#2: One or the Other
"Donovan Randle" the creature rasped, it's voice similar to that of a man with extreme congestion in his throat. "I do believe we almost met, outside your grandparents' house."
"No, what-get away from me! Don't come near me!" Donovan cried, backing away from the hideous humanoid thing. To its credit, the creature didn't become angry; instead, it merely grinned and laughed.
"You have accepted so many deviants in your life so far; what is so different about me? I say, it is rather hypocritical, but then, living amongst these chaotic primates instills such attitudes in one" it scoffed. It extended the puzzle box to Donovan.
"You left this behind."
"What did you do to them? I swear, if you touched any of them-" Donovan attempted to threaten.
"What? What shall you do, kill me? Just like these broken parts?" the creature asked, motioning to the fallen criminals. "Besides, you cannot touch me-I exceed the power of any mere Guardian. But you should not worry; I made sure they did not even see me. I simply came here to tell you of the destiny that this puzzle box holds for you, like so many others."
"What are you talking about? Who are you?"
"I am partly your father, but not truly. I am the one who knows every equation that leads to desire, to order, to Leviathan. I am the smith of every one of man's most twisted desires and wants and needs. My name is Orno."
Most sincerely, Orno…
"Y-you're the one who gave me that, that birthday card!" Donovan realized as the words of the birthday card read to him started coming back.
Had it really not been that long ago?
"Of course I am" Orno said, almost as if though he was annoyed. "I have always held a certain...fondness for the close greetings of this species."
"Species?" Donovan asked. "But you're saying-you're not human!"
"Do I look human to you, child?" Orno scoffed. "Do you think I could stand the constant differences of their loose clothing, the mixing of their flesh pigments? You most likely believed that you could, as you have adopted their ways for so long, having lived under their shadow for sixteen years. Every one of your kind once believed that they could."
In his head, Donovan was wondering just what this man-though even that was difficult to immediately discern- was talking about. Did this man's people wear something completely different from what he knew of? And what about their skin? Were they all this pale? And what was he trying to say with that last sentence…
Every one of your kind-
"Wait-you mean, that I'm...I'm not human either?" Donovan whimpered, looking down at his hands, at the shoes he was wearing. They looked just like every other human's shoes and hands, they were just like every other black person's body! How could he not be human? He spoke like he always had, in the same earthly tone in the english language. He was a human!
"Have you seen any human being perform the actions you have just committed?" Orno asked. The smile on his face made it clear that such a question was not really meant to be answered.
"But, but-I talk like them! I look exactly like them! It has to be some kind of illusion you're doing! I am a human being!" Donovan screamed, backing away from the humanoid beast even as his mind began telling him that this "Orno" might be telling the truth.
"Think of retreating."
"What?" Donovan flatly said. Now this creature really was not making any sense.
"Imagine yourself retreating" Orno told him. "Imagine pulling your body-the one you walk with right now-into your mind. Imagine pushing out a new form, one that has lied dormant within the deep recesses of your mind; your true form."
"What are you even say-?"
"Imagine it! Think of it! Close your eyes, and concentrate; pull this body in, push out the reality."
"Why should I listen to anything you have to say?" Donovan inquired. His head started aching again, but it was worse than it was in the morning.
"This is your destiny" Orno told him, holding the puzzle box high in the air. "I do not lie or jest, Donovan; do it."
"Will you leave me alone if I do?" he asked Orno.
"We shall see, but first, you must do as I say."
He realized he had no choice but to try to understand what Orno was talking about, and that he would not be left alone if he didn't follow the creature's orders. Donovan closed his eyes and inhaled a large gust of air through his nostrils, remaining still for several seconds before he exhaled. All the while, he was thinking:
Pull in, pull in...exit…
"You must actually will your body to do it, not simply stand there and think of it!" Orno told him in a frustrated tone. Donovan's own frustration increased, his face wrinkling and his fists tightening as he tried to push whatever it was Orno told him to. To him, it was like driving his brain into the base of his skull.
"Relax yourself!"
How was he supposed to relax himself if he wanted to push a concept out of his brain? This Orno was seriously beginning to get on his nerves; really, if it weren't for him, none of the things that had happened today would have happened. It was because of him that his mother had been raped and had died while giving birth today, and those six men would still be alive and capable of being arrested to serve time for their crimes.
God, it was happening again; the urge was looming over him. It was like those six psychopaths all over again, he wouldn't be able to control himself against Orno, but he couldn't stop the urge from seeping out-
The feeling of lightness suddenly came over Donovan. His eyes flashed open, but he barely managed to see his whole body beginning to fade before it was replaced by something skeletal.
The first thing Donovan noticed besides the skeletal feet and ankles was that he was suddenly taller; a lot taller. The ground was more than six feet below, and when he looked up, he saw that the roofs of the two buildings were much closer. He touched one of the bricks in the wall, only to pull it back and nearly scream when he saw that it was not his arm. It was a long, skeletal, and completely fleshless arm. He looked back down at his feet and moved his left arm into his view. They were also completely skeletal, and he realized something else-the "bones" were incredibly thick and looked too heavy to move about with. Despite this, when he tried to lift the left leg, it felt like it always had. And he could feel something else on his back and shoulders. Something heavier.
Oh no, no, no! Don't let it be what I think it is!, Donovan thought in horror. He reached for his shoulder and grabbed something growing from it. As if though it couldn't get any worse, he looked down at his shoulder.
He was greeted by the sight of a huge skeletal wing.
He looked down at his other shoulder and saw the exact same thing-four long, curved bones protruding from his shoulder and back, running down to the spine in a symmetrical pattern.
"From your expression, you look terrified" Orno said softly, snapping Donovan out of it. "But you have not even seen your face. Allow me to help with that."
The hole in the wall that had been created by the flying body of the first psychotic thug turned into a mirror of sorts. Hesitantly, Donovan crept to the mirror and looked into the reflective surface. What greeted him was something far beyond even his nightmares could come up with; he doubted any sane human could imagine it.
The reflection was not him. It couldn't be. The body looked like a seven foot tall human skeleton, minus the skeletal wings and thick bones, but that was where the resemblance ended. His head looked like the skull of a relatively small dragon, with two horns curving from his temples. His teeth were long and sharp like that of a shark, but there was no tongue in his mouth. His eye sockets were empty, but he could see the reflection and everything else as clearly as he always had. His nostrils were simply holes in his skull, and yet, the scent of the garbage and human blood was strong. Stronger than it had ever been, in fact.
"No, no, no, no...this...it can't-" Donovan gasped as he backed away, holding his face in his large, skeletal hands. Despite his completely skeletal body, his face somehow twisted and shifted to form a truly horrified expression.
And his voice-it was different as well. Deeper, a thick baritone, but not absurdly deep and devoid of any ethnic distinctions.
"Do not appear so afraid" Orno told him. "You have sympathised with the plight of so many bizarre and deviant human beings; you should not be so terrified of what you truly are."
"What are you?! What am I?!" Donovan shouted at the humanoid, whose face was now a cold, emotionless slate.
"Leviathan realized that God needed a counterpart to the light; not just a fallen warden, but another god to contrast God" Orno started to explain. "And so Leviathan became god of flesh, hunger, and desire, and he created the eternal maze realm that is the Labyrinth. Always twisting and turning the gray sky, a diamond casting his order upon his land. It is my people, the Cenobites, who enforce that order. The humans, such chaotic brutes, waging war against each other and hunting for pure sport-it is not surprising that they are so easily taken into the Labyrinth, so drawn to these puzzle boxes by their most wicked desires."
"But somebody needs to give the humans the boxes; to watch over them, to protect them, to take them back. It is where I come in. It is my duty to look through a human male's mind, search for his equation; to create a new box, and send him to earth with my libido, to fidn the woman of his desires. And once he procreates with her, he dies-but the child lives on, even as it kills it's mother."
"No…"
"It is the Guardians who keep Leviathan and the Labyrinth strong. The puzzle boxes are their life, their blood. No greater duty can be asked of them."
"NO! No, this-this isn't my choice! I never asked for this-!"
"No Guardian ever has; you are not the first to make that statement. But in time, you will realize how much the box is connected to you, and how little your life is without it" Orno scoffed.
"This is a-all a dream! A nightmare! None of this possible! You can't exist! This is real reality! I-I shouldn't even exist!" Donovan yelled at him. As he edged closer towards the Cenobite, a chain flew out of thin air and wrapped itself around his ribcage before it pulled him back with ease. Orno grinned.
"You, Donovan-you are quite special. Never have I met a Guardian in such immense denial! But you will come to accept it; what other life could possibly exist for your species?" Orno then threw the puzzle box at Donovan. It hit him in the face before it fell to the ground with a clunking noise.
"You were supposed to catch it" Orno said in a monotone voice.
"God, please…" Donovan started to moan, and Orno responded by twisting the chain off his body before whipping him across the face with it.
"God matters not in this situation. Why would God want anything to do with you, a Guardian who has murdered?" Orno asked.
"I DIDN'T MEAN TO DO IT!"
"Ah, of course not! Just your instincts, I presume? Fret not; I shall clean up your mess soon enough. No one will suspect anything once these animals are missing. And now, I shall leave you. Do well, Donovan Randle, and distribute your success amongst your brothers and sisters of the Labyrinth."
"No, get back here! Answer my questions, you scheming rat-!"
But Orno was done with him. An orange field of what looked like electricity burst from his leather clothing and wrapped around him before it appeared to combine with his body. Then, the crackling and glowing orange outline of Orno flew out in all directions with a loud burst, and with that, he was gone.
Donovan could do nothing but fall to his knees and look at the puzzle box. Despite his empty sockets, he started crying again; none of his tears could obscure the intricately patterned puzzle box.
This can't be real! None of this should be happening, I should be at home enjoying my birthday and talking to my family. Not-not learning that I'm not, not even…
He couldn't bring himself to remember what he no longer was, what he had been lied about to by reality itself.
He wasn't even a human being.
The urge to bring his fist down on the box washed over him. To shatter it, to break it into millions of pieces; to take the intricate design and waste it away. Take the hard work necessary to craft such a complex otherworldly device and make it be all for nothing.
He raised his fist and he tried to bring it down on the box. He tried that four times. But every time Donovan tried to destroy it, his arm suddenly shook and he slowly pulled it back. It angered and, above all, confused him; he didn't want the thing. It didn't take long for the device to fill him with loathing. But every time he tried to bring his fist down, he just couldn't bring himself to finish what he had started.
"How much for your magazines?" a voice asked.
"Forty each."
It sounded far away. The men's voices couldn't be that close to him. But then, he remembered the sounds on that day, how things suddenly felt so much louder, so painful to hear. And Donovan could smell something odd as well; it sounded like an increasing amount of blood being mixed with some kind of wet chemical…
"You ain't gonna get anymore from me" the first voice spat. "You ask too much; be happy I got enough in my pocket."
Donovan looked back down at the puzzle box and remembered what Orno had told him about the duty of his species, which he had called "Guardians."
But is it right?, he asked himself. What happens to people once they are taken to the Labyrinth?
He seethed inside as he picked up the box and stood back up. He learned that he couldn't blink or close his hollow eye sockets, so he decided to revert to his human form. His breath stood still as he relaxed his body while trying to push out his human form at the same found it immensely difficult to release the tension within him while trying to push something out of his mind. It hurt his head an awful lot to try to force out his human form, and more than once, his face tensed up again.
Finally, the feeling of lightness came back over him for a brief amount of time before he saw that he was his regular human self again, with his original clothes and everything. The puzzle box was still in his hand.
Whistling and footsteps came closer to his location. Donovan turned and raced away from between the two houses, not wanting anyone to see him near the carnage.
"Hey, the hell's your problem kid! What's you in my way for?"
It was the exact same voice asking for magazines; from what Donovan could see, he was tightly gripping three porn magazines.
"My-my apologies, sir. I wanted to give this to you" Donovan gasped at the speed of a drunk driver. He extended his hand and displayed the box to the man.
"The hell is that?" the man grumbled, even as his gaze was fixed upon the gold object.
"It's, umm...everything you desire, sir. Everything you've ever wanted, craved, couldn't live without-this is it. Your key to eternal bliss and salvation" Donovan tried to explain. From what he thought, it was a good vague description even though he had literally created it from random words that came to his mind.
The man studied the box for a solid minute, his eyes darting over the markings and edges. He bit his lip in contemplation. Finally, he said:
"How much?"
"Oh, nothing. It's always been yours, sir."
The man seemed to hesitate before he sprinted towards Donovan. Faster than Donovan could blink, he ripped the puzzle box from his hand and then sprinted away. He never looked back.
Donovan let loose a sigh of relief and stumbled back to the scene of the massacre. The man's running footsteps still reached his ears, but at least the smell was gone.
The sight of his so-called "true" form resurfaced in his mind.
If he was a Guardian, as Orno called it...then what could he do? Obviously, with his hearing and acute sense of smell, his abilities were above that of a simple human. If he had wings, then that meant he could fly, right?
Unless they were just for show. There was only one way to find out.
He shifted back to his meditative state and forced his human form back in while taking the draconic, skeletal "Guardian" form. Donovan realized that the shifting between his two forms had become much less painful after the first time he had done it. It almost felt natural, for lack of any better words.
Donovan straightened his body and mimicked popping his back while straining his shoulders, wondering if there were any muscles in his skeletal body. His wings instantly unfurled; he looked at them and guessed that they started at maybe five feet before dipping down and continuing at three feet. The skeletal wings were quite thick for what looked like bones.
He sagged forwards again while forcing immense pressure on his shoulders from within, and his wings folded again. He straightened up again but without straining his shoulders, and his wings stayed where they were. Donovan then slouched again while forcing his shoulders back, and his wings spread out once more.
Donovan stood up straight again without moving his shoulders, so his wings stayed spread out. It wasn't for long, though; he started moving his shoulders back and forth, back and forth, all the while straining every inch of his shoulders. It was painful, having to build so much tension inside two specific parts of his body while moving them as quick as he could. However, it produced results-his wings actually started flapping, starting off slow before the pace started to pick up somewhat. He ran across the street and saw that nobody was around, which was odd since someone should have heard the near inhuman shrieks of the men that he had killed, but it was still a good thing for Donovan since no one saw his true form.
Five houses down, there was a very old, very badly rundown house with a set of steps in the back. Right above it was a balcony, but even though that meant that the house had two stories, the house was awfully small and the balcony hung low enough that a simple push from below could sent someone up to the balcony.
Now, in this form, Donovan was about seven feet tall. He wouldn't even need any help to get up to the balcony, and so he ran to the steps and jumped as high as he could. It felt odd, jumping while being seven feet, and his body now really felt a lot heavier than in his human form. How did his mass change as well?
He grabbed the edge of the balcony and hoisted himself up, tumbling onto the hard tiles. Pushing himself up, he saw that the roof was maybe two feet taller than him. Donovan walked closer to the door into the abandoned bedroom before he jumped again, feeling as if though he was using all of his energy to do so. He grabbed the edge of the roof and clawed at the shingles with his skeletal fingers, struggling to crawl onto the top of the small house. By the time he had made it, his ribs ached and the shingles were little more than splinters that made the house look pitiful even for Detroit.
Donovan found himself having to keep his balance on the curved roof. All around him, there were rundown houses and garbage filled alleyways. There was barely anything magnificent about Detroit from what he saw from that roof. But maybe, if he could really see it from above…
Straining his shoulders while pushing them back and forth, he stood at the center of the roof and took a deep breath before he ran down the roof and launched himself off…
...and promptly crashed into the side of another house.
Donovan was paralyzed by the pain; his vision went black and his head felt like it was about to explode into a bloody mess. His spine felt numb and he couldn't feel his arms and legs at all, as if though they didn't even exist.
To think, that I would try to fly, Donovan thought, and instead I would cripple myself. So much for testing my abilities.
His vision had returned at least, and his explosive migraine had vanished after maybe only ten seconds. He still couldn't move, but it was still...odd.
I just crashed into a wall from twenty feet. I should be dead right now!, Donovan thought.
The feeling had returned to his limbs, and the numbness had left his spine after only forty seconds. Another minute passed, and he was able to raise his knees and lift himself up.
That-that can't-it's not possible! Nobody can recover from paralysis, and not in less than two minutes! That crash should have killed me, I shouldn't have survived it! How can I still be standing?!
Donovan looked around him and remembered the six lunatics he had murdered. Running back to the gory scene, he grabbed the dropped knife and stabbed his right hand. Well, tried to at least. The blade simply hit his thick, skeletal hand. He was still able to feel the impact, but his hand was not affected at all and no pain registered. He tried ten more times, to no avail. Donovan then decided to bash his head onto the asphalt street, wanting to see if the result of his landing was not a one-time event. For almost five minutes, he slammed his head onto the street. It was only after the fourth minute that his head actually started to hurt. The pain left after five seconds.
It doesn't matter what happens-I can heal faster than I should, Donovan realized.
He ran back to the house, hoisted himself onto the balcony, climbed onto the roof, and flapped his wings. This time, he flexed his shoulders for almost ten minutes, increasing the speed of his flapping wings to a blazing crescendoe.
He leaped, and crashed into the ground again. For a second time, he was paralyzed for one minute before he pushed himself back up and ran back to the house.
For two hours, he ran back and forth between the house and the ground, constantly building the speed of his flapping wings and constantly slamming into the ground and briefly paralyzing himself. Donovan's shoulders were on the breaking point, feeling ready to explode at any moment. The rest of his body was starting to feel exhausted and his lungs-wherever they were in this skeletal draconic body-were running short of breath.
One more time, and if I can't do it then, I'll just walk, Donovan thought between panting breaths.
He climbed back onto the roof, as he had done ad nauseam. As he struggled to keep his balance, he strained and grinded his shoulders and built the strength into his wings. After twenty minutes of stopping himself from slipping off the roof and flapping his wings, he started to run down before he launched himself off and towards the ground...and he took flight.
For a moment, Donovan didn't know what to feel as he rose higher and higher into the air. Here he was, a creature that shouldn't even exist, leaping off the roof of a rundown Detroit home, and soaring into the sky with his own wings. Actual wings.
He couldn't stop himself from crying and laughing at the same time. He didn't know where the tears came from in this form, but he didn't care.
"I...can fly" Donovan laughed. "I, I don't need the wings of some machine. I...can actually fly! I can fly!"
The sky came closer and closer. Dusk crept over Detroit, and the hazy purple and orange sky greeted him; it almost looked like a giant mural up close. It was unreal. He flew through several clouds, the breaking of the air greeting him with a booming whoosh and covering him in water. Donovan pushed himself even higher so nobody could clearly see him, until he was at what he guessed to be over four thousand feet in the air.
Below, he saw the entirety of Detroit from a bird's eye view, including the downtown. The Broderick Tower, the Detroit Opera House, the Kales Building-he no longer cared what everyone else thought of Detroit or what they called it. They had never seen it during flight, from thousands of feet above. That rundown house was only one story of Detroit. It didn't tell of the beauty he saw from above.
Dusk turned to night and the mural-esque haze was replaced by the stars and the black sky. The lights of downtown came to life, building on the beauty Donovan saw below. He couldn't hear or smell anything from the altitude he was at, but perhaps that was for the better, as he could gaze upon the nighttime of Detroit without interruption and admire it for what had persevered through the harshest of times, from the crack-cocaine epidemic to the city's bankruptcy.
As he weaved through the sky, he flew alongside the birds who also roamed the air and saw an airplane tear by. It was too far in front of him to notice him and he knew better than to fly alongside the craft, but the air displaced by the plane still washed over him and rattled his body.
Occasionally, he would land on the roof of a tall building and crouch so no one could see him. There, he would take in the sounds and scents of Detroit with his enhanced senses, and the smell of the neglected garbage cans and the honking of cars and wailing of police sirens wouldn't fail to instill a headache and make him nauseous. Oddly enough, he didn't hear anyone talking about criminal activities despite everything the media had told him about the city.
When he decided to leave, he would build up the strength of his flapping wings over a twenty minute period before he took off again, always making sure that nobody saw him.
Donovan flew for more than four hours, observing the city from above and feeling the gusts of the wind around him. High in the atmosphere, time slowed down, and it felt like half a day had passed. Despite the remaining stars and black sky, Donovan was still surprised by the fact that it was still Thursday. When he landed, it was only 11:26 PM.
An apartment block was across from the building he had landed on. Through one of the he fourth story windows, he was able to make out a man who seemed to be sitting on the floor. It looked like he was slowly moving something around in his hands…
My God!, Donovan realized, It's him! And that's the box!
It was the man he had given the puzzle box shortly after learning that he was a Guardian. He looked like he was bare chested, and from what Donovan could make out of his face, he had the most determined expression he had ever seen.
The sound of a bell tolling snapped both the man and Donovan out of their stupors. Shortly after hearing it, the man looked back down at the puzzle box and continued tinkering with it as if though nothing had happened. Donovan, though, looked all around him in an attempt to find the source of the tolling. His expression turned from shock to confusion to worry within seconds.
There's no church anywhere near this place, and no church would have service at this time! Why is that man just fiddling with the box if he heard it as well? How does nobody else hear the bell?!
He looked back at the man; he was still fixated on the box. Donovan knew that something was horribly wrong here, but he could nothing but watch as the box suddenly lit up with a flash of electrical blue light, similar to when Orno had vanished. The man dropped the box and gasped, which Donova was able to hear. He flung himself backwards and gazed at the box before the world suddenly transformed into something different.
Something not even Donovan's worst nightmare had thought of.
The landscape became a massive darkness. The sound of the tolling bell returned, only now, it was a much deeper, slower, and undeniably malevolent sound; it was almost like a mockery of the religious significance of the tolling bell. Multiple pillars slowly spun around him and the man, pillars covered in bloody spikes, adorned with ruptured skulls and hanging entrails. The scent of human blood and decaying bodies reached his nose and nearly knocked him off his feet with how powerful it was. The sound of slithering chains grated his ears and forced him to cover them with his hands, and even then, it didn't do much to block out the sinister noise.
He felt something under his feet. He looked down.
What greeted Donovan was a whole lake of blood forming beneath him; it was already covering his feet. He screamed and fell, covering himself in the blood. The man, though, apparently didn't notice him at all, as he simply looked around in terror.
"Sir! I'm over here!" Donovan shouted to him, but even when he looked right at him, it was as if though Donovan was invisible. The lake of blood had also not appeared under the man, whereas for Donovan, it had reached his knees. He was slowed down by it as he tried to make his way to the man.
He wasn't even able to make it ten feet when a series of chains shot out and tore into the man. One pair dug into his shoulders and lifted him into the air; another pair ripped open his chest and exposed his ribcage; one more shredded his groin open.
The man was miraculously still alive and clearly shrieking out of unimaginable pain. Even though Donovan couldn't hear any of it, he couldn't bring himself to watch what was going on. The last thing he saw was another leather-clad Cenobite step out of the shadows; this one's eyes were hidden by metal caps and it's skull was exposed, a tan brown standing out amongst the pale skin.
When Donovan looked back up, the lake of blood was gone, as was all of the blood that had been on him. He was back on top of the building, and the apartment was there. The man was gone, but there were no blood stains in his apartment. The box was just lying there on the floor.
His loathing of the box returned, and now, it increased by a hundredfold. Orno had never told him this. He had never told him that the box would do this to people! The box killed innocent people! It was inhumane as well, tearing apart flesh and shredding people into pieces. And what for? Because they had given into their most basic, natural desires? Because they couldn't help themselves?
As he stared at the box, ready to tear it apart, it suddenly shot into the air. It shook in the air before it flew through the window and straight at him.
Donovan flinched when the box hit him in the chest. How did it just come to him like that? He didn't want it! He hated it! Words couldn't describe his loathing for the bloodthirsty device.
Again, he tried to punch it, stomp on it, crush it. Do something to it to express his rage. But every time he tried to strike the box, he stopped and pulled back.
"Why can't I do it?! I hate you! Why won't you let me kill you?! Everything you've done to me so far-what you've done to an innocent person! Why won't you let me kill you?! You murdered another man, why can't I do the same to you?! You're a coward! Let me kill you!" Donovan screamed at the box, holding it at eye level and clutching it with the intent to shatter it. But he couldn't. It wouldn't let him.
He slammed the box onto the roof and just stared at it. He was done crying; this thing had truly brought him past his breaking point. This one box had-
It shot into the air again, flying well above his head. Donovan spun to look at it, and the moment he did, it fell to the roof again.
"Wait…"
He looked at the box and thought the words, Move up. The box didn't; it remained perfectly still. He mentally commanded it to moved right, left, up, to crash down through the roof. It stood still.
"Come on, MOVE!" Donovan yelled at the box.
God, I'm talking to a puzzle box!, he realized. Casting aside the mental command attempt, he tried to move the box in various directions by moving his head in those same directions.
Nothing.
"Come on, I had to be doing something right…" Donovan muttered, his gaze never leaving the box. He was sure that if he was in his human form, his face would be blood red from how much he was straining it. His fists were shaking from just how tight they were and he could hear his teeth grinding against each other.
He was thinking of lifting the box, but it was just a thought rather than an explicit command. Donovan didn't think it would do anything anyways. After all, if even combing the mental commands with the bodily movements did nothing, why would this?
And yet, with the thought of the movement and the strain, the box started jumping up and down. Shocked out of his concentration, the box stopped.
I did it! It moved again! I need to focus, focus, don't be caught off guard…
Once again, he focused on the box with such intent that it hurt his face; all the while, he was thinking of lifting the box, picturing the action in his head. It slowly shook and bounced somewhat before it actually sprang up a good two feet. He thought of lifting it higher and higher, at least forty feet, redoubling his focus on moving the box without touching it. It shot up five more feet, then ten more feet, before it finally started rising at a slow and steady pace, climbing higher and higher with growing ease. By the time Donovan held it as still as he could, the box was over sixty feet above him.
But he had no intention of leaving it there.
With redoubled effort, he sent the box flying straight away at a blazing speed, casting it away into the murky depths of downtown Detroit. Donovan had seen what the box had done once, and once was enough. It was a cruel, seductive weapon that fed the so-called "Labyrinth"'s war machine, murdering people with reckless abandon. And it was a chain, forcing his species-the one he had just found out he was part of-to find powerless people and have them ripped apart. The box gave nothing to the Guardians in return, as he had just found out.
"And I hope nobody is desperate enough to want you" Donovan told the puzzle box as he saw it fly away. The device that had ended up being the ruin of the life had had once known was gone from the one he had now been forced into; that was what he wanted. The thing was evil, and his curiosity concerning it had turned into utter contempt.
But what could he do now?
Coming back home to his grandfather and grandmother was not an option. He had stormed out of the house, furious at them for never having told him that his father was a serial rapist. They had probably already contacted the police and told them that he was missing. Even if he did go back, they would most likely think he was crazy if he told them about being a Guardian and everything about Leviathan and Orno and the Labyrinth. Then, there was the chance that Orno would find out about the forsaking of his "duty" and decide to pay his family another visit, only this one would not be so passive.
Had any other Guardians ever forsaken their duty? What about the Cenobites? If so, then what happened to them? Where were they?
Maybe...Orno was right. Guarding this box is my job, and without it, I'm nothing. I have to do this, it's the only-
Why was he doubting himself? He hated that box! It had proven itself to be a malicious object. But what else was he to do now? His old life was gone.
"...Slender Man…"
"...the vigilante that has called itself "The Pocket"..."
Donovan had heard about these two vigilantes, Slender Man in Los Angeles and The Pocket in Chicago. At first, he had been giddy as he read the headlines, shocked and enthusiastic when he learned that superheroes were real. No longer were Superman and Spider Man restricted to the comic book pages; now, the books he had read as a little boy were the world he lived in.
But these superheroes were really little more than vigilantes. The rise of superheroes had started with an incredibly gory bang, and if this was going to be a trend, then it was a dangerous start. The way Donovan saw it, superheroes should not be murderers. They were supposed to be peacekeepers, crime fighters…
...and guardians.
To think, that these powers are used to safeguard a destructive and poisonous device from another realm, Donovan mused in his head, when they could be used for something beneficial! Something that can save people, lift them up. Not to murder them and tell them that they're worthless, but to tell people that it's going to be better.
He looked at the city of Detroit around and below him. Many of the thing that people said about Detroit were, unfortunately, true. The rundown houses, the open dealing of illegal property, the sheer violence perpetrated by the criminals. He had had seen and experienced it all in a day.
But that would change. He had the power; if no one else was willing to stand up for Detroit, then he would be the one.
Donovan built up the strength in his wings, spending ten minutes pushing his shoulders back and forth at a faster speed than before. If there were people out there that needed help, then he could no longer afford to waste twenty minutes flapping his wings. After what seemed to him like ten minutes, he dived off the roof and took to the air just as he was about to hit the ground. Gaining altitude, he put his senses of hearing and smell on alert for screaming and the scent of adrenaline, blood, and the air produced by increased breathing.
It wasn't long until he heard the sound of a struggle. A woman was shrieking so much it sounded like a saw blade, and the CO2 from her breathing pressed against his nostrils. Flying down, he was able to see a man wielding a broken bottle on top of a woman. His left hand was clutching her throat, but it wasn't strong enough to cut off her air supply, judging by her screaming and the constant smell of the air.
As Donovan stopped the flapping of his wings and started falling, he focused on the street and thought of moving it in all directions.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
The bar was a complete joke. Either the owner was the atmospheric type, or he was too lazy to pay for an electric bill in Detroit. The drinks were all a soggy and thick swill, tasting like a piss and diarrhea cocktail. The music had been nothing but a gloomy ambient, and that had had an effect on the men. They were all either depressed antisocials staring into the abysses that were their drinks or scowling assholes muttering about their "lazy-ass bitches" at home and such psychotic nonsense; it wasn't said to anyone in particular, of course.
Rachel Warner pulled the jacket over her shoulders, her teeth clattering as the wind blew. Even early in the morning of March 13, the weather of Detroit was just as cruel as the rest of the city. She knew that she needed to get out more, but this bar had been the wrong choice. None of her friends had decided to come with her, and she didn't dare to talk to any of the creeps lounging in there. The televisions sets on the wall were of poor and outdated quality and they were all showing highlight reels on ESPN.
A gray Subaru parked on the curb. She didn't pay much attention to it.
Dumbass. I'm sure you have enough money to pay for a towed car, Rachel mocked in her head. The Subaru stopped and a particularly angry looking man stomped out. He was already quite tall, and he would be even taller if he didn't bend his back so much. His neck was crooked and his face seemed to crane out as he stared at her. A scar ran from the top of his nose down to his right cheek. His hands were deep in his coat pockets.
And he was walking straight towards her. He pulled a beer bottle out of his right coat pocket.
"I'm sorry sir, can I help you?" she practically spat at him. This guy was a freak; it wasn't that hard for her to see. She just wanted to go home and get out of that shithole of a bar, and now this moron was just stomping over to her as if though she knew him-
Her thoughts stopped when he kicked her in the shin. Rachel went down with a heavy thud and gasped in pain, clutching her shin. Now, she was pissed.
"What the fuck's your problem, you piece of shit?! Who the fuck do you think you are, I just want to go ho-!"
She heard glass break.
Rage turned into terror when she saw the man stand over her with a shattered bottle. His whole body shuddered when he breathed and his face...God, his face…
The man fell to his knees and grabbed her throat while raising the bottle high over his head. Rachel was still in front of the bar, and so she did the logical thing-she started screaming at the top of her throat. While doing so, she grabbed the man's coat and moved her upper body, hoping to push him off.
But nobody came, and the man didn't show any signs of giving in. The jagged blades of the shattered bottle drew closer and closer to her eye; all the while, the man's breathing continued pressing against her ears and he remained silent, his face being the only indication of any human emotion.
The man's grip tightened, and Rachel's screaming died down as he now sought to destroy her windpipe. Why wasn't anyone helping? Did anybody even hear her? Why was this man still sitting here, ready to kill her with ease? What did she even do to piss him off? These were the thoughts running through her head right before the whole street shook.
It was like an earthquake had come out of nowhere. The ground below Rachel cracked loudly and she saw particles of rock and asphalt fly up around her and the man. He stopped and let go of her throat before he looked to the side. His eyes bulged and his breathing increased by tenfold; the man jumped up and slowly pulled the bottle back.
What the hell's wrong?, she thought as she saw the man's arm shaking. She looked in the direction of the man's sight and her heart skipped a beat and her breathing stopped.
The thing was maybe seven feet tall, a head attached to a long neck. But it wasn't a human head at all; rather, it was the eyeless and horned skull of what looked like a dragon. The rest of the beast's body was completely naked and skeletal, albeit thicker than she thought bones were. Extending from it's shoulders were skeletal wings, four bones forming a lengthy pair.
The man cast his bottle at the monster. It stopped just as it was about to strike it's face and hung in the air, shaking uncontrollably. Then, as if though the situation couldn't get any stranger, the bottle flung itself at one of the Subaru's windows; the window and bottle both exploded in a shower of glass.
Rachel looked back at the man. His mouth hung open and he couldn't stop blinking. She could see the sweat building on him, his hands forming fists before he spun around and tried to run away from the creature as fast as he could.
Tried.
The man suddenly stopped dead for maybe five seconds before he just flew back, zipping straight towards the creature. He let loose a brief cry of terror before his face was greeted by the monster's fist. He was sent flying again for a short time, hitting the street and crumpling in an unconscious heap.
Rachel started sobbing. That lunatic was now down and out, she was safe-but the nightmare wasn't over yet. That dragon-like beast, the monster, was still there. She saw what that thing was able to do-control objects without touching them, send grown men flying with a single punch, hell, it could even fly! She had no chance against this creature. She knew that she had to run; run to somewhere far away, far from that thing. She could feel that that it was utterly wrong. It didn't belong here, it wasn't right. But she couldn't get up; she could do nothing but breathe faster and clutch the ground as the thing walked towards her.
"No, please, please I don't wanna d-!"
"Are you okay?" it asked her in a deep voice. It wasn't demonic or otherworldly; it was a normal baritone. Oddly enough, there was a soothing undertone to it.
"Wh-what, wa-wait-"
It kneeled down and grabbed her by her shoulders before it slowly helped her up. When she let go, though, she nearly fell on her face, and her fall was only stopped by the creature.
"How do you feel?" it asked.
"My shin...I don't think I can stand" she told it weakly. It gently placed it's hand on her shin, but even the softest touch made her cry out in pain.
"I'm sorry" the thing said as it almost instantly removed it's hand. "Is your car anywhere nearby?"
"That...that green one across the street."
It nodded slowly before it told her, "Alright. I'll take you to your car, and you get inside and wait. Call 911, tell them to bring the police and an ambulance."
"W-what about him?" Rachel asked, pointing to the man with disgust.
"Well, that's why the police will come" it answered as it helped her to her car. "He's most likely going to prison for a very long time for what he tried to do here."
Rachel took out her keys and opened the car door. As the beast helped her get into the driver's seat, she looked up at it's skeletal face.
"Who are you?"
Now it was the creature's turn to look confused. "I'm sorry?" it asked.
"If you decided to waste your time savin' me, the least you could tell me is who you are."
It tilted it's head to the side several times, seemingly thinking it over for a good minute. Then, with no hint of sarcasm or malice, it smiled at her.
"I...am Guardian."
And with that, it carefully shut the door and walked away.
(NEXT ISSUE: Leviathan, the god and creator of the Labyrinth and the Cenobites, is not pleased when he learns of Donovan's defiance. Pointing out Orno's position as the creator of the Guardians, the Cenobite is tasked with bringing Donovan back to his desired path. But what about when push comes to shove? No other type of creature has ever bested a Cenobite. All this in Guardian #3: Opportunity Knocks Down the Door.)