Father meets son. Son meets an enemy. This world is too cruel for parental love...
Drakmor had run from the woman in red... She had been his birth-mother; the only woman whom he had any real connections with. But... how could she love her deformed child? He was, after all, nothing but a living weapon. He did not deserve to have anyone to care for him, least of all a mother.
The oasis around him was small and pathetic, consisting of a small puddle and a half-dead bush. It was sad. The bush seemed to be struggling to survive, the puddle striving to stay alive, and the desert seemed like an incredible enemy, unable to be defeated. But still, the two fragile forces struggled on.
Drakmor took out his canteen and emptied its contents onto the bush. ‘You need this more than me,’ he thought sadly. The water wouldn’t help, no. But it would postpone the enevitable death of the bush.
In the distance, a figure appeared. It looked like a man. But that was impossible. Drakmor had run to the middle of this desert. According to the people in the last town he was in, this desert, called the Sahara, was immense. No man would possible be out this far. Drakmor didn’t care, though. Maybe he was another man trying to kill himself just like Drakmor.
The man finally got close to Drakmor. A hooded cloak covered his entire body, so Drakmor couldn’t make out anything but a pair of eyes peeking out over a veil. Drakmor’s breath caught. The man’s eyes were pitch black, with the exception of a red ring that Drakmor assumed to be an iris. ‘Another experiment?’ Drakmor thought as the man sat down beside him.
They sat in silence for a while, except for the heavy gusts that occasionally flew by. Drakmor’s own cloak looked ragged, he realized. It had tears in several places and the bottom was nothing but little scraps of cloth barely clinging to the mass of brown wool. His silver hair was long and unruly, blowing in the wind as if it wanted to detach from Drakmor’s head. The thought was laughable for some reason. His own hair wanted to leave him. Just like everything else.
Beside him, the man sighed. His cloak was unlike Drakmor’s in every way. It was made of some deep dark material, and showed no signs of dirt or tear, which was odd considering the location it was in. The boots that poked out under the cloak were of the finest quality Drakmor had ever seen. Drakmor’s old curiosity came to life, all of a sudden. Though he tried to fight it, Drakmor wanted to know who this man was.
As if in answer to his thought, the mysterious stranger extended a gloved hand. “Hello, my name is Dethnus Ackearose.” Drakmor was stunned, but took the hand despite how his instincts yelled at him. There was a…familiarity about this person. As if Drakmor should know him. Dethnus shook Drakmor’s hand sternly, then returned to his original position. “What’s your name, son?”
Drakmor hesitated for a moment. Should he lie? Should he attack while the man wasn’t looking? ‘Yes,’ he thought, ‘ I’ll attack and escape before he can do anything!’ It would work, of course. The man was at an angle that blocked Drakmor from view. A swift punch to the side of the head would kill - or at least knock out - this Dethnus and Drakmor could be off before anything could be done about it.
Instead, Drakmor found himself answering the stranger. “My name is Drakmor Vayr.”
“A nice name,” Dethnus said in reply, his voice hardened, yet somehow kind, “but I don’t know if it suits you now.”
“A name is just identification,” Drakmor said, ignoring the implication of the ‘now’.
“Ah, but how it identifies a man is the important part. Right?”
Drakmor eyed the man, who hadn’t moved the slightest as far as he could tell, and decided that Dethnus was mad. “That’s true, but I would rather not worry about pesky things like names,” Drakmor replied.
“Maybe your right,” Dethnus said, looking up slightly, “but there are those who would disagree.”
What was he driving at? “They aren’t me”
The other man laughed and pulled off his hood. White hair spilled out of his hood and halfway down his back. A veil still covered the lower half of Dethnus’ face, making him still seem mysterious somehow. “What are you doing out here, son?”
Drakmor laughed loudly. He couldn’t help it. It was so funny, mainly because he could tell this Dethnus EXACTLY why he was out here and he wouldn’t be believed. The other man looked worried. Drakmor stop short. Dethnus didn’t just look worried, but downright concerned. Not the concern of a soldier, worrying about the survival of a comrade. Not the concern of a creator, fearing his experiment failed. It was the concern of a loved one, trying to help someone dear.
“I… I’m trying to die,” Drakmor managed to get out. He did not want to lie to Dethnus, in fact he didn’t even think he could.
“And why is that?” Dethnus asked, sadness appearing in his bizarre eyes.
“Because my reason for living has gone away…,” Drakmor replied, lowering his eyes to stare at the pathetic bush. It seemed more alive.
“Alright, fair enough,” Dethnus said, his voice coming close to cracking for some reason, “but let me ask you something, son. Would Valeria want you to die?”
Drakmor jumped away from Dethnus, pulling out his switchblade. “How in the the hell do you know her name!?” He roared at the stranger. Dethnus stood up slowly. The wind whipped his cloak off of his body, revealing a suit.
Dethnus pulled off his veil, letting his white beard fall onto his chest. “Because,” Dethnus yelled over the sudden gust, “Every father searches for his son!”
Drakmor froze. His eyes widened “Wha.. What!?”
“I searched for two hundred and seventy five years,” Dethnus said slowly, “and after all that time, I finally found a clue. Her name was Valeria.”
Drakmor was stunned. Not because he believed this man and not because he had mentioned Valeria. No, he hated the man who abandoned him to be taken away. That man should have been more careful; should have been a better father! He hated that man. Drakmor hated this man. Drakmor hated Dethnus.
But, the reason Drakmor hesitated was that there was a slight glow around Dethnus.
A Black Aura.
The Aura of Death’s Incarnate.