I
Danny Doucette has just finished killing his parents–carving out their hearts and eyeballs and eating them for dinner and cooking them rotisserie-style over a fire. Their bodies are bagged up behind him and their heads are in a black backpack he stole from a supply store when he was fourteen–killing the clerk and six people to get away. The hearts are a deep, dark red and the eyes are an off-white when he takes them off the rotisserie and bites into them. Bitter, Danny thinks, like everything else in Dark City. He consumes the hearts and eyes then stands to look into the eternal night–the stars nonexistent and the full moon shining brightly. He grabs and slings the backpack over his bag and grabs the body bags–dragging them in a careless and rough fashion.
“Off to the courts, then,” Danny says.
II
“So,” The registrar of the Dark Court says, “you finally killed your parents.”
Danny nods.
“Let’s have a look at the bodies then,” the registrar says when Danny slings them on the examination tables, “where are the heads?”
Danny takes off the backpack and opens it to show him.
“Ah,” the registrar types into his database, “decapitation, carved out hearts and removed eyeballs from sockets. . .” he asks in mid-type, “did you eat them?”
Danny nods.
“Hearts and eyeballs were eaten,” the registrar continues typing and a little ping! comes from the computer, the printer starts rattling and a fresh and sizzling paper pops out.
“Alright,” the registrar reads off, “Danny Doucette, age eighteen, heir to Doucette Manor and shipping company, your parents–Marcus and Lisa Doucette–were law-abiding citizens, tortured you every single day, broke your legs, arms, toes, fingers and other sensitive ligaments eliminating weaknesses of any kind and yadda-yadda-yadda.” He doesn’t bother going through the rest and simply says, “Alright, everything is in order.”
The registrar types something else into the computer, “Alright, Danny boy, where do you want your parents’ final resting place to be?”
“Dumped in the Dark Sea,” Danny says, “in the abyss.”
“They must’ve put you through it for you to do them that cold,” The registrar laughs, “I like it. Okay, two bodies for the Dark Sea in the abyss. . .” He types rapidly and another ping! Comes from the dusty, blood-spattered thing. “Alright, just push the bodies through and they’ll be disposed of as you requested, the heads too.”
Danny goes to take the heads out when the registrar snaps his fingers and says, “nono, just put the bag on top of one of the bodies and we’ll sort it out.”
Danny does so, throwing it carelessly.
They wait in silence until the bodies disappear from view and they hear the thudding and banging the bodies make on the way down the disposal. The registrar puts a finger up in a wait-for-it gesture and keeps it there until a loud, splashing sound emanates from the disposal unit. The registrar nods.
“Alright, now that’s done.” He types on his computer and the thing starts rattling and another fresh, sizzling piece of paper pops out. The registrar pulls it out and hands it to Danny, he takes it.
“That paper there is the Death Certificate and your passage out of the city,” he starts, “it has the time, date, and place of execution as well as the style. It also has the Dark Road you are to take out of the city and–since you killed your parents in such a gruesome and nightmarish manner–you’ve earned the right to travel down the darkest road, Dark Road Seven.
Danny examines the certificate and from front to back.
“On the back of the certificate, you’ll find the route you’ll be taking toward Dark Road Seven–which will be through the Black Forest, the perfect preamble for someone of your murderous spirit.” The finishes, “any questions?”
“No.”
“Alright then, onto the final step,” The registrar types into his computer then pauses, “what would you like your new name to be?”
Danny looks at him with a confused expression.
“Ah, they didn’t tell you.” The registrar says, “When one gets assigned to Dark Road Seven, they forfeit their entire lives, leaving behind all assets, possessions, friends, family, and identity. Because you’ve demonstrated the aptitude for survival, it has been determined by the Dark Lords that you need nothing from this city to survive in the world.”
Danny considers this then nods.
“A quick study,” the registrar smiles a sinister smile, “that’ll serve you well.” he continues, “now, your new name?”
Danny thinks for a minute then comes up with the perfect name to reflect who he is, something dark and mysterious that can only be from Dark City, something with a tinge of suaveness to it, “Drake,” Danny says, “Drake Devereaux.”
“Ooooh,” The registrar smiles while he types into his computer, “Dark and mysterious.” He finishes, “I like your style, lad,” he nods approvingly, “I like your style.”
Danny smirks.
“Alright, let’s go over everything, shall we?” The registrar begins, “Danny Doucette no longer exists and you are no longer allowed back in Dark City, returning will only result in death and torture–in that order. You may use the fact you’re from Dark City to build any legend, myth, and reputation you like and to boast or brag as you wish. You will leave with nothing but the clothes on your back–never to return–by way of The Black Forest and Dark Road Seven.”
The registrar looks Danny–now Drake–in the eyes one last time, ensuring he understands everything being said to him and says, “perilous travels, Drake Devereaux.”
Drake folds up the Death Certificate/map and puts it in his pocket then turns and heads out the Dark Court. He gets as far as the door when the registrar says, “and one more thing,” Drake looks back, “leave the Death Certificate at the gate of Dark Road Seven, you won’t need it at that point.
Drake nods and leaves the court, heading toward The Black Forest.
III
The Black Forest is an ill-created concatenation of barren trees and dead grass. The full moon shines just behind dark and misty clouds in the sky–giving it the perfect gray atmosphere. The entrance to the forest is silent and still, the smell of decayed bodies and rotting flesh fill the stifling air and would strangle anyone who didn’t come from either Dark City or Hell on Earth up in North World. Dirty, dark, and sinister eyes watch his every move–scrutinizing every part of his body for even the most imperceptible sign of weakness and boring into the essence of his being for the slightest tinge of fear. Drake feels the eyes on him for a few more seconds–his heart nothing more than an organ that serves a function of blood circulation in his body–and they move on, approving his lack of emotion, sensitivity, and fear.
He walks into the forest.
The mist of The Black Forest is all-encompassing and ever-present, the silhouettes of tall and jagged trees with chipped bark and broken branches are all Drake can see. The creatures of the night move in silence above and around him, waiting for that tinge of fear they believe is inside him to reveal itself. They follow his movements doggedly and keeping him within sight–Drake continues to stroll as if walking through a peaceful meadow. Tiny circles of black and gray which can only be eyes pop up all around him–filled with murderous intent and impatience–ready to pounce, the creatures are waiting for that tinge of fear, just a tiny slither of it is all they need to descend on him with the ravenous hunger and ferocity of a thousand bloodthirsty soldiers in the midst of war. Drake walks through with his eyes closed, soaking in the negative and evil energy of The Black Forest, filling his heart with more darkness and distributing it throughout his body– numbing his pain receptors–and leaning into the nothingness that lies at the bottom of his brightest nightmares and darkest dreams, into the abyss he dumped his parents’ bodies in after he killed and decapitated them, into the nothingness that delivers everything.
Drake walks through The Black Forest for seven nights–there are no days in Dark City–and only stops three times and sleeps for three hours. The creatures don’t attack while their prey sleeps, they like to hear the screams and pleas for mercy, the longing for death and the prayers for a God or divine entity that doesn’t exist while they feast. The creatures of The Black Forest like to deliver, slow, painful, agonizing deaths, it’s the force that keeps the forest alive, the wellspring that keeps the trees corrupted, the grasses dead, and the creatures carnivorous. To make it through The Black Forest–Drake understands–means you must camouflage seamlessly, you must irredeemably corrupt yourself to the point a return to goodness is nothing more than a fool’s fantasy; Drake was born corrupted, but not enough, which is why his parents tortured and trained him every day since he was five years old. Putting on costumes of monsters and vengeful spirits and beating him every night before he went to bed, strapping him to a wooden table and dislocating his knees and forcing him to straighten them every day for a month until it became routine, breaking his arms and forcing him to train the limbs that still worked. Drake remembered it all with a vividness that would give most people heart attacks.
Danny Doucette was corrupted and blood-stained to the point of no return, Drake thinks, now I must let The Black Forest rip the idea of return from my heart forever.
Drake comes to an impasse where the trees form into a circle, the ground is littered with scratch and claw marks, stained with blood, and smells of rotting flesh and decay tinged with toxic waste. He ingests this smell like perfume, letting it assault his nostrils and turn his stomach into knots he didn’t know existed until this very moment. Drake thought he’d smelled worse when his parents used to dump his face in acid every morning but obviously, Dark City had been holding out with The Black Forest. Now it begins, Drake thinks and walks into the circle. Six wolves emerge from the mist with dark grey fur and bottomless black eyes, their claw bared to full length and black, gooey, acid saliva falling from their lips. Their growls and snarls are low and harmonious, their murderous intent attacks Drake with full force but he feels nothing. Emotions are as foreign to him as a new language. Drake cracks his neck and fingers then flexes his back muscles. He glances right then left, not bothering to look behind him–the wolves crowd around him in a tight circle, just far enough that they can get proper momentum with they pounce to take him down. Drake’s facial expression takes a darker turn than normal, his eyes are a deep and empty onyx, his brows are furrowed to the point they seem to connect, his lips are a full and plump but straight line, his dark skin becomes even dark when the clouds float by the moon and cover it.
Drake takes a deep breath when a light breeze blows, “Come.”
The wolves pounce and Drake kills them without mercy.
IV
Drake exits the forest covered in blood–staring at the gate leading to Dark Road Seven with a cold and listless gaze. The sky is a deep, cloudy gray and the moon shines like a light bulb, there’s a path that leads around the forest in a circle littered with streaks of blood and bone–the Dark Circle. Where my parents made me walk with a cinder block strapped to my broken leg, Drake remembers, Mom cracked the whip when I didn’t walk fast enough and strangled me when I showed signs of weakness. His gaze returns to the black gate with broken hinges and corroded and rusted metal covered with bloody handprints–a beat-up mailbox hangs just to the right of it as if it were a mansion rather than a road he was about to enter. He walks up and puts the death certificate in and the gates open with a grating creak–the sound of metal striking metal or fingers scratching a chalkboard. When he was a kid, a sound like that nearly burst his eardrums every time he heard it but now it was like a sweet melody.
He takes in the sound like fresh spring air.
He walks through the gate and closes behind him with that scratching chalkboard sound with an audible click when it locks behind him. No turning back now, Drake thinks and continues. The road is pitch black like an abyss, his body has developed a will of its own and walks with a sight he knows nothing about but trusts completely. Dark gray clouds float in the sky and block out the moon, giving the road crisp darkness with white particles floating about and deep, black silhouettes of creatures with glowing eyes watching him as he walks, scrutinizing him the way the animals in the Black Forest had. The air is cold and stifling, almost suffocating; Drake walks in a hypnotic and monotonous rhythm, rocking slightly from left to right as if he’d had a bit too much to drink. The smell of rotting flesh and fresh blood are fresh roses to his nose, the frigid air soothes his skin, and the murderous intent tinged with primal fear induces an orgasmic feeling he’s only experienced once in his dark and twisted life. The steps his feet make have been silent thus far but now take up a crushing sound as they step on skeletons, broken branches used as weapons, and decomposed flesh. This road is off to an unimpressive start, Drake thinks, I figured the creatures here would have more spine than this. The blood covering his body begins to dry up and become sticky, making a slick, gooey sound every time he moves an arm or finger–he pays this no attention; a faint scent permeates the air, a scent Drake’s never noticed before, it smells of apprehension and sweat tinged with something…tangy? flowery? Drake can’t distinguish the scent but it has a very luxurious air about it, a divinity only akin to darkness itself. Fear. That’s what Drake is smelling. I see, Drake thinks and smiles, they’re afraid.
Drake senses a large creature looming over him and turns in a flash, punching through the creature’s chest and gripping its heart–blood spilling out like a waterfall and drenching his forearm with a second coating. Drake flexes his muscles and yanks out the creature’s heart, the creature falls forward and Drake holds it up with one hand and takes a bite out of the organ–the sounds of tearing tissue echoing in the night.
“Bitter,” Drake says then throws the creature’s body aside and walks on, taking bites out of the heart like a freshly picked apple.
Drake finishes the heart and licks his fingers and forearm, letting the metallic taste of blood settle on his tongue and the roof of his mouth like a delicacy he shan’t soon forget. He sniffs the air deeply, searching for that sweet, flowery smell of fear–still faint but getting stronger with each passing second–trying to track down the poor excuses of life with the gall to exist in the same time period as him. Drake begins to see the road in a new light, the annoying white particles flying through the air don’t look like particles but tiny specks of lights–snowflakes that don’t quite dissolve when they touch the ground. The silhouettes become a little clearer and the shapes of the creatures become easier to make out, the jagged hills and plateaus become easier to spot and the splattered blood and body parts that litter the road become more distinguishable. Drake comes across a mangled, twisted, and deeply lacerated body on the ground and kneels for a closer look; he sniffs the body and that sweet and flowery smell of fear graces his nostrils and fills him with a terrifying glee. He sniffs–again and again–trying to suck it all up for himself, his mouth opens in ecstasy, and his chest puffs out in lustful pleasure. His heart beats slowly, his pulse drops, the demons have a party in his eyes as they become an obsidian black, a thick and smooth smoke comes out his mouth when he exhales and he sucks it back in through his nose–not wanting to let the delicious and terrible scent escape him. He follows the scent to the center of the body and plunges his hand into the hardened chest and rips out the heart then sniffs it, he licks it and lets the taste of rotting flesh and day-old blood settle on his tongue like vintage whiskey then takes a large bite with carnivorous teeth.
“Sweet,” Drake says, standing up and walking on with another heart to feast upon.
His nose and palate are now attuned to fear and it’s a taste he will pursue to the ends of the earth. Before it was his curiosity and bloodthirst that led him but now it is his nose, chasing the smell of fear in living and recently dead creatures of the night. The blood on his body is completely dried up and flaking off him with each step. The creatures of the night retreat into the shadows, the glowing eyes that once inhabited Dark Road Seven become nothing more than a child’s nightmare in the face of Drake Devereaux. His hunger for fear making him insatiable, his nose guiding him like a dog that smells fresh meat, the cold and stifling air soothing his skin and filling him with an electric charge enough to power a city for centuries transforms him into something more than human. The shadows form around him like a silk cloak and he camouflages seamlessly into the night, becoming one with the darkness. His steps become lighter, his heartbeat drops to nearly zero, his skin becomes colder than the Arctic on its darkest days, and the demons in his eyes expand to take over his entire body–corrupting him to the point far beyond the possibility of return. The blood melts off him and sizzles like acid hitting metal when it hits the dirty, blood-spattered road. Drake looks into the night sky–the moonlight reflecting in his eyes that are now obsidian–then looks into the horizon, Dark Beach so close but yet so far just over the mountains yet to be conquered.
Drake tunes his ears and he can hear tortuous screams and pleads for mercy in the distance, the melodious sound of ripping flesh and snapping bones tinged with the smell of the rotting dead that hold the same resting place fill him with an existential pleasure akin to spiritual enlightenment or hot and rough sex–a sinister and sadistic grin appears on his face as he walks down the steep hill toward the horizon filled with bloodshed.
***
The journey to the mountains is an uneventful one, Drake surmises the purpose of the long walk to be the fortification of mental toughness but it isn’t unnecessary, he is leaving Dark City, after all. The thin, bright mist consumes his vision and the sweet scent of fear tinged with death and decay fill the air and grace his nostrils. His eyes roll into his head with pleasure as he strides confidently into the unknown terrors of Dark Road Seven. No sooner than the previous road behind him disappear did silhouettes of large animals surround him–six in all.
“More wolves,” Drake says flatly, “think of a different animal.”
The creatures stand up, their silhouettes large and muscular.
“Werewolves,” Drake raises a brow, pleasantly surprised, “now things get interesting.”
They circle him and growl in a horrible rhythm, the sounds echo through the night and the air becomes colder still–Drake breathes in the smell of impending carnage with a glee he can hardly contain, the visions of the life leaving his parents eyes as he struck that final blow, his mother’s mouth spitting up blood, his father’s entrails sliding out his stomach like a lethargic snake full off a hearty meal come to him in a vivid and visceral image–almost as if he’s killing them all over again. The nightmares that chase you when you’re awake, Drake thinks, are always the scary ones. The werewolves have now formed a tight circle around him and are raring to pounce, Drake smells no fear on these creatures, only murder and carnage tinged with fresh blood and decomposing bodies. They flex their muscles and arch their backs to make themselves seem bigger but Drake is no fool, he knows intimidation as intimately as fear itself; the wolves circle him once more, looking for an opening, scrutinizing his demeanor, getting accustom to his scent, searching for that slither of fear even the most cold-blooded creatures possess but they find none in Drake which is why they don’t attack. Drake’s eyes become deep, obsidian black and that heinous grin comes over his face. Puffs of smoke emanate from his mouth when he exhales but is quickly sucked in through his nose, Drake cracks his neck, fingers, back muscles, chest, and other sensitive ligaments not meant for cracking and prepares for the fight of his life.
“Come,” Drake says.
The werewolves pounce, Drake grabs the first one by the throat and rips it out with disturbing ease; a second werewolf bear hugs him but Drake slips from its grasp when a third werewolf tries to bite his head off. Drake slips behind the two confused creatures and strikes through the chest and rips the heart out of the one that tried to bite him and instead takes a bite out of it. Drake pushes the body to the side when another wolf flashes behind him and lunges at him, Drake lunges to the wolf that bear hugged him then sidesteps left at the last moment, letting the two wolves crash into each other. Another werewolf slashes Drake in the back but Drake isn’t fazed; in fact, he’s enjoying the pain. He looks back at the wolf and the creature recoils in fear, Drake smiles then pounces on the creature and devours it without mercy, ripping out its entrails and using it as a rope to strangle the other werewolf trying to run away. He ties the entrails into a quick knot and lassoes it around the wolf’s neck and pulls it back with inhuman strength, the werewolf claws fearfully at the ground, trying to find some purchase and get away from this denizen of the deep. The werewolves that crashed into each other are now getting up and shaking off the headache, they turn to Drake and go to finish the job; Drake senses them and–with even more inhuman strength–yanks the entrails and lifts the wolf on the other end into the air and throws it into the other two, only one gets hit. The remaining werewolf lunges at Drake with long, black claws and carnivorous white fangs and Drake waits like he’s expecting a much anticipated gift. Drake takes a fighting stance at the last moment and flashes past the wolf with blinding speed, the air is still for a moment and the world holds its breath, waiting to see who drops first. It is the wolf, Drake stands erect and clenches the heart he ripped from its chest like a pickpocket takes a wallet and the wolf falls to the ground. The other wolves have long since retreated into the mist with their tails between their legs, whining like pathetic puppies that got barked at. Drake takes a bite of the wolf’s heart and makes a so-so gesture with his head and eats casually as he continues into the mist.
Silhouettes of bare trees with pointed branches occur every few miles, the ground is entirely dirt and soot, no mangled bodies or blood-spatter to note of. Drake comes upon a tree with black leaves and even blacker roses surrounding the trunk, he walks up to it and sniffs the air, the smell of pain, suffering and regret tinged with the dawn of a new beginning filling the space around this dark tree. Drake sits under it and goes to sleep for three hours, the nightmares of his childhood keeping him plenty of company. When he wakes up the mist is gone and the road is clear as far as they eye can see, the clouds dissipate and the full moon shines with a brightness almost too much to bear, giving the night a sense of daylight. Drake gets up with tired and dark rimmed eyes and a scowl that’d make a hardened criminal consider the straight and narrow and move back in with his mother. He turns to the road ahead and walks sluggishly, the excitement of previous events wearing off like a sugar rush after thirty minutes. The creatures of eternal night become scarcer and scarcer the longer Drake walks, occasionally peeking out to see who goes there and returning to their hiding places–wanting no parts of Drake Devereaux. Cowards, Drake thinks, can’t even face death. A light, cold breeze begins to blow and the hairs on the nape of Drake’s neck begin to stir; he walks with a sluggishness that’d leave anyone else vulnerable to attack. Drake breathes with an icy calm that resonates with darkness itself, the blackness before him nothing more than the natural order of the world. From darkness we are born, so shall we return, Drake thinks when he sees dancing shadows in the distance–moving with a dark and electric energy that’d kill ordinary folk with no more than a single touch, he forces his sluggish body to pick up the pace. When he gets to the shadows they sense his presence and flock to him like worker bees to the queen, forming a tornado. Drake looks on with childish curiosity when a shadow phases through him, a piece of Drake’s soul taken as tribute to the Dark Road. Another shadow phases through him, then another, and another, and another. Eventually, the whole horde is coursing through his body, taking pieces of his soul, deconstructing Danny Doucette, erasing his existence and reducing it to nothing more than a distant memory. Drake is face-down on the floor when the shadows are done, his body an empty vessel for the demons that remain to do as they please. His body starts to levitate from the ground and convulse violently, it ascends into the cold and frigid air and becomes a silhouette in the moonlight, ripping and tearing, cracking and breaking. In this moment Danny Doucette/Drake Devereaux is no longer human, no longer cannibal, no longer the force of Dark Road Seven but something older, more ancient–something that’s existed since before creation. His body grows still and a creature with black and majestic wings descends upon Drake’s soulless body–the demons dancing around and enjoying the free rein they’ve been given. The being cups Drake’s jaw and opens his mouth–bringing their lips to within an inch of its own–and breaths a dark and twisted immortality into him. Drake’s eyes shoot open and his body jolts as if shocked with ten thousand volts of electricity. When the being is done breathing life into Drake they look each other in the eyes–Drake cocks his head to the side in wonder and the being reflects the action, Drake smiles and the Dark Angel smiles back and lets Drake fall to the earth; he closes his eyes and lets himself feel the full sensation of falling into death’s embrace before taking control and saving himself with a couple of well-timed backflips and landing on his feet with a cat’s grace. Drake looks up and the being is gone as if it were never there. It seems the Dark Angel has chosen me, Drake thinks when he looks in the distance and sees Dark Beach less than a thousand feet ahead.
He straightens up and walks toward it.
V
Dark Beach is the only place in Dark City that’s ever remained clean. The smell of saltwater and possibility fill the air as Drake tries to adjust to this unfamiliar smell. It fills him with a naive excitement he never got to express as a child, when he takes his first step upon the black sand a sense of liberation courses through his veins. He looks back at the road and a black gate he didn’t notice closes behind him without a sound; somehow, the silence with which it closed is scarier than the grating, creaking sound the first gate made. Drake spots the little rowboat docked on the shore and walks to it then pushes it into the water and hops in, he grabs the oars and rows out to sea to face the unknown.
Drake rows for what feels like hours. He’s lost all sense of time. The moon shines in the eternal night as it always does and Dark City–his heinous and sadistic home–fades in the distance, glad to be rid of him. The place where his parents’ corpses will be dumped into the sea for whatever animal wants it, the place where he committed his first murder, his first robbery, his first rape, his first act of arson, his first burglary. All of it will be left behind him as part of a former existence expunged from the world’s record book–or at least Dark City’s record book. Danny Doucette–troublemaker, murder, rapist, cold-blooded killer–is no more, and now, only the monster–the force–Drake Devereaux remains. He looks into the moonlight with soulless eyes–a cold and listless gaze that’s hypnotic as it is terrifying–then decides to get comfortable and lays back, looking into the black sky that reminds him of every tortuous morning since he was five when he goes to sleep and greets those nightmares with open arms.
Something strange happens the next time Drake awakens, the moon is gone and the sky takes on a mixture of blue, purple, and orange. There are stars that gleam yet fade in the same breath and something bright over the horizon. Drake looks on with that childish wonder again and he feels the heat of this new phenomena washing over him, his palms get sweaty, a calm breeze washes over his wooly, cooly, hair, and his eyes are a bitter brown as he looks on. The smell of saltwater has become normal to him in just a short time, the sounds of crashing waves have become therapeutic to his ears, the smell of sharks searching for prey a delicacy he wishes to bottle up and get drunk off of, and the heat of this orange ball ascending to the skies which have taken on a more pronounced blue. So this is what the sun looks like, Drake thinks, a ball of orange fury burning in the sky. Drake looks around and takes in the sea, the deep blue sky, the white clouds that float overhead, and the sense of hopelessness that comes with being in the middle of an ocean with rapt pleasure. A smile comes over his face that is for once not sadistic or sinister but rather pleasant, like a child eating dessert. So the sky and sea are actually blue, Drake absorbs the sights in astonishment, interesting. He stretches as much as he can without rocking the boat and sits down, picks up the oars, and rows with a vitality only attributed to youth–watching the sunrise over the horizon.
***
When the sun goes down and the familiar darkness returns, something feels different to Drake; he looks in the night sky and sees tinges of blue that permeate throughout and star gleaming like the specks of light on Dark Road Seven, millions of them spread throughout the sky and the moon in the center of them all like a king amongst the subjects. So, Drake thinks, this is what ordinary night looks like. Drake supposes he will have to get used to this and grimaces, the eternal night looks so much better. He looks into the sea and even that is tinged with midnight blue–a distinction only monsters born in darkness can catch–and shakes his head in disappointment, the sense of hopelessness he received from the black sea is much stronger than the one he’s receiving now–especially since he’s beginning to catch the scent of a shoreline not too far ahead. A new city, Drake thinks, it must be. He rows on, his shoulders flexing and becoming stronger with each stroke. The next time he looks back he sees skyscrapers surrounded with shorters buildings and structures in the distance, as he gets closer a large gate slowly reveals itself along with a stream of rowboats and small ships entering the harbor. He takes and exasperated breath and rows with sheer force, he reaches another rowboat within minutes and gets a look at the scene. Guards posted on light towers with weapons, people getting searched at checkpoints and presenting papers of some kind, rowboats and small ships going in through separate lanes, cargo ships coming into port and unloading goods from all four corners. I must be in Middle World, Drake thinks when he hears someone call to him from another rowboat.
“Hey there!” the person calls and Drake looks over, “Do you know how to get to the embassy from the checkpoint?”
Drake shakes his head, “not from Middle World.”
“Alright, thanks!” the person says and rows on.
Drake rows behind the person then to the right and then past them, getting deep into the rowboat lane of the gate. Drake is well aware he has no papers to legally get into the city–luckily, he’s a natural born monster with basic criminal skills and stealth. He sees a large cargo ship parked along a large pier and breaks away from the herd, rowing toward it. It takes him ten minutes to get there–rowing with all his strength–and he boards the ship through a low-hanging window he can just barely reach. Once on the ship, he makes his way to the top, using the shadows as his ally. He makes his way from the hull to the deck in record time and manages to sneak out of the ship onto the pier without being seen, he sticks to the crowd of tourist visiting the city and gets on a trolley for sightseeing. Once upon the trolley, he picks up a map and begins memorizing all the landmarks–while the tour guide blathers on about nothing important–and comes upon a city that seems promising. Sloathwood, Drake thinks and smiles, I’ll start there.
The trolley gets him into the city without a hitch and he hops off at the first opportunity–as far from the gate as possible. When he gets off, he walks into the crowd of people and catches a boat ride. The ride takes forty-five minutes and Drake hops off just before the ferryman stops and asks for his pay and ducks into another crowd of people, Drake spots a horse and carriage in the distance and times it perfectly, grabbing onto the back and stowing away along with the goods. He keeps a vigilant eye for when things become darker and less hectic, luckily for him that didn’t take long. The smell of fear tinged with debauchery, sex, lust, and greed fill the air and Drake knows he’s getting close to Sloathwood. That’s my cue, Drake thinks and jumps from the carriage before anyone gets suspicious and lands just at the entrance that says Sloathwood. Drake looks into the distance and sees thick, gray smoke filling the air, specks of light emanating from various buildings, dark alleys where all sort of heinous deeds take place, hooded people in groups of five to seven walking around like they own the streets. A sinister grin comes over his face as he nods approvingly. Sloathwood, Drake thinks, my new home.
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