Ebon, Chapter One
#1 of Ebon
I met him online, in a chat room hosted by one of my friends. Within a few weeks of meeting each other we entered a relationship that would scar the rest of my life with its ebon touch. His voice, his touch, his deathly cold glare would haunt me for the rest of my days...and I had done it all willingly. That moment, that second, that instant that I had accepted his offer is when everything began to change.
[System Message: Orichalium has logged in at 6:10 PM, 9/7/10]
Cruor: Ah, there you are, pet. You're late.
Orichalium: Oh, right, sorrrrry! I meant to get on earlier but dad needed me to go to the store.
Cruor: Do try to connect on time. I have something important to tell you. Two things, really.
Orichalium: Oh?
Cruor: Firstly, you will be getting a package tomorrow. Inside will be my gifts to you. Secondly, I am coming up to Davison in three days for an interview with the newspaper there. I would like to see you.
Orichalium: Really? Wow, I mean, you don't have to send me anything. And...three days? Holy shit, I really...wow. I can't wait!
Cruor: Stop using so many ellipsis. They only go at the end of a sentence when you wish to indicate you are trailing off.
Orichalium: Okay, master.
Cruor: I must go now, class is in an hour.
Cruor: Also, your nickname is misspelled. Fix it.
[System Message: Cruor has logged off at 6:20 PM, 9/7/10]
[System Message: Your nickname is now "Orichalum".]
I leaned back in my office chair, beaming. Three days! I'd finally get to see my master, after a month of being connected only by Internet. I swiveled around in my chair, standing and hurrying to the closet next to my desk. I rustled around inside, tackling the terrifying mess that was my closet and setting aside clothing. I hurried about, gathering together an outfit for that day. A voice in the back of my mind muttered about how silly this was, but I pushed it aside. He was my master, dammit, and I would impress him with myself. I wasn't ugly, I was sure of that, but another thought welled up unbidden. You're just an afterthought, it said, an accessory. You saw it. He's coming up for the interview, not specifically to see you. I shook my head, almost to toss the thought out via sheer shaking. No, it was impossible. He was my master, and he loved me.
As I planned, my cellphone rang on my desk. I answered it, expecting to hear his voice but instead finding the voice of a childhood friend.
"Ken!" Said an enthusiastic voice. Immediately I recognized it as Tyler, a friend of mine since middle school. He considered himself a bit of a Casanova, and even though we were only freshman he still managed to pick up women at Edge. He saw me being there as an excuse to get some ass, and I was happy to oblige. "Dude, you still playing down at Edge tonight?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" I asked, my scaly brow furrowing.
"Last time you skipped out because that 'master' guy was online." I gritted my teeth at that. For some reason, Tyler had no respect for the relationship I had with my master.
"No, I already talked to him today, and he gave me no orders to be online."
"Awesome. I'm headed to your house right now, get your shit around."
"Alright, see you in a bit." I hung up, tossing my phone onto the bed and stripping down to change from my school clothes to my club clothes. As I stood in the mirror, styling my hair, I studied myself. I'd always been fairly feminine, a trait I picked up from my mother. Thankfully the only thing I'd inherited from my father was long, straight black hair, currently dyed with streaks of violet. I frowned at the thought of my father, of what he was doing.
It had been five years since my mother passed from lung cancer, brought on by the office she had worked in. The ceiling tiles contained asbestos, and she only found this out when the doctor diagnosed her. The company gave us a hefty settlement and pretty much set me up to where I wouldn't have to work anymore, but their neglect robbed me of a mother and (effectively) a father. He had taken to drink after my mother's passing, spending most of his days and nights on the couch, drinking and watching old game show reruns. Thankfully, he wasn't abusive or anything, just depressing and pathetic.
I dressed in incredibly loose pants with enough chains to make me audible from quite a distance away, and combat boots over my feet. On my chest went a fishnet shirt, to 'show off what you've got', according to Tyler. I fastened the studded belt that held my pants up tightly, and gathered the messenger bag that held my CDs and other such equipment. Just as I descended the steps, there was a knock at the door. I scurried through the living room, trying not to look at my passed-out father. He'd gained a lot of weight since he started drinking, going from an athletic frame to...this. I snorted slightly and opened the door, scooting out before shutting and locking the door behind me. Tyler stood leaning against the porch railing, green eyes studying me carefully. His neck-length brown hair framed his face like some kind of painting, only serving to highlight his feline attractiveness. He dressed as he always did, in a green jacket and white t-shirt. I fell in step with him as he started off down the street.
"Something wrong? You sounded happy on the phone." He asked, concern evident in his voice.
"Just thinking. About my dad, mostly." I confessed, gesturing uselessly.
"Oh God. Dude, don't worry yourself about it. He's his own man, you're your own man, all is right with the world. At least he isn't abusive or anything."
"Yeah, you're right." I nodded. "So, anyhow. What's up? Why weren't you at school?"
"Didn't feel like going. My grades can handle a few absences."
"Well, you missed this fight in the cafeteria..." I went on to explain the events of the day, and after this we fell to small talk. Davison wasn't a big town; the entire length of the town could be covered in about an hour's walk if one walked slowly. Edge was a nightclub in the heart of the city, sandwiched between a (currently closed) ice cream shop and an office supply shop. Tyler stopped me before I headed inside.
"I'm gonna go down to the gas station and get us some food. Want anything?" I shook my head, and we parted ways.
The interior of Edge was brutally modern; all glass, metal, and dark stone. Only a few people were inside, mostly sitting at the bar or the tables scattered along the back wall of the club. The bartender waved to me, a huge grin crossing the zebra's face. A low halter top revealed a generous amount of her ample cleavage, but I paid it no mind.
"Awesome, you're here early." She said, as I approached. A few of the bar patrons glanced at me, one specifically giving me a much longer glance than the norm. I hardly noticed him, though. "Normal rate okay?"
"Sure, always has been. Any specific band today?" I asked, looking over the club. On a raised platform on the leftmost wall stood a veritable nest of audio equipment, my home away from home. It called to me, like a lover separated from his bride.
"Nah, not really. Though I bet we'll be getting most of the breakcore crowd in tonight." I nodded, and took my station at the platform.
The only time I felt truly, truly alive is when I was standing there, remixing old songs on the fly. The intense pressure of the music tested the limits of the soundproofing on the building and people loved it. I loved it too, and it wasn't uncommon for me to lose complete lack of time while playing and end up going home at 6 or 7 AM. As I prepared some of the mix parts and sound effects I was going to use from a flash drive in my bag, people began to stream in. Mostly it was college-age people from the nearby campus, but there were a few older and younger people. Edge admitted all ages, but only legal aged could drink. As soon as the club was mostly full, the bartender nodded at me, and I began.
The moment I put on my headphones I felt little else aside from the bass pressure on my body and the electric feeling the audio brought me. But today it was deeper, almost like I could feel nothing else at all. As I began the first song a pair of woman caught my eye, standing in the corner. This confused me, as they were the only distinct faces I could make out. They watched me carefully, like lionesses stalking prey before they leap upon it and tear out its jugular vein. I tore my eyes away from them as they whispered to each other, losing myself in the music again.
But as I turned back to it, I felt another odd sensation. It was almost as if I knew each and every person on the dance floor, knew them personally. I knew what each and every one of them wanted, feared, liked, disliked. Subconsciously I adjusted my music to fit their general likes much more, and as I continued, the strangeness peaked in a feeling of dread. Fear. Panic. I looked up, only to see a dark ebon shadow descending over all the club. But in an instant it ended, and a thought congealed in my mind, full of certainty.
I had to get away from him. He was no longer my master. He wanted to kill me.
I jerked as if struck, but focused on playing. The odd feelings were over, but the thought remained with me.
I must escape from him.
I closed my eyes and tried to focus.
He is death.
I tried to force my mind into keeping straight.
Black dog, white dog. He is black dog.
My hands tightened on the dials and knobs, no longer holding their same dexterity.
You are in danger. You must escape him. You are magus, he is magus, he is danger.
I punched the 'autoplay' button, triggering the system that would play the two hundred or so remixes I had on the flash drive. Stepping back I looked over the crowd; they had hardly noticed what happened.
The girls nodded and left. Their images were burned into my mind, though. Something just happened, and they were the answer. But another part of my brain kicked in. You need to relax. So I decided to, heading down into the bar area. That instant, as I sat next to the guy who had looked me over, something changed inside of me.