Blinking repeatedly, I struggled to keep my exhausted body from succumbing to unconsciousness. The adrenaline that had propelled me thus far was waning, leaving behind a cocktail of fear and weariness.
I fought against the heavy weight threatening to close my eyes, knowing that succumbing to sleep or allowing my weak grip to fail were not viable options. I vigorously shook my head, desperate to stay awake and aware.
My palms grew increasingly sweaty, causing the wire to slip through my fingers. A surge of shock coursed through me as I realized my hands were perspiring, a rarity even in the most stressful situations. Something was amiss, and the realization struck me with a sinking heart—I was tired of fighting to maintain control.
Maybe dying wasn't so bad. Judging from the height of the building where I was hanging from to the floor, I would be dead before I hit the ground.
My eyelids gradually drooped, and with one final slip, the wire escaped my sweaty, bloodied, and exhausted hands. I descended into the abyss of unconsciousness, succumbing to the overwhelming exhaustion that enveloped me.
🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸
He ran with every ounce of strength he had left, gasping for breath but refusing to give in. Stumbling almost, he pushed forward, knowing that her demise was not an option.
What plan was he referring to? Why did he keep mentioning strange things? Who was she, and why was her survival so crucial? Deep down, he felt a profound need to save her at any cost.
Finally, reaching his destination, he kicked the door open, expecting to find her near the window, clinging desperately to life. But his calculations had been wrong, and he had entered the wrong room.
"Damn it!" he cursed loudly as he saw her at the opposite end of the building, already in free fall.
"Why does she persistently plummet? Is there no recourse but to fall?" he lamented, his voice carrying into the empty void. In that moment, time itself seemed to freeze, shackling the entire building in an unsettling stillness. The atmosphere thickened with an eerie silence as he bore witness to her ethereal suspension, defying gravity and defying comprehension.
"Holy Mother of Moses!" he exclaimed, astonished by the inexplicable phenomenon.
A mischievous chuckle echoed through the air, the voice correcting him with a touch of amusement, "It's 'Holy Mother of Jesus.' And I can't fathom why I'm bothering to correct a curse word. What on earth are you up to, Arakiel? Why are you squandering precious time in frivolity? I explicitly instructed you to cease interfering with the girl. Her latent powers are not ready to awaken yet. Cease your forceful testing."
Confusion and desperation consumed the man in the baseball hat, his eyes darting frantically as he implored, "Who are you? From where does your voice emanate? And who in the world is Arakiel?"
A momentary silence enveloped the space as the voice let out a weary sigh, seemingly exasperated by the human's lack of understanding. "It's just the human," the voice responded, disappointment subtly coloring its tone.
Determined, he frowned and spoke with unwavering defiance, "I may not comprehend who you are or the mechanisms behind this temporal manipulation, but I feel an irresistible urge to rescue her from certain demise." His words hung in the air, unanswered, met only with the imaginary symphony of chirping crickets.
"I don't have time for this," he hissed, his resolve solidifying.
Without wasting another precious moment, he surged forward, his movements propelled by a divine purpose. Racing across the building, every step fueled by determination, he reached the room where she hovered, suspended in the ethereal stillness. With a powerful kick, the door crumbled under his force, granting him access to her fragile existence. Acting swiftly, he seized her just as the tides of time resumed their steady flow. A wave of relief washed over him as he clutched her form, grateful that he had arrived in the nick of time, averting a catastrophic revelation that would have sent the world spiraling into chaos.
He furrowed his brow once again, his mind filled with puzzling thoughts and a sense of unease. What revelation was he anticipating? Why did these peculiar thoughts persist within him?
His relief quickly dissipated as he felt her sweaty palm slipping from his grasp, causing panic to surge through his veins.
Down below, a captivated audience watched in awe as the unexpected hero emerged from the shadows to save the girl. The daring act of breaking the window on the fifteenth floor and snatching her from the clutches of gravity resembled a scene right out of a movie. Spectators wondered how and when he had infiltrated the building, their curiosity piqued. While their initial joy at her rescue surged, it was abruptly cut short when they witnessed the precarious situation unfolding before their eyes—the hero, struggling to maintain his grip on her, both on the verge of calamity. Gasps resonated through the crowd as the gravity of the situation sank in.
Meanwhile, the hero winced in pain as his wound reopened, the very wound inflicted by a police officer earlier that day. His once pristine white shirt now stained, crimson blood flowing freely from the fresh wound.
Now, back to my own point of view....I braced myself, expecting a blinding heavenly light or the agonizing screams of damnation to engulf me, any sign that I had crossed over to the realm of the deceased. But nothing of the sort occurred.
I felt a warm substance land on my head, trickling down and brushing against my lips. Opening my eyes, I beheld a figure clutching the window ledge, preventing our imminent descent. A jolt of recognition coursed through me as I realized it was blood, and the bleeding figure was the very same person who tried to kill me and yet again who had defied gravity to save me.
He noticed my awakening and glared at me. "Can you lend a hand here? You weigh too much; I can't hold on much longer."
"Mr... Mr. Stranger, is that you?" I asked dumbfoundedly, recognizing his voice and the baseball cap. "What are you doing here?"
"Shut up and try to pull yourself up," he retorted, brushing aside my question.
Yes, it was him. Same abrasive demeanor, but now he spoke more. Amidst the chaos, I couldn't forget him, no matter how hard I tried.
"How am I supposed to do that?" I inquired once more.
He groaned, feeling the strain on his torn palm that clung to the window ledge. "I don't know. I guess we'll have to meet our demise together. I was a fool for attempting to save you."
His words struck me with a disheartening sting.
Our attention was abruptly diverted as the door swung open, flooding the room with a surge of police officers.
He froze, a sense of fear flickering across his face.
"What's wrong?" I asked, concerned by his sudden change in demeanor.
"I fear the cops will recognize me since my cap fell off when I leaped to grab you," he explained.
Confusion swirled within me.
An officer extended a hand toward him, ready to pull him to safety, while another reached out for me.
Finally, my feet touched solid ground after what felt like an eternity, and tears welled up as the paramedics surrounded me.
He turned to depart upon realizing our safety.
Someone grabbed hold of him, causing him to freeze.
"Sir, you're injured. Let someone tend to the hero of the day," the officer insisted.
Another officer joined the conversation, captivated by his wound. "Is that a bullet wound? How did you sustain it, sir?"
Internally groaning, the hero swiftly turned and fled.
"Why did he run?" the first officer pondered, bewildered.
The second officer's eyes widened as realization dawned upon him. "Because he's Blade. Blade is in this building. Somebody apprehend him!"
The police officers wasted no time, immediately giving chase as news spread that their most-wanted criminal was within their grasp.