Mhaieiyu

Arc 2, Chapter 24

The Soldier; The Bullet; Today's Guardian

“That would be six zeds, mi buen señor.”

Reaching into his pocket to produce a cloth pouch, the Soldier took his time counting the coins therein and slipped the elder his bill and two as a tip. The gentleman with a wrinkled face and eyes glued shut with age kept scrubbing the water off his freshly cleaned cups and chuckled, shaking his head lightly at the gesture and at the fact the man hadn’t even looked his way. The Bullet was much too fixated on the lady and her songs; much like he always did.

“You’re quite the brazen fellow, aren’t you?” the senior he knew only as ‘Pop’ said in amusement. “Most señores at least try to protect their dignity and remain subtle.”

The Soldier didn’t turn to look, even at the accusation. He just shrugged. “I’m invested in the music.”

“Sí, and you are eyeing my granddaughter.” Though his words were harsh, they were told with a softness of a familiar. Warmth in speech.

“I’d nary dare meddle with a man’s daughter. Less so hers,” the Drunk said with a shake of his mug.

“She’s with man, too,” ‘Pop’ added, taking a standing seat opposite him to better watch Moon’s soul-soothing performance.

In a smaller voice, the scraped up, younger-seeming man didn’t deny. “Nor’d I steal an oke’s hand. Bilge or not.”

That made ‘Pop’ laugh with the dryness of bone some more. “There’s a word. Bilge is right.”

The Soldier turned his eye away from the stage to focus on ‘Pop’ like a stalking beast. “Is that a blessing?”

“I’m not sure,” he chortled with a dry breath, “are you any better a folksman, Soldado?” ‘Pop’ reached for a bottle behind him, uncorked the top and put two fine little glasses in front of them. “I heard many stories, you know.”

“I only care for the stories she tells. All else is foolishness to me,” the man said, waiting for the crystal-clear liquid to reach the lip of the glass. He tried to take his, and ‘Pop’ put a finger on his hand.

“You’ll care for my stories too, I’m sure. Corre en sangre.”

The senior’s tone was quippy, a tease. It made the Soldier laugh some. “Cut the tongue-talk. You’re barely a Renno.”

“Ah, I’m the last of my generation to respect our ancestors, parece ser. Culture matters,” ‘Pop’ joked further, punching his shoulder with a groan, for he had to reach far. “Still, escucharás — you’ll listen, no? I treat you too much not to bother with the tidings of an old mind.”

“Well, if you’re so free, and me so debted, speak then, old one,” the Soldier consented, though not without a poke of his own.

‘Pop’ snortled. “I heard word that a man like you goes around finding trouble. No denying that.”

“If it was so obvious, why is it any more impactful, then?”

“You get scraped and bruised, too. You walk in with limps and broken bones. You never accept Moonie’s help, either. You let ice in her warm heart.”

The Soldier made a double-take. “I do?” He noticed how the old man smiled wryly and sighed, alleviated. “Of course I do. I’m a heartbreaker.”

“Yes, you hurt her, incluso antes de amar. How can I entrust her to you… Forget this, it’s not the point right now. I heard,” ‘Pop’ started, waiting for a brief moment as the song sung crescendoed. In a whisper loud enough to be heard, he said, “I heard that someone just like you lost an arm and a leg, and walked in right the next day with them both intact. This happened that time you didn’t come.”

“Well, as I said, it’s all foolish if it’s not said through her.”

‘Pop’ feigned to relent, but couldn’t contain his chuckles well. “Yes, yes. Foolish. So foolish that this man averted his gaze in embarrassment when he saw my eyes. But I already saw his.”

The Soldier’s brows raised, though he did his best to hide his surprise with his dirty, sharp and voluminous tufts of hair. The elder gruffed a hearty laugh, his withered and worn fingers reaching across the counter with a crack in his joints to move the man’s chin towards him. The Bullet’s teeth clenched, his hand gripping the bartender’s wrist with a force that wavered and dissipated as he looked into those wise and comforting, half-open eyes.

“A nice colour of green, they were,” ‘Pop’ said, studying the man carefully amid inner chortles. “Yes, a noble dark yet still the shimmering kind. Emerald-like. The kind that belong only to the Guardian.”

The Soldier’s face stiffened, and so the grandfather traced the back of his shaking hand against his cheek and murmured in a weakness.

“Even with all my years, I could never imagine the kind of burden on your shoulders, nor the pain you’ve suffered. I would be a fool to be so quick as to call you young. I would lie to tell you I knew more than the name of today’s Guardian.”

The terse accusation of his identity came hard and firm, yet his gentleness helped soothed that reflexive reaction of his. The Soldier lowered his head and exhaled, closing his eyes; bracing his ears.

“But, regardless of my ignorance, I thank him for his labours. Gracias.” ‘Pop’ bowed his head as much as his rickety bones could allow. He knew he caught the Soldier off-guard again, but to keep him calm, he put his palms over his knuckles and squeezed his hand in a way that conveyed a willingness to protect; even with a feeble body. “I can see that you live by bitterness and how it boils you alive. Sólo puedo pensar — I can only imagine how much mischief you have dealt, but I do see the way you watch over my grandchild. I see that your smiles are honest and pure, even when you come filthied from your battles. The way you honour her wishes. You keep your distance. You respect her from afar. You are a good man.”

The Bullet’s sight flickered up only to shy away from the elder’s gaze. He felt ashamed. “I am a Sinner.”

Dismayed at first, ‘Pop’ became absorbed in his thoughts, nodded and said, “El Pecado is a disagreeable misfortune that leads us and furthermore the few chosen astray. God’s influence wills this, but his grasp is not certain, for the path of Virtue——”

“With all respect, old man,” the Soldier cut off with a mood more gruff and despondent, “that path is a hopeless, damning vice of promise with little hope for resolution. It might be a myth.”

The senior chuckled some more, standing straight with a press against his back. “I suppose only the history books and His followers would know, no? But, si es posible, would it not be easier with company?”

“I had company for a while, Pop.” The man in rags poured the last half of his drink down his throat and groaned, standing up as the songs died down; his routine perfected. “I lost interest when they were tempted to stay on the land.”

“Ah, a seafarer, for not wing-bearer.”

“Maybe,” he said. “Will you be open tomorrow?”

The senior owner smiled and bobbed his head slowly. “For us your company and ours yours, our doors are always open for you, Guardián Emris. Community. Remember that.”

Emris lowered his head in respect. “Yes, sir.”

‘Pop’ nodded and turned halfway. “Despídete — say farewell to Moon on your way out.”

♦ ♥ ♣ ♠

“I’m so sorry,” the little boy said with a dreading voice that shook close to tears.

Following the incident which cost Wilhelm a structured face a number of ribs, Emris was banished from the household by the Hyretisian Annabelle, who already stood at her wit’s end with his being there in the first place. His act of senseless violence had only solidified her perception of the cut-throat Syndies she had come to know since her childhood was robbed from her, and thus, with the last of her will, she screamed a long order for his leave. Holly wordlessly complied, removing herself along with him as although she wasn’t accountable, she stood a fair chance at discrimination herself by association. Still, the look of sheer disappointment that wore on her face as she left through the front door left Emris’ sentiments in shambles. Especially because this wasn’t the first time she looked so hollow by his accord.

Elliot stood behind the door, which was open a crack and locked with a chain, and his single visible eye looked so disheartened as well. Emris didn’t have to ask the boy why; such would be cruel. Even he had realised his rashness shortly after his episode — the way he acted was in character for him but taken to an extreme that even he didn’t fathom. It’s as if, in a lapse of judgement, he had overacted his role. It left him dumbstruck.

A voice called behind Elliot that could be easily discerned to his mother’s, though what she said exactly couldn’t be discerned, what with her language differing from the universal tongue. Even still, Elliot gathered every last drop of childish enthusiasm that remained inside him and did his best to smile one last time, though it was quite pitiable.

“Thank you, mister Emris, for teaching me more about Guardians. And missus Holly, thank you for stopping him.”

The Lypin woman giggled dishonestly, putting her small hand through the crack and patting the boy’s head. “No troubles for us, hun. Oh, but no telling girls mean things, okay? They’ll hate you if you do.”

Elliot’s smile became more genuine, and he hid his fluster behind the frame. “Promise.”

Emris’ lips opened to say something, and Elliot clearly noticed, because he watched and waited for him to do so. Emris’ throat was either caught dry or he truly had nothing to say. Not daring to speak his mind, he looked sideways, and then the other way, pretending to look out for beasts.

Elliot’s gaze dropped, but then his arm came out to the street’s side with something in his hand that jingled. He whispered so as not to be heard by his mother, who was busy tending to Wilhelm’s damage. “Here, take it. It’s my dad’s; he uses it to go to work, but… Right now…”

Holly blinked, taking the key from his hand with some hesitation. “Elli, are you sure…?”

The child nodded firmly. “Yes. Just get help, please. It’s chained up like… Uh… Five minutes that way.” He pointed, to the best of his ability, towards the street to their right. “Just keep going until you find a, uh, a little ‘garage’ that goes underground. It’s pretty dim, so don’t hit your shins, okay?”

Emris stepped forward. “Thank ye, Elliot. Ye’re a lifesaver.” Appreciation is all he could offer. Judging by the amazement on the lad’s face, he could tell it meant a lot to him. “I’ll apologise to yer father someday. Once we get this mess sorted, eh?”

“U-Uh, yeah! Come visit whenever you… Well, whenever mom’s at work!”

Emris could feel Holly’s scrutiny right over his shoulder as he squatted down to face the kid properly. “Ye’re a good kid. Take care of yer momma, aye?”

Elliot responded in kind with a novice’s salute before the sound of footsteps and the door suddenly slamming shut against Emris’ nose ruined the moment.

“Gah, fuckin’ hell!” he exclaimed as he fell on his rear, holding his presumably broken sniffer. “Hellspawn of a woman! Ack!” His act did little to stir any kind of reaction from the young woman who waited in silence for him to get back on his feet. When he began dusting himself off, she turned on her heel and slump-walked in the direction they had been pointed towards; the key crunched between her paw-hands.

She slapped his hand off her shoulder once he caught up.

“Shite, lass. We’ve to stick together. Those sods could spring on us,” Emris said, getting a groan from the lass.

“You’ll step in and deal with it. You always do.”

Emris’ gruff became apparent even though he did his best to push it down.

“Holls, I get ye’re upset, but we’re in the middle of bite-me city. Keep close or I’ll——”

Holly stopped in her tracks suddenly and mashed her hand into his chest to stop him, earning an ‘oomph’. Before he could question what was up, the sound of shuffling and an animalistic noise akin to laughter came from closeby; soon after accompanied by the thrash and clatter of what would likely have been a dustbin, confirmed by its contents spilling into view from a nearby adjoining alleyway. A cross-section right in front of them, and from within, the light thuds of a sizeable animal’s walk that neared.

The two came to absolute silence, Emris bending his knees slightly to prepare for any quick movements that may occur. The head of a large, black Cryptid peered over the corner; its head a firm, bulky and shining surface that covered where its eyes should be, acting as a shield for its brain, leaving only a set of carnivorous teeth as big as a finger’s length. It scanned its right, and then its left, and it made its disturbing visage all the clearer to the man and Lypin as it neared within five feet of their breaths. Its head bobbed up and down a tad as it produced a strange vocalization like a mix between panting and giggling. Its lack of eyes proved it to be blind, as it simply dropped its snout into the filth and began feasting away like a stray dog.

Emris took Holly's violent hand off his stomach and held it tightly, gesturing for her to walk as silently as possible. When she showed hesitation, he reassured her with a whisper and a nod, insisting that her going first was the safer option if the beast noticed them. He wouldn’t have as much time to turn around and shield her otherwise. With her confidence built, they tip-toed to the furthest opposite end, their breaths almost non-existent, Holly’s cheeks becoming bluish.

Slowly they dragged their feet; one after the other. Emris’ boots scratched some loose stone, but other than a shake of the oversized Crawler’s sides, no sign of danger arose. Once they were opposite the creature, they could see in finer detail the hazardous nature of its adapted anatomy: a long body that stretched almost four metres; a head that, while still bulky, was considerably smaller in proportion; a sleek, thin and well-proportioned abdomen and legs, with vicious talons and claws made to swipe through armour weaponising its feet; a waving, slender tail with an arrow-like end; and two raised hips that made its rear stand taller than its front like a monkey on all fours. Of course, like the Crawlers and their larger caste, the Bulkheads, this monster was covered, vein and blood, with a black or dark coal colour that made its nature apparent — such was the product of the magic it was born from. That of Mortos’ acclaim.

About halfway through their tread along the opposite street, the pair froze in place as the Crimsoneer Cryptid rose from its lay, sniffing about with a snout that was hard to discern, all the while making those frightening giggles and laughs of a hyena. Emris pushed Holly flat against the wall as the beast suddenly sprinted their way. To all and absolute fortune, however, it hadn’t yet noticed their presence, as it simply kept running in the same direction that dim alley led.

Once the monster turned a corner and was out of sight, Holly took a great big breath, having nearly asphyxiated to not provoke the wrath of such ‘holy’ hound. Emris kept his eyes peeled, spinning around to get a grip on any new potential threats, and once he decided they were clear, he turned to his pseudo-daughter and chuckled at the sight of her hands-on-knees.

Before he could say anything, she waved a hand at him and said ‘shut up.’

"C'mon," Emris said, taking her by the arm to get her moving again on shaky legs. "No time for us to piss ourselves now."

The Lypin spent the next five minutes in silence, not wanting to disrupt Emris' concentration or hers either; their every sense was necessary right now if they wanted to avoid another unsurvivable onslaught. But once they walked into an underground parking lot, the feeling of safety the echoing walls gave was enough to make her crack and talk.

"Em, what happened back there…"

"I regret it," he said. "If ye're concerned for where I lie, I do regret it. I snapped. Don't know what came over me."

"Em, you didn't just snap. You gave his jawline bubbles. How do you expect people to see you now? After the 'Guardian' waltzed in to kick their father's ass?" the lass scolded, her finger pushing into his shoulder. "This time wasn't even fair. You're embarrassing your whole lineage. I mean, where the heck did that shitstorm even come from, sug?!"

"Ye saw the man! He'd been slippin' us venom the whole damn time! And the way he strangled that kid’s arm——!"

"Children can take a squeeze, for heaven's sake! Vicks, it's like you think they're porcelain!" Holly hush-shouted.

Emris threw his arms up and submitted indignantly; clearly not in all agreement yet. Holly saw this and rolled her eyes at him, and he made a snarling noise in turn. An empty threat, but that was obvious to both of them.

It took them little time to find a deserted motorbike fastened to a pillar with a long, rusty chain. When Emris opened his hand toward Holly, she shook her head, slapped it away and got on her knees in front of the dumpy bike.

“Watch yer hands, sug,” Emris warned from behind her, not wanting her to get cut and poison herself. She managed to unlink the chain, and though it had its heft, she yanked it off the metals and threw it aside. The clatter was far from pleasant in their predicament, and Holly felt her soul cringe for each echo that followed. As no steps seemed to come their way after a few seconds, she breathed a sigh of relief before sticking a key into the ignition.

Hopping on board, Holly wasn’t so bold as to insist on steering the thing. She wouldn’t dare to on a good day unless she’d had a few drinks beforehand, which didn’t exactly help her concerns. As a VIP and affiliate of the Syndicate, it’s not the law she would have to be worried about.

“Keep yer ears tucked. Ye know it’s windy,” Emris said as he hopped in the front, waiting for her to find her spot in the back.

“Did the last time your head explode make you lose your memory? We’ve done this enough times already.” And right she was. It wasn’t the first time she’d been on one of these; Emris could be blamed for that. So feverish he was to protect her every hair, yet allowing and encouraging her to ride with him on such a precarious vehicle was perfectly acceptable somehow. These the inconsistencies of Emris’ wilting mind. Perhaps his brain bore rust more so than these chains did.

With no more words from the lass than a sad viciousness, Emris took a moment to clear his mind of hurt and took off. He was used to repairing tissue with no manual effort of his own, but such powers would take no influence over his thoughts. One could not simply ‘patch up’ emotional damage. Each time Holly cut into him with her at times uncharacteristic and rightfully sharp tongue, he felt it like a burning needle piercing his nerves. No amount of Guardianship would remedy that.

With that, he tapped his face awake, put his hands on the handlebars and allowed the engine to start. The roar and sputter that followed sounded just a bit dangerous, but with no time to lose, they took off with a juddering piston that coughed away the black dust that had settled during its abandonment. One could almost feel bad for the poor machine.

“Buttercup! Guns ain’t got the piercin’ effect as good on Crimsons, ye’ll just fall off the ride!”

Tired of holding her ears into her skull to prevent her long lobes from flapping about like loose hair, the rabbit biped had cracked her neck to the side and reached into Emris’ coat, robbing from him all too ceremoniously his gloriously oversized pistol. Said pistol was heavy enough to need both paws, even with her healthily refined strength. Giving up on her ears, she had turned halfway on the back of her seat, tightening her legs’ grasp on the sides of the motorcycle to try and get a good aim of the four Crawlers and one Bulkhead sprinting behind them. Two more Crawlers sprinted on the walls; their claws nimble and sharp enough to hook into and unlatch from the concrete of underground passages.

Regardless of her ex-guardian’s protests, Holly aimed down sights as best she could and fired. The recoil almost sent the gun into her face the first time, but she made sure to remember for the next six rounds.

Leaving the city through the surface roads, where blackish beasts roamed untamed and savage, would be more dangerous than looking down a barrel and pulling the trigger. It’s for this reason that the bike navigated instead the mind-boggling maze of tunnels beneath, all of which lead to different zones in the city via a subterrestrial highway of sorts. It beat the gridlocks that abounded topside. Didn’t smell great though. Still, it made for a safer escape plan, as very few beasts had yet delved so deep, yet clearly, these roads weren’t entirely barren. The few Cryptids that chased them like quarry had been on their tail for a good half hour now — a fact that solidified their seemingly endless stamina. Brainless as they were, it would be of no surprise to either of the two if it turned out such monsters had no scruples tiring themselves ‘till death if need be. Their directive now was to find, pursue, eliminate. All else couldn’t even be secondary. They would spare no time to even growl.

Four of the seven shots struck flesh; or whatever it is they were made of. One managed to penetrate half an inch of the Bulkhead’s bulky headpiece, which, although wasted effort, was an impressive feat on the pistol’s end, as shooting those hardened chitin surfaces may as well be like trying to penetrate a block of solid titanium. The other three connected with the Crawlers on each of its sides; two for one, and the last for the other. They all seemed to shrug off the damage, but the latter of which had its leg blown off and sent to roll to a stop. It would soon get up and limp after them, though the bike’s speed would leave the beast well behind.

“That one’s not coming back!” Holly shouted near Emris’ ear.

Emris winced at the volume. “Put that fuckin’ thing down ‘fore ye kill yerself with it, aye?!”

“Hang on!” She turned to fire once more, hitting a Crawler on the wall to little effect. “Okay, now I’m done! These freaks sure are durable!”

“Aye, it’s their blood. No foreign objects allowed. Like Celestials.”

“Yeah, yeah. ‘OP’ as shit.”

Having seen the Crawler’s fall through his rearview mirror, Emris had to commend her. “Ye’re a better shot than I remember,” Emris said with a sigh. “Vicks, I was thinkin’ of takin’ ye to a range, but…”

“No need. Say, give me another mag, I don’t feel like reaching in your pants.”

He turned his head halfway, but stopped himself. Instead of scolding her, he chuckled, reached into his pocket and produced a clip.

“Know how to load it?” he asked a question that was answered by Holly wrapping her arms around his waist to put the pistol in his peripheral; emphasising the process. With a nod, he focused on the road. “Aim for the shoulders.” The satisfaction of seeing her smile through the mirror was enough to make allowing a gun into his daughter’s hands worth it. Father of the year. The bike decelerated a bit, backing up enough to lend her an easier target.

“Here you go you blood-thirsty monsters! Eat lead!” she screamed, turning off the safety with a click only to unleash a volley of gunfire like cannons willed by her fingertips.

♦ ♥ ♣ ♠

Every five seconds was met by at least one rumbling explosion as chaos was unleashed within those lovely red-carpeted halls. The eastern wing had been compromised by a danger that most soldiers were either still trying to figure out or had been spontaneously and instantly slain by; the confusion bringing about more havoc than an anthill after being stepped on.

Bullets flew left and right to no real effect, shouts and screams echoed within the walls and shook the glass, and the once smoothly placed marble and concrete of the danger’s vicinity became less so a work of art and more the aftermath of artillery shelling. Amidst the messy panic, a single soldier remained undeterred, though not by nature alone. Those who might have seen him through the clouds of dust from shattered bricks or raised smoke could easily assume it was the Champion Xavier himself; a miraculous resuscitation from a hero, for a chance to vanquish evil, perhaps? But no.

The reason this soldier held such serenity and grace was that he was used to doing so. The reason he carried himself so carelessly, his thoughts were already robbed. The cleansing, crystalline and holy water that was thought to drip from his fingertips was nothing more than the wine-like fluid of life, which stained him with his acts of violence.

His expression wasn’t serene, it was cold and distant. He wasn’t calm, he was awestruck and absent. The soldiers that cheered him on fell silent as one by one, they realised they had confused a boundless desire for vengeance for an epic display of drivenness. It was enough to turn one’s blood cold; more so than the thought of meeting fate by the still unknown threat’s hand.

Amid the smoke and dust, Corvus came to a literal standstill, allowing his surrendered, limping arms to sway slightly when he did.

There in front of him was the instigator of this untimely mayhem. The miserable face of Melancholy hid behind a turbulent wall of jetted wind that blew and howled violently before the Celestial.

“The second half has come,” the host of bitterness said in a huff. “I regretted the thought of meeting you.”

Corvus said nothing but one question. “Are you the one responsible?”

Sagittar shook his head slowly. “It upsets me to inform you that the one you seek is not with us, but while I am not directly responsible, you may put the whole of the blame on myself. Depressing as it is, it’s only right for the adult to bear the weight of his pupil’s Sins. This having been said, are you prepared to admit responsibility for the rash actions you seem to have taken? To not do so would be a tiring act of hypocrisy.”

To Sagittar’s fatigued-soundings supplications, Corvus would not reply. He put his bloodied fingers around his sword’s handle and drew it in one quick motion that made the metal sound like a hammer’s strike.

“I suppose not,” Sagittar said mournfully, closing his eyes as if to consent to the inevitable battle’s beginning.