Dane didn't know eyes could dance, that was something he'd learned only after staring into the eyes of a walking impossibility.
A humanoid Iotil…
His mind still failed to process it, despite her human appearance attempting to put him at ease.
Her eyes broke the fog clouding his thoughts. Not just her eyes but her hair, the way her eyebrows were set, the sharpness of her jaw. All her features came together to implant a thought in Dane's mind, a foolish and random thought.
He found her very attractive.
Miora herself was also at a loss for words, the intensity of the gaze she and Dane had shared left her braindead. It wasn't something she was used to. Not just a human looking at her but looking at her like that. Did he want something from her? What were his intentions? Was he creeped out—Before she could continue Dane's mouth opened to console her fears. Or amplify them.
"What's your name?" The idiot asked with a bashful grin. His words left Miora speechless, even more so than previously. Any words she had thought of saying were ripped straight from her lips. What had he just asked her? In a such situation was it really okay to ask such a simple question? To break the ice so casually?
Dane on his part had not put much thought behind the question. At first Miora's entire existence filled him with fear and dread at the prospect of losing everything he knew. Her simply standing before him denied all knowledge he had gained up to that point.
At the same time, the thought excited him. To lose everything he knew would be to get a chance to rebuild his portfolio of knowledge from scratch and that idea seemed to itch Dane in the right way. It tugged at his sense of mystery and thirst for knowledge. To be able to build something from zero. Being able to do it for the world was also a sweet side effect.
"M-"
BOOM!
The universe didn't allow Miora to begin her sentence, as if it had had enough of this rom-com. The ground shook with force as, faintly in the sky, Dane made out the form of a dragon.
Since when was Trafik–Oh….
Trafik wasn't red…
Somewhere in Dane's confusion turned panic, Miora had disappeared. A thought jolted Dane back to reality, reality beyond the dragon and the floating silver lady.
JEAN!
Dane's feet pounded against the ground harder than they ever had before. His lungs burned, and his chest felt tight, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. Jean wasn't like him—he wasn't used to Iotil attacks. Hell, no one was. Not the audience, not the soldiers. No one could ever really get used to this kind of chaos.
It took him thirty desperate seconds to reach Rue de Londres, but it felt like an eternity. Flames licked the walls of buildings, crawling higher and higher, filling the air with thick black smoke that clawed at his throat and burned his eyes. His boots crunched on shattered glass and smoldering debris, but that wasn't what made his stomach churn.
It was the bodies.
They were everywhere—twisted, broken, piled on top of one another like trash. The stench hit him hard, sour and metallic, cutting through the smoke and making it almost impossible to breathe. His stomach flipped, and for a moment, he thought he might vomit.
But he didn't. He couldn't. His eyes scanned the carnage, darting from face to face. His chest tightened further, but then he saw it—or didn't see it. Jean wasn't there. Relief hit him in a wave so intense it made his knees weak. He had to lean on a scorched car door to steady himself.
Keep it together, Dane. You're not done yet.
Ssshhft.
A sound. A body moved.
Dane whipped around, muscles coiled. A man stumbled up from the pile of corpses, his uniform torn and his face pale. For a second, Dane thought he'd found another survivor—someone who needed help. But the way the man moved, the way he avoided Dane's eyes—it clicked. C.I.R.S. agent. Playing dead.
Dane didn't give him a chance. He stepped forward and brought his hand down in a clean chop to the neck. The man crumpled, unconscious before he even hit the ground. Dane didn't feel bad. There was no time for second-guessing, not now.
He grabbed the agent's weapon—a strange, high-tech gun that hummed with energy—and swung his gaze skyward.
The dragon roared, its massive crimson body weaving through the air like a hurricane, wings tearing through the smoke. Trafik was locked in battle with it. The white-and-yellow beast moved like a blur, dodging flames and snapping at the dragon's exposed neck.
Dane's heart was hammering now, his brain moving at lightning speed. Jean was out there, somewhere. And if Dane wanted to find him, he had to stop the chaos. It wasn't a perfect plan—in fact, it wasn't much of a plan at all. But it was all he had:
Kill the dragon. End the madness. Find Jean.
He raised the weapon, his hands trembling slightly. His eyes scanned the dragon's massive body, looking for a weakness. He spotted the wing—a thin membrane stretched between its talons. One good hit could take it down.
Dane fired.
The bolt struck true, tearing through the wing's webbing. The dragon's roar turned to a shriek as it faltered in the air, its massive frame lurching sideways. Trafik lunged forward, seizing the moment, and sank his fangs into the dragon's neck.
Dane fired again, gritting his teeth as the recoil sent a jolt through his shoulder. Another hit.
The dragon screeched, thrashing violently, but then something strange happened. A silver light pulsed through its body, snaking under its crimson scales like veins of liquid metal. The dragon froze mid-air, convulsing as if its own body was betraying it.
Trafik released his grip and darted back, and with one final, ear-splitting cry, the dragon plummeted, slamming into the ground with a thunderous crash.
Dane lowered the gun, his chest heaving, his arms shaking from the adrenaline. He stared at the fallen creature, watching its massive body twitch as the silver light slowly dimmed and faded.
"What the hell…" he muttered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. That shot shouldn't have done that.
Unbeknownst to him, on a nearby rooftop, a feminine figure stood in the shadows. Their hand trembled as they lowered it, a faint glow fading from their fingertips. Miora exhaled sharply, her expression unreadable, and turned away before anyone could see her.
***
Even in the psych ward, Dane could find peace. Sirens blared violently.
Wait, psych ward? He thought as he looked around. He was in a straight jacket making any attempt at escape futile.
When did he pass out? Who had brought him here? Where was here? All these questions plagued him. His answer would come from the one entrance in the room, a pure white door. The sound of heels thundered through the room as a figure entered. The woman was tall and her eyes matched the abyss black color of her hair, in them seemed to dance shadows, living shadows. Her features were sharp and her jawline even more so, the black holes in her skull bore into Dane's soul.
"I am Vega Tremblay," She said. "How would you like to kill a god?"
Her expression shifted from one of imaginable coldness to the visage of a crazy lady. The creatures in her pupils had stilled, leaving room for the flames of insanity to brighten the night in her eyes.