章 37: Emptiness and Abundance
The underbelly of Trüben-City had long since been swallowed by water. It reached up to Elliot's waist, cold and unrelenting, its icy grip numbing him to the bone. His teeth clattered like loose stones, and the howling storm churned the floodwaters into restless waves, splashing as high as his chest with every step. The air smelled of wet earth and decay, the oppressive darkness broken only by flashes of lightning.
Elliot trudged onward, his body steady as a boulder against the relentless tide. Filthy water mixed with the relentless rain, drenching him thoroughly, his clothes clinging like a second skin. His head tilted forward, his arms raised above the waterline to safeguard a satchel and a small leather case.
'I'm sorry, William. Truly, I am.'
His lips moved soundlessly; his voice swallowed by the roar of the storm. His eyes, heavy with regret, fixed on the horizon where the Wellington and Fernen streets would intersect. Somewhere beyond the chaos lay that familiar junction—a beacon in his memory. He couldn't afford to stop.
Minutes stretched into eternity, yet Elliot's thoughts remained fixed on his colleagues—his friends. William's face haunted him, the moment of his death replaying like a cruel specter. The gleam of the machete as it struck, the red and blue blood cascading down William's throat as life drained from him. The image seared itself deeper into Elliot's mind, the guilt eating away at him like rust on metal.
'It's all my fault…'
The mantra repeated in his head, each step into the murky depths carrying the weight of his sins. The storm howled louder, the wind whipping his soaked hair into his eyes. Blind to his surroundings, Elliot pressed forward. He was deaf to the screams of the world around him, yet the storm seemed to echo his inner torment.
Then, amidst the pitch-black despair, a light emerged.
It was faint at first, a flicker barely noticeable—a candlelight in a basement, a lantern against the endless void. Elliot's breath caught; his body froze mid-stride as his eyes adjusted to the distant glow. A figure materialized in the distance, illuminated by the harsh glare of lightning.
A young man with disheveled blond hair was struggling against the current, his legs churning through the water, his every movement frantic yet determined.
"Ren…"
Elliot whispered the name, his voice trembling, his shoulders sagging under an unseen weight.
For a moment, he stood rooted in place, the storm battering him from all sides. But as the realization hit, his legs found strength once more. He pushed forward, each step a Herculean effort against the rising tide.
"Ren!" he shouted, his voice a mere croak lost to the cacophony of the storm.
The figure moved farther away, unaware of Elliot's presence. A flash of lightning illuminated the scene, and Elliot caught another glimpse of him. Ren's silhouette stood stark against the dark, the storm carving his outline into the chaos.
"Ren!" Elliot cried again, desperation shredding his vocal cords. The wind swallowed his words whole, waves crashing over him, forcing water into his lungs.
The storm was merciless.
Another wave surged forward, this one massive enough to rival buildings. It bore down on Elliot with the force of an avalanche, dragging him under and tossing him like a rag doll in its wake.
"Ren!"
Elliot's scream was muffled beneath the water as his body was lifted by the wave, propelled forward. His legs strained, black veins pulsing under his skin as he drew on reserves of strength, he didn't know he possessed. He leapt as high as he could, water cascading off his form as he reached for the surface.
The light grew closer now, Ren's silhouette more distinct. Elliot's heart pounded against his ribcage as he tried to call out again, but no sound escaped his lips. His limbs grew heavier, his body sluggish as if weighed down by invisible chains.
The surface seemed within reach—only a meter above—but no matter how he thrashed, he couldn't breach it. His arms clawed desperately, his suitcase and satchel long lost to the abyss.
Darkness encroached.
His vision narrowed until there was nothing but black, an oppressive void swallowing him whole. For a moment, there was no sound, no feeling—only emptiness.
Then, a light pierced through the gloom.
At first, it was no larger than a pinprick, but it grew rapidly, shaping itself into a hand. A strong, steady hand. It reached out to him, cutting through the watery haze like a lifeline.
Ren.
Ren's figure became clear, his teeth gritted as he strained to pull Elliot from the depths. Veins bulged along his arms, his soaked shirt clinging to him as the effort took its toll.
Elliot gasped as he broke the surface, coughing violently, water spewing from his lungs as oxygen finally flooded back in.
"Ren!" Elliot rasped, his voice hoarse and raw. His eyes darted wildly, his face wet with a mixture of rain and tears.
"I've got you, Elliot," Ren's voice came, distant but firm. It was a voice Elliot hadn't heard in what felt like a lifetime, a voice he had feared he would never hear again.
"Ren?" Elliot's teeth chattered as he struggled to focus, his body wracked with shivers. "Is it really you?"
Ren gave him a small, lopsided smile, his wet blond hair plastered against his face. "Yeah. It's me."
…
In a dimly lit room, the storm's wrath raged outside, rattling the windows and threatening to tear them from their frames. The orange-red glow of oil lamps and flickering candles cast shifting shadows on the waterlogged floor.
Eriksson stood leaning against a closed door, water seeping through the cracks and pooling around his boots. He stared into the dim reflection of the candlelight in the puddle below, his expression unreadable.
"This… This is no ordinary storm," a man's voice broke the silence. It belonged a lanky figure with sharp black hair and a prominent nose. He dabbed at his nostrils with his sleeve, his voice thick and nasally.
"I'm Markus, by the way," he added awkwardly, his attempt at a smile faltering under Eriksson's icy gaze.
"What do you think is happening here?" Markus's voice cut through the tension, but once again, no answer came.
'This Hank had spoken of a dangerous individual—could they be responsible? Or was it something greater? A deity, perhaps? A golden one? The God of Creation? '
Eriksson's thoughts churned as he stared into the shimmering reflection of the warm light on the water's surface.
Markus broke the silence again, dragging a sleeve across his long nose, smearing snot in the process. "Whatever's going on here, it's bad. Real bad," he muttered before exhaling sharply and glancing at Eriksson. "But let's talk about the journey to the Underground instead."
His voice trembled as Eriksson's piercing green eyes met his own. "A-are you sure about going there?" Markus stammered. "I mean, the place is crawling with Browns, not to mention the war zone between demons and angels up on the surface. Sure, there are areas where the fighting's contained, but even there, low-blooded folk like us won't be treated kindly. We'll be seen the same way Reds are treated here—like fools dancing to someone else's tune."
Eriksson's gaze didn't waver, his pale green eyes cold and unyielding. "Then so be it."
…
In the Rosenmahl Estate, the rain lashed against the windows like an endless volley of stones. Some of the grand, ornamental panes, more for show than function, burst open under the assault, welcoming the deluge into the opulent halls with an unsettling intimacy. Outside, the storm howled, an unrelenting symphony of thunder, lightning, and wind. Inside, the household carried on with its celebration of the new temporal calendar, honoring Astarion, the sovereign of all golden gods.
Aston sat alone in his chamber, the soft glow of the fireplace casting flickering shadows across the room. His gaze was distant, fixed on the droplets racing down the glass of the nearest window. "Elisia, I can't do this anymore," he murmured, his voice heavy with resignation. "Why must my father and brother be so stubborn? Why do they hate the Reds so vehemently? We were once the family that cared for them—protected them."
Elisia, draped in a flowing azure gown that seemed to shimmer in the dim light, sat gracefully on the edge of his bed. Her orange hair cascaded down her shoulders, resting softly against the fabric. "It will get better, Aston," she whispered, her amber eyes meeting his cerulean ones with a tender, unwavering gaze.
The storm outside raged on, the periodic crack of thunder punctuating the steady rhythm of rain. Yet here, in the warmth of Aston's chamber, their breaths mingled, the heat of their proximity warding off the chill of the tempest. Slowly, she leaned closer, her lips—a soft orange hue—hovering near his own. The warmth of her kiss left a delicate imprint on his lips, a fleeting mark of solace amidst the storm.
"I love you, Aston," she whispered, her voice trembling with sincerity.
"And I, you," he replied, his tone soft yet resolute.
As they exchanged breath and warmth, Elisia's gaze drifted, her smile faltering slightly as her eyes locked on a portrait resting on the far wall. It depicted Aston and his mother, their expressions immortalized in serene happiness. Yet her lips curved upward again, a subtle, knowing smile taking form as she focused intently on the image. Aston, oblivious to her distraction, kissed the nape of her neck, his affection unbroken.
…
Elsewhere, in the heart of Trüben-City, a darkened room lay half-submerged under the storm's wrath. Rainwater poured relentlessly through the broken doorway, flooding the floor, and surging ever higher. Elliot and Ren stood back-to-back against a crumbling wall, their breathing steady despite the chaos around them. Their eyes were closed, faint smiles playing on their lips, masking the deeper emotions that churned beneath the surface—grief, guilt, and regret.
Elliot's face, damp from both rain and tears, glimmered faintly in the sparse light filtering through the shattered window. He stared out at the tempest, his trembling hands betraying his attempts at composure. His stomach growled audibly, but he ignored it, lost in the weight of his thoughts.
'Please, let them have survived. Please…' Elliot tried to piece together the events in his mind, but it only made him shake his head and let more tears spill down his cheeks. Still, a faint smile tugged at his lips as his gaze shifted to Ren, standing by his side.
"I love you."
It was the first time such words escaped Elliot's mouth. Ren, however, replied with his head lowered, his voice almost a whisper. "I love you too..."
For a moment, they barely looked at each other, and yet, it felt as if they saw more of one another than ever before. It was strange, a connection both profound and unsettling.
The steps ahead were damp, the first two submerged in water. Only further up did the stairs grow drier, though droplets from their soaked clothes still fell and darkened the stone. Ren trailed a couple of meters behind Elliot as they ascended.
"How did you survive that shapeshifter, anyway?" Elliot asked, his voice breaking the rhythm of their steps. "All I remember is hitting the ground..."
Ren didn't answer immediately, his boots creaking against the aged wood of the stairs. When he reached the top, he turned left into an empty room. The rain battered against the walls, the wind howling like a wailing spirit, while thunder roared in the distance, shifting the world between blinding white and oppressive black.
"How did you survive the attack?" Elliot repeated, turning back with one final step.
But the only thing he saw was a silhouette illuminated by a flash of lightning. Blonde hair, eyes glowing a piercing azure, and clothing drenched, water dripping steadily from the figure's chin and nose. The figure grinned—a wide, unnerving grin.
In the fleeting moments between light and dark, it was difficult to make out the details. Yet something was wrong. Where his teeth should have been, there was... nothing.
Elliot's eyes widened, his body instinctively stepping back.
"N-no. No!" he stammered, his pulse quickening as his knees buckled beneath him. He scrambled back further, his gaze locked on the figure, his mind reeling.
"Where's Ren?! What have you done to him?!"
The figure tilted its head slightly, its voice cold, laced with mocking amusement. "What I've done to Ren?" It chuckled, a sound that grew darker with every note. "I 'am' Ren, lil brother."
Ren's grin widened further, his laughter bursting forth, uncontrollable and deranged. Lightning illuminated his face again, revealing blackened teeth as he dragged his tongue over them, smearing a tar-like substance. He kept laughing, his hand motioning toward the other as if inviting a twisted joke only he understood.
Elliot stared, frozen, his breath hitching. His body trembled, every muscle refusing to obey as he pressed himself against the wall.
Ren's voice cut through the storm. "You probably have a lot of questions, don't you, Elliot or shall I address you as the golden Reaper?"
As he spoke, his body began to twist and distort, his features shifting like melting wax. His hair turned white and gray, his face wrinkled and sunken, his stature hunching. He looked almost identical to the old man who had revealed Ren's location to Elliot.
Ren bent forward, clutching his lower back with an exaggerated groan. "Ah, it hurts, it hurts so much," he mocked, laughter bubbling up again. "What's the matter, golden Reaper? Crying already?"
Elliot's tears spilled freely; his shimmering blue eyes filled with despair.
"Shall I blow on your wounds, like I used to when we were kids? Put a little plaster on them, perhaps?" Ren cackled, his tone dripping with cruel sarcasm.
But as his features morphed back into their original state, his laughter ceased, replaced by a sharp glare. His brows furrowed in fury, his teeth clenched, and his voice dropped to a venomous growl.
"You don't know what it means to suffer. You've never had to! You're so stupid—always thinking you're something special! Those visions of yours? Don't make me laugh."
Ren stepped closer, his face mere inches from Elliot's, the rancid heat of his breath washing over him.
"Did it never cross your mind," Ren hissed, "that I might have visions too? Perhaps even more extensive ones than yours? In one moment, I've lived every agonizing second of my future life."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before breaking into laughter again. His hand reached out, brushing away the tears from Elliot's face as if savoring his pain.
"That's it," Ren whispered, his grin widening once more. "The sweet taste of revenge. Golden, golden Reaper. I've waited five long years for this moment. To take everything from you in one fell swoop. To leave you hopeless and utterly alone."
Ren stepped back, pulling a knife from his belt. Its blade glinted in the dim light as he pressed it against his own finger, slicing it deliberately. Green and red blood welled up, dripping slowly to the floor.
"You want to know about the shapeshifter?" Ren smirked. "I killed it myself. Cham, though... well, that was unfortunate. But breaking you is worth so much more."
His voice dropped into a low, taunting whisper as he leaned in close once more. "Now, Elliot, you have the honor of giving your blood to me. Your 'great', 'honorable' brother."
Elliot's chest heaved, his body trembling violently as he tried to process the horror unfolding before him.
Ren chuckled, his gaze drifting upward. "Go ahead, look up, golden Reaper," he said mockingly. "Oh wait, you can't. Silly me."
He tilted his head back as if admiring the empty air above, his laughter filling the storm-battered room. "There's nothing there."
'Slash!'
The knife plunged into Elliot's stomach.
His breath caught, a ragged gasp escaping his lips as pain erupted through his body. Blood—red, tinged with faint streaks of blue, yellow, and black—gushed from the wound. Ren's hand, steady and unyielding, twisted the blade deeper.
Elliot's legs buckled, his face ashen, but his eyes remained locked on Ren's. The storm outside raged on, thunder illuminating Ren's maniacal grin, his teeth smeared with dark, viscous blood.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Ren whispered, his voice trembling with excitement. "Your blood, your despair—it's perfect. Everything I dreamed of."
'Slash!'
'Slash!'
'Slash!'
Again and again, the blade descended. Elliot's body jerked with every strike, his blood pooling around them, mixing with the stormwater flooding the floor. His breathing grew shallow, each exhale weaker than the last.
Ren stepped back, his laughter bordering on hysterical, as he admired his work. Elliot stood there, his body trembling involuntarily, his knees threatening to give way. Tears continued to stream down his hollow, lifeless eyes, merging with the kaleidoscope of blood dripping from his wounds.
"Goodbye, golden… Reaper," Ren whispered, his voice softer now, almost tender.
Elliot's vision darkened, the flickering storm light fading into an endless void. The warmth of life, the flicker of hope that once resided in his heart, was extinguished. His final breath escaped him in a shallow whisper, and his heart gave one last, futile beat before surrendering to the abyss.
The storm outside roared, relentless and unforgiving, but within Elliot, there was only silence—a silence that stretched into eternity.
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