first time in years, Rahiel didn't belong to a poster. Hearsay. Legends and stories.
No.
It lived.
It breathed.
The mercenary's hand drifted to his sword.
The hunt had begun.