Three days later. In the ruined apartment building on 7th Street. A motionless Aza'zel who reviewed the thirty-six forms inside his inner world made a move.
Faint ripples of source energy in the world began to gather around his body and within close proximity of his being, intimately connecting to his outline.
His silent movements slowly began to gain not just momentum but also a faint droning sound, as though an intensely vibrating air pressure meandered across his frame. A punch of his caused the air to ripple and buzz from the impact, while a stomp of his feet sent the ground cracking with visible fissures extending in all directions.
Aza'zel then relaxed his body and let loose a breath.
The moment his muscles relaxed, the generated force field that kept source energy at bay dispelled, releasing the source energy back to the world. However, it didn't reach far when the source crystal on his chest pulsed with multicolored light, directly absorbing the remnants of source energy.
"How greedy," Aza'zel raised an eyebrow, not having expected his inner world to suck in even this little bit of source energy.
The Soulguider and the Exsanguinator must be in a much worse condition than he originally estimated if they couldn't allow even this flimsy bit of source energy to go wasted.
In the early days, whenever his body reached its tolerance limits, and while the body rested, he would resume the simulations of the thirty-six forms within his inner world. Now, since he planned to visit Butch to fulfill his end of the deal, he just happened to witness the source crystal absorbing this little bit of source energy.
The two requested that he gather prismatic orbs for them. Prismatic source energy, when highly condensed, creates prismatic orbs. These multicolored orbs contain great amounts of source energy.
They also come in various grades depending on the color scheme involved, similar to the individual source crystal. Though, Aza'zel doubted such rare energy products could be found in the wastelands, let alone places like Raksha Town.
Today, a new day, brings an end to the three-day grace period afforded to Saxon and his crew. At this moment, no one related to Saxon in any positive way could be found on the streets of Raksha Town, and even if there were, the other ruffians are sure to perform a thorough search for the remnants.
Everyone was simply waiting for the word from above to commence the hunting.
So many opportunities lay in the businesses and territories Saxon left behind. The three Rakshas in town, their subordinates, and the followers of their subordinates are all waiting for the moment to contest for this fortune—at least whatever fortune Saxon couldn't bring along upon his departure to the wastelands.
And so when Aza'zel stepped into the streets, the tension was palpable. The surroundings were abnormally quiet, with barely a few homeless stragglers going about their day-to-day lives.
Everywhere within earshot of Aza'zel, it was the same.
This must be one of the quietest mornings to ever grace the face of Raksha Town. This oppressive silence was immediately eclipsed by the cry of a bullet, not unlike a thunderclap, and a sense of danger wrestled Aza'zel into the ground.
There was a hiss, and air violently compressed and exploded above his head as a bullet sailed through the air and blasted the apartment's ragged door to bits.
"Why good morning you motherfucker! This is for my brother Bulldog!"
Aza'zel heard the screaming, but he didn't have the time to shout back and explain himself as his ears twitched and caught the tone of a slowly revolving, mechanical gun barrel. Not even sparing a second to think, he scrambled to his feet and bolted away whilst sticking close to the wall at his side.
A hail of bullets rained from the sky in short but quick-fire bursts, accompanied by a tongue of fire and metal that rumbled like a torrent of steel.
Aza'zel ran and ran aimlessly while he kept his left palm on the wall by his side. His world of echoes was a total mess with mismatched voices of multiple frequencies rippled far and near, deftly interfering with his perception of anything beyond his immediate surroundings.
If it wasn't for his recollections of the street and muscle memory, he wouldn't have found his path of escaping from this fierce assault.
Gunpowder in the air, but Aza'zel was no longer your average ten-year-old child. With physical attributes transcending the norm and an intense sixth sense for danger, he was barely able to cut a sorry figure while dodging bullets as they came from predictable angles.
Clouds of dust and debris rose as some buildings collapsed. Their foundations were already teetering, and the ill-timed abuse blasted these foundations, for whatever they were worth, into oblivion.
A mask of obscurity forced the rooftop forces into a momentary cease-fire, and rows of ruffians looked down into the ruined district.
A ruffian spat the butt of a spent cigarette and spoke in a heavy accent, "Good thing Ol' Third ordered an evacuation order, lest we end up causing trouble in Ol' Seventh's territory!"
The sound of heavy metallic screeching intruded the conversation as a robust man walked over. In his hand, a long and thick machine gun scarred the very ground he walked on as he said, "It's too early to celebrate, boys. Are you sure you got that blind motherfuker?"
"Don't worry, boss! We specifically brought out that big baby in your hands for today's event, how could a blind fucker like that escape unscathed? If he didn't die, he wouldn't be any better than half-dead already. Dispatch a few excited fellows to seal the deal."
"I'm curious though, why hadn't Ribbon Raksha joined us on this operation? She dispatched a few useless boy toy soldiers, just a token of contribution, but that's all."
"Yeah, I'm curious too. Although Bulldog wasn't that close to her crew, his sister is still one of her confidants… She even allowed Wendy Sunflower to take one of her favorite toys, and I heard this guy was in direct conflict with Sunflower the other day."
"Word on the street is that she decided to settle the score with Sax directly, she wouldn't bully a child who's obviously being used as a scapegoat."
"Really?! Since when was she so open-hearted and accommodating? Did so much sex get to her brain?"
The man with the machine gun shouted, "Enough! Get down there and look for the kid. If he's dead, I want a body, and if he's not dead, I want him so!"
The man then gazed at the destruction below. The world was literally falling apart as the opposite end of the street with the ancient buildings tumbled down like dominoes. Aza'zel knew best how miserable the ground felt as it cracked, split, and swallowed him into its depths together with slabs of stone.
His world of echoes degraded into a world of an absolute mess as he relied on whatever semblance of perception in his arsenal while navigating whichever way he felt safe.
Damp and dark his surroundings were as he advanced arduously, further and further from the mayhem of ruin behind him.
Eventually, silence engulfed Aza'zel, save for his heavy breathing. Warm, viscous liquid seeped from his head through multiple fractures, his left arm was there but felt like it wasn't, and a multitude of his bones felt like they occupied all the wrong spaces.
Drowsiness took over as he tumbled into what seemed like a puddle of water, splashing echoes all around in the silent ambiance. These echoes imprinted a narrow yet long sewers complex in Aza'zel's perception as he slowly fell unconscious.