A Fate So Surreal

A pale imitation of twilight ebbed over the skyline of the hollow city. Already dense shadows grew darker, a tint of ember sky offering a small change in scenery. Despite the attempt, it only made the world seem more ominous than usual. Buildings rose in crumbling towers, empty shrines to dust and ash. Another treacherous night was descending on Elysium.

Darkness still had not yet reached the square, light weakly fought the cold void of silence, save for the one soul left to break it. Faint clinking and muffled footsteps made their way up a short flight of stairs from a cellar, where a tall figure emerged, staggering slightly. They rose to their considerable height, juggling three bottles containing a dark liquid. Their dark, hooded cloak was slightly askew, they made no move to fix it.

The figure paused, for perhaps a moment longer than he’d meant to, inhaling a long breath and scrutinizing the sky. Finding nothing, he stalked his way across the square, stumbling almost imperceptibly. The square was once beautiful, ornate fountains and gardens winding across the polished stones where people used to gather around market stalls, venues, whiling away a pleasant afternoon. That was a long time ago. Now the stones were cracked, stained, broken pieces of masonry littered the ground. Hauntingly realistic statues toppled, reaching out of dark formations as though begging for someone to pull them free. Phantom reached a mostly-working fountain and nearly threw his hulking form at its base. After setting down two of the bottles, he took the third and ripped the cork out with his terrifyingly-fanged teeth, discarding it amongst the rest of the debris. He took a long pull from the bottle, nearly draining it to half empty. Absently he rolled the bottle in his hand and watched the contents slosh around.

“Hope none of you mind me liberating some goods from your wine cellar...does not appear you’ll be drinking it…” his voice rasped slightly from disuse as he addressed the statues around the square. The grotesque figures only answered with silence. He seemed satisfied anyways, raising the bottle in a mock toast. “Thank you for the generous donation.” He drained the rest of the bottle. “You know,” he began, popping the cork out of the next bottle, “normally I’d refrain from being so chatty, but I’ll make an exception for the horrific remnants of a Stygian Armageddon,” he gestured absently with his free hand, “I reason you’ve got nothing else going for you, a shambling husk wandering by every now and then can hardly be stimulating.”

The sarcasm in the air was almost thicker than the answering silence.

Phantom sighed, standing up from his spot on the ground, revealing that his stumbling wasn’t just due to the booze; a dry stain by his hip hinted at a recent scuffle. His altered biology had already started healing it awhile ago, but the anemia was still hindering him. His free hand instinctively cradled it as he straightened, skin pulling uncomfortably. The bottle was drained a little more. “But that is just our fate isn’t it? Doom descended on this city and it doesn’t even have the courtesy to grant us death? Just existing in limbo while the Abyss consumes what’s left until the rest of us choke on it…” the bottle shook slightly in his hand. A humorless gasp of laughter escaped his throat as he corrected himself, “‘The rest of us’? It’s just me. Well, me and the Warden but only one of us has a shred of sanity left to be counted as sapient,” he spat, turning accusingly towards the statues, “Spare me the pity. All of us are fated to this. You are no better than I. All of you saw the coming dark and ran, ran right into your ending as if you had any chance of out-running it...and when the lights faded out, there was nothing. Nothing! Leaving us here, confused...and so utterly alone,” his breaths came in shallow pants, his anger and frustration growing, shadows around him pulsing and writhing, though it was hard to tell if his ire was still directed at the statues or not. “And I had the naive assumption I didn’t have to end the same way, my hubris let me believe that this prison was escapable! I was given a taste of something other than this isolated existence and was foolish enough to embrace it!” A statue with a rather agonized expression to his left slowly became cloaked in solid shadow, wherever darkness touched crystallizing in thorny, jagged patterns as Phantom stood panting and sputtering. “All I took away was knowing the sound of someone else’s voice, and then living to see it silenced!” He threw the bottle into the nearest wall where it shattered, as if in defiance of the quiet that caused him such grief, the liquor joining the other stains on the ruined stone. “Again and again. Why have I not learned? Why won’t I LISTEN!” The shadows were roiling, rising up around him in a grotesque, twining shroud, before he released his wrath with a snarl and sent them back to the ground. With a huff Phantom picked up and opened the last bottle, pausing to examine it. “Probably because there was no one here to tell me in the first place. Just you. Frozen corpses with no breath left in you to have a voice.” Another pull from the bottle as he made his way over to a nearby balustrade, “Though I suppose if you did I wouldn’t get away with bitter, drunken ranting.” Leaning on the stone rail, Phantom surveyed the lower level of the city sprawling below him, twirling the bottle once more to make the liquid slosh against the glass. He seemed to subconsciously need to fill the quiet with some sort of noise. Scouting wasn’t his intention, he didn’t mean to start looking for movement, yet he did, and he found something. Shades were nothing out of the ordinary in this version of Elysium. There was no one left who could tell you where exactly they came from, and it was probable that the creatures used to be the sort of people you’d ask that question, they were simply a part of life here now and seemed as if they always would be. Each one that was put down two more seemed to rise in their place. For the most part they spent their time comparable to how a group of surly teenagers would; loitering, destruction of property, being loud at all hours of the night, with a touch of murderous intent towards anything that moved. Shades did not really need to eat as far as Phantom knew, they just seemed to like breaking things, especially living things. The lanky, oil-slicked looking creatures were milling about the lower market street, rooting in the debris. Phantom watching them for a moment, before a bitter smile touched his lips as an idea formed in his head.

Liquor and loneliness are poor companions.

They feed on one another until they become self destruction.

And they’re always ravenous.

At first all he planned to do was project his frustration and grief onto the eldritch ne’er-do-wells by giving them a thorough beating, and then continuing to not cope with his emotions in a more quiet corner somewhere, but it seemed Elysium still held some surprises yet. Just as Phantom prepared to vault over the railing and onto the rooftops of the street below he heard something alarming. Enough so that it made him seriously consider that Elysian wine was even stronger than he remembered and he was way more than a bit tipsy; he’d heard a human scream. His eyes flashed silver beneath the shadow of his hood as he urgently scanned the buildings for the source of the scream, deciding to wrestle with the impossibility of this situation later. Suddenly Phantom figured out why the shades were so active on the street as their movements became more animated and erratic, focusing on something scuttling around their feet.

A survivor, Phantom thought, how could one possibly have hidden themselves this whole time? One of the shades was currently hopping excitedly to block off every exit the terrified survivor tried to run to, flashing its teeth, toying with them. The others were circling, nipping and batting at the miserable soul like kittens with a rather loud and weepy ball of string. Phantom watched the display with somber irritation. He despised shades, and he despised this place. Nothing seemed to matter, it was all just callous chaos that revelled in slow decay and eternal misery. Perhaps in the past Phantom might have simply watched in apathetic detachment as the shades went about their grim business, staying out of the way long enough to live to see another empty day of existence, but today, today he was a little drunk and rather frustrated.

Looking around, Phantom saw a gatehouse at the end of the High Market street. When the city was functional and less infested, many districts could be cut off via several gates, whether to direct traffic or for protection, perhaps even quarantine if necessary. If he could get the person through the gate and close it behind them, well, safety was a bit of a stretch in general in this place but the thick metal bars between them and a pack of bored shades was better than nothing. Phantom took off along the promenade and shouted down at the group, trying to get the human’s attention. The unexpected shout from the peanut gallery distracted the shades long enough for their victim to slip through and take off running. Now, without being obscured by vandalous monsters, Phantom could see the human was male, quite young, perhaps barely reaching his twenties. He could also see the boy was a native Elysian, tall and lithe, with dark hair and dark eyes, and not an unfortunate tourist that had wandered in on doomsday with no return ticket home. Phantom yelled once again until the boy met his eyes and he pointed a shackled arm at the gatehouse, receiving a terse nod in return. For his part, Phantom made great time in getting to the large gate. Skidding to a stop, he looked around for the mechanism that would lift it for the young human. It was a surprisingly archaic and simple contraption for a city founded by highly advanced Artificers, a rather unassuming lever with some gears and pulleys, but if it wasn’t broke, why fix it?

Rather quickly Phantom discovered that this one was indeed quite broken, as some genius had decided to jam the gears from the other side so the chain was unable to pull the gate open. Despite his strength, Phantom could not force the mechanism free, and he feared throwing too much weight into it may break the whole thing beyond repair. He stepped up to the ornate iron bars, gripping some Hogarthian scrollwork in each hand, surveying the other side. The reason for the mechanical jam was apparent right away, the intrepid strategist who’d had one great idea already in making sure someone on a tight schedule could no longer use this gate for its intended function, was on a roll and in a fit of inspiration grabbed a fallen banner pole and shoved it into the gears. The true genius of this action was that the banner and rigging had still been attached and were now so entangled in the gears and chain that it would make a Mobius strip weep in shame. Phantom growled in quiet contempt, clearly unappreciative of such a piece of work. Prospects were looking rather grim for the young man currently scrambling his way up the steps and terraces, a feeble hope giving him speed enough to dodge the pursuing shades. The other possibility Phantom contemplated was that he could just step through the shadows to the other side of the gate and continue his true original plan of beating whatever the shades considered pulp out of them, however, as the liquor wore off a more sober Phantom noted he still was in no shape to fight for now. Was it even worth it? The logical and detached part of Phantom’s mind told him to give it up, the plan, while admirable, had failed. Even if the boy made it through how much longer would he last in this lifeless place? Besides he was no hero, in fact he was a very grumpy and abrasive man with only a tenuous grasp on the concept of Chaotic Good, selflessness and heroism were things Phantom was not good at. Yet at some point, someone believed he was. Someone had tried to teach him hope was not a foolish endeavor. Maybe, maybe it was enough to simply try. A corner of his nose scrunched up as he frowned, trying to kick his brain into gear for a new plan. This gate would never fully open again without serious time and effort, neither of which were viable right now. But did he really need the gate to open all the way? Phantom eyed the oncoming figure of the young human, sizing him up. He could easily squeeze under the gate if Phantom could get it a foot or two off the ground, or at least he would if he wanted to continue living.

Phantom retreated back to the lever and threw his weight down on it, hearing the obscenely old gears creak and whine at being forced into action after so many years of retirement. He was hoping that the knotted rope and fabric had enough give in them to either break or surrender some slack to the chain if he pushed hard enough. He could hear the frantic pace of the surviving Elysian rapidly cresting the final rise to the gate, as well as the pack of pursuers on his heels. Phantom heaved with greater urgency, willing the gate to give, the metal reaching a screeching crescendo as the gears finally gave in, moving slowly, notch by notch, and the gate began to rise. “Come on! Hurry!” Phantom strained, his arms shaking as the mechanism fought his efforts to keep it open. The young Elysian never slowed his pace, reaching the gatehouse at a headlong sprint and diving at the last second, neither feeling nor caring that the rough stone street tore at his arms and torso as he skidded. A second later the shades all slammed into the iron gate, unable to halt their momentum in time. Furious, frustrated gurgling growls sounded from where they were all mashed into each other, lamenting the loss of their plaything. The young man, panting, sobbing, looked up at his savior as Phantom locked the lever back into its resting position. “Th-thank you! Thank you!” he babbled over and over, gripping the hem of Phantom’s coat when he stepped closer. Slightly embarrassed at the hysteric praise, Phantom instead distracted him with a round of interrogation. “How? How are you alive?” he growled, a little of his own hysteria coloring his words, “Where did you come from?” The boy stammered, unaffected by the rude hello as he was still trying to recover from the harrowing sprint for his life, “I-I...I don’t really know? It was dark, I was in a hallway...there...there were odd, grotesque statues everywhere...I called, b-but...no one answered.” He looked back up at Phantom, as if hoping he would provide answers. “How long have you been awake?” “I, I guess since this morning? Or whatever counts as morning now, since the sky seems to only go from dark to slightly less dark…” “Impossible,” Phantom spat, “Elysium has been in ruin for over a century, anyone trapped here is dead or corrupted, so I ask again, how are you alive?” “D-dead?” the boy began, deflated. But before he could ask what Phantom meant, he froze in sudden horror, letting out a strangled gasp as his back arched, futilely trying to escape the ghoulish hand burying itself in his lower back. Suddenly, Phantom realized he’d made a mistake in not dragging the boy further away from the gate before interrogating him, prioritizing his need for answers over the safety of the survivor. This was why he was not a hero. At the expense of peeling a layer of pitch skin from it’s gangly arm, which now dripped and oozed down the bars of the gate, one of the shades had shoved it’s hand through the narrow bits of delicate iron scrollwork, abruptly claiming the victory it had almost been denied. It hissed cruelly at Phantom, mocking him as the corrupted flesh overtook the unfortunate Elysian, a familiar crystalline substance overtaking him. It would not be long before he joined the ranks of statues that lined the city streets. Phantom reached out slightly as the youth levelled a look of terrified desperation, perhaps even betrayal at him, both begging to somehow be saved and berating him for giving him false hope.

There was nothing to be done, except to add another regret to the growing collection on his sorry excuse for a soul.

Phantom simply sat, dumbfounded. The one bit of hope that this cursed place had relinquished by some twisted miracle was snuffed out by as uncaring a force as one throwing away an old scrap of paper. What was even the point in trying, if the effort didn’t even matter to the universe at large? If every deed, every gesture could be so easily disregarded and countered, why act in the first place? If he only brought misfortune to others through his actions, why did he detest his solitary fate so profusely?

The anger rose quickly before the disbelief could paralyze him. Phantom forgot his earlier rationale of abstaining from battle until he was rested, now the only thing that would bring him rest was retaliation. Any further wounds would only serve as penance for the pointless mistake he’d made. The shades taunted him from the other side of the gate, hissing and gurgling, daring him to fight. They seemed to have forgotten, that was all he had been built for. Phantom rose to his full height, the shadows of the gatehouse growing darker, corporeal. The inky lines of the gate’s shadow began to stretch, to reach for the shades, wrapping around their limbs and squeezing hard. The jeers turned to burbles of confusion and rising panic. Opposite them, Phantom fell into the thick shadow on the wall, disappearing from view. As the shades tripped over one another trying to both seek out their adversary and retreat, failed to notice a figure rise from the pitch dark pool of shadow forming behind them. A faint clinking of chains being rattled shifted their attention to see a man pulling a length of chain from a cuff on his wrist, followed by a sickening series of pops and cracks as tendons stretched and bones rearranged. Tables turned on the shades as they were introduced to the true beast lurking in Elysium.

The fight was not long nor particularly interesting. The shades certainly did not go down without a struggle, cooperation lending them an advantage against a singular, fatigued foe. But Phantom had not survived this long by hiding, or out of sheer luck, he’d gotten this far by winning. The near-indestructibility was also a great help but much of it came from hitting things harder than they could hit him. He dispatched them cooly, methodically, maliciously. Ignoring the others’ claws and teeth as he tussled with the shades one at a time, Phantom worked his way through the crowd simply by tolerating physical trauma better than they could.

An underwhelming amount of time later, Phantom was staggering away from what remained of Elysium’s special brand of pests, tired and no less angry than he had been before this messy diversion had started. He slowly picked his way back up to the High Market, stumbling from new wounds, but not quite finding the energy to care. Everything was as he’d left it barely an hour ago, yet Phantom felt completely different from how he had when last he sat here. Before he’d been frustrated at the hopelessness of living here, now he was furious at how hope kept being snatched away. Now he found he was fed up with it. He still could not call himself a hero or someone who made good choices, but he was so tired of misery, and tired of dooming others to share it with him. One way or another, this had to end. And he would be the one to end it. When he’d rested and recovered from this day’s events, he’d make an escape once again. Whatever way he could find.

Phantom located the last bottle of wine he’d pilfered from the wine cellar, vaguely noticing that he’d already emptied it. He pondered a moment, gazing into the dark glass as if it held answers or directions he could follow to undo this surreal fate this place had sealed for itself. Actually, it was nothing quite so poetic, he was just deciding if he wanted more to drink enough that he would be willing to stagger back over to the cellar. Which he did.

Emerging once again, Phantom returned to the overlook with a different bottled spirit and two of the smallest glasses he could find. Elysian bourbon was just as potent as their wine and a more appropriate tribute to the dead. At least that’s what he’d been taught by observing grizzled outlaws and vagabonds. He poured two shots and downed his easily, the alcohol burn helping distract him from his fatigue. Hooded eyes turned out to the sprawling ruins of the city fanning out below him, and the distant, darkening sky. This place never even saw stars anymore, not that there were many still around to appreciate them. Watching the still city until the veil of night overtook the last few rooftops, Phantom sat in silence, the only memorial he could give the dead Elysian, as pitiful a wake as it was. He cast a sideways glance at the second shot he’d poured for the departed, wondering if he’d even been old enough to drink, or what the legal drinking age had been here. He shrugged. The second shot was downed as quickly as the first before Phantom turned the glass over onto the railing. Phantom turned away from the overlook, slowly ambling back to the statue he’d originally sat under and slumped down at its base with a small groan. Gradually, he let himself fade out beneath an empty sky over an emptier city, being watched by nothing more than statues.

Just...another day in Elysium.