In his dream, there was a large storm, so strong it almost turned day into night. The air was wild, sending disaster across the city. The lightning was thick and seemed as though it aimed for the city itself.
The clouds—dark and heavy with moisture—had completely shielded the sun, making it seem like it never existed. Everyone ran for their lives, not wanting to be caught under the storm.
The day grew darker, and the lights were already out across the entire city. Simma had never been anywhere in his whole life—but somehow, he had a very clear picture of a city.
There was a bright jet of lightning that flashed, and for that very brief moment, it illuminated the figure of a man.
The same man—dressed sharply in a white, long-sleeved shirt. His tie sagged slightly, and his long overcoat suit, which draped to his knees, matched his physique perfectly.
Just then, everything became more unstable. Memories flashed by like trailing lightning in the storm, accompanied by tormenting voices. With that particular figure almost in every flash.
Simma was now sweating in his bed, his head tossing from side to side—it was as if he was going crazy.
The voices grew louder. The flashes became more horrifying. It was now as though he were trapped inside the nightmare.
"Noooooo!"
"The world needs to be cleansed… you need to be cleansed."
"Pathetic…"
"…Cursed."
"It was all you… You killed…"
"NGHHH!" With a loud gasp, he jolted up. Mind spinning, head throbbing, heart racing—he looked around. Everything was dark. He rolled over and looked down at the lower bunk. Sonja was still asleep, lying innocently on her bed.
Sleep weighed down by nightmares—it wasn't the first time. What was strange about it, though, was that in his dreams, he hardly ever saw himself. All he saw was the same man over and over again—the man he had nicknamed the suited guy.
Slowly, and hoping he wouldn't fall into another nightmare, he drifted back to sleep.
The bell rang out, tolling loudly, snapping Simma from his sleep—more alert than ever.
It was still dark, but it was now the early hours of the morning—the time when the vampires usually went out hunting, especially for Jedies.
He had guessed right. He knew that once someone was selected to join the Compelled, they'd be called for early-morning hunting.
Maybe his escape plan was still on track. All those dirty battles he had fought to get the honcho's attention had paid off.
Still, he shouldn't get too optimistic yet—not when he'd be going out with some Compelled brat and an army of vampires... if they even came to pick him up.
Simma had waited a long time for this. He had promised his sister that he would free her from whatever this place was.
He wasn't huge, but when the selection was made, he had been chosen to replace the one he'd injured the night before in the Dirt Arena.
His plan was starting to unfold, and soon, he'd be out—just a little more time.
"C'mon, line up, dogs!" one of the soldiers shouted as the selected six were dragged out of their cellars and into the dim light of dawn.
One of the soldiers moved toward Simma, eyeing him with something more than suspicion. He was thin and unkept, his jet-black hair long and matted.
His brown eyes were sharp, filled with something bitter. He was small in size, but something in his stance felt off.
"Luck doesn't work twice, boy," he said with a smirk. "When you fall, I'll be there."
Simma didn't know exactly what he had done to the man, but he could tell the hatred was real. And now that he was rumoured to be joining the Compelled, maybe the hate had grown even deeper—sharper and more personal.
"Move it, boy! Let's get out of here—into the woods, now!" another soldier barked, as they began their march into the trees, watched closely by seven vampire guards.
They moved deeper and deeper into the forest, Darkness caressing their eyes as they stretched it to see through the lights held by the vamps, until one of the vamps at the front raised a hand and signalled for them to stop.
He sniffed the air like a hound, then crouched, scooped a handful of sand, and brought it to his nose.
"People have been here… The tracks are fresh. Be on guard," he said, drawing his sword.
The others followed his lead, slowing their pace, weapons out, each step now measured and cautious.
Simma didn't care. All that was on his mind was how to get the hell out of there, return, and flee with Sonja. He calculated the guards around and noticed they were now distracted, focusing on the tracks left behind by—who knows.
He had counted one soldier behind them, two by the sides, and four in front. The Compelled outcasts they came with were just as focused as the soldiers.
As they moved, Simma stumbled deliberately and bent down to adjust his footwear.
"You buttocks hole, I knew there was no place for you here," one of the soldiers muttered as he walked past.
Simma smirked.
"Ew. Simply say asshole, buddy... you're making it sound nasty. And hell yeah, this place is no place for me." He mumbled it under his breath. Of course, he wouldn't say it out loud.
He took another careful glance and noticed that no attention was on him. Slowly standing up, he began to tiptoe backward, careful not to draw the attention of the vamps.
Every step he took seemed louder than it should've been—the dried leaves on the forest floor crackling underfoot. He kept backing away until he was hidden behind a few trees—then he made a run for it.
He ran hard, back toward Sonja, just as he had promised. He didn't look back—he didn't need to. Time was short. Any moment now, they would notice he was gone.
He reached the edge of the woods where the town was just visible. He whistled—a short, familiar tone, the same one he used to whistle to Sonja when they were little.
Almost instantly, Sonja came sneaking out.
Of course, they had planned this. And now, the plan was in motion.
"Are you ready for this?" Simma asked, holding her hand and looking deeply into her eyes.
"I was born ready," Sonja replied bravely. They turned and ran back into the woods, avoiding the main road they had taken earlier.
"Oh, that's my girl."
"Where will we go?" Sonja asked as they hurried down a slope, alert for wild animals and anything else that might be out there.
"I don't know," Simma began, breathing hard, "but I heard one of the vamps say there's a refuge west of here. So all we have to do is follow the setting sun… and maybe we'll find it."
Just then, a sound stopped them in their tracks. The bell. It tolled again.
"Come on, we have to hurry, Sonja!" Simma urged. He wanted this freedom more than anything.
"It's dark, Si… I can barely see," Sonja said, hurrying beside him.
Her calling him Si always made Simma nervous. He wouldn't forgive himself if anything happened to her.
They were still running when a disturbing sound echoed behind them—the revving of engines. Not just one. Many.
The soldiers were coming—on their off-road bikes.
The high-pitched "reeeeh" of the engines cut through the forest air like a buzzsaw, spitting bursts of noise as the bikes bounced over rocky terrain.
They were closing in.
"There they are!" one of the soldiers shouted.
The chase was on. Simma and Sonja ran faster, but no matter how fast they moved, legs could never outrun bikes.
"Aaargh!" Sonja screamed. She missed a step and twisted her ankle, hitting the ground face-first.
She breathed heavily as the pain tore through her leg. Hot tears ran down her cheeks. She couldn't continue—she would only slow Simma down.
"Come on, Sonja, we have to keep moving! Here—let me carry you!" Simma offered, rushing to her side.
"Just go. Save yourself," she said, breathless. "I'll slow you down. Let me hold them off instead."
"Nonsense! I'm not leaving you. I promised, remember?"
He reached out to her—but suddenly, a force field appeared between them.
"No—Sonja—no, no, no—SONJA! Remove this!" Simma begged. He could now see the soldiers drawing closer.
And then, there was light.
A soft, semi-bright glow appeared behind Simma, casting a strange bluish hue into the sky.
"How… how is this possible?" Simma whispered, eyes wide.
"The sun?"
Like a glowing ember, the sun rose slowly, burning away the mist with gentle heat and sending away the darkness in it's part as it moved towards the vampires causing them to shiver
"Retreat! The sun is risen—retreat!" the commander yelled, as their bikes made a sharp U-turn, fleeing from the very thing that would scorch them.
Just then, Simma knew—the force field wasn't real. It was an illusion, one Sonja had created to fool him into leaving her behind. But guess what? He would have never left. Never.
And then the rising of the sun? Brilliant. That too was part of the illusion.
He didn't know what he would've done without her.
"I love you, brother," Sonja said as she limped to her feet, helped up by Simma. They hugged each other tightly, their hearts still pounding.
"I love you too, sis... That was brilliant, what you did," Simma said, a bright grin spreading across his face as they pulled apart.
"Your ankle—how is it?"
"It will be... Hurgh..."
For a moment, everything slowed. Simma's eyes widened.
Blood splattered across his face, forcing his eyes shut.
He blinked rapidly.
Everything went silent.
The illusion of the rising sun faded slowly.
A sharp ringing filled his ears. His heart raced. His pupils dilated.
From Sonja's mouth, a crooked sword burst outward—blood gushing as her final words were cut off, drowned in red.
She dropped to the ground, motionless.
Behind her, stepping into full view, was the soldier—the same one who had told Simma:
"When you fall, I'll be there."
"SONJAAAAAA! NOOOOOO!" Simma screamed, collapsing to the floor, both hands gripping his head, as he grabbed his temple.
Anger filled his soul, and an imminent thought to killed seared across his veins which now stood out like ridges on his pale skin, his head throbbed loudly than ever as hatred devoured his soul, the smile on his face had whooshed away and was now as if long forgotten. Only to be replaced with gritted teethes.
"No- no" He whimpered "YOU ARE SO DEAD".
"AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!"