He followed the alleyway, taking a right bend, and then a left, which immediately opened up into a street adjacent to the one he had just left. The sound was coming from the West – and facing him from the West was a row of terraced housing with no dividing paths in-between. Stopping for a moment to think, the man looked down either side of the street – it was going to be a long detour, regardless of which direction he went, and he felt his racing heartbeat quicken as his mind went to the worst possible outcome. The sound of a girl's voice, in distress, in an area Artur had on good authority was the 'hub of crime'. His head snapped around, and he observed the way he'd came – it looked like the street he had just left, and the one he was on now, were only divided by a single length of houses, rather than two back-to-back.
He prayed that his gamble, devised over only a couple of seconds, would pay off.
Wondering if he was mad, Artur began sprinting straight towards one of the terraced houses, where he raised his forearms protectively in front of his face, jumped a metre off the ground, and raised his knees rising to meet his chest – before he flew straight through a window.
The house was well-illuminated with both artificial and natural light, and the man immediately heard voices raised in shock, bewilderment, and alarm.
'What the hell was that?'
'Punk kids with their bricks again?'
'Get your dad's old sword!'
He landed on two feet, and recovered swiftly, before breaking out into a full sprint once more. His eyes were wide, praying his senses and instincts would be enough to make his way through to the other side of the house. Christ, he prayed that there was another side of the house.
He was in the living room, and as his feet thundered rapidly across the wooden floor, glass breaking at first from the mess he created, he crossed into a narrow corridor running down the middle of the small house. The residents were most definitely aware that there were no kids throwing bricks at windows, and that it was, in fact, an intruder. Luckily for them, Artur didn't plan on staying for long.
He bolted through the plainly-decorated corridor, and into homely kitchen, before his eyes immediately spotted the next target for his apparent newfound love of acrobatics. With a repeat of the protective posture he took before, the bearded man, at full speed, went flying through the window to the rear of the house – before realising that the house's back door opened to a flight of stairs, which Artur had apparently decided to avoid in lieu of the faster, more aerodynamic approach.
His stomach was in his throat as he flew through the air and towards the ground – it must have been a ten metre drop. Shit. Something was going to break, he just hoped it was the pavement.
As his vision was taken up more and more by the rapidly approaching ground, Artur locked his knees and feet together as he had been trained to, keeping a slight bend in his hips, before his leather boots impacted the ground with a resounding SLAP.
Miraculously, as far as he could tell, he had managed to avoid breaking both his legs – he felt none the worse for wear, in fact – and as he attempted to burst out into a sprint once more, he found that the sudden, speedy stop was not deciding to hinder his ability to make pace.
He had found himself in an odd infrastructural design, quite unsure how he would describe it – it was comparable to a canal-y, sewer-y, alleyway-y stone feature, which was shaped like a U when facing the direction of the length of the structure. The structure was dug into the ground, and his poked over the top of it such that his shoulders were essentially level with the ground. Artur immediately noticed that it seemed to sprawl out like a maze, and that there were multiple ways he could go that seemed to follow the direction of the noise.
Artur enjoyed a good puzzle, but now was not the time for it. In his sprint, he picked a direction and went for it.
He had clearly made good progress, and as he gained ground, the voice became much, much clearer to him now.
…ttiyupsgqi…ean it…xqrcdnwdtw…xgrxcfdaee…ibtnmcjetv…ast chance…
He could make out the details of the voice much more clearly now, and he was certain it was a girl's – he would guess a girl in her late teens. He knew it was most likely the worst possible place and time for the thought to occur to him, but he couldn't help it – he was immediately struck by how beautiful her voice sounded. It was then, however, that he heard that the girl was not on her own.
…iavjlmpy…un with yo…dwmhcyyl…rfmbbymf…eingnuxg…uards to find…
If voices could have polar opposites, then he would decide later that the voice he heard after the girl's, was the polar opposite of hers'. A certain unpleasant, revolting image came to his mind as his brain registered the voice, however he paid it no heed as he continued the unbroken sprint he initiated upon landing. The sounds of the voices were growing louder, and as he followed the stone structure, Artur noticed an opening that seemed to intersect with a pathway in a T-junction like design. He didn't know if the narrow pathway he was following was going to open up into a street, an alleyway, a courtyard, or any other alternative, however he didn't think about it as his feet beat the ground like it owed his shoes money.
The man neglected to slow himself down in order to take a cautious approach as he neared the source of the sound, and by the time he put the brakes on, it was too late. As his shoes scraped to stop him, dust was raised into the air, and Artur skidded right into the middle of the alleyway. He put a hand out to stop himself, just in time, from crashing straight into the wall parallel to the opening he emerged from, and a deafening SLAP echoed throughout the confined area.
Artur had managed to insert himself squarely between two groups of people, within perhaps two arms' reach of each other. The body language on the bigger group… immediately heightened and intensified, amplified, his alarm and his guard.
His eyes immediately scanned around him, and though he immediately recognised that he'd identified the source of the threat, it was the source of the first voice… of the girl… that caused Artur to pause, his breath hitching, and an odd, jumping in his chest took his attention for a moment – a jumping feeling he'd never experienced in his life.
"Eh?!" Came the high-pitched, bell-like sound from the girl's mouth, a gasp of surprise, shock, bewilderment, at the unforeseen third party who crashed into the scene out of nowhere.
Artur was distracted before he could give the girl to his left his attention, his brain's survival instincts drawing the animalistic, survivor portion of him to focus on the movement coming from his right, of stumbling away from both him and the girl. As he whirred to fully face the source of the movement, he observed three figures in front of him, and only then realised that he had managed to put himself between the girl who had sounded distressed, and what he quickly figured out was the source of it. He could not have been closer if he'd tried.
"What? What the fuck? Who the hell are you?!" Shouted the figure in the middle, a slim man with light blue hair and black, reptile-like eyes. Alarm very clearly saturated his voice – he did not expect to get interrupted. He looked like an escaped convict, an ill-fitting grey tunic on his upper half and baggy, ripped grey trousers tied around his waist with a length of rope. Around the gopnik's neck was a metal collar with its chain hanging down, as though the chain had been ripped from whatever wall had been holding him in place.
It looked as though he was accompanied by two others, however – one man taller, and one man (although he hesitated to call him that) shorter. To the blue-haired man's left, the taller one looked to be all muscle and fat, a white sleeveless shirt underneath a waist-coat far too small for his fat belly, and white trousers matching the colour of his top. To the blue-haired man's right, the shorter one looked more like a goblin than a human. The first thing Artur's eyes were drawn to was the excuse for a haircut that looked as though someone had cut a humongous onion in half and stapled it to the guy's head. He had unsettling, malicious, incredibly dilated black eyes, and wore ragged, poorly-fitting clothes that he looked like he'd taken from the corpse of his most recent murder victim – they appeared about as clean as murder-victim-clothes might.
"I think the better question would be who you are, and what you're doing with this girl in an alleyway." Artur said, his voice remaining deep and neutral, his body squarely choosing a serene 'fight' mode in its decision between fight or flight. That said, Artur didn't think he'd ever be able to recall a time when 'flight' had won out – was that even an option for him?
The taller man paled slightly as his eyes, which finally had time to process the sight in front of him, fixed on Artur. The shorter one didn't pale, however his head shifted backwards unconsciously away from the newly-arrived man.
"G-Gaston," stuttered the short one, unease in his voice, "l-look at his fucking face." The sadistic smile on the goblin's face had evaporated completely, replaced and contorted into an expression of absolute disgust, a grimace to rival all grimaces etched into his features. There was no humour in his voice.
"I… I see it." Said 'Gaston'. His tone had been depraved, twisted, and reeked of bravado when Artur had first heard it, but now, the man almost sounded timid, the volume of his voice dropping not far from a whisper. If a mirror had been placed across from either of those two men's faces, it would be a trial to tell their expressions apart – it was not a look of horror, for the man did not appear terrified, however he was most certainly unnerved.
The blue-haired man in the centre, upon hearing the tone of his partners-in-deviancy, swung his head back and forward between the two. "The fuck's the matter with you two? Stick to the fucking plan!" He hissed, the venom in his voice making him more comparable to a snake than his lizard-like features might.
"There's two of 'em now, Rachins! That wasn't part of the plan!" Bit back the short one, his eyes having deviated from Artur to, what the Officer suspected, was the leader of this gaggle of lowlifes.
"It doesn't fucking matter, we don't even know what this freak's doing here!" Said the blue-haired man, 'Rachins'. "And stop saying our fucking names! If he ain't on our side, now we gotta kill him!" He continued, his teeth grinding in anger, trapping his long lizard tongue behind the confines of his straining whites.
Upon seeing that the three bandits were talking amongst themselves, their focus temporarily diverted, Artur quickly looked back, over his left shoulder, towards the girl. "Are you okay, miss?" He asked, genuine concern in his and warmth in his tone, his voice quiet enough to not interrupt the gaggle of bandits as they distracted themselves. He couldn't see the girl clearly, her remaining in his peripheral vision so as to keep an eye on the trio.
The girl acted surprised, another "Eh?" elicited by the bearded man's concern, her eyebrows raising and her mouth opening slightly in surprise. The girl… she acted as though nobody ever asked her that, though it was more than likely she just misheard him.
His eyes doubled back, swerving to confirm the trio were still conspiring amongst themselves, before returning so that the girl remained in his peripheral vision.
"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Artur asked again, slightly raising his voice, though not to the extent that it caught the attention of the criminals.
That's what she thought he'd asked her. Her expression of surprise diminished a little bit, and a slight smile came to her face, though not to the extent that Artur noticed. "I'm okay," the girl said, "these ruffians appeared out of nowhere, and said some…," she hesitated, "…some mean things."
Artur felt horrible at that. The way the girl said it… The innocuous word for the trio, along with describing how they spoke to her… He couldn't help but feel terrible for her. She was okay, however – and quickly, as he thought about what they might have said to such a sweet-sounding girl, the sadness he felt was quickly replaced by anger. Lucky for him, he knew exactly how he might relieve that anger.
Flashing a quick smile at the girl, he turned his head back to the three, who were still at it. It seemed that their emotions were becoming heightened the more they squabbled, as their voices raised higher and higher, and they became more and more emotive, gesticulating and taking on more drastic facial expressions of desperation and impatience.
"It's your move, dudes." Artur said, his voice sounding like gravel, projecting his voice though certainly not raising it. Almost immediately, the trio stopped their bickering, and their eyes went to strange man between them and their prey.
"Shut up! I'll handle this! I'll handle this!" Rachins whispered forcefully to the onion-haired man, unhindered irritation in his voice, before his gaze shifted to the unknown entity.
"Listen, listen. Me and my friends here… We were just about to have a little fun. Now, if you wanted, you'd be more than willing to join in. Four on one might get a bit messy, but messy's just part of the fun." Rachins said, before looking back to Camberley, and then to Gaston, before a depraved, lecherous smile came to his sickly pale, gaunt face. "If you forget out names, we'll even let you have the first turn." He continued, before his tongue flew out of his mouth in a licking motion.
The girl felt a wave of anxiety as her chest tightened at the sick man's words. Her eyes flew back to the only thing standing between her and the trio, and hoped despite herself that this fourth man was not of the same breed as the first three. Her heart beat faster, and it felt as though time slowed as she watched the back of the tall man.
Artur's anger amplified a-thousand-fold, and the scowl that erupted on his face at the ringleader's words was enough of an answer for the three. He turned his head, looking over his left shoulder, and tried to suppress his rage, his fury, the visage he knew told the world how searingly hot his blood was boiling, for the sake of the girl.
"This isnae gonnae be pretty, lass. I'd suggest looking away, and covering your ears." The fourth man said quietly, before returning his gaze to the three in front, his accent inadvertently spilling out a little as his clenched knuckles grew whiter.
The girl watched him drop his bag, and a strange, wooden, stick-shaped object from his back. The anxiety that had built in her chest diminished somewhat, a little relief coming to her that the fourth man did not seem to be the same as them, but part of her couldn't relax. She knew what she was capable of, that she could defend herself if she needed to, even if she was extremely, incredibly, incomprehensibly reluctant to when it was only her own life at risk, but this man didn't. She didn't want to risk a stranger getting hurt just because of her – she assumed he was just very kind, intervening on behalf of someone like her, even if she wasn't certain of his intentions, and that he was most likely a kind man only made her feel even worse. Her guilt was only exacerbated by the fact that she could tell the man was growing angry, although the girl worried about what it was that he was angry at – was it her? The ne'er-do-wells?
The girl was about to intervene, to tell the man to go away and let her deal with her own problems, but part of her didn't want to.
"Any ae you got a knife?" Artur asked, his voice surprisingly composed for the violent torrent rampaging inside of him. His hands raised to the top button of his uniform jacket, and he began to undo them one by one.
The middle one's smile grew, his lizard tongue flicking out again, before licking his yellow, food-decorated teeth. "I don't know what you're thinking, but I like it." Rachins said, before reaching both hands behind his back, and withdrawing two scimitar-like blades. Knowing the enemy's capabilities was half the battle, Artur knew, and he'd much rather that the dead men walking showed their full hand before he raised.
The shorter one wasn't so convinced, however, and with a slightly nervous demeanour, he asked the question that the ringleader did not.
"What… Why you askin' about knives?" He asked, eyes darting quickly from tallest man there, to Gaston, Rachins, and back.
Artur removed his service dress jacket, laying it on the top of his rucksack and rifle. "Well, I dinnae want to get my aen knife bloody after skinning the hides'a you three fuckpuppets." Artur said, voice remaining deadpan, monotonous, a total lack of inflection, before taking a step forward. He almost immediately regretted saying that – he didn't know where it came from. He didn't regret it for the trio, but for how the girl was feeling, and more than likely how that would affect her perception of him.
A chill ran down the spine of the three men collectively, and as a nervous expression passed over Gaston and onion-head's faces, Rachins simply gulped, and painted an expression of bravado on his face that he suddenly didn't feel. He flourished his blades, as if in an attempt to appear more intimidating, before licking his lips with that tongue that seemed to have a mind of its own.
"T-Then maybe we'll use your clothes to wipe off after we're done with the whore!" Rachins spat, his voice unintentionally rising an octave, before he made a false start towards the man. He looked towards Gaston, who simply looked back, and cracked his large knuckles. "W-Well? Get him!" Rachins shouted at the tall, fat man.
Gaston took a step, and then another, and then another. His hesitation was clear, but whatever doubts he had didn't stop him from advancing, and it certainly didn't stop him from hanging around with Rachins in the first place. As he got closer to the taller man, he sped up, before running at him. Gaston pulled his arm back for a strike that couldn't have been more telegraphed, and about two metres away from him, too – Artur considered that these thugs might be so amateurish and untrained that they were more dangerous for it.
The bearded man's stance immediately shifted, his left foot in front and pointed forward, his right foot behind and to the right facing a 45 degree angle, his shoulders hunched forward, and his now-closed fists raised in a guard at eye-level. He remained light on his feet, rhythmically shifting his weight between his front and back foot. The girl behind him found herself overtaken with curiosity, despite the circumstances – she had never seen anyone stand like that before. The trio, on the other hand, were confused – they had never seen anyone prepare for a fight like that – the fucker must not know what he was doing!
As Gaston swung, time seemed to slow down for the Officer – he knew what the effects of adrenaline could be, and how it could alter a person's perception of time, but this… this felt different. It was explicitly comparable to slow motion, as though the speed of the world had been reined in monumentally – or, perhaps, as though the speed of his own mind had been amplified. His physical movements were unaffected, and seemed to move at the same relative speed as the rest of the world did – not his mind, however.
The lumbering brute sent his fist towards the bearded man, but with seemingly all the time in the word to calculate his movements, Artur parried away Gaston's hand to the right, before he shifted to the left and forwards, closing the gap between the two men. The momentum of the fat man's fist ensured his upper body remained twisting to the right, and capitalising on the opportunity, Artur pivoted to the left, rotating his right hip forward, throwing his entire bodyweight into the right elbow that smashed into Gaston's eye.
With a pain and shock-fuelled 'ARGH!', the biggest thug was sent reeling back, blood immediately beginning to run down his face from the gash in his newly-torn-open eyebrow. He was buckled, weak in the legs, and though he tried to stand upright, he had to lean against an alleyway wall to prevent himself from falling to the ground.
After delivering the blow, the bearded man immediately righted himself and returned to his stance, his eyes flickering between the dwarf-like creature and the soon-to-be eunuch. He knew that the biggest one was essentially out of the fight, remaining on his feet or not – that elbow will have scrambled his brains, Artur knew, and anything he tried to do now would be a limp-fisted attempt at resistance at best. He knew well enough from experience how incapacitating it could be.
Rachins looked to his onion-haired compatriot, who, with anxiety in his face, returned his gaze, before the short man began to rapidly bounce his bulging eyes between his unofficial leader and their belligerent.
He began to let out a high-pitched scream, shrill like a banshee, piercing and nasally, before charging at Artur. Although, to say he was charging was generous – it was more comparable to waddling or hobbling towards him. It didn't matter to Artur, however, as he had no idea what the people here were capable of, and he would not be the first person to get hurt by underestimating an opponent. The dwarf could have a hidden weapon, for all he knew.
As the short thug approached, his arms outstretched, Artur had no idea what the man's intentions were. He was nearing arm's length, but besides his shriek, he did not seem to be preparing for a strike. Perhaps he was a grappler, and/or a ground fighter, Artur considered in his hyperaware, slow-motion-like state. That could be a danger, as a man could devastate even a physically stronger and bigger opponent in ground fighting. He was somewhat sceptical that that was going to be the case, considering the short length of the man's arms, but he wasn't going to take the risk.
Within range, Artur pivoted to the left, twisting his upper body and right hip to the left alongside as he raised his right leg, throwing his right shin through the short man's head, who received it only with a small grunt.
The thug was immediately thrown to the left, his body contorting unnaturally at the sudden imposition of force on his cranium, flying unopposed through the air, before his struck head impacted the stone alleyway wall with a CRACK.
There was no blood, but unlike the first man Artur struck, he did not remain conscious – lying motionless on the ground, face down, soundlessly.
"Y-You… You fucking bastard!" Screamed the last unharmed combatant, before immediately charging at Artur, both knives raised in the air.
As Rachins flew at the taller man, Artur shift his front and rear foot to trade places, before sending his left foot upwards, colliding with the bottom of the knife-wielder's hand. Unprepared, the knife flew out of the man's hand, and he stumbled backwards, suddenly unsure of himself.
The knife sailed through the air towards Artur, and perhaps thanks to the physical slow-down around him, he was able to catch it in mid-air by the grip. He looked down at the weapon – unsharpened, rusted, an incomplete bevel on one side of the knife – but he supposed it would do the job of scaring away the last man. Artur previously was unarmed, and he was now not only armed, but he had halved Rachin's firepower.
He was wrong, however, and with hesitation, the thug approached him once more, holding his one remaining knife in the air in the exact same way – although to his credit, he remembered to shift the blade to his right hand, what Artur presumed to be his dominant hand, rather than his left. Artur could appreciate that persistence could pay for itself, however he knew first-hand how lethal, how deadly, repetition in combat had the potential to be. And with weapons in hand? It was practically a promise – a guarantee.
With the thug sprinting at him, Artur decided he wasn't going to kill the man – no, he had a more… fitting idea for the thief in mind. He allowed Rachins to get within arm's reach, and as the thug swung the straight vertically in a slashing motion at Artur, the taller man easily sidestepped the slow blow to the right. With his left hand, Artur's grip fully enclosed around the man's right wrist, before pivoting in such a way that the girl behind him couldn't see the blade anymore. With a deep breath, Artur raised his own blade high in the air, before bringing it down with such speed, force, and weight, with as much force as his large muscles could possibly muster, slicing cleanly through Rachin's forearm – about halfway up its length.
As the blade – and Rachin's right hand, wrist, and half of his forearm – clattered harmlessly to the stone floor, the thug remained silent, unable to comprehend what had just happened. The criminal, now free from the man's grip, stumbled backwards wildly, holding his right arm with his left hand, trying to figure out what he was looking at. It was not until, a few seconds later, when oxygen-rich blood began spurting out of his newly-acquired stump in rhythm with his rapid heartbeat, that the penny dropped. The thug let out a shrill, high-pitched, blood-curdling scream that echoed throughout the alleyway and far beyond, and sent a horrible shiver down the spine of the girl.
She let out a shocked gasp at the scream, her brow furrowing as she attempted to comprehend what had just happened, but due to Artur and the man's positioning, she was unable to see either the bloody haemorrhaging stump, nor the hand that lay on the ground, still grasping tightly to the grip of the blade, as though unaware it had been separated from its owner.
As the scene before Gaston registered, and he began to understand what had just unfolded – and what kind of person him and his trio had the misfortune of dealing with - he leaned over and vomited on the stone cobbles, his head swirling over the prospect of what the monster might do next, before collapsing to his side. He was conscious and breathing, which was more than the bigger man thought he deserved.
The man who did most of the fighting walked over to the newly one-handed thug, the blue-haired man now sobbing, both tears and snot running down his chalk-white face. Artur kneeled down, speaking loudly enough that three thugs, and also inadvertently the girl, could hear him.
"I would suggest you hold your arm tightly at the amputation site, and that you get muscle-brains over there to kneel on top of it. Your body's constricting the blood vessels in your arm to help the bleeding, but it's an unnatural wound, and it won't coagulate or heal easily." The man said, before dropping the bloody knife, grabbing at the knot in the rope tied around the thug's waist keeping his trousers up, and with one pull, undoing the shoddily-done thing.
"I'm going to tie this around your arm; it'll do well enough until you can see a doctor." Artur said, before wrapping the rope around the man's bicep, crossing the ends, and pulling it on – tightly – applying more constrictive force than a hangman with a noose.
The man let out a yelp, his hand moving to the length of rope, before Artur smacked his hand away. "Leave it!," Artur roared in the man's ear, "do you want to bleed to death?" He asked, before moving his to the man's remaining one, and placing it at the stump. "Keep your hand here, and don't stop applying pressure – it'll help with the bleeding."
Artur stood back up, and left the bloody blade lying on the paving by the amputee. He waked over to the severed hand, picked it up by a relatively clean portion, and unclenched the fingers, before removing the clean blade from the lifeless appendage. "I'm going to be taking this. I don't think you'll be needing two of them, anymore." Artur said, deadpan, no sign of humour in his voice.
He looped the blade to a length of cordage attached to his belt, and looked at the severed half-arm in his hand. Artur considered mutilating the severed limb to the extent that it would be impossible to re-attach it, in the event that the scum managed to get to a surgeon with it in time – a harsh punishment, one that he considered might generally be considered cruel, and a permanent reminder of the consequences of bedevilling the innocent. He decided against it, however – it was bad enough that the girl behind him had seen him sever it. The last thing she needed was to witness him act as a butcher. He dropped the dying limb to the ground.
He looked back at the girl, and saw a look of horror on her face as she stared down at the severed hand, blood trickling from the cleanly sliced section of forearm, Artur's movement allowing her to see past him and view the scene of red.
"W-W-Why did you do that?" The girl asked, her eyes wide, her eyebrows raised high, as she looked at the hand with an expression of bewilderment and disgust on her bewitching face.
By God, Artur thought she was beautiful, even despite the look she was giving him that he knew wasn't good. The girl had meticulously-groomed silver hair, long enough to extend down past her waist, and taking her angelically white face into his mind properly, fully, made his heart jump. Her skin was flawless, without even a suggestion of a blemish, and her adorable, shining amethyst eyes would threaten to steal the attention of any room she entered, her naturally long eyelashes enough to make any girl jealous. Her figure was perfect, Artur thought – she had narrow shoulders, breasts that were in the goldilocks zone of size (in Artur's perverted, eye-wandering mind), and femininely-wide hips.
She wore a, for the most part, white dress, with purple affectations throughout and on the trim, modest in how much skin it exposed. Her shoulders were bare, with sleeves that began mid-upper arm and extended past her hands without restricting her dexterity, and a skirt that was modest, extending down to mid-thigh. The girl's legs were adorned with mid-thigh-high stockings, her feet wearing knee-high boots whose heels made her seem taller than she really was. If he had to guess, taking into account her heels, he'd say she was between 160cm and 165cm (between 5 ft 3 and 5 ft 5). A white cloak hung from around the girl's neck, its hood currently resting behind her head.
And though she was divine in her beauty, he hated to see the expression on her face, made even worse by the fact that it was there because of his actions. Regret flooded him, drowning and extinguishing any remaining fires of fury and rage that remained in him. Although the punishment he'd inflicted on the thug was partly calculated, he would be lying if he said that the biggest factor that fuelled what he'd done was his red-hot burning emotions. This… This wasn't like him, but when he heard the threats against the girl, and knew the vile, disgusting thoughts that were running through their minds, he just couldn't stop himself.
Though, he wondered if that was just what he was telling himself.
He turned away from the beauty, though reluctantly, and looked back at the scene he had caused.
"I'm… sorry that you had to see that, miss." Artur said, his voice remaining mostly flat, though the regret swelling in his chest managed to leak through just a little into his tone.
The girl's eyes, which had been fixed on the hand, moved to cast her eyes on the back of the man's – her 'saviour's' – figure. Her horror relaxed slightly at the man's apology, and the tone in his voice that sounded remorseful, however her guard remained up, and she took a step backwards. "Why… Why?!" She asked, raising her voice at the man. He couldn't help but think how angelic her voice sounded, even despite the emotion she exhibited, and the feelings he knew that were behind that tone made his guilt grow even further.
"It didn't seem to me that he was going to stop until he had a reason to." Artur said, flatly, his eyes moving back and forward between the three criminals subdued criminals. As his eyes lingered on the shortest one, still lying face-down, he realised that the man was no longer breathing.
And Artur felt nothing.
He knew he should – he had just extinguished a man's life. Irreversibly. Forever. All of the man's hopes, dreams, feelings, memories, relationships – all gone.
But then he thought to the trenches, and how many lives had been taken. How many lives he had taken.
But there's a difference! –part of his mind told him. There was a difference between killing a man on the other side of the field in a war, and killing a man in a back-alley.
Yes – another part of his mind said. The difference between killing a man in the other trench, was that the dead man had incomparably more than likely done absolutely nothing to deserve it. Just another man, forced to kill other men from different countries because of their rancid governments. Killing this man in the back-alley… Artur would not explicitly say that he deserved to die, but it was inarguable, to him, that the man brought it on himself. As far as Artur could see, the dead man and his friends tried to seriously harm an innocent, someone they thought was prey, and as far as he cared, they had forfeited their lives in doing so. What had a conscript on either side of the war done to forfeit their lives? They were born near the end of the wrong century?
As far as he cared when it came to the thugs, the potential for someone stronger than them coming along and interrupting their sinful plans was part of the risk of thinking they had the right to potentially alter, damage, ruin, or take a person's life irreversibly.
He was just an agent of the dice that the three men rolled, he told himself. If anything, the man whose hand Artur cut off was lucky to have only lost half an appendage, and not his life, Artur's mind argued to him.
But, then, the thought occurred to him, was he just rationalising his sins away?
He had thought he felt nothing, but that wasn't true. Now that his mind had time to process anything other than keeping the girl and himself safe, he realised…
A warmth.
A holy, divine, spirit-lifting warmth.
It felt like a breath of warm air on a cold winter night, brushing directly against his chest, but not stopping like air would – it radiated against his sternum, pressing on him, coaxing him. It was a reassuring sensation – one of security. One that he had most likely not felt since he was a child.
It felt like the antidote to all his problems, and despite himself, everything in him and around him told him to open up and accept this heat. This… Godly force.
And so, he did. Almost immediately, the warmth – the force – the sensation, it gently brushed through his skin, bone, flesh, and rested in his chest, like a ball of fire entirely surrounding his heart, and tenderly caressing it, despite the fact that if the fire wanted to, it could incinerate his insides in an instant.
And yet… though that possibility might be, he felt no fear or opposition to the force. The… entity? It felt alive. Expanding and contracting, the flame growing and shrinking steadily, in time with his breathing. As though it had… amalgamated with him. A symbiotic attraction. No, an affinity. As though this heat was made for him, and he made for it.
As he took a deep breath and exhaled, the fire inside shrunk… and then roared to life, spreading through his body, quicker than any chemical or electrical impulse could, seeming to spread through him and gently brushing against every part of his body. Every part of his mind.
Perhaps what stood out to the Captain the most, which he knew was nonsensical considering how securing, reassuring, and… divine the being felt, was the burning feeling that seemed to flare greater in one part of his body than any other. Above, around, and inside his… nether region. It was not a lascivious, sinful, or lewd sensation – it was pure, and innocent, and felt like it would embody all that was righteous and good in this world. And yet… this particular sensation was undoubtedly sexual in nature. Baffling.
Benevolent, tasteful, and yet seeming to enflame the urges and impulses that had become so strong after three years in the trenches.
Three years, without companionship.
Three years, alone.
And yet, baffling.
The heat began to spread, and it felt as though he suddenly had input to control the impulse of this flame. Whatever this was, it couldn't have happened at a more inconvenient time.
The Officer seemed to break from a trance, his eyes that had involuntarily closed reopening. A small, genuine smile came to the man's face, feeling like a weight he didn't know was weighing him down had been… not lifted, no, he could still feel its pressure weighing down on him as he continued to separate it from the ground. Perhaps it was more akin to the weight being shifted to a less fatigued muscle, no longer threatening to damage a tired and worn down muscle – not in the immediate present, at any rate.
Something had changed. Something was different. Something, and yet it was a something that felt holy. Blessed, rather than cursed.
Though a part of his mind spoke out at this. What mortal was arrogant enough to believe they could distinguish between an angel and the devil? Between the holy and unholy? If the devil were to seduce a man, surely they would appear as benevolent. He didn't know what to think, or what to believe.
The girl had said something as his mind argued with itself, as that alien feeling entered and imbued him, while his swirling vortex of values, emotions, and thoughts argued with each other in inner conflict.
What had she said?
"M-maybe, but you didn't have to cut off his hand! And besides, I can defend myself!" The girl had insisted firmly, her tone cold, hostile. She could defend herself. She absolutely could. She just… Why could she not make herself? The girl couldn't help but freeze in that moment. There was nobody else's life at stake, just her's, so what did it matter if she got hurt? She was… She knew what she was.
"All I saw was a girl, in an alleyway, being approached by three menacing-looking men, not doing anything despite them being closer than the length of herself." Artur said, his deep voice carrying a low, downcast tone. "I couldn't just stand by. I amn't sorry for intervening, miss… But I'm sorry that you saw me do it." He said, his back remaining to her, his eyes never leaving the now lifeless onion-haired man.
The girl blinked at this, the horror fading even more, guilt beginning to build. This… This was her fault. The man had intervened to protect her – he didn't know her, what she could do, who she was. It was her fault that the main ne'er-do-well lost his hand. In fact, it was her fault that she was attacked in the first place – if she hadn't been in the alleyway, none of this would have happened, and she wouldn't be responsible for the three men getting hurt. She wouldn't be responsible for a… she didn't know if she wanted to call him 'kind', exactly, but she wouldn't have been responsible for him putting himself in harm's way. For her sake.
"They were going to-" Artur began, before stopping himself, considering his words carefully. "They were going to hurt you, miss. You saw their faces. You heard what they said." He continued, his deep, bassy voice resonating, carrying throughout the alleyway. He didn't want to upset the girl any more than he had already with his display, but he also didn't want to leave her thinking badly of him… for some reason. That was a very irrational thought – a very irrational feeling. He… should just leave. The girl was safe, he'd done what he needed to do, whether she appreciated it or not. She didn't need him hanging around her and upsetting her even more than he had done. Besides, he needed to try and track down Julius – Artur didn't know if he owed Julius an apology, exactly, be he certainly felt like the friendly Knight deserved one.
As it dawned on him what he'd done to Julius, he felt even more guilty. He prepared to say his goodbyes, throwing his service dress jacket back over
"I'm sorry again, miss. I'll leav-" He began, before being interrupted by girl behind him.
"N-No! It… It wasn't your fault, it was mine's. I was the one who was attacked…" She said, her own guilt leaking out into her voice. It was her fault that he had been forced to fight. He might have gone a little bit too far, but he still helped her against people who wanted to do her harm.
Artur's brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing in confusion. She was attacked, how was it her fault?
"I don't understand," he said, peering back over his left shoulder, "they attacked you. It's not your fault." He said, the confusion etched on his visage.
The girl's expression softened a bit more.
"Anyway, miss, I was with a… friend, when I heard your voice, so I'd better get back to them." He said, before he began making his way to the opening in the alleyway he had come from. "I hope I don't sound condescending, but it might be a good idea to stay out of alleyways from now on." He said, his deep voice remaining neutral.
"Take care, miss." He said, as he crossed the over the threshold, departing the bloody alleyway.
He was such a fucking idiot. Why would he do something like that in front of some poor lass? Yes, it was better than the alternative, but instead of preventing her from being a victim of one terror, he made her become the victim of having to watch a different one. Why could he not just have disarmed the leader of the outlaws a second time, rather than… 'dis-arming' him? It probably wouldn't have stopped him from trying to fight, but it would have made things safer, and he could probably have submitted him without the bloodshed.
Sorry, another part of his mind interjected. Since when did you become Jackie Chan? It was miraculous enough that you managed to kick the weapon out of his hand, and catch it! Never mind doing it a second time. At the end of the day, the guy could have, should have, realised the jig was up after you caved in Mister Waistcoat and brained The Mushroom Man. For him to still attack, after you fucking disarm him like something out of an action film? The consequences are entirely on him. How else were you supposed to 'just' disarm a sword-swinging attacker? Ask him really nicely to drop it? Put the scimitar between your teeth and pull it from his hand with your mouth?
Artur narrowed his eyes for a second, and he bit his lip in thought. Who's Jackie Chan?
He dismissed it. To say he had mixed feelings about his actions was an understatement, but what was done was done. At the end of the day, he stopped a potential… violent crime, and there was one more person in the world who would probably be a bit more wary in the future of wandering into alleyways… in the crime capital of the city… as the sun was falling…
When he thought about it, he realised he never actually asked the girl why she was there in the first place. She certainly didn't seem like the kind of person who habitually hung around crime hotspots. She had looked like a noble, an aristocrat. The same socioeconomic class as Julius, probably.
Why was he so curious about what she was doing, anyway? No point in thinking more about her.
It was done.
"Hey, wait!" He heard shouted from behind him, in that same feminine angelic tone that was so pleasing to the ears.
Okay, maybe it was not done.
※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※
He had heard the footsteps well in advance, but he had assumed it was unrelated to him – some other upstanding member of society walking the backstreets near sundown in the poverty-stricken area of the city. Hah.
"Wait!" He heard the shout, louder this time, definitely coming from closer behind him. He raised a hand to scratch his nose. He didn't know what the girl wanted, but at this point, he just wanted to rid himself of this situation entirely. It wasn't a good one – he'd lost control of himself. Not his finest moment in the slightest. For a reason he couldn't pinpoint in that moment, though, he stopped, and peered over his left shoulder at the girl, who had run after him.
She had caught up, and was now only a few metres away, standing awkwardly behind. The gorgeous silver-haired girl was looking down at the ill-maintained walkway of the stone structure he'd traversed earlier, her fingers twiddling at the fabric of her skirt.
"Are you okay, miss?" Artur asked, his deep voice remaining flat, though he inflected at the end of his question. He couldn't help his brow furrowing a little bit, curious about what she might want from him. She looked… a bit lost, downcast – understandably – though also a wee bit guilty.
The silver-haired girl smiled a little bit the question of concern, trying to figure out why he was being friendly towards her. He didn't look like he was obligated to – he didn't exactly look like one of the Royal Knights. His clothing was odd, a number of articles she had never seen before. The girl wondered where he was from, or what his job was, where those kinds of clothes were normal or commonplace.
"Yes, I am. I just… I realised I never said thank you… even if you did go a liiiiittle bit too far." The girl said, the smile growing slightly, before she looked up at the man's face. Well, the left side of it.
The man couldn't help but smile a little bit, too, despite himself. He wasn't going to apologise for what he did, he ultimately didn't regret the act itself, but he did regret her having to see the aftermath of it. It wasn't something that a young girl should have had to see – he was guessing she was, what, eighteen? Maybe nineteen or twenty? Definitely not something anyone should have to see, to be fair, regardless of their age.
Artur turned around to face the girl fully, and where there had been a reluctant smile of gratitude on the girl's face, there was now an expression of shock on her face. Her mouth hung slightly open – just a little bit – and her eyes widened. It was just another one of those looks – the looks that he'd been getting all day! She hadn't looked at him like the before, so why now? He didn't get it.
"Y-Y-Yeah, I'm fine!" She said, her eyes unmoving, boring a hole into his face with her piercing, steadfast gaze. Her wobbly voice, along with her stutter, did not do very much to convince him that she was 'fine'.
"Are you sure? It seems like something's bothering you." He said, his tone remaining flat. He was confused. Thoroughly, thoroughly confused. Was there blood or something on his face? That wouldn't explain why people were giving him those looks earlier – and this girl would already know why he had blood on his face, if that was it. What was the issue?
"Y-Yep, I'm hunky dory!" She said, raising her voice slightly as she continued to stare him in the face. It wasn't his eyes that she was staring at – no, she definitely wasn't making eye contact.
He was just about to point out her stares, before a third voice bet him to it.
"You're staring at the poor man, Lia." Came a high-pitched voice, as far as Artur could tell, from nowhere. He looked around – behind him, up, the ground, over the girl's shoulder – but there wasn't a sign. His gaze lay on the girl's eyes, though her's didn't lay on his, as a slightly puzzled expression lay on his face.
A second passed, before the words that came from the mystery figure finally seemed to register with the girl.
"E-Eh?! Puck?" The girl asked, her eyes deviating from the man's face for the first time since he had turned around, moving upwards. He didn't see what the silver-haired girl was looking at, but before he asked her that, or who 'Puck' was, his question was answered for him.
Appearing from a hiding place in the girl's hair, a small little cat-like creature appeared, not even 10cm tall, Artur would bet. The creature was covered in fur, and with the exception of his face, chest, and the end of its tail, which was coloured a snow white, the being's fur was a light grey. His radiant, decidedly non-feline, eyes were a bright light blue, and the wee thing had a small earring in his left ear. A small bag – appearing as though it was designed and made especially for this create – was slung around the beasty's right shoulder.
By far, however, the most outstanding feature about the thing – besides its diminutive, petite size – was the fact it was floating. Above the silver-haired girl's head. In mid-air.
The bearded man had to blink a few times, rapidly, in an attempt to dispel the sudden hallucination that he was experiencing. He couldn't remember hitting his head – the criminals hadn't managed to land a blow, had they?
"You were staring at his face, Lia! It's considered very rude, you know. You'll make the man feel self-conscious!" The floating cat monster said, in a very cute voice, with an incredibly endearing smile on its face. To be fair, there wasn't a thing about the creature that wasn't adorable… except that it was floating.
Artur raised a hand to his face, and rubbed his eyes again. He was losing it. He was absolutely losing it. What the hell? He heard the thing speaking three times now! He… Artur was starting to wonder if he was even still on Earth at this point. The idea of that did not exactly come as a completely alien one, however, as he had had plenty of time all day to consider the normal, the weird, and the wonderful possible answers to questions that burned in his mind, like 'Where am I?', 'How did I get here?', 'Where have my memories gone?', and other puzzles of that nature.
The creature's words prompted the girl's soft-looking cheeks to rouge a bright red as she realised what she had been doing, her eyebrows raising in embarrassment, before she covered her eyes with her hands. Artur couldn't believe how adorable this girl was, and he'd be lying if he said that she didn't make his heart race ever so slightly.
"I-I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, mister!" The girl said, still covering her eyes, flustered beyond compare at being caught staring without realising she was even doing it.
Artur couldn't help but let out a lighthearted chuckle at the girl's actions – she was a breath of fresh air, if nothing else, that was for sure. He raised a hand and waved the girl's apology off.
"Don't worry about it, it isn't a problem. I know I look a little bit unusual." he said, his voice having become a bit more light-hearted in co-ordination with his small smile, giving the girl the impression of a more positive demeanour that he had shown before.
The girl opened a gap between two of her fingers to peer through, and saw that the man was smiling, prompting her to feel a bit of relief. She lowered her hands from her face, and smiled herself at his understanding, positive reaction to her faux pas. The silver-haired girl reconsidered her earlier opinion – maybe he was a kind man. He'd come to help her, put his life in danger, didn't ask for anything in return, had seen her appearance thoroughly, and put up with her being rude to him, and he was still acting nicely to her.
Did he want something from her? The man hadn't asked for anything. The only reason they were still talking was because she had run after him – the man wouldn't have an opportunity to get anything out of her if she had just let her walk away.
He didn't understand why it was only now that she acted strangely to him, staring and what have you, but he considered that she was probably just too shocked during the conflict with the criminals to take notice of his strange appearance. He couldn't help but feel that he had it wrong though – it didn't make sense to him, but he supposed it didn't matter. The general public were a strange bunch, there was nothing he could do to change that.
The girl continued to stare at him, though she had a slight smile on her face now, rather than the shocked expression that she'd had previously. He wasn't quite sure where this was going, although a question he wanted to ask remained in his head. He supposed that, while she was receptive, he might as well as her it.
He scratched at his bearded face. "And, you know, for what it's worth, miss… I am sorry. You're right, I should have held back." He said, leaving out the until you were out of eyeshot part that he was thinking.
Emilia blinked. Did he just apologise? To her? Nobody had ever apologised to her before. He looked like he meant it, too.
The smile on her face returned, and she closed her eyes as she shook her head gently. "It's okay, I know how scary it can be when you're fighting, and that you can do things that you don't mean to by mistake sometimes." The silver-haired girl said, before looking in the man's eyes and continuing. "They were baddies, and the one in the middle still had a weapon, so you had to make sure he couldn't hurt you!" The girl said, most definitely putting a positive spin on Artur braining a man to death and maiming another for life. He supposed that she might not realise that one of them was dead, yet regardless, he wasn't about to tell her, either. He didn't need to hurt her even more.
"You should be thankful it was this guy that did it, Lia." Came the voice from the cat creature – what had the girl called it, 'Puck'? "The guards would be scraping them off the floor if they tried to touch you!" Puck said, swinging his fists in a playfight against the air. It was adorable. He didn't want to upset the girl by pointing out that they very nearly did touch her, yet he was only seeing the cat thing now.
"I don't know, you wouldn't seriously hurt them, would you, Puck?" The girl asked, an eyebrow raising at the cat's words.
"Anyone who hurts my daughter will know the meaning of pain." The animal thing said, still shadowboxing while floating through some supernatural force. Maybe, coming out of something more menacing looking, those words would've had an impact, but it took Artur everything he had in him to not burst out laughing at the adorable creature trying to sound intimidating. That said, his little sister was only a little bit bigger than Puck was, and she could be a really mean lass when she wanted to be. He cracked a smile at that, though it disappeared nearly as soon as it came.
Artur found it curious that the creature referred to the girl as '[his] daughter'. He supposed they must be close.
The girl smiled at her… fathers(?) words, and shook her head dismissively at him them. She might not take those words seriously, but he knew to never underestimate a mother or father's wrath. The silver-haired lass reached up with a hand and moved the beasty onto her shoulder, before it jumped back into her hair.
A few seconds passed in silence, where the girl just stared in silence at the man. Even though she had been told off for it only a few minutes ago, she didn't seem to be very self-conscious of her actions socially.
He scratched at his bearded face, as something popped into his head. "Would you mind if I asked you a question, miss?" Artur asked the seemingly transfixed girl.
The girl seemed to break out of her stupor, a little taken aback by that, an uneasy look coming to rest on her face, as though he was going to ask her something embarrassing or deeply personal. She looked at him for a minute, wondering what it could possibly be that a stranger would want to know about her. Or why a stranger would want to ask her a question. The girl supposed that it could be in an effort to trick her, or to make fun of or bully her, but the man didn't seem to have that intention, and surely Puck would say something if that were true – if he had detected ill-intentions coming from the man?
Though remaining ill at ease, she forced a small smile to her face, before giving a cute wee nod. "O-Okay, as long as it isn't a mean question."
Artur's smile grew at that, before he let out a little chuckle. "No, it isn't – I'm not in the habit of making cute girls cry, after all."
The silver-haired girl's uneasy façade immediately broke down as her cheeks turned a bright scarlet, as she let out an involuntary squeak at the unexpected compliment. She knew he didn't mean that – not with her cursed appearance. Her silver hair. Her ears. The half-elf blood that ran through her veins. She knew full well that her very existence was a sin – a blight on the world. She had been told it enough, by enough people, that it could only be true.
"J-just because that wasn't a question, it doesn't mean you can be mean!" The girl said rapidly, the embarrassment clear in her voice. Her heart sped up a little, and she couldn't help but look at the strange man out of the corner of her eye.
"Hm?" Artur expressed, genuinely puzzled, and his confusion extremely clear on his face. It… looked genuine to the silver-haired girl, but people had does this kind of thing to her before. "I wasn't being mean, though? I meant it." He said, firmly, causing the girl's heart to beat even faster. She realised it – the man didn't know that she was a half-elf. His kindness must mean that he would tolerate silver hair. Perhaps even a half-elf. When he realised that she was a silver-haired half-elf – that she was both – the girl knew he would quickly retract that statement.
She continued to blush despite herself, though, and in an effort to change the subject and take the attention away from her, the girl went back to the original topic the man brought up. "S-So you wanted to ask me a question?" The girl asked, not being able to help look out the corner of her eye at the man's face. A serious face. As though he actually meant his words. She was being ridiculous. What was she thinking? Her? Cute? She didn't know why she entertained the idea that he might mean it.
The man, a bit dejected at the girl's dismissal of his words, took a second at the silver-haired beauty's reminding him. He reached a hand up to scratch his face again. "Oh, aye, that's right." He said, a brightness coming to his eye in recognition. "I wanted to ask you – what were you doing in such a…" the man paused, wondering how best to describe it, not wanting to offend the girl, "In such a… seedy place? You don't seem like the kind of person to hang around a crime-infested area." He said, clearing his throat afterwards.
As the girl processed his question, her blush vanished, and her head immediately swivelled to face the stranger's, remembering the entire reason she had entered the slums in the first place. "That's right!" The girl shouted sweetly.
"I-I was wondering, have you seen my insignia?" She asked, before nearly fully eradicating the space separating the two, and leaning forward towards him. He might have blushed at the sudden closing of the distance, if he had still been a teenager. Either not realising or not caring about the sudden closeness (though Artur suspected the former), the girl held up her right hand, forming a circle with her thumb and index finger. The silver-haired girl pointed at the circle. "It's about this big, it has a red jewel in the middle with gold around it, and the rest of it is black!"
Now he understood why she was in a place that was most likely the last place she could be found in most other circumstances, a place where it was very, painfully obvious that she did not belong. The girl did not hide the fact that she was from a comfortable, if not wealthy and/or aristocratic, background. The silver-haired lass was practically advertising herself to all the potential thieves, robbers, and kidnappers that she was a valuable target for larceny and ransoming.
A small, compassionate smile came to the man's face. He gently shook his head. "I'm afraid not, miss." He said, regret in his voice that he couldn't be of more help.
The angelic girl's demeanour immediately deflated from its previously excited state, and she looked at Artur with sadness. No, more than just sadness. Far more than just that one, solitary emotion. He looked in her gorgeous, gem-like eyes deeply. There was exhaustion. Desperation. There was fear.
Artur raised a hand to his beard, unconsciously running his fingers through it. "That explains why you're in a place like this, then." He said, the gears turning, his eyes running over the girl's face as she looked back at him.
"Something tells me," Artur said, "that it wasn't that you lost it, so much as someone took it. Am I right?" He asked.
The girl nodded, a small, sad smile coming to her face at the accurate deduction, before turning around, and taking a seat on a nearby arrangement of large stone bricks. She looked back at the man. "Yeah, that's right." The silver-haired girl said, before raising a foot onto the stone brick, allowing her to rest her chin on her knee, "I was spending some free time at the market," she said, before looking at Artur, "over in the shopping district, you know that place, right?" She asked.
Artur nodded – he assumed it was probably where he ran into the fruit salesman.
"I was going to buy some bread, it smelled freshly baked and reeeally yummy. I was so busy this morning that I forgot to eat, and I heard from Ram-chan that the bread they make here in the capital uses spices from one of the Kararagi City States that can't grow in Lugnica." The girl said, her head rising from her knee, a few seconds passing as she realised the tangent that she'd went on, and a small blush appearing on her face at the realisation.
"A-Anyway, there was this little girl standing near the bread man, and she looked really hungry. Her clothes were all torn up and dirty, and she looked like she needed a reeeally soapy bath." The silver-haired beauty said, after looking down at the ground.
"I went over to her," the girl said, "and asked her if she was hungry, and she told me she was. She was so small, and I felt really bad for her. That's when I got my purse out, to give her some money for food, but the rapscallion grabbed my purse and ran away!" The girl said, raising her voice a smidge, before sighing.
"A child being hungry is a really bad thing…" She said, before looking up at Artur. "But," the girl continued, "that was the right thing to do, right?" She said, looking up at Artur again. For a second, he wasn't sure if it was a rhetorical question, or if she was actually wanting an answer from him. A few more seconds passed, so he answered her.
"Aye, absolutely, lass. You'd like to think that, for every one person like that that exists, there must a thousand, ten thousand, a hundred thousand people, who are genuine." He said. Artur didn't know if he really believed that at this point, but the girl was looking for validation, and he honestly couldn't say that he would do anything different. He might have bought the bread directly, rather than pulling his wallet out in, but he wasn't about to try and give pointless retrospective advice.
The girl sat up a little bit in response, her eyes lighting up slightly. "Yeah, I agree!" She said, before her gaze fell towards the stone ground. "I wonder if it was just bad luck that the child I tried to help turned out to be a bad girl."
Artur nodded, humming in agreement with the girl.
"So," Artur said, prompting the silver-haired girl to look back up at him, "how is it you ended up here?" He asked.
"Well, it turned out that she was really fast, and ended up climbing on top of roofs and jumping in between buildings. I managed to keep up with her, running on the ground, until we got to the slums, but I ended up losing sight of her." The girl said, making a running motion with her index and middle finger, on top of the palm of her other hand.
"Uhuh." Artur said, acknowledging her words, listening intently.
"I managed to catch up with the girl, and that's when I first met the three villains from before. Somehow, I think that the thief and the baddies must be friends, because when she saw me, she ran away. I felt like the ruffians should have ran away too, but instead, they accosted me." She said, before placing a finger to her mouth. The possibility that the man she was talking to could be an accomplice of the thief ran through her mind, but she immediately dismissed that thought, as he would surely not have fought the trio so seriously if he was. Part of her leaned towards the possibility, though – perhaps that was why he was spending so long talking to her, despite her not being able to perceive any kind of reward he could get.
A long moment paused, Artur not saying anything as he thought about the details that she had told him, as well as in case the girl spoke again. He ran the fingers of his left hand through his beard, his right hand on the grip of his revolver.
"Can you remember what the girl looked like?" He asked.
"Hmm," the girl hummed, her eyes closing, and her head tilting to the side. Artur couldn't help but smile at the cuteness of the little gesture. She opened her eyes, and looked back up at the man.
"She looked reeeally unique, actually. Her eyes were red, and she had blonde hair. She was a really pretty girl." She said, before the corners of her mouth fell into a frown. "Her outfit was way too immodest, though. Especially for someone as young as her."
His brow furrowed at that. "How old do you think she was?" Artur asked.
The girl squinted a little. "Maybe… seven or eight?" She said, speculating.
A frown of disgust immediately formed on Artur's face. That was extremely, extremely disturbing. Why in the world would a child be dressed immodestly? He wondered if there was some kind of trafficking going on, perhaps. Grossly disturbing. Child thieves weren't uncommon, although he was surprised that the girl sitting in front of him couldn't catch the thief – children weren't exactly known for their speed, or at least, not at that age.
The girl stood up, and invaded the man's space once more. "By any chance, have you seen anyone like that around here?" She asked, the light of hope in her eyes returning, her hands closed into a fist resting in front of her chest.
The man's face fell into a frown, and he gave a small shake of his head to the girl. "Sorry, I can't say that I have." He said.
The girl's hopeful expression again faded at that.
He sighed internally. In the name of the wee man, what was wrong with him? What was he doing? He already an obligation to Julius, and it though he found it exceptionally hard to believe, it felt like they were becoming friends. Julius had said, however, that he had a small team prepared to for the task that he never ended up telling him about, whereas this girl was on her own. Well, her and her talking, floating apparition. An airborne supernatural entity that his mind has accepted, rather than rejecting the reality outright, for some reason. Yeah, he was definitely losing it.
It wasn't just that she was going to be trying to retrieve the thing on her own, it was that she was going to try to do so when darkness was imminent, in a crime-infested area that had already proven to be trouble, in what seemed to be a very densely-packed area. He felt guilty, but something in him told him that Julius would understand his desire to help an innocent when she didn't seem to have anyone else.
Artur ran a hand through his hair. Strange, it felt… grainy. He removed the hand from his hair, and his palm and fingers were scattered with a dark particulate. The man raised the hand to his nose, sniffing at the powder the powder – it seemed to smell… sulphury. Smoky, and peppery. Like gunpowder.
Did it make sense? No. But did anything seem to make sense today? Also, no.
End of Chapter 3
Thank you for reading, it's always a pleasure writing, publishing a chapter, and hearing people's thoughts.
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To Dariory:
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Thank you for your kind words. I enjoy writing, and I'm glad that others can get some joy from it.
Take care!
To Miguel Sebastian Mejia Guillen:
Thank you so much for your kind words, I really appreciate it. I try my best - this is my passion, after all, and so it means a lot to hear when other people are enjoying reading it.
I love the profile picture by the way, haha! Take care.