1861- Yellow
Larrikin adjusted his bandana tightly around his mouth, the grains flicking at his raw and tethered face as the men trekked through the desert. Their mouths were dry as the sand beneath them as they left a trail of footprints, all that was left of their passing. They of course wanted to be followed. It was quite obviously a trap, the question was would the object follow and would the setters be willing to keep up their sanity until they did.
The answer to this was no. Certainly not for this Dead Man.
Larrikin coughed meekly, no other reason to besides the feeling of passing silence between the men. The clearing of throat, quiet abruptly, turned into a hammering of the vocal chords. Anton turned his head upon the sudden noise and glared, his dark eyes robbing the light of the intense sun above.
"Larrikin. You had our attention five minutes ago. Nobody was speaking." His voice was brittle as the whipping air around them, bullets of sand flying at their eyes.
The blonde man lifted is head and chuckled. "Oh, I know. I just did it to tick you off."
He grinned and walked past the man patting his shoulder forcefully and pushing to the front of the group beside his dark-eyed comrade.
The scarred man closed his eyes and let out a low growl of vexation before continuing to trudge in the line they had formed.
There was a substantial pause,or at least an absence of words for the intense wind took it's place as it whipped their clothes and raked their faces.
"...Boop." The singular syllable hung in the air and blew away across the desert with the intense wind.
"...Boop." The blonde haired comedian poked his partner ever so often and sidled away to avoid his angered glare.
The tall, hulking figure stopped and raised a toned arm.
"Larrikin. I will not hesitate to punch you if you feel it appropriate to continue." His voice was deep and menacing, matching his stance.
"Look, I'm causing no harm m'kay? You guys go have fun having the comedic stamina of a penguin in Mexico cause I can't see no s**t in me being a part of this anymore." He stiffened and linked his arms together plopping himself on the scorned and fervent sand, his legs crossed and stance in concentrated anger. The wind was the only sound, whipping against the desert in such dedication that it blew the men of their stances.
"Nope. Don't even try. I will not move no matter how much you beg me, no matter how much you try to force me from this place I shall not budge an inch."
Not one stirred from their concentrated glares, trudging behind one another into the endless abyss of the desert and completely obvious to the straggler behind.
"I'M NOT MOVING!! YOU CANNOT MAKE ME!! EVEN IF YOU WANTED TO I SHALL NOT BE FORCED TO SUCH MEASURES!!"
None bared but a glance to him and they soon found themselves a great space from each-other. The blonde Irish-man gaped at the pure audacity of his colleagues and stood from his present spot, yelling into the whipping sand around him as he struggled past a cough, "Oh, I see how it is!! Yeah!! I'm like Super-Man... I know when I'm needed..." His call echoed none back and he started to walk following the unclear direction of the group until he saw the vague heads of his colleagues in the sun glare.
"Anton? Dude you just left me. That was entirely uncalled for. Just so you know, I'm going on strike." He approached the seven figures, their stances were of ice and they did not break a notion upon his return. He stopped and surveyed them closely as the sun faded out of his eyes and he saw the thickened black holes where his eyes used to be. What he thought were his friends where the exact thing they had been running from.
He felt behind himself for him comrades, for the warmth that he relied on time and time again. He felt nothing but a cold hand grasping his shoulder and the musty, dried and mudded overclothes of the phantom behind him.
He screamed and rolled as the gunfire came, falling into space as the creatures above him roared and writhed.
He felt a hand grab him and he was pulled away from the scene, the stamp and wheeze of a horse hauled beneath him as he tore across the desert.
The world faded into black.
----
A constant dripping of woke him from his unconscious slumber. The world was blurred and undefined and his head rocked with his slowly stirring mind. He let a groan pass his lips and rolled his shoulders feeling the crack of the muscles as they warmed and sent shivers down his spine. Leaning his head against the exact thing he had been slumped upon he made an attempt to redefine his vision. The walls around were dark, a singular lamp hanging on the wall and radiating light keenly into the darkness around. He was alone, the shadow of his broken body his only friend.
He rolled his neck and looked about. The walls were thick with dust and he appeared to be in some form of cavern, rotting beams stranding across his head the ceiling low and claustrophobic. He appeared from what he could see, to be in a mineshaft.
He moved from the place he lay and lifted his hand to his side, only to find he was chained down by his wrist. Foggy headed he clicked his fingers but no flame ignited upon his wish.
He opened his mouth and tasted stale and rotting air, dust passing to his lungs and causing him to cough hysterically. He swallowed hard through dense tears and gaped for rancid air as he caught his breath and lent hard against the rock, feeling his determination slip from him. He was alone and he doubted highly that would change anytime soon.
----
Anton Shudder had become desperate. His faint glow of hope had now become tarnished and the statement now became clear, as the bodies that lay at his feet cut their last strings of existence. Larrikin was gone and it was all his fault. Phantoms they were called, reaped from the dead souls of the fallen during the last few weeks of this civil war an attempt from the opposition to rule them out. Until this point they had failed. He bowed his head and felt the anger rise inside him, screwing his eyes shut as his fists clenched and he felt words ascend from his pain.
"This is all my fault."
He felt his gun buckle beneath his tight grip and fall in pieces at his feet, joining the blood and gunshot adorning the ground.
"This isn't your fault, Anton." Vex's calm but firm voice met his ear as his hand collided with his shoulder, "We'll find him. We always do."
He shrugged it off impetuously and paced forward away from the group, stamping over his gun and hearing it fracture beneath his intense mass.
"I'm going to kill whoever did this."
----
A glow caught his eye he he felt his head turn towards it. It had an unclear shape but flowed across the space with such grace he would call it but a breeze. As his eyes adjusted he could make out curves, it's whole body was made of them and it's stance was tranquil and serene. As the light softened he could make out a smile, upon realising the pure grace of the figure before him. The figure of a girl.
She tilted her head and continued to smile, white light radiating from her with such an intense glow he could only be blinded by her beauty. For she was beautiful.
He felt foreign words spring to his mouth on instinct even though he had not felt them before.
"You... W-what are you?..." He sat in awe of her as she approached closer, kneeling at his feet and placing at hand to his face. She was so close but he felt no warmth from her, no breath.
She smiled and opened her mouth her voice tinkling on the soft breeze that entered the cavern.
"I am Xanthe." She tilted her head to his and looked deeply into his eyes. He felt an odd sensation of exposure to her and he soon found his mind humming with words and thoughts, images flashing before his eyes of things he had not seen before or even dreamt of seeing.
"Why did you bring me here?"
His eyelids slammed upon themselves and he felt himself encased in darkness once more. There was a low hum from afar and his head turned in the darkness of his mind to the same girl as she lay in a heap on the floor.
He rushed to her and helped her up feeling the air glide beneath him as the wind changed and they were in a crowd, buzzing with life.
He stopped and surveyed the area his mind humming with voices and his head confused. A group was gathered densely before him, men and women grouping steadily towards a stage in the centre of the town and flocking to the men upon it.
"Henry Jenkins. Convicted of treason against the state. Sentenced to be hanged by the neck until dead, as a warning to others of such misconducts." A rich American accent spoke from ahead, it's voice pounding what were walls of sanctuary around him as he watched the images take place. He saw a man dressed in white, his head was bowed and tears soaked his cheeks. He muttered something inaudible as he was forced to the floor; a noose tightened around his neck.
He felt himself pushed aside by the girl that led him here, her form now changed and body thriving with life. She wore a petticoat and blue dress and her hair flew behind her in long dark ringlets.
"Stop!" Her voice was sharp and richly twanged, pushing past the voices of objection as she made it to the front of the crowd. "Stop! Don't hurt him!".
A mumble washed across the crowd at the disturbance and the close bodies sidled away so her view was clearly seen by the spokesman. She inhaled deeply and from where he stood Larrikin could hear the break in her voice. "He's an innocent man."
The crowd laughed in unison, a weak yet one-minded laugh that reminded him how closed the world was. How little people knew.
"This man is a traitor, youn' lady. He deserves to die like a traitor." There was a hint of humour lingering on the edge of his voice and he gave a quick signal to the executioner, his gloved hand clasping the lever.
"STOP!" She yelled and took out a gun from her belt, her shaky finger pressed hard against the metal of the trigger ready to fire.
There was a distant scream and echo of yells as the girl was taken to the ground by a hulking figure, thriving and trying to break from his grip as she saw what she dreaded over the horizon. She screamed and tried to move from the man but was forced upon the hard stone, blood running freely from her nose. "They're here!"
But no-one heard her as they were turned to the light behind him. Larrikin felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and the world was washed with yellow light.
----
"I'm getting a very odd sense of deja-vu here."
The mouth of the shaft was petricious with rocks, a caking of rough sand adorning the facade and disguising it from the common eye. They had followed the tracks here, not a hard thing to do in a desert provided no sand storm got in the way. The hulking figure approached a slit in the rocks and trailed his hand down it, glancing back at the trail behind him. He felt along the rock for any sign of symbol or mark, differentiating from the rocks around. "It's a door!" He called back to the wind and the six men behind him, a first trudging towards him and spying through the crack. "That it is." The taller man turned his head and watched the other as he made work at eying up the crack and wetting his finger, putting it to the air. "How do we open it, Rue?" The brown haired man closed his eyes for several seconds before flicking them open and turning to the group. "I have it." The blonde looked up from his mapping and payed full attention to the man in front, folding his parchment and handing it back to the scarred man.
Saracen Rue revealed a stick of dynamite from the innards of his jacket and gave a cocky smile.
"We blow it up."
----
Larrikin's eyes flicked open and the lamplight filled his vision. The girl sat in the corner of the shaft and faced a wall. He looked around and realised he was back where he started, exhaling deeply and causing her to toss her head to a side; her darkened hair falling to her shoulder in a curled spiral. "You're awake."
He kept her eyes on her and moved from where he was leant, walking towards her and kneeling before her, in awe of the unknowingness that rushed through him.
She tilted her head and looked a little saddened, her face turning towards the stone once more, her expression lifeless and hard.
"They took our town. They wanted him." Her voice was soft as the wind but he could still feel the remorse and anger behind it, pushing the gale away and to the walls of rock that kept her prisoner in the shaft.
He extended a shaky arm and lifted it to her, inches from her pale skin.
Her head snapped around and she shot a heavy look of worry at him, her voice rising with her fear, "You cannot touch me. Nobody can."
He stopped and lowered his hand, returning it to the floor and pushing himself upright to meet her face. "Why?"
She smiled sadly and looked away from his intense gaze, focusing on the wall before her and letting lifeless tears trickle down her cheeks.
"You asked why I brought you here. Well... I need your help." Her eyes were still at the wall but he could feels the eyes from all around. "That day was the day I died. I am a restless soul, not at peace until I make my conscience clear. Those beasts out there, they were after me. They still are and always will be, except they're under new command now. I hide out in here, hopeful that someone will help me escape this... And here you are."
He caught her gaze as she tilted her head and narrowed it, his facade confused. "What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to kill the ghosts."
----
Saracen Rue lifted his arm and brought it down in a quick glade as Dexter lit the dynamite, sprinting back and joining the group with a dive. There was a space of time between then when only the wind and a sizzle of burning rope could be heard.
Then, the explosion.
The noise burnt at their ears and licked the entrance to the cavern with flames, spitting rocks and debrey at the men as they covered their heads and let the flecks of rock fly over their heads. There was a thunderous noise of falling rocks and then, silence.
Saracen Rue looked up from where he was crouched and smiled, coughing as the dust and sand caught his lungs. "Well, that went well."
There was an ensemble of groans and the men helped themselves to their feet and approached the cave entrance, parting the dust before them.
"A mine shaft." A man said.
"A mine shaft. How quaint. Come on..." And the Dead Men followed each other into the gloom.
----
A Ilisoro lifted it's head upon the sound, it's eyes flashing bright yellow and a snarl breaking forth unto it's face. It was joined by two others as the dust cleared, a hole in the rock formed from fire. They had been watching from the rocks above, trekking the spirit and the men that were their prey. Shadows whipped behind them and a clunk of armour came almost soundlessly from behind, eying the cave and catching the gaze of the Ilisoro to whom placed it's mind and thoughts away and concentrated on the voice in it's head.
"Hunt them. Leave none alive." It's rasping voice echoed around in it's skull like a haunting memory.
The phantom growled baring it's great, yellowed teeth and groaning a call to the others, bounding down the hill on all fours. Nothing like the men they had morphed to before. These were monsters.
----
"They're called Iiisoro. It means phantom. They were created by dark gods when they came to our time from a portal a thousand years ago. They aren't creatures of this world, yet, they can still be killed. They are scavengers, they hunt those of less worth than them and are rewarded by fear. They are shape shifters and therefore very agile beings, although they have flaws. They have low energy supplements and although their teeth and claws are poisonous do not use any other form of weapon as they are allergic to steel and afraid of fire. I don't know why but on this occasion they have felt the need to work for a group higher than them. They are lead by a man in black armour, shadows following his wake. I've never seen such like him..."
"We have..." A voice echoed down the tunnel, deep and masculine with an once of malice hidden. Larrikin's head turned and he got up, approaching his comrades and greeting them with hugs and pats on the back.
"Xanthe, these are my comrades. We're going to help yo..."
There was an earthshaking bang and the men were jolted forward, pushed to the rocks for support.
"What was...?" Yellow light filled the tunnel and a hum of something recognisable to the girl but distant to the others.
"DRAW YOUR SWORDS!" She screamed as the light blinded them and then ceased, a great beast launching itself at the men.
----
Steel sliced through the head of the beast, it's now mortal form white and fleshy, unlike the ghost one of before.
It's head rolled to the ground and sizzled with poison as it burnt to a crisp beside them. The men advanced forward, slicing the beasts as they came and screaming as they were marked and bitten, their skin bubbling with venomous boils. Yet, they did not stop until they made it into the light.
In the centre of it all stood two men.
Dexter drew his sword from the chest of a beast as it pounced over his head and snapped at his hair, ripping his forehead with a long gash of warm blood.
He screamed and rolled to the floor, firing his gun at an attacking Ilisoro as it hit the floor and bubbled in it's own poison.
He clutched the wound on his head and fought in all directions, unaware of the whereabouts of his comrades and fighting blind to his left side.
A creature pounced blindly to him and he felt himself tumble to the floor, pinned to the ground by this great mass and bulk of a heaving phantom.
He cursed and felt for his sword, flicking it his hand and piecing the arm of of the animal which gave him a roar of success. He flipped the beast and stabbed it numerous times, counting another lash to his face before the creature failed to it's death.
He stumbled forward as the sand ripped his vision and caused him to stumble back, he could not sense anyone near him and called for his comrades, hoping for a reply as the sandstorm built.
That was when he saw the eyes, green orbs in the desert of yellow sand.
He stumbled backwards and tripped on his own feet, falling, falling, falling.
The man approached and chuckled, kicking his body hard in the wound and causing him to grunt in pain.
"Dexter Vex."
He looked up to the eyes of Nefarian Serpine.
"You really are a Dead Man."
----
He could make out the vague figures in the distance, one hunched over on the ground and the other lowering a hand. A red hand. Fear shot through his mind like the bullets around and he tore towards the scene, lunging and taking the man to the floor, a stabbing pain of red, hot malice surging through him and letting a scream pass his lips. He felt his insides burn and water reach his eyes. It was unimaginable pain. He had not planned his final thoughts despite what he had promised himself, all was too quick, too painful. His last thoughts were of his friend's blue eyes, staring into his soul as the world went black and his pain ceased.
----
Xanthe's breath caught in her trachea and she felt herself falling.
One life had been sacrificed, one worthy life for hers. One life for her to be at peace.
She was falling, falling a place she did not know and falling to the black that she had been waiting years for. She was a wandering spirit, needing of a resting place. That had been redeemed and she was free. Free at last. She faded into the desert.
Into the yellow.