Berserk, part.1

Against that positivism which stops before phenomena, saying “there are only facts,” I should say: no, it is precisely facts that do not exist, only interpretations…

Friedrich Nietzsche

In the brightness of the Fog, the uninitiated would easily get lost in its infinite maze, fully blinded by its mists. However, a skilled Night Watch’s officer wielding a Dragonglass Amulet could dismiss some of its confusion, progressing instead in blury streets.

In the dark of the night, the man known as Dantena van Torquaz paddled his small boat, floating on the smoking waters, while keeping his senses in alert.

Heading back to the Citadel, he had to resort to using the carved rivers, and observed diligently the bridges above him. Even if I’m a Night Watch’s officer and a magus, the Slayer has affirmed knowing me, even before I’d investigate his trail. Not every fool would threaten me. Only one who knows of my past.

Like often with the Fog, hallucinations made blury apparitions, but Torquaz had been trained at the University to quiet his mind. Combining his skillful magic and the Dragonglass Amulet, he could easily ignore the face of Tolomei, the tanned Keshian princess he had taken the virginity of during the confusion of war. Her gorgeous hair snapping under the nonexistent wind, and her tanned skin and quiet loving expression had no place in the Fog. Aware of his ‘real’ surroundings, lord Torquaz breathed in, feeling his belly with calm and serenity, ignoring the Fog’ spiritual apparition.

As he arrived below the bridge connecting the Fourth borough and the Seventh, Torquaz jumped on the streets. Feeling his heart racing and his painful leg, Torquaz cursed for the mana effects had warned off. Having relied on the Amulet, another misplaced apparition lashed in front of her. The beautiful witch, Magda Balgruf, ripped her gag with vampiric teeth, and laughed at him, before approaching, muttering words of love. Torquaz’s hand reached her sides, feeling the red leather of her pants. Having not touched a beautiful woman in years, he felt his lust rise, until she started to kiss him. Remembering how his wife’ salty tongue had felt on his, and rejected the apparition, which vanished.

The years pass, the ideas change, magic dies, and the Fog gets stronger. As we engulf in knowledge, the confusion of the mists grows stronger. Worried that the Fog tricked sense of touch when he had touched the mirage of Balgruf’s legs, he decided to seize a flask after he tied the ropes from his boat on the docks. Choosing ‘mithril’, a more condensed mana mixed with meteora’s resin, he drank, dissipating the Fog slightly more. The pain vanished and the Citadel above became clearer.

Suddenly, a noise thundered behind Torquaz. Blam! Dropped from the bridge, a naked and degraded woman’s corpse now laid in a pool of blood.

In the intricate maze of this accursed infinite Fog, a shadow of a man appeared, watching from the bridge. Looking down upon me, he nags Dantena van Torquaz. Even if such a scum of a man was disguised under a white ragged mask – covered by the hat similar of that of a banker –  a dusty black cloak – oddly mirroring of a Night Watch’s agent attire -, Torquaz knew who this monster was. With his mithril-enhanced eyes, Torquaz saw the hatred in the mystery man’s eyes. Wearing the confidence of a defiant man who taught he could trick Imperial Retribution, the assassin paraded near the Citadel with impunity – an impunity provided by mankind’s fear of the Night. Torquaz took on the challenge, for he felt the same Thrill that galvanized his past and present battles. Against a worthy opponent, Torquaz had the right to be immortal, the right to walk the land. Who was the masked man? A scumbag of a whoreson who lowered his talent to kill helpless women? Yes. A skilled conjurer and potential contestant at the Gathering? Yes. A shadow from his past? Maybe. Why did he take the risk of confronting his hunter? Who was really hunted? It mattered not. Only the Thrill.

This is why I am alive. Torquaz knew. In the blinding brightness of the Fog, Sinistros the Slayer had arrived from the shadows of a great empire.

And it was the hooded man who walked in the mist, the only man known as Dantena van Torquaz, who could and would catch him.

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