Driftfall: Gravestone Reunion.
What?
Darkness. A cemetery for the corrupt.
I heard Dad. I called, but now I'm here.
A bioluminescence illuminates a nearby tomb.
Is that . . . my grave?
Dripping inky oil from the floor upward, gravity alters in treachery.
Veiled within the depths of the dusk of absurdities lie impossible faint geometries, shapes that can't quite be understood by the human eye; a background from another plane of existence.
Flickering symbols of marks blink with slight white glows outlining their presence, blossoming.
It felt like a dream in reverse.
Whispers shroud him. They echo: "Malik . . . Malik . . . come forward . . ." They hush.
"Father is expecting you . . ." They continue.
Malik glances around the abyssal plain.
Shakily, he walks toward the gravestone. Getting a closer look, the grave says 'Malik'; however, the letters juggle in spite, rearranging to-
Bayonet . . .
The grave reads: Malik.
Then the letters writhe like worms, plastering onto Malik's shirt, forming as he stares.
Bayonet . . .
What the hell?
Suddenly, a pale, charred hand claws out of the grave.
It drips ink, twitching, moving at a pace where it blurs in a spasm. Another arm arises from ash, then the head rises; blind, stubbled, and smirking.
No . . . no, this can't be.
The hand pulls itself out, revealing the upper body.
It's covered in charcoal with a slim figure, facing downward, making it tedious to identify.
"Hello, son . . . or should I say . . . Bayonet?"
Trembling, Malik clenches his fists, his nails biting into his palms. He wants to scream, but his voice won't allow it.
It spoke.
Looking upward, it's a familiar face; a face forgotten by the realms, but not by Malik.
With two blind eyes, he cackles. Scornfully smiling, showcasing his full set of teeth, his heavy, unkempt stubble glides with it.
Empty fire scorches out of his visionless sclerae; what is he?
That voice. The voice of Sorrow.
He growls, his milk-white eyes dancing with flames beneath the undead irises. The voice echoes behind him as if whispering into his ear despite being in front of him.
His mouth moves, but the voice has a delay that transfers to my eardrums.
He couldn't do that before . . . he's gaining control.
"You're so much more, boy . . . yet you are a pet."
He palms his head with both hands maniacally as he howls, glimpsing upward.
Clenching, Malik balls his fists in contempt, as his palms leak black blood from his nail-dug palms.
He howls.
. . .
"Leave me alone!" He shouted, and his echo was heard.
An anger escaped from his lips.
"Oho . . . ignorance is bliss from a young soul of the dark. I don't blame you. These thoughts. These visions. They aren't favorable . . ." Grinning sadistically, he continued.
What is he talking about?
"Hey! What does all that mean to me, huh?! To me, it looks like you just tormented me for the sake of it!" Malik rebutted.
"Don't be naive, child-"
Leaping hastily, Malik gouged his full-grey eyes out with two fingers. His eyes squish like black grapes in their socket.
Black blood leaks like a faucet.
"You may be my father . . ." He paused. "But you're NOT my dad!" Malik barked intensely.
No reaction whatsoever; he withstood it.
There's no way . . .
"Ohoho . . . You'll learn our kind is the same color on the inside."
Why is he talking . . . no, why is he even breathing???
Laughing, laughing into forever, he can't stop.
"OHOHOHOHOHOO!!!!"
Laughing . . . why is he laughing . . . is he the reason why I'm me?
"You still carry the burden of my flame, child. You burn too, Bayonet. The more you resist, the sooner you'll be ash. Burn, you'll burn them all before you're through with it."
What is he talking about?!
A heartbeat commences. Multiplying.
Malik feels the urge to gouge it all away, yet it always comes back.
"You're like a soldier rejecting a firearm. You are blind and naked . . . I guess we aren't that different after all."
"You really can't know if anything is real anymore, except blood. That's why the ocean is perfect for you . . . out there, you die like the rest."
A burning sensation shrouds Malik's arteries, with a faint jet-black color flooding into them.
Without noticing, his feet were bonded with the tar floor, rendering him stuck. He notices and then starts worrying.
His feet sink deep into the tar.
I can't move.
His blood flows like a river, and he keeps talking. Am I . . . in another hell?
"Now now, relax. One last question. If you've never met me when I was alive, then how will you know that I'm real here?"
Smiling, he continues.
"You already know the answer. That's why it hurts."
Malik recalls every dream, every nightmare, and he remembers that no matter what, that man would be there.
He looks at his father with compassion for odium.
Freakishly, his eyes popped back in his head from his sockets, like a dispenser.
"Time heals all wounds. If only he could see you now . . ."
Sinking, the blind man sinks into oblivion as he waves goodbye.
Malik howls with all his might.
"Who's 'he'? Huh?" Malik blurted.
"You talk about me like I'm some freak! If I'm a freak, then what are you?!"
"Enlightened . . . yet damned." the man replies, sinking further, his voice muffles.
Brightening, the dark veil drowns out as the bright white light is uncovered.
I can't see anything.
Am I dead? It's all white.
Like a light shoved into my face point blank. All I feel is my feet. Does nothing exist here?
Whispers can be faintly heard, but are illegible.
Maybe if I walk closer to it, then I'll hear what it's saying.
I'm hearing something. But I can't tell.
All of a sudden, it's made clear. The voice echoes from below.
"You'll understand when it chooses you. All of them will."
No . . . NO! Is 'he' here too?!
Malik stresses as he hears another familiar voice, this time calling from above.
"Yo! Sleepyhead, wake up! It's time for dinner, bro! Open those eyes!"
Huh? Open my eyes?
The voice echoed into the world, then—
SNAP!