Son of Lazarus

Chapter 34: The Final Victory

August 17th, 2041
6:25p.m.

War...is here...

   It was silent, the atmosphere around me. It pressed down on me like a heavy blanket, wishing me to suffocate. Then the pressure released me, giving me my breath back. The darkness around me began to take shape and I felt myself drawn forward. As I began to walk forward, I noticed that here, my steps made no audible noise and that's what told me where I was. This was my realm of nightmares. This was where Amiel counciled me when I needed him. Then...why was he calling to me this time? My brow furrowed the further I walked, my mind creating so many reasons why I was called here. It felt like absolute ages before I reached the center. Normally, there would be chains rattling to signify Amiel's presence here but there was nothing. Amiel wasn't here, that much was certain. Then why was I here? Confusion settled over me like water breaking onto the sands of a beach.

   I didn't like this feeling of emptiness that I felt at this moment. It felt worse than the scalpel that was used to cut me up on that day. I was alone. Then, the scene played before my eyes as though I were in a movie theatre. Bodies rushed past and towards me, their movements mimicking that of an ocean. The air was heavy with the sickening stench of blood. Then the bodies froze, standing still as though under a trance. Something propelled me forward, though I am at a loss for words on what. My eyes beheld the people as I walked, many I recognized as members of the Hive, names written on the back of their jackets. Reaper was one such name.

   The further I got from where the Hive members stood, the more the people began to become less familiar and more like a bad dream. They bore the uniforms of the soldiers that had guarded me and Lily in the asylum. I didn't understand. What exactly was being shown to me?
   When I stood still, the bodies began to move, flowing all around me like the waves of the ocean. The movements were jumbled together as their fight resumed. One thing caught my eye. In the midst of all of this fighting, I found two people in the end of their battle. One was a tall, scary looking man and the other was just a child...

   "Tristan," the sound of Lily's voice brought him back to the waking world. His eyes opened to behold the opposite wall. Had he fallen asleep sitting up? Tristan gave a cough and shifted so he was better propped against the wall behind him. He blinked, unsure of his own eyes. He had this problem before, where both the real world and the realm of his nightmares collided, melting into one. After blinking a few times, Tristan raised his eyes to the face of his beloved.
   "Lily," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Is everyone ready?" Lily tipped her head down in a slight nod.
   "Yes," she replied, the depths of her eyes beginning to shake. Tristan could sense it. She was afraid. "They're waiting for you in the main hall."

   Waiting for him? Tristan almost laughed. He'd almost forgotten. Besides Zack and Lily, Tristan was the strongest of the Advanced and the only one-besides Zack-that the Hive listened to. He brought a hand up to his face and closed his eyes, drawing his hand from his forehead down to his chin, where it slid off. "Okay," he said begrudgingly, swinging his legs off the side of his bed. "I'll be out soon." He watched as the tiniest smile appeared across Lily's face and felt his heart flutter. He had to protect her during this. He'd fight by her side, if he had to. Once she'd left the room, Tristan stood from his bed and gave his body a stretch, feeling every muscle strain and tremble with the effort applied. Afterwards, he turned around and crossed the floor to his closet. There, he took pause before swinging the doors open and stared into the dark hole in which there was an array of clothes that was sorted out, though only one outfit stood out to him.

   The outfit that stood out to him was a pair of black leather pants accompanied by a black leather jacket adorned on the shoulders by studs. On the back of this jacket was a crown cloaked in shadows, representing his own heritage from the realm of Lazarus. A smile began to play at his lips, for this was the one thing he wanted to scar into the minds of his enemies. He wanted them to fear him. And fear him they would. With one fluid motion, Tristan grabbed the pants and the jacket from their place on the shelf and reached for a shirt that looked like it had been dipped in blood. As he was dressing, a female voice floated around him, embracing him in a calming manner. "Now that," it said, "is what a prince should be wearing." His smile widened as he realized who it was.
   "Hello, Mother," he said as he turned around, adjusting the bottom of the jacket. His gaze soon looked up to behold her beauty. As with all of his visions of her, Zathora's hair floated as though in water. Her gaze looked him up and down and he noticed a small grimace cross her face.
   "I do hope you're not planning to fight in that," she said in a sort of disdainful manner, making Tristan look over his outfit choice.
   "What's wrong with it?" He asked, returning his gaze to her face. Zathora's crossed her arms over her chest.
   "While it might be stylish, it won't protect you," she said simply before crossing the floor to stand directly in front of him. She reached out a hand and cupped his cheek. "However, as the Prince of Lazarus, you have a very special gift at your disposal."