The Dark Avenger - Chapter One

One

I suppose the beginning is a good place to start. These are the chronicles as I remember them, so my beginning is probably different to everyone else’s. Some people say she came to them in the night and they thought she was a dream, only to wake up in a cold sweat and find her standing at the end of their bed with that trademark smile on her face. I believe that, that’s the way she operates. I helped her with that on some occasions, although quite how I will never fully understand. Other people claim to have seen her, but I know she would never bother with fancy things on the first meeting; they describe things like explosions and apparitions and great light shows, big displays of magic and power and destruction. The first meeting is always the normal one. The explosions and apparitions come later.

That first time I didn’t know then what I know now, that there were many others she approached in the hope of finding The Standard. Stupidly I thought I was the only one. There have been many men before me, many who she claimed to have loved her only to be shot down in flames, like I was. She loved only one man, but his story comes later. There have been many women as well, although none quite like her.

There are a lot of things I am unclear about surrounding that day. The start especially. But afterwards… well, afterwards spoke for itself. The things I truly remember are the things that are truly important, which is why a lot of detail has gone astray. These next things, beyond the dull grey morning, I remember clear as day.

It was a day normal as any other. It was pure chance that I met her – she would have said Fate, but I still don’t believe her on that account – and only because it was raining did I change my route that day. There is only so far a skyline of endless skyscrapers and smog can protect you from a torrential downpour, and I had lost my umbrella the week before to a thieving teenager, so I went down the underpass, hands shoved deep into my coat pockets, head down.

The rain hit the underpass with a deafening splatter, and as I walked my footsteps seemed to stick to the damp floor. It isn’t a long underpass, at least not as far as I remember, but it took me a long time to cross. I was dawdling, passing the time of day with myself and my thoughts, and I didn’t hear anything or anyone else. In fact, I’m not even sure if I was the only person in the underpass. I don’t really remember much else of what happened – all I do know is that a fleeting dark shadow crossed my face, and then I blacked out.

When I was coming to I didn’t even realise what had gone on at first. All of my senses told me that it was something I couldn’t even begin to understand; she told me later that that was exactly what it was. I did, however, know it was something strange, and as my eyes started to open my body felt like never before. I felt like all of my innards had been removed and badly replaced, and the first thing I did when I was alive enough to move was vomit all over the floor.

The next thing I did was look up at the figure opposite me.

She was wiping blood off a long black blade with a death red handle, humming absent-mindedly to herself. I wondered fleetingly if it was my blood, and I had meant to die, if she had stabbed me and I hadn’t yet felt it, but it didn’t look like mine at all – the red shimmered with black and silver in the light and it dripped like thick tar. She didn’t seem to mind that she was wiping her gloved hands all over this substance, or that the blood was dripping all over the floor and her feet; the thing that seemed to bother her more was the proper care of her weapon.

I lay completely still. I knew she would have heard me being sick, but as long as I didn’t draw attention to myself I knew I would be safe from the wrath of her blade. In fact, my first thought was to run, but my body felt like it wouldn’t be up to anything like running for perhaps the rest of the day. I should tell someone, I thought, catching a fleeting glimpse of the thing at her feet like crumpled black cotton. I should run right out of here away from her and tell someone. But she captivated me, and I was not in a fit state, and I just sat there gawping.

She took her time. She put the sword back into the unnoticeable sheath on her back, looking down at the something at her feet, and then bent and picked up a small object, which she placed in her pocket. With her rounded boot she nudged the thing she had killed, gave a satisfied hum and, eventually, turned to me.

Untouched by the rain, unparalleled by anything I have ever seen in my life. Her hair sat in tightly sprung curls of black velvet on her head, cut short so it only reached her chin. Big dark eyes, looking right at me with an unidentifiable sparkle in them. A neatly cut, strong jaw without a hint of fear or sorrow in it. A sly but gentle mouth, unmoving as she looked upon me. She didn’t quite look earthly, not human enough to be standing there looking at me, and that was what struck me most, because without that quality she would not have been as intriguing as she was. She wore a long rain jacket, tied by a wide belt with a silver buckle in the middle, with the collar pulled up to stop the cold blowing in, and two-inch, chunky heeled boots that vanished under the hem.

The Dark Avenger.

I passed out again.

I came to only minutes later. “Come on, it’s all over now…”

I stirred, remembered where I was, jerked up and sat, alarmed, pressed against the wall of the underpass, my chest heaving, my eyes fixed on that terrifying woman. I didn’t know who she was, but I knew she had just killed something, and I knew that I could be next. She was crouching right in front of me.

“Steady,” she said in a soft, jokey voice, reaching out to comfort me, but I held up my hand and pointed at her shakily.

“What did you do with that… that sword?” I demanded. She blinked in a slightly hurt way and settled herself properly.

“I killed something with it. Something that was going to kill you. Why, would you rather I hadn’t?” she asked simply. I didn’t know. I tried to pull in as much breath as possible.

“What… what was it?”

“What was it?” She laughed a little and shook her head. “You wouldn’t even begin to understand what it was if I started to tell you. Let’s just say it took something of mine that I’m returning to a friend.”

“I could get you… arrested – “

In those five words she had grabbed me by the neck and pinned me to the wall of the underpass. Her grip was as strong as iron and her face was still but masked in saintly fury.

“Go on then,” she challenged in a low, threatening voice. “The police could never even touch me. You don’t know who you’re messing with, kid.”

I didn’t understand why she had called me ‘kid’ – after all, she looked about the same age as me. Even so, she was starting to throttle me and I wasn’t sure if she meant to or not.

“I saved your life,” she hissed. “Now forget me.”

With that she let go roughly, looked down at me with pure disgust and started to walk away.

“Wait!” I called suddenly, sharply. She didn’t turn. “Wait a moment!” I struggled up and limped after her, and touched her lightly on the shoulder. At this she couldn’t ignore me and turned. “Thank you,” I said. “Whatever it was you saved me from, thank you.”

She paused. Her deep dark eyes took me in for a moment.

“I saved you from certain messy death,” she said, without a hint of how odd that sounded. “And you’re welcome.”

I think we stood there for longer than I thought, saying nothing, looking at each other. Me, I was baffled and aching and still feeling vaguely sick, and she just looked like nobody had ever thanked her before for saving them from ‘certain messy death’.

“What’s your name?” I asked her. “I want to thank you properly.”

She paused. She leaned forwards, took a closer step, so she was so close our cheeks were almost touching. I could smell her beautiful perfume, a floral, sweet, dizzy scent that I had never before smelled. Her hair tickled my face. “Come with me,” she whispered in my ear, took my hand. Her gloved fingers were a little wet with blood, but I held onto them all the same.

“Why?” I whispered back.

“Because we can’t speak here. They’re following me. And now you’ve seen me they’re following you. Come with me.”

“But I only want to know your name –“

She put her other gloved hand over my mouth. “Either you come with me,” she breathed, “or you don’t know anything at all. I don’t do this often.”

She removed her hand slowly. I took in a deep breath and swallowed hard. “So why are you doing this now?”

“Because I think I know you,” she murmured.

I frowned. “Know me?” I replied. “How can you know me? I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

“No more questions,” she said firmly. “Are you coming?”

I could have said no. I could have simply shook my head and walked away. But… I don’t know. I don’t think I could have. I didn’t want to, that was for sure. She was beautiful and mysterious, and I think inside I knew who she was and why she wanted me, even though I had never heard half of the things she explained to me.
I nodded. I felt her smile beside my face.

“Good,” she whispered; her lips were lightly brushing my ear she was so close. Still holding my hand, she stepped back slightly, and I could see her in full view again. Her smile was innocent and pleased, and she tugged me along as she walked down the underpass.

Not once did I look back to see what she had killed. If I had, I think I would have changed my mind.