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Blackthorne Tower


Megalomaniacal Arbiter
We're All Mad Here
Oliver Blackthorne was rich.
He was the undisputed ruler of the underworld in this planet and many others. He dealt in new and exotic drugs, black market equipment such as dark magic artifacts and hacked cybernetic enhancements, selling weapons to the primitive civilizations still around, usually ending up murdering them all because there was gold or some other valuable resource there.
What most people here didn't seem to understand was that power was ruling right, and you had to do whatever you needed to get it. As much as you could, as quickly as you could.
Needless to say, it was never enough for Oliver Blackthorne.
As he contemplated this, Oliver stood on the balcony of his tower, a party going on in it right now, all of them having a good time, and yet he was not.
You see, our dear Mr. Blackthorne was sure something was wrong. Nothing was going wrong, of course, but he felt it, a feeling of fear that was slowly building each moment. Maybe it was the chill of the night air. Maybe it was the subtle darkness that was beginning to engulf him as the sun set.
But maybe it was because, exactly twenty years ago today, he had made a deal with the devil.
Well, he didn't know if the being was the devil, or any sort of demonic entity at all, or even if he really existed, but the mysterious being had come, and promised him power in return for a mysterious 'payment'. It wasn't his soul or anything, he kind of wished it was, then he would know what to expect, but the enigmatic being had stressed that it wasn't, he only wanted 'payment'. Oliver had no idea what that payment would be.
He had a chilling idea he was about to find out.
Because, unbeknownst to him, a Shadow had arrived at Mr. Blackthorne's party. This shadow, wearing a trench coat and a top hat, walked, practically melted, elegantly out of the shadows, like he was just - there. Suddenly and without explanation. Like maybe he always was.
The Shadow, the Man, walked up to the guards at the front door, of which there was many, our dear Mr. Blackthorne was known for being paranoid, and it certainly payed off in this business, and was asked to stop. The Man was not invited.
The Man smiled.
The Man did not stop.
Ink started to cover the ground around him, Inky tendrils emerging out of the puddles, grabbing both the guard's necks and slamming them into the wall, then dragging them up slowly with their force. Some got off a few shots with their technologically advanced weapons, but it didn't matter. The Man walked into the tower unscathed.
As the Man continued his elegant march toward the top of the tower, heading towards the elevator, more guards came after him, and they all got ripped apart or suffocated by the Ink, it covering their mouth and nose, preventing them from breathing. All who were also fashionably late to the party were dealt with similarly, except a few. Those needed to go and tell this story of horror.
The Man was putting on a show.
The guards knew the elevator the Man was riding to the top was getting closer to the top floor because the walls started to become covered in the Ink, and the elevator's floor number was displayed above the door.
There was more Ink on the walls.
Was that just their imagination?
The lights in the whole building flickered and went out.
the Ink ripped the elevator doors apart from the inside, pushing the elevator doors into the guards on the top floor, breaking several bones and eliciting several bone-chilling screams.
The Man made quick work of the guards, not afraid of making a mess.
Once all the guards were dead or dying, another guard, one he thought dead, launched himself at the Man. The Man smiled and immobilized him easily with the power of his mind, the guard unable to move.
With complete disregard of any threat the remaining guard had to him, because he wasn't a threat at all, the Man walked out to the Balcony where our own dear Mr. Blackthorne currently resided, accompanied by two guards, which were promptly thrown off.
Oliver Blackthorne stared at the Man, shocked. How could this shadow defeat his roughly seventy guards, all equipped with the latest high-tech black market weapons? Who was he? Forget who, what was he?
Oliver guessed it didn't matter.
Then... The Man spoke.
His voice - oh dear sweet Jesus, his voice.
Objectively it was deep and commanding, comfortably in charge, knowing that he was the most powerful being in any situation. But his voice... it was a voice that Oliver believed could shatter mountains, topple armies, Empires, and still be hungry. It was the voice that transcended time, space, and pressed into Oliver one terrible, horrible TRUTH...
Oliver screamed.
His legs wouldn't do what he wanted them to. They just crumpled and all of a sudden he was on the floor before this man, this god, this being that had given him power and all at once taken it away. Oliver realized now that he had nothing, nothing, compared to this man, this shadow.
And Oliver didn't notice, but a puddle, more like a lake, of Ink had opened up and started to swallow the entire building, giant inky tendrils wrapping around the tower and dragging it down into the inky depths of nothing. The void.
Why did the Man do this?
This would create endless chaos in this planet. His disappearance would create a huge power vacuum.
Oliver couldn't move. His entire body was frozen with infinite fear, an irrational and hungry beast that froze all of his thoughts and turned them to mush, afraid of this Man, this Man in the Mirror. He couldn't do anything. He could just sit there, listening to the Man laugh, and watching his empire fall, burn down around him.
And boy, did it fall.
And boy, did it burn.