Onlookers had gathered in the street to gawk at the bandaged body with scattered bullets around it. Some were confused by its appearance, while a few were confused by who the body belonged to. It had been almost thirty minutes since Mortuus had collapsed, and yet he hadn't risen.
Mortuus, the great defier of Death, was just lying on the side of the road with blood dripping from his eyes. A familiar officer pushed people aside and went beneath the yellow police tape. Officer Lamb was not expecting to find him lying on the side of the street, with a clear sign of being dead as a doornail.
Officer Lamb crouched beside Mortuus's body and aggressively shook him by the shoulders, calling his name. "Mortuus! Mortuus! Mortuus, wake up!" he shouted, expecting him to wake up and call him some crass name.
Mortuus's body lay there, only moving because of Lamb's action. How could the one person who has survived literally everything be lying dead in the street?
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Mortuus sat up abruptly and looked around. Everything was pitch black, and sand was dripping from the ceiling like waterfalls. No matter how much he screamed, his voice never carried. One thing was certain: He was definitely not with Officer Lamb.
Mortuus looked at his hands, turning them over while opening and closing the fingers into a fist. His hand seemed to be glitching as it moved in unnatural ways and mixed with the surrounding sand and dark void.
From all around him, Mortuus could hear a laugh that started softly, like a whisper in the wind, but gradually crescendoed into cacophonous mocking, derisive tones, echoing endlessly in his head. Each laugh pierced through his thoughts, seeping into every crevice of his consciousness, taunting and tormenting him relentlessly until he could no longer distinguish reality from the echoing laughter in his head.
Mortuus fell to his knees and screamed into the abyss while tearing at the sides of his bandaged face. He pulled, tearing out clumps of hair along with his bloodstained bandages. "LEAVE ME ALONE!! GO!! GO!!" He screamed into the surrounding darkness as the mocking cackle continued its tormentation. That mocking laughter from when he awoke had returned worse than ever.
He crumbled into a ball, shaking and convulsing as the laughter rang through his head. With teary eyes, Mortuus looked up to see a familiar face. It was the soft and sweet dough eyes of Maria Morris. Her tall figure slowly came into view behind a thick and heavy fog.
Her voice didn't carry, but Mortuus could hear her words ringing in his ear. She was scared and calling for Peter; each shrill shriek for help ended with a plea for her father. She was screeching for help as she seemed lost in the sandy depths of the darkness.
Deep in the dunes of darkness, below swirling whirlpools of sand, glowing green lights called in emotional rhythms. The orbs were crying, screaming in pain, and howling in endless sorrow while others simply cackled.
Mortuus shakily stood and began running through the sands, calling out for the ghostly image of Maria. He stumbled forward, his legs sinking into the sand and parts of him collapsing as if he were wet sand. No matter how much he ran, Maria was always far away. It was like he was trying to keep his body from falling to dust within the sandbars as he desperately reached for his lost love.
He collapsed mere feet from her and found himself looking at a pair of spiffy dress shoes. Above one shoe, a shiny metallic caliper glimmered in the green lights. A soft but firm hand lifted Mortuus, and he stared into Mordecai Mallard's gentle eyes.
Mordecai held Mortuus up by his shoulder blade and said, "You're not meant to be here, Morgan." Mortuus shook his head in confusion, not sure if this was real. Mordecai continued, "My fate is not yours. I failed your father, but I won't fail you."
Mortuus tried to respond, but the words were caught in his throat. Mordecai nodded slowly and spoke to him in Latin. "Ut cognoscat inimicum tuum, te ipsum noscas."
Confused and unsure of what was happening, Mortuus tried speaking, but sand poured from his mouth. Mordecai reached forward and shoved Mortuus to the ground; he sank and woke again. The moment Mortuus's back made contact with the ground, it began to sink. With rapid succession, the sand piled over and flowed forth, covering him.
With a cough and gasp, Mortuus sat up on a metal table. The bright fluorescent lights above were incredibly harsh on his sensitive eyes. Above him was the concerned face of a young man. Mortuus tilted his head slightly and gargled a question. "Edward?"
The young man nodded and slowly handed Mortuus his revolver, helping him grip it by wrapping his fingers over the handle. Edward looked into Mortuus's face and said, "I'm... I'm sorry." He clearly was referring to his uncle's actions.
Mortuus looked around and then at his chest. His black shirt was ripped down the center in a perfect cut. It was the first time in a while that he'd looked at his body. He had a yellowish-green hue in some spots, and it stuck out on the peachy skin. Bits of flesh on his chest were hanging on by barely anything and did nothing to protect the uncovered rib cage, below which his exposed lungs were inflating and deflating.
Mortuus brushed it off his mind as he looked at the dried blood. He suddenly reached forward and wrapped his fingers around Edward's skinny neck. With a tight grip and an authoritarian voice, Mortuus demanded something from Ed: "Where's Andrews? I NEED Andrews!"
Ed pointed out of the morgue window at Rusdgar Ridge in the distance. He was stammering and clearly scared but, for some reason, was refusing to use the abilities he had, instead choosing to be less violent.
Mortuus let go and pushed him off before swinging his legs over the side of the table and standing. He quickly pushed through the doors of the morgue and threw open the door leading outside.
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"Ut cognoscat inimicum tuum, te ipsum noscas... To know your enemy, you must know yourself." 104Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfjQGStegyJ
