Sunday, 20 May 2012

Nix and Mist Chapter 10: Spin the World



Nixion regained his senses and was brought back to reality and the present quite abruptly to find himself in an unfamiliar corridor; lost.
He sighed and attempted to banish the thoughts of Mist from his mind which resulted in another lapse of concentration and Nixion was sent tumbling into the wall. Giving up all too quickly, he slid down the rough brick wall and onto the polished floor. Nixion was confused, hopeless and overall quite distraught about the entire ordeal. ‘Mist the Traitor’ did not sit right in his mind. It didn’t make sense, it didn’t fit the image of Mist and it contradicted against almost everything Nixion thought he knew. He did not understand, he couldn’t make sense of it all, of any of it. The Grand Mage did not make sense, the thing he was proposing did not make sense, Mist no longer made sense. Nothing made any sense to him and Nixion soon found himself unable to distinguish the difference between his right and left hand. Nixion was disorientated and if not entirely empty, then thoroughly dampened.
It seemed as if the action of thinking about the Grand Mage had summoned him to Nixion’s side, because Nixion soon became aware that he was standing right in front of him. He did not even have enough energy to sigh.
“Nixion…” he said, obviously with a forced air of comfort.
All the breath left Nixion’s chest at the Grand Mage’s word once again. Why was he telling Nixion this? Why had he told Nixion this? Why was he still confronting him?!
“Why?” Nixion was going to say more, but his throat closed up.
“Look at the evidence,” the Grand Mage began, pacing along the deserted corridor and speaking as if Nixion had not stormed away from him a mere fifteen minutes ago.
Apparently, the Grand Mage had taken the question as ‘Why do you think it’s Mist?’ rather than ‘Why are you telling me all this?’.
“It was Mist who decided where the people should go.” The Grand Mage continued without interruption. “He decided you, him and Thomas should go to the factory. He decided what would happen; Mist is the one that is basically organizing every little thing of this operation. The Remaining knew you were coming.”
“Somebody else could’ve told them,” Nixion managed to choke out. “It could’ve been anybody. Why Mist…?”
The Grand Mage stopped.
“That’s true,” he admitted. “But can you explain why Mist chose to raid a factory that has not been used in years?”
Nixion opened his mouth and closed it, lost for words
“Why would he go to a place where the metal would kill Thomas, and the only other person could be convinced to join them?”
At this Nixion responded. “How did-?”
“Did they offer?” The Grand Mage demanded of him.
Nixion blinked. One side of his brain was wondering how he knew they offered, the other thinking about the possibility of Mist being a traitor. As such, Nixion had no space in his head, nor time in front of him to think up a lie, let alone one that somehow resembled a passable excuse.
“Yes.” He croaked.
The Grand Mage nodded.
“And if Mist told you that you should have joined, would you?” he asked.
Nixion thought for a second and was shocked. He never realised how much influence Mist had over him and was now utterly shocked by it.
“Yes,” he said. If Mist told him that he should, Nixion would. In Nixion’s eyes, Mist was a good person trying to lead him the right way. From here on in, he would have to keep a very watchful eye. He couldn’t let people tell him what to do anymore.
“Have you noticed Mist acting strangely the past few days?”
Nixion barely had to think. He shook his head.
“Mist is always weird…” he muttered.
“It only makes sense-” The Grand Mage started to say, but Nixion cut him off carelessly.
“Why Mist though?” he asked.
The Grand Mage blinked, thrown off. “What?”
“We have a murderer, an ex-Cleaver, a weapons dealer, and a bunch of other people that you know almost nothing about. Almost half of our recruits have a reason or would seem to have a liking in betraying the Sanctuary, why would Mist stand out?”
The Grand Mage thought for a second. “Stavan was never a good Cleaver, but I can trust him to be a good person. Lyra wouldn’t be the sort of person to sell herself out, not even for a large price. The others can be relied on to a certain point.”
“And me?” Nixion asked.
The Grand Mage shrugged. “You’re not the type to join a group of people like The Remaining.” he said after a pause. “You killed because you felt like it, not because someone told you do. I seriously doubt that you would join them if there was nothing big in it for you.”
Nixion almost smiled.
“Look at you with your amateur phycology.”
The Grand Mage might have grinned. Or maybe it was a frown. Nixion was so confused he couldn’t make it out, nor did he care.
“So what about Mist then?” The Grand Mage asked him. “You get it yet?” but Nixion had had enough of this. His head was hurting, his world was spinning and everything he thought he knew could now be questioned. Nixion wasn’t confirming anything now, because nothing could be confirmed. After that, Nixion blocked himself off from the Grand Mage and listened no more. It took him ten minutes, but the Grand Mage finally seemed to realize that he would gain no more from Nixion that day and walked off, muttering darkly.

The fact that Nixion was now completely lost did not seem to matter to him. Nixion needed to be alone. Even if he could not comprehend the matter, he needed time and space to deal with his new problems alone. Solitude. Nixion needed room to think.
After a while, Nixion slowly managed to regain some composure. And in this case composure meant the ability to think. And seeing as thinking was about the only thing that he was able to do, Nixion thought long, he thought hard and he thought like he had never bothered nor had the time to do before.
Nixion was thinking very deeply. He had absolutely no idea why he had trusted Mist from the moment he met him. Maybe it was because Mist had saved his life. Perhaps it had been because he simply seemed like someone to trust. Mist had always carried around that kind of nature for as long as Nixion could recall. Or maybe Mist was the first person who had seemed to give a damn about him. About Nixion. Aiden had managed to have a few people care about him alright. Aiden’s mother, Aiden’s father and his sister. That was about all, but never the less, they were people and they had cared. But Aiden had died when the man in black had taken him away from his life and plunged him into a world of pain and torture. Aiden was dead and Nixion had been insane. He had been a murderer. No one had cared about him, but up until he had met Mist, when he had regained enough sanity in him to feel emotions of sorts, Nixion had never felt any need to be cared for. Was it really that Mist had genuinely given a damn about him, or had he just somehow attached himself to the first person who actually had cared? But then again: did Mist care about him? Does he care about him? Nixion could not tell. He couldn’t tell much of anything anymore, right then, at all.
Mist had saved his life because it was his job. He had been told to bring Nixion in under the charges of murder, and Nixion knew that Mist took his job seriously. So Nixion figured that he would obey orders when it came to “bring him in” and obey that rather than let him die. But then again, Nixion had seen Mist deliberately disobey direct orders before. So had he cared after all? Nixion’s head hurt from trying to figure it out. Had Mist cared about the insane boy in front of him all those years ago? Or had he just been following orders? Like a good little soldier boy…
If he simply had been following orders, then did Mist still only do the things he did because he had been ordered to? Or had he now changed, and actually come to care for Nixion as a friend? People did change, Nixion knew. He himself was a fine example of that…
Nixion decided to sort some things out.
What did he actually know about Mist? He knew that he was a boy about a year older than he was who worked for the Australian Sanctuary. He had saved Nixion’s life. He had fought for him in a court to attempt to prevent Nixion from being executed.
What didn’t he know about Mist?
Nixion sat there in silence, his mind a complete blank, for an entire half an hour after that. There were so many things he did not know about Mist that Nixion found it impossible to find a place to start. For all he knew, Mist could be a traitor to the group, to the Sanctuary, to him. Could be a spy for The Remaining, could be responsible for the death of Thomas. Even then, though, Nixion knew that Mist was intelligent. Surely he would have covered his tracks better than they had been if the Grand Mage could work out what had come to pass.
Was he a traitor?
Was he a spy?
Was he an ally?
An enemy?
A friend?
Nixion knew nothing of these things anymore. Nothing made sense and everything made nothing seem like everything made no sense. Nixion felt like curling up in a secluded place to think about these confusing things alone. At least he did until he realized that was exactly what he was doing at that moment.
Nixion didn’t want to have to rethink his entire life, so he stopped. All he needed to know was that anyone could be the traitor, even Mist. However unlikely… He thought deeply. He needed someone who wasn’t likely to be a traitor, and could help him take down Mist if needed. Because he needed to assume the worst possible thing right now, if Nixion was to be prepared. That would mean that he also needed this person who could help him take down Mist able to be taken down as well if needed.
The only one person Nixion could think of was Stavan.
He was a fighter. He was decent and honourable, at least according to the others. And was a cleaver, so Mist and Nixion should be able to take him if it turned out that he wasn’t a traitor after all and Stavan was. However, he was also better than the average cleaver, so he should be able to help Nixion take down Mist if he was the traitor.

After a while longer, Nixion decided that there wasn’t much more to be done and he was beginning to feel like he could manage to stand. So he got to his feet again and slowly made his way out of the corridor and attempted to locate something in the Sanctuary that was familiar. Admittedly it did take him an entire second half an hour to locate the corner leading into another corridor that held a deep gash in it, but Nixion did eventually find it which told him that he wasn’t too far from the room that held the dozen or so lounges that, as far as Nixion knew, did not actually have a name. Nixion turned left into the corridor, right into a second one leading off it and found himself back in the large room that had corridors leading off in almost every direction once again, the room that he had originally arrived in when walking through the entrance to the Sanctuary. Another two minutes later found Nixion in the room he had decided to dub “The Lazy Area” too see everyone but Mist, Hunter and Dark either lying or sitting down. Dark was pacing and muttering something that Nixion assumed was some stupid Necromancer technique of “inner peace” or something similar under his breath. Hunter was nowhere to be seen and Nixion found it disconcerting that his immediate thought at this discovery was the image of the vampire attempting to get some free blood from the Healers...
Mist was standing to the side of the room, looking right at him. Nixion could see that the Healers had already patched him up thoroughly, but the look on his face that was literally flaming in anger told him that Mist was still clearly very annoyed at him. Nixion walked towards him and the closer he got, the more apparent it became that the term “very annoyed” was majorly understated.
“What the hell was that?” Mist snarled at him the moment Nixion was close enough to hear him in a whisper. Evidently he did not want the others hearing them.
“I dunno…” Nixion muttered after a pause that was spent trying to work out an appropriate answer that did not come. Even after finding out Mist might be the traitor, he still felt horrible, which surprised him. Normally he wouldn’t think twice about anyone else and their pain, much less Mist’s. This was all going to have to change if Nixion was going to be prepared.
Mist glared at him and Nixon had the horrible feeling that his eyes were drilling holes into his soul. Nixion looked away hastily, hating the feeling and hating how week he was appearing because of it. Nixion had never been this confused, at least not for a long time. Normally he was sure of what he knew and the rest he didn’t care about. Now he had no idea what to think. He felt as small as he was when he was kidnapped, if not smaller. Because now he actually had people he could at least half count as friends, as allies.
Or else, they used to be counted as friends…
Refusing to make himself out as a weakling as he had done years before, Nixion forced himself to look up again and glare defiantly back at Mist while his insides squirmed with discomfort at the eyes penetrating his soul.
Mist glared at him for a few more torturous seconds and then turned away, scoffing. Nixion was only thankful he didn’t ask what the Grand Mage has talked to him about. As cautious as Nixion was now, he realized that he very did not want to believe Mist was a traitor and wanted to be counted as a friend. He was changing, definitely, was sure of it. And there wasn’t anything Nixion could do about it now; he was too far inside, too altered already, even if he had wanted to change back. Nixion’s head was only filled with a thousand questions, and no answers.
“I’m sorry.”
The words had already escaped from Nixion’s mouth before he could even comprehend what he was doing, let alone stop it from happening. He had said the same thing right after he had punched Mist, but it was obvious to whoever was listening that he didn’t mean it; he just said it, without meaning, like the old Nixion always had done. Not caring, worthless, arrogant. Nixion hardly ever apologised. But now the apology held a note of desperation in it that made it sound authentic. Nixion was actually surprised himself, not at what he had done, but at how real it actually sounded, and then how much he actually meant it.
There was a tense silence in which Nixion froze and Mist’s face released its form of hatred and morphed itself into something that closely resembled confusion. Then he slowly turned back and looked at Nixion who looked back blankly, unsure of what to say or do.
Mist surveyed Nixion, his face still contorted in that confused form. Then he suddenly broke out into a small grin.  
“Did you just… apologise?” he half laughed, though still speaking quietly.
“Yeah,” Nixion mumbled, looking down at his feet again. “I think so.” This was so out of character for him it was embarrassing and Nixion was suddenly thankful that Mist was making sure the others didn’t hear. Nixion’s head hurt. He almost groaned; he was so tired of this. He was wanted things to change back to the way they were a few hours ago, when everything made sense and the death of Thomas was the most concerning thing on Nixion’s mind.
“Okay then,” Mist said. He looked very much surprised. “It’s fine. Forget about it.”
Nixion looked up.
“What, really?” he asked.
“No.” Mist said at once. “No, you’re going to pay for this when everything’s over.” And laughed. But Nixion could tell he wasn’t kidding.
Nixion wanted to ask about Mist’s tooth. He wanted to ask about their plans. He wanted to ask what they were going to do next. He wanted to ask about their next move and where they would investigate in the days to come. But didn’t want to ask anything about the matter of Mist being a traitor. What he did want to ask about though, was what Nixion should do.
And when he did, Mist gave him another weird look.
“Have tomorrow off.” He said finally.
“What?” Nixion asked, completely shocked. Things were moving faster than anyone had expected, and Mist was asking him to take the day off?
“We have no leads.” Mist explained to him. “I’m going to look at something in the morning by myself, and I’ll come by your place after that.”
Nixion took this in and nodded, deciding it was a good thing; he needed a day off to get his head and his thoughts back in order anyway. He was slightly suspicious at Mist going off on his own which triggered more of his warnings that he had set up around his mind for things like this, but all it really did was make Nixion’s world spin more violently, so he pushed the thought away.
“What’s everyone else doing then?” he asked Mist and was shocked at how much more exhausted his voice sounded after the space of a few mere seconds.
“Having the day off as well.” Mist replied.
“And what about today?”
“Look around.” He almost laughed and threw an arm out in the general direction of the others lounging around, drifting in and out of sleep to everyone excluding Lyra (who was now jabbing the air in front of her with a deadly looking short-blade) and Dark (who seemed to have abandoned his weird, ritual muttering and was now sitting against the far back wall and was controlling a small amount of smoky looking shadows with his fingers.
Nixion nodded but stopped quickly because it made his head spin again. He thought for what seemed like a long time, trying to detangle his thoughts from one another to sort out what had just been said and what had been discussed days previously. He was so disorientated by now, Nixion was only half conscious of what he was saying and as such felt no embarrassment at the question that followed in the slightest.
“Can you bring Stavan along?” he blurted out unexpectedly, struggling to maintain a balance on the ground.
Mist looked at him for a moment, clearly struggling to work out whether or not to mock Nixion. Then he smiled again, having reached a decision.
“Sure.” He said. “I’ll tell him to be there at about one-ish. I might be a little late.”
Nixion nodded and managed to get out “Going now” and stumbled out of the room as Mist nodded.
He staggered out of the room, into the hallway again and somehow managed to get to the exit of the Sanctuary without throwing up.
Nixion had had enough now.
Today sucked and he hated it.
He prayed that tomorrow would make more sense…

Wednesday, 16 May 2012

Just to clear things up

I have people *coughIZZcough* keep pointing out errors and mistakes. I understand that you're trying to be helpful. But I just want to clear something up.
Nix and Mist is Co-Written, every chapter. I usually start it, as... let's call it a draft. Then I send it to Mist, who edits and adds and changes and makes it better. Then he sends it back to me, and I look over it and change it and occasionally edit it. If I do change it, I send it back to Mist and he edits it again. If I don't change it, then I usually just post it right then.
When Mist starts a chapter, he writes it, and then sends it to me. I look over it (and sometimes edits it), and if I change it, I send it back to him for editing. This happens for almost every chapter. You can understand how after this something might have been missed and spelt wrong, or we leave out some puncuation sometimes. And I think Mist often writes some of it on his phone of iPod. So there's another way mistakes can be made. What I'm trying to say is we aren't careless, not bothering to look over our work.We just have to re-write it and send it so often that mistakes are made. I might be a bad speller, but I try my best to get no mistakes, and Mist is a good speller (at least compared to me) and any mistakes are by the fact of his phone or iPod, or mistakes in email. Just trying to clear things up.

Saturday, 12 May 2012

Nix and Mist Movie Trailer

Something I made. There isn't a movie and there isn't anything past the large "NIX AND MIST" text either.


Thursday, 10 May 2012

Nix and Mist Chapter 9: Mudblood, Dried Blood... What?

It's done. 



All the breath left Nixion’s chest as the reality of what the Grand Mage was saying, implying, hit him with full force like a powerful wave which quickly mounted to the power of a charging steam train. His eyes did not widen. His hands did not clench into unbreakable fists. His brow did not furrow. He did not speak. He did not move. He didn’t even blink. Nixion just stared at the old rusting sword half cast in shadows against the wall just a bit behind the Grand Mage, not really seeing it at all, but rather desperately trying to feel something again and break through the sudden numbness that had gripped him fiercely, the sudden ice that had surrounded his brain, preventing him from thinking. Nixion did not breathe.
His brain had literally stopped working, because what the Grand Mage had just said went against everything that Zathract Mist was to Nixion Strange: an annoying, though reliable and powerful, detective who had once saved his life, once almost taken it, and a good ally, now even some sort of a friend. But the Grand Mage was trying to take this all away.
“I think the traitor’s Mist.”
He had said it flat out. Plain. Straight. And to Nixion, incredibly brutal, despicably forced and harsh, intent on doing this to him.
 “I think the traitor’s Mist.”
But what could he know…? What did the Grand Mage know about Mist that would cause him to think such an impossible thing?
“I think the traitor’s Mist?”
But what did Nixion know about Mist, after all? In just a few long days, Nixion felt as though he had known Mist for an age and had already begun to count him as a friend, something he had not done to anyone, even before his stage of torture. In truth, Nixion did not know a thing about Mist. He was a detective and seemingly hated evil.
That was all.
“I think Mist is the traitor. The traitor is Mist. I think.”
But you’re wrong. Nixion’s own voice rang out in the darkness, harsh and powerful, controlled and yet giving off a very clear message of rage. You. Are Wrong.
“I think Mist is the traitor.”
You’re wrong!
“I think Mist.” The voice of the Grand Mage in his head, replaying it over and over, the last thing Nixion had heard, the only thing that mattered now. “I think Mist. I think.”
You think Mist? You think? What do you think, what do you know? You know nothing. At all.
“I think….” It spoke. “I think Mist. I think…I think…I think…”
You think the wrong thing! The impossible!
“Mist. I think. I think Mist.”
It’s impossible.
“I think it’s Mist. Mist. It’s Mist. The traitor.”
Shut up! It’s not true, it can’t be!
“I think the traitor’s Mist.”
“No…” Nixion muttered, finally, the echoing roar of conflicting opinions still raging painfully through his head. His voice was weak, sounded weak, probably wasn’t even heard by the Grand Mage as he detected no movement in front of him. “Impossible.”
But was it? Nixion really didn’t know a thing about Mist. In all the time he had known him…Mist always had been secretive.
“Nixion,” the Grand Mage said softly, obviously having at least seen that he had said something, though whether or not he had actually heard Nixion’s words, he could not tell.
“No.” Nixion repeated, firmly, louder this time, anger rising to take charge and quickly pushed all forms of doubt from his mind. He would not believe it. Would not, could not, whatever. Mist was his friend, not a traitor and definitely not a Remaining, not one to kill Thomas, not now not ever. Never had been, never will be. The Grand Mage was wrong and was talking about the impossible. The plain truth was that he was wrong. Wrong. Incorrect. Mistaken. “You’re wrong.”
“Nixion, look at the evidence.” He said, continuing, preparing himself for what he could sense as a speech.
“No!” Nixion yelled this time, desperately trying to make himself sound larger than the Grand Mage with the only three words he seemed capable of saying at that moment. “You’re wrong! You’re wrong!”
The Grand Mage looked slightly disheartened at this, but made to speak again quickly.
NO!” Nixion screeched, suddenly regaining control of his body and jerked his head up to glare ferociously at the Grand Mage. “YOU’RE WRONG!
The Grand Mage steered to the right of Nixion’s line of vision and the door came in to replace him quickly. At first Nixion thought that the Grand Mage had spun him around to attack, but after Nixion became aware of his moving legs and the pain in his arm where he must have shoved the door open, he realized that he was storming away from the Grand Mage and the rusting, smelly room.
He was in a rage. Again. Another one. Another rage. Again. Nixion was in another rage once again. And this time it was absolutely uncontrollable. Because this rage had been caused, sparked, started, due to utter confusion, rather than something petty that had enraged him. Nixion had no idea what to do, where to turn, who to turn to, and what to say when he found this person. His immediate thought was Mist, but then Nixion remembered that this entire thing was about him, and he could hardly confine in him the matter of the question addressing whether or not he was a traitor to the group and working for The Remaining.
Confusion was knocking Nixion around, as much physically as it was mentally. His mind spun as did his world and Nixion was constantly staggering into walls and rebounding off them only to crash into another one just as quickly. And yet, he was still the numbest he had ever been, so even when one of the flaming torches smacked him across the forehead, Nixion did not feel it, did not slow and did not speak.
Mist. He could not believe the Grand Mage could think such a thing. Either that, or he was still having an awful amount of trouble comprehending the matter. It was impossible. Nixion had already straightened that out with himself; Mist was not a traitor. It made about as much sense as Nixion did himself. And yet the matter remained that Nixion knew virtually nothing about Mist.
Coming to a halt, backing up against the brick wall yet again and sliding down to the ground only half-consciously, Nixion thought back to when he had originally met Mist.
Back to his darker days again.

Nixion scowled at the small horde of zombies as they drew nearer. Not many of them had the muscles left to scowl back, but the ones that did certainly used them, abused them even. These zombies were disgustingly rotten, even more so than other ones, and Nixion vaguely suspected that they had been in use (or waiting to be put to use) for many years now. The stench was horrible. Anyone else would more than likely be hesitant or downright refusing to go anywhere near them, but Nixion had been through much worse, had murdered stronger people and dealt with corpses just about every day. And there was also the fact that he was still insane, thought his sanity was still slowly returning to him, strand by strand. Nixion leaped closer, tucking his machete close to his own rips and jabbed a finger into the skull of the nearest zombie. In one instant, Nixion felt an amazing power surge from the centre of his body, through his arm, into his finger and then transfer into the skull of the zombie which seemed to collapse immediately, sending tiny bits of brain flying outwards. Nixion guessed that the blood had all dried up by now if they had indeed been dead for such a long time. Nixion withdrew his hand fast enough to avoid getting dead skin, crumbling bone and bits of brain all over him and laughed when the zombie collapsed to the ground after it staggered around for a moment or two clumsily. Even insane and loving death, he grimaced. There was no fun in this. Things that did not feel pain? They didn’t scream. They didn’t care. They just attacked him. The ones that still had a head. They weren’t even afraid…this would not be fun at all. Nixion was disappointed.
But Nixion still fought. Most other people would have fallen by now, dead or living dead either way. Nixion slashed his machete through the air, in the attempt to cut a zombie in half. But it got caught half way, and as the zombie fell backwards; it took Nixion’s machete with it. Nixion reached for it, but his hand slick with blood couldn’t get a good enough grasp.
“Son of a…” he muttered as another thread of sanity wriggled back into Nixion’s mind.
Ignoring his machete, Nixion punched, kicked, and magicked his way out.  And in this situation, magicked meant Nixion broke bones.
Nixion thought about this word. “Magicked.” He could not yet tell if it was a word. He figured it must be for some reason, but it just didn’t sound right to him, and Nixion attempted to think of some other way to put it. “He broked de bones.”
For some reason this made Nixion laugh.
Unfortunately, it also made him lose concentration. For a second he was standing, laughing as an army of the undead surrounded him. The next he was overwhelmed. He fell, his head smacking against the concrete, the mass of zombies trampling him underfoot. Just before he lost consciousness, he caught sight of someone drawing a dagger, running out from an alleyway and towards the zombies…

Zathract watched as the boy fell underneath the putrid things he knew to be zombies. This boy Zathract had been watching at a distance for the past hour now was a killer, and seemed to be a rather good one at that. Zathract had been assigned to bring him in under the charge of multiple, repetitive and intentional murder. Other than that, the Sanctuary knew nothing more of this child other than his appearance. Nothing on his name, no background whatsoever, not even an available assumption on his age (something that Zathract did not entirely understand). Something that had surprised him was that the boy also seemed to be rather good at evading capture. He was fast, but disorientated.
At first Zathract thought the boy might be smart, smart enough to kill and hardly leave any evidence that linked him to the murder, rather like Zathract himself had once been like. It soon became apparent, however, that this child was nothing like the killer Zathract had once been. This boy was just insane. There was absolutely no pattern to his technique, to his murders, to anything. There was no connection between anything he did. The only thing this boy seemed intent on doing was killing. Zathract could understand that; he had been in that position once before, but right now he hated this boy. He hated everyone like that, just like he hated his old self. Even so, this boy was still full of surprises to Zathract. Leaving a bloody trail of bodies wherever he went, though he did, Zathract found that this boy was almost impossible to track. That was one of the many things Zathract had yet to understand about this boy…
After searching, losing the trail a few times, and getting into many fights, Zathract had managed to catch up with the boy for the third time that day. Now it was night and now that Zathract had gotten used to seeing unmoving, bloody corpses in the wake of the boy, he had been taken by surprise when he peered around the alleyway to see the boy fighting zombies. He had just witnessed the boy laugh for what seemed to be no reason at all, then fall to the ground under the zombie attack. He was either more unstable than Zathract had originally thought, or had given up. He was currently assuming it was the former.
Zathract stepped forward, drawing the attention of the zombies. Wonderful, he thought bitterly. Though he was fighting zombies virtually every single day, Zathract was still no more pleased with their presence than he had been on his first encounter with them. Muttering darkly, he took another step closer to the zombies who seemed to have forgotten about Nixion for the time being. Zathract had heard of necromancers having a certain amount of control over zombies as they were powered by the death magic, but had never tried it before.
“Stop,” he said, surprising the zombies. They recognised a master telling them to stop, and an enemy saying something that did not matter at the same time. But these zombies were rotten and seemed to have their original commands hardwired into their rotting brains...One master had told them to attack this boy. Another was telling them to stop attacking the boy. But, between the orders of kill and don’t kill, a zombie will always go for the kill. This was not a hard fact to figure out, but Zathract had also seen it displayed many times before…
Zathract swore as half of them turned back around to kill the boy while the other half lurched weirdly towards Zathract. He pushed at the air, snapping his palm and flicking his wrist, and knocked back a zombie, which hit another, sending two clattering to the ground. Unfortunately for him, the zombies Zathract was used to battling always happened to be close together due to the sheer number of them. But this group of approximately fifteen zombies were spread out among themselves which meant that Zathract’s techniques were going to have to vary a bit more this time.
Summoning blade-like shadows to his side, Zathract hurled them like a spear towards to different zombies. One sliced through the first zombie, ripping it to shreds and sending it to the ground in a crumbling heap, but the second zombie moved just before the shadows tore it apart as well. Whether or not the movement had been triggered out of the knowledge that it would have been destroyed if it had not moved or simply because it had felt like it, Zathract could not be sure. It didn’t matter all that much, though, because another zombie had lumbered closer to him and was now about to throw a fist into his face. Easily, Zathract stepped to the side and the zombie ended up punching thin air and was thrown off course, stumbling again.
Zathract send a dancing fireball hurling in the direction of the zombie and it caught flame at once which sent it dancing around the streets, waving its decaying arms around and crashing into other zombies as it went. No screams escaped its rotting mouth, though, so Zathract assumed that its vocal chords had already rotted. He quickly spun around, seeing that there were no more zombies in front of him, and saw three of the rotting creatures bending over the boy, mouths opening towards his neck. Zathract cursed loudly and pushed his gloved hand forwards towards the zombies and a swarming wave of shadows burst from it, pelting full force towards the zombies. He saw the wave expand as it went and quickly consumed the zombies. But as it dissipated and revealed the rotting remains of the three zombies, it also became clear that the boy was no longer there either. Zathract immediately panicked. The wave of shadows he had sent slamming into the zombies was only powerful enough to destroy them, not a perfectly healthy human (physically, of course). But then he understood that the boy could not have been destroyed. There were no remains of him whatsoever for one thing.
Zathract took a glance to his left and saw the boy taking his machete out of the zombie’s chest before kicking the corpse back down again. The remaining four zombies slowly advanced on Zathract and Nixion from the right side of them and at once Zathract begun to feel slightly overwhelmed. The zombies he could handle, the boy probably as well, but he wasn’t so comfortable with four flesh eating creatures in front of him and an unstable, most probably insane, murderer boy holding a machete behind him, where Zathract could not see. But he need not have bothered. Because the next second the boy had blurred forwards to meet the zombies and the next the sliced remains of three of them were falling to the ground.
Stunned slightly at this attack that was as sudden as it was vicious, Zathract did not move and simply watched as the boy turned to the last zombie and whacked it sideways across the forehead as it leaped at him. The zombie hit the ground hard which sent a small cloud of dust puffing up into the cool night air and rolled quickly, coming up on its knees; arms outstretched in a provocative gesture, a snarl clear even on its rotting face. This must be the leader of the pack – Zathract thought. It seemed stronger than the rest, faster and even more intelligent. It seemed to know its way around a battle anyway. The boy seemed only too happy to succumb to the zombie’s provocation, though, as he hurled himself toward it, dropping the blood drenched machete, something that confused Zathract even further as there seemed to be no blood left in any of the zombies so far. Perhaps they had been turned earlier than he had thought after all. The boy reached the zombie in what seemed no time at all and brought his fist up again,, but the zombie seemed more intelligent than Zathract had thought, even with his knew assumption that it was smarter than the other ones. This zombie seemed to be trained in combat as well. It ducked under the boy’s fist and slammed itself into him, sending the boy stumbling back and tripped over, having lost his footing. The zombie launched itself forward, arms outstretched and mouth open. It landed on the boy who attempted to kick it off himself, but the zombie sent a fist slamming into his forehead which hit the ground hard and sent him spiralling back into unconsciousness. The zombie moved in for the bite to his neck, when Zathract moved forward in one swift motion. His kick sent the zombie flying backwards across the ground and when it came to a slow halt, the zombie waited a few moments before getting back to its feet, disorientated.
Its jaw had fallen off…
Zathract almost laughed when he saw that another fifty or so drones of the undead were now advancing on him from behind the last zombie. Cursing again, Zathract took a step backwards and drew his first dagger. Suddenly, the boy was beside him, temple bleeding heavily, eyes unfocused, yet displaying a fine example of pure fury.
With a simple gesture from the leader zombie, the new army darted forwards, this time much more crowded than the last fourteen. Good. Something Zathract was more accustomed to. He made a quick decision to deal with the boy after the zombies had been eliminated: after all, he didn’t seem to want to do much but get them out of the way either and he had not yet a single move towards Zathract, let alone attempt to attack him. So when the zombies got close enough, Zathract and the boy attacked in unison.
Zathract’s dagger came high, slicing the top off a zombie, taking half of its brain with it. It stood there for a moment looking dazed before collapsing in a heap before him. This pack of zombies was new. Fresh blood was still running through them for the time being and their skin, though most definitely dead, was not rotting as such.
The boy did not bother with his machete, which he had picked back up before joining Zathract. Instead, his hand blurred towards a zombie’s head and as it made contact, a deafening crack rang out from the skull of the zombie. Zathract saw bits of the skull stick out from the head of the zombie as brains went flying everywhere and it collapsed to the ground. So this boy was a bone breaker. That would explain rather a lot, actually…
The boy’s hand blurred again and tapped the side of a second zombie’s head. Zathract saw the zombie jerk away and the boy kicked it so it went flying backwards.
Zathract’s train of thought was interrupted by a zombie crashing into him. He pushed the air again and the zombie flew out of sight. He stood and looked at the chaos around him. The army, though defiantly lessened by this point, was enough to overwhelm him, even with the added assistance from the insane, wanted murderer bone-breaker boy. Zathract looked over at him. The boy was a whirlwind of energy, taking out every zombie that got too close to him. But as Zathract expected, he knew that it would only be a matter of time before either he or the boy fell again and then the other would surely be killed or turned by the zombie army. He was used to fighting zombies and armies even larger than this, but these zombies seemed to be just as strong as the leader of the last, much smaller horde. Stronger, faster, smarter. Hard to beat, harder to kill.
Zathract, looking regretfully at the boy and quickly made a rather difficult decision. He could tell now that this boy was insane, but he hoped, for both their sakes, that he had enough sense left in him to move out of the way.
Zathract summoned flame to his hand and hurled it into the crowd of zombies. One of the zombies was suddenly alight. Then the flame leaped onto the next zombie. And then the next. From one zombie to another, Zathract’s enhanced flame after years of advanced practice in the field leaped until the smell of burning, rotten flesh filled the air, and the crowd of zombies ended up looking like an oddly shaped fire-field.
Zathract couldn’t see if the boy had made it out in time or not. He concentrated on keeping the zombies burning until he was satisfied with the level of damage. He let go of the flames and let the zombies burn and burn until the ashes fell to the ground. But through the huge ground of ashes that was no in front of him, Zathract could see no sign of the boy. Yet, just like before, he didn’t see any remains of what could possibly have been living flesh either. Zathract turned around and there was the boy standing in front of him, holding the machete and looking back at him blankly.  He couldn’t have even been a year younger than Zathract. He was wearing a cheap jumper and pants, with shoes that looked like they had been through a shredder. One arm of his jumper was burnt, showing his bare skin underneath. His brown hair was messy and untamed. It looked like he hadn’t washed or cut it in years. But it was his eyes that really showed everything.
They were dark brown, like his hair. They had lost that slightly unfocused look they had when the boy had woken. But they still looked weird enough. You could see pain, misery, anger, torment and untamed madness in those eyes. Zathract had a feeling that even if the boy was smiling, the eyes would not change.
The boy had a sheath for his machete which he promptly placed his weapon back into.
“You burnt me,” the boy said. He had a curious voice. It wavered at some points, getting higher and lower for no obvious reason.
“I did.” Zathract said steadily. He did not apologize. Something told him that this boy had no care for such I didn’t mean to”
The boy did not rpely.
“What’s your name?” Zathract asked.
The boy gave Zathract a curious look, like no one had ever asked him that before. Knowing what he had done, the chances were that no one actually had.
“Nixion Strange,” he said finally.
“Nixion Strange,” Zathract said firmly, attempting to use the amount of control sorcerers had over given names. “You are to come with me now.” He took a step backwards to see if the boy would follow, but when he didn’t, Zathract figured that he must have taken the name himself, or else forgotten his given name through his insanity.
“Zathract Mist.” He said to Nixion, taking a step backwards and pretended as if nothing had happened.
“Zath-rast…” the boy said, narrowing his eyes and speaking slowly, trying to understand. Zathract decided not to mention he had pronounced his name incorrectly. He nodded. “I call you Mist,” Nixion decided after a long pause. “Easier.” Then he thought deeply for a second. “Should I kill you?”
Mist was taken aback. Not only he wasn’t expecting that the boy would be so friendly, but he was actually asking Zathract for his opinion on the matter of his death. He was not accustomed to that. Everything or everyone that ever had wanted him dead simply attacked him.
“No.” he said, brow furrowed. “You shouldn’t kill me.”
The boy nodded, as if it was a wise move. Then he suddenly grinned. The change was so unexpected that Zathract almost too a step backwards again. But he was right. The boy’s eyes did not change.
“You help me kill?” he grinned madly.
Mists shook his head.
“No.” he said firmly. “Killing is wrong”
The boy stopped grinning.
“Oh,” he said, disappointed. Zathract could not yet tell whether this was because he wanted him to help Nixion or because he had just been told that the thing that may potentially be the only thing he knew how to do or the only thing he was good at was a bad thing.
“Do you want to come with me instead?” Zathract asked him, deciding to get back to his task of bringing the boy in to the Sanctuary. He was now having doubts of whether or not Nixion was entirely responsible for his actions. Surely there was some law that exempted the mentally unstable from charges of murder…?
The boy tilted his head. Then he shook it.
Mist nodded. Then he caused a shadow to hit the boy on the back of the head, where he had landed on the concrete. The boy didn’t even have time to look surprised or, the more likely, angry. He fell to the ground hard and Zathract dialled a number on his phone and waited for the response.
In that moment, Zathract Mist decided that he was going to do whatever he could to stop Nixion Strange from being prosecuted under charges of murder. 

Tuesday, 1 May 2012

An Update On "WHAT IS GOING ON?!" And Statistics After Ch. 8

So yeah, Ch. 8 is out, go read that now. Anyway, the purpose of this post is basically to let you guys know what's happening. Recently, we've released three chapters very quickly. Ch. 6 was released two days before Ch. 7 and now, two days later, Ch. 8 is out too (which was written by me).
Of course, a new chapter will NOT be released every two days, but we ARE trying to put a larger effort into getting them out faster now. It's Izz's fault, blame her. *points to Izz*

So yeah, I wanted to put this here only because I'm afraid that, in the quick releases, that the chapters could have been overlooked. So, people, please: check the Chapter Number, check your Dashboard for new posts!
Thank you!

Nix and Mist Chapter 8: Deaded

Because Izz did not want to wait, we're going to try and release chapters faster.
Lucky you, huh?



‘We wing it.’
Nixion had absolutely no idea what that meant. He didn’t mind all that much, though, because he figured that if Mist knew what he was saying (however random it was), then he knew what it meant, which also meant that, in this case, he knew what he was going to do. What were they going to do? They were going to wing it. And Mist probably knew what to wing and how to do it. With a lot of effort, Nixion vaguely managed to string together the fact that they would wing the spy in the group, but even then he was confused, if not more.
Despite everything that had happened in the rather short amount of time he and Mist had arrived back at the Sanctuary, Thomas-less, Nixion found himself yearning to talk to Stavan again as they made their way back to the lounge, away from the Interrogation Rooms. Stavan seemed to be taking on a role of a new friend in Nixion’s mind. Was it possible that Stavan actually did count Nixion as a friend too? Other than Mist, Nixion did not actually have any friends. Even though the two drove each other up the wall and had come close to being killed by one another in the past, they had, seemingly, become far friendlier towards each other in the past few days. Stavan was different though. At the very least, he seemed to share Nixion’s complete disregard for rules and knack for recklessness. Maybe he didn’t enjoy killing as much as Nixion did, if at all, but either way, he was more like him than Mist was. Or was he…?
Nixion was pondering over this when he became aware of a pair of footsteps following him and Mist from behind. At once he wheeled around and faced the follower, his lethal glare dropping from his face as soon as it had flown up at the sight of the person. It took Mist several seconds to realize that he was now alone in his continued walking and had to backtrack a bit to join Nixion who did not look at him. The follower had stopped walking too and was facing Nixion looking a little flustered. And for a moment, Nixion did not see the person dressed formally, neatly, in front of him with a slight redness creeping up his neck at being caught before his chosen moment to act. Instead, he saw the same person many years ago, battered, ragged, bloody, kneeling. With Nixion standing above, in the same dimly lit corridor, holding a machete and laughing insanely.

Grand Mage Thyrow Slit was kneeling in front of him, clothes ripped, face bloody, hair wild, expression desperate and full of blistering rage.
“Don’t kill me…” he half gasped. “Please don’t kill me.”
“You be deaded soon.” Nixion laughed from in front of him, his machete held loosely in his hand while blood slowly dripped off of it. “You soon be deaded.”
The Grand Mage stayed silent, obviously not sure what to say in response to that. There was silence for a few moments in which Nixion’s laughter died and he stared deep into the Grand Mage’s eyes. He gazed back, mesmerised, terrified, outraged. “YOU BE DEADED!” Nixion roared suddenly, breaking the silence brutally which caused the Grand Mage to jerk backwards in shock. Nixion let out another long, harsh laugh at this, his body hanging backwards loosely, face turning to the ceiling. The entire thing was very amusing, he thought. The Grand Mage was kneeling in front of him, Nixion, and was about to be killed by him, Nixion. He, Nixion, was about to kill the Grand Mage. The Grand Mage. Of Australia. And he, Nixion, was going to kill him.
Eventually, his laughter died down again and Nixion closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. Concentration. That was Nixion’s new hobby. The drug that had been given to him by the man in his prison a year ago seemed to be beginning to wear off now. He was still insane, still had the uncontrollable urge to murder people as viciously as possible, still had that horrible headache, that strain on his mind that told him it was snapped, broken, but through that, he was beginning to make sense of things. Small things. Things like recognition. He knew some of the basic things: His name was Nixion Strange which was the name he had taken under advisement of that man. His real name was Aiden (Nixion still did not remember his last name). He had been tortured. He should kill people. And then some other things that Nixion did not even know how he had come to learn: He was in the Australian Sanctuary, the person kneeling in front of him in a horrid sweat with a panicky expression across his face was the Grand Mage of Australia. Nixion could feel deformed strings of sanity returning to him, and, thus far, he could not tell whether or not he liked it anymore.
His body slowly recoiled itself back to face the Grand Mage again where his eyes slowly opened again, a dark glare across his face as he breathed heavily. The Grand Mage was sweating heavily. Large, dark rings were imprinted under his eyes and his wet brow was furrowed as if trying to work out what Nixion was doing.
“Deaded…” Nixion repeated darkly to the Grand Mage. And with that, Nixion slowly raised his machete, the blood still slowly dripping off it and a look of horror increased on the Grand Mage’s face, head shaking violently.
“No.” he said shakily. “No…please, no. Don’t…please…” Ha! The Grand Mage was begging. The Grand Mage was begging to him, to Nixion. Ha!
“DEADED!” Nixion roared, and plunged the dagger into the wall. “You be deaded!” he was laughing again, pointing to the Grand Mage as he desperately tried to take his machete out of the wall. But he quickly stopped, noting the confusion and desperation on the Grand Mage’s face slowly transforming into a concentration and disbelief. At the same moment, Nixion became aware of steady footsteps making their way towards him.
“Oooh…” Nixion muttered, glaring at the Grand Mage, another string of sanity suddenly wrapping itself around Nixion’s mind uncomfortably. “Yeah. You’re deaded, Mage. You be deaded now…”
The footsteps became faster and closer and Nixion abandoned his attempt to dislodge the machete which was now firmly fixed in the wall and turned around to face the person who had now drawn to a halt in front of him. His eyes were emerald green, his black hair fell over his ears and he held a dagger in his hand.

“Nixion?” came the same voice from beside him as Nixion swayed. And as he turned his head to look at Mist, for a moment he was still entrapped in his past. Instinctive, Nixion’s fist came hurling forwards and smashed into Mist’s jaw sending him staggering backwards, clutching at his mouth and groaning in pain.
What the hell?!” he roared, backing up against the wall and doubling over in pain. There was a bloody tooth lying on the ground… Nixion was in shock. He just stood there, wide eyed and stunned at what he had done and did not attempt to resist as the Cleavers that came running on the scene quickly pushed him on to the ground. “Let him go.” Mist gasped as quickly as possible, a groan of agony distinct in his voice. The pair hands that were grabbing Nixion were strong and powerful. He looked up and saw that the Grand Mage was dragging Nixion to his feet and waving the Cleavers away. Suddenly, life surged back into Nixion and he staggered backwards, gasping and cursing loudly. Mist spat a mixture of saliva and blood onto the polished ground before placing his hands firmly back on his jaw.
“I’m…sorry…” Nixion muttered, staring at Mist in shock. “I didn’t mean to…I mean you were…holding a dagger…”
“…What?”  the Grand mage asked incredulously.
“I…nothing…” Nixion said after a while, brow furrowed and feeling horrible. “Sorry, Mist.”
Mist raised his eyebrows coldly but did not reply.
“Are you OK?” Nixion asked him, slowly making more and more sense of what had happened.
“On top of the bloody world.” Mist practically snarled back. Nixion could not blame him…
The Grand Mage swiftly summoned a healer to his side and gave the order to take care of Mist. “Nixion, you come with me, please.” He said afterwards as Mist stumbled off with the healer, brushing away the hand to steady him impatiently. Nixion’s stomach dropped. The last time he had been alone with the Grand Mage, he had almost killed him; Nixion had just relived that himself. He was not sure what to expect as the Grand Mage led him back along the brightly lit corridor and then into a dark, depressing room that stunk of rotting metal.
Perhaps the Grand Mage was going to give him a lecture on self-control. Or maybe he would suggest seeing a professional physiatrist…Nixion almost laughed at the thought. But Nixion knew, when he saw the concern in the Grand Mage’s face, that he was going to be talking to him about something very, very serious indeed. Even in the dimly lit room, Nixion could see the sags and creases in the Grand Mage’s face lined with worry, the face that had changed so much since the version Nixion had seen of him minutes ago; broken, sweating, desperate.
“Nixion,” he started, studying him intensely as though wondering whether or not he should have thought this through more carefully. He did not say anything. He simply waited for the Grand Mage to continue; he honestly did not think it would be wise to interrupt the Grand Mage while he was in this different, less-than-happy state anyway. And besides, Nixion still did not feel comfortable in his presence. Yes, the Grand Mage seemed to have forgiven him and yes, Nixion trusted him now, as much as he trusted anyone, anyway, but he still felt uneasy. There was still a small amount of tension whenever they were in the same room, with or without company (it was always with). Of course there was going to be; Nixion had once almost killed the Grand Mage and half the Sanctuary Staff a few years previously, in his days of madness, his days of murder. But today, now, at that moment, Nixion did not detect any tension due to past events. Instead there was something more sinister, something deadly, something that the Grand Mage knew.
“Nixion…” he repeated, more slowly this time, thinking hard. He bit his lip, released it and opened his mouth repetitively as if thinking of the best way to put something. Yes, the Grand Mage knew something… Nixion thought frantically of something he or Mist may have done wrong, but the only thing that came to mind was the interrogation of Keeve half an hour ago. Nixion did not think this had anything to do with a few bent rules. The Grand Mage opened his mouth and left it hanging there for a few moments, then finally decided on something to say.
“…I know you have a traitor.” He said finally, and Nixion was taken aback.
“What?” he asked, aghast. “How did you…?”
“Nixion,” he sighed with an air of trying not to sound irrational. “Please. I’m the Grand Mage of Australia. This is a Sanctuary that I completely re-designed. I know things.”
“Ah…” Nixion muttered. “Right…”
“I know you have a traitor.” The Grand Mage repeated. “And…” he hesitated, then cut himself off completely.
“And…?” Nixion pressed him after a moment or two, eager to find out what this was about. The Grand Mage sighed deeply, then took a deep breath in, whether he was trying to calm himself or trying to delay the moment where he would have to tell Nixion, he could not tell.
“And…” he continued… “I think I know who it is.”
“What?!” Nixion asked much louder than he had originally intended to and the Grand Mage hushed him. Nixion obeyed only because now he knew that this was important. “Who?” he asked in almost a whisper.
The Grand Mage hesitated. Again. Unsure. Then something dawned on Nixion, something so out of place, something so obvious, that he was enraged at himself for not spotting it sooner.
“Wait…” he muttered. “Why didn’t you have Mist here at the same time…?” he asked slowly. The Grand Mage sighed again. Sighing seemed to be the new fashion.
But Nixion still could not figure it out. Why would the Grand Mage hide this from Mist? He was practically leading the team, getting the investigation moving, doing the recruiting, doing all the work, gathering all the information and organizing everything that had to be done. Nixion could not think of any rational reason the Grand Mage would have to keep Mist away from a piece of information like this, something this vital. But then he did think of something. There was one reason. The only thing that Nixion could think of. It was really the only reason he would have to keep Mist away from this. And that was…
“No…” Nixion muttered absent-mindedly. “No, that’s not possible.”
“Nixion,” the Grand Mage continued, ignoring him, continuing with the problem, the situation, the information.
“I think the traitor’s Mist.”