HEROES RISE Arc Part 4
Eidolon
Noun: Eidolon; Plural Noun: Eidola; Plural Noun: Eidolons
Meaning: An idealized person or thing; a specter or a phantom.
Such thoughts ran at the back of his mind even as he stepped unnoticed among his targets. At the moment he truly was an eidolon - a phantom in their midst.
Planeswalker made all those of lesser dimensions ignorant of his presence.
A finger flicked.
An unheard thwip resounded in his ears as monomolecular wires - thinner than a single strand of hair yet 300 times stronger than steel - shot to a wall and weaved into intricate patterns under his careful and masterful control.
Izuku's lips twitched in a small expression on his otherwise blank facade; finding humor at the thought and the personal significance of the word.
... "How interesting... " her silky voice crept in his ears and into his battered mind. He was exhausted both mentally and physically. The tortures he had endured in the name of training had drained him of his faculties. "I wonder if this could be called fate, or coincidence, for there to be another?" smooth fingertips grazed his sunken cheeks even as he tried-and failed-to move away. "For you, my dear, to attain singularity... Fufufu. How truly interesting." His head was tilted up and his tired eyes met her ruby gaze. "Are you perhaps the ideal, or are you the phantom that we would chase? Who will you be... little Eidolon?"...
Another finger twitched; perhaps harder than intended.
Another thwip was heard by him alone and a shimmer in the air was almost seen by the prey he had been hunting; careful control lost in a sudden rage and hidden fear.
Izuku clicked his tongue, annoyed that he had gotten shaken by a far-off memory and as a result he had gotten sloppy over the execution of a rather simple maneuver. He had been lucky that the shimmer had been miniscule and unnoticeable and that no one was paying attention.
Izuku had spotted who seemed to be the Commanding Officer and his second in command earlier on the upper balcony that looked upon the whole warehouse, however, he had decided to leave those two on their own for now. He would rather eliminate the foot soldiers first rather than the officers.
He was not in a hurry, after all.
It would take some time before the other Hunters - the Heroes and the Police - find the tracks that would lead them to his prey.
Though they were certainly dangerous, he could confidently say without hubris that he could defeat them just fine but, he would prefer to face them after he dealt with their numbers a bit.
No need to make things more complicated.
He was powerful, and there could be no doubt about that, but Izuku was never careless. He would never allow himself to fall into complacency.
Complacency brought stagnation.
Stagnation bred weakness.
Weakness will lead you to death.
This was one of the first lessons he had learned; one that had been drilled into his head until his every waking moment had been driven by this lesson.
It was a core tenet of his being.
Unnoticed, he had slipped into the middle of the group of hostages. Izuku ignored their cries, protests, threats or the snide comments made towards the group of mercenaries that took them from their leisurely night; he had no need, nor the interest, for such insignificant people.
Izuku threw his hands to the sides showing that he was wearing a pair of black full gloves. They were a gift from his mistress's father, Suzuki Yaoyorozu-dono, made of a rather new and experimental material called a Tri-nano Graphene-Titanium weave that he had hoped to sell to the military while his fingertips were covered with small metal claws and the back of his hand had a small spool of wire - showing that these were no ordinary gloves.
This was a weapon.
This was the very first weapon that he had used and mastered - weaving his strings like the webs of fate with all paths leading to one ending: Death.
It's name was Kumoito...
... And his enemies would learn to fear its name.
()
Total failure.
Those were the only words that could successfully describe the colossal mess that this mission had become.
It'll be easy, they said.
It's a piece of cake, they said!
It will be a simple smash and grab, they said!
Whoever said that, come here and let me beat you black and blue!
These were the thoughts that raged under 1st Lt. Yuri Petrov's calm facade. A stream of thin, white smoke rose from his lit cigar as he savored the flavor of the expensive product.
In all his years in service to the PMC, he had found that smoking lessened his stress and relaxed him better than any other coping method. A coping method that was now failing to contain his anger at their recent failure.
Leaning on the balcony railing outside the warehouse's main office, Yuri took a deep drag of the cigar and let it linger for a handful of seconds, losing himself to the flavor and the feeling of nicotine in his veins, before expelling it all in one big sigh.
Already, he could feel the concerned eyes of his SIC behind him, but Yuri paid him no mind; merely staring at his soldiers who had continued to secure their hostages - necessary to facilitate their escape. He could even see some of the medical officers provide first aid to some of their minor injuries.
Let it be said that though they were merciless mercenaries, they were not inhuman.
He watched as his subordinates continued to ignore their hostages even as they began to hurl insults on their parentage, their nationality, even petty ones upon their sexuality. Yuri looked upon them with disdain visibly plain on his rugged features.
These were the rich, who never had been in want of anything.
These were the privileged men and women, who had been born with power in their hands.
These were the 'Upper Class of Society', nobles who held the country in their hands.
... Or so they would like to think.
The sneer that he had tried to hold back appeared on his face, lending him a frightening visage that had Alek behind him, flinch in instinctive terror even if he couldn't see the expression on Yuri's face.
He watched with dark glee as the worms beneath him began to panic and allow their terror to truly take hold of them as his well disciplined men and women ignored their existence even as they hurled stronger and dirtier insults; leaving the spineless cowards to have no method to cope with the situation they suddenly found themselves in.
Yes, those below him, they were truly worms.
No, worse; they were parasites.
Sucking the vitality of the people, working them to utter exhaustion or death for their own agenda and greed, there was no better word to describe their existence.
If other people had heard him and had he spoken his honest thoughts, they would most definitely accuse him of bias towards the rich. Though they would not be wrong, this was still how he thought of them.
And these were the rewards he and his men received after an extensive operation? After all the effort they had spent? A sense of failure and shame? Incessant, yapping, pitiful worms? A hunt for their respective heads?
Truly...
"What a waste," he couldn't help but sigh.
They had failed to secure their primary objective: The Yaoyorozu heiress, Momo Yaoyorozu, from the party. She wasn't even in the venue!
Of course, since they had failed their primary objective, they weren't even able to perform the second one and it would truly take a miracle of the highest order for them to succeed at the third given parameter; they were simply no rogues, they were the cavalry that came with thundering noise.
In other words, total failure, indeed.
After their swift actions, he had instructed his subordinates to identify their captives but none of them matched their objective. Once more, he had given an order to search the grounds to see if she had been hiding.
It was a subordinate of his who had gone to the garden and had discovered a trio of portable gas masks.
It was Alek who had notified him that it was not only the Yaoyorozu heiress who had gone missing but another guest and the objective's date for the night, too.
Yuri had immediately deployed a squad to check if the heiress had gone back to her mansion and, if possible, to bring her back with them.
One hour later, the squad returned and reported that the entire mansion had been abandoned and that all the valuables had been kept in a vault beneath the cellar.
That was when he had declared the mission as a failure and to prepare for withdrawal.
Now here he was, the Great Yuri Petrov, watching his subordinates with a cigar in his mouth holding his own pity party. It wasn't that this was the first time he had experienced a failed mission. No, he had felt his fair share of failure and shame.
Not that he liked it one bit!
The worst of it all, is that this mistake would not have happened if they had not gotten arrogant and complacent.
Sigh...
"Who knew that one measly attendant would be the source of our current problems," Yuri lamented as he rubbed his aging face.
Hmm, the stubble on my jaw seems to have gotten untamed - best to shave it after this, he thought.
"Sir?"
Hearing a voice behind him, he turned around only to be met with the worried stare of the man who had been standing quietly the entire time.
"Is something the matter, 1st Lieutenant?"
Although the 2nd Lieutant retained his perpetual eerie grin, Yuri had come to know how to read Alek through his eyes.
His SIC had been worried. He must have gotten contemplative for quite some time now if Alek was worried over his silence.
Yuri shook his head and waved his hand in a 'so-so' manner to indicate that he was fine. It took a few more seconds of careful observation from his SIC before Alek nodded back and returned his gaze towards his comrades-in-arms and stood in a relaxed yet formal stance.
Izuku Midoriya
That had been the name of his current headache.
A week before the operation, he had commanded his intelligence officers to conduct an investigation on the guests that would be attending the Musutafu Annual Charity Ball seeing as invitations had been given ahead of time - a month ahead, in fact.
His officers had not even taken a full five days to compile the most extensive information they had found out about the guests and their dates or other plus ones.
Yuri had created a plan based on the information that he was provided with while making contingencies around resistance and chance unexpected encounters that could prove detrimental to the mission. Of course, he had read the file gathered around the subject, Izuku Midoriya.
Plain
That was the only word he could describe the information gathered on him.
Izuku Midoriya was an orphan found by the heiress of the Yaoyorozu Conglomerate and had thus been brought into the household as her personal servant.
Intelligent, if his various accolades were anything to go by.
Handsome with a distinguished charm, or was it charisma?
Loyal if the amount of time spent in service to the heiress was taken into account.
All the information had painted him as an intelligent, hard working, driven, orphan who had served his Primary out of genuine gratitude. Surely, it was an impressive record - for a civilian.
A quirkless civilian, at that.
His intelligence officers were thorough with their investigations and had confirmed that there was no registered quirk for one Izuku Midoriya within the National Quirk Registry.
Yuri had promptly dismissed him after that.
Though the population of quirk-users dominated the world population by 60%, the remaining 40% were made up of the quirkless. Even if the difference that divided the species into a majority and minority were a mere 10%, discrimination of the majority upon the minority was still evident.
Although it was called discrimination, it was not out of petty physical differences or the notion of superiority - though it was the reason for some people - but in ability. Those born with the activated Alpha-Plus Genes - responsible for quirk generation - had a naturally superior body aside from the abilities granted to them upon birth.
They were stronger.
They were faster.
They were more durable.
They were healthier and more resistant to diseases.
Those with particularly strong quirks like Yuri, himself, had a physique that was stronger than the quirkless by 15 times their natural average strength. Even those of weak quirks like the lengthening of nails, for example, were still 2-5 times stronger than the quirkless in spite their weak inborn abilities.
The best example of this is Japan's Underground Pro-Hero, Eraserhead. His quirk, devoid of physical enhancements, merely being a projection of a field of Alpha-Plus Radiation Negation originating from his eyes, he was more than capable of clearing entire three story buildings in a single leap. His physical strength too was such that he was able to damage those who had physical enhancement quirks even without engaging his own quirk against his enemies.
This was the reason why he had not thought much about the attendant. His quick dismissal and unknowing disdain for Izuku and the other quirkless guests, were a product of nearly a century's worth of propaganda; one that Yuri wholeheartedly believed in.
That arrogance was their mistake.
Yuri didn't know if it was due to superior physical skill, talent, or intelligence that moved Izuku Midoriya to bypass their net, or he had been an agent recruited by the Yaoyorozu family whose quirk had been hidden even to the government. It could even be both for all he knew.
Either way, they had paid for their erroneous assumptions with failure.
A pair of quick feet grabbed his attention and he turned towards the stairs. There, one of his younger soldiers hurriedly approached his location in a fast, but sedate pace. The young man quickly reached him before snapping into a sharp salute, one that Yuri was mildly impressed with.
Kid must have practiced it in front of a mirror every morning or something, he thought.
Even Alek, the creepy SIC of his platoon, was impressed, and that guy was way stricter than him too!
The young man looked to be in his mid-twenties, pretty young to be in a mercenary career, in his own opinion. He had brown hair and a handsome if average face.
A new recruit, if his overeager face said anything. Kid was probably excited to join the PMCs, he thought. Ever since the global demilitarization and the advent of quirks, two of the most popular jobs had then been through Internal National Security and through Global PMCs.
In other words, Heroes and the Military.
Every boys dream job.
"So, rookie," Yuri called in his usual rumbling voice after dismissing the salute. "What do you have for me?"
"Sir!"
Yuri couldn't help the small twitch at the corner of his lips. Amusement was heavy within his chest as he struggled not to laugh at the newcomer's face. They were always the most earnest and enthusiastic on the job, so as he grew older, he couldn't help but enjoy their youthful energy.
"All preparations for withdrawal are complete. We are simply waiting for further instructions, 1st Lieutenant."
"Good work," Alek replied from behind him.
Yuri couldn't help but feel proud. He had given the instructions to prepare their transport and supplies just an hour ago; immediately after arriving in their temporary hideaway. The fact that they only needed an hour to clear up despite the numerous materials they had brought with them, spoke immensely of the hard work his platoon had put in.
Reaching out to the back of his utility belt, he pulled out a long, thin rod of silvery white metal and plastic. Pressing a button near the top of the rod, a slit opened along its side and a paper thin crystal-like material extended from the rod.
It looked like a screen.
It took a second but the crystal-like material was, in fact, a screen if how it shone with light and displayed its manufacturer logo was any indication.
This was one of the innovations that appeared in the past 400 years after Quirks first appeared.
It was called the Dynamic Data Recollection, also known as the DDR
Due to the advances in the field of science and miniaturization, this small rod can function as a powerful personalized computer and phone. With multiple apps that could be downloaded into it ranging from entertainment to everyday convenience, it had gained widespread use since its first release more than a hundred years ago from various users.
Since its conception, many variations of the technology had been created to suit different purposes and customizations. Within Yuri's grasp had been one of the most highly acclaimed models, known for its sheer durability and hardiness, widely used in most Global PMCs: the DDR NK-3310.
Yuri operated his DDR with experienced hands and selected his desired contact from his list of phone numbers. With a soft press of a finger, he called the number of the Squad Leaders and their teams that he had sent to secure their transportation.
His DDR rang and rang; waiting for the call to connect.
... Never knowing that it was too late.
()
Ring...
Ring...
The steady ringing of a silver bell-like tune resounded and destroyed the silence that enshrouded it from the beginning - rousing a figure splayed out upon a surface.
Ring...
Ring...
Shadows danced and reached out towards the struggling figure.
It was a dark and cloudy night sky that overlooked it. Great, big clouds drifted by as its gaps shed sparse moonlight; barely illuminating the path that it should take. Sparse as it was, it was still enough to show what it was on.
It was a ship.
To be specific, it was a crew boat.
It was 30 feet in length, and 20 feet in height, its capacity was more than enough to fit at least 50 people. Its hull was colored in blue while the bridge, and the foredeck were painted in white.
In the light of day, the ship would have been viewed with admiration from other seafarers and dock workers. The boat was kept in pristine condition with regular maintenance and one would suspect that it was treated with loving care.
That ship...
... Was the scene of a nightmare.
Twenty bodies were scattered in various states on the boat's deck. Some were whole and alive, unconscious they may be, while some were truly dead; the extent of the maiming their bodies endured were far too much for people, quirked or not.
Some of those who had died were suspended and strung up on what seemed to be thin air in a macabre display of visceral art, but their flowing blood - both from their still bodies and from amputated limbs - and the rare moonlight, revealed that they were tied up with thin, near invisible strings.
Like a spider-web.
A perversion of the arachnid's home.
This was the scene that Sgt. Lucille Farrow woke up to.
Two wide, bloodshot eyes, unable to remove themselves from the gory parody of art, took in the horrifying state of the Squad she was supposed to lead. Out of the 7 soldiers in her squad, her blank mind could only numbly identify two who were still alive.
W-w-what... h-happened... ?
Grievously injured - enough to bring them to the brink of death, but still alive.
W-who... d-did, this... ?
All others had died. Whether that was from bleeding out of fatal injuries, or from being torn apart; like a demon had plucked their limbs from their bodies, her numb mind was unable to register it.
All she knew was that they were dead.
Just like the other Squad they were with; they too were butchered before they died.
"A-ah..."
A strangled voice leaked out from between her lips.
Was it a scream?
Was she too numb that all she could exclaim was akin to a sigh?
Was it a laugh?
Clearly it was supposed to be a laugh at what was surely an illusion made by a quirk. Was she supposed to laugh at the prank? It was too bloody to be a prank one of her subordinates would usually play on their fellow soldiers. Surely, it had to be a prank...
Right?
... Right... ?
She didn't know.
She didn't know.
She hated that she didn't know.
But surely it had to be! It, had to be because this scene that was burning itself into her memories through her eyes would be too horrifying, too terrorizing for her soul.
It would break her mind.
Her breathing quickened.
"A-aahh... !"
I'm hyperventilating, the small part of her mind that was long used to death and had grown numb to it with the overuse of logic had noted.
Lucille had not noticed when she had changed her position from laying on her back to sitting on her butt. She did not notice when her scratchy voice leaked out quietly as she tried to scream her dread but had become strangled in her throat; as if she were too scared to even make a sound.
... As if there was something there that she should be wary of.
The growing pool of blood that had been beneath the bodies slowly spread to her direction. Instinct overrode even the petrifying horror in her heart. The desire to move away from something unpleasant, to run away from a sign of danger forced her paralyzed body to move.
Her arms that supported her body moved in a spastic, frantic motion that tried to flee from the pool of blood. Seeing the approaching body of liquid life, and noticing that her movement was too slow with merely her arms to use, Lucille tried to use her paralyzed legs.
She lifted one of them with success and immediately used it to hasten her escape.
"A-A-AAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"
A piercing scream rang out into the night. Lucille fell onto her back as she continued to scream.
Pain filled her being.
Pain was what she saw, what she heard, what she tasted, what she felt.
Pain was her existence.
Pain overwrote her memories as she contorted into shapes not meant for the human body; she had broken some of her bones as she thrashed like a fish out of water.
Blood ran down her face from when she slammed her head unto the deck of the boat in a vain effort to chase the pain away. Her vision red from ruptured blood vessels, Lucille looked down and saw the reason for her pain.
Gone.
It was all gone.
From two inches above where her knees should be all the way down, her legs were gone. She saw one of them - identifiable from all the other severed limbs - to her right with a woven anklet made of sheep's wool dyed pink wrapped around her ankle.
Her muscles twitched and white-hot searing pain brought her to agony and white flashed into her vision.
Raw muscle had rubbed against the metal flooring in an attempt to move and pain had branded itself into her being. Taking care not to aggravate her amputated legs, hazy eyes filled with soul-shattering agony registered that it was too smooth.
The section of where her leg had been cut did not have any uneven parts and even as blood overflowed from the open wound, it was clear to see that bone had been severed with no issue in the slightest.
Her breathing quickened once more.
Her heart hammered into her chest with a presence she had not felt before.
Lucille could feel her body go into shock, but she forced herself to avoid it as she was sure that she would die if she did not snap back to consciousness.
She stared at her bloody stump forcing herself to avert her eyes and to calm down. She would go into shock if she were to continue to gaze upon her own injury.
H-how did this happen... ?
She tried to remember what led into this vision of death; trying to focus on that thought instead of her bleeding injury. She combed the recesses of her mind and ran through her muddy memories.
She wanted to know.
Who did this?
Why did they do it?
What happened to reduce them to this?
Lucille wanted to know it all.
Blood like rubies, mixed with the spray of salt water, dangled like morning dew from thin threads that cocooned numerous cadavers. Such thin strings stimulated her numb mind as it brought forth buried memories.
Memories that forced her traumatized mind to shatter further.
Ah, she remembered.
HE appeared as they were preparing the utility vessel. Like a phantom in the night, he was unnoticed until one of the other squad's members approached his position.
His startled scream and choking gasps were what alerted them that they were not alone.
As they all turned to him, what they found was their comrade held in thin air as he vainly scratched at his throat before going still. Arms uselessly flopped at his side and eyes were wide as they nearly popped out of their sockets. His face, was twisted into an expression of utter fear.
The fear of Death.
And there behind the corpse of what was once their friend, he stood in silence. Its form was human and was dressed impeccably in a charcoal black swallowtail tuxedo over a pure white dress shirt with a stiff collar and a thin black tie.
Lucille could remember its wavy green hair, and handsome face, but there was no doubt in her mind - that was not human.
That was the Devil reborn on Earth.
For surely, no human had eyes as inhuman as it possessed nor a smile as blank as it had over its face. She could only tremble in fear as its monstrous intent pressed itself against her mind.
Blood-lust.
Hatred.
Anger, so sharp that she could feel it part her skin. She could feel these emotions and much more overwhelm her as it briefly locked its gaze to hers.
She couldn't move. From the corners of her eyes she could see that her companions, too, suffered her same state.
"I'm sorry," it had said.
No, you're not, she had thought.
His eyes had not displayed any sort of emotion of apology or regret. All it had shone her was the dark satisfaction of a predator toying with its prey. She had seen that dark glimmer once on a cat as it played with a cornered mouse.
Cruel.
Calculating.
Sadistic.
Those same dark desires were now reflected upon emerald orbs that washed over their still, petrified forms.
"But you tried to touch what was not to be disturbed. You had dared to sully the scales of a dragon."
It stepped forward past the corpse that was still suspended in mid-air.
She and her remaining companions tensed as their hands tightened their grips on their weapons. She saw his smile grow wider, and Lucille could never forget the image that would forever cement that figure as the Devil in her mind.
"You tried to touch my Mistress."
All she could remember then were a blur of screams and arcs of blood out of severed limbs and bodies.
All she could remember was the pain of her legs as they were severed from below as she fell to her back.
All she could remember was passing out from the pain.
Lucille knew that the Devil had severed a major artery in her legs if the large amount of blood she was losing was any indication and thus she must have lost consciousness only for a few seconds.
At the rate she was losing blood however, would mean she had only a few minutes left to live. She was unaware how long she had spaced out in a horrible reminiscence but she made peace that she was already at the end of her line.
Her vision had already grown blurry from excessive blood-loss.
She was feeling cold from the loss of heat.
She was breathing harder than she should have.
She was dying and there was no denying that.
... -ing...
Rin- ...
It was faint, but Lucille could pick up a sound akin to the chimes of silver bells. She knew that tone. It was the tone of her DDR set to ring once a certain number calls for her.
The 1st Lieutenant was calling for her.
A jolt revitalized her losing mind.
That's right, she thought as she struggled to crawl towards where the sound was coming from. I need to warn the 1st Lieutenant.
She crawled on her stomach; not even minding the pathetic figure she would have displayed had anybody been there to see it.
Ring...
Ring...
She made for the sound once more. She needed to reach that DDR. She needed to warn Yuri. There was an enemy on their tails - no, there was an enemy who knew where they were and was now hunting them down. She needed to tell him to get himself and the others out of there.
Lucille kept these thoughts in her mind; using them as her source of motivation. This was the push she utilized in order to survive for just that bit longer.
It felt like an eternity but she had finally reached her DDR which was drowning in a pool of blood made by one of her dead subordinates.
She was exhausted.
She had no strength left in her limbs as she could only move her finger to unfold the DDR's crystal display. She saw the Lieutenants number flashing - indicating that he had been calling her number.
She could move no longer. It took momentous effort to move even a single finger. Half her vision had gone blind and she could no longer hear the silver bell chimes.
Lucille tried to press the screen to answer the call but before the call could connect, it had already disconnected.
N-no...
Her half-blind vision took in the flashing symbol of a disconnected call, despairing as her effort was for naught and her message left unheard.
As her mind descended into the darkness, she could only offer a silent, dying prayer for her comrades' safety and a curse for the Devil who had taken her.
This was how Sergeant Lucille Farrow died.
She would be discovered in the next two hours after the whole ordeal had been dealt with by the heroes who would be patrolling for any other stragglers of her platoon.
Her eyes half-closed, and her face frozen in despair as her hand reached out towards a DDR with an empty battery.
()
Hard eyes stared at the DDR as it continued to blink the same symbol after the call got cut just before it began. The beeping noise of a disconnected phone reached his ears, but Yuri disregarded it. His grip on his DDR tightened as a sense of wrongness chilled his insides.
That's not possible.
Quickly, his eyes flickered to the top right corner of the crystal display and saw an empty graph. This graph was the DDR's representation for its signal strength and to see it empty would not have been such a surprise in any other model, but not in this case.
In Yuri's hand was the NK-3310 renowned all over the world for its durability, ability to weather extreme conditions, and its exceptional ability to receive a DDR signal from anywhere on earth.
He could have been in the middle of a deserted island deep in the middle of the unknown regions of the Pacific, and he would still receive an exceptional signal strength.
He could have dived the deepest underwater trenches and not only would it have continued to function, he would then be able to call anyone around the world.
This was one of the reasons why this particular DDR model was widely received and used by various military organizations around the world.
Yuri's eyes narrowed in suspicious thought.
To be unable to receive any sort of signal should be impossible but...
"Alek!"
His SIC stumbled at the sharp edge in his voice but he ignored it as he continued to contemplate.
"My DDR can't contact them," from the corner of his eyes, he could see his SIC look at him incredulously - not that he could blame the lad. "Contact Sgt. Farrow on your own terminal."
The SIC's disbelief was understandable seeing as he too, could hardly believe the current circumstances. There was never a situation where their DDR had failed. If Yuri could recall, there was even a rumor where A Certain Company launched a rocket to the moon just to see if the terminal could still receive a signal on an entirely different celestial body.
Although, he couldn't recall the result of the rumor - whether they had succeeded or not.
Patiently he waited as his eyes carefully scanned the entire warehouse. The pervading chill in his body had grown into a frost comparable to the tundras of the north while a tingling sensation tickled the back of his mind.
He knew what that was.
He knew what it meant.
This was a feeling that saved Yuri's life numerous times. He had never ignored this sensation and his trust over it had grown with time. His reward for such trust was a heightened awareness of his being.
It was the feeling of a connection to the World.
A sensation that would let him sense the currents of the ever-changing winds of fate.
Heeding the call of his instincts, he let his gaze wash over the group of hostages in the center of his platoon yet he never let them out of his field of vision.
"Damn..."
Yuri heard the soft exclamation behind him. Alek cursed as he stared at his own DDR - the same model Yuri had in possession - glaring at his similarly blank graph.
He wasted no time.
His hand flew to his side.
It was the fastest draw he had done till date with his eyes aimed through the iron sights of his pistol. His gun was aimed at the center of the hostages; well above their heads.
Some might think that he had been mistaken and that he was aiming mid-air but he will tell them otherwise. Yuri Petrov was a man who followed his instincts no matter what. To others, he was more of a beast than a man.
His instincts told him that danger was in the spot he was aiming at; in a space that was merely a foot and a half wide gap at the center of his hostages.
His instincts had never led him wrong before, and so, he fired.
BANG!
He ignored the way his men startled and aimed their weapons right at the spot he had shot - thinking that there was an enemy that they had missed and should attack.
He ignored the screams of the hostages below.
He ignored the way his SIC tensed and his whip-like tail lash out in a position that would allow it to attack or defend in an instant.
All that was in his eyes, was the bullet he had shot as it became visible in everybody's eyes as it had been stopped by what seemed to be an invisible barrier. To Yuri though, due to his location and the angle he could see through, he saw what had stopped his bullet.
Thin, near invisible strings weaved together forming a net that caught his bullet; holding strong even as the projectile's continuous momentum ground against it creating numerous luminous sparks.
He only watched as he observed the location his instincts pointed where the enemy was at. As it had been stated before, it was impossible to receive no signal in his DDR; not when it was designed to receive a clear reception and to receive a clear contact from anyone in the planet from even the depths of space.
If his DDR was unable to receive a call or message, or send one out, it only meant one thing: A Jammer had been applied to the warehouse, possibly even beyond it.
Soon, his shot lost its motion and dropped powerlessly from the net that caught it.
There was a second of shocked silence before his loud command shattered that.
"FIRE!"
The loud staccato of semi-automatic gunfire covered up any sound from fearful civilians as they looked into what would seem to be their death, but surely, their lives would not end today.
That was something Yuri's instincts whispered into his ears.
It was not wrong.
Too fast for the human eyes, quirked or not, flashes bloomed in the air as numerous bullets were deflected and blocked one after the other or simultaneously.
It was a masterful performance that missed no bullet nor allowed any harm to come to the hostages.
Yuri did not know how long it took - seconds, minutes? - but the guns slowly tapered off, magazines emptied of their contents. His men immediately reloaded and aimed once more at the scared civilians but did not fire again.
Tensions were running high.
Sweat beaded down his forehead as his instincts practically shrieked into his mind down into his very soul:
... The enemy is still here.
... A greater predator still hunts for us.
... Death is coming for us.
To reiterate, Yuri trusted his instincts more than any human would have. Intuition urged him to flee for he could not fight what was there. It told him and whispered to him of defeat should he face the threat he is now burdened with.
Terrified hostages huddled to feel a measure of safety and comfort but Yuri knew... he knew that they were not safe at all. Though he and his men were the ones to shoot in their direction where a single missed shot can spell the end for the civilians, they still were not the most dangerous being in this location.
No, that title belonged to whatever invisible threat remained hidden.
"Are you not going to come out?"
His eyes kept on scanning the environment to ensure that he did not miss anything.
"We already know your there," his soldiers tensed as they too began to inspect their surroundings. "Are you truly craven enough that you would hide in the shadows?"
His ears caught a peculiar sound. It was soft but had a distinctive rise and fall. Yuri then realized what it was: it was a laugh.
He scrunched his brows as he could not stop the reflexive annoyance one would get when they realize that someone would be mocking their person, but he did not dare lose his focus.
Awareness flickered.
There, on the spot he had previously shot his weapon at, a figured appeared as if it were a mirage.
No, that was wrong. Instead of a mirage, it should probably more correct to say that the figure had merely slipped into existence into the spot he was now occupying. When once there had been nothing, that assumption was denied by that person; surprising the hostages that surrounded it.
"How did you know?"
It was male, that was something that was evident by its features.
The man's voice was a smooth baritone that brought many a blush to his female subordinates. He was dressed in black cargo pants and steel-tipped combat boots. Yuri had no idea what color his shirt was as it was covered by a dark green long coat that covered his upper body and arms all the way down to his calves. A dark purple mask covered his face; one that had two small horns on its forehead and exposed only the eyes and the mouth that was stretched into an amused smile.
But what truly grabbed Yuri's attention was the hair.
It was a wild mane of waist length hair that spiked in all directions with no rhyme nor reason. Normally such untameable mess would be enough to garner excessive attention, but in this mysterious man's case it would have been its color.
Blood.
It was the color of freshly spilled blood and looked like flames as it shifted to the this person's movements under the overhead lights.
"Just a gut feeling," Yuri replied to the earlier inquiry.
He could feel the burgeoning threat of violence among his subordinates. The uneasy swaying of his SIC's demonic tail gave away his trepidation despite the ever-present grin on his face just as the tense shoulders of his men on the floor below displayed their unease no matter the disciplined front they tried to portray.
This tension is getting to me, he absently thought as he too, tried to maintain his cool mask.
Shifting the pistol in his hand Yuri reminded the stranger that he was still armed and aimed its iron sights right on their forehead. He studiously ignored the amused shine in their golden pupils at his subtle yet heavily implied threat.
"Now," he softly rumbled as a tense breath was released. "Can you tell me who the hell you are?"