Chapter 3: The Art of Stealing Memories
In a corridor, the young man Farouk and the young woman Sophie were walking peacefully.
"Where are we now?" the young woman asked.
"Look closely," the young man replied.
"I mean our current location, and where are we going? I only see the same place. Nothing changes. Are we in a maze?"
"Don't worry for now, the situation is under control," the young man said, reassuring the young woman. But she knew that he knew nothing more than she did. Still, she didn't try to do anything.
After they continued their walk for a few minutes, they turned into another corridor, but this one was different. It was extremely long, as if it had no end, and it was filled with reflective blue doors.
"Finally, something different," the young woman said with a sigh.
The two youths headed toward the corridor. The young woman spoke elegantly, and it was clear she wanted to play a game. "Which door will we choose? I think we should split up now so we don't waste time."
"It's much better to stay together," the young man advised.
"I don't know why you're so roundabout when talking about staying by my side," the young woman tilted her head, watching her reflection in the doors with a smile.
Seeing her smile, the young man surrendered, knowing she was deceiving him. "I prefer the left side, so you choose the door."
She looked at him and said the opposite of what he just said. "I like the right side, so you choose the door."
The young man playfully dismissed her opinion. "I don't want to be the cause of your death; I know what my luck is like."
"No problem," the young woman replied with a smile, heading to a door on the left side. "Then I'll choose the door."
They were both shocked for a moment when they opened the door. What they saw shook all their ideas about the world. No, they stopped thinking entirely.
There was a young man in front of them, a young man with skin as black as a shadow. He had completely silver eyes with a thin, vertical golden pupil. His hair was a dark, grayish-black, and in the middle of his forehead was a rise producing a three-centimeter-long horn.
A person, or a creature, they knew nothing about—an unknown. They both sensed danger in his presence, a call of death. It wasn't the first time they had faced this feeling, but this one seemed strange, mysterious. And because they were completely unprepared, with their weapons in their bags, they decided to flee.
They both quickly and seriously ran to a nearby door, and it was another shock, but a lesser one. In front of them was a creature like the other, but he was old and his horn was longer, about ten centimeters. On each side of his head was a seven-to-eight-centimeter horn like a crown.
Even though the horns were the same color as his black skin, it gave the old man with silver hair an air of dignity, with a touch of wisdom surrounding his face.
The other difference was that their sense of danger had disappeared. They both felt a calmness that made their hearts cool and stop working for a moment.
"I told you, this is my luck, so don't blame me," the young man said jokingly, sweating profusely.
"I do blame you! I'm the one who opened the doors in the first place!" the young woman sighed to regain her composure. "What do you think of this? The first door was a young man, the second an old man, and the third will be a grave."
The young man smiled, wiping away his sweat. "Wrong, it will be a skeleton, and with my luck, it will be alive."
"So what's your plan now?" the old man intervened in the conversation, asking with a smile, as he was enjoying the scene.
"The door before the first one. There will be a baby," the young man scoffed. "If my calculations are correct."
"And what's the alternative plan, in case of failure?" the old man continued his conversation with the young man in a playful manner.
"Negotiation," the young woman replied this time.
"Negotiating with us, nice. Goodbye for now, you two, and a good piece of advice: don't enter the rooms," the old man uttered his last words, asking to leave. He passed through them and left with the young man, who was peeking over his shoulder, watching the two youths strangely.
"What now?" the young man asked.
"I guess we'll go to the dragon first," the young woman replied, pointing to a skeleton in the corner of the completely white room.
"A completely milky white room?" the young man wondered to himself and asked, "Is this a prison?"
"It must be," the young woman confirmed.
"The evidence?" the young man asked.
"There can't be purification machines without guards," the young woman replied, pointing to the completely white wall opposite the door. "The old man and the young man must have entered from there, and we opened the door for them to leave from this side."
The room was flawlessly white, and even the skeleton began to be slowly enveloped in the white color. It was as if it was merging with the room.
"Okay, what do you think of organizing our thoughts first?" the young man said, scratching the back of his head. "I don't know how to describe this, but I think we chose the wrong time to escape."
"You're right; something is slowly being prepared," the young woman confirmed the young man's feeling and scoffed, "Your tongue stings, so keep it in prison, or only speak well."
When the horned old man and young man disappeared, the young man asked the old man curiously, "Really a couple, or do you mean a duo?"
"Yes, a couple," the old man replied.
"But how?"
"Are you asking because they are virgins?" The old man smiled a smile that made him look like a loving grandfather. "Or because one of them is a vampire and the other is a demon?"
Saying this, the young man was silent for a moment and then said, "Do you know them, Grandpa? Is that why you're defending them? And why do they seem weak? For their age, they should be strong."
"They resemble me when I was young. One of them suppresses his sadness with silly sarcasm, and the other is a humble lover, but both are dangerous monsters. If they hadn't perceived you as a stranger, a monster, or an animal of some kind—it's the first time they've seen one and they haven't heard of it before—they would have killed you out of fear for themselves," the old man said, raising his right index finger in warning. "In addition, they don't know their race. I think they see themselves as humans."
The young man was surprised and did not ask again. His grandfather's answer to his initial inquiries was a miracle because he did not answer him directly but left him to deduce things from the incident. So the young man decided to return to them, but not as a guest, but as an enemy.
Meanwhile, the old man sighed secretly. "It worked. My 'Empty Thrones' project actually worked. But it took so long that I had to bring my great-grandson to complete it. But it's okay now. I'll take a break, and what happens, happens. I've already lost my passion with my age. And this child is very naive."
Going outside the prison.
In a corner of the Black River on the side of the middle class, the city lord, Vordun, stood in front of a crowd of guards on a black, fungus-filled dirt ground.
"Our goal is to find Paul," Vordun said with authority. "Start by killing the gangs, then arrest Paul and bring him here. We will seek justice for destroying the purification machines."
The crowd of guards was suffocatingly silent. No one dared to speak. The extermination of gangs in their lairs was suicide, even if they were seasoned guards. This mission was direct suicide.
"Go. What are you waiting for?" Vordun ordered them indifferently and remained standing, waiting for their return.
As Vordun gave his order, the guards left with a deep sigh to exterminate the gangs. This was one of the reasons for the mass extinction of creatures, as they carried out the orders of those in authority without rebellion, even if the mission was suicidal, especially when it had no purpose. The extermination of gangs had no purpose but the death of both sides. No one knew what they would benefit from.
After about half an hour, a crowd of people appeared, numbering between one thousand and eleven hundred. Most of them had similar behaviors and clothes, and their ages ranged from fifteen to thirty. There were no elderly or forty-year-olds among them. As for children under fifteen, they were unclear due to their small number. This was the result of them living under the same harsh conditions, which left only monsters who had lost hope in life, where they lived just because they were alive.
The residents of the marginal area, or what they call the Void Gang, advanced quietly, led by the tattooed ones, and the teenager Noel was with them. The young woman who worked as a mercenary for Paul was also here with her daughter.
When they arrived, they sat on the ground, and Vordun rested on the ground with them.
"I designed a plane that we will use to escape from here. But the problem is the barrier; I couldn't break it," Vordun said.
The Void Gang listened carefully to Vordun's words.
"What is the basis of the barrier?" someone from the crowd asked.
"The dragon engine, and it is underground, fifty meters deep in the rot under your feet," Vordun replied.
The crowd fell silent. They now had to dig deep into the ground, with the ultimate goal of destroying the dragon engine and then going to the plane, a thing they did not know the nature of, other than Vordun and some intellectuals. This would be done amidst the nuclear radiation that would invade the city when the barrier disappeared.
It was simply suicide, but for them, it was an opportunity, and they would not wait for the right one.
"I can't bring the plane here," Vordun said, justifying himself, as the crowd didn't care; they had no reason to doubt Vordun in the first place. "Its appearance will only cause problems. Now let's start digging."
Returning to the prison, in one of the corridors, a room door was opened by a guard in his forties with thick, fiery hair and an emotionless face. This was the same guard who had submitted the report on the sabotage of the purification machines to Vordun. The room was nothing but darkness, and from it emerged an elegant old man with gray hair and gray eyes. He did not begin to appear until he had crossed the threshold of the door.
"The situation?" the old man asked the guard as soon as he saw him to find out about the changes while he was imprisoned.
"The city lord, your guard Vordun, has gathered all the guards without exception," the guard replied with a deep bow. "He went to exterminate the gangs and get Paul."
"When you opened the door, I thought you had gotten rid of Vordun," the old man sighed deeply. "Vordun crowned himself lord of the city after stabbing me, and here he is, he has already started his escape plan."
"What??" the guard was surprised. There was something strange about his master. His master was now praising Vordun. This guard was a loyal servant to the old city lord in front of him. When Vordun betrayed the city lord and declared himself lord, he and the old city lord cooperated and he asked to be imprisoned to save his life. And now here he was, freeing him because all the guards had left.
"Vordun's goal is to escape, but I never imagined he would leave everyone in the city other than his Void Gang. This doesn't matter; I decided to make him a guard to kill boredom, but he really surpassed me," the former city lord calmly explained to the guard and then asked, "Why are you here?"
"I found this an opportunity to get you out," the guard replied, and his doubts about his master's change grew.
"And with this opportunity, you confirmed your betrayal of him, and here you will be buried with this old man," the former city lord calmly explained. "In truth, while I was in prison, I knew why Vordun accepted your request to imprison me."
"Master, I need the password. Let's release the prisoners, and they will take care of Vordun," the guard said, testing his master.
"And then?" the former city lord asked, so the guard tensed up and completely changed his position. He looked at the former city lord with disgust, his role model for corruption, who had changed drastically.
"Goodbye, my role model, Master Logan," the city guard said, directing his short sword to cut off the head of the former city lord, Logan.
Red blood dripped onto the blue floor, but it was the guard's blood. Logan's left hand, full of wrinkles and blood, had pierced the guard's chest to appear behind his back.
"This is not a story of a world prince who gets everything without doing anything. Or a demon who kills and rapes in every step and finds treasures, his life is without purpose. Or a hero who lived twenty years gathering his companions to eliminate a demon king whose age is a thousand times the age of the hero and his companions," the former city lord Logan said. "This is reality, and you write it as you want, and don't forget you are not the only writer who has a pen. Everyone writes. And the best writer wins, not the old, strongest, most skilled, or most creative writer."
The guard vomited blood and fell to the ground, covered in blood.
The old man Logan took his gear, which consisted of a short red sword, an elegant pistol, and crystalline pistol ammunition, all of which were golden crystals, and he was about to leave. But he heard a thud on the ground, and it was in the room he was imprisoned in.
He stood in his place for a few minutes, sighing. His room was empty, for sure, and he didn't hear the sound of the door on the other side opening, so someone had appeared in the room out of nowhere. Instantaneous transfer. An interesting person had appeared in his room.
Logan decided to return to his room. He knew that the appearance of the person in his room was destined, because if the guard had not come to open the door, he and the one who had just appeared would have been stuck in that cursed room.
He opened the door and looked inside the darkness after his eyes had been saturated with energy. Inside were two people, not one. A young woman was lying on the ground. The shirt in the heart area was torn and covered in blood, while her body was intact. Logan knew that she had just been healed. As for the young man who was sitting next to her, his features were full of exhaustion and his eyes were filled with an indescribable hatred. He was also armed to the teeth, carrying a red rifle on his back, three blue pistols, seven orange daggers, and two golden swords. All the weapons were crystalline and saturated with an aura according to the colors of the weapons. Next to him was a dark red, elegant, full armor, which was clearly for women, in addition to the delicate blue and golden ornaments. The armor was thin as if it were ordinary clothes.
These two youths were Farouk and Sophie.
The old man Logan remained silent for a while, then asked with a smile, killing the suffocating atmosphere, "Hello, are you okay, little one?"
When he heard his words, the young man wanted to explode at him, but he remained silent for a while and did not even look in his direction. This was because Sophie had asked him not to speak badly, and he did not want to speak badly while she was in this condition, at least until she woke up. "Yes, and who are you?"
"I am Logan," the old man Logan smiled sincerely. "But Vordun is trying to escape outside, so what is the reason for your being here?"
"Luck," the young man scoffed in despair and continued, "I'm going out to kill a black-colored creature. Do I entrust Na'ir to you?"
"Since you are from the Void Gang, you must get out of here first," Logan spoke patiently and pointed to the young woman, whose real name turned out to be Na'ir, as if reminding him. "The future is better than empty killing."
"I have no future, and someone is chasing the one I love for no reason," the young man replied, removing his jacket and placing it on Na'ir. He stood up, carrying his weapons, which a sniper rifle had fallen on top of. "I am Blade."
"I haven't even decided yet. Okay, do what you want," Logan said with a smile and entered the room while the young man Blade went on his quest. "Don't forget our place. I'll wait for you here in the room."
"Look for a moment," the old man Logan stopped Blade and offered his left index finger, which was carrying a transparent drop of water that reflected the color of his skin, the blood-stained ground, and the blue of the wall. "Take it, swallow."
"What is this?" Blade asked.
"The art of stealing memories," Logan replied with a sigh and explained, "I developed this art myself. As you don't know, water can collect information, and this drop contains the information of the art. You will drink it, and your mind will automatically analyze it without any harm. The way to use the art is simple. You will produce a drop of water from your body and press it into someone's mind, and the drop will collect the information you want and send it to you."
"And what do you want in return?" Blade sighed, knowing he had made a mistake by leaving this old man with his wife. He was so full of anger that he made a mistake that even a donkey would not make.
"The instantaneous transfer art that you created, in exchange for protecting Na'ir and the art of memories, or the art of taking memories. It doesn't matter what you call it," Logan replied. "What do you think?"
"And why should I trust you?" Blade asked.
"You have no choice," Logan replied.
Blade deepened his gaze at Logan for a few seconds and sighed. Logan was right; he had no choice but to leave Na'ir to get rid of the horned young man and old man. Her staying with a strong person like Logan would make him feel safe. Blade asked his last question, which would clarify everything if Logan answered it. "Why are you helping me?"
"Do I need a reason?" Logan asked.
"My art is also simple. Instead of transferring the entire body, I transfer it in the form of simple particles and reassemble them when you reach the place you want," Blade said after a deep sigh.
"It seems we are really similar," Logan smiled. "Your art depends on your strength and your skill in controlling energy and the amount of energy used, and the distance you will move and the number of people you will transfer will differ. Even my art depends on the same thing, but the more valuable that information is to the other party, the lower the percentage of seizing it, even after their death."
"Hmm, you are really skilled, but my art will test your endurance," Blade explained when he knew the old man was being truthful. "Even if you transfer a thousand people, the only person who will taste the agony of the body's disintegration and reconstruction is the user of the art. Even the pain of the people you have transferred will return to you, not to them."
"Deal," Logan offered his hand to shake Blade's.
Blade shook his hand indifferently.
Blade took the drop from Logan and promised him that he would give him the art when he returned. The old man also agreed with him to escape from here. The old man gave him the escape routes and the meeting place, and they parted ways. Meanwhile, the old man took Na'ir with him.
Their parting now and their meeting in the future would carry a changed destiny.
I am sorry for the mistakes or things if they are not understood. I am not good at English, so I translate automatically.
Creation is hard, I hope you comment or rate my novel, even if negatively.!