Aperion: Legend of the Infinity Mecha

by Naveh Sorferts

The mecha school story everyone wants. A story about a boy in the far future after an alien robot apocalypse where most of Earth was taken has occurred. But the apocalypse isn't over yet for the few remaining cities of humanity, and the beings that now live among them. (categories will make sense later. If you have a better one, tell me.) *OPEN FOR OC SUBMISSIONS!* MAJOR AU/OC

2. Chapter 1

Grant Apper sat at the counter of his father's shop, his head resting in his hands. He was bored. Really bored. There had been barely any customers that whole day, and it was getting close to dinner time. His friend Jake was supposed to be here to help, but he was out running 'errands'.

'Probably getting a crap ton of snacks for himself.'

Thought Grant with a snort as he watched a flow of dust, illuminated by the light streaming in from the front window of the shop, trying to recognize any shape or form to distract himself so that he didn't fall asleep, or go insane. The shop he was sitting in was rectangular in shape, with rows of shelf filling the interior, and side with the cashier sitting in the back with a perfect vantage point over the whole store due to various mirror locations. Just when he was reaching the end of his reserves of boredom tolerance, the TV hanging in a corner gave off a familiar jingle. It was time for Mega Mecha News to start. Craning over the counter, Grant strained to get a good view of the screen as a familiar newsroom appeared, along with its world-famous hosts.

"Welcome back viewers, to Mega Mecha News! I'm your host, Bond Ruggendy!"

Said a middle-aged man with bushy brown hair and a matching poofy mustache wearing a loud orange suit. The proud star of the show/news service, he was known for his endless fountain of funny lines and sarcastic comments. Beloved by all like some crazy uncle, no one really cared that he actually wasn't a very good news anchor, for he made up for by trying and being hilarious in the process.

"And I'm your co-host, Taylor Demon!"

The woman who said this, saying her last name as 'Deh-moon' was not as 'classy' as her companion. Wearing a rather revealing black, leather dress that did little for modesty, her impressive (and rumored to be not entirely natural) bust practically bursting from the dress that covered it. The dress did do justice to the rest of her features though, extenuating her curves and causing her long, smooth legs to pop at the viewer, even though she was tanned by sun. Wearing a pink fluffy scarf (that someone thought went with the dress), lots of makeup, and impressive black heals. The only other point about her besides her sensuality was that fact that she had a pair of small red horns sprouting from her head, and a red speared tail swishing behind her. Her fans liked her for different (and rather obvious) reasons. While as sarcastic as her companion, she was known for making naughty jokes and flinging out comments only a mature audience would be able to grasp. Grant loved Bond's funny rants about whatever came to his mind, but he didn't really like Taylor, unlike all of the other boys that he met. She seemed too fake, and trying way too hard. But if he was honest with himself, he always thought that she was out of place, and playing a part that didn't suit her. He knew it was condescending, but he thought she would fit perfectly in some 'adult based' location, not some news show that kids watched regularly. But nobody really listened to Grant outside of his family, barely anyone even knew he existed. Shaking his dark thoughts, Grant listened intently to the show cast.

"Today we are bringing you breaking news, on just about nothing interesting."

Said Bond sourly, a little pout forming out of his mustache.

"Once again, the news team was denied access to the school."

Grant smirked, the news team had been trying for years to get into the school, but had never been successful. Once they had been close, then one of their news Custos went berserk and killed half of the team.

"Other than that, the popular Mixmaster has suddenly canceled all future appearances, saying 'I just felt like taking a little time off.'"

Bond laughed.

"I just wish his fan base is as understanding enough to take that."

Grant smirked again, the famous Mixmaster was a dubstep popstar, a masked individual whose real name is a mystery, and whose face everyone is trying to uncover. He wasn't at all surprised by the star's behavior, being a powerful pilot along while being a star, he could do whatever he wanted and get away with it. Bond tried to glance at some poorly concealed notes, but only managed to pour them onto the floor. With a ruffle of his mustache, he tried to cover it up and started improving.

"Along with that, the whereabouts of the Herald are still a mystery after its sudden disappearance over Antarctica, why it was it down there and where is it now are still a mystery."

He said, repeating what he had already said in the process. Taylor was trying her best to keep a straight face, she tended to not say anything when Bond was on a role, letting the laughs build as the man blundered along.

"And back to more mecha talk, a rising star is reported to have been moved to the school in our great city, his or her name, or any other info for that matter, have not been disclosed to the team."

Grant raised his eyebrows in surprise, the man was actually improving pretty well for once, and then he blew it.

"Uh... Other than that, uhh... I don't really know if there is anything else, uhhh... TAYLOR! Do you have anything for us?"

Grant chuckled, classic Bond, probably the only reason everyone loved him was the fact that he wasn't actually on a really news show. The show itself was basically a broadcasting system so pilots can show their faces and their feats to the world, when they actually decided to go outside and do something. When there was no pilot activity, such as now, being at the beginning of the great Custos School's teaching year, many pilots were learning, training, or just sitting around waiting for something to happen.

Taylor, sitting up straighter and somehow thrusting her chest out farther and causing it to bounce (causing Grant to feel like smashing his face into the counter) as she cleared her throat.

"Well, there have been signs of an unusual Berserker activity in the far wastes surrounding the city, but they are too far away and spread apart to of any interest of Command"

Command was the name given to the worldwide organization that manages pilot activity and responds to Berserker threats. To Grant, they were a bunch of suits that just sat in a room and gave orders. (An opinion held by many, including the pilots themselves) Taylor began to fake pout, pursing her red lips and sighing.

"Even those monsters aren't doing anything interesting."

Bond, sucking up to every chance to try to impress the drop-dead gorgeous woman, he puffed up.

"Well you know, it is the beginning of the school year, nothing really happens until the winter holidays, and even then, the main event is at the end of the whole school year."

Bond suddenly paused in thought.

"I just had an idea, how about we throw a question out to the people? I think I just came up with a good one."

Taylor perked up, and so did Grant, Bond, while terrible at being an actor, he did manage to come up with pretty interesting questions. From the completely bizarre and hilarious, to the dead serious and deep. The man of unpredictable questions, you never knew what you were going to get, and when you were going to get it. Bond, turning to the wrong camera, looking intense as he said:

"What do we really know about pilots? Sure, we know the feats they preform and the monsters they slay. But do we really know what goes on in their lives, behind that wall of metal and machinery? The answer: No, we don't. We know that all the schools operate differently and each has its unique culture, so one could perhaps glean a glimpse at what it is like to be them by the very cities that surround them, right? Wrong! In our great city there is no set culture, not at least one that reflects the school."

Bond suddenly turned to Taylor.

"The school here is the one that operates like a real school, correct?"

Taylor blinked, then shrugged.

"When I went there, I was certainly busy teaching the boys how to be adults."

Grant face palmed.

"But yes, the school does specialize in a more 'college-ish' feel."

Bond nodded, everyone knew that, those student pilots that did show their faces almost always acted like normal students out of school, while the rest form other schools acted way different.

"But,"

he continued.

"What happens to those who graduate?"

Taylor sighed, it seemed that Bond wasn't really going to ask a question, he was just going over a time old rant that he constantly went over when nothing was going on.

"They go and live in their super-secret floating island city, of which I am unable to tell you about."

Taylor was a pilot herself, although no one had seen her mobilized in years. Why she joined the news, no one knew. Suddenly Bond laughed.

"And now we get to our question,"

He turned, to the correct camera this time.

"What would you do if everyone's greatest wish, to become a powerful pilot with no limitations, was suddenly given to you?"

He raised an eyebrow dramatically.

"And what would your life really be like, problems and all?"

Taylor blinked, being under strict orders, she, nor any pilot who went public for that matter, disclosed anything about their personal lives as pilots or the schools they attended, besides predetermined information. Bond had suddenly stumbled upon the golden question every single normal human on the planet asked at least a dozen times in their lives: What is it really like to be a pilot? Sure, people asked what you would do it you were given the almost superpower like abilities they possessed. But what people really didn't know was who and what the pilots really were. To many, they are powerful heroes and saviors, battling monsters, preforming feats of valor and bravery. To others, they were beloved popstars and epic sports fighters, brawling each other in mock fights. And some, like Grant's father, they were freaks and weirdoes, not to be trusted or kept around. But to a remote few, like Grant himself, they were fascinating creations and creatures.

Calls suddenly began pouring into the news station as every other citizen gave their input on what a pilot's life is like. Some were rather grueling, many others were paradises, but Grant held a modest opinion. Until such time that they leave for their private city of solitude, they lived like normal people, most like students, living with normal struggles within their walled fortress. Grant had been careless enough to say it aloud a couple of times, and was laughed at because of it. No one believed that pilots, super heroes in their own right, would ever bend to being just 'normal people', especially among themselves. But what everyone did agree on, was that their lives pertaining to the outside world were very seclusive indeed. Moderated by Command, no one was allowed to know anything about their watchful guardians. Believing it would lead to interference with their performance, or at least that was what they sold, Command succeeded in sealing the outside world from ever getting at the pilot's sanctums.

Suddenly, the door to the shop swung open with a small jingle, breaking Grant's focus and causing him to snap straight in surprise. A small girl with a pair of long blonde pigtails, wearing a pink jumpsuit repurposed as a pilot core armor costume came scampering in. Grant smiled as the girl squealed with delight as she entered and began rushing around the shop to see if there was anything new. He remembered selling that costume to her, mostly because of the pigtails, and the squealing. The girl was already halfway across the store when he noticed someone had come in with her. Whoever it was had decided that wearing a grey cloak with a deep cowl on a rather sunny day was a smart idea.

'Sure,'

Grant admitted.

'it's starting to get cloudier, but not enough to wear that.'

Though Grant really couldn't say anything, as he had seen far worse and far weirder things walk into his store. The person seemed to be taking great pains to keep an eye on his/her sister while keeping Grant in visual range. Grant brushed this oddity aside, he had dealt with this before as well. There were plenty of adults who were uneasy about a scrawny teenager running a store, seemingly all by himself. But a polite attitude and a warm smile normally put these doubts to rest. However, the cloaked figure continued to watch to him as if he was up to something, even after he answered the little girl's questions of: "Does this look good on me? Is this new? Are there any new toys?" etc. But this seemed to Grant like the girl was just making small talk and that she already had something in mind, because her eyes were scanning the shelves for something. He was just about to ask Mr./Ms. Cloak if they needed anything as the girl suddenly squealed with delight, causing Mr./Ms. Cloak to come and see what had happened. The girl pointed at a figurine shelf that towered above her, however the figurine in question could not be seen from Grant's position.

"See, I told you that he had it, I told you he had yours!"

The little girl squeals triumphantly. Mr./Ms. Cloak reaches up and picks up the chosen figurine, allowing Grant to see that the outstretched arm belonged to a girl wearing a pretty realistic looking core armor costume. The store that Grant worked at was started by his father as a hobby shop that he would run in his spare time. But, as this spare time shrank and the only selling merchandise began to disagree with him, he left it as Grant's responsibility. Now the shop was a Custos (meha) & Proelia (pilot) exclusive hobby shop, with everything from toys and games, to costumes and action figures. It had surprised Grant for a time that these items sold enough to allow him to buy the materials for the store. And so that is how Grant ended up running a store by himself, with only his perverted friend Jake for company. Jake, one of Grant's childhood friend, and his only current friend for that matter, had said he would come to help out, but most of the time he ended up using the quiet and privacy of the back of the store for his 'pastimes'. He also flirted frequently with the more attractive female customers, and was always eating something. Grant often wonders why he even lets him inside in the first place. Grant was brought back to reality when he had straightened up after picking up a loose coin off the floor and the cloaked girl was standing in front of him, almost leaning over the counter separating them. He couldn't see her face, because of the deep cowl on the cloak's hood that he had noted earlier. All he could see was a glimpse of a flowing mass of blond hair that trailed out of the cloak's dark interior.

"Did you make this?"

Commanded a girl's voice, but one that was obviously used to giving orders. Grant couldn't see the figure before, but since the girl was holding it up for him to see, he immediately recognized it. It was something he had put particular effort into making. It was of a white Custos that took the form of a female mechanical angelic warrior. He had made it after he had lost contact with a childhood friend some years ago, and this one had appeared on the news as a rising star a few months after.

"Uh, y-yeah."

Grant stammered under pressure, in fact Grant made everything figure in the store from scratch, it was part of why he was so prideful of the store. People would often be surprised by these figurines, saying that they seemed lifelike, which would make Grant smile. But this girl gave off a totally different impression from those other customers. She seemed to look at him seriously for the first time as he thought about this, for she suddenly leaned in close. Her perfume and general smell washed over Grant, twisting his boyish mind.

"Are you, Grant?"

She whispered.

'Alright, I'm starting to freak out a bit.'

He thought, but managed to keep a cool face. The mysteriousness of the girl and the fact that her obviously little sister had said 'yours', really started to get to him. He almost said 'Yes, that's me!', but he paused as better idea popped up.

"He's the manager, so he's currently busy. What business do you have with him?"

It wasn't a lie; he was an employee as well as the manager. It was the girls turn to be nervous under pressure.

"W-well, you see-"

She began.

"Big sis,"

Her little sister interrupted.

"it's, not nice to disturb people like that. Big sis!"

Upon not having her big sister's full attention, the little girl grabbed the edge of the cloak and tugged. There was a popping sound, and the whole thing fell to the floor, revealing a beautiful girl. Now Grant had seen a lot of pretty girls, but this one was one of the most attractive he had ever seen in person, only rivaled by some of the pilots that appear on the news or internet from time to time. But what made this one stand out of Grant, was that she was actually standing in front of him, and she was a real pilot, one of the celebrity heroes that commanded one of the massive, robotic war machines called Custos.

His mind locked up as he tried to process what had just come to pass, that a smoking hot pilot chick was actually standing in his store, talking to him. One might have guessed it was another costume like the little girl's, who had simply forced her sister to wear one too, causing her to wear the cloak in the first place. But to a detailed eye like Grant, who constantly poured over the smallest of details on his creations, could immediately tell this suit was the real deal. On top of being a pilot, which was pretty big just about anywhere, she was really cute. She was slightly taller than average, around the 5ft9 region. She had a flowing mass a beautiful blond hair that went all the way down to her waist. Her skin being pale somehow shone with the beautiful light of youth. Her eyes were wide and a vibrant sapphire blue. Her face was perfect in every way Grant could possible think of or care about. And her figure was no small deal either. To sum up her body in Grant's words:

'If I was Jake right now, I would have a massive nosebleed and a total mental breakdown, and that skin-tight suit isn't helping.'

The suit in question resembled a white skin-tight flight suit with more connectors and gadgets than you would expect, along with being made out of a slightly shiny material and emphasizing the girl's awesome curves, and made it impossible to not stare at her impressive breasts. It had decorations in the form of various gems and other materials of blue, yellow, and white. Whether or not these gems were real, Grant couldn't tell, but got the impression that they were something else. The final nail in the coffin was there was a small pair of white feathered wings sprouting out of her back, shuddering slightly as the cloak fell. His rising internal struggle must have been represented on his face, for the girl's face turned red and she turned on her sister. But she lost her steam when she saw upset face of her sister, who had started crying over how she had embarrassed her big sister.

"I didn't- *sniff* I just wanted- *sniff* I'm sorry! *sobbing*"

She broke down and started crying. The pilot's angry face softened at the pitiful sight, she smiled and pat the little girl on the head.

"Hey, there is no need to cry Sarah. I understand it was an accident."

The girl said this with an almost motherly tone, which seemed to pacify the little girl, who lower head and was quiet. It was amazing to Grant how quickly the girl had gone from secluded in the cloak, angry when revealed, and now pacified by the sight of her sobbing sister. The girl stood up while picking up the cloak and put it under her arm. She then tossed her massive amount of hair, apparently trying to relieve built up emotions while saving face. When the girl's hair blew a breeze in Grant's direction, he caught a scent that aroused his senses, yearning for more of the beautiful smell from the beautiful girl. He had to pinch his arm to knock his senses back into place, but doing so, he reengaged his brain, causing him to involuntarily grunt. Grant didn't have that much willpower when it came to girls, and he never lasted long as the center of attention, he made a note to make this as short as possible to avoid him embarrassing himself. Being at loss of what was the right thing to do, along with simply being in the presence of this jaw dropping girl, who basically was a literal angel, really started to rise above what Grant could handle. The girl, who seemed to be avoiding Grants gaze, calmly started to lead her sniffling sister towards the door of the shop, with her posture perfect and tall, reminding Grant of how royalty walks. This managed to send Grant's mind back into gear, but it was still struggling.

"Hey, are you going to pay for that?"

He called after the girls, for the small figurine was still in the pilot's hand. The girl turned, confused for a moment, then blushed deeply as she realized she had almost walked out of a store without pay for an item. She returned to the counter and placed the figurine next to the cash register.

"How much for this figure?"
She said with a girly blush, almost causing Grant's heart to stop.

"10 sparks."
He said automatically, somehow managing to keep his mental faculties running. The girl fished ten of the small spherical crystals from a cargo pocket that was attached to the side of her suit, placing them into Grants waiting hand. He then mechanically went through the process that made the figurine hers. With the process complete, Grant handed the girl her new figurine. The little sister pursed her tiny lips and tugged at her sister's arm.

"Big sis, you're forgetting to give the nice man his tip for scaring him."

She chastised. Grant smiled at the gesture, amused by the little girl's forwardness.

"No, I was happy to-"

He started.

"She's right."

Said the pilot. Something about her voice and the mischievous way she was suddenly looking at him caused his heart to stop cold. The only thing that formed in his frozen mind was two words: Uh oh.

The girl leaned over the counter, reached out, and pressed a delicate hand on the side of his face, closing her eyes.

"Be at peace."

Grant barely heard her whisper, and could have sworn the gems in her suit flashed and her hair glowed. But in that one instant, he felt a powerful electrical shock, a slight vibration, and a lot of light. But in another instant the feeling was gone, and another came forth. While Grant had up to this point been locked in the grips of fear and suspicion, now his brain was melting down with stupid joy, similar to those of men when they receive an unexpected kiss, the kind where you are in a blissful peaceful happiness. His eyes glazed over and his face was split by the stupid smile on pure happiness.

"The name's Genevieve,"

She giggled.

"and I hope we meet again soon Grant."

Grant on his part mumbled something intelligent while the girl pulled her slack jawed sister out of the store. Grant remained where he stood, grinning away, when a thud brought some of his senses back to him and caused him to turn. Standing in the entryway to the back of the store was a slack jaw Jake, his face pale as a ghost and his eyes practically popping out of his head. Apparently, he had also been standing there for some time, evident from the small fly that had decided it was a good idea to land on his face. Jake was, on outward appearances, your average Joe; Brown eyes and hair, and fair skin with an average facial and body structure. Grant didn't really remember how or when they became friends, but Jake was always there for him when he needed it, so he didn't question it. But Jake had some faults, lots of them, one of which manifested itself in the form of him pointing at Grant's face, on which he could still feel the sensation of the hand being there.

"You-you-you!?"

His neck veins suddenly popped as he strained to get his thoughts out, but all it amounted to was him releasing a disturbingly feminine squeal of terror. As the horrifying sound of the scream rang on, he ran from the store, terrifying the pedestrians walking outside. In a daze, Grant finished up the day's work and closed up the shop when it was time to leave. He left the shop with the plan to pick his brother up from daycare. His father ran a military factory and his mother was a successful baker, which left the task of miscellaneous things like picking up his brother to fall upon him. But it wasn't until he a walked up to his house's doorstep, when he realized that his daze had caused him to forget to carry through picking up his brother. This realization finally caused him to snap out of his daze and sprint off to pick up his brother. But Grant's pace was faster than one who simply forgot to pick up a sibling, for he had more to fear than most. His little brother, Finn, was almost as notorious at getting into fights as Grant was. Finn, in his defense, was simply mimicking his much-adored brother, but Grant's story was not so simple.

One day a cloaked stranger had appeared at his father's doorstep with a baby in his arms. He had said that the baby was the lone survivor of a frontier town that had been destroyed. His father, being of the charitable sort, took the baby in without a second glance. Homeschooled from an early age, Grant excelled in all educational fields. His parents had been worried that being from a frontier town, and a destroyed one at that, would have serious ramifications at school, which was highly background based. Completing his high school courses at the age of 14, Grant was put to work full time in the hobby shop that his father ran in his down time. But when the only thing that would sell began to disagree with him, Grant's father dumped the entire responsibility on him, saying it was time he ran something himself. So there Grant had stayed, while his other siblings went to public schools after Grant's social abilities were severely stunted and it was discovered that he had a knack for getting into fights. But Grant didn't mind that, what he did mind was the fact that his brother was always picking fights himself in a false sense of justice and a desire to impress Grant. It was true that Grant constantly got into fights protecting others with no regard of the consequences, but that was no grounds, in his eyes, to go looking for trouble just to impress someone. But Grant pushed such thoughts from his mind, now he needed to make sure his brother didn't do anything stupid.

But his heart plummeted as he heard a familiar voice yell:

"You stay away from them!"

As he rounded a corner and saw his brother, surrounded by a dozen thugs, and he recognized them too. They were the Shadowed Blade, an infamous gang who were known for slitting their own vocal cords as a sign of dedication and skill, wearing blank black masks to hide their identities, and their unbridled rage against pilots. Why both they and his brother were there together was lost to him, but then he saw them. The girl from the shop, the pilot, was lying on the ground, unmoving with a trail of blood running down the side of her face. Her little sister sat behind her, crying and shaking her sister, trying to revive her, but her big sister was unresponsive. Finn, it seemed, had used his prized sling to shoot pebbles at the thugs with painful accuracy, for he prized this skill and the weapon dangled from his hand. But Grant's mind was forced to take all of this in an instant, for as he grinded to a halt, one of the thugs kicked Finn in the gut, sending him flying.

In that moment, Grant's world became red, his entire being was filled with rage. One of the thugs was unfortunate enough to witness his appearance out of the corner of his eye and turned, and paid severely for it. One moment, Grant was staring at the scene from the corner of the sidewalk, his eyes wide and his face consume with terror. The next, his face was twisted with such a rage, that it looked like it would split apart with the immense strain. But what the thug thought last, was how this boy's teeth, while still human, reminded him of the fangs of some terrible monster right before it kills. What happened next was something amazing as it was horrifying. Grant, one moment standing at the corner, the next he was right next to the man who had turned upon hearing him come around the corner. There was a sickening crunch and following wheeze as Grant's fist plunged into the man's solar plexus. The man fell like a puppet that had its strings cut, not making another sound as he collapsed on the ground. It was this lack of noise that allowed Grant to bring his fist down on the back of neck of the man who happened to be the closest. This blow gave off a resounding crack that finally announced Grant's presence to the others. But this gave them no direct advantage over Grant besides numbers, for all but the leader, who wielded a combat knife, were completely unarmed, which was due to the strict ban and enforcement of no human vs human weapons.

After their initial shock, they realized that it was just one guy, who had simply used surprise to bring down two of their comrades, but now that they were engaging him and could use their skills, they would surely bring him down in a matter of seconds. One of the greatest prides of this group was how their members had an almost uncanny sense of what his fellow member was thinking. This was simply the result of being pounded and molded into having the same type of thought pattern, but it still intimidated others. Using this, three of them rushed Grant, trying to end this fight quick and easy so that they can get back to their main prey. They had simply thought that this guy was upset for them hitting the boy and attacking the girls, but they failed to notice just how much rage was twisting Grant's face, and how powerful of an aura he was giving off. For as the first of them closed into striking distance, Grant rushed them. The first thug was felled by a swift roundhouse kick to the head, which had been impossible for him to dodge. The next, using the distraction created by the sudden defeat of his comrade, he managed to land a powerful blow into Grant's stomach. The man grinned under his mask, waiting for the inevitable toppling of his opponent, but he never fell, he didn't even move. Instead, this boy's head swiveled and his eyes locked with his, and his heart felt fear, something he hadn't felt for years.

The boy's eyes had the look of a monster, they reminded him of another pair he had seen before, a pair that belonged to an embodiment of death. But the man's thoughts were shattered into oblivion as Grant's knee smashed into his stomach, propelling him into the air, followed by a fist smashing into his face. The blow crumpled the mask and sent the man flying, much to the consternation of his comrades. How could one boy, one who they knew wasn't in any martial arts league or another gang, beating them so effortlessly?! There was a stunned silence as the man collapsed on the ground. This one boy had singlehandedly defeated five of the Silent Hand's best men like they were nothing. The remaining guys to a step back, some covering the leader, as twinges of fear began to appear in their minds.

But this fear was short lived, for there was a sudden whistling sound, a silver flash, and Grant suddenly staggered backward. The little girl began screaming. He blinked as something knocked him back, then gasped as his chest suddenly felt very cold and numb, a feeling that was quickly being replaced by a warm and wet sensation. Looking down, he saw a knife handle. The same knife handle that had been in the hands of the gang leader, was now sticking out of his chest, surrounded by a quickly enlarging bloom of scarlet. Grant felt like getting sick, screaming, passing out, crying, and so many other things with such intensity that all he could do was stare dumbly at the weapon protruding from his chest. A sick wheezing sound filled that air as the gang's leader's shoulders rose and fell as he laughed without a voice. Quickly the other thugs joined in, their fears banished with their opponent mortally wounded. The little girl, realizing that all was once again lost, she buried her head into her sisters still shoulder. As this sick display of mirth echoed off the walls and down the streets, Grant slowly sank to his knees, his life blood pouring into the ground.

'I couldn't save them; I couldn't save them.'

Echoed endlessly through his mind as his world began to spin, and went dark. But just as the laughter reached the height of its power, it died in all the throats of those making it, for a new sound could be heard. One that was echoing throughout the colossal city of Asticus. This sound was hundreds of sirens going off at once, and to many, it was the cry of the Banshee. All hearts were gripped with fear as every eye in the city turned to the sky, and saw a colossal shadow rippled into existence, dimming the sky itself.

The Herald had arrived.

The spaceship, hundreds of times larger than the super city it resided above, floated in the sky like some kind of nightmarish cloud. With the body similar to an armored whale, the tails/tendrils of a jellyfish, and the eyes and wings of a dragonfly, this metallic hulk looked like something from a nightmare. All sounds in the city ceased, leaving only the siren's wail, but that too soon died away. For what seemed an eternity, the Herald hung there, as peacefully as the clouds floating next to it. Then what appeared to be a ripple of the fabric of the universe itself bloomed from the center of the ship's undercarriage. The rolling wave spread through the distance between the ship and the city, despite its appearance of hanging just above it. The only apparent effect of the wave had was a slight vibration as it passed through everything. But it's effect on people were slightly different: for a moment, they all felt like they were falling through the depths of space itself, causing many to collapse. Once the ripples faded, there was once again silence. Silence of such intensity and depth, that one would think you could choke on it or cut it with a knife. But this silence was shattered by a near deafening in volume, moaning horn. This horn, put quite simply by the citizens of the city, is a foghorn designed for a massive military spaceship. So deep and powerful was the note of this horn, that many people were driven to their knees. But it was not just the note that made people's strength fail, but also the fear of what the horn stood for. The Herald was ready to begin converting, and as the horn's wail faded flashes of light began sparkling all across the undercarriage of the Herald. To an observer it might remind them of a night sky, that is, if they don't know what happened next. First the noise reached them, sounding like the worst thunderstorm to ever exist, constant booms and rumbles. Then they saw it, thousands of silver dots that were slowly getting larger, and closer. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of watching them fill the sky like silver rain, they landed. Like a meteor storm from a movie, wherever one fell, explosions and screams swiftly followed. But unlike those movies, a new sound joined the din: roars. Roars ranging from those of some strange creature straight from a nightmare, to those that obviously only belonged to a machine. These roars were joined by even more explosions and screams.

The Berserkers were rampaging.

"Get up! Please get up!"

The little girl pleaded to Grant, but he didn't move. His eyes were oblivious to the horrors that were beginning to take place all around him. His mind was sinking into itself as he tried to fight of the numbness covering him. His body refused to move, from both overexertion and major blood loss. But the thugs who Grant hadn't knocked out were able to comprehend what was happening, and their hearts were gripped with fear, freezing them where they stood. Their brains were re-engaged though when one of the dots, which could now be recognized as a metal pod, crashed down nearby and shook the ground beneath their feet. Their courage was starting to return to them because no pod had landed among them or nearby, they believed that just might survive this conversion. But that was not to be, because as the group turned to run, a pod crashed down in their path, less than 20 meters away. The force of the impact knocked the men from their feet, but all were swift to regain their footing as their fear mounted.

In the settling dust sat a pod, whose appearance was that of a massive metal egg. Pods always come in the exact same shape, being about 6 meters tall and 4 meters wide at their widest point. But despite its peaceful appearance, all the men were gripped by pure terror as they looked at it, some even wetting themselves. The man closest to it lost his cool and began making a run for it in the opposite direction, but before he could take even five steps, the pod awakened. A mechanical tentacle tipped with great gripping claws shot seamlessly out of the surface of the pod, as if the surface was a fluid. The arm flashed through the air, its claw clamping around the man and as swiftly as it had appeared, vanished back inside the pod, taking the struggling man with it. It was all over in less than three seconds.

Then the pod shifted, the ground beneath it cracking as the great weight moved on top of it. It then began to tilt and rock, its surface suddenly denting out sporadically as something stirred within. It began to grow, bulging and rippling like a strained balloon as whatever it was on the inside continued to grow. Suddenly, the surface cracked and came apart in one spot, revealing a massive, mechanical, red eye. A horrid roar split the air, a roar that above all else, signaled death and destruction. A roar that had turned the blood of the stoutest of warriors' cold, a roar that had single handedly brought humanity to its knees. This roar belonged to the failure to become something great, this roar belonged to one thing: A Berserker.

The thugs turned and ran as one, but were cut off as another pod crashed down the other side for the road; they were trapped. But it didn't end there as another and another fell down, crashing into the neighboring buildings. Each grabbed a man, each began to grow and each released the roar of a Berserker; there was no escape.

So, the children were forced to watch as these eggs of death hatched. First their surfaces dented outward, as if they were solid and something was bashing its way out. Then their surfaces stretched and bulged as the monsters within continued to grow. As the first cracks and fractures began to appear in the surface, it actually turned into a liquid, flowing into monstrous humanoid shapes. When it was done, the four pods were gone, and four towering, monstrous Berserkers stood in their places.

If one could picture those blocky retro robots of years long past, the ones with endless dials and oddly shaped devices covering their surfaces, then they would be off to a good start. Then if one could corrupt that picture, giving those robots an apocalyptic and monstrous appearance, then they are pretty close to what these specific Berserkers looked like. This is by no means what all of them looked like, just these four. Berserkers appear as giant robotic monsters in literally any way one could imagine. It occurred so often in fact that most Berserkers didn't even look scary or intimidating to most people, such as these four. But that doesn't mean that the less visually intimidating ones didn't fill their prey with fear, and the four Berserkers surrounding the group of survivors were no exception.

The four sat there staring down at the puny humans that didn't even come up past their feet, these monsters towered between 12 to 15 meters tall. Their eyes held the same look as that of greedy children staring at a dessert buffet; eyes that were filled with hunger and desire. Time seemed to stand still as the three remaining thugs stared into the eyes of the Berserkers. Prey and predator, man and monster. This spell was broken as one of the Berserker took a massive step forward and picked up one of the prone bodies of the men Grant had taken out, all of which were still out cold. The poor man never saw the end coming, and perhaps that was a blessing, for the Berserker's mouth suddenly stretched into a cavernous hole, and he vanished inside. Then, wisps of black smoke began trailing from between the monster's metal lips and the scent of burning flesh filled the air.

The men who could still see the end coming began running around like little children. Tears, sweat, and snot poured from their masks, their spirits were completely broken along with their minds. They were going to die in one of the worst ways known to man, and there was no escape from death, no way to even fight it. Humans long ago learned how futile it was to fight a Berserker with their own power, and had paid immensely for it.

Upon seeing this display, the Berserkers erupted into peals of sick, mechanical laughter; laughs that were impossible for any living thing with even a shred of emotion to make. It was a laugh only a monster could make, and one that cared nothing for any living creature. But their laughter was cut short as a small crying sound rose up. Turning, the Berserkers noticed the other prey they had captured: A boy that looked like he was already dead, his head sunken into his chest, kneeling in a large pool of his own blood, his skin a pale as paper. Being dead and bled out he was practically worthless to them. There were two girls, one that was prone on the ground, which gave of a powerful aura even while unconscious, and a little one who was the source of the crying. There was another little boy, but he too was prone and looked to be injured, for he seemed to have trouble breathing.

The Berserkers laughed again,

'Those treats will be dessert!'

They all unanimously thought in their own dumb way, none of them actually possessing true sentience. Those three morsels, aside from the dead one, were soft delicacy compared to the hearty meal they had before them, part of which was still trying to escape. Prey trying in vain to escape them amused Berserkers to no end, and they erupted into sick and twisted growling laughter once again. They took turns playing with the men, chasing them between themselves until they collapsed from exhaustion and fear. Then they took their time eating they man after they fell, none even causing a wound as their lives were snuffed out. As each man went down a metal gullet, the monster's eyes would flash as new power coursed through it, dials and less recognizable machinery lighting up in a sick display of pleasure and power. As the last man's boots disappeared down a monster's throat, the Berserkers finally turned to the four remaining humans.

But instead of grabbing at these treats, they began arguing in their broken robotic language, with rapidly increasing intensity. To an outside observer, it could easily be recognized what they were squabbling about. They were fighting over who drew the short straw and had to eat the dead boy. Berserkers, even the angry ones, weren't fond of eating an organic thing that was already dead, especially if its life force was already spilled across the pavement, especially when there were three incredibly more appetizing choices within arm's reach. But before the argument could devolve into a fist fight, the shortest of the bunch, being 12 meters tall, was shoved forward. The others, assuming their superiority due to their superior size, left the short straw to the short guy, who was assumed to be dumber. Which in this instance was actually the smartest of the bunch, which is why it had agreed in the first place to avoid getting into a fight it would probably lose, being that they were all the same type.

But right as it began reaching for the kneeling boy, something darted into his way. It was Finn, who had up until this point been unconscious, and had just now awoken to see some dumb looking mechanical monster reaching for his big brother. Bravely glaring at the dumbfounded creature Finn pulled out a sling, loaded it and attempted at striking an intimidating pose with the sling whirring behind him. His breath was coming in gasps, partly from the exertion and the kick that had sent him flying. The other Berserkers erupted into laughter, one of which stepped forward and shoved aside his confused companion. The boy appeared so weak and powerless that his defiance was laughable, and the Berserker paid the sling no mind as it reached forward to grab the boy.

But just as the massive hand was about to close on him, Finn released the sling, with an impish grin. There was a sharp crack, and the sound of breaking glass. The reaching Berserker froze for a moment, then reeled back, roaring in pain. As it clutched at its head, it could clearly be seen that it's one central eye had been shattered and now had sparks flying out of it. But even as it wailed in pain, the Berserkers eye was already repairing itself. The little boy, finding his voice, yelled at the top of his lungs.

"You stay away from my big brother!"

The other Berserkers looked at the boy in confusion and shock, but then their eyes hardened, filling with an unstoppable rage that had given them their name, and it just kept getting worse. The monsters up to this point hadn't used any equipment or activated any of their abilities, due to the fact that they could simply grab what they wanted without any resistance. But now their prey was standing against them, and had actually had the guts to try and hurt them. As a result, their primitive minds filled with a rage that resided the heart of every single one of those death engines.

The Berserkers began to change, and actually take on a more threatening appearance. Armor began sliding into place, covering the massive display of dials and machinery that appeared all over these creatures. Visors slid down over their sensitive eyes and weapons appeared in their hands, the tallest of the bunch possessed an unknown weapon. But it didn't hold the weapon, so much as the entire lower half of its left arm turned into some massive cannon type thing covered with pipes and wires.

This transformation, which had taken only a few seconds, had changed these monsters from unimpressive giants to merciless war machines. Even Finn and his limitless fountain of courage, found himself shaking in the grips of an instinctual fear. But before his childish mind could restore his courage, the cannon wielding Berserker stomped forward. Grant, roused from him stupor by the voice of his brother, raised his head just in time to see a massive fist smash into the pavement, reducing the ground to powder and just barely missing Finn as he jumped out of the way. But the force of the punch caused the group to heave, sending Finn flying across the street, where he landed with a cry of pain. Grant himself was blown backwards, his chest exploding with pain as stars danced before his eyes. The Berserker pulled its fist out of the ground and snarling with anger turned to Finn, who was regaining his feet as his knees and elbows bled.

It was at this point that Genevieve finally came as well. She held her pounding head, eyes refusing to focus, as her sister tried to tell her what was going on, but could only babble incoherently before passing out herself. Genevieve's eyes finally focused, and what she saw took her breath away; a 15-meter Berserker was facing down a mere boy. But instead of coming after him with another punch, the Berserker simply glared at him, and its eyes began to glow brighter, and with horror she realized what was happening.

Berserkers and their sane counter parts, the Custos, each possess magical abilities, and one that all Berserkers hold, is known as the Predator's Gaze. The Predator's Gaze is a short-ranged ability that causes the user's eyes to become hypnotic and glow, and at proper range causes any creature looking into them to become frozen in place, like a deer caught in headlights. This Berserker was using it on Finn, who was clueless about its effect and too oblivious to avoid it. So, Genevieve, powerless to assist in her current state, as her body refused to move, watched in dismay as the boy's body suddenly went ridged and the blood drained from his face in fabricated fear.

But the monster still didn't move from its place, it simply leveled its cannon at the boy. With terror Genevieve recognized the weapon's design as a plasma shell cannon. The gaping maw of the gun was thrice the size of the boy it was pointed at. Slowly, a cloud of murky gas filled its chamber as a low hum started to build up, the outside of the gun started to spark with electricity as the hum evolved into a shrill whine as the cannon's energy built up. Finn stood there, his body transfixed by the Berserker's swirling gaze; his mind screamed to move, but his body refused to do so. This struggle was made evident by the sweat pouring down his trembling body. But as the cannon's whine steadied and tendrils of electricity danced over its surface, something gave and Finn turned to look Grant in the eyes. The eyes that looked into Grant's pleaded for help that it knew would never come. Grant, driven by the guardian spirit that lives in every human being, overcame his failing body and rose to his feet and ran towards his brother, his arm already reaching to pull him to safety.

"FINN!"

Grant yelled as he ran, heedless of the danger he was running into willingly. Finn's eyes were suddenly filled with happiness; help did come, it was just too late.

"Thanks for trying, big brother."

His tiny mouth whispered with tears running down his face. Grant screamed in denial as Finn's body was surrounded by light, as the gases within the canon ignited, illuminating his body. There was a brilliant flash that seared Grant's eyes even though they were closed, and he was gone. The explosion from the blast threw Grant back across the street and slammed him into a wall, where he once again sank to his knees.

Finn was gone, his body, faced with the great power of a fully charged plasma cannon, was nothing more than scattered atoms. Where he stood was nothing more than a massive pool of molten earth. Finn, Grant's beloved little brother, had died at the hands of a Berserker, right in front of him. Grant's mind, which had somehow been taking everything in calmly, began forcefully thinking through all that had happened despite his multitude of swirling emotions and subsequently suffered at an inhuman pace, forming a complete consciousness overload. His anguish at losing Finn, the denial of what was happening, the fear of what was going to happen to him and the others, and a great many other things fought for supremacy. But one stepped forward through the storm and firmly planted itself in his mind.

A rage both pure and terrible, focused solely on the Berserkers in front of him. Locked on to this chaotic path, his mind changed. He felt something pull him apart, twisting in ways that utterly destroyed him. With the last fragment of himself, he looked at that girl, and the child still by her side. A single tear escaped his eyes as the last that made what he is, was consumed

No longer was he Grant Apper, the odd boy who ran a hobby shop that no one knew about, he was a monster and he was out for blood. This transformation manifested itself as a roar. Genevieve realized as she heard it, that her innocent spell, for his mind to 'be at peace', had gone horribly wrong. Somehow, Grant's strained body was able to produce a yell that rivaled that of the Berserkers that stood towering above him. Her spell was an original mind-altering ward, and was designed to simply make the brain function properly even if there was an overload of emotions. She had cast this spell on a whim, when she noticed Grant's trouble dealing with his thoughts and emotions. But now she realized that isolating both while also forcing them to work together, was having a horrible side effect. His mind, was being torn to pieces yet forced to stay together.

It was a near replica of how a Berserker mind functions. He was going on an insane bloodthirsty rage.

Casting aside its confusion over the yell itself, one of the Berserkers roared instinctively in return and started lumbering towards the boy, fist pulled back to pulverize the little pest that dared issue a challenge. But before the monster could take three steps, the boy became a blur. There was a sudden flash of silver, and the Berserker's head popped back by the smallest of fractions. There was the sound of breaking glass and delicate machinery, and as the monster began to stumble around, the source could be seen. Like his injured companion, who had recovered from his injury, his one of his eyes had been shattered. But unlike his companion, there was the blood covered the entirety of the knife protruding from the depths of the shattered eye.

Grant had pulled the knife from his chest, and thrown the weapon with such force and accuracy that it had perfectly sailed through the air and landed squarely in the eye of the charging Berserker, piercing straight through the protective visor like it wasn't even there. It was uncanny, impossible even, for a human being to pull off such a feat. Genevieve gawked, and the Berserkers stared in awe and confusion. The Berserkers felt something in their mechanical hearts at that moment, an echo from the recent time when they were humans. Something told them that this was impossible and what had happened, should not have happened. And with that thought, the great beings of war and death who never shied from a fight, felt uncertain about this human, for true fear was completely alien to Berserkers. The only fear these monsters possess is the instinctual fear that keeps one from doing something life threateningly stupid, a weaker form of self-preservation.

But that day they felt something akin to fear, something that all Berserkers feel when faced with an unbeatable foe. For the boy suddenly looked up at them, and his eyes stopped them cold. They were cold and heartless, yet at the same time blazing with hatred and rage; the eyes of a Berserker on the face of a human. Their instincts screamed at them that behind those eyes is a force to be reckoned with. So, they stood there, wrapped in the clutches of confusion and shock as well as a vague sense of danger, until the injured Berserker started screaming.

It began madly lashing out and spinning in circles, its once great roars now horrible, high pitched shrieks. This confused its companions to no end, until they saw the source of its anguish. It was the knife buried in its head, arcing with electricity from the monster's computer filled skull. This alone would not account for the monster's reaction, because its repair system would have easily removed a conductor that was frying its brain. But then the answer presented itself.

The large combat knife, made from a pure, refined metal, was completely soaked in blood, human blood. The source of all a Berserker's power, magical or other, is derived from ambient energy within living things, human blood being the strongest, which is why they eat people in the first place. And this knife, soaked in this power giving blood, was building up energy within the Berserker's head, one of its two weak locations. If one were to cut off a Berserker's head, most of them would die instantly. Most. Now if one were to cut out their core though, while it might take a while for some to bleed out, they will certainly die.

So, by the time the other Berserkers realized what was about to happen to their companion, it was too late. Genevieve, realizing it sooner than they, quickly shielded her little sister's body with her own. The knife began to glow as more and more power built within it and the monster's head. The Berserker let out one last horrifying shriek, as its head exploded in a shower of mechanical gore. Its now mostly headless body stood there for a moment, then slowly fell back with a groan, before crashing into the building behind it.

If the Berserkers were surprised before, now they were dumbfounded, Genevieve was beyond being dumbfounded. This boy, an ordinary human boy had just killed a 14-meter-tall metal monster, a Berserker, with a knife. In one hit. Now the Berserkers believed in their instincts, as their gazes shifted from the smoking metallic carcass back to Grant, and they again saw his eyes. Genevieve, who couldn't see his eyes because he was facing away from her, could still tell that something was horribly wrong. Something that the Berserkers saw was scaring them, and she knew of only one thing that could bring that about.

Fear, the instinctual fear that is reserved for certain, horrible death, began to take root inside of them. Though to something as pathetic as the human that stood before them, it was fear nonetheless. As they stood there gawking at him, an unexpected sound filled the air: Cheering. The little girl had come to and saw the dead Berserker and Grant facing down the others, and had put two and two together. Genevieve was too stunned to register her sister's encore.

"Go! Beat up those bad guys!"

Her small voice cheered.

"'Beat up'?"

Grant growled, his voice deepened and twisted in rage.

"I won't 'beat them up'. I'll slaughter all of them."

Genevieve and her sister blinked at this response, the boy's voice was barely recognizable. Grant took a step forward, and the Berserkers took a step back, while they couldn't understand the words themselves, the voice told them exactly what he meant.

"I want them dead."

He hissed.

"Every one of them, dead."

His eyes, still hidden from the girls, seemed to glow with an unnatural light as he continued to step forward, blood still pouring from his chest.

'He shouldn't be able to stand. He should be dead by now!'

Genevieve's mind screamed. Indeed, Grant had lost a tremendous amount of blood, so much in fact, that his body shouldn't be able to still function, but she knew why he still stood. Her spell, along with its mind-altering effect, also had a healing effect, so that he wouldn't grow weary as fast as he normally would. But now the spell was corrupted by the chaos going on inside his head, and now it was giving his body a source of strength and power, as well as keeping him alive by feeding off of his explosive emotions and his overwhelming will.

She had just done what all her schooling had told her not to do above all others: She had just created an artificial Berserker. And it was that development that had caused the other Berserkers to fear him; they sensed another of their kind. But being afraid of something didn't stop a Berserker from wanting to fight it, especially if said thing issued a challenge as Grant had. Driven by this near psychotic desire, the tallest Berserker swung its cannon around and aimed it at Grant. But before the weapon could even begin to charge, there was a streak of green light, a crunching sound, and the boy was gone.

Instead of standing in the middle of the road, he was now up against a wall across the street, with a couple of feet of air between his toes and the ground beneath them. A fresh fountain of blood shot from his chest, which was in a new location, and he screamed in pain. The Berserkers, along with Genevieve, thinking that the boy had just been shot by someone or something, turned to find the source. But as their eyes followed the glowing green streak that still hung in the air, their gazes raised to the Herald, watching from above. The Berserkers burst into laughter while Genevieve felt like crying.

The Herald itself had just shot Grant.

Genevieve was at a loss as to why the destroyer and savior of mankind would do that, never before had it directly interfered with humans unless provoked.

'Was it because of the threat?'

She wondered, but that didn't make any sense. Countless individuals had screamed those exact words before, and the Herald had done nothing. But as she watched, the Herald did something else. More green lights appeared; 5 in a row with a slightly brighter one following behind.

The Berserker's laughter redoubled as they, in a mockery of politeness, stood to one side as the lights shot towards the boy whose body was embedded into the wall from the force of the first shot. Genevieve held her sister close, covering her eyes, as the lights mercilessly tore into Grant's chest, each sending out spurts of blood. Each shot sent his body deeper into the wall, each impact made his screams grew quieter, until his head hung limply from his shoulders, and his chest was a bloody mess. Then the Herald's great shadow vanished with a shiver, and light returned to the world.

The Berserkers howled with laughter as the last light hurtled past them. The wall that had been supporting Grant gave up on this final impact, causing the boy's limp body to collapse into the space inside. Tears fell down Genevieve's face as Grant's life was brutally snuffed from existence, she felt her little sister's shoulders trembling as she too realized Grant's fate. The Berserkers finally got over their laughter and turned to the matter at hand: who got to eat the girls. This was decided by the shortest of the bunch being thrown into a nearby building, and the tallest smashing the remaining one's face into the pavement. The shortest of the bunch growled at its larger companion, surging to its feet, ready to deck it out, but then stopped when it noticed something. The house that the boy had fallen into had a black liquid trickling out of the hole, and an aura of power building rapidly. Suddenly relying on gut instinct, the monster covered its head.

For right as the victor crashed over to the girls with a triumphant roar, an explosion knocked him to the side. The interrupted Berserker turned with a snarl and it steadied itself, but what it saw snuffed out it's challenge roar before it could even escape from its throat. What had been the house that Grant had been thrown into was now nothing more than a smoking crater. But in the crater's center was a pool of a tar like sludge that was blacker than obsidian, and in its center, stood the boy. But this time he was different, this time, there were seven lights glowing in his chest, 6 arranged in a wide hexagonal shape, with a larger light in the center. But as Genevieve heart soared for joy, it suddenly filled with dread, for as she watched, one of the lights turned blood red.

"Didn't I tell you?"

Said a twisted, inhuman, deep, rumbling voice that at the same time also seemed to slither and hiss. A different light turned red as the sludge began to shift and froth.

"I want you all dead."

Continued the voice, the boy's lowered face obscured by shadow and darkness.

"Every one of you needs to die."

Another light turned red as the sludge began oozing up the boy's legs.

"You all have to go and apologize to my brother."

Another light changed as the slime crawled past his thighs.

"Every."

Another light.

"Last."

Another, the slime was past his waist and had attached to his hands, flowing up to his shoulders.

"One of you."

With this, the final light, the large one in the center of his chest, turned red. The slime surged up and covered the rest of the boy, flowing over the lights, hiding their glow. Genevieve realized at this moment, that not only were her and her sister's lives at stake, but perhaps the whole city. Never before had she felt an aura as powerful as this, not even when she saw the most powerful and skilled warriors in the city.

Right as the flow reached his face did the boy look up, and what Genevieve saw only strengthened her fear, and turned her heart cold. Grant's eyes weren't his, they weren't even human. They were large blood red eyes with almost no whites and slit irises, eyes that belonged to a monster. Those eyes, Genevieve could see for only a second but in that second, without even looking at her they gave her a clear message:

'If you value your life, run now.'

The sludge flowed over his head, and hid his face from view, but not his eyes. Their glow shone through the muck, as if the sludge wasn't even there. Only when they slowly closed was the surface solely black.