He fell to the ground, gasping for air and holding onto his nose. A trickle of blood was already making its way down his chin, staining the snow and his dirty uniform. His mind was in a daze, his halo kept flickering, his hands couldn't reach the rifle. As he kept crawling on his back, away from the mountain of muscle towering over him, he heard the bolt of his gun being pulled back and forth.

"Oops! Oh, that ejects it!"

A girlish giggle followed, as Gin leaned down to pick up the bullet. Andy kept spitting out blood and clutching his jaw, which felt unnaturally loose. Another haymaker rained down upon the poor kid, almost knocking the daylights out of him.

"Wait, wait, Shine, wait. Give him a moment."

Gin took his time approaching the two, while holding Andy's rifle in his hands with childish joy glimmering in his bright eyes. The giant grasped the battered boy's collar and shoved him even further into the snow, raising one arm behind his back in anticipation of yet another punch. Yet his eyes seemed troubled, giving the boy a silly, apologetic grin.

"P-Please… Don't d-do this, pl-..."

The "leader" shushed him down and tapped Shine on the shoulder.

"Shh. You know how long I've waited to get my hands on this rifle? A whole day! Doesn't matter though, I'm a man of patience."

He checked the chamber, once again pulling the bolt too far back, making the bullet fly out into the snow.

"Gods! This is what I mean, see, Shine?"

He nodded his massive head and turned towards the "leader"

"What do you mean?"

"What? This! See? You put just a little strength into pulling this thing and the ammo flies out… See, I saw a few movies where they kept pulling this part and it never ejected anything."

"Ah… I don't get it."

Gin sighed in light exasperation and turned towards the boy, who kept desperately trying to wiggle out of the giant's grasp.

"Ricketts! Do me one last favor, will you? How do you operate this thing?"

His mind went blank, both at being called by the sergeant's surname and the unexpected question.

"W-What…?"

"How. Do. You. Shoot. This. Thing."

He repeated, very slowly, making sure the boy understood him this time. Despite the dire situation, Gin didn't seem bothered at all, as if it was a completely normal and natural occurrence.

"I… I'm not telling you!"

"Oh, come on! I paid for your dinner yesterday! And the drinks…"

"Y-You're… You're trying to fucking kill me!"

His halo flickered as the swear word left his mouth.

"So what? You're dead anyway, why can't you just tell me how this thing works?"

Andy's eyes widened at the pure absurdity of his current situation. He never imagined he'd be going out like THIS, with a bunch of ragtag clowns as his executioners.

"Come ooon, Andy, just a quick rundown, eh? I press here and what, it shoots?"

"What? No, that's not how guns work…"

"Then how do they work? Oh, and what's this little latch right here? And this thing by the shooty hole at the end, what does that…"

"What the hell are you doing?"

An icy cold voice cut right in, making the "leader" jump.

"Shit, Bourbon, don't sneak up on me like that."

"Why is that freak still alive? He's completely useless now, squash his head and dump his corpse somewhere."

He pointed to Andy, whose heart just kept beating faster and faster, almost tearing through his chest.

"That's what I thought too, but there's a… A little complication."

The crossbowman raised an eyebrow.

"Complication?"

"Yeah. I dunno how to use his gun."

"And?"

"And? Where else are you gonna find a sankta willing to teach a sarkaz to shoot in this shithole?"

"H-Hey, I'm not willing to do anyt-..."

Shine slapped him right across the face, sending his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

"... Anyway. Point is, I just want him to give me a lil' tutorial."

"Fucking hell, man… Just make it quick, you dolt."

With a heavy, disappointed sigh, Bourbon left to disappear into the mist once again. Gin gave a mocking salute and turned to the boy, crouching down next to him.

"Sooooo… What do I do, Mr Ricketts?"

"I'm not showing y-you anything."

"Okay, counteroffer. Think about it, you tell me how to shoot, I'll give you a nice, painless death, huh? 'Cause otherwise, it's gonna be a head stompin' from Shine and, whew, trust me, you don't want that. Hell, I don't wanna see that either."

He shuddered at the mere thought, a grimace of disgust twisting his facial features. Andy gathered the last of his strength and looked the giant in the face to assess his chances. Thing is, he was dead. No doubt about that, no point in denying the fact. Somehow, coming to terms with this cruel reality felt so easy and natural - as if it should've already happened a while ago. As if he was living purely on borrowed time, a couple of hours (and a name, apparently) stolen from Ricketts, a few taken from Droz. What did the Law say about death? Right, that there was no point in dreading it. That's why Lateran funerals were always so bright and, ironically, lively - filled with celebratory cheers and general delight at the thought of one's passing into whatever awaited on the other side. Something nice, hopefully. The only thing he seriously regretted was passing before he could make it back home. Not getting the chance to properly say goodbye to either of the two idiots, to taste one last peach strudel, to skip school and go fountain diving just one more time...

No point in reminiscing about a future he's in no way part of. Plus, everything hurt so bad he'd rather not feel anything at all, ever again.

"Fine. Just tell him to stop hitting me."

"Heard 'em, Shine? No more."

The brute let go of his collar.

"Better?"

"Much."

"So? How do I blow your brains out with this thing, then?"

"You, uhm… You need to ignite the dust in the cartridge with your arts."

"... My what?"

Gin grasped the rifle tightly and took a closer look. Was this thing a gun or a magic wand?

"Arts? Like…"

"Yeah, I know what arts are, but how the hell do I use them?"

Now this was a question Andy couldn't answer, even if he tried. The intricacies of using the arts laid down upon him by the Law were a mystery no one understood. All sankta knew that thinking about the bullet made it go bang, that's about it.

"Uh…"

"Aw, man… Maybe if I just squeeze the trigger real hard?"

With a disappointed frown, Gin aimed the rifle at the boy and pressed the trigger. Andy's heart skipped a beat at the empty "click!" that followed.

"No, not like that… BOURBON!"

The crossbowman soon waddled over, visibly annoyed.

"What? Again, why is he still alive?"

"I can't get this thing to shoot!"

"Cause you can't use arts, I told you, dimwit. Just crack his skull with the stock."

"But I promised him a painless death…"

"I don't give a shit what you promised! Do you actually have a brain deficit? Kill him already, there's cargo to deliver and we're…"

He took the watch from his pocket and squinted, trying to make out the time.

"Half an hour late!"

"Fine, oh gods, you're such a spoilsport…"

Gin sighed and raised the rifle above his head, ready to club Andy to death.

"Alright, Mr Ricketts, apologies, but you heard the man. Close your eyes."

Andy laid back on the snow, preparing for the reaper's cold embrace and a rough bashing. He decided to keep his eyes opened, though. To gaze at the dim sky through the fog, to feel the sun's warm breath on his face just one last time. Would anyone remember him? Would anyone even know he died? Would anyone care?

Yeah, they'd care. Droz and Ricketts would've cared, had they still been alive. Isaiah would care, given he was still alive. Lem and Mostima would care, given they hadn't yet forgotten about him. He's just getting sour again.

A loud swish pierced the silence, followed by the sound of someone choking. His eyes immediately turned towards his executioner, the source of all this gurgling noise. How unfortunate, there was a crossbow bolt protruding from his neck. The "leader" fell, giving way to a new order - one of chaos and confusion. Loud yelling immediately erupted from the side, Bourbon shouting commands to the giant mass of muscle. Shine kept staring at Gin who was now rolling around next to Andy, grasping his neck and desperately trying to remove the object from his windpipe. The boy had no idea what was happening. No idea what to do either, apart from grabbing the dropped rifle and turning towards the rest of his would-be killers. The gigantic moron was already running off somewhere into the fog, while Bourbon kept firing off bolt after bolt from his crossbow into the white unknown. Andy took aim and fired at the devil, barely missing his ugly mug.

"STOP! STOP, IDIOT, WE'RE GETTING RAIDED!"

Andy did not listen to his words, racking the bolt quicker than he has ever had and taking aim once more. With the devil right between the three dots of his iron sights, it would be a guaranteed hit.

However, an unexpected guest had something different in mind planned for the crossbowman. Before Andy could even think about firing, a string of dim, red light wrapped itself around Bourbon, causing him to drop his weapon and scream in horror. Binding his arms and legs together, forcing him to the ground, Andy couldn't help but grow more and more terrified of this strange display of sorcery with each of the man's screams of pain. The red vines kept twisting, breaking his bones, severing his nerves and cutting off blood flow. Tracing the source of this brutal display of arts, led Andy's gaze towards the fog and that very same pair of bright, glowing red eyes. The figure finally left the mist's embrace, stepping towards Andy in its full glory. It was tall. Very tall. With a hood over its head, eyes glowing from behind a faceless mask, the arts master seemed more like a feral beast than anything human. In its hands laid a staff made of wood and bone, a beast's skull glimmering brightly on top, the source of this vine sorcery. It stopped in front of the boy, giving the struggling crossbowman a disdainful glance and speaking to the angel with its calm, booming voice.

"Sankta. O' traitor of thy true race, how dare you desecrate the very land that gave you life? How dare thy people interfere in Kazdel's natural cycle of life? Thy flying beasts plague our skies and destroy our cities. You plot against the rightful king's will, the Regent's reign of pr-..."

His tirade was cut short before it could even fully begin. Shine's massive body reemerged from the fog, bearing a gigantic flagpole twice his size. He tackled the cloaked figure to the ground, crushing it completely under his weight. The caster let out a few pathetic shrieks of pain and tried reaching for his staff, only for his body to go completely stiff as the giant crammed the sharp end of the flagpole directly into his masked face, piercing clean through.

"Flag bearer! Flag Bearer duty! Flag Bearer! Flag of might! Flag of victory! Flag of-..."

Andy didn't get to hear what else the flag had symbolized as the giant's body was suddenly vaporized by a ray of red light. Leaving behind nothing but a mangled carcass, the bright projectiles kept coming, bouncing off of the sledge and leaving burn marks in the snow. The boy quickly shook off the initial shock and started crawling towards the cargo, completely disregarding Bourbon and his wails of pain.

"I'M NOT DEAD! I'M NOT DEAD, I'M IMMORTAL! I'M IMMORTAL!"

Yelling away and shooting blindly into the fog, the man kept himself propped against the flag protruding from the caster's skull, firing off bolt after bolt. A few projectiles flew back, barely grazing Andy's coat and causing him to flinch. He managed to hastily hide himself behind the cargo boxes, clutching his rifle close.

"GET SOME! GET SOME, HOUNDS! SWINE! DISGRACE! GET SOME!"

The screaming only grew louder as the man kept prolonging his desperate last stand, shooting at the approaching group within the fog. With both of his legs and one arm broken, he had no other choice but to die a glorious death with his most trusted companion by his side - the bolt spewing crossbow. Shot after shot, he kept diligently loading the projectiles and making sure every single one of them counted. To murder for freedom, for glory and his own life was his lifelong goal. To fight for a future free of burdens, a better world. And for this righteous cause he would kill everyone who opposed it! Every single one of these nationalist swine-dogs, these disgusting, good for nothing, F grade mercs, these clowns! He was the real deal, not them! And he'll show them! He'll show them all! He'll drag himself from this hellhole, even if it's the last damn thing he does! He'll finish off that pesky sankta and get paid for a job well done! He has his whole future lined up for him, a future of grandeur and might! A future of…

A masked mercenary jumped out of the fog and shot Bourbon in-between the eyes. His pupils dilated and his body slumped against the flagpole, completely stiff and lifeless.

"Thumper? Thumper? THUMPER?"

The unknown merc quickly scanned the aftermath, his gaze lingering on the sorcerer's body. For a moment, there was silence.

"Fuck, they got Thumper."

Another mercenary quickly joined the crossbowman, an unarmed woman clad in a caster's cloak.

"They did?"

"I heard him start babbling about some nonsense and… And yeah. Dead. Look at that, look how they did him."

"What a joke. And I kept telling the old man to stop with all his monologuing bullshit, haven't I?"

"Yeah…"

The woman kneeled down next to the dead caster, examining his fractured skull up close.

"... You reckon we should get his head too?"

"Are you out of your mind?"

"No...?"

"Of course we should! He had six hundred shekels on that scalp, that's food for an entire month."

"Food? You want me to believe you're gonna spend it on food?"

"Okay, food for half a month and a few drinks, then."

"You're impossible…"

A small, shiny metal ball rolled past the two, stopping right by the woman's rubber boot.

"..."

"..."

"Is that…?"

An ear shattering explosion shook the land, sending hundreds of little originium fragments into both their bodies, tearing the limbs from their carcasses and sending them flying into the air. The man's corpse flew an impressive distance, landing into the snow with an empty thud and painting the serene landscape red. The woman, however, somehow managed to survive, crawling away with one arm, missing the other three limbs. She heard nothing. Nothing but the constant ringing in her ears and blood pumping through her entire body. She felt nothing. Nothing but the snow gently tickling the open wounds and sending ice cold bites through her entire nervous system. Her entire body was filled with originium, the shards nestling themselves deep in her stomach and chest.

Tap, tap, tap.

She felt a boot pressing against her back. She didn't protest as the weight pushed her to the ground. After all, there wasn't much use in doing anything else.

With his heart beating right out of his chest, Andy aimed his rifle at the woman's head and put a bullet in her brain. There was silence in the Kazdelian wilderness as the shot resonated through the air, marking the end of this absurd ambush. His breaths came out labored, as if he just ran a mile without stopping. He was alive. Alive and alone.

A sound of desperate gurling arose near. The boy's ears immediately picked up the disturbance and his grasp on the rifle tightened. Lying in the snow, a few meters away from the little battlefield was Gin, still clutching his pierced neck.

Gurgling. Gasping for air. Watching in horror as the boy approached, gun in hand.

"W-... W-Wait. Wait, w-wait. Don't."

Weakly, he managed to raise his hand up in a pathetic attempt at invoking some sort of empathy from the kid. Andy lowered the rifle and reached into his coat.

"R-Ricketts, wait. Get me t-to Svaveni and I'll h-help-..."

Andy produced a small object from within, clad in a blackened steel finish. Shot after shot, he emptied the entire revolver into the "leader's" face, stopping himself from cocking the hammer and mindlessly pressing the trigger only when the originium smoke seeping from the muzzle had entirely faded.

Then, silence finally reigned victorious. Without any choruses of fowl emblazoning his feat, without a pat on the back from a father figure so longed for, Andy turned away from the aftermath and wiped some blood off his face. His jaw still hurt like hell, his knees were barely carrying him forward and his mind was running amok.

Through the wasteland he went, towards the promised land. Dragging the sledge behind, pushing himself to the very limit, he carried onward, completely mindlessly marching through the snow.

He just shot and killed three people. Sure, he's killed before, but it was different. That sarkaz back in those trenches was so inhuman, so stripped of any human attributes that he could barely recognize a person in it. These three? Two strangers and someone who kept pretending to be his friend. Sure, they might've had murderous intent, but…

At that very moment Andy fully understood just what kind of place Kazdel really was.

…

As the sun fell over the horizon, the fog had finally cleared. Far, far away in the distance, a bright dance of white lights caught the boy's gaze, alluringly calling out to him, like a warm lighthouse among this endless ocean of snow.

Svaveni.

He barely made it to the town's border, before his knees finally gave out, causing him to trip and collapse onto his back.

This was it. Right before the finish line. He couldn't take even one step further. Push this damn sledge even a few centimeters onward. But that's okay. He'll just rest for a moment or two, gather his strengths and…

"Hey? Hey! Hey, 'scuse me!"

Andy turned towards the annoying buzz, eyelids becoming increasingly ever so droopy. A middle aged man with a pair of fancily cut horns sticking out far above his bald head approached, seemingly in a hurry.

"Hey, buddy! Angel! You the delivery boy I ordered?"

Andy kept staring at the man's face, feeling amusement building up deep within. Delivery boy? He just went through his own little hell on Terra and all of it to be called a delivery boy? That's funny. That's so, so absurdly funny.

He couldn't help but crack a genuine smile, the first one in a while. His voice came out unnaturally soft and gentle.

"I am."

"Uh-huh! You know how long I've been waiting out here for you?! Two and a half hours! Are you out of your mind? You realize how cold it is out here?!"

Andy did in fact realize that.

"My bad."

"It is your bad! Also, weren't there supposed to be three of you? I ordered a group to protect the stuff, and now you show up, alone, all nilly-willy, napping on the sn-..."

"They're dead."

"... What?"

"They're dead, they tried to kill me. They're dead."

"..."

The man took a small step towards the boy, closely examining his clothes and face, all covered in blood and dirt. His gaze stopped to linger on the rifle for a few moments, before he spoke up again, the annoyance gone from his voice."

"That's, uh… That's not good. But the deal's still up, I hope?"

"Deal?"

He's already forgotten about everything. About the reason he dragged this damn sledge through that wasteland, too.

"Deal? Yes? Grenades? I ordered grenades, yes? We talked with the, uh… The deceased gentlemen, and came to an agreement that they shall receive one thousand and five hundred shekels each for the service. But now, that they're dead…"

His small eyes examined the rifle on Andy's back once again.

"... I suppose you're owed four thousand and five hundred shekels, then."

And as he produced a fat bundle of cash from within his fancy jacket, Andy felt his heartbeat speeding up. His eyes locked on the money, pupils dilating, the strength and vigor required to carry on immediately making their way back into his body. He stood up from the snow and shook it off his clothes.

"Three… Four… Five hundred. There, four thousand, five hundred shekels."

With a nervous smile, the man held out the cash. It seemed like a lot. Then again, Andy's never seen "a lot" of cash before in his life, so it's not like he'd know. Carefully, he took the money and nodded softly.

"Thank you."

"Oh, thank you, Mr… What's your name? You have one, right?"

Andy pocketed the cash and dissociated from reality for just a moment at the sudden question.

"Name?"

"Uh-huh? You're a sankta, right? You must have a name."

The man grabbed a small notebook from his spacious jacket and started noting.

"Uh… Andy."

"Andy! Andrew, yes? And surname? I need to put it in some paperwork later, you know…"

"Surname? Re-..."

He hesitated for a moment. His gaze shot downwards, towards the small metal plaque hanging from his neck.

"... Ricketts. Andy Ricketts."

"Mmm… Ricketts, great."

He closed the notes and turned towards the sledge.

"... I take it, everything's intact, yes?"

"Uh… One's missing. Blew up."

"Blew… Oh. Oh, I understand. Ah, but what's just one mere bomb, huh?"

He forced a chuckle and gave the boy a careful pat on the back.

"Yes, yes… Well, this is where we part, then, Mr Ricketts. Yes?"

"I suppose."

"Perfect. Great, amazing…"

With a small bow, the man flashed an incredibly white grin and hurried off towards the sledge. Whether he was going to check the boxes or push that damn thing himself, Andy didn't care. His gaze turned towards the town's empty streets.

Clad in paving bricks, covered by snow, it seemed quite charming. With a kaleidoscope of lights glimmering above the main street, Andy couldn't help but take a small stroll along the venue. Life seemed so peaceful at that very moment. So calm. As if he left all his worries and sorrows behind with that sledge. With his own surname.

He passed by empty shops and bars, tenement blocks and shacks made of wood, eventually finding himself standing in the middle of an empty plaza. Surrounded by antique buildings, a large church in the very middle. His legs carried him towards the house of worship, though, probably considered Pagan by the Law. It was locked. A little note outside notified him that it only opened on mondays and fridays due to short staffing. He let out a snort of amusement.

Next to the door stood a massive notice board, filled to the brim with various papers and notes. Bounty posters, newspaper clippings, missing person reports.

"MISSING CHILD" "MISSING ELDER" "MISSING CAT" "WANTED, CHILD MURDERER" "WANTED, ELDER KIDNAPPER" "WANTED! HIGH REWARD, PET KILLER" "UNLAWFUL PRESENCE OF LATERAN TROOPS IN KAZDEL" "COMPLETE BORDER SHUTDOWN" "CUTTING DIPLOMATIC TIES" "ALL OUT WAR" "CHEAP HANDMADE DAGGERS AND-...

Closed borders.

There goes his ticket back home.

His tired eyes gazed at the headlines, feeling himself getting lost more and more by each second. Yet, that feeling of absurd amusement kept coming back, forcing a pained smile onto his drowsy face. What was he even supposed to do? It's as if the entire world was against him, that's funny.

His weary sight drilled into one of the bounty posters, locked in a staring competition with the mugshot of some ugly devil bastard.

Ah, what the hell.

Andy nipped it from the board and ventured off into the night, his halo and wings lighting the dark way onward.