A cold, empty breeze swept down the street as Sandman walked casually. The sound of his shoes striking the concrete and the wind hissing as it passed were the only noises present as he took his stroll.
The empty cars and motionless streets were strangely familiar to those who lived in the large cities outside Eden's embrace.
"The rich get to live, while the poor die. What a beautiful way to show God's love."
Sandman breathed the last bit of smoke into his lungs and then exhaled. The attacks were becoming more frequent, and The Temple seemed uninterested in providing aid to those they deemed unworthy.
"Those outside their approval are sinners. Condemned to death from birth."
He walked past a car with a teddy bear in the back seat.
"Children forsaken, left to die. Stained by the sin of their parent."
He pulled from his pocket another cigarette and tossed the butt onto the ground. However, the cigarette butt disappeared upon striking the ground, returning to its sand form and slithering back into the mouth of the centipede wrapped onto his arm.
Sandman glanced at the TV in the storefront as he passed an electronic store. The reflection on the television watched him pass, its gaze following him as if alive. The man let out a painful sigh as he realized what it meant. A voice mimicking his own spoke from behind, and Sandman refused even to toss a glance behind him.
"I don't believe that at all, do I?"
"Do you always have to show yourself when I am busy?"
"Only when I plan to do the wrong thing."
"Do I ever plan to do the wrong thing?"
"Always."
"Go away."
The voice let out a painful sigh that copied his earlier tone.
"Please think of father. Would he want this?"
Sandman abruptly stopped and turned to face the man behind him. His typically indifferent expression and monotone voice remained unchanged as he stared at a mirror image of himself. His dark green and brown outfit was perfectly replicated—except for the decaying left side of his body, which marred his appearance.
Maggots ate away his right eye, and his body exuded a repugnant ooze that coated his left side, causing the fabric to darken from being stained. His flesh rotted away, and the bone of his jaw was exposed.
Sandman spoke to himself,
"Is he not dead? How can a dead man think?"
The rotting man was uninteresting in his response, finding it unamusing as he stared with an empty eye.
"If I continue to kill without thought for those around me carelessly, I am no better than they are."
Sandman snorted at the remark and continued his stroll.
"I do not kill children. I do not drain the souls of those around me. I do not kill for sport. I would claim to be quite different."
"Is hunting not a sport? Especially when it is not done for survival."
"Oh, it very much is about survival. If they live, we die."
"Then, can I say for certainty that children are not killed because of my actions?"
Sandman glanced back at the rotting man.
"I save as many as I can."
"Yet, if I were not high-strung on killing, I could ensure the safety of more than hundreds."
"I do what I must. If it means sacrificing the lives of some to save so many more, so be it."
"Who am I to decide who lives and dies?"
The rotting man's voice seethed in anger as he became irritated by Sandman's casual demeanor. His voice rose into a yell as he spoke each word,
"I am the same as those I despise if I play with the lives of others."
Sandman remained steadfast on his walk, unwilling to glance at the rotting man.
"I am nothing like them. There is always a cost when you play their game."
The rotting man gripped his fists as he appeared before Sandman in an alleyway to his side.
"Will I truly cast out my humanity for the sake of killing them all? HUMANITY IS WHAT KEEPS US SANE! WHAT KEEPS ME FROM BECOMING LIKE THEM!"
"If I must become like them to kill them all, so be it."
"AND WHAT THEN?! WHEN THERE IS NOTHING LEFT BUT A HUSK OF A MAN!"
The rotting man opened his arms wide and yelled out at Sandman as he walked by without care.
"I HAVE BECOME THE VERY THING I HATE! WHAT THEN?! IF I WISH TO KILL EVERYTHING THAT IS LIKE THEM, WHAT WILL I DO WHEN I AM LIKE THEM?"
"I will die."
Sandman spoke with certainty.
"If I must become like the beast to hunt them, then I will. Then, I will die by my brother's hand as my goal is finished."
The rotting man tried to interject but was left speechless at Sandman's words. His voice became quiet, almost a whisper as if it pained him to talk about it. His eyes softened as he spoke,
"So I am willing to place such a burden upon a righteous child. How cruel to show a child he can dream, only to crush it in the end."
Sandman ignited the cigarette and placed it between his lips, breathing in the painful smoke he craved. His emotionless eyes stared out at the emptiness plaguing the city. The monster lurking inside the city's embrace had taken the innocent lives of many and stripped the survivors of their homes.
"I hate dreams. Even the demons dream. Many get lost and forget our nightmarish reality due to the intoxicating hope we find in dreams."
"I will kill them all, no matter the cost."
Sandman's tired eyes looked toward the rotting man as he faced away. The rotting man spoke up, hatred spilling out from his mouth.
"Then I have become a monster."
"And a monster needs to be slain in the end."
The rotting man ceased his pursuit as Sandman left the words in his mind. He walked through the street alone and approached a dark alleyway hidden from the sun's light. As he approached the shadows, they began to whisper about his presence. Their distaste was evident with every word.
"Demon eater."
"The boy who ate our brother."
"Wielder of fears and hope."
"The limbo of sleep."
"The rotting man."
Sandman stared past the shadows and deep into the alleyway. Past the garbage cans and dumpster was a staircase leading to a grey steel door. He walked into the shadows without a second thought and amusedly responded to them.
"Thanks for the titles, but I like Sandman more."
The voices screamed back as he approached,
"WHO ARE YOU TO WIELD OUR POWER?!"
"YOU DARE ENTER AFTER EATING OUR BROTHER!"
"DEMON EATER!"
"THE BOY WHO ROTS!"
Sandman grabbed the door handle and swung the door wide. Although the door appeared heavy, it swung with ease as if it were weightless.
"He can open it!"
"He can open it."
"Why can he open it?"
The voices spoke in unison, confused by his entrance. As Sandman entered, he studied the room before him. It was a small old bar that appeared to have existed since the city's construction. Its wooden interior was well-kept, but the damage of time was present in the spread-out tables and chairs.
Hanging from the ceiling above were old lanterns that dimly lit the room, and in the corner was a fireplace that crackled as the fire flickered inside. The fire's warmth and the light's calm tone left those who entered with a warm welcome as they sat down. If not for the constant whisper from the shadows, anyone other than Sandman would have been fooled by its appearance.
Sandman thought, "A great place to strike a deal." as he continued his survey.
In the back corner was an old pool table with its balls spread out as if a game were unfinished. He studied the placement of each ball before looking elsewhere, searching for the being he came for. To Sandman's right was a bar with alcohol lining the wall behind it but no bartender. Instead, only one other presence was lingering in the room.
A figure sat at the bar with a large black trench coat. The fabric, jagged and torn, looked as though it had weathered for decades. Although most of its body was covered, its head peaked from the top, exposing its white, pale skin that was hairless. From the side of its head sprouted several horns that curled around and intertwined into a wreath, with the tips poking out like thorns.
Sandman studied the back of its head, taking notice of the lack of features from behind. There were no ears on either side of its head, and as it raised its hand to its face for a drink, Sandman watched as long claws clinked against the glass.
The Paladin was indifferent to the appearance and spoke up as it imitated a drink.
"We both know it is impossible for you to consume that."
The figure stopped as he spoke. It turned to look at Sandman, who watched as it revealed its face. There were no eyes present, nor nose or mouth. It was an empty canvas that appeared as if a white sheet was pulled tight against a human skull. The featureless face stared at Sandman, who met its gaze with tired eyes.
"Hello, Dolorfed."
It began to speak, but the area where its mouth belonged was motionless. The creature's voice emerged from Sandman's surroundings as if speakers produced it. Its voice pierced his eardrum, and a static rang out as it spoke like an old, outdated radio,
"So you came to me? Alone? Are you a fool?"
"Why would I fear you?"
The figure slammed its hand against the bar, causing the glasses and metal on its surface to rattle.
"Because the wielder of that blade is gone. Which means there's nothing to stop me from killing you."
It stared at Sandman before rising to its feet. From its sitting position, it appeared small, but as its figure rose above, the creature loomed two feet taller than Sandman. Neither broke the other's gaze. However, Sandman raised his brows as he looked up with mild interest.
"We both know that is not true. You were afraid of the blade, and I cannot kill you without it. So you hid from it."
The figure's voice bubbled with hatred as it gutterly spoke,
"I will make you suffer even if I can't kill you. Cause insuffer-"
"Insufferable misery? How original. After killing countless of your kind, I have heard every speech you could mutter."
His tired, colorful eyes stared at where the creature's eye sockets belonged. The creature raised its arm, revealing its skinny and lanky figure as it pointed at Sandman.
"Do you believe you can escape our wrath? We will avenge our brother, whether now, tomorrow, or ten thousand years later. I will drag your soul to hell."
"And I will give you a chance."
The creature tilted its head and asked,
"What chance?"
"I am proposing a deal. Or rather, a game."
The creature leaned forward at the offer. Although it had no mouth, Sandman could tell it was excited as the static became present without its voice being present. The featureless face drew close to Sandman's as it asked,
"A game, you say? What are you betting?"
"The lives of everyone in this city."
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In an office half the size of Mary's, six people stood before a small desk tucked behind large shelves of books. The wooden interior was warm and welcoming; like an old library, you would find a nice elderly librarian eager to share the deep knowledge hidden inside.
The dark green carpet and light brown wooden furniture were pleasant to look at, and candlelight shone from a chandelier above. Behind the desk, a large window displayed the sun and blue sky. On the sides of the room, four chairs sat next to the desk, allowing guests to sit or read in peace in the cozy confines of the office.
Inside, Mel and Rose sat on one side while two unfamiliar men sat across from them. Before the desk, Asura stood with the sixth person, too close for comfort. He fidgeted uncomfortably as the wounds were met with pressure.
Asura expected unwelcoming stares, disdainful sneers, and abhorrence in the faces of those he met in the human realm, but the last thing he expected was a warm hug. He was left speechless as an older woman of the same height wrapped her arms around him and wept.
Her light pink hair was neatly styled into a bun atop her head. She wore a long black dress that fell down to her ankles and was complimented by long black sleeves that went to her wrists. There wasn't a wrinkle present on her clothes or a blemish or stain that remained on her clothing—a clear testament to her sense of modesty and meticulous nature.
Holy mana was poured from her embrace onto his body, healing his wounds and exhaustion. The wounds that had refused to heal before were now closed, leaving Asura astonished as the mana overwhelmed his body. It felt like a warm blanket wrapping around him, coated with a sweet but subtle scent that caused his entire body to relax.
Every worry left his body as the woman lovingly held the ogre. He tried to resist at first, afraid of her true intentions, but as she continued to hold him, he was left powerless from the motherly love being expelled.
"You have been hurting for so long child..."
Her voice was sweet to his ears, a deep and soothing tone that calmed his nerves.
"I pray Azrealia is with you to soothe your wounded heart."
The woman pulled away with a beautiful smile that wrinkled her face as she looked him in the eyes. She pressed a slightly wrinkled, tender hand against the side of Asura's face.
"I will talk sternly with those two the next time I see them. Their behavior is unacceptable.
Asura nodded as she clasped his face, unable to pull away from the warmth that soothed his distraught soul. Her face was sharp, and her light blue eyes glimmered with determination. "She's not going to let this go." The ogre thought as he looked into the mother's fiery anger burning deep behind the surface.
"It's fine. It was fun."
The woman smiled wide, causing her eyes to close slightly as the edges wrinkled,
"What a forgiving child."
Mel groaned at the statement from the side.
"Don't believe his lies, Aliza."
The older woman gazed over Asura's shoulder and watched Mel rub her forehead.
"He causes most of the trouble he gets into. I bet he challenged them to a fight."
"Even so, they intended to kill him."
"I bet-"
Mel looked up and was caught by Aliza's stern stare. Her eyes were tight, and her mouth was tucked into a slight frown of disapproval. Aliza asked with authority, her deep voice leaving Mel hesitant to respond,
"Would you not try to defend yourself with lethal force if met with it on your arrival?"
Aliza glanced at the four sitting on the sides of the room. Her face was resolute and full of sincerity as she asked,
"What would you do if you were sent to the ogre realm? Would you not try to defend yourself with lethal force if met by it there?"
The four would answer the same. However, one of the men spoke up with his question.
"Lady Aliza, aren't we supposed to kill every demon? Why does that-"
Aliza interrupted with a calm seriousness that startled the man.
"Do not use the term demon so lightly, Tristan."
To Asura's surprise, the woman defended the monster, chastising the man on his word choice.
"We are not called to be murderers. We kill to defend. It is unavoidable, but do not forget that innocent lives are on the other side. Those we see here do not represent every soul that lives in those realms."
Asura wanted to clap in admiration for the woman as she eagerly came to his defense. He looked at Tristan, who stared at him with disdain. However, he was left without anything to respond with.
"I know it is challenging to trust in an ogre we just met. However, Uriel chose him as one of our greatest archangels. Let his trust in the ogre be the foundation you begin to build your own on."
The second man spoke up at the revelation.
"Uriel chose him? That's so cool!"
Asura stared at the two, who looked at him with different gazes. One was full of disdain, and the other was filled with curiosity. The man on the left was Tristan, whom he met before entering. His brown eyes seemed permanently fixed on Asura, but that was nothing new to the ogre.
Tristan wore a red and green baseball cap on top of his head with black curly hair that spilled out from underneath. His posture was laid back as he slouched back against the chair in his black and red baseball jacket. Underneath, he wore a black t-shirt with the symbol of God embroidered on his right chest, and to compliment it, all were black cargo pants with more pockets than countable.
Leaning against the chair at his side, Tristen balanced a baseball bat, swirling it around with two fingers as he continued to stare. Asura smirked at the sight, finding it amusing that he resembled Ash so much.
"What? You like my face that much?"
Tristen's face twisted at Asura's words, and his upper lip recoiled. To Tristen's right sat his brother Gabriel, but they all referred to him as Gabe. His clean-cut kept his hair tight, and it was surprising at first to learn they were related as he studied formal military attire.
His boots were neatly tied tight, with his cargo pants tucked deep into his boots. Unlike Tristen, Gabe wore nothing to display his personality on the outside. However, the lack of even a watch or hat made it clear that the two would have different answers to the same question.
As the two crossed their arms without looking at one another, Asura was reminded of their brotherhood. He giggled at the sight, withholding himself from commenting on the sight and antagonizing Tristen further. Aliza was currently siding with him, and the ogre enjoyed the defense. "Who knows what would happen if I pushed the buttons of a mom..." He glanced at Aliza from the corner of his eye.
"You all should get comfortable with one another because, after today, you will be tasked with searching the city."
Aliza looked down at Tristen, whose brows were wrinkled in displeasure.
"Which means you will have to rely on each other to keep your life."