0-Prologue
The middle of the night is a time filled with mystery, a time where almost anything could happen. You could see a ghost, a troll, a magical beast that either murdered you or took you to another dimension. You could talk to people about it all you want, but people won’t believe you.
But midnight is also when rumors were born. Half asleep people witnessing things in the middle of the night, usually tend to over- exaggerate when they talk about it, causing hallow stories and unsolved mysteries.
But some rumors have some kind of truth behind them. It may not be a 100% true tale, but in some cases, it may suffice.
There were some rumors of ‘Magic’ that broke out in the medieval ages, about a thousand years ago.
It was a forbidden art.
Hated.
A punishable offence.
The Play of the devil. It went by many names.
As time flowed on, a young girl discovered that using some crystals she had found, she could achieve several inhuman capabilities by the properly positioning and aligning the crystals and other materials in certain ways. She was able to bring her playthings to life, shoot beams of energy and summon fire.
She was the one who made modern technology possible. The true mother of technology. The Founder of Venomyte.
The art of early technology, sadly, was considered an act of witchcraft, and the girl was pursued and reported neutralized in the middle of the night on account of being a witch.
Centuries after the supposed death of the girl, Technology grew. Substitute for the crystals like silicon were made. What seemed then like magic was now common practice. People could summon fire, move inanimate objects with their mind, Turn ashes into gold and talk to people very far away. People gave this a name, Science.
Unknown to common man or to the high royals or the experts of technology, the art of Venomyte had also developed. It had its own society. Its own stories and its own set of wars, but all of this was still 8 centuries ago. Time had passed, and the Engineers of Venomyte had grown silent. The world was at peace once more
But somewhere in a foggy little town in England, trouble was about to stir in the middle of the night
The chaos that was about to sweep the world was devastating. Many people lost loved ones and the others were the loved ones that were lost. No one was unaffected by it.
And it all started with a solitary mid-night walk…
A man with a black hat walked down the street. He was slender yet fit, and wore a well-tailored black suit and a blue tie.
He was unaccompanied on his lone walk, for the streets of Gravesend were mostly empty at the hour. He was not in a rush, as he had no set destination in his mind. He was searching for something, perhaps, judging by the way his sharp purple eyes scanned the darkness that lay in front of him.
His strides were short yet had a sense of unnerving irritation due to an injury. He walked along as the river Thames flowed calmly to his left, one hand on the railings of the riverside walkway, and the other in his pocket. The view of the river calmed him down, and was often the thing he enjoyed the most in this town of Gravesend.
On the other side of the river was a highway, but the nearest bridge the connected Gravesend to it was an hour’s journey away. It never mattered anyway. Those who used the highway could not see the town at any given moment, all due to the fog that engulfed the town and anything around it as well.
Gravesend was a small town a stone’s throw from London (For someone with a really strong hand or cannon). Octobers are usually chilly but it never snows until after Christmas. But what was unchanging was the fog that just never left the poor little town.
His solid hard boots made a ‘clop’ with every step he took, with the occasional crunching of sand and rubbing of small rocks that had come out of the brick road known as ‘ Thames walkway ’.
Closed stores that usually sold small eatables and toys (Or both) for children marked the right side of Thames Walkway, an abandoned balloon seller’s cart leaned on the metallic railings that marked the bold domain of River Thames.
It was sort of a pity not a lot of people knew of such a place. There was a good reason why.
The town was unimportant.
No tourist cared to pay a visit. Not even English men who lived outside the pitiful town ever wanted to go there.
You don’t go to Gravesend. You usually end up there.
The man who was walking turned away from the river, and looked at the south of Gravesend, but all he could see is a few nearby buildings and the Riverview estate, The tallest and probably the only significant building in Gravesend, which was always visible through the fog.
The south of Gravesend contained a tall fencing to avoid people entering a nearby forest. Both sides of the fence were mountains that could be climbed by a capable person, but all of this was only mildly visible from the north of Gravesend. In the south-west, was the only road that entered Gravesend.
The real reason why no one visited Gravesend is due to that forest. With a locked up ‘Forest gate’ and such high walls, it was a place that was rumored to hold zombies. People previously used to enter the forest and return as zombies, or not return at all.
Many people refused to believe it, but it made a good Halloween tale.
Hence the forest was locked up, barricaded and isolated from the town of Gravesend.
A brisk wind blows, pushing around the fog as if it were a plaything, so cold that it would put an ice-cream to shame. This was how Gravesend was almost all the time.
After the man had his fill of walking, he decided to return home, as he had a few errands to do. Yes, such people probably do exist, who strolled at midnight before running errands.
But just as he decided to turn around, he felt something on his back. Metal? A knife?
“Don’t move…” a voice said “This is a robbery”
“And who may you be with such audacity to rob The Great Sephtis?” The man said.
His assailant was a man just as tall as him. His clothes were slightly ripped, dust ridden and old. The man was lean, forced into theft by need. Weakly clasping a kitchen knife in his frail, trembling hands
“Me? Who am I? No one gives a damn about me. More importantly, The Great Something, Is that you will die if you don’t give me your belongings.”
Sephtis Laughed.
“Ah, I see, it appears that it may have slipped my mind. Hang on; there is an itch on my back. Let me get it.”
Sephtis turned around and delivered a solid blow to the assailant’s face, with the could-have-been thief knocked unconscious. His knife flew out of his limp hands and fell into the silently raging river
“So, you were talking about a robbery?” Sephtis asked the unconscious body. “I know your kind. You are just like me. You think you can’t be stopped and live feeling bullet-proof. I would have liked to know you better, but you decide to remain asleep. You are just like me… a weirdo...” he trailed off...
He patted his coat pockets, and cursed. Then he checked his pant pockets and pulled out a pistol. The pistol he took out glistened in the almost-Full-moon’s light.
“… After all, the world could always use less weirdoes”
A single, unaccompanied gun shot rang through the streets of Gravesend, the sound propelled and amplified by the blanket of cold fog, and an eerie silence followed.
Yup, this guy was definitely nuts…
