He stared into the glass, his solemn face casting an accusatory shadow onto the reflection, as if to ask why he dared to look upon himself. Dread glistening in his eyes, as tears began to form. He blinked them away and turned from his reflection in dejection, and happened by chance to notice what looked like a flashing shadow darted across the air above him.
Scowling and instinctively raising his gun, he followed the direction the shadow darted to and immediately began to stalk the area when a soft cough from his master stopped him. Grunting inwardly out of uncertainty, Wilhelm remembered where he was and with much hesitation holstered Qualia inside his suit jacket before returning to the Lincoln.
"Find anything interesting?", asked the Master, having watched the entire scene in amusement.
"Forgive me for my impudence Master", Wilhelm replied regretfully, "I feel as though we're being watched, but given our time I'm not sure whether it's paranoia or truth". As he talks, Wilhelm opens the back seat door and sets the suitcase down on the seat and moved so that the Master could get inside.
The Master chuckled, "Oh I dare say you are correct my boy."
At this, Wilhelm blinked, confused.
"In what way?", Wilhelm questioned, causing the Master to give him a knowing glance, smirking.
His eyes widening, he quickly snapped his head back, cursing, "Sonuva—"
"Still yourself my child", interrupted the Master, ducking his head back into the car, "it is no consequence that there be interlopers."
"Master!", objected Wilhelm, "this is unacceptable on my part! Please allow me to—".
"Leave it be Wilhelm", affirmed the Master, "it is late, and I am tired. We have business to attend to. And besides…"
He paused turning to the same direction and eyeing the shadows of rubble. Following the gentleman's gaze, they both looked towards 3-story building northeast of their position. A third of the building had folded in on itself exposing a few rooms and living spaces that were evidently occupied if not before the quake. Smoke was wafting from a few windows and water was gushing from broken pipes and fixtures onto the pavement below. A fire burned on the other, undamaged side of the building, while electricity sparked from the downed power lines that littered the high steps that led up to the main doors. A chunk of the city street had been kicked against it, and several cars in the nearby parking lot were buried under its bricks and mortar. In all, it looked like a cake haphazardly baked and partially collapsed because of it.
The Master smirked.
"I think our assembly alone was enough to keep our unmentionables entertained for the time being. No doubt trying to investigate our purpose so as to stop us, or at least delaying what they think is within our agenda."
Poor unfortunate souls, thought the Master, they've no idea what truly is in store for the world now.
Time is of the essence, but this a wonderful little game that requires the utmost of patience and diligence to play.
No matter the cost, I intend to win, and I will win.
Seemingly content with this, the Master retreated into the soft leather that was the back seat and casually waited for Wilhelm to follow suit. Wilhelm eyed the area for a few more seconds, before entering the driver's seat of the car, and with a resounding hmph, brought the car to life. He shot one more glance at the building, before shifting the gear and turning the car around, driving back the way they came and leaving the area.
Now then, thought the Master as Wilhelm drove away, the time has come.
Come to play with me, my feeble little toys.
10 minutes passed and another small explosion burped out of the rubble surrounding the area, before a shadowy figure emerged from the building entrance. Their footsteps light upon the pavement, the shadow softly descended the front steps and alighted upon the broken street, scanning the area for whatever purpose.
Whimper.
The figure stopped and turned towards the sound of the direction, and happened upon a sorry sight: an old woman, slowly dying from being crushed and punctured by pipes and debris. She was middle aged, possibly between her late 40's or early 50's, with curly greying hair and finely aged brown skin. She was wearing a lavender night gown under her periwinkle robe, both of which were soaked red with blood. Stepping closer, the figure analyzed her wounds: from the neck up, the woman had only light cuts and bruises, dust and dirt covering her wrinkles making her appear mostly disheveled. Her hair, originally wrapped in a bonnet, was partially singed and mangled among shards of glass and chips of metal. It wasn't until the figure looked beyond this that her suffering was truly evident.
A series of small, broken water pipes, bent, broken, and jaggedly edged, had run her through from the underside of her left breast, protruding outwards in various directions. She looked like a pin cushion. Using enhanced vision to peer closer into her body, the figure could see that the pipes had shattered her ribcage, and had virtually destroyed much of her insides.
Her pancreas had imploded—no doubt from being crushed—while her left lung was slowly filling with blood. Her kidneys were gone, and her liver and intestines were riddled with shards of metal. Below her lower thighs, her legs had been virtually crushed to the point of no return.
In all, this woman had very little time left.
A small moan escaped her lips, as she struggled to remain conscious.
"Please", she sputtered, weakly, "someone, anyone, help me."
A small brush of wind grazed her face as the figure came forward and softly bent down to face her.
"Jesus. Oh God Almighty", she moaned, "please, help me."
She opened her eyes and noticed the figure. She looked up to them, crying tears of misery.
"Are—are you here to kill me?"
"...."
The figure said nothing.
"Please, I beg you, don't hurt me, but save my baby. Please, I—"
The figure pulled back their hood to reveal their face, and the woman paused. At '6'4', the young man who stood before her was a 24 year old with a stern eye and a finely chiseled face. His eyes were transparent almost and glowed immensely even in the moonlight, evident from the energy that fluctuated within them, constantly alternating between teal and aquamarine. His stubble ran the length of his jaw pristinely cut and well-trimmed, and his mullet of medium length tapered neatly at the nape of his neck; the sides of his head were faded close, but still brushable, and his olive skin was tanned the color of a bronze god. On his neck was what looked like a tattoo of some sort, but she couldn't make out what it was, because of it being partially covered by the neck belt choker he had on. His ears were pierced, with black and silver rings layering the helix, while inverted spikes adorned the lobes.
From her view, he looked like a punk, a young one who's matured into their prime, and was a handsome one at that. But a punk no less.
Even for someone at her age, just looking at his brought youth to her body, and made her feel energetic for some unfathomable.
Maybe it was how coarse and foreboding his eyes were.
His small, heart shaped lips started moving, but to the older woman's shock there was no sound. It took a second for her to realize that she couldn't even hear her own voice. Weakly, she tried to raise her right hand to touch him, only to then notice that her she couldn't even feel the entire right arm. Changing to her left, she tried again, and touched her face and felt a wet liquid oozing from her ears, she held her hand towards her eyes, her vision somewhat hazy, and saw why: her hands were covered in blood, which was oozing from her head. She'd suffered a concussion that had temporarily siphoned her ability to hear, making her near deaf. She saw the a blobby figure move outside peripheral view, and after blinking she remembered the young man, who had by this time come closer to her and knelt closer to her. He tilted his head to the right, and his lips moved again, but this time his words were in a language she could not understand.
He also had a name, but chose not to share it to her.
He didn't think it necessary.
"Wha?", she asked sheepishly.
"Geia", he said, "eísai kalá?" (Hey. Are you ok?)
"Wha-wha'chu sayin'? Ar-Are you an angel?"
The young man's brows began to furrow. He spoke again.
The sound of the words that came from his mouth was warm and calm, displaying his youth. But it also had a deep edgy roughness to it. It sounded like he had a moodiness to him, a sorrow buried deep within that only he knew how to bring up.
"Boreís na me akoúseis?" (Can you hear me?)
"I… I can't…"
"Sovará?", he grunted, "Ugh. Malaka!" (Seriously? Ugh. Fuck.)
"Hey", he finally annunciated in English, "can you hear me?"
She felt a hand touch her, it was warm against her skin.
The young man looked down on her, a scowl forming deeply as he tried to gauge her life force. She was weak, incredibly, and her pulse was fading fast.
Dammit.
"Wake up", he commanded, "don't die now."
She could hear him clearly now.
Much Clearer.
From where she lay, to her, his voice was rich and deep like chocolate and with each word that sailed from his lips the sound tasted like freshly fallen rain. He had a well-placed accent to it—revealing itself to be Greek when pronouncing certain letters and words, their pitch at times were an octave lighter than the woman initially thought she heard, making it sound like he still carried some teenage youthfulness to him when he was sociable.
"Hey", he repeated, "can you hear me?"
She stammered a bit, and then finally replied, "y-Yes, I can. A-are you here to kill me?"
He looked at her puzzled, before answering her with a resounding "No. I'm not."
In response, a portion of the woman's already heightened anxiety had lessened, and before long, her eyes starting tearing. It took another second, before she then started crying.
"Please", she bawled, "can you help me?"
Silence. The young man closed his eyes for a moment.
"I beg you, please, I-I-I don't wanna die, I—"
He closed his eyes and sighed.
Silence, and then softly.
"I'm sorry, but I can't help you."
At the sound of this, the woman broke down even further, before suddenly shuddering as the pain became even more unbearable. It seemed that she would die sooner rather than later, because the young started to stand up.
"Wait!", she insisted.
He stopped, sighing and rolling his eyes in annoyance. Unbeknownst to her, he was trying his best not to become agitated, but it clearly wasn't working.
"I told you woman", he reminded her with a sideways glance, "there is nothing I can do for you. You must find peace with death on your way."
"But—"
"No", he concluded, looking her sternly in the face.
Before she could protest, he waved his hand and then started.
"Even if I managed to stabilize your bleeding, do you honestly believe for a goddamn minute that you would survive removing the pipes and bars from your body? Think woman! You're barely holding on as it is, and yet you foolishly cling to life as if it gives a fuck!"
He stopped, and grunted, pinching the bridge of his nose before speaking again, this time in a softer tone.
"Look at you", he said, "Your legs are practically gone. Your kidneys, liver, and your intestines are shot through. Even now, your lung is slowly filling with blood. Even if you survive, you would never be able to walk, let alone live a normal life."
"At this point", he finished, "I think it is better that you make your peace with your God, and rest in peace."
And at this, he stood up again, patting his clothes of dust, he turned to walk away.
No, she thought, not like this. God almighty, not like this…
After crying for a few more seconds, she steeled herself, and summoned the courage to speak.
"Fine", she managed while crying, "then please, take care of him."
Please, please don't leave…
What? he thought, astonished.
"What did you say?", he asked turning back to her.
Unfortunately, however, by the time he turned around, her mouth trembled, as blood splattered out in small gobs. Cursing, he quickly knelt back down; his face hunched a foot away from hers.
Dammit, he thought, she's starting to fade.
Touching her exposed shoulder with his hand, he closed his eyes steadied his breathing. Focusing his mind, he began to tap into his pool internal energy before directing it into her. He sat there for what seemed like an eternity hunched over feeding her broken form with life as it slowly began to mend portions of her frame and tended to her more grievous wounds. When he felt that he'd healed her enough to keep her stable, he looked upon her again and asked her his question.
"Who're talking about?"
Realizing that her voice was fading away, she used what little strength she had in her left arm to point behind him. Turning in that direction, what he saw immediately caused him to grit his teeth and silently bite down a curse. A child, a little black boy no older than 5, was lying face down in a puddle of blood-soaked water just 6 feet away from them. Under him, the ruins of his car shaped bed was pancaked with the blue and yellow painted wood splintered and strewn about in pieces around him, while huge broken slabs of brick and concrete cover his back. His left arm, the only free limb he possessed in this state, was clutching a toy in his hand.
It was maple brown horse with a saddle and reins.
"Please", she begged, her voice trailing but her gaze piercing him solid indignation, "save him. Save ma' baby."
"Who—" he started, turning back to her.
"Ma' granbaby", she said repeated, "save him. Please."
Silence.
Then.
"Alethios."
A new voice had entered the conversation, and upon recognizing it, the man immediately frowned. Turning to face its origin, the young man addressed as Alethios looked up to see another person admist the rubble. He was of a similar age as Alethios, with the same height, build, and phenotypical features showing that he was also Greek, but whereas Alethios' eyes were a mixture of almond and upturned, this man's were round with slightly hooded edges. His eyes were silver, and his skin was a lighter shade of olive unlike Alethios' which was tanned. For clothes, the most relatable fashion that Alethios could think of that moment, was that the young man's attire was heavily inspired by steampunk, but done in a way that felt modernized for the 21st century.
The manner of the attire as such went like this. His top consisted of a form fitting double-breasted vest layered over which was a hooded bolero. On top of that, there were chest straps and fur lining along the mouth of the hood. The vest (or tailcoat as it could be more accurately described) was charcoal gray at the zip line while the sides were chrome black, with the button fastening style giving the look and feel of a corset, while the hooded bolero was the color of strawberry wine, and the straps were a faded brown leather color. A silver chain hung from the waist pocket of the vest, and the small sound of ticking indicated that the chain was attached to a watch. For pants, he wore tailored trousers that stretched to his ankles covering his shoes, which were Nike Air Flightposite 4's—which curiously enough weren't supposed to come out for another 7 months. His pants were a faded black, and his shoes had a magenta, silver and black palette in painted in a gradient that made each color dissolve into the other without overlapping. He also had a second chain, this time for his waist, than ran along the back hem of the pants and hung on the front left pocket, and on his arms, he wore armored gauntlets on top of his bolero sleeves.
And all of this, coupled with the military officer's cap her wore on his, he looked like a chic punk hipster. Or a rather paltry Japanese student cosplay. Whichever one worked.
The young man looked down on Alethios with his mouth twisted in a quizzical annoyance, before opening his mouth speak.
"Loipón", he said, his voice softer and significantly deeper that Alethios', "aftó eínai to simeío ópou étrexes." (So this is where you ran.)
He glanced at the dying woman and scoffed.
"Ti pistévete pragmatiká óti káneis?pos moiázei?", he asked. (What do you really think you are doing?)
"What the fuck does it look like", Alethios fired back, annoyed.
He paused, before turning to look at the woman, and proclaimed, "I'm saving this woman, and her child."
The woman looked on at Alethios shocked at his sudden change in attitude. But before she respond, the young man smirked, and chuckled aloud.
"Oh really?", he questioned in English, "and what exactly do you plan to do?"
Alethios said nothing to his associate, but gently clasped the woman's free hand in his own, and without blinking he looked her in the eyes and asked her in hushed, deep tone.
"Do you want really want to live?"
She looked between the two men, unable to fully process the conversation before her. It took her a minute, before she gave him an answer.
"Save my granbaby first."
Alethios nodded, and turned towards his associate.
"Nikolaos", he started, "can you—"
Ka-Pow!
A decently sized explosion came from behind Alethios, causing a small shower of debris. Alethios bit down a curse and quickly covered the injured woman, who herself cowered in fear and wailed. Once the dust had settled, Alethios turned to see Nikolaos spear in one hand and clutching the body of the child in the other. He had a short sword strapped to the hilt on his left side, it's spiky, ornate pommel and what could appear to be a cross guard gleaming a bright. Alethios blinked, and the place where the child was trapped under was gone. With a sideways glance, Nikolaos snorted and smirked.
"Hey", he said, "hurry up with healing her. I know you've been feeding her energy since she was awake."
Alethios' brow beetled, but he didn't respond, as the woman convulsed again, this time, coughing up more blood.
"Is the child—", Alethios started.
"He's fine, for now", Nikolaos replied, "mild concussion, and a compound fracture along the lower end of his spine."
Turning back to the woman, Alethios could tell that the pain was getting worse for her.
"My lady", he cooed, "can you hear me?"
She opened her eyes, weak as they were.
"Ma baby, is he…"
Alethios' shot a look at the child and looked into the little boy's body. The heart was intact, and beating, although sowly and weakly. He needed medical attention and fast.
"He's fine", he replied, "but for you. I must ask again. Do you really want to live?"
She looked at time, with an indiscernible gaze, before he continued.
"I have no doubt that your will is strong, as is your heart. But you must understand, the price of life is filled with naught and sorrow, and should you choose to take it, you will only bring more unto both you and your child."
"In other words", he concluded, "if you choose to become one of us, you will never be human again. Not fully, but you will live, and so will he. You will remain human in mind and soul, as was God's intent upon your birth. But your body and spirit will not. The same will stand for him, and his fate as well as yours will be decided by powers beyond your understanding, and should you be found wanting, you be turned away, left to fend for yourself under no form of kindness nor mercy. But you have peace in your life in that you will have time that once beyond your grasp."
"Tell me then", he asked, "are you willing to make this choice? Is this really what you want?"
"Choose quickly", chimed in Nikolaos, "you're on death's door even now."
So this is it? The woman thought. Is this really a choice?
I-I ain't go no other options really. Does it even matter now?
Her vision by now was blurry, it was getting almost impossible to see straight. Her breathing was slower now, and heavier too.
God, if you're listening, she prayed, her minds wavering ever more, give my baby peace.
Tired…
So tired…
So.
Very…
…