The shadow looms just in front of me, whip-like tentacles manifesting from the fading light of the dying day. There is no face under the mask of the dusk, this nightmare is a horrible dream without a reality.

In any moment now, I will become nothing. Nothing but the fallen memory of a dead brother. I will be killed by a faceless body, a woman, it would appear, that will never be hunted down to avenge me.

How will Hiro feel? Oh god, I didn't even think of him.

Mom? Dad? I'm sorry. I'm sorry as hell.

I want to close my eyes, but the tremble of my body forces them wide open; I, and I alone, will bear witness to my demise. No one will notice, and no one will care.

I can feel a tear slide down my cheek as I try to breathe.

And a clash of thunder erupts from the mountainside.

His face is forged with the ferocity in his heart – vile and intense, the man's white brow furrows with frustration as he leaps at the shadow. From my place on the ground, the newcomer is nothing but a red flash, a streak of savagery hell-bent on piercing the shadow. It reclines and swooshes sharply to avoid contact, but the cardinal alien realigns himself to jab again. Caramel-colored skin catches the fading light as the shadow fights to live; my savior is some sort of chocolate… God. Because only a god could do this… right?

Back and forth, the two leap and dodge various attacks. It doesn't look like the shadow wants me dead anymore – holla at you for that – but I can't move. I'm memorized by the sight… it's so… alien… so foreign, so supernatural.

In the flash on an instant, the dark man leaps back, draws an arm to his side, and a bow appears. It's easily longer than me, length-wise, and thin as a bone the further you travel from the center. Yet, as the crimson man strings a magically-materialized arrow – its own details are too hard to see, even with enhanced eyes, since the whole event is over within the blink of an eye – the bow arches, a mountain lion coiling to pounce on its next meal. As thin as it looks, it doesn't snap under the pressure.

I catch the man's eyes in this instant, and all of the air in my lungs escape me. Oh dear god, he's beautiful. Even with a scowl piss-filled enough to tear the world in half, his eyes are somehow brown but tinted with the silver lining of an angel. He's seen the end of the world, I know that. But how could such a beautiful man have survived something that he clearly has? He's been through hell – the suffering is imprinted on his eyes – and yet he stands here, fighting for me.

I can almost feel the intensity of the situation tingling my bones. My sixth-sense, which up to this point I thought was nothing more than a tool to "acquire" information that I wasn't supposed to have, burns inside of me. That bow, that arrow… that man! To put the situation in words is unbelievably difficult: I mean, I was on the brink of being killed, surly the same way Takao did. Yet I'm saved by a superhero? I'm to be spared by a man, who could just as easily sever my head from the rest of my body? I cringe as his drawn-back hand lets go, and the arrow pierces the shadow with a scream of violence.

The ground shakes beneath me as the shadows of the bench, posts, houses, and plants curl in pain. My own shadow seems to freak out a little, but I'm too overwhelmed by my sixth-sense right now to really react.

The nightmare lady's tentacle arms lash out in reflex, shrill screams scorching my ears. The red man doesn't seem to mind all too much since he is quickly 'preoccupied' with shadows curling around his neck and limbs.

I didn't think it was possible, but his face is tight with pain. His growl has become a grimace.

And I sit, stupidly, watching.

Hold on a fat second.

Hold on a FAT SECOND! He's in pain, he's in danger! If I lose him, that shadow will defiantly come back for me. No, I can't let him die, I just can't!

.

.

.

Oh, who am I kidding? I don't know how to fight – hell, I'm barely passing calculus. There's nothing a girl like me can do.

My hands curl in fists beneath me, supporting me as I straighten up from my place on the ground, but it's not the cold surface I feel beneath me; a gleam of color radiates from my sweatshirt. It's a warmth, almost motherly, that ebbs from my pocket, and I throw my hand in and wrap my fingers around the little plate-cup antique.

I totally forgot it was there. I'm more surprised by the fact that it isn't violently hurting me, but rather reacting to the violence in the atmosphere.

I might be a whole lot of a person, but I can do something.

I stand up without thinking. My legs slowly fall forward, then pick up speed, and I'm running without thinking.

I'm running right two the two fighting Gods. The shadow continues to scream, its voice alien to mine, and the red man is lifted off his feet as he struggles against the grasp.

For an instant, the blinding light is so… peaceful, I almost wish I am dead. I feel nothing – not the brisk atmosphere, not the cool stars bleeding above, not the sixth-sense corrupting the place I call home. For that heart-beat, everything was as right as it could ever be.

My eyes peel open to see a radiant, violet flower before me. It's almost maroon, with a simple diamond in the center. The petals stretch and dance out around me – three, in all – in a serene state of mind. Its own state of mind.

And the moment it's gone, every cell in my right arm screams.

I collapse, and the cup-plate retracts into its palm-sized natural state. It was no longer than a second of stupidity, but it was enough for the man in red to be freed of the shadows trapping him; the moment his feet hit the ground, he reaches out for me.

I'm shocked at first by the touch of his hands – they are big and calm, despite fighting a demon straight from hell. He pulls me back and stands before me, blocking my view from the shadow. His bow, which fell to the ground, was back in his hand.

An arrow, radiant and glistening like an angel, appears in the palm of his free hand.

He draws back

And releases.

Again, the shadow screams, but I can't see it. Instead I curl up on the ground, both hands grasping tightly to the cup that metamorphosed into a shield. It coos in my palm, soothing and relaxed, after releasing so much pent-up mana.

The big and kind hands scoop under me, but I'm so tightly wound I don't dare look up. The screaming is so piercing, I'm positive my ears are bleeding.

But that's the least of my worries. I'm off the ground, and the wind whistles around me. I curl up tighter and tighter into the chest of my savoir.

What

The

F***ing

Hell

Is going on

.

.

.

Sorry, implied language. But you'd be a little freaked out by this too, I'm pretty sure ;)