Reapers - The First Familiar

By Shim Simplina

©2013 All Rights Reserved.

A sequel to Reapers -- Thirteen Brothers (NOW PUBLISHED IN THE PHILIPPINES UNDER CLOAK POPFICTION. Pleas get a copy!)

Other Titles from the Reapers Chronicles
Reapers - Thirteen Brothers (book 1)
Reapers - Master of Souls (book 3)
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Prologue

"When he shall die,

Take him and cut him out in little stars,

And he will make the face of heaven so fine

That all the world will be in love with night

And pay no worship to the garish sun."

― William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

The world was hazy. Distorted. Unimposing. Ever since I'd been thrown into this Godforsaken place. Detachment was the only way I'd escape the loathsome reality.

My thoughts travelled to somewhere far away. Somewhere secure. I was taken back to the home where I grew up. My thoughts were immediately drowned in reminiscence of the time when I and my brother were still one of the Living and our mother was still with us. When we were still normal. But even that, I couldn't reach anymore. It felt like I was a thousand years away from those memories. And perhaps, I was.

More than six hundred years of existence had transformed me to a wholly different being. Time had obscured who I really was. What used to be my dreams. My simple whims way back then. Even my mother's face, I could not clearly remember anymore.

I cursed inwardly at myself. It was unforgivable. I'd sworn to never forget her-never to put behind me all the pain and suffering that man had caused her. That man I used to call Father. That man who denied everything that brought me contentment.

Six hundred years worth of boiling wrath welled inside me. Once again, he took away a part of me. First, my mother and now... her. She was only thing that made this damned life worth continuing. For a while, I'd thought I could finally stop hating myself, everyone else, the world. I could never be more wrong.

He did it before. Now, he was doing it again. He was never satisfied. Wanted everything for himself. Craved the world in the palm of his hand. Maybe that was the reason the Immortals banished him to this world. And he absolutely deserved every painful second of his eternal punishment.

I gnashed my teeth hard. It was a tussle to clear all the ferocious thoughts out of my mind. I caught my head in my hands. They were trembling with rage and now I did not know how to stop being angry. She 'd always known what to do. She'd always seemed to understand. Even though she's stubborn and loud and sometimes, dim.

I tried to prevent myself from thinking of her. It was unbearable, tormenting myself like this when I knew I'd never see her ever again. Doubt flooded back into my head. Did she make it alive out of Nirvana? Had she forgotten about me? I hoped so. But then, deep within me, I was ambiguous.

I wanted to see for myself that she was well. Though, doing that'd inevitably put her life in danger. Several times had I wondered what could've happened if I escaped with her. The possibilities seemed infinite. Appealing. But not bound to happen.

The quiet footfalls from the entry point of the dungeons disrupted my internal struggle. With my eyes still closed, I listened intently as though it was a rhythm from a symphony. It'd been a while since I saw someone other than the Ethereals passing through the castle walls and the lowly familiars appointed to furnish me my daily dose of torture. No delight in that. However, seeing their aggravated expressions afterwards extracting not a morsel of information from me was comforting enough. No amount of physical pain would make me talk.

I didn't move and stayed seated on the floor in a corner of my cell, my head resting on the thick cold cylindrical shafts that'd supposedly keep me in the enclosure. Had I wanted to escape, no kind of metal bars could stop me even in my weakened state. Only, fleeing wasn't an option. Pilgrim Reaper would find me wherever I go. There was no hiding from the Miser of Souls.

Every single soul in the universe is tagged.

"Vincent... Vincent," a small voice called from the stark darkness.

It wasn't the voice I longed to hear. The disappointment came crashing straight in my face. It took every bit of restraint to keep myself from demolishing the steel door. Then again, I recognized the owner of that voice so I forcibly opened my eyes.

Vladimir gazed at me over the top of his spectacles. For a moment, he'd appeared to be examining me from behind the steel bars. His face was emotionless. He knew better than to show any form of pity. Even if he's my brother, I'd definitely rip his face open if he did so much as look at me with sorry eyes.

"You look good for someone who's been tortured to death," he smirked, crossing his frail arms on his chest.

He was lying. My arms and legs were bruised in at least five different colors. Taking into account that my body had to mend itself from injuries virtually every single day for over a month, I couldn't imagine lasting any longer. Annoyed, I sniffed and scanned my dungeon. Save for a bed that creaked whenever I sat on it and an old rickety wooden table in the leftmost corner, there wasn't much to see but granite walls. The darkness would've been overwhelming for human eyes but it barely bothered me. I was used to it.

"You're not looking so bad yourself," I muttered snidely, throwing him a glare.

Kidding aside, he wasn't so pale now. He must've gained some weight. His dress shirt didn't look too big on him anymore. A few years ago, I was almost convinced he'd never recover from Amyr's Resurrection. I told him not just a few times that having five familiars was too much for him to handle. I presumed it was quite premature to judge. I could not tell what miracle caused the improvement of his health but I could only be gratified.

"Tell me you've got something to eat in those pockets. I'm starving," I said grinning.

"Actually," Vladimir started, pulling out a small rectangular object tucked underneath his arm. "I've brought something better, brother." He handed it to me, trying to contain a smile.

I stared at the Memory Tome in my hand. Silently, I flipped the first page. Her name was there in impeccable cursive writing.

Aramis Rayne

Not her handwriting, though. She writes like a hen scratching for worms. Sighing, I tossed the Memory Tome to my table. I slackened, bent my knees and rested my elbows on them. If this was Vladimir's idea of consoling me, it was having the opposite effect.

"Since when did I pass to you for the reading kind, Vlad?" I grunted, sounding a bit irritated. "What idiot would waste his time on that crap?"

The small smile in my brother's face widened. Something told me he was enjoying my reaction. He shook his head, holding back a chuckle.

"Alright then. I'm reckoning you don't want it."

"Hell, no."

"Of course. Definitely not." He appeared all but convinced. "But I'll just leave it to you just in case you wanted something... you know, to chew up while you fume out all that anger of yours," he said in a conniving tone, as if conveying a hidden meaning that only I could decipher.

"Yeah, yeah..." I grunted rather exasperatedly. "How's everybody? I mean, our cabal?"

The grin on his face suddenly died out. A strange calm masked his façade. "We... we're getting by given the circumstances. I won't worry about it."

I nodded even though I wasn't satisfied at all with his answer. Knowing my brother, he was probably keeping me in the dark on what was really happening outside the dungeons. It won't do any good probing either. Vladimir has always been too damn secretive for his own good.

"You better go," I said, staring off through the small barred window atop the end of the dungeon hallway. A swarm of fireflies spiralled up the ink black skies. "The sentries are gonna get here anytime now."

Vladimir sighed in a yielding way. He was almost to step out of the entryway when he peered back at me. He began to say something but ostensibly, thought better of it.

"I'll think of a way," he guaranteed. Then he disappeared before I could make any objection.

There's no way. There's none.

Alone again. I resorted to beating the wall with my fist. One. Two. Twenty-seven. I lost count of the craters I'd made on the thick stone barrier. Every punch exacerbated the turbulence in my head, in my chest. The ceiling seemed to loom over me. Suffocating. Unsettling.

Deep breaths, Vince. Count back to ten.

I didn't know where to start.

Ten... Nine... Eight...

My hands were still shaking when I scampered to my table and snatched the Memory Tome.

Seven... Six...

I had the fervent urge to rip it apart.

Five... Four... Three...

What good would reading it do?

Two...

Nevertheless, I began skimming through the pages almost mechanically.

With every page flipped, the seething chaos in me gradually alleviated. Now the hole rage once filled was replaced with some entity I couldn't recognize or name. It was a sort of feeling when one intensely wishes to see someone. Feel something. Confront the blind possibilities. And in spite of it, feel great. Invincible.

And so I kept on reading even as the sentries arrived. Even as they unlocked my cell and attempted to infuriate me with insults. Even as they barked at me to stand up. All of which, I paid no heed to while I delved into her writings.

All of a sudden, Vincent was smiling to himself-a smile I had never seen before-looking like he just remembered a good joke and patted me on the head. He said, "You've done well."

Wincing, I instantly dropped my gaze and stared at the dried leaves that flitted over his black leather shoes. I couldn't help but feel stupid-like a puppy rewarded with a treat. Deep inside, I was smiling at the fact that somehow he had accepted me.

A blunt pain burst from the side of my head. My sight was hindered by the red liquid that trickled over my eyes. A drop of it fell on the pages of Aramis' diary. I clenched my fists until my nails drew blood from the palms of my hands. The imploding feeling, it was back again. I couldn't hold it back. I'd no idea how.

Before I could think, I'd spun on the balls of my feet and snatched one of the sentries by his neck. He flailed his legs as I lifted him off the ground. One second later, he collided with the cell bars. Only then did I realize that it was me who hurled him. As he fell to the ground, the gate to my cell groaned and crashed over him. His neck was contorted, facing the wrong way. I was sure he won't make it.

I stared at my hands, wide eyed. He didn't need to die. If he hadn't stained the Memory Tome then I won't have any reason to hurt him. I didn't mean to kill him. I didn't mean to...

The four other familiars took no regard for their injured comrade and brought me to the ground, hammering their Cataclysts all over me. By this time, I'd lost all will to retaliate.

While I was being dragged along the desolate pathway to the torture chambers, I watched the thick trail of blood I'd left behind us. All I was looking forward to was the time when I'd be thrown back into my cell after my punishments. Just so I could read more of her words. It seemed like a good motivation, comforting almost.

A lopsided grin stretched across my face. Then everything went black.

"Aramis..." Dad called, giving my shoulder a light squeeze.

I was about to open my eyes when I realized I wasn't sleeping. My eyes hurt like I hadn't blinked for a long time. I just looked at Dad, silently petrified. He was looking pretty scared himself. My inhaler was in his hand. Looking a bit embarrassed, he stared at the inhaler then quickly handed it to me.

"Y-you looked like you're having an attack so..." he mumbled, restarting the truck's engines.

"I'm fine, Dad," I assured him, breathing heavily. I was out of breath but it wasn't because of asthma.

My eyes automatically scanned my surroundings-something I learned from my Reaper days. We were at the roadside. Good thing Dad remembered to stop before panicking. He was what you can call a reckless driver. It wasn't uncommon for him to put us both-and the car-in near death experiences whenever we were on the road. To prove my point, we almost got into a car accident a few months ago and I guess that taught him a lesson or two.

That accident...

I stopped myself before my thoughts could go back to Vincent. But I couldn't help it. It had been what? Like three weeks since I began getting glimpses of his thoughts? But never in any of those instances did I have one that's as clear and long as this one. It was like I was there. Like I could see through his eyes. Think his thoughts.

Maybe it was just a dream. Or a premonition. Or a product of my imagination because I was dying to know what was happening to him.

More than ever, I wanted to come for him. And fast or it might be too late.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey there! Here I am again! This is part 2. If you haven't read part 1 then please do or else, everything here won't make sense to you. Please comment, vote or fan as you please. And don't forget to VOTE for Reapers 1 in the Watty Awards this coming January. I'm thinking of making a Reapers Dictionary. Please lemme know if you need one :) 

love..... ~shim :)