Chapter One

Nightmares or Memories?

Author's Note: This chapter is short for a reason, because I want to hear a few positive opinion's about it before I dedicate to it seriously. All Criticism, as long as it doesn't drop into the dreaded "flame zone", is welcome. Let me know how this looks from the start so I can make it excellent later on.

As always, your humble author, Lobo.

--

It was like an exquisite painting, one of unparalleled beauty and craft. The detail of the backdrop was most ubiquitous but even that paled in comparison to the brushstrokes utilized in the expression of horror wracking the portrait's face. The red hues used in the blood, the bruising mimicking the color of a blooming lilac, and the greens that highlighted the clothing; it was a breathtaking sight!

Albel Nox stood triumphant over a beaten and broken warrior, his most hated adversary. He looked down on her as he did all worms that had been crushed beneath his boot before but this time the common frown of disgust and disappointment did not tarnish his war-weathered face. Instead he smiled. Despite his own grave injuries he was truly pleased with that battle and, most especially, its outcome.

"Don't grieve the loss of your life, daughter of Aquios. You put up a valiant fight, one that will be remembered in the analogues of my memory for the rest of my life." He grinned, even more sadistically, smearing a wayward lock of his raven hair away from a dripping laceration on his forehead. "If it makes you feel any better, I have no regrets."

His right arm (the only natural one of the two) hung uselessly at his side, a thick chunk of quivering meat having been sliced out only a few minutes earlier by a pair of lightning-fast daggers. His fabricated left arm, ringed with dozens of nicks and jagged cuts both new and old, held the legendary weapon granted to the kingdom of Airyglyph by the Emissary of Apris - the Crimson Scourge - in a tight iron clench positioned perilously over the heart of his writhing enemy. Even on the eve of death she did not ask for any mercy and stared at his bloodthirsty eyes ever defiant.

When Albel the Wicked's filthy boot pressed down on the abdomen of Nel Zelpher, she gasped gently, the only sound her breathless lungs could manage, and reached up with her pale hands to attempt unsuccessfully to push it off. Her mouth moved but no words came out, though Albel didn't need to hear her voice to know what she was saying.

He nodded and shrugged carelessly. "The world is a cruel and unpredictable place, daughter of Aquios. It is full of strange circumstances and awkward situations." He paused, as if seeking a reply. When none came, he shrugged and continued. "I was never your friend, not even an ally, but always a rival. I allowed you to live as long as I did because of a strange incident that has sense passed us by, so now I can tell you what I really think of your pretentiousness and your badgering faith."

Albel's gore-soaked blade plummeted into Nel's breast, causing a spat of blood to gush from her dry lips and a shallow heave in her chest before the very last of her life essence slipped away. Albel leaned in on the Crimson Scourge, feeling the crunching of her ribs and the solid earth beneath her, and gently kissed her scarlet cheek. "You were a fool, Nel Zelpher, but I certainly valued you as a fellow warrior. Too bad you got in my way."

Albel bolted up from his bed with a shriek and such dizzying speed that the blankets flipped into the air and landed in a crumpled heap on the floor. He looked around his dark, sparsely furnished chambers panting and sweating like he had just finished running across the Aire Plains.

"A d-dream...it was...only a dream."

He fell back on his pillow, causing a few feathers to scatter into the air. Not thinking, he lifted up his cold metal hand and scraped the sweat dotting his face, relieved to find no blood but startled when he looked at the dull iron of his artificial arm. Briefly all the men, women, and children he butchered with those claws as Albel the Wicked, captain of the Black Brigade, affected him, as that notion never had done before. Albel let his limp gauntlet clatter down at his side and freely allowed tears of regret to swell up in his eyes.

"Monster," he whispered, and sat awake for the rest of the night.