Black Pain

In a world based on histories, on creatures born out of events named Ghosts, and on people with the power to confront them to prevent the world from becoming a myth, there was a special place, a gray patch beyond the darkness.

A young man, not a human, but not a ghost, lingered on the edge of the bridge, his gaze fixed on the colorless landscape.

He knew nothing of the great world or himself.

"I've been thinking too long. Death - it must have meaning, at least that... in this fake world..." 

Tron's voice echoed along the concrete girders. The rumble of the raging river eclipsed his words.

The massive structure with a purpose but no meaning was as empty as the rest of this domain. Tron always felt it shouldn't be that way. These thoughts never left him, and eventually, they brought him here - to his final moments.

But, was it true?

In his entire life, Tron had never felt joy or sadness, no emotion, not even once. Neither he nor this world could show colors.

Deep inside, he wanted to live, but even that sense tried to hide from him.

Step.

Determined to act on his own will, Tron moved forward, the rocks chipping off the edge, disappearing into the flow. Now, he didn't even need to take a step, he just had to lean in.

Hostile wind currents fluttered his black hair, the tips whipping against his pale, almost white skin, his sharp facial features falling into the darkness of his empty eyes. 

His gaze lowered to the rushing stream of water, strong and merciless enough to break his bones, to end his meaningless life in an instant.

"Something's wrong... There's nothing in this world, it's not right..."

His eyes grew deeper, wondering, a single spark of interest:

"Should I die? Or..."

A deep sigh.

Cold vapor rushed before Tron's eyes, his heart beating slower and slower - he accepted his imminent death.

Then, snowflakes reflected in his black eyes, the active river covered in a dense layer of ice. No sharp peaks on the surface as in the case of instant freezing, the top was flat, as if the river was freezing gradually like in winter.

"What...?" 

Confusion filled Tron's muttering, he stared at the same view that seemingly arrived from another world with now raging frost.

The trees were bare, leafless, with piles of snow lying on the great branches.

The cruel wind rushed by Tron's side again, rippling his old shirt, the sharp collar hitting his neck, but... this time, the wind wasn't unfriendly, it was nothing as if Tron had involuntarily become a mere decoration for this scene.

The bridge trembled as a massive shadow engulfed Tron. The shadow was large enough to obscure the sun, if there was one... Looking up, Tron saw something that made his eyes go wide, slowly but surely filling with meaning, pulling his mind out of the void he had been immersed in since his first day.

The first emotions appeared in his... heart?

A massive creature, born out of unknown history, leaped across the bridge, but its target was not Tron, now he was no more important than a nameless stone.

A grand body, outstretched paws armed with sharp claws, and a wide jaw full of curved fangs - none of this scared Tron, he didn't know that emotion yet.

Tron didn't realize it, but he encountered a Ghost for the first time. Unlike humans, they were born out of histories, eager to devour new ones, or those who carried them, be they other ghosts or humans.

The ghost was chasing a middle-aged man, his left arm was mangled in cuts and bent at a strange angle, broken and covered in blood.

On the man's right hand was something unusual, something Tron had never seen before.

A flaming cross blazed above the man's wrist, scarlet flecks billowing out in a ceaseless stream. 

This essence, this power was called - the Spark. Only the Harbingers, people capable of fighting the spawn of history possessed it. The man was one of them.

Every Spark was unique, a personal weapon of the Harbinger, coming from the depths of their power inaccessible to mere humans.

The man didn't notice Tron right away, first, he glanced at him, but he didn't glimpse anything strange, so he turned his eyes back to the creature.

However, when the man realized that Tron was looking at him, everything changed.

Besides Tron's gaze, there was a second evidence - the snow covered his shoulders, this was not supposed to be, the snow should pass through him.

After all, the world Tron lived in before wasn't real, and neither was he. Nothing was supposed to interact with him, not even snow, but... he was here.

Crackle.

The creature stopped, sliding down the girders, its sharp claws sinking deep into the frames, leaving a web of cracks.

Suddenly, the snow stopped falling on Tron as the ghost towered over him.

Several eerie eyes peered out from the dark surface - curious onlookers inspecting a truly rare specimen that should not have escaped from its sanctuary.

Tron lifted his gaze upward, watching the creature's thick black fur swaying in the wind.

Then, he thought of only one thing:

'Oh... It must be soft and warm... I want to touch it...'

Tron reached his hand up, unable to get the desired touch, like a child who for the first time felt drawn to something, even if it was the fur of a dangerous monster.

His actions were not foolish or reckless, from his point of view, they were sincere.

The creature grinned widely at the man, it paid no attention to Tron.

The man did a somersault and landed deftly on the hard terrain of the river, sliding on the blue ice, white sparks of snow flying from his feet.

Unlike the creature that looked solely at the man, his eyes running from the beast to Tron, he saw in Tron an opportunity to change his dire situation.

But how?

With a loud crack, the creature leaped forward, bearing a sneering grin as it swept through the gusts of wind, sharp claws digging into the azure surface, breaking the dense layer of ice in fissures.

Once the beast moved in a fight, Tron was left to stare at the dark sky. The distant boundaries were certain, it was an ancient prison, but Tron was not a captive, everyone else was.

Tron slowly lowered his hand, feeling the cold again, but... the emptiness inside him no longer seemed so universal.

"What...? Why did he leave?"

The man took a step back, gave a last glimpse at Tron, and nodded, he was ready to do something risky, something that could help him survive.

A bright flash reflected in the ice, the flaming cross ignited with renewed vigor, crimson particles flying before the man's eyes.

"Oro's Flaming Steps!"

At the man's command, two waves of flame covered his feet, fluttering in the wind in two flaming wings, paying tribute to the one the power was named after.

The ice began to melt, the water beneath the solid layer boiled, about to release hot jets of steam.

Step.

The man lifted his foot, he turned into a flare of fire, shooting straight at Tron.

A whistle of wind reached the man's ears, fleeing in terror.

A black shadow swept over the man, as the powerful jaw clamped down on his left arm, the skin tearing, thin streams of blood spurting out with the loud crack of breaking bone.

In an instant, the ghost ripped off the man's arm, leaving him with only one limb.

The man's face contorted in pain, but he let the monster take his already useless limb.

The dark flash headed towards the river, and the fiery one was right next to Tron.

The man looked around, paying no attention to Tron, heavy clots of blood falling from his torn shoulder, smashing against the concrete. 

His gaze traveled towards the forest hidden by the peaks of the quiet hills, he nodded and gripped Tron's wrist tightly.

Before Tron could realize anything, he disappeared with the strange man. After two steps the blaze on the man's legs ran out, three was his limit.

Tron glanced to the sides. He had come to this forest several times in his life, no one had ever come here to rest or hunt, Tron was lost in his childhood.

Childhood... Did he even have one?

The usual greenery was gone, now everything was covered in heavy snow. A black substance grew next to some trees, wrapped around the trunk like vines, causing them to rot and emit a black mist.

The man frowned, an unpleasant cold scratching his skin, a pentagonal red skull emblem rippling on the lapel of his coat.

"Not the best place, but I can't run any farther." 

Then, he finally addressed Tron as a living being.

"Well, that's a lot of luck. I've heard about it, but this is the first time I've seen it myself."

A wide grin appeared on his face, the corners of his eyes turned upward and his grimace filled with guile and cruelty.

"You're the Black One. You were supposed to disappear, but you didn't. Hahaha, I didn't think I'd find a world-class treasure in this perishing place!"

The man reached out, placing his palm against Tron's chest.

"That's right, don't be afraid and don't resist. After all, you are only the Blank, you look like a human but are not the real thing, nothing more."

Greed and anticipation filled the man's eyes, he couldn't believe he was so lucky.

He was right. 

Despite the obvious threat and the strangeness of the situation, Tron didn't try to run away. He felt nothing, almost nothing... He only developed a slight, barely perceptible interest in the cross burning above the man's wrist, in the man's Spark.

The flaming cross shuddered, scarlet fire traveling along the man's arm.

Then, the man pressed his palm against Tron's chest.

Tron's heart clenched as if from a stabbing blade, starting to beat rapidly, waves of pain ran through his body as his eyes went wide.

This only brought a sneer to the man's face.

"Oh, are you in pain? Yeah, you have some feelings now but don't worry, I'll get rid of them soon. I'm not so cruel to condemn you to live in this damn world. I will give you eternal rest!"

The wind whistled.

Whizzing through the wind currents, reaching its target, and passing through Tron's black hair, a silver long needle appeared as the sharp tip thrust into the man's right eye, piercing his brain.

The flame was extinguished, as well as the man's life. His body fell to the ground with a thud, his eyes still open with a mad grin on his face. He didn't even have time to see what happened when his death came.

Step. Step. Step.

Muffled footsteps sounded behind, quiet and measured along with the crunch of snow.

Turning around, Tron saw a tall young female, with arrogant features, a stern look, and short crimson hair, the sharp tips pointing down to her shoulders. Tight black robes covered her body down to her ankles.

"It's a good thing you were standing still, or I would hit your neck instead of his eye."

The girl walked over to Tron, made sure the man was dead, and pulled a sugar cube out of her pocket.

"Do you like sugar? Do you like sweetness?"

She didn't wait for an answer from Tron or any kind of response.

"Suit yourself."

With an impassive expression, she shrugged before shoving the sugar cube into her mouth. Then, she abruptly took the back of Tron's head and pulled him closer, kissing him deeply.

Before Tron could realize anything, she took a step back - the sugar cube was on his tongue.

Soon, Tron felt a pleasant sweetness, one of the five flavors.

Tron's pupils dilated, delight came in waves as a shiver went down his body. One sugar cube gave him more emotion than years of life... if his existence could even be called that.

The girl stood before him, something in her green eyes betraying a painful past and a pride not inherent in common people.

"My name is Morbia. If you want to experience more feelings, then follow me. Perhaps, with your help, I can escape my imprisonment..." she whispered, glancing away, then she took Tron by the wrist dragging him.

However, Tron did not yield to her influence. He pulled his hand out of her grip, staying where he was.

"Wait. I want more!" 

He was unable to hold back his desire to taste the sweetness again, no... he wanted to feel something.

Morbia cast a quick glance at him, shocked that he wasn't a soulless puppet - some of the emotions showed up in him, making him look like a human, just a small fraction.

"Look, this place is full of Ghosts. Maybe to you, it's not a threat, to them you're no different than a rock, but I risk every second I'm here. My powers are sealed, I'm a prisoner, if you know what that means."

She stammered.

"So... if you want to feel the emptiness inside you fill up again, follow me."

Tron touched his lips as if trying to recall the sweetness. It was the only thing he cared about, he didn't even remember that Morbia kissed him.

A frown covered her face as she roughly grabbed his hand.

"Argh! Don't be annoying and follow me!"

Then, Tron felt the warmth from her palm, a real thing, his mind realized it immediately.

Morbia was in a hurry, she didn't lie about the risks. Her stride turned into a sprint, glancing around before stopping in front of a hill.

'What? Was there a hill here?'

Tron thought staring at a small hill at the edge of the forest, many black flowers growing on the surface.

Morbia headed for the hill up close.

"Stop gawking. Follow me."

Tron tilted his head in confusion.

Morbia glared at him, then at the hill, her gaze filled with understanding.

"Right... You still can't see it. Well, then be prepared, this isn't going to be pleasant."

After that, she approached Tron with a slight sigh.

"Pain? That man was talking about that too. I wonder what he was trying to do?" Tron muttered, remembering recent events, "Pain... I haven't figured out what it feels like. Is it better than the sweetness from a sugar cube?"

Morbia rolled her eyes with no intention of answering and pushed Tron forward.

He hit the wall, but somehow a part of his body ended up inside.

Then, with clear purpose, Morbia kicked Tron in the back with all her might, forcing him past through the wall. 

For Morbia there was no wall - just a passageway to her lair, one of the few places where she could feel safe.

Bump.

Tron stumbled and fell, looking around baffled.

With her arms crossed, Morbia shook her head, muttering something:

"Black One, right? Well... I don't know what's on his mind, but I can't waste such a rare opportunity."

Morbia raised her head, the sky was dark, always.

Amidst the black clouds soared a stone door emitting an eerie aura, purple light showing from the gaps.

The disdain radiated in Morbia's grimace.

"Sealed my powers and sent me to rot in this cage? Bastards, luck is on my side this time. I'll rip you to shreds, very soon."

With tightly clenched fists, Morbia bit her lip until a bleeding point, gritting her teeth.

She didn't notice it, but Tron stared at her, a slight look of amazement in his eyes - it was the first time he saw someone in wrath. That strong emotion managed to shake his heart, only slightly weaker than curiosity at the uncharted feeling of pain.

That day, a creature without emotions, with a void instead of a heart and a faded mind born of a false world - Tron, began to turn into a human.