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Horrific cries rang through the crisp, clear night. They sounded far, seeming to last forever, yet were cut short far too soon. A hundred so cries, from nowhere and everywhere, echoing and streaming through the air.

The darkness was almost total, the only light the silvery smooth moonlight, stars winking here and there, oblivious to the horrors that plagued the world. Fires burned brightly in the distance, but they were not a natural fire; the cold, eerie blue-green flames cast no light on anything around it.

Cries of women, children, all suffering, rang through the cold night streets.

A figure stood, midnight robe sweeping around him in an unholy wind, laced boots reflecting the hellish flames that burned seemingly everywhere in the distance, no matter where one stood. The figure’s sharp features seemed unnaturally handsome; this was a creature that one could easily mistake for a honest man. But no one could have made such a fatal mistake at this moment, for the eyes glowed a fierce sapphire, glaring and seeming to smile malevolently upon everything.

A small child ran, crying, unknowingly running towards the robed figure. One arm hung limp at her side, blood dripping from several cuts from which bone protruded.

In a flash, the figure grabbed her broken arm, wrenching her high into the air with it. As the child screamed deathly cries of pain, a small smile flicked in the corner of the figure’s mouth. He held the child out a moment more, savoring the cries, the grabbed her flailing good arm, crushing the wrist of the small lass into something that didn’t even resemble a wrist.

More beastly screams. The flicker of a smile was now full, the eyes glowing more fiercely than before. Taking his other hand, the figure grabbed her upper arm—and slowly began to bend her arm backwards. The child was beyond the point where she should have passed out from the pain; some dark magic held her conscious. Slowly, the figure bent her arm, grinning now, baring sharp teeth, eyes focusing even tighter in a mixed expression of rage and enjoyment.

With several sickening cracks, the child’s arm bent a quarter circle backwards, tears streaming to nothing.

Still the figure did not relinquish his grip; another of the hellish turquoise flames burst from his hands, slowly consuming the young girl, screaming cries never heard before, one that rang to the gates of Hell, making even a fallen angel shudder at its sound. What evil could do such as thing to cause a cry such as this one?

And then, all was silent. Ashes fell from the hands of a robed figure of evil that was not there. Unholy flames died instantly, as did the cries of all who suffered. Those who were tormented were gone, killed. The evidence may have disappeared, but the effects, and the memories, would always be with those few, poor souls who survived. For some, death would have been a better fate.

All was silent.

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The silvery moonlight cast shadows upon Erik as he lay on his back, hand behind his head, gazing at the stars in wonder. Those same stars that had cast their soft light upon all the injustices before cast the same light on all of them; Erik was the last one awake, as everyone had called off the search, and lay wondering about this Julius.

Erik knew that he should trust the man, but there was…something…that Erik didn’t like. Somewhere in the deep, forgotten recesses of his heart, Erik felt that something didn’t quite fit. So he didn’t completely trust this Julius.

Sighing, Erik decided to leave the subject be for a while, until he knew more. It wouldn’t do him any good to make false theories. Taking a last look at the stars, Erik turned over and tried to sleep.

When sleep finally came, it was sound, and Erik was not troubled with such apparently trivial things such as who this Julius was.

<><><>

A cry rang out. Erik’s cry, as he was thrown forcefully across a dirt field, his blade Gassiter flashing emerald at the injustice and then was suddenly wood, to keep from harming Erik.

Erik slammed into the hard-packed dirt, trying to roll, the almost intelligent staff he carried a painful but harmless discomfort. Panting a moment, he rose, gasping with pain, to his elbows, looking down into the dirt, clutching tightly to Gassiter.

A drop turned the dirt wet, darker…Erik blinked, surprised, as another fell. Raising a hand, he found that it was blood, his blood, dripping from his bloody nose. Gritting his teeth, he stood, glaring at a figure in a midnight black robe facing him, a sword that was there and not there ripping through the air towards Erik in a gesture of mocking.

"It’s over, Erik. Give up."

Erik said something, something that that he could not even hear. And then the robed figure stuck, much fast than anything Erik had ever seen, the blade that was both a solid mass and a harmless figment of imagination coming closer, ever closer, to Erik’s neck. It was much too close, too fast the block…

The blade bit deep into his skin.

Erik awoke with a start, a cold sweat covering his body. He was gasping deeply, closing his eyes, telling himself that it was just a dream, it meant nothing, it was just a silly little dream…

If only it were.