Abandoned By Infinity

In the distance, he heard voices, intelligent audible voices that sounded alien, yet he could understand them.

"The boy is this way, we have his scent!" A male voice called out firmly, like the clarion of a war horn.

It would appear that his pursuers were looking for him, and Mr. Edward, fearing the worst, braced himself.

«You would expect me to run right, but no it would be pointless.»

He did not try to run, for he knew it was pointless. These people possessed the means to discern his scent, and even if they did not, he would not have fled, for even though these people were hostile to him, they never once tried to end his life.

He knew not what monstrosities awaited him, abominables, much like or worse than the ones he had spied before, only possible should he run into the darkness.

The obscurity of his location was revealed soon after as a red-eyed guard appeared in his field of view.

This guard mounted one of the large wolf-like mounts that Mr. Edward had seen before and looked upon him with an indifference in his gaze.

Simultaneously, the sound of multiple footsteps became evident, catching the man's attention. He turned to his side and, upon registering something, snorted slightly before riding away.

Once again a group of men came into view, the familiar murk amid them breeding a mix of relief and apprehension in Mr. Edward.

It was the two red-eyed men and the green-eyed man who had escorted him before; they seemed mostly unharmed, with one of the red-eyed men bearing only superficial wounds on his flesh and light scratches on his armor.

"You brat," One of the red-eyed men spoke angrily and walked up to him, grabbing him by the nape of his neck.

Mr. Edward, for one, was glad that he could now understand the language, thereby confirming that he had indeed made a deal with the devil, the least of his problems as ghastly as it sounded.

They made their way to the open streets and their journey proceeded, with it, curious discoveries.

Men and women performing physical feats befitting no earthly logic in no world save that of one's imagination—and this one, apparently.

The beasts were all dead, their corpses being transported to unknown locations.

The badly mutilated corpses were left behind, and Mr. Edward, still being carried like a wizened kitten, spied the denizens who had stepped out of their hiding places, rushing at them with sharp objects, knives, axes, and carrying materials.

At first, he was confused, and rightfully so, a belated chill ensnaring him at such a violent display, luckily, they ran past him.

He then spied now and confirmed something he would never be able to unsee—that being the eldritch look in their eyes.

As soon as they arrived before the corpses, like frenzied beasts, they tore out their flesh, stuffing their mouth and carrying materials with its painfully raw meat.

He understood that the denizens of this accursed land, void of traditional values, observed these horrific beasts as nothing more than a source of sustenance.

Mr. Edward was brought back to the current situation as he noticed a change in arrangement.

It would appear that the men who transported him were boarding a covered beast-drawn carriage en route to a location unknown to him.

Sitting in the middle, Mr. Edward noticed that the carriage's interior was rudimentary, offering no comfort to its passengers.

Ignoring the guttural huffs of the wolf-like creature that pulled the wagon, Mr. Edward opted to once again dedicate his mental faculties to calm himself.

Time did the only thing it knew best, and before long, they had stopped.

Once again, Mr. Edward felt a firm grip around the nape of his neck accompanied by a strong pull.

Graced once more with a good view of the outside world, he was presently surprised by the grandeur of the building before them, one he had seen before but did not truly know.

It was the ominous building he had spied from a distance.

Ominous indeed, and even more so at such a distance, as Mr. Edward spied more than a few armor-clad men moving around the vicinity, primed to act at a moment's notice.

The doors were made of heavy metal, creaking and crying whilst they were pushed open, informing any potential interlopers of the presence of visitors.

Mr. Edward and his carriers were now met with a labyrinthine winding hall, red, illuminated by fungi-infested polls that stretched far into the unseen parts of the passage.

The damp smell was still present here, even more so than anywhere else, and soon they were met with what seemed to be a large opening similar to a conference room.

The vaulted ceiling arched impossibly high, a breeding ground for the growth of selected fungi, feeding the halls with an ominous, red glow.

They were walls ridden with scars speaking centuries of labor and carved artwork depiction of men slaying chimerical beasts with bulging eyes of deepest terror.

Also on these walls were trophies displayed in abundance: racks of wickedly curved swords, bludgeons, jagged axes, and the skulls of unknown entities that were certainly not human.

Floors, worn smooth by the passage of time, reflected the banner of the clan above, half a moon pierced by a sword forged with stars.

"Thud!"

"Argh," Mr. Edward was thrown to the biting floors informing him of the presence of people who he had somehow not noticed or deliberately ignored courtesy of his fascination with the architecture.

He may have overlooked them before, but these people were impossible to ignore once fully noticed.

Before him, seated upon a throne carved from the very bones of the mountain, was a person Mr. Edward knew from his memories to be the leader or Chief of this place, a person that had only appeared once in his memories.

His father, or the father of the previous owner of this body.

"I don't even know his name," Mr. Edward muttered to himself.

«Talk about messed up parenting.»

Clad in heavy darkened armor and adorning a large pelt, the Chief's visage was one of stern authority, weathered as if chiseled by the elements themselves, his gaze sharp enough to cleave steel.

His hair was a long pure white, as though he had aged in premium, and his glowing red eyes had a complete oppression lacking in the eyes of the others.

Just the pressure from his breath alone made the halls tremble, and Mr. Edward decided to temporarily assign to him the name Chief.

Around him stood a retinue of guards, their armor blackened and adorned with spikes, quite different from the others as their presence seemed to be a silent warning.

Flanking the Chief were several elders, their age-worn faces marked by years of war and toil. Their eyes glinted with suspicion as they appraised Mr. Edward like a blacksmith testing unfamiliar ore.

There were six of them—two being women and the remaining four being men.

The first of the four men Mr. Edward decided to term as the Giant Elder, his name derived from his gigantic stature similar to those giants he had seen hammering away on his way here; like the rest of his people, his aged eyes glowed with a vigorous red locked on him in total indifference.

The second was a red-eyed man, quite slender in form, adorned with golden trinkets. In his palm was a rough metal ore, which seemed to absorb more of his rapt attention than the matter at hand, and so Mr. Edward called him the Merchant Elder.

Coming in third was a man clad in full armor, covering everything but his glowing red eye.

He seemed strict, disciplined, and solitary, his demeanor earning him the name of Guard Elder granted to him by Mr. Edward.

Fourth was a man with glowing blue eyes staring down at him with malevolence so bare that Mr. Edward shrunk a bit. He had a chill about him—a Stygian chill—that granted him the name Foreign Elder.

The fifth was an oppressive woman in light armor. In contrast to her peers, she seemed to be middle-aged—a novel breath of fresh air from the older people in the room.

Her attire, closely resembled those of the women who slid down the ropes before, earning her the name Hunting Elder.

The last elder seemed to be the oldest in the room; she wore no armor, and her attire seemed ragged.

The woman had a mysterious aura to her, but Mr. Edward couldn't quite put a finger on it. Left without certainty, he dubbed her the Witch elder, a whim more than anything else as the names were only temporary.

To Mr. Edwards right stretched a row of nobility, clad in garments that blended rugged practicality with ostentatious finery.

Mixed or separated as a subgroup among them were a group of green and blue-eyed people who seemed more barbaric and feral than the people around them.

At the forefront of this assembly stood a distinct boy with red eyes fixed on him with boundless disdain.

Mr. Edward saw him to be a youth whose sharp, calculating eyes betrayed an intelligence belying his age.

And unlike the people before, he knew him; if his memories served him right, this boy was his younger half-brother Victor Varyn Natasrim; he had not had much interaction with him.

In fact, he had not had much interaction with anybody after he was born, the reason eluding him.

Now that he understood the language he would take his time to digest his new memories.

The boy's stare lingered on him for a moment, Mr. Edward noting how his stance seemed at once casual and deliberate as if he were already weighing his worth.

On the left side of the hall loomed a group of people with similar red eyes yet their actions seemed to be closely watched by the surrounding guards.

Their bearing was distinct yet equally formidable.

Their attire and armor bore subtle, alien designs, symbols, and motifs that hinted so clearly at distant forges and foreign customs, leading Mr. Edward to deduce that they were also from a foreign but similar clan.

They stood rigidly, their faces inscrutable, their eyes flickering between him, the Chief, and the blue-eyed man who Mr. Edward dubbed the Foreign Elder, as though watching an intricate game of strategy unfold before them.

At their forefront, standing beside the leader of this group, was a young, red-eyed girl who also started directly at him, her indifferent gaze never leaving him for a moment.

"What now?" Mr. Edward could only ask himself, left with no choice but to remain in a passive state.