In the Name of Justice: Chapter II
Although it is the most seemingly obvious, Justice's name is actually quite difficult to explain. He and Judas are polar opposites, and thus have contrasting names in terms of Biblical symbolism (Justice = the upholder of truth and light; Judas = the betrayer). However, as more is revealed about each, their paths begin to blur into one another.
The chapter title is again taken from the song Schwarzschild.
Chapter II
Living in the Dark
“That’s correct,” the man answered.
Night had almost completely settled now; the warmth of the day had all but disappeared, leaving the room’s walls cold and icy as its denizens. Even in the low light, it wasn’t difficult to spot the dark, raw mark that stained the area below his right eye, as though he had been scalded with boiling water. A curtain of sleek black hair half-hid it, but Rüstung-Kranz was no fool.
“We are creatures of darkness,” came the collected voice of the first man. “Our existence is to hunger over what we cannot touch, yet we are constantly running from the light.” He sighed quietly. “It’s such a sorrowful, meaningless concept…”
Kranz was speechless, unable to form a reply to the words of his superior.
---
Rockwood was a small town, so named because of the pebbles that lined the edges of a river making up the boundary between the village and the forest on the other side. With a population of just under five hundred, it was far from being a renowned market place, although it did serve as a trading spot for local farmers and blacksmiths to sell their goods, whilst those from surrounding hamlets and settlements would come to buy any amenities they needed. It was a profitable cycle, and one that had worked for years. Upon entering the village, Justice was greeted by the familiar smell of crushed apples, something which defined Rockwood; lining the path were trees, though the season was ending, and the remaining fruit was beginning to ferment on the branches, making the odour particularly strong.
As he continued into the village, the man began to come across others, who silently regarded or just ignored him. The sun was warm against the skin of his face and hands, but it was failing as it set - in less than an hour, it would be dark. He sped up his pace a little in an attempt to reach the centre of town as fast as possible.
It wasn’t long after he passed the first house that Justice arrived at a square. In actuality, it was more of a rounded area around a fountain, a primitive structure in the shape of a tree that spouted a continuous stream of water, which was in turn caught in a pool at the bottom. The whole place was a depression in the ground, marking out an almost perfect circle, and lining the edge stood stalls selling various items: groceries, meat, fish, a single vendor supplying jewellery and, of course, Rockwood’s homemade apple juice - there were seven open in all. A lot of their owners were preparing to leave as the day ended, whereas others had departed altogether, leaving behind empty stands.
“Justice!” one of the sellers exclaimed as the man approached.
Justice nodded his head in greeting and peered over the goods spread out in front of him; there wasn’t a huge selection - the supply had obviously been depleted by customers throughout the day - though there was enough for what he needed.
“How much are the potatoes?” he asked.
The vendor replied, “Potatoes? Oh, it’s too late to be dealin’ with figures - why don’t you just gimme five for what I’ve got?”
Justice nodded again and forced a friendly smile as the man took the woven basket from his hands and began to fill it with vegetables.
“Say, you haven’t been around this area recently, have you?”
The black-haired man gave him a questioning look. “You know I come each week - why?”
“Well…” The vendor glanced to his left quickly and then returned his eyes to what he was doing. He was a small, unshaven man with hard hands and thick greying eyebrows, the kind of person that appeared to be on familiar terms with everyone he met. “I’m not really s’posed to tell you this, but we’ve been havin’ some trouble here in the village.”
“Trouble?”
“Yes.” He spoke in a hushed voice, evidently for the purpose of gathering as little attention as possible. “There’ve been some attacks this past week. Y’know the blacksmith’s son, Heckborn? They found him and his wife in their house the other morning, stone cold. Seems someone broke in an’ killed ‘em in their sleep.”
Justice raised an eyebrow. “That’s awful. Does anyone have an idea who the murderer might be?”
“Yes, awful…” the vendor muttered. “An’ what’s worse is that the wife was expectin’ in the spring.”
“How terrible.” He pulled a small money bag from his pocket, tipped the contents into his hand and began to count through the coins. Heckborn was a name he’d heard around the town, mainly due to his father’s position as the local blacksmith. It seemed like such a shame, given that Rockwood was one of the smallest, most friendly communities he’d come across.
Once he’d found the right amount, he reached over and dropped the coins into the seller’s outstretched hand. The man quickly scanned them and, happy with what he saw, passed over the basket of food.
“Say, you don’t happen to know anythin’ about the matter, do you, Justice? I mean, nothin’ like this’s happened near you, has it?”
The young man stared at him for a moment, his eye cutting an icy line to the point where it met with the others’. Then all of a sudden, he glanced away.
“Of course not, Sir - I’m sure it’s nothing to worry yourself about.”
*
The sound of hard-soled boots against the dirt was a constant rhythm breaking up the silence as Justice made his way along the path; his pace wasn’t hurried, yet it wasn’t slow either, as if he were anxious, but not desperate, to reach home as fast as possible. In his hands he clutched a full basket of food, and his eyes remained fixed to the trail in front of him.
The day was drawing to a close, and all around him the sun’s dying light filled the valley. Marthiel was a varied country in the way of relief, with large plains of near-derelict land filling up the space between ranges of mountains whipped up like peaks of cream. Only some farmers possessed the skill, not to mention luck, of growing crops and keeping animals on the dry, flat land - the most fertile soil lay at the base of the mountains, where the majority of the region’s administrative settlements were situated. Consequently, the plains of Marthiel were a lonely place, home to only a few select villages and hamlets, whose inhabitants were able to withstand the simmering summer heat that became trapped in the valley, as well as the sudden transition to relentless cold in the winter.
The journey was tedious, but Justice knew it was nearing its end - within ten minutes, he would be back in the comfort of his own home. Slowly, his eyes began to wander downwards, to the mud-stained vegetables in the basket and his hands, grasping the sides. However, something felt wrong about the sight in front of him. He paused in his steps for a moment, laid the food on the ground and raised his left hand into the air so he could carefully examine it. The skin was warm and looked as though it had briefly come into contact with a hot iron.
It took no time at all for Justice to realise what was going on. A mixture of terror and alarm overtook the man whose nature was usually so calm, and almost immediately he leapt into a sprint along the path, leaving his basket behind. Surely the mixture was supposed to last longer than this? Already, he could feel his face heating up - if he didn’t find some kind of shelter soon, then… He turned his mind away from that and put every ounce of energy in his body into moving forward as fast as he possibly could.
At last, a small cluster of houses came into sight, though there was no slowing of pace - if anything, he sped up. His entire body was agony: not only did the backs of his hands and left cheek feel as if they had been splashed with boiling water, but the pain had spread to the other parts of him as well, and now his legs, arms and back were burning too. As soon as he neared his own home, he raced towards it and, giving no regard as to whether anyone was watching him, threw himself at the door. The lock, rusty and weak, gave way beneath his weight and he fell inside.
The moment he made contact with the wooden floor, Justice dragged himself backwards a few feet, hooked his boot round the edge of the door and slammed it shut, allowing darkness to flood the room.
A shallow, pained breathing was the only sound that could be heard; wincing, Justice tipped his head back and tried to move his body, but even the process of moving the air in and out of his lungs was torturous.
As a vampire, he was capable of healing almost any injury at an accelerated rate, from simple flesh wounds to breakages, yet there was one thing that harmed his kind more than anything, and that was raw sunlight. Whilst a minor laceration would take less than a minute to close up, it would be hours, maybe even days, before he came even close to recovering from this degree of burning.
The darkness was like cold water, soothing his scalded skin with smooth fingers. Still panting, he glanced over at the table, where a selection of small bottles held a colourless liquid. The substance was supposed to absorb the sunlight as it made contact with his skin, and the effects typically lasted between two and three hours, so why had they been cut short after a mere sixty minutes outside? Justice could only conclude that he’d miscalculated something… He was exhausted, and had barely slept over the past few days, so taking the wrong dosage by mistake wasn’t out of the question. Even so, it was frightening to think that he could make such a crucial mistake, one that would’ve most definitely cost him his life had he not been so close to home.
Holding that in mind, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift into the surrounding blackness.
*
Three hours later, a fire was fully blazing in the hearth, and Justice was crouched in front of it. He hadn’t moved for ten minutes, and easily resembled a stone figure more than a man. Upon waking, it had come as a relief for him to see that his burns had faded by a considerable amount, with only small traces of raw pink clinging to the backs of his hands and certain areas of his face - if he was lucky, it may just have completely reverted back to its original pale hue come morning.
His eyes were fixed upon the flames, watching as they ran their tongues over the logs and remains of kindling he’d placed for them; fire was always something that had fascinated him, mainly due to the fact that it was so unpredictable. Who knew what direction it would take, where it would spread to and when one of the pieces of wood would suddenly collapse in a burst of embers, having been devoured from the inside by the heat? He could spend wasted hours simply staring at it, and here in this house, where nothing moved apart from the shadow of the sundial outside his window, he certainly had the time to.
By his side sat a small selection of foodstuffs, namely a rabbit, carrots and a cabbage, whose leaves had wilted and retracted slightly after a week of sitting on a shelf. Slowly, he picked up the rabbits by its rigid ears and looked it over. It seemed like such a waste of an animal, but what else was there for him to do in his position? Its body landed on the bed of wood and the flames, eager to try out this new territory, took less than seconds to envelop it. Following it were leaves of cabbage, which Justice tore off one by one and threw carelessly into the fire. As he did this, he couldn’t help but remember the small conversation he’d had with the vendor earlier that day.
Heckborn… So he was finally able to put a name to the face. As much as he hated it, he had to make such journeys in order to survive. They were irregular, usually unplanned, and although the idea of stealing lives unsettled him, there was a certain thrill about the concept of taking blood that overrode any feelings of doubt. In the first moment, the only thing to do was allow oneself to be swallowed up in the unrivalled sensation that came with drinking; the guilt came later, yet there was no holding back after that first drop.
Justice frowned. He knew that there were those in the world who couldn’t keep control and would gorge themselves like ticks: they were usually the ones who were found out, hunted down and killed. As for him, he was more than capable of keeping his desires locked away, though that wasn’t to say he was never thirsting. The need for blood was a constant burn at the back of his throat, an ever-present and insatiable hunger that, as long as he lived, he understood he would never be able to escape from. People would continue to lose their lives for his sake.
Eyes that once held a rusty brown colour now flashed a vivid red that was intensified by the reflection of the flames: eyes that carried an eager lusting for blood.
There was no point in lying to himself - that time was nearing again.
Next Chapter →
The chapter title is again taken from the song Schwarzschild.
Chapter II
Living in the Dark
“That’s correct,” the man answered.
Night had almost completely settled now; the warmth of the day had all but disappeared, leaving the room’s walls cold and icy as its denizens. Even in the low light, it wasn’t difficult to spot the dark, raw mark that stained the area below his right eye, as though he had been scalded with boiling water. A curtain of sleek black hair half-hid it, but Rüstung-Kranz was no fool.
“We are creatures of darkness,” came the collected voice of the first man. “Our existence is to hunger over what we cannot touch, yet we are constantly running from the light.” He sighed quietly. “It’s such a sorrowful, meaningless concept…”
Kranz was speechless, unable to form a reply to the words of his superior.
---
Rockwood was a small town, so named because of the pebbles that lined the edges of a river making up the boundary between the village and the forest on the other side. With a population of just under five hundred, it was far from being a renowned market place, although it did serve as a trading spot for local farmers and blacksmiths to sell their goods, whilst those from surrounding hamlets and settlements would come to buy any amenities they needed. It was a profitable cycle, and one that had worked for years. Upon entering the village, Justice was greeted by the familiar smell of crushed apples, something which defined Rockwood; lining the path were trees, though the season was ending, and the remaining fruit was beginning to ferment on the branches, making the odour particularly strong.
As he continued into the village, the man began to come across others, who silently regarded or just ignored him. The sun was warm against the skin of his face and hands, but it was failing as it set - in less than an hour, it would be dark. He sped up his pace a little in an attempt to reach the centre of town as fast as possible.
It wasn’t long after he passed the first house that Justice arrived at a square. In actuality, it was more of a rounded area around a fountain, a primitive structure in the shape of a tree that spouted a continuous stream of water, which was in turn caught in a pool at the bottom. The whole place was a depression in the ground, marking out an almost perfect circle, and lining the edge stood stalls selling various items: groceries, meat, fish, a single vendor supplying jewellery and, of course, Rockwood’s homemade apple juice - there were seven open in all. A lot of their owners were preparing to leave as the day ended, whereas others had departed altogether, leaving behind empty stands.
“Justice!” one of the sellers exclaimed as the man approached.
Justice nodded his head in greeting and peered over the goods spread out in front of him; there wasn’t a huge selection - the supply had obviously been depleted by customers throughout the day - though there was enough for what he needed.
“How much are the potatoes?” he asked.
The vendor replied, “Potatoes? Oh, it’s too late to be dealin’ with figures - why don’t you just gimme five for what I’ve got?”
Justice nodded again and forced a friendly smile as the man took the woven basket from his hands and began to fill it with vegetables.
“Say, you haven’t been around this area recently, have you?”
The black-haired man gave him a questioning look. “You know I come each week - why?”
“Well…” The vendor glanced to his left quickly and then returned his eyes to what he was doing. He was a small, unshaven man with hard hands and thick greying eyebrows, the kind of person that appeared to be on familiar terms with everyone he met. “I’m not really s’posed to tell you this, but we’ve been havin’ some trouble here in the village.”
“Trouble?”
“Yes.” He spoke in a hushed voice, evidently for the purpose of gathering as little attention as possible. “There’ve been some attacks this past week. Y’know the blacksmith’s son, Heckborn? They found him and his wife in their house the other morning, stone cold. Seems someone broke in an’ killed ‘em in their sleep.”
Justice raised an eyebrow. “That’s awful. Does anyone have an idea who the murderer might be?”
“Yes, awful…” the vendor muttered. “An’ what’s worse is that the wife was expectin’ in the spring.”
“How terrible.” He pulled a small money bag from his pocket, tipped the contents into his hand and began to count through the coins. Heckborn was a name he’d heard around the town, mainly due to his father’s position as the local blacksmith. It seemed like such a shame, given that Rockwood was one of the smallest, most friendly communities he’d come across.
Once he’d found the right amount, he reached over and dropped the coins into the seller’s outstretched hand. The man quickly scanned them and, happy with what he saw, passed over the basket of food.
“Say, you don’t happen to know anythin’ about the matter, do you, Justice? I mean, nothin’ like this’s happened near you, has it?”
The young man stared at him for a moment, his eye cutting an icy line to the point where it met with the others’. Then all of a sudden, he glanced away.
“Of course not, Sir - I’m sure it’s nothing to worry yourself about.”
*
The sound of hard-soled boots against the dirt was a constant rhythm breaking up the silence as Justice made his way along the path; his pace wasn’t hurried, yet it wasn’t slow either, as if he were anxious, but not desperate, to reach home as fast as possible. In his hands he clutched a full basket of food, and his eyes remained fixed to the trail in front of him.
The day was drawing to a close, and all around him the sun’s dying light filled the valley. Marthiel was a varied country in the way of relief, with large plains of near-derelict land filling up the space between ranges of mountains whipped up like peaks of cream. Only some farmers possessed the skill, not to mention luck, of growing crops and keeping animals on the dry, flat land - the most fertile soil lay at the base of the mountains, where the majority of the region’s administrative settlements were situated. Consequently, the plains of Marthiel were a lonely place, home to only a few select villages and hamlets, whose inhabitants were able to withstand the simmering summer heat that became trapped in the valley, as well as the sudden transition to relentless cold in the winter.
The journey was tedious, but Justice knew it was nearing its end - within ten minutes, he would be back in the comfort of his own home. Slowly, his eyes began to wander downwards, to the mud-stained vegetables in the basket and his hands, grasping the sides. However, something felt wrong about the sight in front of him. He paused in his steps for a moment, laid the food on the ground and raised his left hand into the air so he could carefully examine it. The skin was warm and looked as though it had briefly come into contact with a hot iron.
It took no time at all for Justice to realise what was going on. A mixture of terror and alarm overtook the man whose nature was usually so calm, and almost immediately he leapt into a sprint along the path, leaving his basket behind. Surely the mixture was supposed to last longer than this? Already, he could feel his face heating up - if he didn’t find some kind of shelter soon, then… He turned his mind away from that and put every ounce of energy in his body into moving forward as fast as he possibly could.
At last, a small cluster of houses came into sight, though there was no slowing of pace - if anything, he sped up. His entire body was agony: not only did the backs of his hands and left cheek feel as if they had been splashed with boiling water, but the pain had spread to the other parts of him as well, and now his legs, arms and back were burning too. As soon as he neared his own home, he raced towards it and, giving no regard as to whether anyone was watching him, threw himself at the door. The lock, rusty and weak, gave way beneath his weight and he fell inside.
The moment he made contact with the wooden floor, Justice dragged himself backwards a few feet, hooked his boot round the edge of the door and slammed it shut, allowing darkness to flood the room.
A shallow, pained breathing was the only sound that could be heard; wincing, Justice tipped his head back and tried to move his body, but even the process of moving the air in and out of his lungs was torturous.
As a vampire, he was capable of healing almost any injury at an accelerated rate, from simple flesh wounds to breakages, yet there was one thing that harmed his kind more than anything, and that was raw sunlight. Whilst a minor laceration would take less than a minute to close up, it would be hours, maybe even days, before he came even close to recovering from this degree of burning.
The darkness was like cold water, soothing his scalded skin with smooth fingers. Still panting, he glanced over at the table, where a selection of small bottles held a colourless liquid. The substance was supposed to absorb the sunlight as it made contact with his skin, and the effects typically lasted between two and three hours, so why had they been cut short after a mere sixty minutes outside? Justice could only conclude that he’d miscalculated something… He was exhausted, and had barely slept over the past few days, so taking the wrong dosage by mistake wasn’t out of the question. Even so, it was frightening to think that he could make such a crucial mistake, one that would’ve most definitely cost him his life had he not been so close to home.
Holding that in mind, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift into the surrounding blackness.
*
Three hours later, a fire was fully blazing in the hearth, and Justice was crouched in front of it. He hadn’t moved for ten minutes, and easily resembled a stone figure more than a man. Upon waking, it had come as a relief for him to see that his burns had faded by a considerable amount, with only small traces of raw pink clinging to the backs of his hands and certain areas of his face - if he was lucky, it may just have completely reverted back to its original pale hue come morning.
His eyes were fixed upon the flames, watching as they ran their tongues over the logs and remains of kindling he’d placed for them; fire was always something that had fascinated him, mainly due to the fact that it was so unpredictable. Who knew what direction it would take, where it would spread to and when one of the pieces of wood would suddenly collapse in a burst of embers, having been devoured from the inside by the heat? He could spend wasted hours simply staring at it, and here in this house, where nothing moved apart from the shadow of the sundial outside his window, he certainly had the time to.
By his side sat a small selection of foodstuffs, namely a rabbit, carrots and a cabbage, whose leaves had wilted and retracted slightly after a week of sitting on a shelf. Slowly, he picked up the rabbits by its rigid ears and looked it over. It seemed like such a waste of an animal, but what else was there for him to do in his position? Its body landed on the bed of wood and the flames, eager to try out this new territory, took less than seconds to envelop it. Following it were leaves of cabbage, which Justice tore off one by one and threw carelessly into the fire. As he did this, he couldn’t help but remember the small conversation he’d had with the vendor earlier that day.
Heckborn… So he was finally able to put a name to the face. As much as he hated it, he had to make such journeys in order to survive. They were irregular, usually unplanned, and although the idea of stealing lives unsettled him, there was a certain thrill about the concept of taking blood that overrode any feelings of doubt. In the first moment, the only thing to do was allow oneself to be swallowed up in the unrivalled sensation that came with drinking; the guilt came later, yet there was no holding back after that first drop.
Justice frowned. He knew that there were those in the world who couldn’t keep control and would gorge themselves like ticks: they were usually the ones who were found out, hunted down and killed. As for him, he was more than capable of keeping his desires locked away, though that wasn’t to say he was never thirsting. The need for blood was a constant burn at the back of his throat, an ever-present and insatiable hunger that, as long as he lived, he understood he would never be able to escape from. People would continue to lose their lives for his sake.
Eyes that once held a rusty brown colour now flashed a vivid red that was intensified by the reflection of the flames: eyes that carried an eager lusting for blood.
There was no point in lying to himself - that time was nearing again.
Next Chapter →