The past of the Void

Pain. That's the first thing I registered as consciousness clawed its way back to me. A deep, throbbing ache in the leg. I tried to sit up and regretted it immediately. A sharp stab of agony shot up from my calf to my thigh. The sound that escapes my throat is halfway between a groan and a whimper as I laid on my back.

My eyes fluttered open, and that's when the second realization hit me: I can see. Not clearly, but somehow I could make out shapes and surfaces in what should be pitch darkness. The rough walls around me harbored a strange essence. They emitted a faint, spectral luminescence. I blinked, clearing my vision, but the ethereal glow remained.

"Where... where am I?" The words came out thick and clumsy, my tongue feeling like lead in my mouth. Sailing through the sky on the back of a cloaked figure after escaping a narrow death—that's one of the last things I could recall before finding myself in what seemed like a bunker. All the events executed before my eyes would still be an illusion, but the burden of an injured leg reminded me of the grievous reality.

Subtle movements in the corner snatched my attention. A figure detached from the shadows. They drew closer, with each step weaving its way out of the grim hush. My heart would've leapt out of my chest. However, when I glimpsed at those emerald eyes, the swelling unease petered out. At least for now. It was the stranger who wielded the silver flute raised like an ancient sword, commanding sound itself to become his blade.

"In a safe place. Safer than the street of the Void." His voice was deep, carrying a weight that seemed to press against my skin. He crossed the space between us. "Better stay still. That's one deep wound."

I glanced down at my leg, wrapped in torn cloth that's stained dark with blood. The makeshift bandage carried a metallic scent that made my stomach turn. But the word 'the Void' still buzzed in my mind. What sort of purgatory have I ended up in!

"Why the hell were you all alone out there?" he inquired in a stiff, yet concerned voice.

"Who are you?" I asked. 

"Nycro, what's yours?"

"Russell."

"You're either really stupid or have a death wish." He sighed. "I can't tell which."

The accusation offended me. However, it didn't matter and I let my grudge slide. He saved me. I wanted to ask all the questions swarming in my mind like flies, but I didn't know where to start.

"How... How can I see in this darkness? There's no light, but everything's..." I gestured with an unsteady finger at the walls emitting an ambient glow.

Those piercing green eyes studied me for a long moment before he spoke. "Everything here now emanates Luminio." He pointed at the faint shimmer of the walls. "The meteorites that fell messed up the nature of light. Not to mention what it did to the sky and turned nearly everything black."

"Meteorites?"

"Yes, meteorites," he answered.

The strange atmosphere and environment wouldn't sum up, but his tone didn't betray those words. I accepted the explanation, temporarily. This world is truly damned!

"What was that thing?" I asked, though part of me dreaded the answer. "That thing... whatever it was that attacked me. It looked almost human, but—"

"A henchman of the Sovereign," he cut me off and his voice hardened. "One of the curses born from the meteorites' energy. They poisoned our world. Some humans were... changed by it. Transformed into something monstrous."

He shifted his position and sat on a rough-hewn bench nearby. I noticed the instrument at his hip—a silver flute that seems to pulse with the same strange light as the walls. 

"This world was peaceful," he continues, his voice taking on a distant quality, as if looking into a past I can barely imagine. "Before those bastards fell, and corrupted our world. But the physical damage was nothing! Nothing compared to the chaos it spawned."

His words painted a picture in my mind: the skies tainted black by falling showers of cosmic debris. They released waves of unnatural energy. 

"The Sovereigns," Nycro said, confirming my thoughts. "Humans transformed by the meteors' energy. The wretches feed off only on the blood of those untouched. In the early days, there was nothing we could do but run or hide." His hand moves to the flute at his side. "Until we discovered the Resonance of Death."

Resonance of Death?

The term piqued my interest. I remembered that bone-shaking sound that had annihilated the atrocity. Nycro lifted the flute, and I saw how it's different from any instrument I've ever encountered. Its silver surface was marked with strange patterns: triangles etched within circles, split into three equal areas by lines intersecting at the center. The instrument, a symphonic weapon to be exact, had been forged from some otherworldly metal.

"We learned to harness the very thing that cursed us," he explained. "The meteorite remnants carry a unique resonance—a frequency when properly channeled, can kill what the meteors created. We craft our instruments from the fragments, using them to generate the resonance of death. We resonators are the only thing they fear."

"A resonator?" I leaned forward despite the pain in my leg, fascinated.

"Yes. We organize ourselves by the instruments we wield. Each category possesses unique abilities that tears holes in the sovereigns' defenses." He paused, something dark passing behind his eyes. "We're one of many rebel groups fighting this war. Some hunt, some protect, some..." He trailed off, leaving unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

"Some...? Some what?"

"Never mind. You'll learn soon."

My mind organized everything I've learned and everything I've seen. The safe cocoon where I dwelt was torn asunder and replaced by a reality far darker and more dangerous than I'd imagined.

Strangely, along with the fear and confusion, I felt something else growing in my chest. A sensation I couldn't comprehend. The image of that creature—that sovereign's henchman—attacking people like me, feeding on them like cattle... The end of a messed-up life was the beginning of a new one. I was presented with a situation that's far beyond my grasp.

Nycro must see something change in my expression because he leaned forward, those distinctive eyes seeming to peer straight into my soul. "If you wanna survive," he said quietly, "it's gonna be a rough ride."

"No worries, I'll brave this storm," I replied, surprised by the strength in my own voice. "Like you."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips—the first I've seen from him. 

"Like me?" He chuckled. "I like your attitude. Welcome to the Dirge Demons."

He paused and moved towards what appeared to be a closet.

"If you're serious about this," he said, as he opened the mahogany door. "We gotta get you an instrument. There's plenty to choose from." 

I sat up, gasping, as curiosity overwhelmed me and edged closer. The melodic relics baffled me.

Within the dusty mahogany closet, an ensemble of musical weapons waited in reverent stillness. The smell of wood and smoke, with hints of a metallic presence, wafted in the air.

The acoustic guitar hooked me first—reminding me of the first guitar I played. Against the back wall, it rested. Defiant yet peaceful. Its stone-gray body engraved with a skull of a dragon enclosed by an octagon piqued my interest. Light played tricks on what deemed themselves as a sextet of taut, brass strings. It's enthralling that such a marvel could be lethal. Its hourglass curves spoke of deeper mysteries.

Floating. That's how the dull, ocher violin appeared, suspended in its peculiar grace above the others. The wood seemed to oscillate with its own inner harmony. The scroll curled like nature's own question mark. Its strings murmured fatal possibilities. They looked fragile enough to snap in a whisper, yet strong enough to carry symphonies.

Deep shadows pooled in the left corner. There stood the coal black bass, patient as mountains. The raw gravity of the earth itself shaped it. An admirable stringed giant carved in wood and wire. Its ebony frame bore carvings resembling the head of a horse inside a hexagon. 

The saxophone stole the spotlight. Its serpentine body lay coiled in violet velvet with its brass scales and sinister curves in tiny flashes of iridescence. Even at rest, it looked ready to kill.

The trumpet hung higher than the rest. Proud? Perhaps. Its valves gleamed. The bell opened like a flower made of bronze, its throat worn raw at the edges. Time had left its signature here, too.

"Take your time; there's no rush." He said, as I stared at the collection, with my mouth agape.

"I'll take the guitar." I replied.

I gasped again and laid flat on my back, the stone-cold surface pressing against it.

"Where's Marshall when you need him?" Nycro said, banging his clenched fist on the wall.

Bang!

"What was that?" I asked, startled.