Short Story: Hopeless

His whole life, Eden Nocturne had strived to bring light.

Now, perched atop the roof of a crumbling building, he was nothing but a shadow.

Cloaked in darkness, he was invisible against the night sky, shrouded with heavy, black clouds that snuffed out the moon’s hazy glow. Far below, the harsh fluorescent light that emanated from a nearby building could not dispel the darkness in which he lay in wait, so high above.

And so from his vantage the shadow watched. Seeing, yet unseen.

He watched as figures meandered through the narrow, dirty streets. They all gathered around that one building across from him, the only one in the area not in ruins. Even from here, he could hear the muffled pounding of loud music, and occasionally their shouts rose to meet his ears, joining the cacophony; some enthused, many angry, all undoubtedly drunken. Some kind of bar or club, he supposed. It seemed there were many around these parts, grounds for nightlife revelry and debauchery, and the lowlife ne’er-do-wells that dwelled these streets tended to flock to them.

Even though there was no one around to see, Eden bared his teeth in a silent snarl.

There would be no humans in there, of course. Even for this filthy rat’s nest of a city, the rotten core was a bad neighbourhood, and it was a place very few mortals ever dared to tread.

Because these streets were ruled by monsters. Vicious animals that preyed on the blood and misery of humankind.

Demons.

Still, he sat there, surveying and assessing. He felt his hatred and anger hone itself into a lethal edge, he let it. But even though his blood burned with the desire to get down there, even though the sword at his back almost seemed to whisper it's encouragement, still he did not move.

He had to think about this carefully. To go down there now would be a suicide mission. He needed to plan, needed backup. He had kept track of each figure that came and went, counting many heading in, and no doubt there would be even more already inside. Impossible odds. He knew damn well that just one man couldn’t take on that alone.

His thoughts continued to race, and he continued his silent vigil. Watching. Waiting. As the night crawled on a chill started to creep in, bringing with it a rain-scented wind. When the icy droplets started to fall, Eden finally uncoiled himself from his roost, climbed down what remained of the ruined walls, and kept to the shadows as he began the trek home.

Another day, the hunter promised himself. He’d kill them all another day.

~~~

‘Home’ was perhaps the wrong word.

The rain had picked up on the way back, going from a drizzle to a downpour in no time. He shrugged off his drenched trench coat, a futile resistance against the freezing cold, and left it to hang on the back of a chair as he made his way to the kitchen. The sword's scabbard he unfastened and carefully set down on the table. Brushing away the soaked hair out of his face, he scanned the cupboards and shelves left in disarray. Only one bottle left huh…

It was drier inside, at least. And yet, somehow it felt colder. Emptier. The city outside was as still and silent as a ghost town at night, but here… this place felt cold as death.

He slumped down into a chair, poured a glass of the cheap alcohol, and sculled it back. At least the shots left a lingering warmth in his chest.

But no matter how hard he tried, nothing could drive away that familiar growing dread that weighed heavy on him whenever he was in this house. It didn’t feel like a home. Not anymore.

He glanced around wearily. Once he had loved it here. Not so long ago- yet it felt like a lifetime- these halls had been filled with life. But then that was all ripped away. Ripped away as that knife ripped through flesh, blood spilling onto the floor as he watched, so helpless, unable to do a damn thing!

He downed another glass, his hands- his whole body- shaking now.

Now there was nothing left. Nothing but that agony. He was so empty. So alone. Being here… it made him sick.

Sometimes he swore he could still smell her blood, could still see it on the ground, on his hands, as he reached for her. Too late.

Another drink, again. As if he could ever drown it out. All the while trying, trying so hard, to control his breathing and stifle his shaking. Trying to bite back on that rising panic, in vain.

He stopped then, as his head began to spin. Minutes that felt like hours passed as he sat there, head in his hands. His heart thundered painfully, pounding in his ears louder even than the sound of the rain drumming on the roof. God, he couldn’t go on like this much longer…

Eventually he hauled himself up, stumbling a little as the world lurched beneath his feet. No, he just couldn’t do this. Not now. So, slowly he dragged himself out, every step toward the bedroom an endeavour of strength. Perhaps it would be best to knock himself out for a bit. He’d sort his head out some other time, but now… he felt weary to his bones, exhausted both physically and mentally. He just wanted to stop existing, even if only for a while.

He pushed the door open just slightly, careful not to let it creak, and slipped silently into the room. A habit from many years of coming home late in the night. But what did it matter now? She wouldn’t be sleeping here anymore. And she would never wake up again.

The realisation hit him like a knife to the chest, a sharp bolt of pain cutting through the dull ache. Kicking off his dirty boots, Eden then collapsed haphazardly into the empty bed, curled up, and cried himself to sleep.

~~~

His sleep was restless and pitifully light, and when familiar nightmares jolted him awake, grey predawn light filtering through the closed curtains, he didn’t feel very rested at all.

He lay there awake for long hours, tossing and turning, trying in vain to sleep again. Nothing. Mercifully, his head felt too fatigued and groggy to think – he was so sick of thinking. But his body felt so drained and listless, too. Sleep tugged and pulled and clawed at him, but never quite dragged him down into it’s cold depths.

By the time the sun had risen fully, enough to make him turn away from the light emanating from the window with a grunt of disdain, he figured he may as well accept defeat. He sighed.

Fine then. He probably shouldn’t be sleeping the day away anyway, he told himself. He had a lot to do. He tried to think, forcing his foggy brain into action as he ran over the list. Hm, yes, so many errands to run. Any other time the list might have daunted him, but now he was just glad for something to do, he needed a distraction. Yes, just keep working, he told himself. Keep your head up. One foot in front of the other. It’ll be okay.

But in the end, he didn’t bother with doing any of it. He couldn’t even find the will to get out of bed.

What did it matter? Nothing mattered.

~~~

It had been evening by the time he had finally dragged himself from that room, deciding that if he stayed any longer he would surely drive himself mad. Too much time alone in his own head was dangerous. And he had spent far, far too long today lost in his thoughts.

So he had risen, still weary, but… strangely calm. It was a welcome change, to for once not have his mind be a mess of roiling, screaming thoughts. There was only a cold resolve as he fastened his sword’s scabbard onto his belt, and then headed out the door – He had come to a decision, he knew what he had to do.

He prowled the streets, as shadows lengthened and then melted into an all-consuming black. By the time night had fallen fully, he had left the inhabited parts of the city far behind. He was in Demon territory now. It was raining again, the overcast skies leaving no moon or stars to guide his path, but it didn’t matter, he didn’t need the illumination. He knew these parts well. Sometimes, even this God forsaken no-man’s-land felt more familiar to him than his own home.

The path was still fresh in his mind from the previous day. Navigating his way through the labyrinth of alleyways and backstreets, it wasn’t long before he had managed to relocate that bar, hidden deep within the ruins of the city’s rotten core. This time though, he didn’t bother with scaling the adjacent building’s walls, instead remaining on the ground, hidden among the rubble and the deep shadows cast by the harsh light. Lying in wait, like a hunter stalking prey.

And when all was quiet, Eden stepped forward into the light, approaching the door.

He took a deep breath to steady himself, and then he drew the ancient sword from it’s sheath. It’s golden blade reflected the light with a glow, how beautiful, what a shame it would soon be stained with blood.

To go in there alone would be a suicide mission. He knew that... But what did he have left to lose?

He didn’t care if he died today. He may as well take as many of those bastards with him as he could.