The Battle of Tyrell: Cynthia - Nicola Collings (ereader manga TXT) 📗

one of us- probably the first person from The Wynde, in fact- who’s even managed to get the attention of a school on Boundary! Let alone the first person who’s been actually let on the course! I tell you, if it was a Maths exam or an English exam, they wouldn’t have given two shits. But you managed it! You the first! You can’t back out now.”

                “But, I can make a career other ways.”

                “What other way is there on The Wynde? We’re all as broke as each other. No one has a future on The Wynde. Look at me; I’m up to my eyeballs on booze and pussy. Wanna know why? Because I haven’t got anything else to do! I got no job, no hope of even getting one. I’ll probably die before thirty like most. I got no hope.” Rick looked at the surrounding roof tops and then down at the empty street. “No one on The Wynde has hope.”

                “But then isn’t that what the Black Parade is all about?” Nicki looked at him with hopeful eyes.

                “No one believes that story. That story is about war and death and blood. Even if there was a war between us and them, look at what Amber managed to instigate! She managed to start something that would solve the problem without war!” Rick stood and addressed the stars. “She made you our hope! It may not seem like it now, but if you go to that university and live among them as one of us, then people would see...hope!”

                He looked down at her. “You are our hope!”

                Nicki frowned.

                After a pause, she said, “No need to get all religious on me. But I’m just so mad!”

                Rick held out a hand. “Do what Nicki does best and keep all that anger hidden deep inside of her. Don’t let it out. If you do, all Amber’s plans will be ruined!” Nicki took his hand and stood, the roof beneath them creaking. “No, what do you say about a good party?”

                He winked and the pair of them left the roof, making for Duskgate Mansion.

 

                                                                                                *

 

                The sounds of the party could still be heard from the Archives. Gus wanted to instigate war. And, by extension, create The Black Parade and march it towards Boundary killing everyone who lived there. At least that was the impression I got. He spoke of blood and bones.

                I didn’t want to believe it. My Mother had told that this is how The Black Parade would start and soon, the secret that had been passed down through generations of Descendents would be known by the masses.

                The only thing wrong with this, was despite my being a Descendent by blood, my parents never actually told me where the access to the Vaults was in the house. A Descendent is one who is entrusted with passage. My role as a Descendent is made somewhat void.

                Which is why I was cynical about Gus’ talk of war. The implications that came with him to the steps of my house were linked to things I could only say were stories.  

                “Cyn? There’s someone at the door.” I looked past Gus to see Rhiannon, my closest and most trusted friend. She too was bare foot and her mocha flavoured skin was adorned by a thick mane of hair. She reminded me of a small lion. Despite her small build she was twice as fierce as one.

                I raised an eyebrow.

                “And no one ordered pizza.” A smile flickered over her bright red lips. “He’s asking for you.”

                I looked at Gus. “You can stay here as long as you like. We will talk again. Feel free to find a room and sleep if you wish.” I stood leaving him hunched over on the sofa and followed Rhiannon from the Archives.

                Before we reached the main entrance Rhiannon turned. “I must warn you, he’s rather good-looking.” With a wink she stepped aside.

                He was tall and well-built, a mop of black hair above his dark eyes. However, he looked pale and uncomfortable beneath the electric lights. I knew that half of The Wynde didn’t have the luxury of electricity, but it seemed more than that...

                “Cynthia? You own Duskgate Mansion?” he asked, looking down at me. His eyes flickered for a moment, as if something to the side of him caught his eye.

                “I am, how may I be of service?” I asked, despite the rythmatic pound from the party.

                He looked around, as if he didn't want the conversation to be overheard. I motioned to the door behind me and Rhiannon led him over the threshold. I left the party in full swing, it seemed it had a life of it’s own. Following Rhiannon and Sam into the Archives, I looked ahead of them to the sofa, where there was no sign of Gus. As I rounded the sofa, however, I saw him sprawled across it, sleeping.

                “Walk with me.” I said to Sam. Rhiannon nodded and skipped back the way she came. I however, wandered off down a book case corridor. Sam followed.

                “Why is it you seek me out, then?” I asked him, running a hand over a shelf of books.

                “I’m here because I feel it is time for the Black Parade to rise.”

                I paused. “That is a story, merely fiction.”

                “I have reason to believe otherwise.” He paused and looked behind him, scowling.

                “And what reason would that be?” I asked.

                Sam pulled a face briefly, as if he was looking at someone, but then looked at me. “I’ve been down in the Depths, in the Warrens. I’ve seen the Shamar.”

                It was as if he was going to add something, but he stopped.

                I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing.

                “That is not possible. They are stories!”

                “No! They are true. I thought as a Descendent you would know that!”

                “The Descendents were a bedtime story my mother told me.”

                He met my gaze with a hard stare. “I have seen them. I am living proof they exist. I am proof of their inhuman power! Don’t you see? It’s time!”

                I looked away. Another person talking of war?

                “We must take back what once belonged to us! It’s time for war!”

                He stood there, hope in his eyes.  “I am sorry. I don’t want a rebellion. I am no political figure, I am not a warlord. If you want war, you have come to the wrong person.”

                Sam looked behind him, mumbling to himself. He eventually looked back at me. “But, you’re the last Descendent! You’re known all over The Wynde as the Descendent, the one person who guarded the secret of the Shamar! You alone have the ability to lead us to war! Can’t you feel it! People all over The Wynde can feel it! They know it’s coming!”

                “Stories!” I cried. “The Shamar do not exist!”

                He paused. “What will it take to prove to you that they do?”

                I shook my head. He must have been insane! I watched as he went ahead of me, looking through the shelves and eventually turning, sighing.

                “I’m sorry.” I murmured.

                “No you’re not.” He replied bluntly. With that, Sam strode past me, heading back to where Gus was asleep. I followed him, trying to come up with a way of getting rid of this asshole, yet most of what I stood for meant that I couldn’t. I watched as he spun, aimlessly, as if looking for something. Eventually, he settled on a desk near the bookcases that held nothing but stationary. I watched as he stood with his back to me. There was the soft scrape of metal. He bent his head.

                “What would you do if I proved to you, here and now, that the Shamar exist and their power is within me?” he asked, the muscles in his back tensing.

                I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

                Sam slowly turned, the gold glint of a letter opener in his hand. I suddenly became wary that someone, built like a bull and not mentally sound was holding a sharp object.

                Gus slept on.

                He raised the letter opener and held out his arm.

                “Would you accept the fact that the stories are true? Would you give this city the push it needs?” Sam asked again, the flickering shadows from the lamps through the many bookcases masking his expression.

                I remained silent, bracing myself.

                Sam suddenly plunged the letter opener into his arm, the soft squelch and blood pooling around the gold metal. I could see the sharp point beneath his arm, blood now seeping freely from the wound and dripping down, onto the floor.

                Gus slept on and a remained perfectly still. Something in me was waiting for something. Another part of me wanted to scream and get away from him!

                Sam gripped the handle and pulled the opener from his arm. I watched as the blood red metal slowly slid from his flesh, leaving a deep, bloody gash. It still bled.

                Yet, a moment later, the bleeding stopped. I blinked and the wound was gone. The only evidence it had ever been there was the blood soaking his skin and the floor.

                I blinked again, not quite believing it.

                “You see! I’ve been down there; I have received something from the Shamar! I think I’ve died, I can’t tell, but that doesn’t matter. Their power is real!” he cried, his voice forced with the strain of trying to make me believe.

                But no matter how I didn’t want to believe what I had just witnessed, I had no choice. Whatever this strange, inhuman power was, it was yet another thing that pointed to the existence of Shamar and the rise of the Black Parade.

                I was slowly finding myself looking towards the east. All I saw was the shadow of change.

 

 

                                                                                                *

 

                As Nicki followed Rick up the main thoroughfare of The Wynde, she couldn’t help but notice something was a little off.

                “Hey Rick, something’s not right.” She muttered, gazing round at the dark, cobbled street that was slowly being blanketed in thin mist. It was only around 10:00 yet the moon was visible above and reddish black sky. It gave the narrow street silvery highlights that made it seem almost ominous. This far down The Wynde, not a soul was in sight; yet up ahead, Nicki could make out silvery figures. They didn’t get closer, in fact, they looked like they were walking in the same direction Nicki and Rick happened to be going.

                “What do you mean?” Rick asked, giving her a sideways glance.

                “I mean, people don’t usually act this way at night. People usually hang around, yeah, but why is everyone heading towards Duskgate mansion?”

                Rick looked towards the figures.

                “They’re going to the party? I heard it’s a pretty big one!”

                “What’s so special about this party compared to all the others?”

                Rick paused. “Deadlight are playing?” he guessed.

                “They play at all the other parties. And not everyone on The Wynde would turn up. Could you imagine that?” Nicki stopped and looked back at the empty, abandoned streets. “If every living soul on The Wynde was headed for Duskgate mansion right now....” she trailed off. The streets behind her were somewhat darker, blanketed in a thicker shadow. As if something of great importance was going to occur at the mansion.

                Rick touched her arm. “I know what you mean. Something’s happening. It’s not just rumours of a huge party.”

                Nicki suddenly turned and pelted up the street. Rick followed her as she pushed through the thin crowd of people. However, the people started to thicken, the crowd growing and soon, he could