The Imprecarris

[UnStellar]

Nosferatu stared at the mine shaft, observing all the automated digging tools as it dug. He knew this area had Magnifanium. He just had to dig deep enough. He turned around, looking at the men gathered there with him. "Gentleman. I believe you all know why you're here..."

[UnStellar]

A portal opened, and Benjamin appeared. Nosferatu backed down immediately. Benjamin faced the men. There were about thirty of them. A balanced mix of Imbellis and Bellicus. They were still clad in vines and rough hewn clothes, no clothing factories having opened yet. "You must have heard that." Thirty heads nodded in reply. "This is your test. If you can defeat this man without technology, you are deserving of the title of Imprecarris. Make me proud." He said solemnly. He opened one large portal, and they stepped through.

[UnStellar]

Nosferatu stared down at about fifty men. They were in neat lines, and they all looked strong. "Gentleman." He said, with the ghost of a smile. "You have finished your training. I declare you Imprecarris."

In quiet dignity, they chanted, "We zullen nooit slapen, want slapen is voor de week. En we zullen nooit rusten, totdat we alle fucking dood!" Nosferatu broke into a rare smile. "Go to the factory. Your uniform and equipment await."

--

Quietly, the new organization of effective killers left the room, leaving Nosferatu to his thoughts. His dark, dark, thoughts...

--

Nosferatu's duties as Vuist had diminished. His assignment was to revive the Imprecarris, and manage the automated mine and factory. Nosferatu hadn't slept for two days. He couldn't. He had to focus on his work. What else did he have to live for? He was nothing. But he was alive, wasn't he? What was the point of dying? He'd done it once. It was... Pointless. Why die when you have a reason to live?

Wait a second. What was his purpose? To serve the United Paxans. No. To be used by the United Paxans. Even he himself had to admit that was... Pathetic. But what other reason? June. His mind whispered, expecting resistance. It found none. Nosferatu had fallen asleep. With new found freedom, his mind swarmed his dreams with memories from his photographic mind...

The shriek. It pierced my eardrums.
The blood. It stained my hands, my clothes.
The tears. Are those my own?
The... Hatred.

"Derek... I know you're having a hard time living..." She coughed up blood, frailly holding to what little life was left in her broken body... "June..." That voice. It's Derek Dubois, the boy that existed before Nosferatu came to be. "Listen! Live for me! I am dying. Live for me and everyone like me... Whose died... Before their time..." June Dubois choked on some blood, her coughs rocking her dying body and sending pain through her entire body as her coughs pained her broken ribs. Her life left her.

This is the part of the story where the hero makes a stupid mistake.

This is the part of the story where the hero becomes the villain.

Sight, blinded by tears.
Nose, suffocated by mucus.
Voice, hindered by sobs.
Heart, killed by grief.

"No! I refuse to live! If she cannot, I WILL NOT!"

This is the part of the story, where Derek Dubois dies.

This is the part of the story, where Nosferatu claims his corpse.

This is the part of the story where the dreamer awakes.

--