The Phoenix: The Slasher of the Ruasar House Part 1

A Chapter by CLCurrie

"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore— While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some,"

The Ruasar House, Outer Ring

The Great Empire of Estella

Nesma of the House Zuh looked skyward with the drum of thunder in the space station and wondered if it was real or not. The Ruasar House was one of the rarest stations ever built due to the massive Life Tree holding the whole thing together. The station itself was built from old steel long lost to the Empire but held life within its walls. It was believed that the steel was blessed and was what the gods used to form planets. It was odd and, most of all, rare in the stars.

The dark clouds blocked out the distance ceiling of the station, but it was there above them. The trees had rolled themselves over to Autumn but still gave oxygen to all who lived on the space station. A few thousand people were strolling around this massive place, some richer than others, some more civil but all under the iron fist of Duke Cian Ruasar. He was known to deal out death quickly, yet he had a big heart to help those in need. Like most people in the stars, Heaven and Hell slept in his heart. He could be a demon or angel when the moment needed.

Nesma lowered the brim of her cowboy hat with teeth around the edge as the heavy rain crashed on her black duster. She reached up, knocking hard on the master’s house as the Lion face man behind her grunted under his hood.

“I hate the rain,” Zisbuz Clawhope said.

Kou Nightid, a Kmoik standing on the other side of Nesma, chuckled to herself. She was a tone of a moonflower and dull-looking except for the bright blue in her newly dyed dark green hair.

“What’s so funny?” Zisbuz asked the tiny girl staring down at her with his red eyes.

“Cats don’t like water,” Kou said, smiling back at her under her hood. “I guess I now know Lyrians are the same.”

Zisbuz huffed and said nothing more, but Nesma grinned at the comment. She went back to banging harder on the door, but there didn’t seem to be anyone on the other side to answer.

“Are we sure about this?” Zisbuz asked.

“The Duke called for us,” Nesma said. “He said he is willing to pay us for a job, and I don’t know about you,” with her light purple eyes glanced up at him, “I like to eat this month.”

Nesma was a Kuthall and like all Kuthalls her skin tone was odd when next to any of the other races in the Empire. Her skin was a snowy blue except for the hard-black line around her throat like a burnt ring around a tree. The scar came from a slave collar and matched the ones around her wrists and ankles. The only thing matching the darkness of the scars, outside the night where they stood, was her hair tied up with golden rings.

She reached up once again, knocking harder than Death until the door slowly opened to the shadowy house of old power. No lights were burning, and only the dead moaned in this place, filling every inch of the house with a cold stillness meant for the depth of space. An endless ebony cloak hung before them, begging them to come to swim in it.

They stared into the horror of the lifeless night, waiting for the eyes of a demon to blink open and to wink at them from the darkness. To take a step forward into this pit of the night would be welcoming all the wrath of the Twelve Hells into their lives.

“Ah, look, no one’s home,” Kou said, smiling and spinning on her heels. “I hear Ruasar has good anything that’s not near this place.”

Zisbuz reached up, putting a massive hand on her shoulder and spinning her back around. “We have a job.”

“No,” she protested as Nesma pulled free her plasma pistol and stepped into the inky pool of nothingness. “We are getting a job; there is no job here.”

Zisbuz pushed her in after Nesma. “Come on,” Kou said, “this is how we die. Haven’t you seen horror nets before?”

“We have guns, Little One,” Zisbuz said, letting free his weapon. Kou sighed, doing the same with her plasma pistol.

Nesma stood there, letting her cat-like eyes study the blackness. Kuthalls saw better in the dark than any other race, but something didn’t sit right here in this house. The darkness was not natural; some Hell Magic was causing it to bleed over everything.

“If you tell us to split up,” Kou said, moving closer to Zisbuz, “then I’m going back to the ship.”

Nesma said nothing at the idea and kept her gun low but ready. Her heavy boots echoed in the house as if everything was made of stones, and all the dead turned their gaze to her. She walked into the massive forward room of the mansion almost the size of her ship, the Phoenix, and looked upward.

The ceiling had skeletons holding swords, axes, and scythes chasing each other around a circle. At the center of the circle was the Ruasar’s family sigil; the stars, black with white around the edges, were held in boney hands. The art of the mural almost made her gasp. She could only wish to see it in the light of day. It would be terror wrapped up in the comfort of beauty, much like life.

“Nesma,” Zisbuz said, making her look down to a tiny light coming down the hallway. It was small, like a pinhole poked into the curtain at dawn.

“Stay cool,” Nesma ordered.

“Cool was outside,” Kou huffed, stepping away from the growing light. “If I get eaten, I’m haunting you both forever.”

“Good thing we live on the same ship,” Zisbuz said. “Makes haunting us easy.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m splashing you with water every night,” Kou said, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Enough guys,” Nesma said softly seeing a person was carrying a dying lantern in the feeble hands of the master of the house.

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