The Esoteric Design: Civilization Lost Read online

  “Quite alright. Many have questioned me about it. It is what it is. The rumors and stories are true.”

  “Not all of them,” she said.

  “And which ones are those?” His piercing gaze caused her to lock up.

  That he was a monster, a powerful time bomb who could blow at any given minute? That he was an unstable man, who let his emotions rule over his power? I’Lanthe’s mind trailed over all the stories she had heard. And any of them that were bad, she never wanted to believe in. But as he gaped at her with his eyes narrowed, vibrant light consuming his irises’ and his mouth set in a frown, she sensed the darkness that lingered within him. And she felt awful about it.

  A sudden static overtook him. “Where’s Lita?” he asked with worry.

  I’Lanthe looked out to the crowd. They both sensed it. Someone was thinking of causing trouble, and their eyes were set on Lita. I’Lanthe and Dovian rushed toward the dance floor, already noticing the crowd parting on one side.

  “I told you to leave me alone!” Lita shouted.

  A man had a hold of her wrist, trying to tug her toward the back of the club where the restrooms were. He was drunk, swaying as he slurred his words.

  “Aw, come on, baby. You know you wanna have a lil fun.”

  Lita threw her drink in the man’s face. The smell reached Dovian’s nostrils. The stranger had tried to drug her. Dovian clenched his fists, an electric crackle sizzling in his eyes. I’Lanthe quickly grabbed his shoulder as he stepped forward.

  “She’ll take care of it,” I’Lanthe whispered. “You’ll start a war in here.”

  The staggering man, realizing he was drenched in alcohol, snarled and wrapped his arms around Lita.

  “You little bitch!”

  They struggled only for a moment before Lita flipped the man onto his back and in the process snapped his wrist. He screamed in pain. At this point, an audience surrounded them.

  “Oh, shit! I didn’t…I didn’t mean to hurt your wrist!” Lita quickly crouched. Covering his broken appendage, she ignored the man’s cries and quickly whispered a healing spell.

  The man pulled away from her, gasping with wide eyes. “You…you…you’re a Sorcēarian?!”

  The club filled with murmurs. Thankfully because of the loud music, half the venue remained unaware of the sudden trouble. Still, one after another, the crowd further gathered in interest. It wouldn’t be long before the entire place would have eyes on Lita, the girl with the unnatural powers.

  “She’s a Sorcēarian! Did you see that? She…she attacked me!” the man shouted, still holding his wrist.

  “Attacked you?! You tried to drug me!” Lita screamed. “And God only knows what next!”

  “She broke my wrist! She snapped it like it was nothing! You see? They…they’re monsters! They aren’t natural!” He pointed at Lita.

  A few men came to the drunk’s aide, each one sneering and spouting off derogatory insults toward Lita.

  “Why don’t you get out of here?”

  “Yeah! We don’t want freaks like you around here!”

  “Worthless Fallen! Go back to where you came from!”

  “I told you they were evil! They seduce you and then try to steal your soul.”

  “I heard that’s why they live so long.”

  “A friend of mine was attacked by one once. He died a week later from a mysterious illness.”

  “I heard they steal babies from hospitals and eat them.”

  And so, the human thoughts and emotions swirled around the Sorcēarians, consuming them. Was this really what humanity thought? How did rumors such as these get started, and why would anyone think that way about Sorcēarians? It was the opposite of what their purpose and actions were.

  “Leave her alone! She didn’t do anything wrong! She was protecting herself!” Karter stepped forward, his copper eyes glowing red in the darkness, which wasn’t in his favor.

  “He’s a Fallen as well!” one man shouted.

  The jeers increased.

  Dovian and I’Lanthe quickly joined Lita and Karter’s side, their irises radiant. The beautiful blonde I’Lanthe and Dovian spoke about slipped back through the crowd. She was frightened of them.

  “ENOUGH!” A voice boomed through the speakers of the club.

  The shouting silenced, and the music dropped to a quieter volume. The Sorcēarians turned to look up at the VIP seating area. A man leaned over the balcony, his gray eyes looking over the crowd in anger. At first, he appeared to be wearing a skeletal costume of some sort. But it wasn’t a costume; the designs were all tattoos giving him the appearance of death. His lips, his eyelids, every inch of his body were covered. He wore a blazer, no shirt, but wore a long tie decorated with red roses. The rest of his attire was leather pants adorned in patches and zippers and shined military boots. A small mic clipped around his ear.

  “This club is a judge-free zone! I will not tolerate haters. If you’ve got a problem with somebody, you had better come to me first. This is my club. My rules. Doesn’t matter what your race, gender, religion, sexual preference, kinky pastimes, or nerdy obsessions are. Everyone’s allowed in my house as long as they play nice. Even those from another world.” He gestured toward Lita and the others. “However, I will not tolerate drugs in my house or general douchebaggery.” He puffed out vapor from his electronic cigarette.

  Two bouncers roughly grabbed the drunken man. Another set of security pointed what resembled flashlights over the drunken friends’ drinks and those belonging to the women surrounding them. The light caused the drinks to illuminate in a bright green, which incited a bunch of concerned murmurs. They were promptly removed from the facility.

  “I’m not opposed to the occasional recreational drug, my mates, but date rape…not my cup of tea.” The skeleton man waved his hand, dismissing the guards. “And hate toward the Sorcēarians? Also, not my style. You see, they’ve been very helpful to my family in the past. They’ve been a blessing to me, to my friends. I’ve lots of Sorcēarian friends. So, hate against them will undoubtedly not be tolerated.”

  Many of the occupants of the VIP booths surrounding the walls and balconies stood. Dovian’s mouth hung open. They were all incredibly tall. Their eyes shimmered with various hues. They were hiding in the shadows, enjoying their drinks and the music from their seats where they could remain inconspicuous. Even some eyes lit up on the dance floor. Dozens of Sorcēarians occupied the club.

  “My house…” the skeleton man smiled, rolling his cigarette between his teeth, “is a judge-free zone.”

  He clapped his hands, and the music rose to an alarming volume once again. He took a swig of his drink and pointed at Lita and the others, motioning them to join him up at his booth. Leading the way, Lita, with a large grin, skipped up the stairs to the upper level of the club.

  “My sincerest apologies for tonight’s unfortunate events. I do hope you are alright,” the man held out a hand. Lita gratefully accepted his squeeze of her fingers. “You may call me Baxter.” He motioned for her to take a seat at his table as he dropped onto the other side. “Or Skeleton Man. Both are equally douchey-sounding.” He smirked.

  Dovian, I’Lanthe, and Karter each took their places at the table, giving their introductions to Baxter. Once they were all settled, the room calmed a bit. Security took their places. The other patrons picked up a casual conversation with each other and minded their own business. Many had tattoos lining their faces and hands.

  “Now, I’ve seen you before,” he pointed at Lita. “But I can’t seem to remember you three. Is this your first night?”

  Dovian, I’Lanthe, and Karter all three nodded. Drinks were set before them, a concoction that was Baxter’s favorite.

  “Created to give even the strongest of Sorcēarians a good buzz,” he stated as he took a sip and then sucked on his metallic cigarette, blowing out the vapor. It smelled of cherries.

  Lita happily lifted her glass and took a large drink. She gave a quick cough. “Strong!”


  Baxter smirked. He pointed at the girl as her furrowed brow loosened. “But the aftertaste?”

  “Delicious!” Lita exclaimed.

  I’Lanthe smiled and tried the drink as well. Dovian eyed her and then did the same. The liquid burned a bit at first. An explosion of flavors followed–a smooth caramel savor followed by a sweeter taste that eventually turned sour and bitter. It was an interesting mix, to say the least, but Dovian recognized part of it.

  “Absinthe…and Iven Wine,” Dovian said. He had more than his fair share of the specialty wine of Ives.

  Baxter winked at him. “Among some other things.”

  Dovian chuckled. “I like it. And the name?”

  Baxter raised his glass to his lips, the corner of one eyebrow rising. “Sorcerer’s Milk.”

  The Sorcēarian’s laughed. Baxter brought his interested gray gaze to Karter. The young Sorcēarian seemed a bit nervous, but his eyes kept resting on the skeletal man.

  “Go ahead and ask.” Baxter sank against the booth, folding his arms.

  “My apologies; I don’t mean to be rude.” Karter cleared his throat and hesitantly drank his brew.

  Baxter waved a hand. “Don’t worry, mate. I’m aware of how I look. You could say that I’m meant to be stared at.”

  “Like a work of art.” Karter gestured to the man’s body. “A full body. It’s quite impressive.”

  Baxter’s grin grew wider and more off kilter. He leaned forward, holding out his hand. “Take a closer look, if you’d like.” His tone was a bit seductive.

  It was clear that Baxter was infatuated with Sorcēarians. He intently watched as Karter leaned forward.

  “May I?” Karter asked as he held his hands around the man’s, not quite touching.

  “You may,” Baxter said, taking a drag.

  Karter excitedly grinned and grabbed his hand. He ran his fingers across the man’s skin, reading the lines with his fingertips. Baxter’s mouth hung open a little as he watched the Sorcēarian inspect his body. It nearly seemed pleasurable to him.

  “It’s amazing,” Karter mumbled, twisting the man’s hand. “Every inch?”

  Baxter hummed a laugh. “Every inch.”

  “Every…oh!” Karter’s face turned red. “But…didn’t that…hurt?”

  Baxter gave a boisterous laugh. “Pain is my game, unfortunately.”

  “You like the feeling of the needles?” Karter asked. “Is that why you covered your entire body?”

  He shrugged, sucking on his cig. “Well, maybe a little, but not exactly why I got the full suit.” His eyes enlarged. “’Ey! What are you doing?!”

  Karter ran his hand over the back of the man’s, the tattoos disappearing. Baxter quickly pulled away, eyeing his clean skin. “Gah! What’d you do?”

  Karter held back a laugh. Lita, however, cackled like a madwoman. The poor human looked as if he were about to cry, his face holding an expression of absolute terror.

  “That shit wasn’t cheap, mate!” he shouted.

  Karter’s smile faded, and he held out his hand, wiggling his fingers. Baxter huffed and returned his appendage.

  “It’s just a trick. No worries,” Karter said, feeling amused with himself.

  “Totally not funny!” He looked to the side, angrily puffing out smoke.

  Karter ran his fingers down his own cheek, revealing his tattoo. The man looked sideways at him, his anger immediately fading.

  “I hid our tattoos before coming here. Just as a precaution,” Karter explained.

  “You’re Scarlet,” Baxter hummed.

  “As is Dovian.”

  “Emerald,” Lita chimed in.

  “The artist?” Baxter asked.

  “Heh, something like that.” Lita drank, rolling her eyes. She didn’t seem pleased by her status.

  “Still in training,” I’Lanthe stated as the man’s cool stare met hers. He cocked his head to the side. “Training for Violet.”

  “Sounds like my company for this evening is comprised of a lot of talented folks.” Baxter’s sight fell onto Karter’s handiwork. All his skeletal tattoos had reappeared. He sat back in his chair, closely observing his hand. “Been far too long since I’ve seen my own skin. Freaked me out.”

  “Why would you cover your entire body?” Dovian spoke up.

  Baxter was silent a moment, his attention setting on the small light in the center of the table. “I was once like you blokes.” He pointed to Karter and Dovian. “Not a sorcerer by any means, but a soldier. Fought in Russia and the Middle East for a few years until I was discharged…due to health reasons.”

  “What part of Russia?” Dovian asked.

  He gave a knowing grin, his eyes, however, appeared hollow. “Samara, right before they took out Saint Petersburg.”

  Karter and Dovian knew all too well what had occurred in those areas.

  “I can tell by the look in your eyes that you can probably guess what those health issues were.”

  “Lots of nuclear radiation and illegal gas bombs were used in those areas,” Dovian grumbled.

  “Cancer. Everywhere.” Baxter laughed, raising his finger for another round of drinks to be delivered. “And I was lucky.”

  “But you survived,” I’Lanthe said, amazed.

  “Ah, you see, that’s where you lovely types come into play.” He pointed at each of them. “I was working the frontline when I first met a Sorcēarian. Frightening guy, powerful, menacing, and incredibly kind when not in battle. Strangely good at making apple pie, I remember that.” He stared at the ceiling, recalling his past. “Once I was discharged, he paid me a visit in the hospital. There was nothing the doctors could do. Cancer in my lungs, in my liver and kidneys. It had spread to my spine and moved its way into my brain. I was a dead man walking. Was only a matter of time.

  Anyway, he comes to visit me and gives me all kinds of speeches. After a while, once I had dropped about fifty pounds and lost all my hair, he pulled me out of my chemo treatment and flew me away to some strange back alley clinic. It was a small place, very inconspicuous. If anything, anybody would think it was an abandoned building. Once inside, though.” He whistled and shook his head. “Fanciest place I’d ever seen. Clean! You could eat right off the floor. You guys really know how to live.”

  Baxter leaned forward, lowering his voice as if to tell a secret. “He was working with a few others in secret healing the sick. They were curing soldiers and casualties of war. He said he couldn’t handle watching me die like that, to something as stupid as radiation from war. So, he sets me on a table, doesn’t even explain himself to the others, which they didn’t seem concerned either. And just like that,” he snapped his fingers, “I was cured.”

  Karter and the others looked at one another. Truthfully, they had heard rumors of clinics like these scattered around the world. It wasn’t necessarily illegal by any means, but Sorcēarians weren’t meant to interfere too much with the cycle of humanity. It was one of the dividing lines between the races. Sorcēarians could easily cure all of the world’s problems, yet they didn’t. Not unless it was in dire or unfair situations. Many members of the race had gone rogue and spent their days traveling and healing the sick. Others set up camps and clinics in the poorer nations. But often these clinics drew in corporate enemies–medical and pharmaceutical companies who claimed Sorcēarians were hindering with the healthcare processes and creating bankruptcies that affected the rest of the economy. Despite doing a good service, riots broke out, only getting more killed. Every Sorcēarian action had to be played out like walking on eggshells.

  Baxter sucked on his metal stick, smoke rolling between his teeth. “And he tried for years to get me to quit smoking, but…I have a vice.” He clapped his hands together. “Don’t we all?”

  “What’s his name?” Lita asked.

  Baxter’s amused expression quickly fell. “Doesn’t much matter anymore, but his name was Tricant.”

  “Tricant of Scarlet status?” Dovian asked.

  “That’s correct.
” Baxter nodded. “His clinic was burned to the ground eight years ago. He and the others were executed. They even killed the patients who sought out the aid of Sorcēarian magic.”

  Silence filled the table.

  “So, to honor him and myself, I started getting tattoos. It began as a joke about how I was a dead man walking. I made myself into my own reaper. Tricant gave me another chance. Took away the death that was unfairly thrust upon me. I felt bad at first. Why me? I was a soldier. I signed up for this. The cancer was just part of the deal. It was caused by war. Would it have been any different if caused by bullets? Tricant didn’t see it that way. So, in honor of him and those who died unfairly, I just kept decorating myself. I beat death by the miracle of Sorcēarian hands. That’s why I want to provide a safe and fun environment for my favorite winged people.” He peered over the back of his seat toward the dance floor. “Why I don’t tolerate judgment in my house.”

  He noticed his guests at the table seemed a bit somber from his story, which was the last thing he wanted. Grabbing his glass, he cleared his throat.

  “Life…is such an injustice. You try to do good in this world, and you always get the shaft. Doesn’t it seem like it?” He encouraged the others to lift their drinks. “To the souls that care and endlessly give and are cruelly taken from us. May they always find their deserving place in the afterlife.” They clicked their glasses together. Baxter downed his entire drink, letting out a loud sigh. Eyeing the Sorcēarians across from him, he smiled. “It used to sadden me, but not so much anymore.”

  “Tricant’s death?” Karter asked.

  “Yeah. I miss him, but I know…I know he’s in a better place now.” He nodded slowly. “He’s home.”

  He’s home. Dovian thought about the man’s words. Rarely, anybody had that outlook on death. In fact, Dovian had only heard similar words spoken by only Sorcēarians. And even as a Sorcēarian, the words were quite rare. Dovian’s own father had a hard time admitting that Elysia was now in a better place. Living on Earth, it’s hard to imagine what it is to live on after death. So many at the moment think about their own pain in the event of a person’s passing that they often forget about their loved one’s afterlife. It was strange to Dovian either way. It had taken him many years to be happy for his mother. He knew, without a doubt, that she was safe in the Kingdom, doing whatever it was she had done before. Still, the pain in his heart was as real this day as it was the day she met her end. The only one who hurts in the death of a loved one is those who are left behind.