The echoes of punch after punch never seemed to end, like they unwound themselves into reversals of time only for the sole purpose of becoming tedious, inducing impatience. The night whirled faster, faster and faster into the loathsome resistance to go away, disallowing the sun to rise, for there could be one and only one dominator in the sky, one power over half of the world half of the time. Eric continued to pounce at the dome that encased his friends so dearly, so invisibly and rending them helpless with no chance of getting out; despite the magnified strength of his throws, the wall didn't give. Walter and Teresa seemed frozen, not quite themselves as if their souls had been sucked out, eaten by the extraterrestrial forces of the unknown to humans, to space. They stared dully, blankly at Eric's efforts, awestricken by his determination, breathless, speechless.
Trees were high and surrounding, stark with their lonely, thin bodies that were sickeningly slender, as if trees, too, could have anorexia. The clouds pierced the sky, waiting for dawn, just waiting with their certain grasp of hands, looking out into the sky, reaching into the horizon. Their slippery hands could clasp nothing; they craned nothing. Large silhouettes crawled past; one silhouette. Two. They went past the large trees, dodging from branch to branch, making sure they were to make no sound, no murmur of object whatsoever that would give even the slightest clue of the non-absence, their existence.
Teresa continued to watch, feeling the intrusive vibrations of the punches reel into; shake her mind into hypnotizing quakes, becoming caught in a swirling trance of pounce after pounce, punch after punch, breath after useless breath of impure air. She watched the boy with the flaming fists of glory catch the air so swiftly, and strike the panes of the dome strongly, confidently. The look on his face – the movement of his body, it seemed so familiar, so much above her. He seemed tired, worn from his effort, his countless efforts to protect his friends, protect her. But it was more than just a simple lack of rest for Eric. If he didn't complete this task he had assigned himself, he'd be through much more. In fact, he was through much more. It wasn't just tiredness that he felt of the body, it was the slowly deprivation of energy and confidence in ensured succession.
"It's not the relationships with other people that wear you down, Teresa," Eric had told her. "It's your emotions, your decisions that concern the status of the relationship. If you two people knew they were going to get hurt from the other, they'd sure not dare to hurt the other first. So then, if what you say is true, who's the one that gets hurt in the end?" he had implied so early in the beginning.
"Don't try to get up! You're too tired from your fight with Hibiyomi. You should stay down!" Teresa had scolded. "Eric, don't! Don't!" she had told him as he strained to lift himself from the floor, strained with difficulty. "Eric!"
"That's not an excuse for me to let go of someone that I care about; it's not an excuse to let someone I care for die!" she remembered he had implied. Her eyes widened that moment in shock. "You of all people should know that!" he scorned back. And she remained quiet. She lifted herself from her useless state, and she herself began to rip apart the force field that tore the team apart.
"You get back down," Teresa said after Eric had miraculously stood up despite his weakened conditions.
"I thought I told you…" he answered, heavily breathing.
"I'll do it!" she snapped confidently. Eric widened his eyes in realization.
"Why do you care!?" Walter had yelled later on. "Why do you even care about me!? I don't care about you, or any of the Minors! So why do you still care about me!? Why do I still matter to you!?"
"Because you're a relationship I'll protect; because you're someone I care about!" Eric answered in a spat.
"Don't you get it now?" Eric had asked when he had made his sudden entrance into the battle. "Protecting and caring about the ones I care about is my only want, is my only need…"
Eric… she now thought, remembering all those times he had proven himself to be who he had truly said he was. He was all genuine, she realized. He was never more or less than anything he said he was; he was never a faker, a liar. He was exactly who he implied. He's exactly the person people like me need in their lives…She watched him carry on with the fighting, the efforts, the efforts to satisfy his wants, his needs, the love he had for the Minors, his friendships. It could almost make Teresa cry. It almost did. Eric continued to punch rigorously, mindlessly for his purpose, his life, for if their lives were lost, so was his. It might as well be, according to him. The punches exhausted hot breaths of flames hissing against the dome and his fists. As he did, he remembered the fire, watched it, as the wisps flew away into nothingness air…
The candles whisked at the air flying their slight sparks of flame into it, as they faded away, into nothingness air. Their dwindling bodies were fingers of straight posture, perfectly carved to the perfected radius of intention, waxy with their hazy body. They flickered with their heedful of bright aura, surrounded by holiness; they should never be forgotten, for they were the brightest things of the hall, of Fate Hall, the only hall that seemed to be lit up by candles, the only hall that was clothed with ornament of sight. The dark halls were no longer darkened by the impurities of the world, lingering about every single moment of consciousness, dangling on every single soul's inner conscience, whether they wished it to be there or not; it was no longer their decision.
Light weathered the dark away as the hall seemed completely empty, the suffocating halls that were so tight, they were dying themselves from self-throttling of wear. Two souls lingered about, pacing, walking with now noticed steps that were once so quiet, so solemn. Maybe it was just both of them being meticulous, so cautious of the fact that they were toe be heard. However, they had nothing to be fearful of. Everything in the area was an ally; everything in the dimension was. Well, except one thing. But the Minors need not worry about that right now. They needed to focus on White Cloak. The footsteps became louder and louder; they paced themselves throughout the halls, as if searching, sleuthing for something more. Their feet were lit up by the starred light of the candles, slowly dwindling away into waxy nonexistence, and waxy uselessness as the two pairs of feet – one heavier than the other, made their way through the dimensional maze.
The labyrinth was never ending, it seemed. Time seemed to go on overtime for them, waiting for them, rewinding for them so that they could walk, and walk, and walk forever until their lives had expired, their contracts had burnt to a crisp from the friction of the meeting hands of the time that promised a quick rewind, a soft remix. "Don't keep me waiting," a young voice said suspensively. "We've been walking far enough. Where are we going?" he asked. The voice was strong, confident, masculine, echoing upon the walls of the darkness. Their bodies were lit up, alive by the twinkling flames, the blinking of awestricken feelings occurring non-stopping.
"Don't worry," a second voice replied, just as strongly and confidently as the first, but a many years older. "We aren't going anywhere; we're just going for a walk. I hope you don't mind; I chose this specific hall so that we are allowed to see better for once." The first voice didn't answer, he did not give a noise or gruff of sound for gratitude. "You kids are too much in a hurry these days," the second voice sighed. "Listen, I have something to request of you," the voice said.
As light spilled over their faces, they become recognizable presences. "What do you need?" Eric asked lowly. A look of peculiar pique was put over his face like a mask, an intense mask.
The Council made a quick turn. He stopped walking. He kept silent to himself and gave Eric a cold, hard stare; the light of the candles at the sides poured on to his face with orange paint of light. Hanabikai's glare was unforgiving, only if you had done something wrong, though. "It's more like a promise," Hanabikai answered. Eric waited. "I need you to promise me… that no matter what happens, you'll put your life on the line for any of the Minors, no matter what the danger's level may be. Just keep an open mind about things to possibilities. Especially one particular Minor I'd like for you to watch out after."
"Who's that?" Eric asked gruffly.
"Walter." Eric gave a strange stare. "It's not that any of the other Minors aren't important as the other ones, the thing is just that… well hopefully, if you do your job right, you won't have to know." Eric still seemed suspicious. "Listen, it's not just Walter, Eric. It's all the Minors; if you let any of them die before you, you should be ashamed of yourself, got that?" Eric said nothing; did nothing. "It's just I want you to keep an extra eye or two on Walter," he requested.
"Hanabikai…" Eric said seriously. Hanabikai was all ears rather quickly. "Since when have I not been watching after all the Minors? The only necessary thing you should have told me is to keep an eye out for Walter; even then, you need not tell me directly." Eric smiled. Hanabikai smiled back.
"You sure?" Hanabikai asked, staring the boy right in the eye.
"Yes, sir," he said with respect.
Yes, sir… Eric repeated in his mind, now bringing him back to the consciousness of the present world, pounding against the dome attacking it, striking it. Yes, Eric repeated in his mind. Yes… sir… He continued to drone on in his mind, fixating a pattern of never-ending speaking, never ending recording. His punches began to grow weaker; the energy in his body began to sink into him, as if draining into the ground, or draining into an inner him of which he could not access. Then, his next punch grew weaker, colder. The one after that was weaker than that. Then it was weaker than that one. Then that one. And the next one; all weaker than the one before it. Teresa watched, wondering what could possibly be going on, sensing a downfall in energy in him. She began to worry.
His body's readied stance grew tired; his weak no longer dodged from left to right. His eyes, once blasting with piercing confidence now closed, slouched, and stammered along with his silly feet. The fists – the arms no longer had the energy to move. The fists of glorious fire were now put out by the cold air of darkness, of lost feeling, of swayed consciousness. Eric stammered on his feet once more. Teresa seemed to have lost her voice; she could not call out to him. Walter seemed confused; one second he was fine and then the next he began falling inside of himself. He began to topple over; a foot was now lifted from the ground, and gravity began to take its toll.
"Eric!" Teresa cried out from quick, self-caused exasperation. Her voice echoed from the walls of the dome, making their walls appear visible ever so slightly for a matter of bare seconds. And as her last cry echoed into his ears, he fell to the floor, a loud thud signifying the failure of her shout. His fists lay at his side, eyes closed, the fingers still spewing out streaks of slow, hazy steam, still cooling, still hot. He gave no movement, no signs of life, and the fact of her inability to touch him or feel him, feel for his life, made Teresa even angrier, capturing her into more of her despair, as if she hadn't had enough to last her a whole century's worth of time, of life.
Thunder clouds began to roll above; they've been rolling above all along, secretly, silently, carefully dominating the sky and dominating the arrival of morning, sending it to plunge into nonexistence; the sunrise would not be met. He no longer breathed of exasperation, of tired muscles. He no longer moved. Had he really… died? Was that possible? She watched his body lay on the floor as the skies darkened away the already ceasing stars into deathly darkness. She hoped, wished for movement, for any slight movement of body, of life. There was none. The darkened scenery began to pain over the setting. The cold mist that would have been of morning turned one of storm, one of unease, discomfort, and somehow seemed to seep through the walls of the dome, as if it were the only thing that could, something bad, something negative. It wrapped around Teresa, constricted her of all feelings, of all good thoughts, and kept her trapped, tortured for she no longer could do anything to help her friend, her relation she considered to be the best. It was like being unable to lift a finger when you itched all over, yet you could use the rest of your body, and yet, there was no object near you to use as a scratch post. It was agitating, tedious, not to mention a bit annoying, being in a type of trap like that.
Silence fell over the land. The skies rumbled, darkly, buzzing, engorging themselves into thunderous, gluttonous beings distorted in features and happiness, twisted in life. Their shouts were left unstable, quiet, hushed away into paradise. Whispers of wind sifted the grass, gossips that had lost their meaning, for they had not had a simple predicate and subject of sense since the beginning. They had just been perceived how they had wanted to. And the trees carried that whisper, that lonely whisper of gossip being untrue. The black clouds now began to cry; it was as if a ceremony had begun.
It had begun with a single teardrop of cloud, a tiny speck of rain. Their greedy fingers had grown; their ripples had dominated below the harvested storm, the blackish clouds that scolded so dearly, so meagerly with the sparse of warmth, the scarceness of a luminary presence. The bodies of a malice sky rolled above, gently, despairingly as if they were crying, moaning in their distortion of faces from sorrow; their cheeks had engorged to grievous lusts, mouths losing their melodic hums, the lyrics to their once smiling songs. They played the instrument of none other than the drums of thunder, the clashing symbols of lightning. And then there were two, two drops against the darkened canvas, the second one only proposing itself to share with its first. It was a second tear among the crowd of mourn, high above the sky. And one would think that something so great, so wide and dominative in the clouds would be of lush paradise, a gentle touch of heaven. Yet, they cried, too, for paradise, for them, and for the lost hopes of utopia. The third had come down; the fourth soon followed. Their intervals grew shorter, shrinking into a declination of heart. The lost life was stirring once more with heart; the storm was coming alive. Soon, the fifth, the sixth, and then just a whole army of them at once cast upon the shadow-driven land. Darkness had weathered the grass, the trees, and the once passionate flowers that now swayed mindlessly, uselessly of no purpose.
There was now a continuous beating of heart upon the sifted grass, the soft touch of hearts filtering through them with a wind of an emerging sorrow, one that would grow into a moan, a sob as the stormy ceremony continued. The grayed drops of tainted purity came down heavily, forcefully in screams and randomized cries that echoed through the trees, echoed throughout the grassland beside the city's busy walks and mighty buildings. No building would remain mighty today; no street would be as loud, as busy. The air remained thick with solemnity, like the cheeks of a human crying, crying below with the rain. Nothing of noise was there, as if everyone had calmed, as if everyone had just stopped their selfish arguments of love, halted their foolish opinions of life, politics, and materialistic things, and just listened, listened to the rain. The cold mist began to settle in; sight became one of sparseness.
A cheeky wind hustled past, not too patiently, not too abruptly. The ballistic drill of the lightning had started early, too early. Everything seemed perfect… perfectly wrong. Rain shuffled downward, draining Eric, the body of all health, of all warmth; the smoking, hissing of the lost fire was now dead, now lost, now forgotten, forever.
A tree, a lone tree at that, let go, depressingly of a single leaf, a tiny leaf. It swayed in the dance of air, slowly being cradled by the hands of delicacy, the invisible hands of fate that carried it away slowly, taking its time. The leaf swirled, showed itself for it was no longer in any rush, it had no rush to live, no time limit to complete task. It had no more support, and so it fell, softly to the ground, just like Eric said people would under the same conditions. While Eric remained at the slightest level of consciousness, he remembered, something from the past, not too clearly, not too darkly either, though. It seemed just right, just right for the level of feeling, level of mind he was placed at currently. It just seemed too… perfect.
"Don't be the first one to wither away, either, Eric," she had said so hopefully, so gracefully, taking a single blue-white petal and placing it into his hand. He had accepted half-mindedly, and she had closed his fist around it for him softly, gently.
The leaf continued to sway, that single, primary, darkened leaf fell to the ground by another tree, a different tree that was just all the same but seemed all the difference. It caught itself in a new world, just a yard or two away from the original tree, falling at the feet of the new one, falling into a recent puddle in the darkened showers. It was the parade of downpour that continued on; the leaf had fallen into the puddle easily, delicately as it conceived ripples that met at the ends. The leaf began spinning slightly at wind, being rocked and floated, being nurtured for the best it could in its current condition. Then, it began to shrivel, it began to die, an early death. It was over. Nothing was left. Nothing.