Chapter Seven

Mezir's De Blancana’s feet were covered up to their tops in warmth from the pool of crimson gore about the grounds. He had given few commands and issued only two orders while examining every stray piece of dirt, every shadow or crevice the killer could have bounded to. He saw the guards around him, some that were in his company, others that had been on the scene already, and still more piled onto the scene. They all looked forlorn and sickened; he could hardly blame them.

Gore continued to ooze down from the massive wall and towers above, it persisted in a thick membrane of red and pink on many windows about the street. Guards were walking into what seemed like the epicenter of a small, bloody tornado, and none looked too happy about it. He lingered on the faces of the fallen guards for a moment, his fallen guards. The true Mezir would have seen what happened. But he could not; not alone. No matter the interface of the helmet within or his own immaculate wit, the imposter saw only carnage. What he could see, however, were the people around him slowly sinking into despair.

None of the guards on the scene could focus long enough to gather any real information, their own feelings of confused disgust had nearly consumed them. The imposter knew he needed to act if anything were to come of this investigation aside from a morose party of soldiers. From far behind his mask, in the portions of his mind that were generally kept buried and bolted beneath layers of willful ignorance, he conjured something the true Mezir had once said.

“ We are cast down, lost in a world of blood and darkness... We are, but we are here not alone. We are here surrounded by allies. So I beseech you, dear friends, to feel the warmth of those beside you and cast your gaze skyward. Keep your eyes to our dear Mothers above. They will guide you through,” the imposter added his own line at the end, “ I will reap your vengeance.”

He hadn’t even noticed he was speaking out loud until the soldiers’ heads were moving with him in agreement. The mask became stationed upwards while he remembered the feel of the original Mezir's presence and willed the peace that came with it upon the others. He froze just after his eyes passed the towers above. One of the bodies had shifted and a second figure slid out from beneath it, heaving and spewing bile in a puddle before them.

“Look always onwards!”

The bravado behind his voice this time elicited a quick cheering salute from the guards as he sprang upwards, using his essence to propel him up to the towers atop the wall. A fierce smile painted the masked man's lips. Yes, he was the mask, and the mask was he.

Mezir De Blancana landed with a trained silence, refusing to even disturb the puddling blood and gore with so much as a ripple. Down at his fee,t still retching in dry heaves of shock and disgust, a young Watcher gripped her fists tight and sobbed. He let her do so for a moment before clearing his throat ever so gently.

“Excuse me, miss?”

The woman’s head snapped up as she tried to stand and ready herself. Slick oozing gore sent her back down to her knees before she ever looked up and realized who stood awaiting a reply.

“Sir, apologies, I am so sorry I just..” A paleness had overtaken the woman that looked entirely out of place on her golden-brown skin.

Mezir shook his head and knelt down, taking her face in his hand, he raised the shaken Watcher’s chin until her eyes were staring straight into the blank face of his mask.

“ Accolate Watcher Marina,” he recited the name as it appeared on an invisible screen before him, “You have nothing to apologize for. You need only rest now... but before I send you on your way, I must ask, is there anything you can tell me? About what happened or who did this?”

Marina shot her eyes down again and bit her lip as if holding back an answer.

“If you are worried I will not believe you, remember, you’re talking to a man who walked through the Void of Spirits and left unscathed.” His hands moved out in an exaggerated manner. “I have seen some things in my time.” Mezir’s gentle chuckle seemed to ease her tension slightly and Marina’s eyes found his mask once more.

“Fantastic, simply fantastic. Come here, dear.” Her hand grabbed his, smearing dulled crimson onto his pearlescent gloves. Marina’s eyes locked on the gored gloves and she stammered once more,

“Oh I-I am so sorry, Sir.”

“Ah.” He sighed gently. “No more apologies, remember?”

Mezir’s mask tilted towards Marina and a light glow returned to her sickened skin.

“Walk with me to the lower levels. We’ll talk on the way down and you can get cleaned up before we dive into any real questions. I’ll only take a few moments and then you can have your rest.” His voice carried the sound of his false smile outwards, beyond the mask.

Mezir had always relished in helping others, in their gratitude, and in knowing they were better off for having encountered him. Mezir would readily offer a hand to anyone no matter the circumstance... but the red-haired man…. The man beneath the mask… he had little patience for it. Saw it as a waste of time. Only great determination kept his facade alive all the way down the death ridden tower. Marina seemed more at ease and less shaken by the time they reached a quaint Watcher’s cove deep within the wall and Mezir opted to wait outside her quarters while she bathed and changed, only taking a matter of ten minutes or so. When she opened the door to let him in she appeared to have some more of her color back and sported a new set of white cloaks.

“Thank you for hurrying on my account, Accolate Marina.”

Mezir kept his voice light and calm.

“I figured you’d be having a busy night. Sir.”

“Ah, you figured right I’m afraid. As such, I’ll try my best to keep to ‘yes or no’ questions for now. Fair?”

“Yes.”

Marina smiled just at the corners of her lips but her breathing was still shaky. She clasped her hands tight and set them in her lap before she nodded to reassure herself.

“Absolutely fantastic. Alright. Did you see what happened?” Start easy.

“Yes.”

Marina’s eyes grew distant for a moment and Mezir waited patiently. The man beneath the mask wanted to scream but quelled it by focusing on the young woman’s lovely green eyes. He kept his act up until she finally shook her head.

“Good, good. Was it a group of attackers?” Ask what you already know.

“No.”

“Oh, so one then? My word..” Mezir’s mask turned to the side for a moment in thought. Let them think they’ve given you something. Boost their confidence. White’s voice guided him the whole way.

“One... man?” When you don’t know, guess.

“Yes. I think.”

Mezir’s mask turned back towards her and caught a glimpse of anger before she softened once more, staring at the aged floorboards of her cove.

“Well bright side is we only have to find one culprit, huh? Makes the chances of success exponentially higher in my experience.” He threw in a small crescendo at the end of his chuckle, snapping her eyes upwards once more. Focus.

“Alright Marina, just a few more questions and I am gone, gonna need a little more than ‘yes or no’ though.”

She only nodded in reply.

“ What did he look like?”

The shaken young Watcher cleared her throat, took a long drink of water, and sucked in a shaky breath before she spoke, “At first, he looked like a shadow, a trick of the eye… we all thought Drodin was insane when he took off to the guardhouse... until the man struck. When he did… he burst into an explosion of color; bandaged from head to toe. Never seen anything like it.”

Mezir wondered if he hadn’t heard a hint of awe in Marina’s voice.

“A colorful man made of shadow and darkness... What colors were on his bandages? Assuming you could tell from so high up.” Mezir’s teardrop mask dipped downwards slightly, a playful nod to apologize, “I jest Marina, even an accolade Watcher surely has superior vision to my own.”

The young guard couldn’t help but grin at his praise, emerald eyes slowly regaining light, and her next words held a bit more life in them.

“The colors of the Venerable, the Ta’. Sir.”

Once more she paled, though only slightly. “And Sir. I saw him leave. He levitated... Like a true specter. I was crushed under-” Marina’s eyes grew wide and a single tear tore down her cheek, “ Crushed under senior Watcher Jo’r who dove in front of me to block the bolts of lightning, but I still saw when he landed and limped away.” Marina’s eyes were clearer now, her hands shaking violently in her lap. “He went west sir, towards the Wildlands.”

Why did west make his heart race...west…. Heria had gone west!

Mezir rose and bolted from the table without another word. He cast essence into his legs, lighting the attachments on the back of his boots aglow with a mixture of blindingly bright red and greens. Nothing more than streaks as he passed by the guards and horrified onlookers.

“Please, please let them both be safe.”

He sent a prayer to the Creator above and headed west, down the same dark alley he had seen Heria take. The imposter’s legs ached viciously from the exertion casting caused, despite the he got from the attachments humming against his calves. Mezir wasn't sure where to go exactly but there had to have been someone that had seen Heria; she wasn't exactly easy to miss. About two streets into the western store, aptly nicknamed the "Wildlands", Mezir’s mask finally targeted someone on the street; a drunken beggar stumbling back to his nightly abode, mumbling to himself.

“Guessin’ he smelled worse than booze already and needed some rest. Heh heh. Ah well, paid my tab, starting over… tomorrow.”

The vagrant fell face-first onto the ground which kept the mask from identifying him and more importantly kept the false Mezir from being able to fully come to a stop, forcing the speeding imposter to throw his side into the nearest building in hopes of curbing his speed just enough to avoid splattering the drunk across the next few streets. The teardrop mask and pristine armor saved him from any real damage but the quaint building he’d slammed into had a new gaping man shaped window beside its shabby door. Through the clamoring armor, rising dust, and crumbling stone, the drunk still slept in the middle of the road, snoring in pure bliss.

Mezir. Be Mezir damnit. Get up. Get ahead of it.

Already residents and the squalor that existed beside them in alleyways were making their way into the street. Some curious or afraid, others looking for any opportunity to score some coin; those greedy eyes soon fell flat when they realized who was standing amongst the rubble. Mezir De Blancana. He lied to himself once more. He fed that lie to the hungry crowd of hesitant onlookers. Raising a hand to the back of his mask he rubbed it gingerly and addressed his audience.

“Sorry, all, for the disturbance. Rest assured this will be repaired and paid for by my own men and coin.”

Though none held weapons drawn in the dark crevices he could see many rested their hands on hilts at the mention of coins, an instinct of the poor and broken that he knew all too well. Nearly every home on the street had a hole at least the size of the one he had made with his body. Every other structure seemed to be a pub or brothel; profitable businesses for the owners alone. Mezir would have stayed to clear the mess and personally put coins in the poor folk's hands. The man behind the mask didn’t have the time. He walked with his back tall and legs swift, despite their strained protest at his every step, until he stood beside the slumbering drunk.

“Anyone aware of where this lovely, uh... person prefers to sleep.” His voice was propelled by es-tech to everyone in his sight, making the sound of Mezir’s voice seem almost ethereal, unbelievable. It tended to make others very agreeable.

Mezir wouldn’t have liked that.

But the masked man did. He hated that he enjoyed it so much but it was something his former self, his true self, could never do; command attention. He reveled in the way their ears perked and arms went straighter, ready to hear what he had to say. Even the thieves and cutthroats seemed to grant him a more sincere form of attention. He craved it.

“That’d be Lenny sir.” A wide-eyed young boy spoke from his mother’s side, not two doors down from the home Mezir had damaged. “He sleeps there, beneath that light almost every night.” The child sheepishly raised a shaky finger and pointed towards a worn down pub at the end of the road with a sign hanging above it that read “The Brown Halo”.

Charming.

“Thank you ever so much son, I appreciate you.”

He considered throwing the boy a coin or two but knew that it would mark his family’s end the moment he left. Instead, he simply picked Lenny up from the road and gingerly limped to the light before he placed Lenny in his usual spot, leaning him ever so slightly against the doorframe of the establishment, gave a small bow to the boy from afar, and walked on. The attachments on the back of his legs hummed, mingling with the whispers of the gathered rabble until both faded into a weighted silence. It took him far too long to hear the clanging of steel and repeated thudding of what he knew to be Heria’s mad fists.

The man’s agonized legs couldn’t sprint, even jog, but as quickly as they allowed, he followed the sounds. Dread growing with every heavy step.