"Stupid creep!"
Knuckles connected with jaw. He tasted copper, but didn't feel himself hitting the floor. Stars splashed over his vision instead, and when they faded, the older boy was standing over him.
The smaller of the two, a young boy with messy black hair and a pair of thin, clouded glasses, felt the blood dribbling from his nose and down his lips to his chin. One of his glasses lenses had broken from the hit, a shard of it lying nearby.
He glared at the larger, older boy. The culprit of this violent exchange.
"You're a commie!" The kid yelled, and his foot connected with the young boy's stomach. He let out a grunt, but tried not to show any signs of pain. He wouldn't give this bully the satisfaction.
"Your kind shouln't be here!"
The boy took the abuse. Kicks and hits and stomps, but he still glared at the other kid. He was silent as the blows kept coming, before finally, his abuser spit on him and ran off. The beaten boy watched him go, before he sniffed, and wiped away the blood coagulating at his nostrils. He could feel the tears stinging at his eyes, but didn't allow them to flow as freely as his blood.
After several minutes, the boy slowly rose from the ground. His body hurt and ached. Something inside his chest hurt, too. The kid that had just beaten him to a pulp... he was supposed to be a friend. An hour ago they'd been laughing and playing all over the town, like it was their own oversized jungle gym. But then... one thing had been said, and his friend had turned on him as rapidly at the flip of a dime. He thought this friend could be trusted. He thought he'd understand.
Nobody ever did. Not after the war.
"Nikolai!"
The boy had returned to his home, and his mother shouted his name when she saw him. This wasn't the first time he'd returned in a state like this. It probably wouldn't be the last, but it made his poor mother's heart ache with worry.
She fussed over Nikolai as he sat on a wooden stool. His mother wiped wet rags at him, dabbing them over his wounds, applying ointment and bandages, all the while muttering things under her breath. Most of what she said was in Russian, but it translated into things like "Hateful German children" and "Not my sweet boy."
Nikolai was silent as his mother treated him, simply staring forward.
"Moy malen'kiy Nikolai..." Miss Vaspetin cooed, cupping the boy's cheek with a hand and turning his face to look up at her. "Who was it this time?"
Her English was broken, thick with their native Russian tongue. She would have spoken in their true language all the time if not for their situation. Before Nikolai had been born, when his mother was a young girl, she and her family had lived in the motherland. They had been important people then, working under the Soviet Union. Nikolai's grandfather had been a leading figure in the К.Г.Б., or as the Americans and their English-speaking subordinates put it: the 'K.G.B.'
Then the Polar War swept over the world. It was meant to be a third world war, but when the dust settled, they called it the Polar War. It had been what the Cold War heated into, but its consequences cast a cold climate over the globe. Summers were cool in the eastern world, and winters were lethal. Only time would warm things up, but Nikolai would be a much older man when that time came.
"Mal'chik. Dumal, chto—"
"English, Nikolai," his mother urged.
Nikolai cringed. He hated the language as much as his mother did, but if they wanted to live... they had to conform. It wasn't as though they were completely alone, there were other displaced Russians, and the German people themselves had to switch from their language to American English after the U.C.A. took over, but it was no secret that Russians and Germans hated one another. After the second world war, and what came after, then the Polar War... bad blood ran a dark, dark red.
"It was boy," Nikolai corrected himself begrudgingly, English just as broken as hers. "Was not friend."
His mother shook her head, before she looked out of the kitchen window. "Always German boys..."
She was assuming, having no evidence of the boy being German, but she was correct. It was always German boys that did it. Nikolai was quiet and reserved. Without speaking, he could fit in. He could try and be around other children if he pretended to be mute. He had been getting along so well with this other boy, a kid named Heinrich, though he went by Heins. Nikolai had felt a spark of connection... a kindred spirit of adventure and mischief. He was not a smart boy by any means, nothing like Nikolai, but he was fun... until he wasn't. Nikolai had chosen to speak to him. To admit who he was. That had flipped a switch in Heins, his learned hatred surfacing. A disdain for Russians. Nikolai didn't much care for Germans himself, but he didn't have a choice of who he was around in Berlin.
"Do not let them get you down, Nikolai," his mother told him, and she bent down to plant her lips on his forehead. "You are best of them all. My Nikolai. You will change the world."
He clutched the $5 bill in his hand, taking cautious steps back. His eyes bore into the boy approaching him. Heinrich. Heins. The kid who could have been a friend... this time, he was backed by other German boys, and they had cornered Nikolai in a Berlin alley. In the backdrop was the skeletal frames of new buildings under construction, a project called 'Unity,' being built over the husk that was Berlin.
"Ugly Russian," Heins spat, and the three other boys gave a chorus of agreement, offering their own mocking insults 'Stupid.' 'Commie.' 'Landless.' It hurt Nikolai, but he didn't let it show. "Get out of our city and die!"
Nikolai didn't look much different from Heins. Aside from their difference in size, and Heinrich's lack of glasses, they could have been brothers. But their differing heritage was a source of hatred and contempt.
They attacked. They beat him worse than before. They took the money his mother had given him to purchase milk and eggs. They spit on him. They mocked him. He laid there and took it, feeling the lump in his throat grow painfully large as he kept his emotions throttled within.
But the beatdown was interrupted. A sudden voice boomed at the other end of the shadowed alley: "GENUG!"
The boys looked up in surprise toward a dark figure that was approaching them, who had shouted in their native German tongue. Without another word, Heinrich took off, followed by his cronies. Nikolai continued to lay on the ground, staring blankly forward as the man neared.
"Boy," the man spoke, his tone deep, almost threatening. He was clean-shaven, his balding head covered by a white comb-over. His accent was a strong East German. "What did they take?"
Nikolai's eyes slowly turned toward the man. He was burly, covered in scars, and had clearly seen war. His age likely meant he'd probably served under the Nazi regime. He'd fought Nikolai's grandfather once upon a time. Not directly probably, but they had been on opposing sides, if Nikolai's assumption was correct.
The boy didn't answer. He wasn't afraid of this grizzled man, but he didn't want to provoke him either. Abuse from children he could take. A full grown man could do much worse.
When Nikolai didn't speak, the man sniffed then itched his nose. "You take a beating quite well. Why do you not fight back?"
Still, Nikolai did not answer. It didn't seem to agitate the man however, who then offered a hand. It was large and calloused. "Get up boy. The ground is no place for you."
Slowly, the Russian boy raised a hand up toward the man's own and grasped it. The man pulled Nikolai to his feet a bit roughly before he began to brush off the boy's shoulders and crouched down to eye-level. "Listen to me. You have fight in you. If you can take those hits, you can give worse. I see fury in your eyes, hiding deep. Find it. Use it."
The man then stood and reached into his pocket. After a moment, he procured a $10 bill before he held it out. "Remember what I said boy. Don't let anyone do that to you again. Ever."
Nikolai stared at the bill, before his gaze rose back toward the man. His patience seemed to thin, and he grabbed Nikolai's arm, bringing it up to slap the cash into the boy's palm, then curled the Russian's fingers around the bill. "I am called Noir. Remember that."
With that, the man turned and began to walk away deeper down the alley. The still silent Nikolai watched on as the shadows seemed to swallow Noir up, and he was gone.
Opening his palm, Nikolai looked down at the bill in his hand. The American president stared back. Noir's words settled on his mind as he looked. Fighting back... his mother had told Nikolai to run home if he got into trouble, but the boy couldn't. He just sat there and took everything people dished out to him. It hurt, but he didn't try to stop it. Maybe a part of him was curious to see how much he could hurt. Maybe a part of him liked it. He'd never thought about swinging back before...
Maybe he would follow Noir's advice.
"He looks so sad..."
"Meredith," Nikolai's mother's words were sharp and dangerous as she glared at the woman who had spoken. Meredith, their upstairs neighbor, appeared alarmed at the mother's response.
"Olga, I just—"
"He is strong boy." Olga said. The two had been conversing for a short while, Olga sharing a technique she used for drying clothing. Meredith was one of the few people that would talk to them, but Olga's overprotectiveness for Nikolai didn't much care for that. "He is not sad. We do not get sad."
Meredith still seemed alarmed at the response, before giving a small nod of compliant agreement. "I didn't mean anything wrong by it," she insisted. "Does he have anyone to play with?"
"Thank you for advice, Meredith," Olga snapped back. With that, Nikolai's mother turned and marched inside of their apartment before she slammed the door behind her.
Nikolai had just arrived home from another day at school, wandering upon the conversation. Meredith had made her comment when the boy had slunk by her into his home. Olga's response was unreasonable and she likely knew that, but Olga's life revolved around Nikolai. She simply couldn't tolerate any negative comments about him, no matter how slight.
"Nerve of that woman. Otvratitel'nyy," Olga hissed the last word under her breath as she shook her head, before she looked toward Nikolai. He had set his book bag on the table and was now seated, staring at it. "Moy malen'kiy mal'chik, what is wrong?"
Nikolai didn't answer, not at first. He had seen the man again today. Noir. He had been encouraging of violence. He seemed to be appearing everywhere, and Nikolai hadn't told his mother anything. He was afraid she would forbid him from leaving, for fear of meeting the shadowy man again. Nikolai wasn't fond of him, but he liked the way the man tried to egg him on. The encouragement to do something drastic... it was feeding into dark thoughts Nikolai had buried deep.
"Did something happen at school?" Olga pressed.
"Otets brosil nas," Nikolai replied, and his mother pursed her lips.
"You need to practice your English, moy lyubov'."
"Net," Nikolai replied, turning to look at her. "YA nenavizhu eti slova. YA nenavizhu eto mesto. Pochemu otets ostavil nas zdes'?"
Olga stared back at Nikolai, and for a moment, he thought she might answer. As per usual, she turned away. She always did this when he brought up his father. Nikolai could scarcely remember the man. Sometimes he wasn't sure he existed. He simply left them both here in a place they hated, and in turn, it hated them right back.
Nikolai was tempted by Noir's words. To give in to this bitterness. The fury that lay underneath. To give back to the world everything it had thrown at him tenfold. Would his mother understand it? Would she sympathize? Or would she think it monstrous, as anyone else would? He wanted people to hurt, and to hurt horribly.
The mere thought of it was exciting.
Nikolai wordlessly watched his mother retreat to her room. He knew he should feel bad about bringing up his father... but his empathy didn't surface. He wasn't even sure if it was there, if it ever had been before.
Slowly, Nikolai stood, and turned to the door.
He was ready to do what Noir had suggested.
Noir was like a voice in the ear, urging and tempting toward things that should be bad. Nikolai didn't care, however. He wanted this. To throw everything back at the world that it had thrown at him. He would make it suffer.
Heinrich and the boys he played with could always be found in a park near the town square. That's where Nikolai would perform his act of vengeance. Where he would finally expel what was bottled up inside. Where he would finally show the world who Nikolai Vaspetin was.
He saw them before they saw him, but Nikolai pretended to be oblivious, walking by at the edge of the park. This worked in luring the boys his way, as Heins called out with a taunt and the group of five boys began to run toward him. Nikolai's heart began to race. Not out of fear of a coming beatdown, but out of excitement for his big reveal.
The boy took off at a run, leading his pursuers right back to the alley Nikolai had met Noir in, going halfway in until the shadows were large and dark, and he finally came to a stop, turning to face the Germans.
A second later, they appeared. "You can't run, little kremlin!" Heins laughed.
Nikolai balled his hands into fists. This kid was a nobody, just a splinter in the thumb, but the Russian boy had so much pent-up anger to take out. A lifetime of bottled-up aggression. A fury he had never let out.
The boys closed in, sneering and jeering, but Nikolai didn't wait for them to make the first move. He had them where he wanted them. With a yell, Nikolai sprang forward, throwing his fists and feet in a blind rage as he bit and hit and clawed and yelled. His heart thundered behind his ribs as he let out every ounce of hate he had. His animosity. He wanted these boys to suffer. He wanted them to DIE.
They fought back, but he barely felt anything they threw at him. It was as though they weren't even hitting him. Instinct and fury drove the Russian, and when his vision finally started to clear, he saw the five boys fleeing. Three of them were limping. They bore bloody noses, some with twisted arms, black bruises appearing all over them. Bite marks, torn hair, ripped clothes. They were all crying, calling for various family members.
Nikolai's chest heaved as he wheezed out with each breath, his teeth grit and bared as he watched them run away. He didn't notice the blood covering him, if any of it was even his. He'd torn up his knuckles, and he had bits of flesh stuck between his teeth. He could feel a throb on his forehead, blood trickling down it.
He'd done it.
He had been smaller than all of them, and he'd still sent them running. He was outnumbered, and he made them cry for their mothers and fathers. He was disadvantaged, and he had won.
Next time, he would tear them apart. He would not let them run and cry.
"Not bad, little Nikolai," the voice behind the Russian was unmistakable, and when he turned, he saw Noir emerging from the darkness. His blonde hair seemed a little more disheveled than usual. He clasped his hands together with a smirk. "So much anger, such... raw aggression... imagine what you could do if you knew how to use it. How to direct it. How to weaponize it..."
Nikolai spent a few more seconds huffing, slowly coming down from his adrenaline high, before he spat a wad of blood to the ground. "Teach me," he hissed through his reddened teeth.
"Again!"
"KAH!" Nikolai's fist plunged forward.
"Again!"
"KAH!" The concrete shuddered, sparks and dust bursting from the impact.
"Again!"
"KAH!" His knuckles rammed through the steel construction beam, emerging on the other side. With a grunt, Nikolai yanked his fist out of it.
"Very good... very good!" Noir chuckled, inspecting the hole. "Your SOUL has strengthened, and in turn, it has empowered you."
Nikolai brushed some wet strands of hair from his eyes. His knuckles were bloody from this training exercise, but considering he'd shattered his bones his first time, he was doing considerably better. Noir was right, as well. Ever since he'd awakened his dark azure SOUL, Nikolai had felt better than ever. Gradually things hurt less. Gradually he could hit harder, and faster.
"So long as you bear that animosity, you will only get stronger," Noir turned to look at Nikolai. "Never let it go. Feed it if you must. Do this, and you will become untouchable."
The Russian had learned that his SOUL, the SOUL of Animosity, was uniquely powerful. Not exactly exceedingly rare, but complex enough that those who bore its power could not wield it properly. Unrefined. Nikolai had spent many hours staring at his SOUL after he'd learned to summon it. The source of his power and potential. He would study it, dissect it—so long as that didn't mean his demise. Perhaps he would get opportunities to study the SOULs of others, and find out what made these heart-shaped entities tick.
"Da," Nikolai agreed simply, staring down at his knuckles for a moment, before he dropped his hands to his side.
"You are almost ready for it," Noir continued. "I will uphold my promise—but there is one last test that remains before I can let you into the fold."
This 'last test.' Noir had talked about it since he'd started training Nikolai two years ago. As far as the teen knew, his mother was none the wiser. She seemed to get sadder and sadder every time they sat down for a measly dinner they could barely afford. They spent so much time apart these days. He missed her.
"Are you ready for it?" Noir asked. Despite his strong voice and often relaxed demeanor, he seemed to become a shade more serious. Nikolai picked up on that. He gave a nod. Noir's lips stretched into a smile, and he reached into the patchy overcoat he always wore. A moment later, he handed three images toward the teenaged Russian. "If you succeed, you will become part of something greater."
The images were black and white photos of people, two of which Nikolai recognized. The first was Heinrich. The last two years had seen him bulking up, befitting of his bully status. The second image was a thin, pale woman wearing a dark corset, her hair pulled up into a bun, makeup lining her face. She seemed to be taking part in some sort of professional event. It was Meredith, the woman who used to be a neighbor to Nikolai and his mother. It wasn't long after that day Olga had shut Meredith down on her comment that the woman had met some rich Amercan businessman. She vacated her apartment just as quickly.
The third was a serious-looking man with a lined, experienced face, and hardened black eyes. His surroundings in the image were similar to Meredith's. Nikolai assumed this must be her new husband.
Nikolai may have still been young, but he knew Noir was a shady man who dealt in shady things. He also knew what all this training had meant. These were targets.
"Two of those are high priority figures," Noir explained, pointing to Meredith, then the businessman. "The third, well, I threw him into the mix just for you. I assumed you wouldn't mind a little practice before you start the real mission."
Nikolai continued to stare at the images for a few moments longer, though he wasn't focused on them. He was in his head, his mind abuzz. Noir had been grooming him for some time, talking about connections, people in high places, and vast opportunities for those willing to take dire risks. This was the culmination of all of that. Assassinating three people, one of which was only collateral. Heins was 'practice' for the real thing.
Should he have felt something at this moment? Nikolai knew he was supposed to, but his neutral expression was wholly reflective of how little he cared. In fact, he might have actually liked thinking about those three as 'targets' and nothing more. It stripped their identity, removed what made them human. It transformed them into nothing more than an obstacle for him to overcome. How unimportant they truly were.
"Kogda?" Nikolai asked.
"What?" Noir asked. He didn't know Russian outside of the basics, like 'yes, 'no,' and 'hello.' Nikolai didn't like to speak English, but if he wanted to communicate effectively, he had to.
"When?" Nikolai repeated, this time in English.
Noir's wide grin stretched. "Tomorrow. Go home and rest. I will see you before the sun rises."
Nikolai did as instructed. He left the dark alleys of Berlin to return home. The sun had since set, so he would need to sleep quickly.
When the young and tainted man entered his apartment, he found his mother on the couch. An empty vodka glass littered the floor next to it. She had drunk herself to sleep. Nikolai approached her, sliding his arms under her unconscious form, and lifted her. She curled naturally into a near-fetal position as her son carried her from the living room into her own room, lying her on her bed.
He pulled the covers from under her and draped them over her body, making sure she was comfortable before he leaned down and kissed her forehead.
"Moya dorogaya mama..." he whispered, before he turned and closed the door behind him.
He didn't see her smile as he went to his room.
Five.
There were five young men standing together.
Heinrich always surrounded himself by others smaller than him. It must have made him feel powerful.
Noir mentioned nothing about not killing others. If Heinrich's friends got in the way...
Nikolai watched the five teenagers as they exited the candy shop they'd just broken into in the early morning hours. The Russian was perched at the corner of a drug store across from the street. The moon was beginning to set, and nobody so much as cast their gaze upward toward the predator that stalked his prey.
Heins and his gang laughed and talked as they wandered their way down the street, chewing sweets, oblivious to the figure that darted across the rooftops keeping pace with them. As they came upon an alley, Nikolai darted toward the gap it provided and dropped down to the ground, landing with a barely detectable thud.
He then slunk his way to the alley entrance, sticking close to the wall while using a dumpster as cover. The group of boys passed by.
They failed to notice when one of them disappeared.
Quicker than the kid could react, Nikolai twisted the boy's head around. Some poor soul in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person. His parents would mourn him, but Nikolai cared little about that. Instead, he stuffed the fresh corpse into the dumpster before he leapt his way back up to the rooftops and continued to follow the group.
Four.
It took several minutes for the gang to realize they were down a man, but they only spent a few moments looking around and calling his name, before they unanimously agreed he'd wandered home. The four continued on, coming upon a park. Nikolai knew where they were headed: Heinrich's house, found in West Berlin, right beside where Unitropolis was being built. Given a few more years, the entire western half of Berlin might be covered, left to rot beneath the flashy new utopia under construction.
The quickest way to the boy's house was to cut through the park, and as Nikolai expected, they did just that, stepping off the road and onto a trail that led through the woods. Nikolai leapt down from the brick, replacing that with bark as he now traversed the trees. The moon continued to sink, casting growing shadows that blackened the world in increasing darkness. Sight was becoming nearly impossible, though it would not hinder the Russian—he had already mapped out where the boys would move and how fast they would traverse.
When the second teenager disappeared, the boys caught on a little more quickly. They joked with each other about possibilities of this or that, trying to mask their growing fears beneath a facade of laughter and apathy. Again, they came to the conclusion that their friend had simply wandered off and went to his own home. They failed to notice his corpse pinned to a tree they walked past, impaled by a branch through the core of his chest.
Three.
Nikolai slowly began to abandon his approach with stealth. The fewer targets meant keeping control of all of them was easier. This was exactly what Noir had been training him for. Alongside all of the physical tests, he'd been training Nikolai as a hunter. He had done this to several deer before—but unfortunately for these boys, they were nowhere near as alert as those.
Finally, Nikolai revealed himself. He stepped out onto the path just around a bend, and as the group of three made that turn, they caught sight of him in the last vestiges of moonlight. Despite all of his training, Nikolai still hadn't quite hit a growth spurt yet. He was still small, still scrawny, but that just made it easier to deceive others.
"Hey, what are you doing? August?" One of the boys called, and they continued their approach.
"Wait, is that...?" Heins seemed to recognize Nikolai. Good. With that, the Russian turned and stepped off the path, disappearing into the darkening forest.
"Hey, come back!" Heinrich called out, his voice now that familiar taunt. "We just wanna talk! It's been forever since we caught up!"
He got no response as they reached the spot Nikolai had been standing, but whichever way they turned, they could not find their old punching bag. They began to let out more taunts and threats, but their efforts lacked fruition. Finally, they began to grow bored and agreed to keep moving.
Yet just as they did, Nikolai approached the third boy from behind, and casually tapped his shoulder. "Huh?" He turned to find the culprit, and Nikolai's palm struck the kid's nose. It seemed to sink into his face, practically imploding his nose through his skull, and the boy dropped dead.
Two.
At this point, the other two turned around, and before they could register what was happening, Nikolai was upon Heinrich's last remaining friend. The Russian's hand reached up, grasping the boy by his throat, and with a simple squeeze, his esophagus crumbled.
One.
"OH MY GOD!" Heins cried out, stumbling back onto his rear as both bodies collapsed simultaneously to the ground. Nikolai was callous. Their lives were forfeit, all because they chose to befriend this person. This 'target.' However, there was some enjoyment and pleasure Nikolai had found in this. To toy with them as he had, to watch Heinrich go from unsettled to downright terrified. It was a thrilling experience.
But all good things must come to an end.
Nikolai began to walk toward Heins, who scrambled on the ground, screaming and yelling and begging for his life. His words fell on deaf ears. They were in the center of the park, and at this hour, the likelihood of anybody coming to his cries were slim at best. More than that—Nikolai had no mercy to give. In his mind's eye, he could see the beatdowns Heinrich had performed. He could see the way children had treated him at school before he'd stopped going. The contempt his teachers showed him. The hate people had been delivering for so long. The poverty his mother struggled with, her grief and despair. His father abandoning them to this life.
Nikolai, who had been so neutral, reflecting nary an emotion, now began to bare his teeth as he let his simmering rage boil over. Heinrich only continued to crawl backwards and scream and cry. He wanted forgiveness. He proposed wealth. Power. Anything to save himself. He could give nothing of any worth, not to someone like Nikolai.
"Svoloch'!" Nikolai yelled back. The rage he felt was hardly all directed at Heinrich, but the boy would take all of it anyway.
Nikolai gripped his leg, yanking him close before he stomped down on the kid's thigh, simultaneously twisting. With a sickening crunch, his bones became powder as his leg was ripped away. The scream Heins let out probably shreded his vocal cords to ribbons, which was all nothing compared to what Nikolai had in store.
Flinging the limb away, Nikolai gave the other leg identical treatment. Heinrich quickly passed out from shock, falling still and silent. Nikolai glowered down at him, his rage only mounting. He didn't want Heins to fall unconscious. He wanted him to be awake for every moment of this gratification. Arms shaking, Nikolai raised them above his head, before he shouted and swung them down. The ground shook as the earth cratered under the hit. Crimson splashed in every direction as Heinrich was reduced into little more than paste.
Why did people have to be so fragile? Nikolai wanted a punching bag of his own, not the equivalent of punching tissue paper. He raised his arms again, and with another yell, he slammed his fists into the ground. A tree nearby fell, uprooted from the force. Again and again, Nikolai's fists shattered the earth beneath him before he finally stopped, his chest heaving. If anything existed of Heinrich before, it was gone now. The boy had been, put simply, erased.
Nikolai breathed heavily through his open mouth as he dropped to his knees, his hands falling limp against his thighs as he stared at the ground. He barely noticed the singular tear that now rolled its way down his cheek, coming for a short rest as his jawline before it dripped down to soak against his shirt. What that tear meant... he did not know. He did not care to know. Perhaps it was meant to come from his mother, not him. She would not approve of the monster he was becoming. She could never know. He could never break her heart, what little of it remained.
After what felt like an eternity, Nikolai slowly rose back to his feet, flexing his fists and re-engaging his mind with the present, and his task at hand. He had claimed his first few human lives. He had done what he'd always wanted to do. This had been for him, and him alone.
Now he had to finish what he'd started. Now, he had to do what Noir wanted him to do. There was no going back.
Despite that, Nikolai felt no remorse, nor regret. Yet he also didn't feel satisfaction or closure. He just felt as bitter, cold, and rageful as he always had. Nothing had changed.
With that, Nikolai disappeared into the night.
"Well done... well done!"
Noir gave the Russian a fond pat on the shoulder, staring ahead of them. A pair of corpses were entangled with a crashed chandelier. It was impossible to distinguish where one body began, and where the other ended.
When Nikolai had finished the job, Noir had emerged as he always did, seemingly traveling with the shadows themselves. Nikolai had accomplished his final test. He had passed. Now, he did not know what came next.
"You have passed, done better tthan I ever dreamed..." Noir's voice sounded almost sentimental. "Nikolai, it is time I told you the truth."
He dropped to a knee in front of Nikolai, now placing his other hand on the boy's shoulder, staring him in the eye, more serious than Nikolai had ever seen him.
"I belong to a group. We are called The Messiah... and we have changed the world. We still change it today. Our organization is found everywhere, but we don't take an interest in just anyone. When I first laid eyes on you, I saw your potential. The SOUL you might have harbored... I knew you would belong with us. I just had to make sure you would belong. Today you have proven your worth. You have proven you can be Messiah. I want to take you under my wing, show you how much potential you still have left to fill."
Nikolai was quick to absorb this new information. It all made sense, of course. Noir had been dropping hints for all this time, this was simply laying the last pieces of the puzzle in place, offering the full picture to the teen, who understood almost immediately.
"The Messiah is not just a place, a thing, or even a people," Noir continued. "We are a way of life, and a way of death. We are absolute. To become one with us is to give up all of who you ever were before, and become something greater. I expect you're eager to get started, no?"
Nikolai blinked, staring back at the man. He wasn't actually offering a choice... only the illusion of it. This 'Messiah' was clearly very influential, and also very secretive. You didn't stay that way by letting those outside of you live to talk about you. Denying this would only make Nikolai a target.
He didn't want to deny it, anyway.
Ideas, thoughts, and dreams of future potential began to flood Nikolai's mind, and he realized the opportunity this presented. It filled him with something completely unfamiliar.
It filled him with purpose.
He'd never had that before. Now, he was eager to see more of what that purpose entailed. Nikolai gave a slow nod. "Da."
Noir's grin widened, and he squeezed Nikolai's shoulders. "I knew you were the real deal. You'll go far, son."
