,
Right hand on his heart, the left one instinctively groping for the feel of metal.
,
A flash from the clear sky, the message of gods. Explosions soon enveloped the street in their booming symphony – the kind of sound that would terrify even those of hearts chiseled from the toughest stones. Andy gazed upon the sight, upon the pale wide yonder, but alas saw nothing. No gods, no Law, no stars to guide him – no W, no Mostima, no voices of Ricketts, or Droz, or Seven, or anyone else he's lost – absolutely noone came to his aid. The severed legs of the L.G.D. officer offered no recluse either – their empty faces etched into the knee-pads stared blankly, nudging him to move. To run. To do anything but lie motionless.
Yells erupted from everywhere. Battle war-cries, shouts of terror, orders barked into shortwave radios – all blending into one soup of absolute and utter chaos.
Andy blinked again. His heart couldn't handle it.
He rose to his feet in an instant, whiplash biting his occiput. His first and foremost priority wasn't his fleeting life, but the poor girl by his side.
"C-... Fuck, Crossie? Crossie?"
He spat into the wind. In the time it took him to spill the words, his eyes witnessed three, maybe four slum-dwellers being impaled by steel-tipped L.G.D. spears. Retching and gurgling of throats slit wide open gave the air a faint shade of red. Footsteps erupted all around, shadows passing and throwing themselves past his shoulders. Nudged here and there, Andy felt their thirsty claws pulling him in all directions, trying desperately to tear apart the skin carapace and access the soft, tender flesh inside – the soft and tender soul.
A voice broke them all apart – parted, like clouds letting through a bright, beaming sunshine.
"B-... Andy? Andy, I'm g-good. I'm all good, baws." She huffed from the floor, soon being pulled to her feet. Thank the Law, her stomach wound seemed miniscule. Just a little cut, a tiny valley amidst a sea of purplish hurt. How did it get there? Andy couldn't gather the words to ask. His brain, a fly-catching net, couldn't grasp the whimsy letter-butterflies frolicking aimlessly about his brain.
"Thank Law… thank Law…" He murmured, eyes running wildly around the entire street. A street? Could you even call this place a street anymore?
The battlefields of Kazdel seemed more civilized at that point. At least there, slivers of the so-called "merc solidarity" shone through from time to time. A Sarkaz spared a life, a fallen Sankta took a stray in.
But here?
In Lungmen?
The beating heart of capitalism? The money-making capital of Yan?
Lights. Lights filled his eyes whole. Not neons for once, mind you.
Arts flew in every and each direction, being exchanged with bolts and throwing knives, spears and whatever else the dwellers had on hand. Rocks, bricks, bottles, Durin merchants, cutlery, bits and pieces of metal – it all passed the two, being flung in each and every direction. Andy directed his gaze at a group of L.G.D. personnel holding their ground in a circle-like formation, batons held high and upfront, beating the everliving shit out of anything that dared come close. Many mindless rag-clad extremists ran to break their ranks, but only one had succeeded. A caster, standing on top of a windowless car-wreck flung their arms high up into the air, conjuring a beautiful display of what Oripathy was truly capable of. A rain of pure, roaring fire rained down upon the turtle-shell, drowning out the screams with its sizzling screech. Before the caster could turn and take aim at another group of peacekeepers, his head came split apart, spilling the brain for everyone to see – like yolk from a broken egg, the whole thing splattered down his dusty cloak and stained the street. An L.G.D. sniper at work.
The sniper in question soon got his intestines forcefully pulled up the throat by a wild whip of arts-manifested ribbons that forced their way into his throat. Andy stood, wide eyed, watching the colorful and whimsical scarves rip the man's helmet apart, then drag his stomach up the gullet. His breaking point. It was time to leave.
"Out." Something spoke, but it wasn't him. The voice was his, but he couldn't even recognize it. As if his body was there, but the soul watched from a different perspective, munching on popcorn on some couch and attempting to wrap its arm around a sleepy Lemuel by its side. "Out. I want out."
"I want out."
"I want out."
"I want out."
"I want out."
"I need out."
"I need out."
"I need out."
"I need out."
,
"ANDY!"
,
A burning pain licked his cheek. "Slap the tongue away", his brain had told him, but Andy discarded the thought.
He was back.
Back in his body.
Back in control.
"What? What?" His eyes focused on Croissant. She held tight onto his face, fingers digging deep into the flesh. The slap helped forecast a clearer sky for his cloudy mind.
"What? Yer out of it! Now's not 'a time!" She slapped him again, just for good measure. Andy felt like he deserved it. "We gotta leave, not watch the fireworks!"
"Lizzy? Where's Liz?" Andy was there, in the moment. His eyes saw the carnage. Blood riddled the street, spilling down the many storm-drain sieves. As if it was just another rainy day. Just a light drizzle. "Where's–... Oh."
He stopped asking immediately. The girl was there, face buried in Croissant's side. Her arms clutched tightly to her arms, unwilling to ever let go – shaking with fear, riddled with confusion and absolute terror. She kept mumbling, repeating some Kazimierzian prayer like a mantra.
"Bogowie… Proszę, proszę bogowie, proszę ratujcie, bogowie… ratujcie wszystko co dobre, ratujcie Kazimierz, ratujcie mnie, ratujcie wszystkich ludzi wartych waszej łaski, p-proszę… p-p-proszę, tak bardzo, bardzo was proszę… ja nie chcę umierać, j-ja tak b-bardzo nie chcę umierać…"
"... Don't lose her." Andy threw Croissant a quick glance, then leaned down to grab a brick by his feet. Sturdy, hard, heavy. Like a brick should be. Perfect for cracking skulls.
He shoved it into his cargo pockets, before exchanging a nod with the girl, determination gleaming in her eyes. She knew there was a way out to be found, and by the gods, was she going to find it.
"Here. Here, Andy! Andy, come!" She threw behind her shoulder, outyelling the rapid fire of art-bolts and swishing of crossbows. The sky – it spoke none. Andy didn't look towards the sky, because he knew it was silly. Talking with the moons was silly. Silly when there were people dying all around.
He jumped over a dead body, only to land in a puddle of brain-mass and spilled guts. The culprit sat a few meters away, her intestines dragging like pasta the entire way. Her breaths came unsteady, hands messily tucking and packing the spilled insides back into the bowels of her wide-open stomach. Andy's gaze couldn't linger for longer, as a group of slum-wizards quickly assembled a protective circle around her with their bodies, murmuring incantations and waving around homemade arts-casting units. From a further distance, he saw her stand up, a little hazy on the feet. She took a step – shaky, uneven. Another – almost a waddle at that point. The third one came late, only for her to eat a volley of crossbow bolts to the face and indefinitely fall out of the game.
"We gotta find an opening." Andy shook off the sight of bloodbath and turned back to Croissant. "Anything will do. Anything that'll get us off this street."
"Gotcha." She nodded, before grabbing and forcefully pushing apart a pair of slum dwellers fighting over a cracked and bloodied L.G.D. helmet. "Outta 'a way! Not now!"
"Where… Where are we going…?" Lizzy spoke a little louder than usual, her fingers clutching tightly to Andy's hand. He had to stop to glance at her, meanwhile noticing his unideal position. They stood clear between a firing squadron of L.G.D. crossbowmen and a pack of wildly untamed slum casters. Art-wands and Lungmen marked bolt-spewers at the ready, they took aim. All of them, all at once.
"AIM! AIM? Aim! I said aim now, not before!" The lawful' leader shouted at his company, waving around a baton and banging it all over their metal skulls. The escaping group watched. The slum-sorcerers watched. "AGAIN!"
The Lungmenite peacekeepers lowered their weapons. Nervously twitching, awaiting commands, the gazes of everyone else present glinted off their helmets.
"AIM!"
This time they listened, grumbling and raising their crossbows. Andy felt the iron sights of a dozen rifles being trained right on the very tip of his nose. The feeling wasn't exactly unpleasant, not after Kazdel.
"Baws…?" Nudge-nudge.
"P-Panie Ricketts…?" Tug-tug.
"AIM!" The wizards screeched, wands and staves high in the air. They emitted a certain buzz, sort of seismic – making all the tiny rocks and specks of sand by their feet levitate lazily. Andy felt his heart racing at the thought of even more people wanting to scalp his hide.
"FIRE!"
"FIREEE!"
FWOOSH!
BANG!
Andy jerked forth on both hands, cutting the girls' knees. Lizzy squeaked in surprise, Croissant fell on top of him. Above, the dogfighters clashed in their own little battle of the century. A flight-parade massacre above Lungmen – the bolts and arts mixed and mingled, passing quick high-fives on their way in opposite directions, then swooshed right past. Andy knew what was coming, so he grabbed whoever he could reach, whether it be Lizzy or Croissant, and stuck his hands flush against their ears, trapping the peaceful silence inside their fleshy canals. A pair of hands entombed his own – just in time for the fireworks.
THUD!
A multitude of explosions cried out into the night, roaring in their devastating greatness, ruffling the hair of everyone gathered. He couldn't see any of them firsthand, only the aftermath – a smoldering, vaguely L.G.D.-shaped pile of molten steel on the floor. Behind? An array of slum-caster shish kabobs.
"A-Ale… Ale… Ale d-dlaczego…?"
"Lizzy, sweetheart, not now." Andy threw back, filled with an excitingly familiar sense of youthful vigor. Kazdelian vigor. His wings and arms lifted the girls off the floor, then tugged towards the nearest side-street. Anywhere to hide, anywhere to go and leave, to turn the night into day and watch the sunrise. Just like in Kazdel, where the sun was a gift bestowed upon the living by Mother Nature herself, first thing in the morning.
"Got a way out!"
"Whuh? Where?" Croissant craned her neck, but all she could see were flashing lights and spluttering liquids. A square-dance of mindless Oripathy-puppets got to tearing apart some poor L.G.D. mutt right by their feet. "... Gawds…"
"There!"
Andy pointed to a tunnel. Just a clear-dug empty pipe that had crawled into the side of some old high-capacity manufacturing unit. Manufacturing what, exactly? Hell if they knew.
"Aye, there!" Croissant squealed, joy lacing her every labored breath.
Glee. She seemed genuinely elated, all the glee poking holes in her distressed veil. Even Lizzy stopped dragging her nails all across the boy's wrist, instead curiously sticking her head from behind his shoulder.
"... Is that a w-way out…?"
"Uh-huh! C'mon. Come, come, come, come…" He hurried her onward, closing their little triplet and narrowly avoiding a stray bolt sent ricocheting off a law-man's armor. "... Through this pipe, and into Lungmen. Right here."
"Right here! Right here, dear gawds… Oh, dear gawds." Croissant sat by the edge of the entrance, just barely catching a moment to cool off and clear her head. The bloodbath still raged on in full swing, the clashing of steel interjected only by an occasional megaphone-amplified gurgling, or an explosion of fire or frost. Bolts were flying.
"... Hey, no. Don't." Andy gently grabbed Lizzy by her fuzzy shoulders and pulled back into the safe haven that was their pipe, right as the girl wanted to take a step outside. "... Just sit here, okay? Don't leave this spot."
"Uh-huuuuh…" She got whiplash and sat down. Right as she did, a snake made of pure, blinding light threw itself past their little peace-spot and bit a sizable hole out of the building they invaded, taking down Law knows how many uniformed guys and girls. Andy watched the brewing war-zone, clutching tight onto his shattered arm, leaning against the steel wall. His eyes followed the movements of L.G.D. personnel and slum warriors alike, hungrily catching their mindless bashes and punches, stabs and jabs, picking out the droplets of sweat falling onto the sand, and rivers of blood spilling down the storm-drains. He envied them. He envied them, because he had just gotten a taste of what it felt like to live. To be alive, truly alive. To put on a mask again, live a different life away from "those whom it may concern." Away from those beautiful, apricot eyes. What the Law couldn't see, wouldn't hurt it. What omitted Lem's gaze didn't really exist in her tiny little world.
Did it?
Of course not. Mr Ricketts, the Half a Million Shekel Merc was free and unbound, awoken by the faint taste of copper in his mouth and a certain injection of adrenaline straight into his veins.
His heart yearned for the thrill.
The feel of the field.
A gun in his hand, an enemy writhing on the floor.
A bullet in the chamber, a halo free of nails, a mind dead set on detonating the ori-charge, a target and a destination…
Andy felt whole.
Here, in the chaos, the tumult of death and life clashing, Andy felt truly and entirely whole.
He took a deep breath.
"..."
The slums reeked of the reaper's dirty, old rags. They haven't been changed in… in "Law knows how long?" Would the Law actually know the intricate harmonograms of death's own laundromat? It probably would not. Andy pondered the thought for a moment too long, completely drowning out each and every other sound. Droning, like the buzz of an artificial butterfly spreading its mechanical wings, like the ticking of a clock, a mouthless sinner's gentle whisper…
"... Andy?"
His eyes filled with orange. A familiar face was staring at him.
"Crossie?"
"Yer outta it again. We gotta leave, baws. C'mon." She tugged at his sleeve. "Come."
"Coming, coming…" Andy reluctantly stepped back from the edge, drawing away from the thrill of the battlefield. The noises all called out to him, allured with their loud and violent nature, the promises of all the adrenaline in the world…
"Idziemy już? Are we leaving…?" Lizzy perked both her Kuranta ears up. The premise of freedom from the slums… how it packed the soul with warmth. Her eyes glinted at the mere thought of hauling the fruits of her labor back into customs, then beelining straight home.
"We're leaving, yep." Croissant finalized the order, taking on the role of Pacific Empire's head manager - slash - slum guide. This was the end of their tour. "... Leavin', goin' home, brewin' a nice cup 'a coffe…" She sighed, dreamily. "... Baws, we're openin' 'at fancy stuff tonight, y'hear? To hell with bein' a cheapskate."
"..."
"Uh-huh. Y'heard me right. I, Croissant, hereby vow to share a cup 'a the most expensive and tender coffee we got in our cupboards at 'a library!"
"..."
"And none 'a 'at cheap stuff anymore. Hell, y'know what, baws? Let's go shoppin' tomorrow. Let's buy… no, wait! let's NOT go shoppin'! Let's raid The Ends 'a the Earth 'n steal ourselves a bottle 'a REAAAAAAAAL expensive liquor! 'M sure 'a big baws won't mind! Not after we tell 'em what we've been thru, ha!"
"..."
"And after that? Lizzy, sweetie, how long will ya be stayin' in Lungmen for?"
"U-Um… Um, maybe a day or two…? I need to talk to some people from the, uh… No, z kolegami z gazetki. Takie tam, pozałatwiać sprawki mało ważne…"
"Sweetie, I can't understand a word."
"R-Right! Right, I'm sorry."
"Baws, we're gonna take Miss Lizzy out to the Ends 'a the Earth for a quick bender before she leaves, don't ya think? I think it's only fair, heh."
"..."
"Yeah, yer gon' meet all 'a other Penguin Logistics folk. All 'em… all 'em Texases, all 'em Exusiais, all 'em Soras, Emperors… No Mostima anywhere, though. Shame, that. Some other time, hm, Lizzy?"
"S-Some other time."
"Some other time baws, ah?"
"..."
"... Baws?"
"..."
"Andy?"
"..."
,
Heads turned. Croissant hadn't even realized that there were only two pairs of footsteps echoing through the metal pipe. A look exchanged later, they found themselves trotting back towards the rumbling entrance, hurried by the clashing explosions and screams from afar.
"... Baws? B-... Andy, what the hell?" She found him glued to the side of the metal ring, eyes bored and locked into a point far away, invisible to her. "Andy?"
"Shhh." He whispered. She heard. She always did. "... Listen."
"..."
Screams. Agony. Pain. Fire. Ice. Concentrated arts energy. Steel and metal, skin and bone, flesh and blood. The sounds of hell. Not any hell, but the deepest ring. She shook her head.
"... I don't hear nun'. Ya alright, An-..."
Before the sweet word could fully leave her lips, an invader from beyond the slum world cut in and tarnished her sentence. In the wake of its mighty roar, her syllables failed and crumbled, vanquished beneath its two, rubbery feet. A grand wail. Piercing scream. Mountain-splitting roar.
The boom of a motorcycle engine.
"..." Andy slowly turned his head towards the girl. Lizzy took a step back, having never seen his eyes so full of life, sparkling with a feverish lust for something unknown. "... It's him."
"Who?" Croissant asked, puzzled.
"Him." Andy gestured to his battered face, his torn and tattered clothes. Streaks of blood had just finished up drying. "... The culprit."
"The wha… What? W-... HEY! HEY! BAWS, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU-... BAWS, COME BACK!"
She screamed after him, voice laced with genuine terror, strained with anger. But Andy couldn't hear her. He couldn't hear anything. He threw a quick "LEAVE, I'LL JOIN UP SOON!" behind, barely cohesive, barely audible. He was already there – in the heart of it all. Back on the street, back in the uniform of Mr Andrew Ricketts, Kazdel's most wanted. The talk of the country, the one whose face they printed over bounty posters, the one who's murdered hundreds, the one whose life mattered little, the one who made an unfulfilled promise, and the one his inner self was so, so utterly ashamed of.
Not here.
Not now.
Here, Andrew Ricketts could thrive.
,
"HEY!"
,
The glimpse of leather on steel shimmered in the corner of his eyes. His brain set a clear-cut, no bullshit trajectory and figured a sort of half-assed, half-thought out plan. Boots splattered blood, heels trampled the uncrushed skulls. Like a graceful ballerina dancer, Andy swirled and tapped across the newly erected no man's land, dodging arts and steel bolts alike.
Most bolt-fire came from a makeshift stronghold built upon the deceased bodies of L.G.D. officers – some poked out from the top, raining arrows upon all that dared move on the street, some stood guard near the barricade and kept adding bricks of their own fallen, eventually personally joining the mass grave.
Problem was, the engine roaring came from behind. The backside of this half dead, half living wall. A sematary separated him from the growling machine.
Andy twirled around a few bolts, absent-mindedly avoiding a rapid lobotomy by mere inches. Catching him, was a group of steel-carrying slummers that passed by, storming the barricade and taking the angel as one of their very own. Andy couldn't even dream of muddling their perception, instead "Excuse me"-ing his way through the crowd, offering sly smiles and whimsical nods, pouring potent alcohol over the warrior's burning hearts with pats to their backs. Moments later, the entire troupe fell to the floor, turned to a human-mass hedgehog. He whistled at the sight, silently commending the officers' rapid aim and firing. He's already found another way in, a stupid, yet very promising plan.
"Here, lemme help ya aim!" Andy slid behind the nearest burnt-down car for cover, then grasped the wrist of some ragged caster, who slumped by the hood. Poor guy was so out of it, he could barely even stand. The steel bolt protruding from his left eye did not help, either.
Tilted over the charred metal like a desk drinking-bird, he didn't even notice his body being shifted.
"Wuh? Huh…? We firin'? We win yet?" He mumbled through mounds, upon mounds of unkempt tufts in his teeth. Andy slung one arm over his shoulders, directing his casting unit with the other.
"Almost, yeah. You ready to blast off?"
His healthy eye sparkled with something akin to wondrous excitement.
"Blast off? We firin'?"
"Firing, yeah!" Andy smirked. The caster returned a toothless beam of his own. "Blast those bastards!"
"BLAST 'EM BASTARDS!"
,
He felt a surge of pure, concentrated warmth coursing through his right hands' veins. It bubbled – a very familiar notion. Like with firing off a bullet – when the originium buzzed and connected with its "master" momentarily, before depleting its deathly energy. The air heated up tenfold, and a tiny spark plopped out of the tip of the caster's wand.
Andy narrowed his gaze. The L.G.D. gun-fort had already noticed the two charging up mischief, and decided to recalibrate their sights to get rid of those annoying pests. He swallowed a ball of spit.
"... You firin', bud?"
The caster nodded.
"WE FIRIN'!"
A squeal pierced the air, much like a volley of fireworks going off, all at once. Andy felt his hand itching to jerk back and retract from the burning pool of heat under his palm, but remained steady and composed – aimed at the mound of bright lights in front.
PEW!
"WE FIRED! WE FIRED!" The caster yelled in glee, waving his wand around like a maniac. His worse eye had long popped from the socket and tumbled to the ground. "WE FIRED! UP 'N AT 'EM! GOT 'EM BASTARDS! FUCK THE L.G.D.!"
"Yeah, we got' em…" Andy whistled at the sight, his eyes slowly getting used to the bright light. What once was a bastion of last defense for the L.G.D., now lay scattered all over the main street. Red, black, brown – warm colors, 'cept for the middle one. It mixed nicely with the orange flames that still surrounded the keep, burning off any last faceless ghouls unfortunate enough to have survived the opening explosion. Their world's been rocked. Andrew Ricketts rode again.
"GOT THEIR ASSES! WE FIRIN'! WE FIRIN' ALL NIGHT!..."
Vroom-vroom.
The engine roared again, muffling the elated caster's empty cheers. Andy directed his eyes towards the sound, like a fowl of prey locking in on an unsuspecting forest critter.
"GOT THEIR ASSES! GOT THEM GOOD! GOT THEM REAL GOOD! SUPER GOOD! GOT THEM–... Hey! Hey, angel-man! Where are ya going?!"
Andy didn't bother answering. His feet led him through the smoldering field of bubbling flesh, sizzling hard against his soles. Here and there, an L.G.D. officer on death's doorstep would reach out and ask him to pull them back to the world of the living. Reaching, stretching their fingers, silently mouthing the words "Please", or "Help", or "I've got a family", or whatever else their crisped, leaking brains could muster up. But he couldn't spare even a second for such frivolous whims. He had a clear target in mind, not quite in sight. Mounds of tar-black smoke bit his eyes, and he had to grope his way through by ear.
"H-... Help… H-Help… H–..."
Shh. Can't hear my footsteps.
"P-Please… U-Unit O-Three, come in… Come in, unit O-Three…"
Unit 03 won't help you. Your silence would help me, 'cause I can't hear shit.
"Come in… Come in central… Central, c-come in…"
Central's not going anywhere.
Tap-tap-tap.
I am, though.
BEEP!
"... 11-99... Requesting… R-Requesting backup. Requesting backup at Steel's 58… 10-80… 11-71… M-Multiple officers down…"
Shut up. Shut up. I don't even know where to go. I'm lost.
"... H-Heavy arts involved… D-... Dead… S-So many dead…"
I should be one of them. I should be, but I'm not. Who's to blame?
"S-Special forces...? Order from a-above...? They're real...? Central… Please… Please, not them… Please Central, please, anyone but them…"
It's not my fault I survived. A guy makes it out of a shithole, big deal. What's up with the voice? Why aren't you agreeing? Andy? Hello?
"Central… Central, n-no… d-don't send…"
Andy? Andy, I know you're in here. We're one and the same, no need to play hide and seek with me. You're safe here. I'm safe here. Nobody will see.
"Central… Retreat... Please, please retreat..."
Nobody will see. Come, gimme a hug. Get a good feel of my skin. Remember how cold the nights used to be? They're all there, written down in the scars and notches in my skin. Each day, each sunrise and each night. Each bite, each wound, each hole, each sliver of pain. Why are you so ashamed of them?
Why are you so ashamed of me?
Andy felt his lungs clearing. The overbearing darkness parted, gone with it were the voices. What voices? He couldn't remember a thing.
Not a thing.
"..."
His eyes immediately latched onto the prize of today's hellscape journey. The beast of iron, the longed-for roaring engine. Amidst all the dying-down fighting, a gigantic motorcycle displayed its shiny and reflective might, bearing no marks of previous usage. Or so it was made to look, at least. Polished and rubbed down to a T, the ori-gas-guzzling metal tubes and pipes were void of even the tiniest of stains. How quaint! How cared for! How pretty!
A leathered up leg kicked the ignition lever. The engine flared with a volley of rising flames, roared in a familiar manner, then died immediately.
Went mute. Tore its vocal cords out.
"... Fuck… OW! Law's sake…"
The familiar voice flowed into the boy's ears like butter. Slippery and wet, not lubricous enough to escape him fully. The rider's words crumbled to a miniscule murmur, as he urged his glorious steed to start working properly, under the many, many threats of senseless violence. His leather legs disappeared beneath a jacket from the same material, all spiked up and pointy – prickly, exhausting the need for an actual defense source. Something to replace the sawed off shotgun.
On his back?
A pure black rose. Illness in rock.
An Originium cluster, embroidered with the words "CATASTROPHE RIDERS."
Right past that?
A pair of radiant wings.
Over his head?
A flickering halo.
It was him.
The culprit.
The one who had dragged him into this entire mess. The yin to his yang.
,
"ANGIE!"
,
Andy yelled towards the dimming remnants of a battle so fierce. Any heads still alive, any swords still clashing – all ceased their doings and turned to face the boy.
The biker did too.
"... Fuck." He whispered, eyes widening in an instant. His halo flickered with the uttered curse, but his face did not flinch. Fear had paralyzed him whole.
"ANGIE!" Andy yelled again, his feet slowly taking on a quick, rhythmic tempo. Tap after tap, shoes thudded against concrete, the contents of his pockets rattled in unease. "ANGIE, COME HERE!"
"You–... Wait! Wait, wait, wait, wait!" The angel went pale. His fingers kept messily twiddling with the ignition, boot constantly rising up and striking down to continuously kick the start-up lever. "WE CAN TALK ABOUT THIS!"
The engine always responded the same – a mighty roar, then instant death.
"GET OFF!" Andy reached into his pocket, feeling around for a special piece of something. The fruits of today – a thin wash line and a heavy, red brick.
"LEAVE ME ALONE! I LET YOU LIVE, WAIT!" Angie shouted past his shoulder, now desperately banging his hands against the machine to make it budge. The bike responded with an unimpressed silence. "WAIT! JUST PLEASE, FOR LAW'S SAKE, WAIT! WAI–..."
,
Thump!
,
The brick crashed against Angie's skull, shattering into a crumbly mist of crimson dust. The rider fell off his steed in an instant, clutching his head, overcome by whimpers.
"S-... Stop…"
Andy remained deaf to his pleas. His Lawful nature emerged from within the bowels of his tar-ridden soul, eager to disperse some judgment upon the sinner.
Go at it, thee – said the Law itself, blessing Andrew's holy hands with a beaming smile from above the dark clouds – Slay the sinner.
Andy vaulted over the motorcycle. His boot caught the handlebars' right side and knocked the entire thing over, but it didn't really matter at the moment.
"P-Please, man, f-for Law's sake…"
For the Law's sake, he was about to dethrone this false angel and carve off his wings, rightfully so. They did not belong on his back.
"Ricketts, p-please… please, just let me g-... AGH!"
A fist of judgment crashed against the unholy unshaven stubble. Andy cocked his arm right back, groping around for the biker's collar with the other. When hooked, he brought his face into the nearest limelight to cleanse it of sin once and for all.
"Ricketts–... L-Law…"
Andrew Ricketts and the Law. Companions for life.
,
THUD.
,
Andy slammed Angie's entire head into the metal lamp-pole, as hard as his meager (but eager!) arms would let him. A spring of dark, alcohol tainted blood erupted from the biker's nose, tumbling down his features and splattering over the sidewalk. A buzz of war raged all around, the slum-L.G.D. clash brewing hard as ever. Amidst the screams, radio chatter and clangs of steel grinding against steel, his fists kept beating out their very own quiet symphony of hurt and suffering.
The sky wept. Rain fell in multitudes, sent as a cleanup crew from the Lawful Saints above. It hit his head, hit his hair, halo and face, just as he had hit Angie – multiple times. There were wet strands of sweat and rainwater pooling in his eyes, but he didn't need sight to keep dispersing the holy will – it came naturally. His fist, Angie's face. Like two singularities connected into one through an act of mutually assigned marriage – blood and saliva, bile and rainwater. The angel stopped bucking, only one of his arms moving slightly and twitching. Andy kept in mind that the other had long been broken by Croissant – at the very start of their little "adventure." He grabbed the man's halo and forcefully slammed it to the ground, sending shivers of shared pain down his very own spine. Angie gurgled and spat out some blood.
"P-... pl-... please… p-please…"
"Why are you still… why are you still breathing…?" Andy muttered under his breath, looming like a shadow over the mutilated angel. "Just stop. Stop breathing."
Help him, Andrew – The Law guided, taking his hand in its gentle embrace and leading towards his pocket – Help him understand.
Andy pulled the thin wash-line from within. Thousands of Lungmenite rags had been dried atop this little poverty-born-appliance. He thanked the dead slummers all around for their sacrifice and spun the yarn around his hand, holding the other end close. An air of anticipation filled the battlefield, immediately silencing all but him. Just the rain. Just the rain, and their eyes.
Their empty, senseless eyes.
"... N-No… no…" Angie protested weakly at the feel of something thin, and wet with sweat, wrapping around his neck. It slithered and snared his throat in its tight, burning grasp. The razor-sharp edges of this tiny snake's hide bit and cut his skin, drawing out waves of pain that sunk deep into his flesh.
Red. The Law demanded red.
Red is what it needed.
Andy pulled on both ends of the string, tightening it further. Angie's eyes went wide with the splitting, unanticipated pain. His legs kept bucking wildly beneath the boy's lap, like a fish out of water – animated by pure pain and terror, writhing in the rain.
"ST-H… STOP… STOP…" He retched, but Andy did not listen. He pulled further, fueled by the cold mist that had enveloped the street entirely. The limelights had gone dim, shattered by an unseen array of shadows rapidly flickering through the concrete river. He grasped and dragged the angel to the nearest lamp-post, leaving behind a trail of dripping, warm blood that dissipated beneath the biting rain.
"S-... Stop… please… p-..." Angie managed to whisper past his gurgling, and the spit bubbling in his throat. Just as Andy had slammed his back against the cold metal, his body went limp.
Unmoving. Still, like a rag doll thrown into a corner after playtime was over.
His last words, a pathetic plea.
His whole legacy came down to this. Dying, a throat slit wide open, choking on his own blood.
Andy stood up. With the wash-line hanging from his hand, soaked through and through with red. He's already forgotten all about carrying out the Law's will, shaken awake from his religious daze.
His halo kept rattling. The nails kept clinking.
There was no pleasure in the act. No happiness to be found at the extracted revenge. The mask of Mr Ricketts had now abandoned him, leaving to fend for himself.
His spine was tingling.
"..."
He took a look around the street. Most of the lingering street lamps were gone, the street being softly illuminated by the moons' judging gaze.
It felt nice. With the gentle wind tugging at his skin, its flimsy hands rubbing across his face, the soothing rain washing off the blood – it felt peaceful.
,
Too peaceful.
,
The fighting was long gone. Corpses littered the sidewalk, the street, the many car-carcasses splattered all over the place, the lamps and the trash piles. Andy spun in place, searching for anyone still present, but it was hard to make out anything in the freezing cold downpour.
"..."
Nothing. An air of death stilled in the night. Decay followed in its steps. He couldn't understand how a street so lively and full of people could be cleared in mere seconds, reduced to a mass-grave.
It wasn't the result of their clash, that much he was sure of.
There had to be foul play involved.
"... Crossie?" He called out, trying to break through the tapping of droplets, but to no avail. It felt as if a rampaging wave of raging burdenbeasts had cleared the streets of any life. Any being did not dare breathe in the presence of the looming shadows, the eyes he had felt watching over him before.
"..."
Something moved behind the waterfall of rain. Something meek and small.
Andy dropped the wash-line and dragged himself closer.
His legs felt strangely unresponsive. As if they really did not want to move. As if the spot reserved for the dead, the lay-and-die position seemed more ideal to them, more preferred than shuffling towards the moving shadow.
"..."
He stopped in the middle of the street. The shadows perked up to greet him.
Tap-tap-tap.
The rain danced on.
The shadow rose. Tall. It was tall. Really tall. Stretching far overhead, Andy couldn't see the end of its towering skull. There was nothing to look forward to, not in the presence of this monster.
"..." He stared. Emptily gazed into the shadow's unmoving eyes. It raised its right arm, stirring up a large mass of shapeless nothing to arise from the ground.
Slowly, the mass shifted, being lifted into the air. It slid lazily along the length of some long, thin object held by the shadow, only to fall from the very tip and thud emptily against the ground.
A body.
A body impaled and dropped. Discarded.
The shadow stepped closer. It emerged from behind the wall of biting water like an actor from behind a curtain – naturally. As if it was nothing but another lazy Monday for the creature.
Clad from head to foot in black, a conical hat on the tip of its massive, hooded head. The sight brought back memories – memories that Andy couldn't quite allocate at the moment, his brain blank and paralyzed. It truly could only be described as "shapeless", with a torn, tattered rain-cloak that fluttered behind its back.
It did not have a face. Bathed in blood, even the rain couldn't wash off the remnants of the slaughter. The price of muffling this little street-brawl.
Fuel for tomorrow.
Before Andy could blink, a glint of steel flashed behind the creature's back, sending sparkles of the moons' glow into the boy's eyes. He got lost in the sight for a quarter of a second too long – foolish enough not to notice the rapid gale swooshing past him at the speed of light.
"...?" When his blink did go through, and his eye had opened again, the creature was gone.
Something hurt him. Something hurt real, real bad.
Andy dropped to his knees, with the pain rapidly spreading through each individual blood-vessel in his body – from the base of his right shoulder and arm, through his chest, up his brain, each tip of his nails – the stomach, straightening each intestine and twisting it around again, his hips, lap, legs, toes and finally – the deepest, most vulnerable part of his soul. Every single pain receptor in his body lit up with cold, unfeeling pain at that very moment, forcing a choked-back gasp of terror-fueled disbelief from his throat. The rain couldn't help soothe it, because it felt cold.
He felt cold.
He felt incredibly cold.
The pain was cold. His heart had frozen over entirely, leaving it unmoving, yet still beating.
It had to beat.
It had to pump out all the tar-tainted blood out of his body.
Through the hole.
The massive, gaping hole.
The hole he'd once called his right arm.
Andy didn't want to look. His brain prevented him from glancing, but he did anyway. His eyes scraped the bottom of his collar, slowly climbing up the shoulder – only to glance down at the lingering pile of nerves hanging severed from the hole. No meat remained. The bone, cut cleat at the joint, meticulously bladeworked to perfection.
Cold.
The feel of steel still festered over his freezing flesh. He wanted to close his eyes and look away, but couldn't. Couldn't tear himself away from the waterfall of blood that fell down his sweater and soaked it through, blending with rainwater. The rain kept falling.
Tap-tap-tap.
The droplets danced.
Thud, thud, thud.
A pair of heavy footsteps circled from the back.
,
"... Don't. Ne bouge pas. Not even a muscle."
,
It's voice – quiet and hard on the ear. Like scraping a blade against a metal plate.
Andy felt something far colder than his own body touch his neck – the tip of a sword.
Slowly, the creature revealed itself to his eyes, coming into view from the right. It drew a tiny line of red over his neck with the sharpened steel, before stopping directly in front.
Andy stared, eyes wide open. Droplets of rain assaulted his irises, but he couldn't ever look away. Not then. Something tugged and pulled at him, begged him to shut his lids and leave, but he couldn't.
,
"..." The creature stared back. It had no face – no mouth, no eyes, and no remorse. Empty nothingness lay beneath its hood.
,
"... I'm no mercy killer." It muttered, as if directly sending its freezing whisper into the boy's ear. "... And this isn't a mercy killing. Sit here and wallow in your own guts."
,
At last, the creature spat right into his face.
,
"... Mutt. Déchet."
,
,
"..."
,
Andy couldn't bear it any longer.
,
,
Couldn't cling to his own sense of self.
,
,
Couldn't fight the biting waves of frost spreading through his body.
,
,
He fell to the concrete, splattering around blood and rainwater. A gurgle escaped his throat, much alike Angie's last breath.
,
,
The Law called out to him once more.
,
One last time for the road.
,
Rest easy, soldier – it said. – Rest to fight another day. Rest to live another life.
,
,
Andy gave in and closed his eyes.
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Upon waking up, Andy found himself surrounded by a myriad of strange shapes and sizes. The floor beneath his arm felt strangely soft. Familiar, in a way. He lifted his perfectly rested body, then glanced around the area.
Trees.
There were towering trees everywhere, all around him. With their crowns disappearing high up in the air, far beyond his sight. He couldn't make out the sky. They blotted it out whole.
"That's strange." He thought. "This isn't Lungmen."
It wasn't. No matter how dark and grimy the forest felt, he still couldn't shake off the warm sliver of familiarity worming its way into his brain. From all sides, there was nothing but darkness – pure, unending fear waiting behind each pile of bark. All but one.
Something glimmered in the far, far distance. Something warm and alluring. Flames of a memorable recluse. Andy took his eager legs and let them guide him through the uneven forest bed, towards the source of all this warmth.
,
Tap, tap, tap.
,
His feet clambered over the overgrown roots.
,
Tap, tap, tap.
,
They scaled the stumps and fallen logs.
,
Tap, tap, tap.
,
They did it with such ease, such a natural vigor. Both his hands kept clinging to branches poking from the trees for balance when traversing the landscape, eager to reach the growing warmth.
,
Tap, tap, tap…
,
A campfire came into vision. In the middle of a small clearing, it painted the surrounding trees with a shade of stilted orange, carelessly crackling away and feasting on cut-up logs. The fire lured him in.
,
A single log lay in front, with a dark shape sitting atop. Andy slowly approached the stranger, carefully studying their flimsily twitching shadow, and dark blue hair that spilled like yarn from beneath their cloak. A halo swayed over their head...
His bones felt content and warm in the fire's close proximity. He took a seat next to the figure, his gray eyes catching a glimpse of her deeply cerulean irises.
"... Andy." She welcomed him with a nod. "... Been a while."
"A while, yeah." Andy nuzzled himself closer to the warmth fountain, eyes lost deep in its whimsical flames. "... What is this place?"
"This?" She glanced away from the fire, only to take in her raw surroundings. "... Dunno. Last time it was something related to me, so I guess this is what you consider to be "something related to you."
"A dark forest…?"
"Yeah?" She shrugged. Finally, her face turned towards him, and she was just as Mostima as always. "... I mean, it's your imagination. Don't ask me."
"Right." Andy kicked a small log into the fire. "... I think I liked the Tower of Revelations more."
"Did you?"
"Did you not?"
"I'll like whatever your brain asks me to like. Like how it was with smoking." She giggled. "... I still don't know WHY you decided to make me a smoker, but so be it. I might be mellow and lax, but not that lax."
"I was… what, sixteen back then? Cut me some slack." Andy shuddered, feeling a little cold in the hands. He pressed them close to his sweater, rubbing softly to warm them right up. "... Besides, I didn't really have much control over "creating" dream-you."
"Dream-me." She shot him a smugly knowing look. "I'm just sooo dreamy, aren't I~?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah, I bet I am." A sigh escaped her lips, as she leaned over to pat the boy on the knee. Her touch brought about an unnerving sense of cold to the very tips of his toes. "... Speaking of dream-girls, how's Lem treating you? Heard you got her."
"Got her?" Andy snorted at the wording. "... Far from it, actually."
"Oh? Do tell."
"I dunno what's there to say. I mean, you know most of it anyway, don't you?"
"I may." She shrugged. "I may not. I don't really keep up with your life as much as I used to nowadays."
"Why's that?" Andy shuffled a little closer to her side. The nearer he got, the more cold started seeping into his body, not just the hands and feet. "... What happened to you two?"
"Us two?" She raised an eyebrow. "... Who, that devil moron?"
"Yeah, W."
"W. W, W, W…" A soft humm of thoughtfulness split her words. "... He should be somewhere around here. Getting more wood for the fire, I guess. Bit of a survivalist, that guy."
"Yeah… Wait, so you two… you two live together? You two are…" He stopped himself, realizing how idiotic the question sounded. "... I mean, what even are you?"
"What are we? We're parts of you, I guess. And to answer your question, we do live together. We live together, just because you want us to. You want to justify the lack of your little hallucinations by imagining me and your devil-friend as a sort of macabre couple who went on a tropical recluse in the back of your head somewhere." She blew a tiny spit-bubble. "... Which, I mean, isn't so bad. There's worse fates I could think of." With her gaze piercing his, she smirked at the boy. "And I think you know that too. You know it all too well."
"Oh, shush…" He chuckled at the silly thought. "Just because I've been through the wringer doesn't make me some… some crippled martyr. Come on."
"If you say so."
"..."
"... Why don't you ever talk about it like this?" She asked, her eyes never leaving his.
"Talk about what?"
"About this. All this. Your life, your problems." She gestured to his shoulders, now shivering with cold. "... The way you're shaking. You're so open about it here."
"Y-Yeah?" His teeth chattered. Such chatterboxes they were. "How does this translate to the outside?"
"Oh, Law…" Mostima sighed, the gesture stirring pity. "You're so clueless about these things. Do you seriously need me to tell you? Hold you by the hand, lead you to another epiphany? We're not even done with the "senseless killing" part, are we? You're here just because you wanted to go out of your way to off someone. For what? Revenge? Did it feel good, at least?"
"Not really."
"Did you feel anything at all?"
"..." Andy had to think about it for a moment. "No."
"Blank?"
"Blank."
"Then why'd you do it?"
"I don't know." He hugged himself tight, trying and failing to fight off the overarching cold. "... I g-guess I thought it'd make things better."
"Make you feel alive again?"
"Uh-huh."
"But it didn't." She shook her head, slowly. "... And look where it got you."
,
They both glanced around the silent forest. It felt cold and repulsive, so Andy pressed himself closer to her side. Her coat welcomed his head, as it sunk deep into the fluff. It provided no warmth, however.
,
"... Why are you like this?" She murmured quietly, before gently rubbing his scalp. Her fingers omitted his hair, going straight for the skin, massaging pure frost into his brain. "... Why don't you let that nice girl in?"
"W-Who?"
"You know who. Don't act dumb."
"B-But…"
"But? You're hung up on the idea of finding me, still. You want me to be your gun-knight on a shining steed, yeah?" He couldn't see, but he felt her chest rising and falling with an exasperated sigh. "What else? Your savior? Lem used to babble on about all that savior bullshit, but you? I thought you were a little more mature than that."
"..."
"What? Don't pout. What are you, twelve? Or over twenty?"
"..."
"Lem's over twenty too, you know? She's not your little gun-buddy plushie to chase around the backstreets of Laterano anymore. She's not someone to cuddle up to when your dad accidentally locks you out of the house again. She's not there when you need her on a whim anymore. She's moved on, Andy."
"..."
"But you haven't, have you? She's still your Lemmy. She's still the perfect girl from Kazdel."
"..."
"She's scared of you. By you. For you. All of those, all at once. Do you think that's healthy? Don't you hate the way she holds you at arm's length?"
"..."
"No. No, but you do love the way she hugs you from time to time. You love when she's focused on you, solely. When you're both watching movies late at night, when she's got no one else to turn to, so she turns to you. You've guilt-tripped her into that, at least. Are you happy?"
"..."
"Stop curling up like that. You're not a kitten, you're a twenty one year old man with severe schizophrenia and a plethora of other mental illnesses."
"..."
"... Why are you hugging me?"
"... I-I'm c-cold…"
"I'm not even here, Andy. I'm not here, and never will be."
"B-But I'm c-cold…"
She sighed, for the last time.
"... Go ahead. Hug me, then. If you can, I mean." Something shifted. Her voice came from afar, as if traveling through a long, rapidly curling tube. "... Hug me to your heart's content. For as long as your head lets you."
For as long as you can keep a steady hold.
,
Andy curled up on the log even further. His arms and legs clutched to the girl's side as tightly as they could, but the overbearing frost piercing his body couldn't ever be warded off.
,
It just ate him.
,
Consumed him whole.
,
Bit into his sides, his arms and legs, his brain…
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His eyes. His soul.
,
Andy fell off the log, onto the forest floor. The grass beneath his face felt unnaturally hard and prickly, like icicles. He tried wrapping his arms around his legs to pull them close and preserve his body warmth, but his right shoulder wouldn't listen. He couldn't move it, no matter what. No matter how hard he tried, it wouldn't budge.
,
It didn't want to move.
,
The campfire sizzled, then disappeared – buried under a mound of snow. Everything had gone dark, and he was left clutching to his side, overcome by severe tremors. His body shook with cold, rummaged by pure chill emanating through his veins, turning his blood to ice and tearing apart the circulatory system.
He couldn't move.
He couldn't speak.
Couldn't think.
Could only watch.
,
Lie, and watch the blood softly dripping from his shoulder.
,
,
Drip-drip-drip.
,
,
The droplets started pooling under his sweater.
,
,
Drip-drip-drip.
,
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Soaking him through.
,
,
Drip-drip-drip.
,
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The rain had long stopped falling.
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Drip-drip-drip.
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Just the blood trickling down his arm.
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Drip-drip-drip.
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The sensation felt a bit unpleasant. With a silent scoff and a grimace, he tried covering the hole with his other hand to cork the leak. When his fingers touched the exposed meat, a pain so sharp and severe struck his brain that he couldn't help but gasp aloud.
,
"...?"
,
A pair of footsteps sounded from afar. Andy froze, eyes wide with surprised fear.
What if it was the raincoat monster?
What if the conical hat came to finish him off?
What if all that "no mercy killer" talk was bullshit?
What if THIS was how he died…?
,
Tap-tap-tap.
,
The footsteps approached.
,
"... A-Andy…?"
,
The faint whisper of Croissant's broken, miniscule voice sent a shot of adrenaline snaking down the ladder of his spine. Andy turned to his back, eyes hungrily searching for the girl.
She was there, bathed in the limelights. A little dirtier than usual, more bloodied and ruffled, but still there. She held a round sack in her hands, the bottom splattered with a dry crimson. Andy blinked.
"Crossie. Hey." He managed to utter, before trying to lift himself up. His right hand reached for the concrete to stabilize himself up, but…
…
… it just wasn't there.
He fell to the floor with a soft groan, landing on the exposed flesh. Croissant immediately put the bloodied sack at her feet and kneeled down to help him sit.
"G-Gawds… Gawds, Andy…"
Cradled in her arms, he felt strangely tiny and weak. Watching her terrified expression, the way she held and examined each little millimeter of his gaping wound, it made him a bit uneasy. He couldn't say no at the moment. He couldn't even fully process what had happened.
"N-No… No…" She whispered under her breath, her wide eyes glancing around his exposed flesh and bone. "... N-Not like this… n-not you, too…"
"Crossie?" Andy purred, just as his head lolled softly to the side. "... I-I'm sorry."
"Shhhh…" Her body shifted. Before he knew it, she was holding him close. Close to her chest, close enough to wash away the lingering cold and for once let him siphon some warmth. Her arms traveled around his sweater, all the way to the back of his head, the nape of his neck and the fluff of his curls. Just as Mostima had, hours ago, she rubbed her fingers into his hair, giving the brain some much needed, self-indulgent heat.
Andy couldn't fight it. His nose instinctively sought out the crook of her neck and buried itself deep.
"... G-Gawds… Andy, we n-need to leave." She whispered, her warm words pouring straight into his ears like a soothing balm. "... We need to leave. Why did ya have to do this…? Why…?"
"I'm sorry." He buzzed back. He couldn't even muster up a proper word, it all came out as a mumble. "... I'm so, so sorry, Crossie."
"Do you know h-how… how scared I got? How ya terrified me…? To the core? How I… What I saw…?" Her breaths came uneven, all labored and heavy – a stark contrast to Andy's somewhat steady rhythm. "... W-When… When the lights all went out…? When t-those fiends arrived? I d-didn't know where ya w-were, and those things just… just started cuttin' up slum-folk left 'n right. N-Not just slum-folk. L.G.D., too. I h-heard 'em begging, explainin' that they're coppers, but…" Andy felt her neck tighten, as she turned to bury her own face in his soaked hair. Something wet hit his scalp. "... b-but they didn't listen. They just t-tore through everythin', left nothin' standing. I b-barely made it. I barely made it, you…"
"But I told you to leave…?" Andy murmured back, his own eyes getting a little watery at that point. A crushing amount of guilt had started building up in his stomach, only tugging down more and more with each word and tear she spilled. "... I told you two to leave."
"Y-Ya thought I would leave ya…? Are ya… Are ya completely… utterly oblivious…?" Croissant choked back a sob and hugged him even more tightly. "Ya thought I'd let ya jump into all 'at chaos on yer own…? When they were all… all cuttin' heads, 'n… 'n…"
She went silent. Andy didn't know how to respond at all. The topic groveled and wormed, not only at his conscience but also physically – at his ribs. At the splitting pain in his shoulder.
"... And Lizzy? Where's Lizzy?" He asked – anything to change the topic. "... Did she make it to the city? Or- or is she still around somewhere…?"
,
"..."
,
The girl went rigid. Her tiny sobs, little shakes and the feel of her fingers in his hair – it all ceased in an instant.
,
"... Crossie?"
,
"I t-told her to leave." She began, her voice barely even audible. Andy had to force his head upwards to understand even a single word.
Her eyes were all red. Welling with tears, permeated by genuine sorrow. He's never, never seen her like this.
"... I told h-her, but she didn't listen. She went off… she went off warblin' 'bout… 'bout how she's not leavin' us, 'n how we either all leave together, or–... or she won't go nowhere."
,
Realization slowly started sinking in.
,
His eyes crossed an arch, called out to by the round sack lying by the girl's side.
,
It remained crimson and silent as ever. Remnants of dry blood painted the bottom.
,
"..." His breathing had picked up pace. From the slow, languid intakes, it gradually began increasing in intensity. "... Is t-that…?"
,
Croissant offered a shaky nod. Her eyes remained closed, as she lunged forward again and hugged the boy as tight as she could.
,
But Andy couldn't feel the crushing weight.
,
He couldn't feel anything. Not the chilling breeze playing with his exposed nerves, not the girl's hair tickling his face.
,
Couldn't feel the waves of overbearing pain twisting and churning his body, contorting him in any way they'd like.
,
Couldn't feel anything, but the crushing waves of guilt pulling his soul under.
,
"..."
,
Silently, he let go. Croissant took a step back.
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He clambered to his feet, eyes locked on the sack. It burned. It burned his brain, burned his throat, incinerated his conscience.
,
"..." With a heavy gulp, Andy reached down, nearly falling over, and grasped the knot up top. It wasn't heavy. She was a small girl, after all.
,
Used to be.
,
"..." The thin linen offered a dark shadow of an outline of its contents. Round, riddled with a mess of hair. Two pointy ears up top, motionlessly dangling, slumped to the sides.
,
He swallowed again. It was too much.
,
It was way too much.
,
His lips parted, hyperventilation running its course.
,
Her linen-clad eyes met his.
,
For a moment, there was understanding in the world.
,
Her empty gaze gleamed him a sense of peace.
,
"Niech pan się nie martwi, Panie Ricketts." She whispered. "... Nie ma w tym mieście miejsca dla ludzi takich jak ja."
,
"..."
,
"..."
,
"..."
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"... I-... I-I'm so s-sorry."
,
All he could mumble.
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All he could muster, before falling to his knees and succumbing to the gnawing blood loss.
,
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Consciousness, severed.
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Arm, lost.
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Null.
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Nothing.
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Blank.
,
The world remained as bleak as it had always been.
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"Nie bój nic, Andrzejku! Jeszcze się kiedyś na pewno spotkamy!"