Wicked God - S01 E01

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 1

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The night felt pregnant, and it didn’t look like it was gonna give birth to anything worth keeping.

Everything signified the weirdness of the darkness. Not like darkness ever carried good news in this part of New Orleans, but tonight was colder.

The air was warm and heavy, carrying the mingled scents of rain-soaked brick, old wood, spices, fried food, and the Mississippi River

The breeze bit wickedly. The pattering rain threatened to crush buildings. The thunder tearing through the sky felt like a curse.

Yet, the streets is full of people flooding from street to street. Some running some walking slowly like they weren’t feeling the strokes of the downpour, some playing lovers.

And mouths are still talking about the early occurrence today—the fatal accident at the old warehouse road which claimed the lives of five people and put three people in coma.

It’d have meant nothing as accidents happen many times, and people die, but this was different.

The three people in coma are fighters from the two popular fighting Team in this city. Team Dread and Enigma.

These two powerful rivalling Teams basically rule this city.

Immediately their coma state was announced at noon, posters filled the streets from their supporters.

EL CROW MUST NOT DIE!

BRING SKYLAR BACK FROM COMA!

ROSELLE MUST LIVE!

Many of the posters have been torn by the rain thuds, and now the tattered pieces struggle to stay glued to the street walls, but the bold block words stayed intact.

On the road, a imposing Mercedes Maybach looked like the fastest car driving tonight, and the faces of the two people inside have hard lines carved deeply from urgency.

“Shall I wound down the window, Satan?” The driver’s voice floated from behind the wheel.

The figure sitting at the backseat didn’t respond. The dim light in the car slashed across her face.

Short hair. Hard face like it was drawn from all unpleasant things existing. Smooth suit and a wristwatch shaped like a bird.

“The street air is too polluted to take in right now, Midnight.” She replied in a mind-numbing voice. “I still don’t know if I have to mourn my daughter Roselle, or my best fighter Skylar. They’ve been reported dead, we only spilled fake news of their coma to the public to avoid an uproar.”

She rubbed her bird-shaped wristwatch as she talked.

“We spread coma news because we have a solution to bring them back,” Midnight slowed the car. “When we bring them back from the dead, it’ll look like they woke from coma.”

That statement felt like a planned move as he rotated the car to a stop in front of an old storey building with no light nor life attached to it.

Midnight’s shoes touched the ground first, then he pulled the backdoor.

Satan stepped out, and a few strands of her short hair fell on her brow as she looked at the lifeless house.

Her stare was drawn away by the zooming in of another black car to the house front.

A tall male in glasses stepped down, opened the backdoor, and an older man popped out from the backseat.

He wore a customized suit that has his name on the shoulder—Arturo.

Boss of Team Enigma.

At his sight, Satan took a poisonously scorching look at him.

It’s impossible to hide the resentment anytime the rival Bosses meet.

“Let’s get in, Castle.” Arturo said to the male in glasses who instantly followed his lead into the lightless building.

Satan and Midnight moved too, stepping into the house which felt like it drowned them in.

Inside, the darkness was more suffocating, more draining. It felt like the more they walked in the dark, the more they lost their senses of what the outside world felt like.

They couldn’t even touch the walls to trace their steps since there were no walls. The building was an endless, mysterious universe.

After walking for minutes they didn’t count, candles flicked on from nowhere, and the four people came to an instant halt.

The fire from the candles burned round like moonshine, and heat stole the atmosphere as the light caught three different round tables.

On each table, there’s a body.

El Crow on the first table.

His blonde hair, lip-ring, dark tattoos and his mouthside stitch scar are a testament to his evil self.

Skylar on the second table. Her bangs and nose-ring are a bold signature to her defiance and deviousness.

Roselle on the third table. Her white hair and bitter face a endless cliff.

And they’re all dead.

No breaths. No pulse. No heartbeats.

They’ve been dead since the accident at noon.

“El Crow,” Arturo called worriedly, touching the dead male’s face with a strong father’s affection.

“I still don’t understand how he was in the same bus as two female Dreads. We Enigmas are supposed to have nothing to do with Dreads.” Castle wondered loudly, face cold.

At the other two tables, Satan and Midnight stood side by side.

Satan leaned down to Roselle’s body, touching her white hair with the most sinister motherly fondness.

While Skylar was the best fighter in her Team Dread, Roselle her daughter was the second best.

“You’re going nowhere, daughter.” Satan purred with a tight face, stroking Roselle’s hair. “You’re coming back to me.”

She straightened and turned to the other table where Skylar lay.

“When you wake up, you better have a clear explanation for why you and Roselle were in the same bus with an Enigma. Or you’ll wish you died.”

“Where the hell is Ayana?” Midnight’s voice sounded on edge.

Another round of candles burned on the three tables, rounding each body. They burned so bright everyone had to move back from the tables.

Out of the shadows, an entity stepped into the light. An old woman who has white for eyes, supporting her figure with a thick thorny-head walking cane that’s taller than her.

She wore a long green dress which swept the floor as she walked, the sound of her cane against the floor causing the candles to flicker.

A equally green cape covered her head, and her face was clouded by a dark mist, but her presence perched on everything alive around.

“You promised to bring them back to life, Ayana.” Arturo spoke. “So we sent them here.”

“You sent them to the right place,” Ayana eased from behind the mist. “Their souls left their bodies since noon, but the souls are still on a journey to the land of the dead.”

“Well do something to call them back!” Satan snapped.

“I’ll call their souls back, and send them to Aftermoor.” Ayana hummed.

“Aftermoor?” Midnight’s face folded.

“It’s an AfterDeath Establishment, run by Inferno—one of the angels banned from the pit of hell. He’ll assign them tasks to carry out. Their return to life depends on their abilities to do it.”

“There’s no task too hard for El Crow.” Castle said. “That devil.”

“Send him over to Aftermoor, now!” Arturo impatiently added.

“Skylar is a persistent, insane bitch who’d do anything to live.” Midnight murmured.

“And Roselle is my daughter who’ll even pluck out her own eyes to eat. She’ll survive.” Satan assured.

“Sending them now.” Ayana let go of her walking cane easily.

The heavy cane left the ground, and the mist on her face cleared off, following the cane as it began floating and rolling in the air.

Ayana’s white eyes wound up, and her mouth moved fast as she chanted in an unknown language.

A heavy rainfall started inside the building, heavier than the downpour raging outside. The candles went off, and darkness took over again.

—

[Dread House]

Dread House belongs to Team Dread. A building where all Dread Team members live as a family.

It’s a large, brown building, carved mightily somewhere in the French Quarters, welcoming the sound of street performers and jazz bars and bands even this late at night.

Even in the pouring rain, Dreads could be seen going for their preparatory warmups in groups.

Since the coma of Roselle and Skylar have been announced, warmups have been taken serious by Dreads who dream of taking over the two spots if they later die.

Rosita stood at the wide, cobblestoned balcony of the house, black umbrella between her palm.

She’s in her tights and hoodie, ready to go for warmups in the arena down the street, but her eyes look too glued to the threads of rain.

“Rosita…”

She felt like someone was calling her name, but not so sure.

“Rosita…”

The sound came again, but her eyes refused to leave the rain.

“Rosita!”

This time, she was able to look away and turn around slightly to see Quincy and Renee behind.

Rosita didn’t talk. She only gave them questioning stares.

“You look like you’re dressed for warmups,” Quincy said, his eyes staring shortly at her umbrella.

“And?” Rosita sounded icy.

“Your twin sister Roselle is in coma.” Renee blinked. “Coma!”

“If you both are so concerned about my twin sister, go jump off a building and join her in coma.” Rosita’s words stabbed like a shard.

She entered the rain, umbrella over her head, walking off.

“I can never get used to her coldness. Her or Skylar, I don’t know who’s worse.” Quincy shook his head.

“At least Rosita has little bit of human feelings. I hate Skylar’s inhumanity, and I hope she dies in coma, for real.” Renee raised her shoulders.

“Wishing someone death in this heavy rain?” Quincy scoffed. “You still want the omelette or not?”

He went back in, and Renee rushed back after him.

The balcony became empty again.

Usually, it’s packed and busy at this time of the night if there’s no fight in the ring, but the coma news is hitting everyone hard in places.

The balcony is not entirely empty though. At the corner, a weed blunt sat on the lips of a guy whose face was hidden by one of the pillars.

Roy.

Smokes surrounded him like ghosts, and his head rested on the wall.

“Skylar has to die.” Was what he said before taking another drag.

—

[Enigma House]

The Enigma House is right beside Dread House.

The space between the two houses is only enough to park a little car, and despite the temptation, Dreads are forbidden from entering Enigma House, and Enigmas are forbidden from entering Dread House.

The enmity of the Teams is so twisted one could get sucked into oblivion while trying to dig into it.

The houses look the same except the colors. While Dread House is brown, Enigma House is maroon color.

On the wide unusually silent balcony, Blade and Bishop stood together, hands in their pockets as they stared at the angry rain.

Grief already settled between them like a bleeding truth, and their hands felt sweaty in their pockets.

“Do you think El Crow is gonna die?” They suddenly asked at the same time without planning to.

“Geez,” Blade mouthed, leaning on the edge of the rails. “I can’t imagine this Team without Crow.”

“But ours is still better,” Bishop shrugged. “I mean, we only lost El Crow to coma, not including Castle who’s our second best fighter, or you who’s our third best. We still have aces in our Team, but Dreads? They lost both Skylar and Roselle….”

“Now that you talked about it,” Blade let out a small chuckle. “But don’t forget their bastard Roy is still alive, and Rosita the ice is still alive too. Dreads have aces just the way we do, don’t rejoice yet, let’s just hope El returns from coma soon.”

Bishop’s shoulders sagged.

“You’re right, but where the hell are the others? Castle? Kent? Lovato?”

“Castle followed Boss Arturo somewhere.” Blade said.

“Lovato and Kent?” Bishop asked.

“No idea,” Blade shrugged.

Bishop pulled his phone out, dialling Lovato. Blade got his phone to dial Kent’s line too.

— — — —