Infamous

It was still dark. Still dark, still cold, and still silent. The gloom remained all-encompassing; there was no escaping. But one had, one had left. Millions of motes, like stars in the night sky, floated in the void. In this void, one of these millions, one single mote, was different. He was the last. He was Keth, the Life-Drinker. He had survived the RFI, his powers allowed him to. But the cost was life. He couldn't eat, he couldn't drink, he could only absorb. It was no surprise he had died soon after. He couldn't allow himself to keep killing to remain alive, and so, he had allowed himself to die.

This mote was not like the others. Instead of the soft glow of a steady flame, it was the stacatto on and off flash of an underpowered florescent light. It's form belied instability, and it really wasn't. There was something... off about this mote.

It shifted. It blinked out of existence and then reappeared, nearly imperceptibly, next to where it was. And then it did it again. And again. With each jump, it moved a little more. The motes around it seemed to watch their newest member with interest, predicting what it would do next.

The mote stopped, suddenly, and began moving. Just floating, slowly, but moving nonetheless. As it moved, it began to pick up speed, faster, faster, faster it went! The mote seemed to elongate into an oval, and then it began to blur, shifting in and out of this plane. Then, it vanished.

A mote of unbearably white light seemed to float down to the ground. A barren stretch of desert lay around it, the hot sun beating upon it's sandy face. The mote seemed to shatter into countless shards, falling to the ground. Then the shards began to move together, to coalesce, and seemed to form a shape on the ground. The shape seemed to take the form of a strange, monkey-like biped, The form seemed to gain definition, and even clothes. As the light faded, a man, not even, a boy was left behind.

He barely seemed to be of seventeen, but his face gave a completely different story. This boy had faced more than most men do in an entire lifetime. His silver hair glistened in the sunlight, cut to medium length, and his face seemed to be in a state of peaceful slumber. His body was covered in a sleeveless white hoodie, and his arms were bandaged, covered from the world. His ashen gray skin blended in with the whitish sand, but his blue, denim pants and black boots did not.

His face twitched, and he regained consciousness, slowly, softly, like a waking cat. The red glare of the sun pushed through his eyelids, so he let them remain shut. He felt the ground, the hot sand, and grabbed a handful of it. He sat up, brought the white hood back over his head with his other hand, and opened his eyes.

Keth lay in the middle of what could only be described as a desert. It was a stereotypical, honest-to-God, desert. He brought his handful of sand before him, and opened his palm. As he watched the sand flow through his open fingers, his mind began to think. What type of hell was he in? Was he cursed to wander this dusty, desolate plate for all eternity? Is this the price he paid for eating the very life-force out of people?

No. He wouldn't wander. He would wait. He would wait for whatever put him here to come and get him, to come and give him real punishment. For what he had done, he deserved worse, and he knew it.

He brought his left arm up in front of him, carefully examining the bandages around it. With his right, he began to unravel the white cloth, sighing in relief as the pressure released. The bandage fell to the ground, hanging off of his left wrist, secured there. He looked at his bare arm.

It was hideous. The scars were still there. When he had become a conduit, it had hurt. His arms were nearly burnt off, held on by pure energy, and his chest had been scarred. Atleast he had his face.

The Beast had brought his powers to the surface. Albeit with a fireball. He had tried to block the heat with his arms, but the flame just burnt through. It had made him stronger, though, and let him do so much to help the world, for the two weeks he was a conduit.

His arm was a mess. The twisted and wrinkly flesh was still a pale white, devoid of pigment, and hairless. The soft, white skin pulsed with blood vessels, nearly transparent, and virtually exposed the muscle underneath. But it was not weak. These arms had been burnt by the flames of war, of hate, of deception. These arms were not weak. They were not helpless. They contained the powers of a conduit. The Last Conduit. He re-wrapped the bandage.

Keth crossed his legs. He was not going to go anywhere. He was going to wait, however long it took him, for the thing that had put him here. His energy would sustain him. And besides, wherever he was, there seemed to be many more times the amount of energy than there was on Earth. That just proved the fact he was put here by something powerful.

He closed his eyes, and began to meditate on the surrounding area. He could feel the energy of the land pulsing beneath him, the heartbeat of the earth, so to speak. He could feel the buzz of energy in the air, as if the land could break out into storm at any moment. He could even sense the bright points of lights, the living creatures, sleeping under the soil, hiding away from the hot sun and waiting for the cool night.

Keth did not move when he sensed something approaching him. It was more concentrated than anything else in the nearby area, and it was moving towards him. He opened his eyes, and looked up at the incoming creature.

It seemed to be some sort of insectoid equine, with four legs, ending in hooves, a pair of wings, and a horn. However, it seemed as it there were holes, empty holes, along its legs and horn. It was as if someone had taken a compass, drew perfect circles on its body, and drilled through them.

As it came closer, it appear to be about as tall as he was, standing up. The clop of its hooves were muffled by the sand, which seemed to support it the same way as solid granite would.

As it closed the ten foot mark, he stood up. The creature stopped, watching his legs unfold to take on the weight of his body. It looked at his hands resting half in and half out of the pockets on his jeans, and the bandages wrapped around his arms. It's gaze rose to his chest, his white hoodie, and finally came to rest on his head, hidden in the contrast of the shadow of his hood and the bright sun behind him.

It spoke in a murmur, examining him. "What in all of the Changeling Wastes are you?"

He stepped back, shocked. It just spoke. In ENGLISH. This must be the thing who brought him here, but it didn't seem to know what he was. What was IT? And what were the Changeling Wastes? Probably this desert.

"I am Keth."

They stood for a moment, both regarding the other as a treat or danger of some sort.

"Do you mean any harm to us?"

"No. I have no idea where I am or why I am here. I only have myself, the clothes on my back, and my memories."

The tension seemed to lessen from the bug-horse-bird-rhino.

"Then if you wish to remove yourself from this heat, follow me, and I will help you, traveler."

Sure, what could go wrong? He was a life-sucking, hell-beating, honest-to-God conduit. He could handle himself just fine.

A/N: For better or for worse, I got past my writers' block. With the help of a friend, whom I will tell you of in a second. I will try to update atleast once a week, but here, have a Halloween update.

The idea for this antagonist was given to me by I am Memorial, so be sure to say thanks and check out his stories! We've been chatting on the antagonist for a bit, and Memorial, don't you dare spoil it!

Also, if you believe me, I have no editor, and don't actually want one. if you offer....

As I must tell the story of our antagonist, Anti-Chapters will be released whenever I feel the focus should be on Keth, not Cole. I'll try to update twice as fast, to keep the story going. I also promise not to make it a giant story arch like Griffin or something, since I have more ideas and want this to be good, not long as fuck.