Mark stood facing the red-eyed man, surrounded by the wretched Spheks.
The men looked like lifeless puppets, lunatics that had lost something deep within, willing to delve into acts of lethality for a purpose without logic. Loveless, lethargic, lonely.
And everyone around them - the passing pedestrians on the street. They... didn't spare a glance, almost as if such a confrontation was normal.
It was all a dull insanity- a pipe dream, or nightmare.
He met the gaze of the perpetrator - the red-eyed ruler of the morbid men. The bastard was smiling, not mockingly but quite close to it. That visage seemed to yearn for his fist.
Glancing at the hands of the terrible leader, Mark saw that they were empty, defenseless, vulnerable.
His fists itched to move and act. They trembled in utter agitation, begging for an outlet. All he had to do was take a few steps forward, raise his hand, and beat the lunatic into submission.
Feeling his breath begin to quicken, he hastily forced his mind to calm down before it lost itself in dangerous thought.
'Calm down now. Let's not try to get killed by the circle of men pointing their guns at you. There is still much more to live for. That is- if I can get out of this first. Besides, what good would messing with the reverend leader do? It would be much easier to hear him out and do whatever he asks.'
As soon as he finished the thought, his face visibly paled. The first part might have been his rationality, but the latter end was definitely influenced. He had barely been in the leader's sight for a few seconds, yet the mental corruption was already so severe.
He sighed.
"It's too late for whatever your plans are. The Hounds have destroyed your gang and will eventually come to finish the job. Why resist your fate?"
The red-eyed lunatic chuckled. His voice seemed to be half-delirious, yet Mark could feel an undertone of rationality.
"I never took you as a prophet, why do you think for a second that I'll back down because of a small loss? The Spheks had been formed from nothing, now, it's time to make it anew. And now that I have you, the process will be much easier than before."
Shock overcame Mark as his back was suddenly pushed forward. Stealing a glance at the brunette, he saw that she was equally panicky, but not seeming to be in danger at all.
Throughout the whole ordeal, the passing personnel remained aloof and uncaring, not taking heed of the travesty.
They all hastily entered the broken bar and then went further. Entering Royce's abandoned kitchen, a pristine and clean room awaited them.
The lunatic smiled.
"Here will do perfectly. Now, let's not waste any time and get this over with. I'd rather be done before the army catches on."
To his side, the brunette was pushed away, off into a remote corner where she would remain isolated. She somberly stayed there without the slightest sound, her saddened face sour and her soft demeanor stifled under the stare of her captors.
Meanwhile, the other wretches of the Spheks had surrounded him with frightening callousness. They grabbed his arms and restrained all the movements he could dare to make, leaving him with nothing else but willpower as his shield.
In front, the red eyes of the leader glimmered as he took off his gloves. He then doubtlessly strode to the young man, stretched his hand forward, and gently laid it on the young man's forehead. His fingers pressed against his victim's temples.
Internally, Mark felt a profound chill, as if his soul had been increased in ice and threatening to lose its vibrancy.
'Ugh.'
The room was dreadfully silent, its chilly atmosphere only serving to add to the effects of whatever the lunatic was doing to him.
His body writhed and struggled in desperate agony, but it was useless. The men were too strong, and there were too many of them. It felt like something important to him was being slowly taken away Frightened, he tried to at the very least clarify the unknown.
"What are you doing to me!?"
The lunatic didn't respond and continued to press his fingers against the poor victim's temples. His fear was only worsened.
Like that, Mark was stuck in a limbo between sanity and whatever was waiting on the other side of it. His entire being shook in trepidation as he slowly witnessed his fall before his own eyes.
And then he began to notice it.
Somewhere, somehow, there was something changing deep within. His mind was being rearranged and his thoughts were both scattered and reorganized into something that was not quite right.
There was also something fighting that change. In his frigid mind, a campfire warmed his central thoughts. The weight on his head was being supported by a clandestine hand.
Someone knocked on the door to the kitchen.
The lunatic grumbled to his subjects.
"Go see what it is."
One of the men let go of Mark and sauntered over to the opening.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the brunette signal. She... was telling him to come over.
'No, I need to stay faithful to our great leader. Disobeying orders will never work, and will just end up with his death."
Nevertheless, something compelled him to move. Something distant yet so close to the heart. Whatever it was, it made Mark move.
He deftly broke free from the constraints of puppetmen and rushed to the corner where the brunette lay.
The Spheks members didn't see them. Instead, they were fixated on something else.
Mark couldn't remember the smoggy blur that occurred afterward. All he heard were a plethora of shouts, screams, and cries. Gunshots too, a lot of gunshots.
Looking up from his spot in the corner, Mark saw that the Spheks were dreadfully surrounded by men in uniform.
As for his reverend leader, he was currently pinned to the floor by a hardened man.
His eyes widened.
Why... why was Anton here?