The hissing smoke lusted for dawn, it required it. The thirst of trees carved their nourishment, the leaves that waited so effervescently, evanescently began to wither from impatience, intolerance of the constant postponing of crave. The cool air sizzled itself with self-induced mirages, tired of yearning for the light of warmth from that hopeful sun. Morning's rendezvous was late. The sifting cloud of smog crawled through the imminent end of the funeral of night, shadows lurking, waiting, spying on nature and its well-hidden secrets. Darkness began to erode away with the coming of a new time, the beginning of a new setting that seemed to slowly progress, slowly crawl towards the horizon, and out into the sky. It just seemed to have a little trouble doing so; it had no assistance.
The surrounding trees seemed to isolate the explosion into solitaire, quarantining it as if it were of miasmatic properties. The hissing brown beckoned the morning with a threatening dance towards the sky. The ground a few feet from the place of the explosion began to deform. It twisted unsightly, churning into whirls as chunks of it emerged out and molded upward, molded itself into a body. It brought arms, separated legs, and chocked a head. The color of ground remained in it, a moving statue of some sort. Then, the body brought itself out of the ground, and out of its discolored earthy appearance, and into a thin, stainless material of white.
"How disappointing," White Cloak rasped as he brought his back straight. "I expected more," he spoke over the rising smoke. The smell of dust was in the air, spilled and tainted it for the morning to clear away later.
"Suidangan!" a voice shouted from behind White Cloak, echoing from the darkness the trees had built together, constructed together as time passed on, and as their heads became higher. Slight bullets of strong-pressured water burst from the dark, and missed White Cloak just barely as he dodged to the left. The bullets crashed to the ground horridly, snapping the grounded rocks in two and blistering in their own pop of a noise. Still faltering to the left, the real Walter seemed to come from nowhere, from the left. White Cloak could not move. A blow from the left sent the enemy to the right, and fading into nonexistence. Another clone it was. Walter cursed his luck.
From the continually rising smoke of cloud that seemed to dominate as the seconds had passed, a thick, sharp bone burst from the brown and towards Walter. The Minor noticed immediately, and dodged accordingly. The bone plummeted into a nearby tree; it punctured right through it. Walter gulped at the enormous pressure. It was higher than that of his aquatic bullets. A figure began to emerge from the non-toxic mist. White Cloak stepped out, easily, non-suspensively. "I suppose you're the real one this time?" White Cloak rasped loudly, his voice crisp.
"I guess you're the real one, too, then?" Walter disregarded the question asked. He shifted his position just in case; you couldn't be too careful with White Cloak. He hid a confident smirk.
"The first one that fought you was always the real one; the one that blew up," White Cloak explained. And all this time, Walter had thought it was just one clone after another. Walter was right about this guy all along; he was tricky. Very tricky. He didn't know if he could handle him. Walter faked a scoff. "Walter," White Cloak called out to him. He brought his hands down to his side, in sign of no planned offense, no attempted defense. Walter found this rather peculiar, and brought his defenses down somewhat as well. "I've told you time and time again that you are weak, and you have no chance of getting stronger if you stay with the rest of the Minors. If you still choose to not believe," White Cloak began. "Just look at how many clones you needed to make compared to the ones I needed to make and the ones you did to match up to me."
Walter had to admit, White Cloak had a point. Walter needed to trick him four times and each time he either saw through it or knew what to do just in case. White Cloak needed two tricks, and Walter had just barely escaped each one by thinking quickly. He sneered at the truth, as if denying accepting it as what had actually happened. "Do you really think you're still strong?" White Cloak asked. Walter didn't know anymore, to be truthful. "I don't want to hurt you, Walter." The sentence seemed strange coming from his voice, he, who had murdered countless people for power, for fun. Just like Walter's aunt and uncle. The thought of the two made him scarce of ease; he spat at them. "Just listen to what I have to say," White Cloak suggested.
Walter scoffed. "And why should I? You're an enemy; that's all I need to know," he answered. "In other words, no, I won't listen to what you have to say; it'll just be a waste of time for me," he growled. "Besides, why should I listen to listen to what you have to say; it'll just be a waste of time for me," he growled. "Besides, why should I listen to you?" he asked. He wasn't really looking for an answer to that one.
"Now, calm down," White Cloak insisted. Why was he speaking so nicely? Something was out of balance. "Just listen is all I'm asking," he insisted.
"No!" Walter denied more angrily this time. "Why should I listen to you!?" he repeated. "Why!? You're psychotic!" he accused.
"Just listen!" White Cloak snapped. With a swing of an arm, a capturing net of bone burst through the enemy's palm of hand, and rushed through the air. The sight being a surprise, Walter breathed sharply in suddenness, the claw of bone coming in on him. Quickly, he thought of another way to get out; swiftly, he jumped away and dodged to the left. The bone claw crashed right into the tree where he had been before, and broke it away from its feet. Walter was awestruck at the amazing force; it was one of the smallest tricks White Cloak could do. A part of him told Walter to stand up to him. Another part told him to run away for his life. Dust blew everywhere, erupting from the scene of calcium hardness and wooden body. White Cloak zoomed to Walter before he could get back up on his feet. He attempted to cut his face with a bone dagger protruding from his hand. Walter dodged quickly once again, and, falling for White Cloak's plan all along, the enemy made a blow to his face, sending him to another nearby tree.
Walter's body landed against the bark with a clatter of spinal column. He yelped out from pain, calling out to dawn for the silent voices of nature that had lost their vocabulary. He winced horridly, his body weakened for just a few impaired seconds. White Cloak quickly brought himself to Walter's front, and put his hand over the boy's neck. He tightened it, ready to choke him. Walter strained a bit; it was no use. That cold, evil touch just put him in a stable moment of fear. His mind wandered away from use.
"Don't resist," White Cloak whispered calmly. Walter seemed to follow immediately. He didn't know why. Maybe… he was just hoping he wouldn't die? "Just listen…" he whispered into his ear once more darkly, calmly, sleepily. Walter's body soon drained of all energy, of all resistance. Restraint was out of the question now. Again, he didn't know why. "The images you saw…" White Cloak rasped into his ears, his hot breath washing over his cheeks, scentless, without a trace of humaneness. "The ones that keep repeating in your mind over and over and over again," he made Walter listen. "The pain of this world, the pain that many factors have resulted in, have helped in creating."
Walter breathed heavily, barely through seeping teeth. His eyes fluttered slightly, wanting to close, wanting to leave consciousness and life as it was. White Cloak's voice was a lullaby. "Those were the things parts of society have caused us. I'm sure you realize this by now," White Cloak continued. Walter suddenly remembered the images. The black and white images of blood, of murder, of tears, of hell on earth. Yes, White Cloak was right, he decided half-consciously. He was right about… everything. "You see, Walter," White Cloak began to change, still holding his neck against the tree, restraining him even though he now made no effort to pull away. "I believe that the world, as in nature itself, from the beginning of time has been trying to achieve a world without a pain, a world of utopia, where nothing bad happens, no pain is dealt, no pain is received."
Walter nodded halfheartedly. He was listening to his words, somewhat, but inside, he really didn't care. He didn't care about White Cloak's philosophies of psychosis inducement. He didn't care about White Cloak. He hated White Cloak. But something about him just nodded, something that sucked up to White Cloak. "However, things like the Council and the rest of the Minors – they're in the way. They're interfering with the process of life, Walter."
Walter took a while to adjust. "Then…" he whispered lowly, weakly. "What about me…? Aren't I… a Minor, too?" he asked.
"Oh, you're special," White Cloak answered quickly. Walter widened his eyes a bit in surprise. "Why do you think I'm always after you and you only, Walter? You have a pain I understand; you are someone I can connect with," he whispered deeply into the boy's thoughts. "You see, my plan was never to rule the world with powers similar to yours, or any of the other Minors. Trust me, if I had wanted them from the beginning, I would have gotten them before that stupid child. Do you really believe that a ten year old boy could stand up to me?" he chuckled.
"Then why?" Walter asked in a bare murmur of white voice. "Why did you open the scroll containing our powers at all…? What was the point?"
"Simple. Because I knew I had to release the powers in order to get rid of them, and to get life back on track. However – you, you're different from them. You don't seem to be getting in the way at all," White Cloak whispered. "However, I must admit, yes, at one time, when I went after the actual young Councils themselves, I wanted to rule the world at that time. But, that dream is long gone from now. I've changed my mind about things. About life. Now, my only goal is to place the world back on the tracks that lead all the way to utopia." Walter didn't know what to say; he found himself speechless.
"You want it, too," White Cloak began. "Don't you? You want to release yourself from the pain that is your past, that forever scars you. And you can do that only with power; the powerful are never hurt. It is logic, Walter," he whispered. "I'm sure you recognize that already. However, you don't have the power you need yet. You're weak, Walter. Too weak. You're too weak to find your vengeance of your aunt and uncle, the goal you had told me of once before. You're too weak, it's hopeless. You'll never get your revenge."
Walter was found speechless. He understood everything White Cloak said. Yet he still hated him; he still labeled him psychotic, out of his mind. He was just scared beyond belief now. Scared, it was the feeling he felt. Suddenly, from behind, a cracking of air began, a crisping of field. White Cloak turned to find Teresa breaking through the force field as everyone watched the whole thing fall apart into uselessness. "So it seems they were strong enough to break through the first level of my field abilities. The power isn't perfected yet, anyways. Nothing less is expected from the strongest element, Mind. I can't even think to duplicate it. Such a thing is sad," White Cloak rasped to himself.
The purple force field energy whisked itself away as Teresa fell to the floor from exhaustion. A sudden burst of pain pierced through her mind, and pulsed throughout her body. Her mental stability was losing itself once again; would there be another outburst? She hated the fact that on occasion, this would happen. She tried to restrain it; she didn't know how well she was doing. She just groaned in difficulty. At her side, no other Minor was there. No presence was by her. What had happened?
As White Cloak turned back to Walter, something was caught in the corner of his eye. A light flickering of brightness of some sort. Kahibi Eric rushed to White Cloak, reeling in a punch on flames. White Cloak dodged out of the way and clutched Eric's wrist to stop the attack. Eric seemed surprised. The cold, powerful touch of White Cloak seemed to bring Eric's insides to their knees. "Try something else next time," White Cloak rasped in suggestion. "Your flames give it away, Fire Minor." The cackling flames hissed themselves out by White Cloak's touch. Eric still couldn't seem to believe it. He couldn't move. He was caught. Walter couldn't seem to do anything, either.
"So, Walter," White Cloak scraped his voice. "You hadn't believed me the many times I told you that the Minors are weaker than you are; you won't believe me when I tell you I am capable of teaching you so much more than this damned place offers," White Cloak went on. "This time, I'll show you its true, by harming your beloved teammate," White Cloak turned to Eric. The confident structure followed by the shock in his face was priceless.
Walter said one thing, and one thing only as his head bowed to the ground, hiding in shade. His lips moved uncomfortably as he said it. "He's not beloved," he murmured quietly. White Cloak didn't seem to hear. The foe brought Eric closer and reeled in a punch. The blow sent the boy flying through the trees rapidly, the punch so strong it blew him away into the distance where he couldn't even very well be seen. White Cloak followed with a dart of thick, sharp needle. It flew with him almost, and while flying in midair, Eric could do nothing about it, but stare.
As Eric crashed into the body of a tall, stark of a tree, the slice of bone followed, and cut clean right into his chest next to his right shoulder. He called out in pain, the bone stabbed right into him and pinning him against the tree, making sure he stayed there. The wound soon began to leak blood.
Turning back to Walter, White Cloak began his offers again. "I'll give you one last chance," White Cloak informed him. "Will you join me? Yes, or no?" he rasped deeply, darkly. The clouds of dawn began to rise as time went on. The trees rustled unsightly, the blades of grass tickled the air for a catch of gossip, full of disbelief as they received the message.
Walter didn't need to think about the answer. "No! Hell, I won't!" Walter practically screamed into the foe's face, braving up to him. White Cloak scoffed and brought his right hand out. The fingers drew out sharp bones and formed claws. Walter wasn't afraid.
"Fine, then," White Cloak answered. "If you insist." He struck. The claw missed purposely, puncturing five deep holes into the tree behind the Minor, the hand clasped around his neck and taking control of him. Taking Walter's neck, he threw him across the forest and sent him flying past millions of trees that seemed to run past him, leave him behind in their apparent motion of escape. Soon, Walter found himself on the ground, breathing heavily for he had been slowly suffocating as White Cloak found his way to his throat. He was next to Teresa, who seemed to be having mental troubles at the time. A force field enclosed around them, invisibly; they were locked in a translucent bubble.
"Trust me, Walter," White Cloak called out. "If I had wanted to kill you, I would have done it long ago," he informed. "You should think about that." White Cloak walked to a tree, and began talking the rest of it. "You shouldn't get too reckless in that bubble of yours," he suggested. "It lacks an open resource of air; the air you have now is the air you're going to breathe for the next few minutes. Also, I've layered it ten times over. It shouldn't be fragile to that girl's force fields as much as before. Even if she did succeed in breaking out, the minutes you have left of air will expire before that happens." White Cloak now disappeared into the tree, walking right into it as if it were a door to him, a portal with the threshold of air. His presence was soon gone; the echoes of his voice still lingered about Walter's ears.
Walter sighed deeply, drawing it out in exasperation. He fixed himself in the bubble of confinement and sat down comfortably, and waited. Teresa faltered. Her body stopped shaking, her eyes stopped squinting. Her stability returned, and slowly, her body's abilities were brought back to norm, to consciousness. She held herself for warmth, for comfort. She was still shaken by the sudden attack she had so suddenly, so weirdly at the wrong time. That face… she thought of the apparition she had fought during the Swamp of Mystery, that smiling, crescent mask full of deviation and hell. She shuddered slightly at the thought of him. It was the same "him" as the one who killed her first boyfriend, and his family, and all her friends. Why does it keep coming back to haunt me? I killed him, didn't I? Teresa thought. The memory was unclear. Fear blossomed inside her. Then, an image of Eric. She returned to normal. Just the blatant thought of that boy brought her ease, a sense of confidence.
"We're going to suffocate in here," Walter told her. "The air is thinning slowly as he take our last, small breaths," he informed. He looked to the dome of the solitary confinement around them. The air bubbled, fizzed unnaturally through the screen of unstable transparency.
"No," Teresa answered. Slowly, the girl brought herself to her feet. "I can get us out of here," she suggested confidently.
"Are you deaf? Didn't you hear White Cloak say that it's no use trying?" Walter scolded.
"No!" Teresa denied it. "I'm still trying!" Teresa began to get to work. Her eyes began to glow eerily with purple; her fingers glowering as well as the force field energy began to dig through the ten layers that overlapped each other thickly, skillfully, and without waste. Purpled auras of energy began to surround her, and Walter just sighed, already given up despite the scarce of time passed.
He looked out to the trees that swayed mindlessly, uselessly that once held a sort of passion, a sort of use in the world that Walter once thought he had. Now, nothing made sense to him anymore. White Cloak could've killed me any time he wanted to, Walter figured. There must be a reason why he didn't. That reason must be him thinking that I'll still join him in the future. Well, he's wrong! Walter demanded. I'm not even going to consider it! Maybe he as well ought to have killed me back then; there's no point in wasting time! The ripping noise of force field energy against force field was crisping in his ears.
"Why are you even trying?" Walter turned to Teresa suddenly, scoffing at her efforts and the look on her face that told herself she would definitely get through the thing Walter knew she couldn't. "You're wasting your energy! Just sit down and wait to die."
"No! I can't give up!" Teresa demanded of herself. "I can't leave Eric to die without even making an effort about it! Just because I'm trapped in a hopeless situation is not an excuse for letting someone I…" Teresa seemed to lose the word there. She held a look of shock over her face. Walter seemed piqued, a bit confused. "I…care about," Teresa finished the sentence rather incongruously in tone with the beginning of the sentence.
"Why do you care? Why do you care about Eric, or where your life is headed if you do get out of this thing?" Walter asked, not knowing the answer himself. He has always waited for an answer to that question.
"Because," Teresa began calmly. She became one of solemnity in an unwarned instant. "He's a relationship I'm not going to let go without a fight!" she declared. More energy poured into her effort. "Otherwise, I'm allowing myself to get hurt. I'm not going to live with the guilt of not trying hard enough to help my friend!" she took after Eric's words and actions.
"How pointless!" Walter shouted. Teresa gasped a bit in shock. "You think that just because you're powerful enough to defend your relationships with other people, you'll be able to escape pain?" Walter scorned. He made a low scowl on his face of disapproval. "There are so many more things in this world that can cause pain, not just broken relationships! Think about it; Eric is wrong, you shouldn't follow what he says," he let his tone trail away into calmness. Teresa stopped.
The girl let her arms fall back to her side. She let the force field energy wisp away into nothingness and let the force field she was so opposed to rebuild itself in its broken layers. She fell to her knees; eyes still wide open, and bowed her head into darkness, letting her hair fall over her. She said not another word, she thought not another thing. Then… who is right? Eric says this thing… Walter says another. They both make sense… they're both opposites. Which one... do I believe? Teresa felt like crying. Which one...? She let herself fall into depression as she decided to just give up, and die right there. The silent night moaned for them. They would not get to experience the ceremony of dawn after all.