Thank you for the readers who supported my part one of See You Soon. I love you all, honestly speaking. I am terribly sorry if I am not meeting to your standards, but yes, I am only human. I am trying my best to update as fast as I can but writing does not come easily. Once again. Thank you for tuning in. Reviews are always appreciated.
9
In a swap, a corpse inside a coffin of ice is seen. Face is peaceful and at rest, but not for long. Revival was not because his death was sacrificial nor undeserving, a Legacy from a savior made broken heart tissues start mending. It is impossible, for she tried it moments ago, until the ice did the trick. The connection they had shared compelled the ice to do something magical, even for Loric standards. It was not fast nor as effective, but as the ice melt, the punctured heart is able to pump blood.
The internal movement was so minimal that it was almost undetected. For a miracle, blood started flowing through the body. The brain functions again, trying to revive the boy's soul. All it knows, it was not too late.
Not far from the injured body, Five screams in pain. He was able to remove the ice that impaled his eye. That girl, the seventh Garde, did this monstrosity to him. Of course, she would not do it if he killed her boyfriend. No, if only they have listened to Five. If only that Nine shut his goddamned mouth, he won't live a life of regret. The carefree Garde would have been alive and possibly had escaped. But despite all that, Five was the one who made a decision to go wacko. He chooses to wield his blade and attack. Finally, his hands hold the blade that punctures Eight's heart.
Silent regrets filled him. Guilt mocks him, as if they are a crowd of bullies. Five is bothered but does not move. He embraced the consequences reluctantly; it is all his fault. He made a mistake that cannot be revoked.
Five stands before Eight's body. Blood still drips from his eye.
A Mogadorian aircraft in plain distance tries to land.
"It would not have ended this way," Five sobbed as he rips a strip of his shirt. He gets the piece and wraps it on his bleeding eye socket.
A Mog descends as the aircraft lands.
"Where are they?" The Mog asks, a true-born, so Five has to pay his respects.
"They got away," Five mutters not looking at the commander. The Mogadorians have been considerably generous to Five after his Cêpan died. He feels utterly ashamed from his failure: unaccomplished mission, his eye, and his sanity.
"What?!" The Mog sized him up, pulling the Garde's sleeves. As Five's injury is in public display, the Mog almost pitied him. He knew how the enemy Garde would react, and he knew one well enough.
Five shouts and the Mog releases him. If one hurts another, the offender will be obliterated. This was Setrakus Ra's rule with Five.
"They got away," Five says, puffing. "We'll get them next time, Sir…"
"Rexicus," the Mog supplies. "And who's that?"
Five follows the direction of his eyes. It points to Eight's body. The ice has now half melted, only covering Eight's legs and ankles.
"The Eighth. I accidentally killed him," Five says in nonchalance.
"What do you mean accidentally?"
"I was trying to let them side with us. The others could be spared," Five defends and then remembers. "They don't even train like I did. The equipment they use are pathetic. They don't even have a chance against the Lord."
"You are pathetic," Rex corrects. "One thing I learned from the Garde is that they never give up."
"Why?" Five snarls in surprising anger. "Why does it sounds like you side with them?"
"It only sounds like," the Mog replies," nothing factual."
Before Five could speak, a mog soldier interrupts, looking over at the freshly dead Garde. "Sir, what are we going to do with the body?"
"He's dead; leave it," Five commands, but Rex examines it.
"He's dead," Five repeats irritably; only to receive a cold shoulder.
The ice has fully melted. His skin should be pale and freezing cold, but it looks like he just got out from the shower. Suddenly, a movement on his chest. Rise and fall. Breathing and exhaling. The corpse is breathing? That could not be right.
A dead body should not move. That's why it is called dead. It is not capable of living again. "I don't think so," Rex concludes, suppressing his mystification over the event as he holds the Garde's cool hand.
"Get this body back to the Base. To Washington," he specifies.
"What?" Five exclaims. "Are you shitting me?" He leans forward at the Mog, who didn't even flinch. The perfect act should be killing the Garde once and for all.
"No, squirt," Rexicus drones, suspecting what Five's thoughts. "Check for yourself," he invites after the Mogs reluctantly starting to carry Eight's body on a stretcher; unsure whether the young commander is doing what is right.
"You must be delusional," Five spites. When you are dead, you stay dead. That is what they have said.
Rex walked past him, implying that the traitor will regret if he will not witness a bizarre scenario. "We could use another like you." Five's chest hardens. He swears that Rexicus is smiling with malice.
Without further hesitation, Five catches up to the Mog soldiers who carried Eight's body. The Garde places his fingers, searching a familiar beat.
Why is he even trying? He just killed the guy. The scar is there to prove it: painful and agonizing. The proof of his heartless and stupid murder.
Perplexed by the miracle, Five stifles a scream because his fingers meet harmonic pumps and bumps. At first, he thought it was a figment of his imagination because it was so soft. Five places his ear barely touching the chest, and there it goes again. That sound. That movement.
There is physiological activity in Eight's body.
He. Is. Alive.