Lords of Shadow

Both Perspectives

Thunder rumbled...

The dark clouds slowly approached, creeping over the sky with howling winds. Drops of water touched down, shifting the sand like carpet, or maybe he just chose to believe it did.

Something was beneath, but that wasn't his concern right now. It was what was above.

Loki crawled towards a mound, or glorified cave. It wasn't big enough for him to fit, but enough for the basis of a sand bed. He broke it apart with his hands, lay on the floor, and began to mould it around himself, adding more soil to the mix as the ground got wet and less hardened.

He had seen what the rains brought to anywhere that wasn't under the jurisdiction of a lord, and what he had seen had scarred him for years. Absolutely, he refused to go through it again.

Visibility dropped, painting the world in colours too dark to make out; anything farther than a foot looked drawn by a six-year-old.

Before the torrents shot down, Loki successfully covered himself from head to toe in his sand bed. He struggled to steady his breathing as the sound of thunder grew more frequent.

Then, the rains came.

And with unpleasant ferociousness. Each drop shot down like a bullet, making the storm at sea seem mild and desirable.

Hours passed like this. The thing beneath the ground grew restless, but even it didn't dare surface, for fear of what brought the rains.

Loki stared at the reddish-brown sand he was buried in, watching as water seeped through, as parts collapsed, as the flash of lightning filtered through crevices.

Then, he felt it. The first step of the storm. Then more, approaching.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

Each was like the universe playing a bass drum. Sand jumped, and even the raindrops changed paths with every step.

"Don't move, Loki, don't move," he whispered to himself, tears involuntarily forming at the corners of his eyes.

Right then, something passed over him. It was a foot, but one the size of a colossus. Under it were the decaying bones of those the storm had found.

The storm wasn't the weather condition; it was an entity that roamed the lands between, too powerful to be taken down, too unconcerned to venture into claimed territory.

Loki looked at it through one of the crevices. The being had no definite shape, and was like bubbling smoke imitating something humanoid. The tyrannical winds broke against it; the ground cracked and moaned with each step.

But as soon as it came, the being had gone. He was too weak to stir it, too small for it to notice, and that was his luck. But that was also proof that a shadow wasn't magic, and still needed the wielder's will to work.

No lord would back down here. Well, why would they? They had nothing to lose. No loved ones, no friends, no one to trust. Yet he wondered why they were inhumane.

He waited out the actual storm, counting the seconds verbally, the minutes with his fingers.

Eventually it ended, and silence, often mistaken for peace, filled its gap.

Loki broke the mound, and what beheld him was twinkling starlight.

"Shit..."

He had avoided the bigger threat by waiting, but fallen into the den of the one actively hunting him.

He had already gotten tired. What was the deal with shadows anyway? Since he had gotten his, it was just battle after battle. There was no rest for the wicked, but he was quite kind, except when he was hungry.

Speaking of hunger, he hadn't eaten in about two days now, and pain energy wasn't cutting it close.

Thinking of food wouldn't guarantee it, but stealing it would, and he couldn't do that from all the way out here.

The wasp wiggled, disappointed, pointing its stinger his way and pretending to actually try to pierce him.

"Come on, the world is technically survival of the fittest anyway. Besides, I can't sell you to buy quid."

With that, he stood up to his fours, and continued his crawling, hoping to make it back, and not stir what rested below.

---

"Yes, honey, I'll make sure to be careful. If anything happens, you'll be the first to know, then the Halo in charge of national defence."

"I'm serious!"

"Me too," Joan said, packing up all he needed for work. Which most at times was just an extra pair of boots and dried meat sticks.

But today, or tonight, was different. He needed to give a detailed report on what happened to him and his Halo, so a pen and ink tube was added to the inventory.

His wife didn't seem to believe him. And rightly so. His job was full of lies, some he couldn't bother explaining, and others the army demanded him to keep secret.

He dropped his strap bag at the door and walked back to her with careful limps. Martha, his wife, had her hands folded and brows furrowed out of concern.

He reached out and touched her face. "I'll be okay...I promise," he said softly, almost in a whisper.

Strangely, that just made things more uncertain. Deep in Yharnam's confines, she wasn't worried that something would jump out of the sewers and skewer him. She was worried about what he had done in the forest and if it was too grave to keep him alive.

Joan didn't wait for her approval. He walked to the open door, picked up his bag, blew a playful kiss at her, then left.

The nights had only begun, yet the city was already littered with candle lights. Being the hometown of a lord, they were graced with the prestigious resource of sperm whale oil, able to burn their wicks away without smoke.

It had made whale hunting a lucrative business here, as every night took about half a whale to keep Yharnem lit.

Admiring the scenery for a bit, he started walking down the stone sidewalk. The local restaurants were most crowded around nighttime when people came back from work, and for a simple reason. The housewives in Yharnem were bad cooks.

"Joan, out late today? Martha must be worried," called out the fruit seller.

Joan smiled. "Oh, she knows my whereabouts, like always."

The fruit seller chuckled; they both knew how obsessive Joan's wife was.

The military center, one of them, was right around the corner, making it a short walk to work every day, and unfortunately, short enough for him to be contacted for every little problem.

It was fun though, being recognised as the staff sergeant he was. Just like his father had beenn; shame the man hadn't died a heroic death and had instead been causally beheaded by the affiliate whom he now served.

The military center was lonely, avoided by street thugs who liked to smoke at night. Good, at least he didn't have to pretend to like them.

He walked in and nodded to a few people, a few more whispering things into each other's ears. Rumors had probably said he was dead.

He smiled, but quickly frowned back when a voice called out:

"Joan, you're back? General Kumar is looking for you."

"The affiliate?"

"Yes, and he does not seem happy."