The waves of water were calm, unstressed by events that occurred around it, in it. It was the only thing in life that would wash its problems away upon shores and leave them on dry land, to die. It was the only thing that could move on with life, slowly, comfortably. Rocks protruded in the lake, trying to disrupt its flow of life; they failed, for the waters went around the rocks, knowing intellectually that they could not break through it. Not even the slightest sound of struggle in the water could be heard, not even the smallest touch of hardship. It remained in ignorance to everything around it, especially one particular struggle that took place on it.
It had begun with a loud explosion of dust, a blistering of pebbles and rock. Water was barely moved, shoved. The gray dust was alive with abnormality, beating with its own heart of resentment, killing on command. It took up a third of the lake, and spewed out a body of a boy onto a faraway rock. It was Kumoyama Rick, who stood in a forced-fixed stance, glowering into the beastly dust that was greasy with hate, drenched in a horrid gray color that sparkled and sifted every time it moved. He breathed heavily, strongly, as if he had forgotten how to, his hands buzzing with certain electric charges, hot smoke emitting from his fingers of past attempt failed. His eyes were tired, his face was tired, and his lungs begged for a second chance inside. He waited, unsure of himself.
Beyond the lake hid Marissa, crumbled up into her own tiny little ball against the body of a tree, hoping that somehow, the dying coolness of the wood would comfort her aching, worrisome back. No level of coolness tranquilized her panic. Hugging herself for certain warmth, because the coolness soon became unbearable, she carefully peered to the lake, watching Rick tire himself out, watching his exhaust and wishing she could do something. But she couldn't. She'd just get in the way… again. This guy, she thought. He just came out of nowhere. Where did he come from; wasn't he the guy from back then? He's just too strong… Marissa thought of doing something, helping Rick, but then again, she couldn't. But she wanted to. And she couldn't. Although she had promised Eric… and she apologized to him, inside her mind. I'm sorry's were everywhere. I just can't Eric, she cried in her thoughts, I just can't.
Back in the lake, Rick contemplated if he should wait, or if he should charge in like a wild animal he tried to restrain himself from being. I need to end this now, but there aren't even bare scratches on him, Rick thought. Think…how do I make an opening? This question would remain unanswered. The dust cloud quivered. It began to retreat, slowly sliding upon the surface of the water, tickling it, playing with it, patronizing it. The sizzling gray smoke began to draw back into two blades of familiarity. They were silver, glimmering in the nonexistent light, feeling powerful, dominative. Their dust crawled back into their shells, hidden away until needed again, revealing the presence of the attacker, the human form.
"It's like you've gotten weaker," the opponent scoffed. The confidence of his victory would not wear off. "Pathetic," he ridiculed. "Where'd that piece of shit of a girl go, too?" Minoshi from Hanayuki muttered. His style had not changed a bit, nor his clothes or facial features. His blade had cracked last time, but somehow, it was repaired, unfortunately. "Probably abandoned you," he suggested.
"Maybe," Rick replied. Behind a certain tree, innocent eyes that just wanted to help widened in shock, disbelief. "But… she's not a piece of shit!" Rick growled angrily in a forced scowl. The widened eyes calmed.
Minoshi scowled. "Don't act tough without your girlfriend," he demanded. His smile had gone to a critical frown in an instant. He stroked the air with one blade; a tail of gray smoke rose from its tip in a whistle. "I made a mistake of not killing you fast last time. That won't happen this time around," Minoshi promised with a certain scowl. The night seemed to creep around closer, protectively around Rick, as if nature itself was worried for this blonde boy's health.
"We'll see about that," Rick scowled back in a spat. Minoshi scowled harder. Rick failed to return. I've got to adjust it, Rick told himself. He fixed his stance on the cragged, uneven rock. He breathed unsteadily, but he didn't care. The night was cool to him; it was being friendly, not too harsh. Something about it told him we would prevail, somehow. The watt input, that is, Rick reminded himself. The dust neared him. It roared, gently, eagerly, deviously as it came closer and closer, closing in on Rick. It was too wide to dodge, to wide to duck into the water and escape; Rick would be slower underwater. So, instead, with inducing shock, Rick stomped over the rock; he was sent flying into the air.
A great static came over the sediment, an electrocution that sparked with the dying night of cease. He found himself in midair now, over the cloud of gray and white man-eating. He had the advantage now. "What!?" Minoshi cried out in surprise. Now was Rick's chance. Sending a thrust of palm into the air, sparks tackled Minoshi's body from far away. He stammered, feeling the spark waves go throughout his body, tingling him and his senses, making him feel rather abnormal. He brought his two swords up in an X to defend himself from the rest of the incoming sparks. Blue specks dotted against their blades. He took a while to adjust, bringing himself back to his norm, and when he brought back those swords to his side, Rick was no longer in midair. "What the hell?" Minoshi said with meager temper. "He's gone! Where did he -"
He was cut off. Rick appeared behind him with glowing hands that electrified the night with their glowing electricity. They sparked a bit, dangerously. A hand pat Minoshi's back without the victim realizing it. He cried out in shock, surprise. Rick smirked. "You're over," he declared. And Minoshi just stared, unable to think, waiting for the inevitable attack.
PoVS
Under the cease of night, Walter and Teresa moved slightly throughout the grass, the trees, sifting themselves with a satisfactory level of meticulousness. The grass tickled their feet, trickled with their ancient moist against their forelegs as they walked with certain ignorance for nature. Birds chirped their songs of lullaby, some for awakening, some for sleep; it was hard to tell which one to use at this time of the night. Even so, they sang, san their hearts out. They felt nothing, only the slight ease of possibility that may occur. They were extremely watchful; looking here and there. It seemed that, you had to be as careful as you were when you were walking as when you turned your head just to look at something. You had to sleuth it, too, not just take a glance. It was a very calm night, a very fragile one, too, easily broken and disturbed at any moment.
They walked, walked in the moist air, walked in the fragile stench of nature and wet grass. Their steps failed to make any noise, failed to give away their presence. It was an uneasy beginning of morning; it wasn't even morning! It had barely reached the eight minutes requirement of dawn. They found themselves just stuck; stuck in the interface between nights and light, just caught up in the half-time where barely anyone was awake to experience. Most eyes were asleep; most eyes should be asleep. But they weren't. Being a Minor meant that, any many more things, too.
Then, there was a sifting. A blur, a fragment of a movement that trickled the grass. It rushed throughout the air, the land, shot at the two from behind. They seemed to not notice, they seemed to not be able to notice until it was too late. Then, all of a sudden, as if he had seen it all along, Walter turned and caught the wrist, the wrist holding the dagger of bone and the white clothed hand and arm in his own. Teresa turned around in shock, gasped at White Cloak's sight. "Teresa!" Walter had called out to her for her attention.
"Walter!" she cried back. She seemed lost, not knowing what to do. Then, with a thrust of fist, Walter crushed his hand into White Cloak's left ribcage. It seemed to dig in, like the man was made of jell-o. He had not said a word, not a single syllable. It was rather strange, and Walter knew why. He wasn't a fool. The cool night began to hype up, if you could even still call it a night at the faintness of stars and moon. It seemed that the curtain of jet black sky got bored of the fights; it no longer wanted to see them anymore.
It was a punch to the heart that induced spewing of energy from the body. Walter scowled and kept his fist there, keeping a lock on White Cloak's arm. "Teresa! Put a force field!" he demanded. Teresa blinked, as if she were confused. "Just do it! Now! Force field!" he demanded in hype. Teresa, still unsure but caught up in the panic, did as she was told. A force field wrapped around White Cloak, purple wisps of energy surrounding him, taking him in with the lack of oxygen. Then, as Walter pulled away from it, just a second later came the huge explosion of red and orange and white and gray. The body had blown up; it was a mere trap, and Walter had seen right through it. "Behind me!" Walter then demanded. Teresa caught on.
The girl placed her right arm to her left waist, as if she were to unsheathe a sword. She began to run for the place behind Walter, as if he had tagged her. She brought out the "sheathe" and out came the sword, the blade that Lance had taught her how to build. It glowed eerily, the slight hum of its circling motion giving her confidence in her ears, her perfect violet eyes. Teresa jumped, finding another White Cloak before her, and sliced. The energy of the force-field substance cut right through him, and let him fade away into nothing but thin air. It was another trap; both Teresa and Walter had failed to realize it! Eyes widened in shock; the fragile night was officially broken, there was no silence even if nothing was spoken, there was no calmness even if there was no panic. Nothing would remain normal for a time.
Then, there was an explosion; it wasn't from another cloning this time. It was… something else. A loud crack and echo lulled the infant birds awake, no longer needed of the beautiful song of dawn sung by their parents. The crack pierced the night; a bright light and lush puffs of flame emitted from far away. Walter stared at it, being that it was directly to his left, watching it with a widened, brown eye that was filled with shock; he had not expected it. Then, the flames began to burst, they began to run and streak towards Walter's direction, and he was still taking the recoil of the first explosion. Teresa could do nothing – she was too far away. She could only turn her head ever so slightly in the miniscule amount of time given.
All eyes widened, and then, suddenly, as Walter waited for the bursting flames to char his skin, they rushed right past him, missed him by a long shot. Time sped up again. Walter's recoil finished; Teresa turned back and readied herself. The river of flame had missed Walter… why? Walter thought. It missed? No, it didn't aim for me. It aimed for… Walter looked to the right, where the streaking fire had gone. That was it. He knew now.
The horizontal flare of blaze had rushed through the ground only to pierce a set of large, wooden crossbows that were as big as cannons, and aimed at Walter. Now, their wooden bodies were burning to a crisp and their silver arrows were beginning to char, melt. Walter had actually been saved. But by who? Well, who else? A figure stepped out from the shadows of the trees. It was dark, shaded over, but soon, the distant lights of the faraway star embellishments gazed upon this soul and lit his presence up, so that others could see it as well. It was none other that Kahibi Eric, always rescuing lives of those close to him whether they liked it or not. However, he seemed to strain somewhat, seemed at unease, not his regular self. Walter wondered what was wrong. "Eric-kun!" Teresa called out from far away, her eyes not quite down broadening over her face.
"Eric!?" Walter repeated, louder and in a questionable tone. He almost spat at Eric, as if he detested him. His eyes narrowed, a scowl washed his face. Eric was so close, just next to Walter's own presence. "What're you doing here?" the Minor asked him, suspicious. He couldn't be too sure.
"Saving your life," Eric said with a chuckle of friendliness. Then, pain shot through his side like an immense bullet had just sewn a wound shut, making it, in actuality, worse. He called out in a strain, bringing a hand to clutch his side as he stammered backward. He coughed in agony; you could see the pain take over him as he winced, trying to wash it away mentally. It took a while for it too work. It was obvious Eric shouldn't have been here.
"You shouldn't be out here," Walter scowled. "You should be back there, resting."
"That's not really your decision, now is it?" Eric laughed slightly. He was able to force a smile out now, yet his hand still clutched and shivered at his side.
Walter sneered. "Give me a break," he snapped rather unkindly. "I'm just looking after you for once," he pointed out. "You're too busy caring about others you fail to recognize your own wants and needs," he suggested in front of Eric. The cold night ruffled as they spoke. Teresa was on watch.
The Minor seemed to sign before him. Walter was immediately piqued. "You still don't get it, do you?" Eric asked Walter. The Water Minor made no emotion on his face, made no change of thought. Was he simply ignorant, or was it because of something more, something he wouldn't tell Eric, or anyone, for that matter? "Protecting others and caring for them is my want; it is my need," he explained. Walter seemed unimpressed. He just kept the scowl on his face, full of disbelief, full of the least care one could have for Eric's purpose, for that foolish purpose. Walter even thought of it as pathetic, really.
"Interesting," a new voice came out. It wasn't Teresa. It wasn't Eric. It wasn't Walter. It wasn't any Minor, any Council. "So there are more of you coming in. How…exciting." The presence seemed to have lost the last word to the sentence just now, as he stepped out from the darkness and into the golden rays of no sunlight. Impurely clothed in white with an eerie hood that shaded identity, White Cloak came from the back of the skinniest tree, as if just by going past it would take you to another world, this world.
"White Cloak!" Walter scowled. Teresa came to the team's side. The three stood side by side now, watching the white garmented being before them, all powerful and such, not showing any sign of using his power, though, however, they could feel the strong stench of bloodlust and murder that reeked of hellish power before them. It lingered all around their opponent, dark and evil, ready to strike at any moment, which made the team somewhat coy, somewhat timid to know that any moment, any time they could be struck at with the most powerful move they couldn't even think of or imagine and just die. After all, what could three teenagers do? More than you know. "You!" Walter growled at him. He remembered his encounter from before back in the main part of the dimension, where White Cloak had tried to recruit him, an obvious answer of "no" coming back at his way. What would he try now? Why did he seem to pop up everywhere Walter went!? It agonized Walter, thinking of that.
The foe with the raspy voice laughed, as if amused by their fragile presences. "Walter-chan," he patronized. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" He sucked in a sharp breath, and so did Walter, who did one of hate.
"You bastard!" Walter spat out from detestation. Words could not begin to describe Walter's feelings, feelings of hate and hell for White Cloak. Then, as if on cue to his insult, flashing noir images came into Walter's mind again, memories of that time in the main part of the dimension, memories of White Cloak's hand over his forehead, inducing the intrusion of murder, of the pain in society. They flashed before him like quick slides that were malfunctioning in speed, a lever that had been pushed much too far out of its boundaries. The boy stammered, bringing a hand to his eyes as if he had a major headache. He backed up on cue, straining to breathe, straining to think for the images had interfered with his mind, his processing. He cursed Walter ever so barely without words in his mind. Memories began to take over his mind, dominate his body.
"Walter!" Teresa's voice called out to him, voice fuzzy and crackling as if electronically, through a phone. He was beginning to lose himself, he could feel it. And White Cloak, as if knowing this, chuckled.
"White Cloak!" Walter ignored Teresa in a growl. "Just what is it!? What do you want from us!? From anything!?" he demanded loudly, darkly. His hand remained at the side of his face, clutching, holding.
"Simply one thing," White Cloak answered. "Utopia."
"Utopia?" Teresa answered. "I don't buy it!" she screamed. Walter began to strain again, at her side. The word "utopia" kept repeating in his mind. It was like an infection! The images kept popping up again and images, words of past times began to speak again:
"Your desperate and blistered hands are not wet enough to wash away the pain that is your past. If it is wetter you must become, then go, swim in the seas of revenge and lakes of power. Drain yourself from all things that are unimportant, act as if they were. Become filled until you are bursting with hate, anger, revenge, a good feeling of success, for success is all you need. Drown out your fears, everything you know and cared about for your vengeance. Nothing else matters."
"You are weak; I am stronger than you," he remembered his uncle saying. "You need to know only one thing and one thing only, Walter. I am stronger than you. Know your place in this world. We are who we are, and the stronger dominate. I dominate you. I control you. I own you." He remembered those words, remembered them and him, lying there, watching, being forced to listen as helpless tears flooded out, caked his cheeks, moistened his lips. That's when he basically decided that he would not let his cheeks, his mouth moisten any longer. He would no longer let his eyes become glassy. He would not cry anymore.
"Why should you care about where your life's leading? You're still young. Even when you're old like me, you don't know where you're life's leading. So why should you care? Why should I care? It's pointless," Walter remembered his own father say those words to him, that old drunk bastard, always holding that damned beer bottle that was always musky with its brownish – glass color of sand and dark black. His face was horridly distorted, sad and depressed, as if he had forgotten how to shed a tear for none lay there on his face; that wrinkled face with brown hair that resembled Walter so much. Would Walter become like him, and believe what he said? No, it was too late. He all ready had become like him.
"You are weak. Why are you faltering? Focus on one thing and one thing only. Do not lose sight of your goal, you foolish, foolish boy. You're lucky you have me to keep you alive. You're lucky you have me to keep you on the right track. You're an idiot, you're useless without me. So focus on one thing and one thing only. To kill Void Core. Kill all of them. Only then will you find peace. Don't get near Eric; don't get near any of those damned Minors! You're only a Minor for one purpose – to gain power, power to kill! You don't need bonds, you don't need friends! You don't have anyone to care for so there's no point! There's just no point! You have no loved ones in this world to succeed for; only you. And even then, you still wish you were dead…" Words of his other half that seemed to be shrouded in green wisps of energy whenever he needed it in his mind kept speaking to him like this.
Back to reality, Walter cried out, agonized by his past, agonized by the influential beings that kept poking at him, stabbing him with faults, with losses. White Cloak knew it was taking affect. And on some level, Teresa and Eric knew it, too. This was the beginning. The beginning where all hell broke loose and nothing would be the same again. Now, everything began. Everything that would change…everything.