There had to be a hunt, it could not be helped. For the sake of their own survival, living creatures could not just live in harmonious peace. There was always a hunt, a terrible pursuit for both parties involved. The hunted would, generally, perish at the hands of its pursuer. But if the hunter could not succeed, the chase would consume them to their very core. Such a fruitless hunt could drive a person mad, it could utterly break them. It could turn the hunter into the hunted. This was not a position that she ever hoped to be in, nor could she ever imagine that she would be in it. Her life, one that she was not truly living, had been so simple in comparison to what it had become in such a short amount of time. The city had become unsafe, and she did not wish to risk bringing her troubles home with her. All she could do was run from the man who always felt so near, even when he was not. She would throw frantic glances over her shoulder, expecting to see his ghoulish figure just one step behind her. The last time she looked into his mad eyes, she saw such a fire, a burning desire for her complete destruction. But past that fire she knew there was more. There had to be more. He was a desperate man, a man who had always been alone, and underneath his mask he yearned for that loneliness to die. She thought, she believed, that was the true reason why he was hunting her. Of course he was of a different opinion.
To him, there was nothing underneath that mask. Whatever face he had, whoever he was, did not matter any longer. He did not think that anything or anyone mattered, least of all himself. She was the exception to the rule. It was not necessarily her that mattered, no, she could not matter to him. But catching her, that alone was what mattered to him now. He craved her fear, he needed her to pay for what she had done. There was no running from the all-seeing, all-knowing psychic. There was no escape. No one ever escaped. Despite her tenacity, her stubbornly unbreakable will, she could not be different in that regard. She had fled to the city's outskirts, not really privy to the idea of hitchhiking, but still of the belief that she had no other choice. She could not keep running, but she could not stop. Part of her felt a hint of regret for wearing such heavy robes, for not only did they make moving inconveniently difficult, but it rendered her unable to trick any red-blooded fool into giving her a ride. Sex sells after all, and had she been showing skin, she probably would have gotten a ride from the moment she started down the road. She felt the tug of gravity with each step, and she did not anticipate being able to keep this up for much longer. Perhaps if she could find a cool spot off the road, or somewhere that provided just the slightest semblance of seclusion, then maybe she could try and get –
"Hey!" she heard a voice cry, bringing her to a halt. It was a man's voice, but it was not his voice. "Where ya goin?" She found it to be such a stupid question, one that she did not care to answer. Instead, she opted to cut right to the chase.
"Can you give me a ride?" she asked, brushing a lock of blue hair back, trying to be as alluring as she could in such a situation. She did not really know how to do it, so she wasn't feeling too confident. In her experience, it was only her friend Justin who could make her feel that way. She wished he was here now; she knew he would help her if he knew that she needed it.
"…Hop in," the driver said after thinking about it for a minute. Her relief apparent, she got in the passenger seat and buckled up, taking heavy breaths all the while.
"Thank you. Thanks so much," she said between breaths. "Please, it doesn't matter where, just drive."
"Uh, you in some kind of trouble?" he asked, apprehensive. "Because I can't help you if you are. I don't want to get involved." She managed a tired grin.
"Don't worry, I'm not. Just go," she answered. She may or may not have been in trouble, but she knew this guy was now involved in this, whether he wanted to be or not.
Like a vengeful specter, he levitated across the sky, knowing full well that he was drawing attention to himself. To the sheep beneath him, he would likely be seen as some kind of illusionist. He cared not if they wished to wallow in their ignorance. So long as they stayed out of his way, he had no reason to pay them any mind. He diligently scanned the street beneath him, trying to find any sign of her. Black robes. Blue hair. A scent of total nothingness. It was a putrid intoxication that polluted his mask at first, before it carried down into his lungs. It only served to further enrage him, and such fury provided sufficient motivation to keep up his hunt. His mind, normally a chaotic stream of his own thoughts as well as the thoughts of others, only had a narrow focus on her, leaving him with a strange calm that he was not accustomed to. Of course his fury pushed him onward, but his mind was more relaxed than it had ever been before. This only served to anger him further. He had to find her. Whatever he was feeling, it was wrong, and she had to be to blame for it. It was a sickness, and perhaps annihilating her would provide him with some kind of remedy. He had to find her. He drifted with ominous intent away from the city, his gaze falling upon the highway.
"So uh, d'ya mind me askin' what's going on?" the driver eventually asked her. She had her eyes on the side-view mirror, not expecting to see Mantis behind them but still wondering if he would be there. She couldn't relax, and answering this guy's questions wouldn't help with that. Still, she felt like she owed him an explanation.
"I just have to get away," she said, her eyes still on the mirror. She hoped that answer would be enough, but it wouldn't be.
"Look lady, if you're some kind of criminal, then I gotta pull over and – " he started pressing on the brake, so she knew she had to say more.
"Hey! I'm no criminal," she interrupted, the panic rising in her voice. "But I am in trouble. That's why I needed your help."
"So what's going on?" he asked, flicking his turn signal on. He was going to pull over. She felt a lump rising in her throat.
"I got in a... bit of an argument," she started, trying to explain. "We disagreed, and he got pretty mad. I think he was going to hurt me. I had to get away." The clicking of the turn signal fell silent, and she felt the car speeding up. She sunk into the seat.
"Why didn't you say so?!" he asked, his voice loud, yet relieved. "This guy sounds like a real asshole. Hurt a pretty lady like you? Tsk, definitely an asshole." She smiled at first, finding herself agreeing with him. But then she started thinking about Mantis, and her smile faded away. She remembered the pain he had showed her. She remembered that cry. His cry. She wanted more than anything to forget it, she never wanted to hear it again. If she had seen or heard any more, if he had shown her any more, it would have surely broken her down. Hell, she almost lost it in the moment right before she escaped him. In his eyes, past the fire, and that intense hate, she saw such an emptiness. A hopeless darkness.
"How could he live that way?" she asked aloud, barely above a whisper. She didn't expect her driver to answer, nor was she even really asking him. It was just a question that she had no idea how to answer. Considering the silence that came over the car, he didn't really know either. Her eyes stayed on the mirror until they slowly came to a close. Meeting Mantis, and escaping him, had been exhausting. She had no idea where this guy was driving, but it didn't really matter. If she could sleep for just a little while, then she would be all the better for it. She just couldn't let him catch her. She could not see him again. And yet, as she slept, he was all she saw. He was distant, and she was unable to run away. She was only able to move toward him. Not moving at all was not an option; it only brought him closer to her. And she couldn't let him catch her. So instead she ran, ready and willing to engage him head on. She was not afraid of him. She drew her knives, prepared for whatever he had for her. She would not let him take hold of her mind again. She would run him through before he ever had the chance. There he was, so very close now. She was ready.
When she reached him, she slowed down before outright stopping in her tracks. He was just standing there. He was not even looking at her. His gaze was fixed downward, his breathing slow and methodical. It was as if he was not expecting her. This was her own dream, so surely he should have been there like some kind of bogeyman, or a monster for her to slay. Even if she couldn't determine her own dream, this was still her mind. And yet, things weren't going as she thought they would. How could her mind not be her own?
"Go on, then," he said to her, his gaze still down at his boots. "Do you have it in you, child?" She looked down at her knives before looking back at him. He still wasn't looking at her. Even in a dream, he was able to confuse her.
"You would be doing me a favor," he started again. "You would end the torment of my existence. At last, I would have silence. As would you. You would be rid of me. Is that not what you want?" She thought long on that question, wondering if that was what she wanted. Yes, she did not want to feel his pain, she did not want to remember it. But would all of it truly go away if he were to die? Would she not just remember it still, along with the pain brought on by killing him? Is that what she wanted? Or did she want to relieve that pain? She had told him that she was willing to be his friend, and she meant every word. He really did need a friend, or at least a person who could show him that there is good in the world, and in other people. And he needed that pain to end. That rage, that sadness, that anger, they all had to be torturing him, just as they tortured him as a boy. Killing him would end all of it. Like he said, she really would be doing him a favor. She looked down at her knives again.
"Do it," he hissed, slowly raising his head. He was looking at her now, and she could feel the fire in his eyes. "Here is your chance. Seize it. End everything." She looked up from her knives, and saw the desperation beneath his mask. He wanted her to do it. Just as she was unafraid, he was unafraid of her, or of death. She watched his desperation turn to disbelief as she let her knives fall. She would not kill him. She could not kill him. It was not out of a desire to see his tortured existence continue. Simply, she did not want to do it. What she wanted to do was help him. She did not really know why, but she wanted to heal all of that pain. She wanted to give him a reason to not feel such terrible sadness. She wanted to give him that reason right there and then. And so, she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him. Her hands clung to his back as she hugged him, and she was not surprised in the least to see that he would not hug her back. His arms just remained limp before they began to shake, and soon enough, that gentle trembling gradually moved across his body. She noticed it, and he knew that she noticed.
"What is this?" he growled. Even that hoarse voice through that mask sounded like it was shaking. "Enough. Enough!" He tried to push her away, but she would not let him go so easily.
"Let me help you," she said, her voice gentle. "I can help you." She was surprised by how quickly he responded to her words, and just how he responded. He put his gloved hands on her arms. He did not push her away again, but instead held her, just as she wanted him to. Now she was regaining control of her dream, and of her thoughts. Or so it would seem. He shook his head before he answered her.
"There is no need for that. For you already have," he said, his voice also gentle, but possessing that familiar eerie quality. It did not make her feel as comfortable as she would have liked. "Because now, my dear, I see. There… there you are."
She felt his grip on her tighten, causing her to squirm before fully attempting to pull away from him. His gloved fingers dug into her arms as she tried to get away. It was all to no avail until she woke up, breathing heavily in the passenger seat of the car. It was just a dream, just a product of her mind. She may have lost control, but it was still hers. Knowing that should have relaxed her, but it didn't. A shadow of a feeling crept up on her, and it made her wonder if it really was simply a dream. What her driver said next made it clear to her.
"What the hell?!" he cried. "Damn thing's sputtering. Come on, man!" She closed her eyes and took a heavy breath. It was not quite a dream, and whatever trouble now plaguing the car was no coincidence. He found her. She wanted the car to recover, to have its second wind if such a thing were possible for an automobile, but she did not expect it to happen. For now, she was defeated.
"Just pull over," she said, shaking her head. "Thanks for everything, but I can just keep walking." Now it was his turn to shake his head. She heard the clicking of the turn signal again.
"Don't give up yet! We'll check it out, and if need be, I'll call my friend who's good with cars. We'll be back on the road in no time!" he told her with a cheery optimism. She found it to be excessive and misplaced, considering who was coming for them. Or rather, coming for her. She didn't say anything as he pulled over and got out of the car. She got out with him and didn't stick around long. Looking around for Mantis, feeling him near yet unable to see him, she started to walk away, drawing the protest from her driver, whose name she never learned, or cared to know.
"Hey, where're ya going?!" he called. "You don't gotta – " He was interrupted by the violent sound of metal smashing and tearing against itself. Helpless, he turned and watched in horror as his car was scrapped before his eyes. Upon hearing the carnage she turned and saw it happen, and past the car and its driver, she saw him. She turned forward and ran, and she dared not look back. He felt as if he were right behind her, even though he wasn't. In actuality, Mantis was standing beside the wreckage, seemingly admiring his handiwork. Quizzically, his eyes traveled from the car and out toward his prey. She was becoming nothing more than a distant, black speck. He looked back at the car, and he wondered if he was carelessly or purposefully too slow in destroying it. Had he been quicker, he would have killed her and her driver, bringing the car down upon them. But he didn't do it. Maybe he desired some kind of twisted satisfaction in letting this continue. After all, she had not feared him yet, and he wanted that to change. But maybe there was another reason.
"You got a phone I could borrow?" the driver asked, making the mistake of addressing Mantis. "My, my car… what the hell is happening...?" The psychic just looked at him before peering into his mind. There was nothing of any value to uncover. Although there was one thing that caught his attention.
"Tell me," he began. "Do I still sound like… an 'asshole?'" The driver's eyes widened. First there was the realization, and then there was the fear that he had craved.
"Hey, wait, I didn't mean – " he tried to backpedal, but it was far too late.
"Shhh. You did. I am 'definitely' an asshole, no? Those were your words. And this, with your car? My doing. Fear not, for indeed, I am an asshole through and through." He started toward the fearful driver. The driver stumbled backward until he found himself paralyzed. Fear had absolutely stricken him.
"I live for nothing, I believe in nothing. Hatred, chaos, rage, destruction, such things are all that I have. I am worse than any insult or derogatory term that your feeble mind can provide you. I am nothing." He stopped, looking away from the driver and out toward that distant speck. He pointed a bony, gloved finger in her direction.
"But she," he went on. "She does not think so. She will not think so. She will not see. It is a curious thing. She sees value in her own life, in my life, and even in your life. Such blindness, surely I must open her eyes. Do you not agree?" He was asking the frightened man not just to frighten him further, but because he was, for what he thought was the first time, unsure about what to do with her. He would not admit it, he would not even consider himself to be unsure, but truly he did not know what to do. It should have been simple, and initially he thought that it would be. She had to see as he did, and she had to be broken. There should not have been any doubt in his mind. And yet, even as she grew ever more distant and out of his sight, his thoughts remained on her. She may have been running from him now, but before, she had run toward him of her own volition. She had taken hold of him before he ever could make his move. Mantis' eyes bulged beneath that mask when he realized it: she was just as dangerous as he was. The all-powerful, all-knowing monster was just a gas masked man before her. He was not accustomed to such vulnerability.
"Hey man, do what you think is right," the driver said, stammering and starting to back away again. Eventually he hurried off, running back toward the city. The psychic saw no benefit in giving pursuit. After all, his hunt was not quite finished.
"What is right?" he asked himself, pacing along the destroyed remains of the car. "What do I even think is right? I would have thought that punishing her would be the right thing to do, and yet my resolve is… lacking. This… this will not do. I must fix myself… by breaking her. There is no alternative."
"He's… not chasing me?" she asked herself between breaths, relieved that she had distanced herself from him. "He could have killed me! He could try and kill me if he came for me now! Is he letting me go?"
"She could have killed me," he went on, in solitude. "She should have killed me. I did not want or request her mercy. Though I suppose she gave me more than that." He looked down at his hands. The hands which had held her close. "Why? What could be your purpose, if you will not hate me? What inspires your actions, if it is not fear?"
"He seemed set on catching me." She stopped running and looked back, unable to really make out anything. "He had me, he wanted to hurt me. Either I'm stronger than he thought I'd be, or he just keeps letting me go. It's definitely the first one, it's gotta be! Why would he just let me go?"
Both of them had their questions. Neither of them had answers. It puzzled her, it infuriated him. She opened another portal and stepped through, arriving at the edge of a small brook secluded in a wooded area. Home. A city was no place for a nobody, she could not exist there. She really could not exist anywhere. But her home provided her with that comfortable warmth that she assumed came along with a heart. She had calmed down considerably but she was still puzzled, still bothered by it all. And all the while she thought about him, and wondered if he were still coming. She never looked back, she never needed to; even then he felt so near, even if he was not. She strolled through the woods, following a path that she figuratively knew by heart, until she reached a more established pathway. A short distance away she saw the house, that cottage which seemed to emit a natural sense of tranquility. She talked about getting her own place, she did not wish to be a burden to her sister after all, but she always found herself coming back, and her sister always welcomed her. She opened the door and saw her sister feeding her baby, which brought a smile to her face. But then her thoughts returned to him. Her smile did not last.
Emerging from the woods, his eyes fell upon the quiet, lonely house. A dark grin formed beneath his mask. He considered bringing it down right there and then. She was inside, she had family that was inside. He thought about collapsing it on itself, just as he had done with the car, and the fountain before it. He would be rid of her in a matter of moments. What stopped him from doing it was his realization that it would not be enough. She had to be broken. There was no alternative. There could not be any other alternative. His smile did not last as he turned and reentered the woods.
"There is no alternative," he muttered aloud, seemingly trying to assure himself. Or perhaps, convince himself. Just then, almost on cue, he remembered the feeling he had when she wrapped her arms around him. He remembered the feeling of her hands on his back, and how her arms felt in his hands. Thinking of it, thinking of her, brought him trembling limbs, a sour taste in his mouth, and an unusual fire deep in his chest.
"She must be broken."