Volunteers of Hope: First 88 pages

Vin County, Little Kelsey

Prolong: The Loop

"Are you stupid, Locke? Did your mother raise you to be stupid?" Luxjin asked sincerely.

When she assumed the role of one of the most affluent geo-crystal miners for the Divine, it never crossed her mind that her board members would banter around such crude and impolite concepts.

"Luxjin, I have a great deal of regard for you, but please do not call me stupid or mention my mother in any way." Locke, the head of the Divine's resource division, had requested this gathering to talk about the dip in imports recently—especially Luxjin's contribution. "You haven't been able to demonstrate any growth in your field. I'm going to suggest that we cut back workers from two hundred fifty to one hundred thirty-two."

Luxjin heaved a sigh of frustration and directed her gaze away from the hologram figures to the wooden floor of her office. Her pale lavender skin seemed to reflect the blue light emanating from the holograms, while her emerald eyes held a displeased glare. Her small antennas and pointed ears drooped in disbelief as her colleagues discussed the implications their industry might face if she allowed her slaves to be reduced.

She was not one to succumb; Auzins had never allowed themselves to be subjected to a lower specimen and forced into a life of misery. Even when their home planet was on the brink of destruction, they were strong. She found herself a sense of purpose, and it almost made her feel human.

Luxjin raised her head and glared menacingly at Locke. "This is absurd," she said with a spark of rage. "I earned my position here because of my contribution in securing Requiem for the Divine. So before you make any decisions that could affect me, you should run it by Michael!"

The members stared in silence, eyes wide in shock.

"That's what I assumed. It's tough to do my job well with all the snow falling; unfortunately, I'm not a weather witch and can't make it stop. Forgive me for that."

"Of course," Arnold began but stopped as he was cut off.

Luxjin strides confidently around the curved, white hologram table. Her black stiletto heels emit a thunderous sound as she moves, and her long white dress billows behind her, brushing up the minuscule dirt particles scattered throughout the room. Her posture was proud, and her head was held high as she issued her demand.

"We have all been working hard. I'm pretty sure we've all made mistakes—just not me. I cannot afford to make any foolish errors." Her statement evoked a collective eye roll from all board members. "When we chose to take responsibility for our government and their religious and military actions, we promised to ourselves that we would not fail our leader and her loyal followers. I am not trying to be the villain here, so please don't turn me into one!"

Arnold stands tall before Luxjin, his navy blue suit and golden buttons making him appear authoritative. He has thick red hair, which he nervously runs through his fingers as he speaks. His voice is confident, but his posture is timid, and he is constantly attempting to stand up straight. His gaze meets hers intently, giving her an assertive yet respectful look. "No one wants to be the bad guy here. A person with a keen mind—like yourself—can understand that. If you start to fall behind, then all of us look bad. It starts to concern our department."

"We don't like that." Locke stated, biting his finger with his lower lip.

Luxjin darts her eyes at him and a fake smile. "Of course you wouldn't. How about I make a deal with all of you? To ensure progress."
"Proceed." Arnold said.

"If you see no improvement in the production of these shiny things by the end of the second month, you can take two hundred of my slaves and leave me with fifty."

The end of Locke's lip lifted slightly. Working as a miner for almost two decades now, Arnold understood the importance of having more than a hundred Nephilm at his disposal. Anything under that is financial suicide.

"But, you'll be bankrupt soon after." Arnold noted.

Luxjin makes her way back to her seat, placing her heels on the table, glitching the other's connection to her for a brief moment.

"Ah, yes, I know." She said in a wise tone. "That's how sure I am of my success. I can tackle this like no one else. My people always win, as evidenced by the past nine months." She folded her hands together and looked at both men. She spotted the third member, Astra, showing some concern. "Oh, forgive Astra, I forgot you were here. Such a quiet one. Do you object to my ultimatum?"

The elderly lady had a soft face with deep wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Her gray hair was wispy, and her skin was a pale white. She wore a shawl around her shoulders that gave her a slight, graceful outline. Her posture remained stooped but steady as she glanced around the room. "I have no objection." She said in a low tone.

"Fantastic!" Luxjin said with enthusiasm. "It seems our discussion has concluded. It was an absolute pleasure speaking to each of you. Don't be a stranger." She watched as Locke's and Arnold's images dissipated into nothingness while the elderly woman lingered. "Yes, Astra?"

The elderly woman slowly tugged the hood of her cloak up and over her head, obscuring her face in shadow. She gracefully draped the thin fabric around her shoulders, her hands trembling slightly as she pulled the clasp closed. Her silhouette was bent yet dignified, an eternal reminder of strength and wisdom. "Forgive me for staying," she states. "I know a lady of your brilliance has much work to finish."

"It's all good. Anything for you. You're the only confidante I have here. The one I confide my deepest secrets to." Luxjin said.

"You're too kind. And too blind in your ego. Locke preys on your downfall." Astra said.

"I know," Luxjin replies, "and I'm most certainly not going to prove his prayers right. I can handle him. He's an ego magnet after all. Besides, his karma is due. It's bound to come to him any day now."

"And what of yours?" Astra asked. Luxjin gulps and turns her face away from her friend. "Ah, you have no idea, I see. Well, I've come with a set of news I fear I must warn you of."

Luxjin turns back to the old lady, ears eager to listen. "What is it?"

"There's been killings going on near the East, South, and West. All of those dead at the hands of a singular person."

"Who is it?"

"No one knows. Whoever it is has death on their side. All of the victims died in brutal manners. No one's safe, I'm afraid."

"Why warn me? I'm protected and armed?"

"Whoever they are, it has my Spirit scared." Astra reveals her lapis pendant, glowing brighter than normal. "And it's calling out to you to play a part in Requiem."

Luxjin's usually bright and vibrant green eyes quiver as her hands start to shake slightly. A chill runs down her body, giving her a sudden chill all over. Her antennae, usually in their soft curl, lift up sharply, looking like a nervous cat's back when it's scared. "Thank you for the warning. I'll be sure to stay alert. Good day, Astra. May She be with you."

"Goodbye, Lux. May She look over you." The old woman said before signing off.

Once she's alone, Luxjin rummages through the shelves by the side of the table, her eyes quickly scanning the documents and letters from the general. She then stops when she finds her Beretta 92, a sleek and black handgun with a reassuring heft in her hands. The gun glints in the light, showing off its powerful capabilities and the sharp crystal bullets inside. She goes to the balcony, breathlessly. The balcony overlooks a vast field—gigantic, half-naked Nephilim working relentlessly in the snow-covered ground. The twenty-two-foot-tall creatures are focused solely on collecting large crystals from the ground and putting them into a crate, not daring to look up at the mansion on the hill out of fear of more discipline. The Nephilim move with efficiency, their muscles bulging the more snow hits their sensitive skin.

Luxjin places her palm on the barrel of the gun and utters a silent prayer, wishing that she may not be taken by death's cold embrace so soon. She has so much to do, to contribute and create; it feels wrong that such an outcome would befall her in her youth.

It's not fair, Anita thought as she surveyed the large mansion perched atop the hill. Its tall towers and grand façade are a stark contrast to the vast field of working Nephilim below. The elegant structure seemed almost out of place in the desolate landscape, a reminder of the unfairness of life.

Being here, on the plantation of an obnoxious geo-crystal miner, was seven months in the making. She's gone down millions of leads, but each person has yet to give her anything close to the truth. All she could think about was avenging herself, even if it meant killing.

Since the day in Requiem when it all began, she'd had capabilities that were never with her when she was younger.

Gratefully, they assisted Anita in her search for the last person who could unlock the mysteries of the door. Luxjin had been a nobody before being appointed to the esteemed and influential role of hauler. After weeks of research, Anita determined that this extraterrestrial had not earned her luxurious and secure lifestyle; she had simply been connected with someone who'd bestowed it upon her, such as him.

Luxjin has too much to risk if she does not conform, Anita thought.

This is a dumb idea, the voice in her head said. Your dumbass is gonna get caught this time.

"You said that last time," Anita mumbled as the snow delicately fell onto her bright pink hoodie with ripped sleeves. "You never stop. If I could kill myself, I would."

Trust me, I wish you could. End us both, and everyone's happy. We'll have nothing but constant darkness, the voice replied. Do you have any idea what your approach is going to be?

"I'll go in there," Anita said, nodding to the mansion, "rush into whatever room she's in—hopefully she's not in the bedroom with company like the last guy—and demand she answer me like I did with the others."

Wow, how mental can you be? The voice asked. Other than having me in your head. Word of your sloppiness must have gotten around. Someone must have noticed the pattern of it too. Wanna bet that alien is armed with an itching finger?

Despite how annoying she found this nuisance to be, Anita knew it was right. She left a body trail for idiots to go and snitch to others. The entire planet must have known about her late-night activities. Sloppiness leaves room for chaos and death, she remembered, but she can't picture when the phrase was ever muttered to her.

"I don't care," she declared. "I'll improvise in the event of that."

Better prepare your body for what's to come.

Anita squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to block out any trace of uncertainty she felt as she moved towards the plantation.

Closing her eyes, she could feel the tiresome groans of the workers. She believed them to be the Nephilm; any kind of hard labor that could be done through the means of imprisonment required them. She opened them and moved past them swiftly.

Not swiftly enough, as she fell on the quake of their footsteps. She looked up with her hands muddled in snow, glancing at the hulking Nephilim as he grasped a cluster of crystals in his hand.

At first the giant didn't notice her. When he spotted the pink blur on the ground breathing slowly, the creature looked at her with strangeness, as if he had never seen a girl of her age before. His large brown eyes squinted at her; his chubby cheeks pulled away from the grin on his face. His blonde hair spilled onto his forehead and shone like sunlight.

He tilted his head, his eyes puzzled by a newcomer. "Walk with me, child," he said in a husky low tone. "I don't mean any harm, but my keeper might."

Anita stood by his feet and fawned over him to make sure he felt her presence. He dropped off the crystals into a cart similar to his size with great deliberation, taking time to notice each piece of ore that passed into his hands. Each geo-crystal was a diamond in the rough, a cutting of an uncut gem waiting to be set into jewelry.

Her boots were dampened by the gray dirt and lifeless plants. The entire field looked like ashes of the deceased. Dead vines sluggishly crept along the ground, and parasitic mosses clung to anything that had enough water to drink.

The gloominess of the environment shaped the already established depression the Nephilim faced. She walked through the cemetery of nature, mourning what could have been a wondrous place to sit and have a picnic whilst reading a book.

"Can you hear me?" Anita said as her eyes wandered to the mansion, thinking about how to move closer.

"Yes, I can." The giant proclaimed. "My ears are so sensitive that I can hear any noise within earshot, but my voice cannot be heard by anyone present here. Are you the one they speak of? The angel of death?"

Told you

Anita paused briefly. "No, sadly. I'm no saint, just an ordinary girl who wants to gain knowledge."

"What girl with a sense of normality would be here? Especially one whose home is far from here?" The giant asked, picking up another cluster of crystals.

"How can you tell I've come a long way?" Anita inquired.

"Your attire. Aren't you cold?"

Now that he mentioned it, she was feeling kind of chilly. A pink crop top hoodie with ripped sleeves, a sky blue shirt, jeans that hung from the waist with emojis drawn all over them, and black boots wasn't exactly winter clothing. She didn't think the weather would be such a bother for her.

"Aren't you? You're nearly naked. You only have a cloth wrapped around you." Anita replied, eyeing the large potato sack that looped around shoulders and down to his waist

"I have grown accustomed to this hell." The giant replied. "All I do is gather these things, as it is my purpose. Do you have purpose in your life?"

Anita paused for a moment. "Only one. I need to get near the house. Can you help me?"

"What do I get in exchange?" The giant promptly asked, still working to wear off suspicion.

"Your freedom," Anita said. "I promise you that."

The giant looked around at his brethren as they laboriously bore the scarlet crystals over their heads, settling them down one piece at a time in a never-ending cycle. "When I say go, you will run past these giants. Use their shadows to be invisible. You have five seconds to move past each one. If you're fast enough, you should make it to the back door, but that's always locked." He spoke with excitement and haste. His heart is warm with the hope of freedom.

Anita eyed the mansion. "I can make it to the front."

"Yes, but the guards."

"I can handle them."

"Very well."
The giant gazed calmly upon the hundreds of his kin picking up crystals. When everyone had a respectable amount, he gave the single corresponding nod, and Anita sprinted like there was no tomorrow, her legs moving gracefully as she rushed past the slaves and their large shadows. The moment her face touched the moonlight, she instantly slipped back into the darkness.

She felt bionic as she climbed up the hilltop. She managed to fight through the incline. She didn't want to draw attention from above, so she moved out of view as quickly as possible, veering around small bushes that dotted the landscape the closer she got.

She halted and ended up slamming herself into the back door. She tried to open it, but it was locked as expected. She moved around the corner with her thighs aching and saw three guards patrolling the front.

Do you have any smart ideas to handle them? The voice asked in a mocking tone. Anita lifted the back of her hoodie and took out one of her ring blades. Its sharp edges and cold metal tingled her fingers as her grip tightened. As much as I would like to see that, all you'll do is bring attention to yourself.

She put the weapon back and took a small smoke bomb out from her pockets. The label at the front described the effects of inhaling it. Not what she typically resorts to, but it'll do.

Knockout gas, the voice noted. Smart. Make sure to not throw it hard.

"I'm not that dumb." Anita whispered

Now let's not say things we don't mean.

Inhaling a sharp breath, Anita tossed the smoke bomb in the direction of the patrol guards. It rolled over to them and extinguished as it hit one of their boots. They breathed in the air around them and soon flopped to the ground. Taking advantage of this, she advanced forward and snatched the keys from one of their belts. Unlocking the door with haste, she stepped inside the mansion.

She paused in awe of the home. The grand staircase up was excellent; the walls were firm with angelic wallpaper. It led to solid doors with a richly carved angelic pattern that she longed to trace with her fingertips as she walked past them. The carpeting was fresh and looked new. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling hovered over the stairwell like a frozen raindrop, shining light peacefully on those who gazed at it. She breathed the scent of polish and rare wood—a rich scent on a cold winter night left out for too long. She longed for a life of certainty or security. A life where others would judge her and wish for her to diminish. She knew she'd never have that if her questions were never answered.

As she glanced to her side, there it was. A metallic door marked with a bold "Monitors." Without hesitation, she pushed the door open and stormed in. An older man sat hunched over the wall of screens, his brow furrowed in concentration. For a moment, she balked—perhaps she could have scared him away without resorting to such force. But before her mind had time to think, her hand raised and struck like a speeding bullet, knocking him unconscious on the leather chair.

Anita had no chance to feel sorry for the unfortunate fellow on the lower floor—she had a mission to complete upstairs. Snatching her gun from behind her, she rushed up the steps as quietly and swiftly as possible.

Your stealth skills are improving, the voice said in shock. This outsider has no idea what's coming.

Anita slipped through the first seven doors as quickly as possible, working her way down the small hallway that led to the last door. Light filtered into the hall from underneath it, creating an oval of spillage. A shadow paced around on the other side of the doorframe, making several passes before slowing down. She reached out and held onto the doorknob, feeling its cool surface against her palm. Her heart was beating so fast she could feel its pulse in every part of her body. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Don't wimp out now. You journeyed so far for this.

Her fingers hovered over the doorknob, fighting against her inner voice that warned her of what was to come. She reluctantly twisted the knob and pushed open the door. The room was dimly lit, but she could make out a figure in the corner of a wide hologram table.

Luxjin stared at Anita, her eyes wide and full of fear. The miner carefully aimed the barrel of her gun at the intruder's head. Anita raised hers too, though she knew it was too late—she saw the tension in the blue finger on the trigger.

Instantly, a red hole appeared in her forehead, and she felt the bullet tear through her skull.

In the instant of impact, her body was saying this was a good day to die. She could hear the woman who'd killed her let out a quiet laugh. Anita shut her eyes and smiled at death. This miner had been nervous waiting for them to come through the door; she hadn't thought it would lead to a fatal injury.

Fortunately, death has little meaning to Anita De La Cruz Spolar.

Blood poured from her forehead as she grasped at the spot where the bullet had made a large hole.

But miraculously, in only a few moments, the wound had closed up and her fractured skull was already mending itself. Luxjin watched with concern from across the hologram table; fifteen spent shells were scattered around her feet. But Anita barely noticed them as she healed faster than ever before—Luxjin had only been able to make body shots.

She got up, aiming her gun at Luxjin with a steady hand. "Was that necessary?" She asked.

"How are you still alive? I shot you in the head!" Luxjin exclaimed.

"You want a cookie for that?" Anita asked, shooting the gun off the alien's hand and on the floor.

Luxjin's eyes quivered as she looked at the girl, who made a spitting sound and stared back with utter loathing. She wondered what and why the girl was here. Was she an employer of Locke? Or was this personal? One look into the superhuman eyes told Lux that it was personal. "Who are you?"

"I'm a person who's exhausted and won't do you any harm. If that's your biggest concern, I can assure you it'll be my only worry." Anita said, walking closer to Luxjin. The night shone on the crystal miner's skin, reflecting on Anita's face like an ethereal glow.

Luxjin stood ready as Anita cautiously advanced, her heart pounding in her chest. The young girl's healing factor was remarkable, but she didn't have the strength to back it up. Luxjin—being an Aukzin, possessing extraordinary strength compared to Earthlings—lunged forward and wrenched the pistol from Anita's grip. She pummeled her with each powerful blow and kick until blood started to stream down Anita's nose.

Desperate, Anita grabbed Luxjin's arm and applied pressure with all her might, only to hear a sickening crack as her bones broke under Luxjin's strength. With a sharp pop of her hand against Anita's face, Luxjin threw her across the room into the shelves.

As a stack of papers tumbled from the desk, the voice reverberated through the room in an unmistakable rage. You let the ring blades cut through this nobody! You stupid girl!

Anita moved quickly, her eyes ablaze and her ring blade glinting in the light. Luxjin's eyes widened in surprise as Anita lunged forward and sliced her abdomen—a jagged line of agony that gushed emerald-hued blood onto the floor and stained Anita's pink sweater. Luxjin groaned in pain, both hands desperately pressing against the wound to stem its flow.

Don't stop there!

With a terrible crunch, Anita's foot shot up and collided with Luxjin's chin, sending her crashing into the cold hardwood floor. She thrashed around in misery, her teeth flying out of her mouth. Her hands reached for her throat, anxiously attempting to ease the anguish.

Anita looked down at her with scorn in her eyes. The gaze was one of absolute nothingness for Luxjin, a lack of emotion that seemed to elude her.

Anita gritted her teeth and stabbed the ring blade into Luxjin's wound, bracing herself as she applied more pressure. She lowered the body gently onto the table, the miner's fingers trembling with exhaustion as she tried to wrestle the blade out of his flesh.

Blood seeped through Luxjin's gloves, making them slick, but she refused to give up. Her once-impressive strength ebbed away with each passing moment.

As she fought to keep the blade steady, waves of dizziness washed over her. She knew that if she lost consciousness now, all would be lost. With renewed determination, she set her jaw and pulled harder, desperation lending her strength.

"I was trying to be civil about this," Anita uttered, her words coming out nonchalantly yet steeped in rage. "But you decided that wasn't the route you wanted to take. I hope you don't have a suicidal goal."

"Do you!?" Luxjin shouted. "Killing me will only bring more attention to your presence. The Divine will be looking for you from now on!"

"Like I care," Anita answered coldly, pushing the ring blade even deeper into the injury. "What was your involvement with Requiem eight months ago?"

Luxjin winced as the pain of her internal bleeding traveled up her esophagus.

"Answer me!"

"I can't right now," Luxjin said through clenched teeth.

"This isn't the time for jokes!

Her body felt numb and unresponsive, so Luxjin muttered, "I was on assignment with millions of other Auzkins. Why don't you chase after them?"

"Because none of them hold my interest like you do," came the reply. "Who gave you the assignment?"

"The person who will cut your neck open if he finds out about this," Luxjin seethed angrily. "Who?!"

Luxjin fell and clasped her palm over her mouth as scorching acid rose up and poured forth. She could taste the corrosive tang of blood on her lips and felt it stream down her neck and shoulders, coloring her attire a horrid vibrant red.

"Michael Gunner!" The name was caught in her throat as she coughed and spat blood onto the floor.

"Where is he?" Anita pleaded but with no response. Luxjin's eyes conveyed helplessness and mercy.

You know what to do now, the voice said.

Anita felt a great weight on her chest as she considered what she needed to do. She knew it was necessary, but the thought of taking someone else's life terrified her. She tried desperately to accept the awful reality of what was taking place, but she just couldn't. She closed her eyes and took a long breath, her muscles tensing as they were far more used to it than she was.

Gripping the blade tightly, Anita sliced it across Luxjin's throat as blood poured out. The alien convulsed and twitched as her diminishing strength was going to save her. In a matter of seconds, Luxjin the miner was reduced to a lifeless being—a vessel of what used to be.

A single teardrop rolled down Anita's cheek as she left the scene, ambling past the sleepy guards on her way back to the crystal fields.

......

"Have you accomplished what you came here to do?" The Nephilim asked as Anita approached him, her gaze drawn to the chain that bound him to the field and spanned over the entire space. He gave out a slight smile as he smelled her acidic, pungent blood. He already knew the answer. "Oh, my child! Why do you appear dissatisfied?"

Ignoring all sounds around her, Anita concentrated on freeing each of these miserable creatures. She tore the chain apart and did the same to each slave, taking hours to complete as her mind processed what to do next.Her thoughts remained numb to everything apart from what she failed to do in this icy dusk.

With a heavy heart, she approached the creature that seemed to have answers to her questions. Could this loathsome being hold the key to her past—the eight long months that remained so heavily shrouded in mystery? Would it explain why she sometimes felt like an alien in her own skin, as if she had been sleeping for centuries? Was this all a result of some baneful curse, or was there something darker driving her misery and confusion? With these thoughts clouding her mind, she prayed desperately for a resolution—Luxjin was her solution. And now she is nothing but short, awaiting a funeral.

By the time the hundreds of Nephilim were unchained and ready to vacate their oppressive land that they had been held in since birth, the sun was gracing the gray land with its crisp, yellow warmth.

"You may go now. I give you all the liberty to roam freely without exchanging your servitude to me." She announced in a defeated tone. The ground rumbled as the giants marched out of the crystal field, stepping on the giant minerals and turning them to a puddle of sparkling dust.

The Nephilim stood and waited for the girl to come to his bent-out hand. "Let me take you home, child," he said. "It's the least I could do for you."

Anita sighed. "I don't need that. Besides, I live in New York City. You take me there, and you're basically a dead man."

The Nephilim grabbed her gently and placed her on his shoulder. "Then I shall take you to the nearest train station through whatever means."

"You don't have to do that." Anita replied, clutching onto the behemoth's hair as she slightly lost balance. Because she could heal from any injury—which included great falls—doesn't mean she liked it.

"I insist! My name is Juud. And yours?" He said as he took his very first steps as a newly freed man.

"Juud? I thought giants didn't have names." Anita asked, admiring the view and memorizing the great detail of the beauty the sun touched as it rose higher into the horizon.

"We're not. I gave myself that name. I like it greatly. It makes me unique."

Anita chuckled at the thought a large man like himself needed to feel special. "You can crush aircraft with a headbutt. How much more special do you need to be?"

The giant looked down on his unchained leg and smiled. "Taking my first steps of freedom will do. I suppose what's next will last in this new life."

Anita laid her head on the side of Juud's cheek, tired and disappointed. She admired the man's optimism, a characteristic that she yearned for. How could someone who endured so much pain see the bright side of life? She assumed it took a great deal of wisdom and determination to keep the soul from shattering into millions of pieces. She walked on those shards every day, grunting as the complexity of being pierced her skin like a needle. "Do you have any hope for the future?"

Juud pondered as if the question were asked in a foreign language. "Yes, I do."

Anita sat up straight and turned to him despite him being oblivious to it. "Really?"

"Yes, child. I was made to harvest unnatural resources for the amusement of immoral followers. I had not learned to read, bathe, or sing. I was taught to talk and trained to learn hope, as it is my salvation. I hath not a single thing but hope to keep me sane."

Hope is for the naive, Anita reflected. I don't have the luxury to participate in it. She kept her eyes on the sky and refrained from brooding and instead enjoyed the sweet air as the hot yellow rays touched the snow's surface.

PART ONE

The only purpose available

North Africa, the Sahara Desert

Chapter 1: The Scent Of Aggression

Tatia Le Rouge, councilwoman of the Coven of Enlightenment, fashioned herself a glass cup of whiskey on ice the day of the Many Blessings. She wore all white and hid her garnet necklace underneath the collar out of respect.

Being her age, she has been to hundreds of blessings, with each one becoming more and more dreadful.

Her only company was her sister, Sue Betraice, who always took pleasure in discussing with the children before the ceremony, seeing it as her duty to make sure no troubles caused a disturbance on this joyous day. She was instilled with the idea of treachery and death arriving in the worst possible moments, like in the old times. The last thing she needed was another trial by fire and paranoia. Her hand remained scarred with burns, as well as her mind.

Her laughter echoed in the lower, dimmed ballroom as she approached Tatia. She flipped her luxurious, golden blond hair over her shoulder as she greeted her fellow witches with an affectionate smile. Her teeth reflected the light and lit up the room, shifting the atmosphere by her sheer happiness. Her white dress scattered the dirt around the polished oak wood floor and stained its edges, but she didn't care.

"Smile, Tatia. There's no reason why you shouldn't." She said with glee. Her white heels halted beside Tatia's white boots as she fashioned herself water. "The children are almost ready. You should see their eagerness. It is really cute. Reminds me of us."

Tatia rolled her eyes and took a sip of her drink. "You're forgetting who was there that day too." She snarled. She patted her white suit down and leaned on the bar's counter, her hair lying on the metal table.

"The memory of our father shouldn't ruin today." Sue responded.

"It does for me. It gives me shivers just picturing it." Tatia replied. "Why must we do this? A blessing ceremony is outdated and dull. If these witches and warlocks are the next generation, they shouldn't be introduced to these silly events."

Sue laughed with annoyance. Though she wasn't as rich as she was in her former life, the lessons on proper manners and etiquette never strayed away. She acted with class and felt elite, something her sister's ignorance couldn't shake off with negative comments. "Our traditions make our community stronger, sister. The stronger we are, the better it is for us. We are a very fragile collective these days."

"Yeah, and soft." Tatia mused. "We back down on a conflict faster than you can fake a smile."

Sue sighs, stroking her hair and fixing it up; she feared her sister's arrogance was affecting her physical appearance. Lifting the glass cup, she stared at her reflection; her brown complexion was radiant, and her hair was a mirror of the sun's rays. "Conflict leads to persecution."

Tatia nodded. "Can't argue there." She slammed her glass drink on the counter and proceeded to walk away. Any further communication with such an intoxicating preppy sorceress made her brain feel numb. Her eyes scanned the large area, and her ears picked up on the chatter. Most were celebratory; the others were just gossip. Both are utterly meaningless to eavesdrop. For now, the old witch focused on the decorated room and the crystals that floated in the sky, providing light and a sense of belonging. Waiters passed out drinks and small snacks. Eager witches, sorceresses, sorcerers, and warlocks stalked them in an attempt to get a piece of the beraxic flares—a mouthwatering sweet made of chocolate and spices of the old world. It's a wonder whether most of the coven came to show respect to the newest generation of the magical community or for the sweet itself.

Taking a piece of baraxic flare and enjoying the delicious melting chocolate at the tip of her tongue, Tatia made her way to the star of the show—the Pits of Cristal. The sinkhole stood in the far back of the room, humming in grace and magical power, awaiting to be used by any mystical creature. She managed to go through the crowd, giving fake smiles to companions she despised and thought little of, and made it to the foot of it. Peeking her head down, she could see the sides covered with trillions of colorful crystals, emitting rays of energy that soothe her skin more than any lotion.

Her garnet necklace glowed crimson. She held back the sudden urge to cast a spell, as it was disrespectful to do so on a day like this. She would have to wait for her part in the ceremony. "Blessed be," she muttered. She turned her head at the call of a name. Her face lit up at the sight of her dearest friend, George Montanna.

He was neither wizard nor warlock but was welcomed to visit the coven at any given time. They had been his estranged family for three years now.

"Georgie!" Tatia exclaimed, jumping in joy. She hugged him and popped his broken arm straight. "Forgive me for that. I haven't seen you in so long." She grabbed a couple of beraxic flares by the passing waiter and handed some to him. "I know you missed these."

"You know me," George said.

"What brings you here? Not that I'm mad to see a familiar, likable face. Now I don't feel like killing myself."

George nodded over to the bar, to where Susan stood, surrounded by more witches. "Sue invited me. Telling me that if I don't come, then you're going to be pissed through the entire event."

An eye roll wasn't enough to express her disdain. "Of course she did. You know her, always trying to look out for me. Even when it's an inconvenience."

"It's not. I'm glad to be back. Shocked, I remember my way around. Remind me again, what are we celebrating?"

"The Many Blessings. It's a way for the younglings to become big witches or warlocks, basically. Since they reached their potential in their studies and are no longer admirers of our craft. They'll be accepted into the coven now. Maybe respected. I don't know. The sorcerers are always mean to them."

"Aren't you a sorceress?"

"Exactly. I know how mean I'll be to them after today."

George chuckled. "Funny."

"I know."

She struggled to contain her happiness. She had no need to show the coven that she was a person that expressed the same emotions as them. What would that give her? Empathy? She never needed it. She'd rather be regarded as the rude sorceress, the topic of gossip. Makes her relevant. Better than impersonating a preppy girl.

"How are you?" She felt obligated to ask.

"I feel good. I'm better now." George said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Everything's fine."

That was a lie. She always knew when someone lied to her. Her gut clenched and her skin became dry whenever a lie was cast. The only spell anyone could cast. Dishonesty was a magic of itself in the air. It wasn't a perk of being a maroon practitioner. More like a skill developed over the years.

After years of developing this skill, she learned never to reveal the lie on the spot. The person has to ease into the truth themselves. A grueling process to be aware of.

"That's good. I'm glad you're ok now."

Susan approached them, her hands lying on George's shoulders. "Hi, Georgie. Thank you again for showing up." She played with his hair, knowing he didn't like it. "Soft hair. Um, Tatia?"

"Yes?" Tatia asked, annoyed.

"It's time. You're needed."

"When aren't I?" She ate the last of her treats quickly.

"Classy as always," Susan remarked

"As always." Tatia smiled. "Bye, Georgie. This is going to be two seconds."

"About twenty-five seconds."

"Shut up, Susan. Let's just hurry this up now.

The sister left George in the crowd that began to shuffle around near the Pit. The witches circled the hole in eagerness. The rest of the council members circled around the witches at a far distance. The lights dimmed down, and the Pit glowed brighter.

Tatia sneered at the sight of the three other members. She hated them more than her own sister. Standing a few inches apart, her skin crawled at the feel of their smugness and condescension. The rank of council member intensified their already insufferable egos.

"Members of our coven," Susan announced. Her voice was loud and full of excitement. "I am glad to have all of you here to witness the growth of our craft. Our values."

Tatia scoffed. Alternative magic was one of Susan's obsessions when she was younger. She acts like she forgot that, but deep down those words burn a part of her. A burn on her lapis jeweled choker cannot mend.

"For eight years, these young practitioners have been...blessed—yes, that is the appropriate word—with their time here. They did not waste their time nor take advantage of the rare opportunity given. They were determined to be their best selves. Reaching their potential. Now, the Coven must help them increase that potential and provide them with the love and nourishment that they deserve. Does any sorcerer or sorceress object to this ruling and invitation on the grounds of safety or worthiness?"

For once, the Coven stood silent. Shocking given how mostly all the coven members loved to talk. Either gossip or studies. Tatia enjoyed the quiet seconds, wishing for them to be eternal.

"Great," Susan said, ignoring the boredom on her sister's face and focusing her attention on the witches, "now to the people responsible for this gathering. Young Practitioners."

"Yes." All five of them yelled in unison.

"I love that enthusiasm."

I don't, Tatia thought, slouching her back and checking her nails.

Susan sighed and hid her frown. "Please, recite the oath that you have studied for the past eight years."

Not this bullshit. My nails can't keep me entertain for that long

The five young practitioners all took in a deep breath, as if the oath were a heavy burden when said. They stood up straight and presented themselves proudly. "Within the universe and myself, I promise to express my will for the safety and sanctity of the coven! I give myself to the people that have molded it to the greatness it is! I'll value the universe and never neglect it. I make myself the source of my own power and nothing more!"

"Beautiful," Susan said, her eyelid holding a tear. It fell down her cheek like a raindrop hitting a window. "You may now call forth your crystal from the Pit. Council, our last deed to these practitioners may begin."

"Last deed? I doubt that." Tatia muttered.

"Not now, sister." Susan whispered.

Tatia's lips lifted on each end as she and the other council members raised their arms, making a triangle with their fingers. Quietly but loud enough to hear, the five council members and practitioners recited one of the old spells of the coven. One that was discovered and enforced around the time of its formation.

"Benedicitur magicae

Benedictus a me

Benedicatur in universum."

The garnet necklace shimmered brighter. Tatia's body surged as the magical energy contained in it amplified. She glanced over at Susan to see her lapis jeweled choker glowing, lighting up her face blue.

The ballroom rumbled slightly, and the Pit hummed as if it was expressing its joy. A rainbow beam shot out from me, casting a shock wave that hit everyone with a strong force of air. Coming out of the rainbow were five crystals, one going to the practitioners, each one different. A garnet, lapis, amethyst, calcite, and quartz.

Of course the garnet crystal went to the scrawniest of the bunch. The Pit chooses the ones who always need to rebrand themselves. To make themselves stronger. Having a garnet crystal means that the user must practice maroon, the magic that makes the user a living arsenal of weapons. Toughing up is not a suggestion for a garnet user—it's a need!

Now she had to be this poor guy's mentor. Being the most skilled maroon user made her the best to learn from. Having been using this magic for over a thousand years, she's created a reputation for herself. Everyone from her family has. The good and the bad.

"Congrats! All of you! Welcome to the Coven. We are glad to have you." Susan said.

And just like that, the ballroom commenced in talking, filling up the room with their chatter and gossip. Tatia could already guess what was being said. The speaking down of witches and their inability to be born with magic, just the potential to learn it. Most sorcerers and sorceresses hated witches being properly taken in by the coven. They despised them for studying their craft.

Tatia had no energy to care so much about that. Whether newcomers were born with magic or had to learn it, the coven was still filled with conceited, arrogant people. It was a disease one gets once taken in. No quarantine was strong enough to stop it.

"Seriously?" Susan said, scorning her sister like a mother. "Can't you behave for a few seconds? A minute, maybe? Is that such a hard task for you?"

"I think so, Mother." Tatia wickedly smiled. "I hope I don't get grounded for misbehaving. Don't take dinner away from me."

Susan took a breath and smiled, turning away before Tatia saw how forced the expression was. "Very mature. Don't you think that's a little childlike for your age?"

Tatia took a deep breath, turning away and copying the same mannerism. But she wanted Susan to see how forced the expression looked. "Don't you think you shouldn't care about how proper you are at your age? Once you reach up to me, caring is an option. A boring, unreliable option."

"You said, like Katrina, sister."

Tatia felt a sudden breeze of disbelief as those words sank in. "But I'm alive, and she's not. Oh, and of course, I'm not crazy!"

Susan shoved her arm. "Quiet down."

"I will when you don't say stupid shit." Tatia snarled and walked away.

George walked over to her, whiskey on ice in his hands. "Drink." He said, knowing she was going to need it.

She took it without a second thought and took a long sip. "Thanks." She eyed down on his thumb, damaged with second-degree burns on the top near the nail. She grabbed it and inspected the wound. "What happened here?"

"I got burned." He said it as if it was a known fact.

"No shit, Sherlock. I'm asking for the how."

"Work. I work with fire."

"You're a fireman?"

"Yup, in the Bronx."

"The Bronx? And my sister had you traveling all the way over here?"

"It was pretty simple, given that the new bullet train is insanely fast. I got here in ten hours."

"A bullet train?" For the longest time she roamed the Earth; there was no train that could come from the messy city of New York to the desert in West Africa. Technology rarely improved in the matter of centuries to show such improvements in traveling. "Who constructed this?"

George shrugged. "It's the only train that travels that fast. Susan brought the ticket for me. If I didn't wake up from my nap, I would've ended up in Requiem."

Tatia nodded. "Interesting. I thought the Divine had no domain in the Bronx yet."

"They don't. Plans were just put in place, I guess.

"Strange."

The ballroom shook violently. Everyone lost balance and almost tripped over. A loud, aggressive hum rang in everyone's ears. Tatia turned to the Pit. It stood silent, unbothered. Another shock happened, the ballroom erupting in screams. Tatia turned to Susan and nodded to the door, which vibrated harshly.

Rushing out with the crowd following, the sisters exited the castle, splashing the baby blue waters that followed the desert sand and flowed downward to the sunken pool underneath the structure. The humming grew louder, like some heavy machinery was near, bringing in trouble the coven desperately avoided. Past the structures of old witches that slowly eroded to the piles of rock they once were and the crystals that were planted into the ground for protection, the sisters saw what was disturbing the Many Blessings.

Tatia groaned. "Oh, you got to be fucking kidding me."

Susan eyed up a military craft, big enough to be confused for a UFO. It hovered over the sand that separated itself from the watery grounds of the area, pushing sand onto the sisters as they stood there. The craft was large enough to fly through a city and remained intact. It held guns that pointed downwards on the roof and wings. Painted white and gold with the image of an eye and snake, the coven knew exactly who visited them. No other independent nation throughout the universe had that symbol to show their dedication to their government. Nor did they have the money for the craft.

The craft was the Divine.

The people aboard were the Divine.

Susan turned to the crowd, shoved together in anxiety. "They're scared."

"They should be," replied Tatia. The Divine was not a force to approach lightly. Their influence goes beyond Earth to other planets in the known universe, resulting in them being the richest and most influential force on any planet that they are stationed in. The magical community despised them but feared the power they held and presented to the public. The sisters weren't scared—-maybe Susan but not Tatia. They've seen tyrant governments rise and fall, they know how they functioned, how they operate, and how complex their hive mind becomes over the years and eventually dies down to a pathetic government. What worried Susan about them was they haven't withered away for the past two hundred fifty years.

The aircraft opened, and the crowd gasped. Tatia and Susan's eyes confusionally widen at the sight of Doctor Elizabeth Grayson, head of the technologies and laboratories departments. She walked down the floor of the craft that extended outwards and set itself on the sand. A gust of wind and sand picked up but didn't bother her descent down. The sand didn't stick on her, as if it went through her. Behind her were two soldiers, armoring the XO-suits that were just released, despined, built, and manufactured by her, of course.

She strolled down and stopped in the separation between water and sand. She wore a dark a white sleeveless shirt, black and white pants, black and white heels, and a black jacket that was held by her shoulders. Her arms folded neatly, her blond hair tied up in the tightest bun a woman could possibly have, enlarging her brown eyes. The corners of her mouth peeked upwards, yet her eyes remained cold, unlike Susan's, which trembled a mere foot away.

"Tatia, Susan. Lovely to see you," she said, her face stuck on a forced expression.

"Elizabeth. What gives us horrible pleasure?'' Tatia said . Susan turned to her, eyeing her to not start anything at the moment before things got out of hand.

"She doesn't mean that," Susan said. "It's just that you interrupted our ceremony."

"I know I did." Doctor Elizabeth said. "The Many Blessings, is it? I've heard all about it." The edges of her smile tremble as her eyes further detach from the forced expression. "I didn't think you all would care about such a silly tradition." She peeked her head over Tatia. "You got an audience out here. Is that the entire coven? Hi."

Tatia rolled her eyes, rubbing the top of her forehead in exhaustion. "What do you want, Liz?"

"Liz? My friends call me that. We are not friends, obviously."

"Then please, get to the point of this disturbing visit. What do you want?"

"Answers."

"Aren't you a scientist? Isn't it your responsibility to already know every answer?"

"Not everything. When I was told about this, I was greatly troubled. And I had to think really hard about who could cause such instability in the crystal mining business."

"You're seriously calling those things crystals? You made them with whatever chemical was in front of you."

"Yes, yes. It's very clear how you people feel about my works of art. Which makes my suspicions even clearer." Elizabeth leaned in, her smile falling. "Which one of you killed Luxjin?"

Susan's frown raised, and her eyes squinted as if she was trying to find the relationship between the coven and the news she just heard. "Killed? A crystal miner?"

"Yes," Elizabeth replied. "And her Nephilim were freed. Scattered to who knows where. Good, obedient workers, all gone. I'm sure that this coven had something to do with it."

"Why?" Tatia asked.

"Why not?"
"Because of the treaty between the Coven of Enlightenment and the Divine. It prevented us from troubling you in return for peace." Susan explained. "Breaking the treaty would cause conflict between the two of us. Conflict we can't afford."

Elizabeth smiled, sly and mysteriously, hinting at what she truly felt. "The Divine can afford it. And let's not pretend that you haven't broken our treaty. Or found a loophole around it." She glared at Tatia, who stood still.

Susan turned to her sister. "What the hell is she talking about?"

Tatia's teeth gritted. "Nothing. She's just lying some more."

"You know when a person's lying. Your father told me you have a gift for that."

Susan grabbed Tatia's arm. Knowing her sister, Elizabeth was going to have a reason to be lethal any minute now. "We don't know anything about the death of Luxjin. I promised you that. No member of the Coven of Enlightenment would go against the treaty. We have too much respect to even think about doing that. No, if you please."

Elizabeth's eyes disconnected from her face. Rage was present in the pupils despite her smiles remaining up and her hands folded (with a tighter grip than before). "Do not think that there will not be consequences to your actions. You may say you haven't committed anything treacherous. But I know you've had it. Despite my age, I am not stupid. I am much smarter compared to you...ancient ones. This is the beginning. And I'm afraid it's your fault." Her head turned to Tatia, who remained silent and still.

Susan felt her sister's body turn stiff and her heartbeat shake up her bones.

Doctor Elizabeth walked back to the aircraft as the two sorceresses walked back into the castle. Entering with their lungs heavier than before.

"I need to make some calls!" Tatia explained, departing from her sister and the rest of the ceremony. She ignored Susan behind her, left confused and infuriated. She didn't care at the moment; she had to contact the village before any troubles occurred.

Joque sat meditating, having no annoyance for the rough gray grass and disgusting, moist dirt that damaged his garments. He focused on his breath and stillness while people from the village stalked outside their brick houses and watched him like a hawk. Awaiting his companion to arrive, he could feel the village people's nervousness grow as if their eyes were stinging his skin like a needle piercing through. The trees provided him with enough shade and coolness from the sun. Despite being deprived of their nutrients and their ability to become green and healthy, the trees still stood tall. Not strong; a single punch from a toddler could render it into tiny wood chips.

He had no idea how the people could live like this. Their village looked depressing and lifeless. How did they grow crops or supply themselves with water? How do their kids survive in these conditions and not succumb to the illnesses that await them. They needed change that only the Divine could provide.

"Why did they only send their own here?" Questioned a villager," whispering to her friend. She spoke in another language, maybe Tagalog. No matter what tongue she spoke in, Joque's mind registered it in English. Joque's ears perked as she was saying this right near him. "If our home is becoming another fraction of the Divine, wouldn't there be more of him? Tanks, armed men, and those droid thingies. Where are they?"
Joque sensed the other woman shake her head vigorously, slightly turning his head to hear more. "Our mayor won't allow it. He stated it himself two weeks ago. He is not going to be another pawn in the wicked game the Divine has complete control over. They have endless pawns to use and cheat. He swore to us that we would not be added to the collection anytime soon."

"What if that time is soon? Very soon. And outside our village," the first villager said.

Smirking, Joque agreed. The time is now. To reject the resources that the Divine offers to their new allies is a foolish decision. The stupidity to do so is a crime against the people whom the man swore to protect. Who swore to think of them and do what is the best outcome. It's the right thing to do. The only thing to do. Rejection is never an option for the Divine.

The people ran back inside their houses as a coming aircraft flew behind them. It settled in front of Joque, destroying the brittle trees with the raging heat of the engines blasting on them. He got up and stood aside at the entrance of the village, watching the aircraft open and Doctor Elizabeth exit.

Blowing in the presence of his superior, he noted Elizabeth's temper taking hold of her body. Hands fidgeting in anger, murmuring to herself in impatience, and stomping her heels onto the weak soil. "The crafters denied their involvement in Luxjin's death?"

Doctor Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Of course they did. Why can't people just admit their faults?"

"Knowing the Coven of Enlightenment are scholars in their respective community, maybe they did not commit the crime. They avoid any conflict and what we'll do with their craft. They'll die without it. Besides, I've seen the body. That is something an Enlightened crafter would not do to kill. So brutal. Savage-like."

Elizabeth shook her head. "Most of them wouldn't. But Tatia Le Rouge would. Knowing her record, she'll enjoy killing like that."

Joque squinted his eyes, puzzled. "Le Rouge? Is that one of the im-"

The doctor cut him off. "Yes. We'll discuss this later when I feel like educating you on—what do you call this part of the globe? Oh! Beyond history. Right now, I need you to help me convince some uneducated people to live a life that is moderately better than the ones they have now." She looked over to the village. Its brick walls, scarce dirt, and lack of rejuvenation. Gross to believe people live like this out of choice. "Revolting." She inhaled the slightly polluted air, and managed a smile to peek through.

Joque nodded. "Convincing."

"Let's go."

The two walked in the village, waving at those who eyed them through the window or the crack through the doorway. They watched as the people quiveredwith each step. Elizabeth held her smile as if it was a physical feat. She looked displeased in the eyes to be presenting herself as a kindhearted person. Joque knew that she wasn't the type. She was straightforward with no regrets.

The mayor of the village emerged from the two-storied house that lay at the far end of the village, waiting on the steps. Once the two approached him, he bowed in the presence of Elizabeth. "Thank you for agreeing to discuss this matter," he said in a dull tone. "Having to talk it out means very much to me."

Joque focused on the barriers between dialects, shaping it in his mind as two different orbs that needed something to connect them. That connection creates a bridge between people. As a telepath, a man willing to build roads of clarity with the willingness of the mind and all its powers, he was capable of linking the mayor and the doctor, making them understand each other.

"I was intrigued by the call for a meeting, mayor." Elizabeth said, causing the man to be shocked at his understanding of her. "Sorry to catch you off guard. This man—" she nodded to Joque, who stood behind him like a protector, "is my personal translator. A telepath."

The mayor's amazed expression resulted in him stepping back a few steps. "Telepath?" He said it as if Joque were a creature only told of in myths. "Aren't they extinct?"

Doctor Elizabeth smiled and shook her head. "I thought so until he came along. According to him, there are only two of his kind left. He, however, is the only Master of Wills, as he puts it. Telepathic rankings. Confusing and unneeded. Being the busy woman I am, I asked him here to tackle that barrier between us. I will be fluent in your language another day."

"Understandable." The mayor said, eyes filled with skepticism. Telling them that the man did not feel safe in their presence, Joque and Elizabeth follow him into the small building to the only big room at the end of the narrow hallway. Bugs roamed the walls, eating the old wallpaper of golden flowers in order to get a chip off the wood. The building was built from trees outside. Each step cracked and damaged the floor plan more. The mayor tiptoed around until he went into his office. A room with nothing but a desk and two chairs facing across from one another. "Let's get this meeting done with."

Elizabeth sat down. "I agree. Previously when the Divine offered the village an invitation to join us, you declined several times. An impulsive decision, I may say. Do you understand what you're doing to your people?
"My people are doing just fine without a third party being involved, sticking their noses where they don't belong." The mayor said.

"We're the Divine; we have the right to stick our noses in poor places that need it. The second I landed, you know what I saw? Poverty. Famine. Lack of water. As mayor, you should be thinking about what's best for the people. For the children! And mothers!"

The mayor chuckled. "I am doing what's best for my people. I represent their needs, and what they want is to be rid of you. You're a plague to whatever government you strangle. You infect them with your sickness and have them crumble until they end up like you." Joque moved uncomfortably. That simply wasn't true. From the time he's been with the Divine he's seen states, countries, islands changed with a simple agreement or acceptance. "My people are willingly unaccepting your invitation. They chose to be in this state. They would rather suffer under their own control than suffer under yours."

Elizabeth was puzzled. "Within the next hours I could have shipments of food. Apples. Grapes. Bananas. Pastry dishes. Recipe books. Spices. And with those foods I could have stoves installed, electricity, and power. Maybe a nuclear power plant for this village to have the necessary things to prevail. After that water will be everywhere. Your trees and grass would be fertile. Healthy. Who knows? I can make this spot into a cash mine in a couple of weeks. All you have to do is agree to my terms."
"We have friends that could help us out," the mayor noted. "It might take them longer to do so, but at least they respect our decisions."

Elizabeth scoffed. "Who? The Coven of Enlightenment? Ha! They only use you to hide witches near the cliff side west of here."

The mayor's eyes widened. Joque heard the man's thoughts ramble in panic as his body remained calm. "Excuse me?" The mayor said.

"I prefer to not repeat myself." Elizabeth leaned her chair closer to the man, enjoying the stench of anxiety she smelled in him. She enjoyed adding to it. "I know about it. For the past ten months now. I was going to ignore it. A couple dozen witches doesn't sink our numbers or ruin our partnership with our buyer. Yet, after the news of the crystal miner was reported and the coven continued to fib to me, I've grown tired and annoyed."

"Again, I don't know what you are talking about."

She turned to Joque, who scanned the mayor's mind instantly. "He's lying."

"Of course he is." She turned to the man, who began to quake a little. "Once people are confronted with the truth, another lie is told. Which makes me even more annoyed." She smashed her hands on the desk. "Now, I am no longer asking. You've lost the privilege of being asked. I am ordering you. There are no right answers. There is only compliance. This village is going to be a colony of the Divine. We are going to save the people since you have done such a poor job doing so."

The mayor exhaled, inhaling back his courage. He stood up from his chair and looked at Elizabeth in her cold, dead eyes. "No."

"Again, I wasn't asking."

"I do not care what tone you use against me. Or how you disrespect my judgment. No person, no matter how powerful they are, will command me! Get out of my village. Both of you."

"I will destroy you," she said calmly before getting up.

The mayor smiled. His confidence slithered in him again. "You don't scare me. You have no power over this place."

Joque and Elizabeth left the village soon after, as the mayor handed the men of the village 21st-century guns. Elizabeth stepped onto the craft but held a hand out for Joque.

"Yes?" He asked

"You're staying here." She replied.

"You are instructed to wait until twilight occurs.

He nodded in agreement. "I will."

....

A few hours passed, and the sun traveled down the horizon. Joque stood in the shadows of trees, patiently waiting. He allowed the thoughts of the people to pass by him like the wind, analyzing them and trying to understand these people. They were given a choice that betters them as a collective. But denied again and again. People could flourish under the Divine and improve themselves. Yet they continue to leave out of spite. Elizabeth tried to peacefully convince them. If only peace were the answer for everything. Sadly, violence brings more response than compassion. Where he's from, peace and violence are more accepted to enact change. It encourages the community to be better and offers more security. The world—the Beyond—ran on ignorance, stubbornness, and a slew of oversights.

He needed to conform in order to make a difference. A real difference. He watched over the men and laughed at how they held their guns—as if they were heavy and an animal to tame. Their fingers didn't have the itch for the trigger, as many experienced men shared. They were naive children who had no idea how to be grown. They had no strategic patrolling nor thoughts that would ensure them of their protection. If the Divine took the village, they would be more secure.

He could sense the women and children awake and thinking of the men, hoping nothing bad transpired. Knowing that they were up, he was hesitant about his duty. But he knew what would happen and what must come.

The sky was a perfect mash of blue and pink clashing together in a beautiful embrace. He emerged from the shadows and stood in front of the entrance, making his presence known. His white coat swayed to the left as a breeze hit. His blue eyes conveyed sympathy as he raised his hands up before the men could aim at him. He preferred to speak in their minds rather than talk. Being that he'll be the last thing to see, he didn't want to be the last thing they hear. Verbally wise, at least.

I don't mean any harm! He announced, scaring the men, that his voice echoed through their heads without opening his mouth. Surrender and be glad that you are given the privilege of life. The men showed no expression of reflection or consideration. Joque turned his head aside in disappointment. As a skilled telepath, predicting another's move is easy, and the feeling of disappointment remains the same. He envisioned their next actions. Ingrained in his mind like a movie he has seen since childbirth. His body tensed up as the coming conflict needed him to be prepared. His fingers charged up the kinetic energy he learned to master and harness when a fight was imminent.

The men, scared to fire, pulled the trigger in a hit-fire. No aim, they just twirled their guns around the telepath. Joque disappointedly sighed as he dropped his hands, caring little about the bullets coming near him. He looked down on the ground and shook his head, the bullets freezing motionlessly in the air, mere inches away from his face and chest. The men backed away, never having seen such a feat before.

This is all your fault," Joque explained, reaching for a silver rod that hung on his golden belt. I thought that your decisions were out of pride. But, no. They weren't. It was out of your incompetence to accept change.

He lifts the rod out and clicks on a red button that lies on the side, transforming it into a mighty, clean ax that glimmers in the eyes of its newest victims. The bullets turn to tiny pieces of harmless metal, settling down to the soil. He looks around at the people staring. The children begin to tear up. Go inside and cover your ears. He ordered, and they followed. Staring at the men now, he swung his ax with one arm and firmed his grip. Though this was not my intention, I am deeply sorry. I firmly believe, from the depths of my soul, that you would die for a good cause.

The wind blew once again as Joque swung up his ax and leaped. Cutting a man in half in one swing. Blood splattering on his clothes and on the other soldiers. He clenched his weapon from the very choppy bottle. The brain is still active after the moment of death, he remembered from his teachings as an adolescent boy; the final thoughts and passage of neurons happening at their own pace as if they knew that they would no longer do it.

As a telepath, he could hear the flooding thoughts of the man. His memories flashed before his eyes from when he was a boy to now. Joque viewed it all like a slide show while the man's internal voice screamed. As long as the brain functioned, the man would scream until he was truly gone. He stepped on the brain, watching the mushy blob get mushed into a pile of goo. The screaming stopped, and he saw the rest of the men aiming at him.

Please boys, Joque said. You're just making journeys to death much more difficult. Say hello to the Grim Reaper for me.

The men fired again. The bullets bounced off the ax, which he moved around swiftly to avoid being harmed. He managed to use his arms at a fast pace that managed to keep up with the speed of some of the bullets. The other bullets that went past his ear or torso were redirected and fired back into the guns, causing them to explode and launching several men back.

His ax shone purple, which rippled the stainless steel like a pebble hitting water. The ripples touched his skin and caused his veins to take in the color lightly. His eyes dilated as the purple reached his vortex veins. He felt like an animal stalking its prey with hulking strength. The bridge of his nose prickled as the smell of purple reached his nostrils. Invigorating, relaxing, and energizing. Those were the words he associated with the smell of purple. The smell of power. His power.

The scent of kinetic energy charging within him, pumping his cells and adding to his adrenaline to the point that it wasn't a rush; it was power settling in. His telepathy worked more impressively than before. The influx of the small portion of kinetic energy had his mind living in the thoughts of the men and what they planned to do, giving him the ability to think faster than these normal men.

One man approached him, fist up. He swung his fist with enough strength that the air whooshed with each swing. Joque blocked them effortlessly with a subtle move of his ax. The man bangled his fist with the steel but kept on swinging. Joque admired the determination and persistence but was saddened. It's going to take much more than fists to take me down, he explained. He grabbed the man's right arm and glanced over at his left, breaking with a look.

He pushed him back and swung the ax behind him to a man sneaking up on him, pressing it into the man's left leg and taking it out. He turned to face this man, ignoring the blood gushing out of the leg and onto the floor, creating a river stream of red that stained the soil. Joque swung to the right leg; purple rippled from the ax and traveled to the palm of his hand as he connected the steel to the bone. The bent leg was inhumane. That didn't stop him from taking the ax out and swinging again and again and again until his veins were vibrant with kinetic energy. He cut the man's head off and stepped on it until it was a pile of mashed brains and bones like some messed-up potato salad.

Another man charged at him, causing the man to be launched away and crash through a wooden house. He used his telekinesis to run to the man faster, standing menacingly over him before the poor soldier could get up. He swung the ax, applying more strength and more pressure than he had before. The kinetic energy supplied his veins with enough power and confidence to take down an army if he wished. The swings were more violent and bloodthirsty. His rage grew intensely.

Once the man's body was mutilated and stuck into the ground, the man's bones looking like nothing but seeds, he glided over to the center of the village. A wooden house had a huge hole in it where he saw the last of the men. He leaped into the air, high enough to be confused as a missile piercing through the air, and landed in front of the man.

"I beg of you," the man pleaded.

Silent, Joque's eyes shook with kinetic energy, and his body emitted a sound like a machine engine singing in a low tone. Should he let this man free? Set him as an example of the Divine's capability of showing mercy? The decision was his.

Yet, the village had a decision that could have avoided the loss of their men. They showed no regret in their choice to decline peace. To create new changes for the better of the people. The village was granted mercy many times and still strayed away from it.

He entered the man's mind, paving his conscience through the man's sea of fright and desire to live. He lifted the man up and restrained his movement. He looked up at him and no longer had sympathy for this man.

You want mercy? You were given mercy! He yelled. He turned around to the mayor's residence, who stood on the steps with a weapon. He walked toward him as the man's hovering neck snapped, flopping on the floor like a fish out of water.

Blitzing once more, the mayor didn't flinch at the sight of the telepath. He held a shotgun with experience. His finger itched to pull the trigger.

Joque walked up the steps, getting in close proximity to the shotgun-wielding man. The mayor fired at him with no hesitation. The pellets exploded, shattering like glass when they reached near the telepath. The mayor kept firing until Joque moved the shotgun out of his hand and over the residence.

The mayor was forced to his knees by an unwilling force that refused to let him get up. "Let go of me!" He demanded.

Joque laughed. What makes you think I'll listen to you? What gives you the false idea that I respect you? You're nothing to me!

"Get out of my head!" The axe struck into his ribcage, and kinetic energy rushed to Joque.

YOU'RE NOTHING TO ME! YOUR WORDS HAVE NO POWER OVER ME! I HAVE THE POWER! Joque urged the ax further into the mayor's side. I am taking this village and turning it into what it should be.

"Then make this death last."

For sure. Joque went further into the mayor's mind, damaging memories and the part of the brain that feels pain. He destroyed everything the mayor knew of and had it be his lasting thoughts. He collected all he needed from the poor man's brain before rendering him brain dead. He tossed the former mayor to the side like a rag doll. The midnight sky took place.

He wasn't done yet. He had one more thing to do. He went by the mountainside, following the memory of the late mayor into the reason why the village believed the Coven of Enlightenment was an ally. He went to a secret tunnel, stupidly covered with some bushes. Entering it, he saw dozens of people harbored. All sleeping soundly. The kinetic energy smoothing his body piled up, reaching its boiling point. Doctor Elizabeth said to fetch her their souls. He cleared his mind as he allowed the energy that was building up inside of him to release in a ball of light and smoke.

He walked off and went back to the village, ready to inform Elizabeth that the Divine can start their process with the new land they acquired.

The morning after the Many Blessings had everyone mourning.

News traveled fast as the dozens of deaths of witches hidden near the village far west were discovered. The witches cried for their fellow members. The sorcerers and sorceresses panicked as to what this means in the relationship between the Divine and the coven. Incapable of war being an option, they struggled to find a less confrontational solution. The blood of witches was fine. If it leads to war and the loss of sorcerers and sorceresses—the pure-blooded magic users, the superior collective of the magical community—the entire coven might die out.

Susan sat in the library. Normally, the towers of books that contained knowledge fascinated her and made her mood better. As a member of the council, she should've been with her fellow peers, adding to the discourse and trying to find answers to the problems that are to come. The news of witches dying weighed heavily on her chest. She and no one else at the coven knew of the hidden base. The existence of it had to be Tatia's doing. She's always the source of the chaos and the consequences to come.

Sipping her tea, she watched as Tatia ran in with her hands glued onto her head.

"Troubled?" Susan said, insincerely.

Tatia chuckled nervously. "Not the time, Sue."

Susan placed her tea on the table stand and got up. "This is your fault! You caused this! I know it!"

"Of course I caused this! I couldn't have witches being trafficked. I have a responsibility as a sorceress. You have that same duty but fail to act on it."

Susan laughed. "That's rich. The coven is in disarray because of you. You might be excommunicated."

"Good. Works better for me."

Susan looked at her perplexed. "Excuse me?"

Tatia grabbed her hands. She only did that in a time of need. "I have a set of plans in order to create tension. To start something. A resistance."

A resistance? Being of their age, they've seen resistance rise and fall along with empires. It's more devastating when a resistance dies. People's execution of their fate never leads to reformation. The Divine squashes down on resistances or any sight of disobedience. "Do you have a death wish?"

Tatia nodded. "Kinda. Yeah. I'm tired of living like this. Having to follow agreements instead of acting according to my gut. To my morals." She walked to the cabinets and pulled out a set of plans. Blueprints and a cluster of papers that she slammed on the nearest desk.

Intrigued, Susan moved in closer, seeing the sloppy writing of her sister's rushed ideas. "How long have you been planning this?"

"A while. It's not in effect until two months or so. Whoever killed the crystal miner changes everything now. That and recent events." Tatia paused and turned to Susan. "They weren't supposed to die. Never in my plans did I want them to die."

Susan placed a hand on Tatia's shoulder. Her anger lingered, but she couldn't ignore her sister showing emotions. She rarely did so.

"What I'm going to do is perplexing and complicated. You have to prepare for what's to come." Tatia said.

Susan looked over the papers one more time. Her sister's passion for this project was somewhat convincing.

To look past her ideas would be unloving. Disloyal. "What are we planning then?"

New York City, the Bronx

Five Months later

Chapter 2: Answers

Dead end after dead end numbed Anita's body and sanity. With no leads to Michael and nowhere else to look, she had nothing to live for. Nothing to force her up in the morning and try to find some stability in her new life. She wasn't used to stability anyways.

For the past months, confusion drove her to find answers and convinced her that she is willing to solve all her problems. She never thought about her life after the answers were uncovered. Will she be a mess, or will she improve? On the plus side, she didn't have to think about that. Lord knows her mind was clumped with other things.

The ceiling roof she slept on kept her comfortable for the most part. She survived the unnerving New York cold and the birds sitting on her like a statue. No longer having a reason to get up, she stressed over how pointless her life has become. She did have a volunteering position to attend to in the morning and someone to discuss the complexity of her existence after that. Maybe a favor would be asked of her. That was something to get her moving. She got up from the brick flooring and yawned as the autumn breeze hit her face. The air tasted polluted with a hint of coffee. The people of the Bronx couldn't live a day, let alone eight hours, without their coffee. An addiction that never dies. She got up and climbed down the fire escape, passing sleeping people who put their alarms on snooze. Once down the six-story building, she walked out of the alley and to the gated reservoir river, climbing the barbed wire gate with ease.

She had her backpack on her, equipped with laundry soap and a bar of soap. There she swam around in the water nearly naked, rubbing her skin harshly with the bar. Then she poured the laundry soap on the water. After an hour or so, she put the mildly dried clothes back on and climbed out. No one was awake or moving around the reservoir near six o'clock. The citizens were either working off their last hours from their shifts in the mundane job that kept them on the line of poverty (better than being far from it) or they were sleeping. Nowadays, people just sleep, hoping their problems will drift away. Hope was meaningless to her. She couldn't afford having it. All she had was nothing. Hope would equip her with delusions and things she did not want to be lost. Having nothing was much more important than having hope.

The sun rose up from the horizon, splashing the sky with orange and pink. The leafless trees shined, trying to take the nutrients the sun originally gave them. The buses were running and coming by quicker than usual. Anita boarded the nine bus and glanced over the windows as the vehicle passed by the streets. She had no idea why she was drawn to Kingsbridge Heights. Since the confusion of the past months, she strolled half the globe and decided to settle there. It gave her comfort; a place that slowly decayed from the inside out due to its own corruption was just like her. Similarly, the Bronx had no idea how to improve. Instead, it just wallowed in silence with the citizens waiting for when everything worsens. Volunteering to provide free food to those in need was the least she could do. At least she's trying to mend a broken thing other than herself. A good distraction that everyone deserves.

The bus passed by people who carried carts of plastic, rushing to the nearest supermarket. It passed by mothers dragging their kids along to work or home. The side effects of the struggle to live were visible in everyone's eyes. They darkened and appeared red. (The guest thought that the redness was from exhaustion and not from smoking pot. That business boomed over the past year.) They moved sluggishly and half-dead, like robots programmed to live out their days until the end. Anita bet most citizens would rather be dead than continue the miserable life. She looked away from the mirror as it became more and more like a depressing movie.

So, I'm assuming we're done with the search? The voice asked. Anita rolled her eyes. Not a day goes by that her inner demon sprouts out of the depths of her damaged soul to become an inconvenience. For the best, I think. We were starting to leave a trail behind us. Any word of Luxjin's business then? Is it up for grabs?

Anita didn't reply. She had no energy for the voice.

Hello! The voice yelled, manifesting beside me like a real person, taking on her face but with a darker filter.

"You're not here. You're not real." Anita murmured.

Isn't that getting old? Saying that won't banish me. You're not a witch. I think. I'll get back to you on that.

"So you're offering me answers now?" Anita asked, holding back the urge to yell at the voice, but if she does, the entire bus will find her crazy. She's not crazy...to that extent. She kept her voice low and kind. The remaining patience had her in a somewhat good mood.

The ones that I know of. Anything recent is a blur. You know this.

"I also know you've been holding back on me."
Not true.

Anita turned to the voice, looking it in the eyes. They shared the same face and eyes, but they weren't carbon copies of each other. Anita had a kind face, conveying regret and guilt for things she doesn't remember but knows for a fact that she was responsible for. The voice showed no regret in its existence or what it's done while inhabiting Anita's body for the past year. She showed it in her discontented eyes and laid-back posture.

"Why can I all of a sudden heal?" Anita asked, her voice loud enough for the other riders to hear.

Want to say that loud enough? I don't think the bus driver heard you clearly.

"I asked you a question." Anita said.

I'll tell you that when you're ready for it. Once you've matured, I'll tell you all that I know. That's how I care.

"You care when you need an excuse."

I care when it matters, the voice explained.

"Then you must really care about me." The bus stopped, and Anita paced angrily toward the abandoned school near Fordham, where all the food was being distributed. She allowed herself to relax when she picked up five boxes of apples, bananas, corn, chicken, and much more. She didn't take the bus and walked to the location where she would hand it out to those in need. She thought a walk was good for clearing the mind. She had no intention of talking to herself and losing an argument. (That's just sad.)

She walked from Fordham to Sedgwick Avenue, stopping at the parking lot of a ruined church. Religion became pointless and impractical as the years went by. People lost faith in a higher power. The Divine deprived them of that right. Presenting themselves as the higher power, no one tried to argue with them. To oppose them is an invitation for death. The church remained up, crumbling slowly and eroding into the ground. Moss and vines covered the majority of it. Rats, bears, raccoons, and insects occupied the space. No volunteer would even set up a site there. The parking lot was fine. She greeted the head of the department and the other eight volunteers.

"Hi, Anita." A lovely elderly lady said. She sat as a table of the boxes cast a shadow on her pale, wrinkled skin. "How are you today?"
"I'm fine." Anita lied. No one ever really cared how others were. It was merely a social convention that meant very little. She just gave the answer that was expected. "Yeah, I'm fine. And you?" She actually cared for the woman. She had no clue what her name was, but she could see that the lady had a good heart. An old one that seemed untouched by harm.

"Tired," the lady explained. "Near where I live, I keep hearing things. Like people jumping around for fun. Must be a new game the kids are playing these days."

"Must be," Anita said. She had some idea of who was causing the disturbance but kept it to herself to keep the elderly woman calm. The other volunteers entered the lot shortly after, carrying boxes of their own. The smell of fruit and food hit everyone's face. It was a somewhat pleasant scent to be near. Without even being close, she knew the oranges had one or two weeks left before becoming bad; the apples were just fine. The peaches, however, would take a miracle for someone to even consider picking them up. She set up her booth, laying the plastic boxes of the fruits on the left side and the plastic boxes of the sandwiches that were slightly refrigerated over the past couple of days on the right. She then helped the elderly lady set up her booth with a kind smile that only faking would bring out. Insincere smiles were the trend of the past hundred years, but barely anyone could tell when one was real or for appearances.

"Oh, here comes that lovely young girl strolling in." The elderly woman announced. Anita looked up to catch a glimpse of Piper Alvarez, the usual light of everyone's day. She held three boxes and walked into the parking lot with no difficulty, even wearing boots with a high heel at the end. Her pink curly locks of hair glowed in the sunlight along with her skin. She settled next to Anita, bumping into her hips on purpose with an affectionate smile following afterwards.

"Hey, Anita. How are things going?" Piper asked, setting the things on her booth. Her voice was gentle but aggressive. The born-and-raised New York accent that most natives had.

"I'm doing good," Anita said, admiring that Piper seemed to actually care.

"Are you sure? Nothing in your voice says, "I'm good."

Anita slouched her back forward and turned to Piper. "I'm just tired." The usual excuse. She wasn't lying entirely. She was tired.

Piper sighed. "Who isn't? This borough is falling apart and is weighing on everyone. This shit is too much for my 5'2 ass. I'm too young to be dealing with shit like this." She eyed Anita up and down. "We're both too young for this shit." Anita laughed. "What? I'm just telling the truth."

"Would you rather the Bronx be another territory?" Anita asked.

"Hell no. I'm moving to a distant galaxy then. With what money? I have no idea, but I'm doing it."

I wonder what galaxy, the voice pondered.

"At least I'll be away from my annoying family." Piper continued.

Hearing 'family' struck an envious bone in Anita. "You have a family?"

"Distant. My aunt and cousins. They've been bugging me for as long as I can breathe. Got worse when my mother died."

"I'm so sorry."

"No need to be sorry for. She's been worm food for the past eight years now."

Anita's eyes widened. Piper had no filter. Shyness and social awkwardness were irrelevant to her.

Piper stood still with her head tilted. "Let's get this fucking day over with already, right?"

The day is never over with, the voice said.

"Yup." Anita replied as a crowd of people rushed into the parking lot, hastily desperate for food.

The crowd consisted of the same type of people. Poverty-stricken people, crackheads, or the homeless.

Ironic since Anita was homeless herself.

The way life played jokes on her had lost little to all meaning to Anita. At this point in her life, she played along with it. Hoping that one day, the universe would be kind to her and show her some empathy. If only.

After the food drive was over, she walked to the park near the church with twelve boxes of food. She walked past the children screaming of joy and fun and the gloomy teenagers in the swings. She took in a deep breath of the polluted air and did not pay mind to the leafless trees. Her attention was on the old man sitting on the benches, yelling at the men playing basketball while leaning too much on his walker.

"Calm yourself, Justice." Anita advised, placing the boxes to her side as she sat down. She placed her head on his shoulder as he continued to holler. "These boys should not be causing you to hurt that fragile voice of yours."

Justice shrugged. "These boys are going to be the death of me. I got money on the line. They better not play like OLD BLIND MEN!"

Anita laughed.

Justice sat down and looked over to the boxes. He fist-bumped Anita. "Thank you, youngblood. Now I got something to keep my blood pressure high."

"Ha! Nothing in these boxes will make it high. If anything, it should make you healthier." Anita said.

"What does an old man have to do for a little bit of salt and sugar?" He asked.

Anita chuckled. She watched the grown men play basketball where they should've been at work. Every one of their movements and play styles was aggressive and had soul in it. As if their lives depended on winning the match.

"There's money on the line, isn't there?"

Justice nodded. "There's nothing wrong with making a little cash on the side. Times are tough."

"Times are always tough."

He nodded. "True. True." He looked at the young girl, taking his eyes off from the game for the first time in hours. "Now, what reason are you here?"
Anita kept her eyes on the game. Her eyes followed the ball as the men threw it around like a bomb. "Why do you think I need a reason to visit my favorite elder?"

"Girl, please." The back of his tongue added some bass to his voice.

There was a moment of silence.

"Any updates?"

Justice sighed. "I'm sorry, baby girl. No word of any other people in power involved with the incident. That little invader was the last one. It's done."

Anita groaned. Her grin turned to a still line. "You're not looking."

"Youngblood, I've been collecting for bad and good guys before your mama could walk. I can't look for someone that isn't ready to be searched for."
"I need answers!" Anita growled.

Justice nodded. "Life comes with unanswered questions."

"Don't use that crap on me."

Anita took a deep breath and collected herself. "Sorry. I shouldn't scream at you for something out of your power."

"It's fine. I've been screamed at for worse." Justice replied.

He placed his hand on her shoulder. She looked at him, her eyes widened. "Words are going around about your little pit stops around the world. Your body trail is catching up to you."

"I'll be fine." Anita shrugged.

"Of course you'd be. But just in case." The old man reached into his walker, opening the hood and showing off a white and gold crusted gun.

A simple pistol, the former assassin thought. The sun reflected from its golden barrel, stabbing her in the eye. She moved aside and admired how retro it looked. She imagined it was something a cowboy would acquire in the old films from centuries ago. The grip had the image of a horse riding into who knows where.

"A Glock?" She was unimpressed. Her ring blades struck more fear into her enemy than a lousy gun from the old times. "What the hell am I? A cop?"

"Take it. A friend of mine called this gun their good luck charm. Now if trouble's coming for your messy ass, you're going to need it." Justice insisted.

Anita sighed. Having an extra weapon would not be troublesome. Besides, no one was going to belittle her for using such a primitive weapon. "Fine."

She got up and took the gun, shoving it to the side of her pants and fixing her shirt. "Thanks, Justice. Enjoy the box."

"Enjoy the gun!"

She looked back at him in shock. Why would he say that in a park in broad daylight?

He shrugged his shoulders. "These men are too busy wasting my money to hear me."

Anita nodded and headed out. Walking with a gun on her didn't seem uncomfortable but rather familiar. The question is why would it be calming instead of alarming?

....

The autumn breeze transformed into a soft twilight wind, hitting Anita's face as she waited patiently for her employer. It was nights like this she hated. Especially since the train made so much noise, irking her sensitive ears. Her employer always took so long. That annoyed her the most. Having to wait on someone else, giving them a small ounce of power over you, was humiliating. Embarrassing was too simple of a word to use to describe that.

Any idea on what tonight's heist will be? The voice asked, standing along the side of the roof, nearly falling off the edge.

Anita shook her head. "Nope. I never get told. Not even once. She can at least have the decency to show up at the time she wants."

Lifestyle of a thief. Can't do anything about it, really.

"I guess so. Still have some common currency. Y'know?"

I think common currency left with her, as did the jewels and tech she steals. To ask for that for a person like her is impossible. You're in high demand in that sense.

Anita rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up! Go back to wherever the hell you go to."

Like I can control it. Like we can control it. She walked around the edge of the roof, pretending to fall to Anita's displeasure. If only I could jump and feel the impact.

"You don't feel a lot of feelings anymore." Anita sneered. "For good reason. Now hush! I don't need a headache right now."

You don't need a lot of things in life right now. But life keeps throwing things at you. Pretty incentive, but again, what are you going to do?

"Kill myself."

You wish

"I do."

"So do I," Kit, Anita's employer, said, walking behind her. "I don't know what you're talking about, but I want to as well."

Anita nodded, thinking that Kit would never consider such a thing. She enjoyed the thrill life offered too much. It was her drug of choice. "Thanks for showing up."

"Thank you for waiting for me. Most of my friends would've left before I even got to put my sneakers on." Kit replied, bubbly.

"Sure, I guess." Anita said, shrugging off the age difference between the two, as Kit wasn't bothered by having a sixteen-year-old friend as a thirty-two-year-old. Maybe having a depressed teenager around keeps her young. "What's today's job?"

"Thieving, of course." Kit answered. Anita's shadow self laughed in the back.

Groaning gently, Anita asked, "What kind of thievery, Kit?"

"The fun kind."

"Where is this fun?"

"Manhattan." Kit answered, smiling.

Manhattan was risky. It was always busy, the part of New York City that never slept. The sun never set on the Divine, and Manhattan was the reason why.

The empire city was sanctioned by the Divine, meaning it was more secure and more dangerous compared to the broken-down Bronx. No one from the Bronx went to the other boroughs in fear of being harassed or imprisoned by the Divine soldiers. The Horsemen of Her Divine Dreams had proficiency levels that determined who was worthy of the Holy Empress's favor. Depending on one's aptitude, one will be given a suit composed of the most advanced technology to ensure one's safety and protection. If they lacked the power and determination to even acquire basic survival skills or to be loyal to Her rules, they were given ordinary garments and inferior weaponry. Nevertheless, they were not to be trifled with.

"Manhattan?"

"Yup, I have a favor to do for someone who saved my ass a while back." Kit explained, reaching for her pocket and taking out a flash drive. "Their data was stolen by a tech company in midtown. I don't want to sneak in alone."

Anita shook her head. "How much am I being paid?"
"The same as always. A couple hundred. Nothing fancy."

Anita sighed. "I don't know about this."

The voice groaned. You don't know anything!

"C'mon," Kit said. "You owe me for being gone for almost two months. I had to steal from boring people."

"Since when am I exciting to be around?" Anita replied, stepping over the edge and awaiting the next train to come by.

Kit pulled up her shirt and pulled out a pistol. A common G-74 with crystal bullets. "You're all dark and mysterious. It's fun to be around that."

"Whatever. Where did you get that gun?"

Kit smiled. "From a friend." She said, winking as the next train pulled up. Both of them jumped onto the roof of the train and laid their backs down. Trains were the only way to get in or out of the Bronx and into the other boroughs. Going inside was risky since the chances of a Horseman being undercover were high. They never failed to show an excuse for how much power they had over common folk.

The twilight breeze brushed against Anita's skin as the train traveled as fast as a speeding bullet. It shook violently and swayed from side to side, but the girls had no fear. Train surfing was second nature to them.

Besides, it was a much faster and funnier way to get around. Having the wind push past you as if you're the obstacle—the only thing in its way—was empowering. It gave a simple or broken person a sense of strength and confidence. The two women soaked in that feeling and slowly walked out the top and into the nearest cart. The passengers there eyed them but then looked away. New Yorkers know when to mind their own business when needed.

"God, I love this city." Kit twirled around a pole before swinging herself to an empty seat. "No one cares about what you're doing. As long as you don't stop their commute. Are you not going to sit?"

Anita shook her head. "I'd rather stand."

"Weird. Are you an activist? What are you standing for?"

Chuckling, Anita said the first thing off the top of her head. "Thievery to become a legit form of business."

"Amen." Kit raised her hand for a high five and was left hanging. "You're no fun."

Anita grinned. "So, a tech company stole data from some hooligans you know?"

"Never said they were hooligans."

Anita laughed. "If they are affiliated with you, they're hooligans to the highest degree."

"Not you." Kit tilted her head. "So your claim is false."

"The tech company, Kit?"

She clapped her hands together and leaned in. "My friends had information from a client. The company wanted that client first. They were petty and stole the data from my friends and planned on using it to get the job done."

Rubbing her hand on her forehead, Anita asked, "And what is the job?"
Kit shook her head. "No clue. They're not much when it comes to details. They only demand I get it and deliver it to them. The client is paying a lot of money to them. Enough for them to move their entire business to Manhattan permanently."

"Sounds good. Speaking of money, how much are you paying me for this?"

"Depends on your performance."

The voice laughed. Looks like you're not getting shit.

"Perfect," Anita said, sarcastically.

The rest of the ride was short. The Divine took control of a kingdom that was known for its advancements in mechanics. All modes of transportation lasted less than thirty minutes.

They reached Manhattan and hastily made their way to Times Square, always bustling with tourists and those employed by the Divine.

In the past, the town square was a place of chaos and decay. The air was thick with pollution, the sidewalks were littered and unkempt, and crime seemed to lurk around every corner. But now, thanks to the tireless efforts of The Divine, it's been completely transformed into a breathtaking oasis in the heart of New York City.

Anita's eyes widened in wonder as she took in the sight before her. The buildings that once stood dull and lifeless now overflowed with vibrant green vines cascading down their walls. And the sidewalks were no longer concrete slabs but instead were covered in lush green grass that seemed untouched by human feet. Everywhere she looked, there were bursts of colorful flowers blooming against the backdrop of towering skyscrapers.

As she walked through this enchanting place, Anita couldn't help but notice the advanced technology seamlessly integrated into every aspect. Holographic projections displayed directions and information in multiple languages, and flying cars glided overhead without leaving behind a trail of smog. Even the once overwhelming traffic had been replaced by efficient robots guiding the flow of transportation.

But what struck her most were the people. No longer did they wear expressions of stress or fear. Instead, they exuded a sense of peace and security that filled Anita with a newfound sense of calm. It was as if the Divine had not only revitalized the physical space but also transformed the energy and spirit of everyone within it.

"Hood up. We don't need any problems with the suck-ups now." Kit instructed as she strode her way past citizens. She didn't listen to the projection and trusted her gut that she knew the way. She managed to make her way into a skyscraper and remained invisible to the workers, to the point they had no idea she and Anita were on the rooftop, overlooking another skyscraper that was farther away.

"The department of communications building is always busy." Kit said, the calm wind gently caressing her face and pushing her hair to the east. "Depend on this building for a good view and to be unseen."

Whoa, Anita thought. She looked down and saw the shining lights appear like a flame going out. She made sure to avoid the vines that covered the roof. She picked up a flower and analyzed it.

"What's this?"

Kit grinned. She took the flower from her hand and inhaled deeply. "This is a rose. One of the most basic flowers in the world. Some call it the most beautiful amongst the flowers. I'm more of a daisy type of gal. First time here, huh?"

Anita nodded. "I thought flowers died out years ago."

"Nope. Only taken away from the rest of the world."

The bright red plant took Anita's heart as its majestic appearance mesmerized her. How can something so elegant be hidden from others?

Kit tossed the flower away. "Let's stay on task now. I can show you all around Manhattan on your birthday."

Anita watched as the flower descended softly to the ground. "I don't know what day my birthday is."

"Oh, that's interesting. We'll discuss it later." Kit snapped her fingers and pointed to the towering building nearby. "That's where we need to go. We'll have to get off on the thirty-eighth floor to avoid their alarm system. Then we must navigate our way to the hallway on the nineteenth floor and locate the entrance to the computer room. It may take some time for the hard drive to complete its task, but if all goes as planned, this should be a relatively simple job.

Anita hesitated, her body tense as she prepared for the daring jump. Her muscles were primed and ready, but her mind was filled with doubts. Could she make it to the thirty-eighth floor? What if she stumbled or miscalculated her jump? She knew the risks, but the allure of reaching that elusive glass window was too strong to resist. With a deep breath, she steeled herself and took the leap of faith, battling against both fear and determination in equal measure.

You're not going to trip, the voice noted. I aced that jump dozens of times. Stay calm and trust your instincts, for now.

She despised the haunting guidance of her shadow self, but in moments like this she had no other option. The memories that swirled in her mind felt like a cursed burden, as if her muscles were betraying her by holding onto truths she couldn't remember. This unwanted passenger inside her constantly resisted and withheld crucial information about her past. Her body, now a source of both frustration and terror, served as the key to unlocking the mysteries of her identity and transformation into someone unrecognizable.

Her lungs burned with anticipation, and her eyes darted nervously, unable to focus on anything but the window that would be her entry point into the building. Despite her thorough preparation, her limbs trembled with a mix of excitement and fear. Every muscle in her body tensed, ready to make the leap, while her mind warred with caution and doubt. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she stood at the edge, adrenaline coursing through her veins like a raging river.

We've done this before. You like the way the wind softly caresses your face. When you jump down, you're no longer a simple person doing things that shouldn't involve your input. You're a master of the sky, Anita. As long as you stay in the air, you control the winds and the skies. They await for you to land to be freed.

"Ready?" Kit asked, taking the same stance as Anita.

Anita shook her head. "If I wasn't, it'll be a problem." She chuckled. "Let's do this."

One more deep breath wouldn't hurt anyone, she thought. One. Two. Three.

With Kit by her side, she propelled herself downwards, slicing through the air with equal force and speed. The wind whipped against her face, stinging her skin and causing her eyelids to flutter closed momentarily. But even in the midst of the chaos, she remained calm. The scent of lush greenery and damp earth filled her nostrils, reminding her of the Amazon forest.

As she descended, she instinctively raised her right arm to shield her face. With a loud crash, she slammed into a large window, the impact shattering the glass and sending shards flying in all directions. Pain shot through her arm as fragments embedded themselves in her skin. Rolling over, she collided with a nearby cubicle, jarring her back and knocking the breath out of her lungs. Glass particles littered the office floor around her, glinting in the moonlight that streamed through the broken window

As the shards of glass cascaded down onto Kit's head, she violently shook her head. "Well, you certainly know how to make an entrance. Are you alright?"

Carefully extracting the shards of glass that were embedded in her skin, she felt a sharp sting before the wounds began to heal themselves. She let out a slow exhale and replied, "Yes, I'm doing just fine." The pain was already fading into a dull ache, but the memory of the accident still lingered in her mind. She couldn't help but feel grateful for her quick healing abilities as she assessed the damage to her body. Despite the cuts and bruises, she knew she would be back to full strength in no time.

The office was eerily silent and still, the once bustling computers now quiet and dark. Kit's grim expression revealed that something was amiss. A quick glance at the alarm panel confirmed her suspicions—they had failed to go off. Dread settled in her stomach as she imagined the chaos that would greet the workers in the morning, faced with a shattered window and its jagged remains scattered across the pristine blue carpet. The scene was haunting, like a ghostly presence had descended upon the otherwise mundane office space.

"Hurry," Kit urged, bolting towards the staircase with Anita close behind. They descended a seemingly endless flight of stairs, their footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. As they reached the nineteenth floor, Kit pressed her back against the cool surface and cautiously peeked over the door. Anita dropped to her knees beside her, their hearts racing with adrenaline.

Anita's heart raced as she approached the door, her grip tightening on the cool metal of her ring blades. She knew there would be security waiting outside, ready to defend their target at all costs. Kit, ever the strategist, pulled out a small rod from her pocket, and Anita squinted her eyes in confusion.

"What the hell is that tiny thing going to do against trained guards?" She hissed under her breath, feeling a surge of doubt and fear creeping up inside her. But

Kit simply smirked, his confidence radiating off him like heat from a fire.

"Trust me," she replied with a wink before turning back to the door and preparing for what lay beyond. "It's a gift from a friend."

"A friend friend?"

Kit nodded, her bright eyes sparkling with mischief. "One of the best I have." She winked playfully. "Okay, game plan: You go in first and disarm them."

Anita raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Why me?"

A shadow passed over Kit's face, her expression growing serious. "Notice how the deep cuts on your arm from the glass are completely gone? And I can feel a slight bleeding on my scalp that's going to bug me for the next month. Your healing abilities, though scary and unexplainable, are impressive, Anita."

Anita shrugged nonchalantly. "Fair point."

Kit leaned in closer. "I hear maybe six to eight footsteps out there. Maybe. I could be wrong. It might be twelve."

The voice in Anita's head chuckled. Light work, it murmured.

Anita felt a surge of confidence and smiled slyly at Kit. "Easy work," she agreed.

Kit gave a small nod, her short blonde hair bouncing with the movement. "On my mark, okay? One, two, three."

With a sudden burst of energy, Anita swung the door open and rushed into the room, quickly elbowing a guard with her left arm as she passed by him.

Gunfire erupted around her, but Anita stood strong and took in each bullet without flinching or falling.

Her assailants were six Horsemen instead of the useless men employed by the company. Their distinctive armor was a dead giveaway—a leather suit made with bulletproof material sewn in. They wore spotless golden helmets that reflected Anita's own image back at her (she made a mental note to comb her hair later). Each guard also had a set of golden bracelets with small red dots blinking on them. They pressed the blinking dot and waved their arm as the bracelet sharpened into a dagger.

Three approached her while the other three walked slowly behind her.

They think they're so slick, the voice said.

"Let Kit handle them," Anita advised under her breath.

With her ring blades tightly gripped, she faced off against the trio in front of her. They were all on the offensive, leaving her to focus on defense. Coordinated in their attacks, two would swing at her while the third kept an eye out for his comrades' movements in order to avoid friendly fire. Anita had to use her left hand to deflect and block bullets while using her right to slice through the sharp crystals being fired from their rifles. She couldn't help but wonder how many giants it took to mine their ammunition. As she continued to fight, pieces of the puzzle fell into place, but it was a harsh realization that dawned on her.

During her initial month as a member of the Divine, she was rigorously trained in the tactics and maneuvers used by the guards. It took her three months of intense practice and dedication to perfect each role, with two of those months solely focused on mastering the use of firearms. However, she held a disdain for the AK-200 rifle, crafted specifically to fire blood-red crystal bullets infused with dark magic that caused excruciating pain upon impact. The modified weapon had a higher hipfire rate and significant recoil compared to its predecessor, the infamous AK-47. Despite her dislike for it, she knew it was a necessary tool in defending against mortal threats.

You're swaying to your left too much, the voice warned.

Her body swayed in fluid, graceful movements as she fought off her attackers. But the voice in her head was quick to criticize her, noting that she was leaning to her left too much and leaving herself vulnerable. She gritted her teeth at the thought of her own weakness being pointed out by her own shadow self.

As if on cue, the guard on her left became more aggressive, his blade slicing through her forearm and drawing a few drops of blood. The pain shot through her body, but she refused to show it, knowing that any sign of weakness would only make her a bigger target for the two guards.

Think, Anita, think. Her mind raced as she tried to come up with a plan. And then it hit her—take in the bullets. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but it could give her the opening she needed.

Anticipating the next attack, Anita waited for the gunman to aim at her left

shoulder. With a pained groan, she took in the bullet and clenched her stomach muscles to absorb the impact. Now with both hands free, she swung her ring blades with ferocity, playing offense and forcing the guards into defense.

But their attacks were relentless, and Anita knew she needed to act fast. When the gunman took aim again, she quickly kicked the guard on her left in front of her just as he fired. The bullet hit him in the shoulder instead of Anita.

With one down, Anita turned her attention to the other guard on her right. She used one blade to slice through his hands, effectively disarming him before using the edge of the other blade to knock him down.

The gunman's bracelet clicked, and a dagger emerged, swinging towards her with force. He was clever enough to use a rifle and aimed at her as he attempted to stab her. But he made the mistake of fighting back with offense. A foolish move.

She deftly blocked the bullets that came her way (most of them missed due to his reckless hip firing) until the ammunition ran out. In one swift motion, she grabbed his arm with her left hand while her right hand sliced through the rifle. She then delivered a powerful kick to his stomach before plunging her blade deep into his thigh. The Horseman crumpled to the ground, howling in pain. As she pulled the weapon out, it spurted blood like a macabre fountain.

You can afford another taste, the devious voice whispered.

Anita pounded the Horseman's helmet and kicked him repeatedly until the golden plate shattered. She then landed a punch on his face, sending him crashing into the double doors that he and his team had failed to protect.

As she turned around, she saw Kit taking down two more Horsemen with hot steam emanating from their bodies. Kit wielded a rod with a metallic blue blade attached to its end—a katana.

The remaining guard begged for mercy, but Kit showed no remorse. With precise aim, she plunged the katana deep into his chest, causing it to glow bright blue as it pierced through his body. He convulsed as the inside of his helmet glowed white before Kit finally withdrew the blade and discarded his burned-out body. There was not a drop of blood on her weapon—evidence of its supernatural power.

We need that, the voice said.

"Did you just kill him?" Anita asked cautiously. She watched as the man showed the same behavior as the others.

Kit scuffed her feet on the ground, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of killing someone. She looked over Anita's shoulder and saw the destruction she had caused.

"Did you kill them?" She commented.

Anita stuttered in response. "T-they're not dead."

"Sure they aren't," Kit replied sarcastically. The katana she held transformed back into its original shape, the pathetic rod she held earlier. "It's made out of lapis crystals."

Anita's eyes widened at the mention of laize magic. "Sorcery?"

Kit nodded in surprise. "Are you knowledgeable in magic?"

"My mother was a witch, but I didn't inherit her gifts," Anita explained.

"That makes sense," Kit said, walking towards the double doors. "My friend enchanted this blade with one spell—'Munditur,' meaning 'to be cleansed.'"

Anita turned around to see the Horsemen still shaking from their experience. "They don't look very cleansed."

"They'll be fine," Kit shrugged, seemingly unfazed by their condition.

With a powerful shove, Anita thrust the door open. Inside, a sea of computers hummed and whirred, their screens displaying endless lines of complex codes. The blinding brightness of the room made her eyes ache, as if she had just stepped into another dimension filled with never-ending streams of information and data.

"How many loads of data does this company get?" Anita asked, squinting in blindness.

Kit was unfazed. "LizTech is one of a hundred buildings and bases that receive all the data that needs to be filed and transferred. Each point of information being every territory's problems, planetary issues, food shortages, weapons shortages, and incriminating stuff. Spoilers, spoilers."

Anita was allured by the screens, leaning in closer to get an idea of what kind of data was being uploaded. "It's just loads of numbers."

Kit smirked. She placed her hand on the keyboard and slammed her fingers against the keys. Whatever she's done has transformed the stream of numbers into words.

Anita grew more confused. "That's in Spanish."

Kit hummed, confusingly. "Maybe LizTech has a fondness for the language."

"You know how to read it?"

"Yup. You?"

"Yup. Dominican."

Kit scrolled down the stream, her eyes wandering around the thing she came for.

Anita's eyes followed, reading everything fast to see if anything was worthy of knowing.

"Found it!" Kit said. She inserted the hard drive into the side of the computer. A loading screen showed, indicating the data was being stolen.

Anita strained to read the words scrolling on the side of the screen, but they moved too quickly for her eyes to catch. She could only make out fragments, something about transportation and secrecy. And then her heart skipped a beat as she saw the amount—one billion dollars in stocks. The original hires were promised this hefty sum if they completed the job successfully. But who was behind it? Anita's shock turned to disbelief as she read the name—Michael. Why would he be involved in something that needed to be kept off the books? He was known for his gruesome duties, but none of them had ever been hidden from public knowledge before.

The loading bar on the screen was almost complete, but Anita couldn't tear her eyes away from the information. This could be the missing puzzle piece she had been searching for during those long eight months. Her mind raced with questions and theories, but she needed more answers.

As Kit pulled the hard drive out of the computer, Anita's thoughts swirled with confusion and fear. What did this all mean? And why was Michael involved? As they left the room, she couldn't shake the feeling that they were walking into a dangerous game with high stakes.

They headed up the stairs, Anita's mind spiraling.

The sinister voice in her head whispered insidiously, urging her to take violent action.

You have to kill her, it demanded. She holds the information that you want desperately. Killing her is the only option.

Anita shook her head, pushing away the vile thoughts. She refused to give in to the darkness within her. Kit was a kind and loyal friend, someone who had helped her through the toughest of times when she first arrived in the city. Without Kit, Anita would have been lost, struggling on the unforgiving streets and resorting to desperate measures just to survive. No, killing Kit was not an option, no matter what the voice in her head said. She valued their friendship too much to betray it in such a heinous way.

"Okay, so I only have one grappling hook on me because my second one no longer works," Kit said as they approached the thirty-eighth floor, "so when we grab back to the second skyscraper, I'll just hold you. You don't look too heavy for me, so you should be fine."

"Sounds good." Anita said, perplexed about what to do.

As they cautiously stepped onto the floor, their feet crunched on the remnants of shattered glass. The room was a chaotic scene, with Horsemen scattered about and investigating the damage. Their guns were trained on the two girls as soon as they entered.

"Shit," Kit muttered under her breath. A voice in her head warned of danger.

The horsemen held sleek, modern rifles with silencers and Heloflex scopes, their fingers twitching anxiously on the triggers. They were ready to fire at a moment's notice.

Anita's jaw clenched in shock as she eyed two particular horsemen who seemed eager to shoot first and ask questions later. She instinctively stood in front of Kit, who was giftedly disabled, using her own body as a shield from the barrage of bullets that was sure to come.

Kit darted back towards the door of the staircase, using it as cover from any stray shots. With a flick of her wrist, she summoned her rod, its midnight blue blade emerging with a sharp hiss. She steadied her breathing and prepared to defend herself and Anita against the onslaught of bullets coming their way.

Anita's hands tightened around her ring blades as she charged at the men. Bullets grazed her skin and tore through her clothes, but she ignored the pain. With a swift horizontal swing of her blades, she sliced through two guns, feeling a surge of rage as quickly as it left her.

She knew she could use her bare hands to fight and end the battle quicker, but the weight of her beloved ring blades held her back. They were sharp weapons that required precision and grace to wield effectively.

As three men charged towards her, Anita leapt backwards with a backflip and landed on the ground with ease. She swiftly swung her blades to slice through the heels of two approaching men.

Suddenly, Kit joined in on the fight, wielding her katana with expertise. She stabbed and slashed at two of the men, relishing in their screams as her blade purified whatever darkness was within them.

The remaining two men pulled out golden daggers and engaged in a fierce duel with Kit. The clash of metal against magical crystals sparked with each strike, creating small bursts of electricity.

The sharp, metallic clang of Anita's ring blades echoed through the air, a stark contrast to the muted thuds of Kit's daggers as they collided with her opponents. She bided her time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike and inflict maximum pain on her enemies. The tense stillness was broken only by the occasional gasp or grunt as their fight continued, a dance of steel and blood. With a fierce grunt, Anita used every ounce of her strength to propel them backwards, their bodies slamming hard against the unforgiving ground. Ignoring the numbness creeping through her limbs, she sprang forward, her sharp blades glinting in the moonlight as she struck out at her attackers. Their groans of pain spurred her on as she expertly carved her blades into their flesh, only to pull them out and strike again with ruthless precision.

But while Anita fought off one enemy after another, Kit was not so lucky.

As she lost grip of her katana, Kit was met with a barrage of brutal punches from two Horsemen who had cornered her near a broken window. With each blow, she teetered closer and closer to the edge, their cruel plan to have her fall to her death becoming all too clear.

Through one eye that remained open and another that fluttered closed from exhaustion and injuries, Anita wondered if she could muster the strength for a final swing strong enough to cut down at least one of these merciless foes before they overpowered her completely.

That's a simple trick, the voice said. The memory of how she got her ring blades flooded her mind—a fifteenth birthday gift from Michael. At first, she struggled to wield the powerful weapon with her still-developing muscles and limbs, resulting in screams of frustration. But by her sixteenth birthday, she had mastered most movements with ease.

With time running short, Kit was facing a horrific fate.

Anita hurled one of her ring blades at the Horseman on her right, swiftly beheading him. The blade lodged itself into a metal beam from a broken window. Then, she stowed away her other ring blade and flipped backwards towards Kit's side. With both arms locked on her right leg, she unleashed a vicious kick towards the last remaining Horseman."

In a delirious state, he stumbled as if he had no grasp on reality or where he was. Taking advantage of his disoriented state, Anita unleashed a barrage of punches, striking him relentlessly from left to right until she landed one final blow that sent him crashing into the broken window behind him. He fell backwards, teetering on the edge and meeting the same fate Kit had almost succumbed to moments before.

Quickly regaining her composure, Kit retrieved her trusty rod and stowed it away with practiced ease. "Thank you," she muttered gratefully to Anita before glancing down at the precarious situation below.

Anita simply nodded in response, her focus already shifting back to their assailants as more Horsemen began to swarm towards them.

With a swift motion, Kit snatched up the young girl and readied her grabbing hook with expert precision. She aimed towards the nearest skyscraper and fired, propelling them both upwards just as another group of enemies closed in.

As they ascended higher and higher, Anita reached out and grabbed hold of a ring blade lodged in the metal of the building. She tucked it away without missing a beat, knowing that their mission was now complete and it was time to move onto what truly mattered—understanding her former teacher's involvement in her messed-up state of mind.

"Well, that was one way to get the job done," Kit remarked as they settled on the same rooftop as earlier that night. "I've never had someone push a guy off a building for me before."

"It's not a big deal," Anita said, avoiding eye contact.

"Hey, are you okay?" Kit asked, placing a hand on Anita's shoulder.

Anita kept her gaze fixed on the ground, afraid of losing control and attacking this innocent person. The voice in her head urged her to take the flash drive and harm Kit, but she refused to give in to its demands.

This is your chance, you idiot. The voice growled. Take the flash drive and kill this woman who has entrusted her life to you. Do it, or spend the rest of your miserable existence in doubt and confusion.

Anita wanted to scream "NO."

"I'm fine," she muttered weakly.

"Okay," Kit replied skeptically. "Well, I'm exhausted. Unfortunately, I still have one more stop to make before calling it a day."

Anita's mind sparked with excitement as Kit mentioned the possibility of getting answers. This could be her chance to finally unravel the mystery that had been haunting her and to find peace and closure in her journey towards self-improvement. She couldn't help but offer to take care of it herself, masking her selfish motivations behind a gentle tone. The words seemed to hang in the air between them, thick with anticipation and unspoken desires.

"I don't know. I don't think I can afford to pay you anymore."

"Don't worry about it. You almost died. You need rest."

Kit looked Anita up and down, taking in the chaotic scene before her. Anita's clothes were torn and stained with blood and dirt, her hair was a tangled mess, and there were still bullets protruding from her skin. She looked like a homeless person who had taken shelter in a bunker filled with weapons. "Sweetie, you need some serious rest," Kit said with concern.

"I will. Trust me." Anita replied, finally meeting Kit's gaze.

Kit sighed. "Fine." She tossed the flash drive to Anita. "The address is 165 W 197 St., Apartment 3E. Good luck with those guys. They're not known for their manners." And with that, Kit disappeared into the darkness of the night.

Anita was left alone with what could potentially be the key to everything she had been searching for. It was her chance to figure out how to move on from the life that was no longer hers. She leapt off the rooftop and hit the ground hard, feeling her bones break but quickly healing. She ran towards the address, fueled by the newfound hope she thought she would never have again.

Chapter Three: No place for kindness

165 W 197th St.

Sedgwick Avenue.

Kit forgot to mention that part. To her defense, she thought Anita knew what she was talking about.

A correct assumption to make. It was close to the parking lot and the church.

Anita's first months in the Bronx consisted of her traveling everywhere. From Highbridge to Kingsbridge, from the South Bronx to Fordham, they all remained in her head.

Her mind was not as fragile as she believed.

You're honestly not going to walk in and demand answers, right? The voice asked. That's a stupid plan. Give me control now before things get messy.

Anita ignored her sinister self and looked at the building. Tree roots stretched on the side of the building, gray and dead with no leaves or plants attached to them. Mold covered most of the gray paint that covered the building. The burgundy sign that announced to people its address was burnt off. The lobby doors were broken off. A man slept on the foot of it with stillness.

Was he dead?

Or was he just high on whatever drug he bought from a vendor?

The gargoyles on the ceiling hanging down watched Anita as if they knew of her intentions. But like the building, they were too weak and eroded to warn her off.

"I'm not doing that." She finally answered.

Of course you're not. Only an idiot wouldn't do that. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into. I can handle whatever it is behind this abandoned, run-down building.

"Shut up." Anita snapped.

She took a deep breath, preparing herself for what she got into. She only wanted the answers she craved and nothing else.

She had the flash drive, which can be used as a bargaining chip. A perfect excuse to get exactly what she wanted. She entered the lobby, stepping over the homeless man.

The stairs were broken, and the elevator was vacant to nothingness. There was no other sound in the building except something eerie, like a small machine making a squeaking noise.

It was coming from upstairs.

The third floor, the voice said.

Anita steadily walked up the flight of broken steps, suspecting what could crush concrete into cracked powder. The walls peeled with the old yellow paint, which illuminated the halls in the past, now replaced with more mold and bugs crawling around. A strong scent of dirt was apparent in the air, twisting her sense of smell and making it a struggle to see.

Keep it together, she told herself.

Now on the third floor, she went through the double doors and into a crowded area. Strange men with tattoos stared at her as they used tools to sharpen their knives. Most of them sat on the floor, facing the only open apartment to her left.

"What are you doing here?" A bulky, tall man asked, his fist clenched.

She pulled out the flash drive, shaking it around like a prize. "I'm a friend of Kit. She asked me to give this to you guys. Is there a man in charge of this little gang, or do you guys just do suspicious business leaderless?"

The man nodded to the only open apartment next to the elevator. Anita shook her head and walked past him, eyes following her way in.

The apartment was a house of smoke. She could barely focus her eyes on the rotten wooden doors and the small roaches that scattered upon seeing her. Each footstep was met with a loud creaking sound. The kitchen was destroyed, with only a broken stove there. There were only two rooms where this man was: the one hidden behind large, black curtains or the one wide open and the source of the smoke.

"I can see you!" A grumpy man's voice shouted. Even with all the smoke, he was able to spot the teenager, who was confused about how he was aware of her presence. "C'mon now. I have shit to do, little girl."

Anita walked in, her heart beginning to race, but she remained somewhat calm.

The man in smoke let out the small device that allowed him to smoke—a vape pen. He coughed for a bit, small droplets of blood flying out of his mouth. He looked around fifty years old, his hair painted gray and his face cursed with wrinkles. "Who the hell are you? You're not the chick I had to get me my drive."

Manners were not apparent from most residents.

"Hello to you as well," Anita said.

Seriously? The voice asked. Like he's going to take a skinny, frail girl seriously.

"I can give two rats' shits about hellos. Who the hell are you?" The man growled.

"A friend of Kit's. She had me deliver this to you." She waved the flash drive around. The man began to settle down. "She had other matters to attend to."

"Ah, of course." He sat down, sucking on his vape pen. He lent his hand out.

Anita paused. What was she doing? How would she be able to ask a question that was none of her business? This man is just trying to make a living. And if this job was under the books, it couldn't be that bad. All of the horrific accomplishments that the Divine made were public and always planned by Mike.

Coming here is a bad idea.

Don't wuss out now, the voice advised. You have something he wants, and you can use that to get some answers. Suck up your fears and talk now!

"While downloading this I noticed your employer's name. Micheal." Anita gulped.

"I didn't ask for you and Kit to be nosy around shit that doesn't involve you. You bitches were supposed to receive and return. A damn simple task." He stood up from his chair and moved his desk closer. "Gimme my fucking flash drive now, little girl."

Hurry up and ask!

"Why would you be doing an off-the-books task for him? The entire world knows every action that man does. Why would this need to be secret?"

The man scoffed. "You have to have a lot of nerve." He reached for her arm and grabbed it, squeezing it as his patience was running out and his anger was fuming.

"I don't ask why the job needs to be done. I just do it and collect the payment. That man promised me riches, and I accepted. No questions asked." He took the drive and sat back down, turning the chair to face the wall. "Those fuckers prevented us from getting it done. We have two days from now till the due date. Now get your ass out of my office."

Some office, Anita thought.

Dumbass, the voice said. Let's leave.

She walked out the door and headed on out. But something inside of her stopped. She side-eyed the door with the tall curtains, feeling her stomach twist and turn while looking at it. She kept quiet; even her thumping heartbeat went on silence mode as she focused on the tiniest sound she thought she heard coming from the inside.

Is that whimpering?

What the hell is making that sound? Opening the curtain became a very smart idea for her. She slowly walked to the curtain and yanked it away.

Her eyes grew with horror and started to tear up from the sight of the dreadful scene. How could humans be capable of doing this morally?

She eyed the dirty, old cages and quickly looked past the children that lay on them. Lifeless.

Only one was moving, shivering while being in the pool of their own tears. It was a girl. She looked near the age of seven, motherless and fatherless. She craved the attention of being looked at. To be saved.

Her mind overflowed with memories she kept in the back of her mind, suppressed by the traumas of the years.

"Oh my god!" Anita said. She turned to leave but hit her head on the Man in Smoke's chest.

He grabbed her by the sides. "What did I say about minding your business, bitch?"

"What the hell are you doing? These are children!" Anita's veins on the corner of her head bulged out of anger.

"This business. One I would do many times if your boy Mike decides to pay each time!"

Anita arched in disgust. Her throat gagged as she expected herself to vomit. "M-Michael asked for this?"

The man threw her out the door. The men in the hallway watched in shock. "Leave before you get yourself killed. Tell Kit next time I ask for a job to be done not to include brats in them."

Anita rushed out of there. Emotions flooding her mind. Each time she blinked, she entered another memory of her childhood. From when Mike took her at the early age of seven, to learning how to shoot any type of firearm by the age of ten. Being built as a child soldier to carry on a goal no child is meant to be involved in.

"He's taking kids! More kids!" Anita yelled. Thunder roared across the sky. Small droplets of rain came falling down. "He has them in cages! Like animals!"

Anita, calm down, the voice said softly.

"I can't. I won't! This needs to be stopped."

How? Most of them are dead. Only one of them is clinging to life, and she's going to end up dead too. Let's go. You tried and failed.

Leaving wasn't an option. She needed to save that little girl. Be the hero she wished she had as a child. The one that would save her from a hard life. In order to do this, it needed to be swift and fast.

She turned to her darker half, finally finding some of herself. "You can get partial control."

What?

"Partial control to merc these people. Make them cease to exist. I offer you that to save that girl's life."

Her darker half might've been crazier, but she was always sounder in heated times.

Anita, it would be worth nothing

"Deal?" Anita's eyes pleaded with desperation. "I can't just forget something like this."

Yes, you can, the voice advised. And you just. This is none of our business. This is none of your business, as a matter of fact. Just forget.

Anita flung her arms around in frustration. "All I do is forget!"

She looked into the eyes of the persona she despised. A small part of herself hated that she wanted her help.

Fine, if it'll shut you up.

Her body tensed, muscles stretching and expanding outward, emerging defiantly into her limbs, inflating to their full, formidable size. It was as if her very flesh was preparing itself, rearranging to accommodate the return of an alternate persona, making itself comfortable for the transformation. Her veins bulge, a network of pulsating life beneath her skin, as her complexion begins to shift from a deep, chocolate brown to a shimmering golden hazel, like sunlight filtering through an autumn forest.

Anita could feel her consciousness constricting, shrinking into a mere whisper in the vastness of her mind, a voice with only the faintest trace of control. It was as though she was being gently pushed aside, making room for something far more powerful.

The exhilarating taste that danced across her tongue was intoxicating, a flavor so rich and satisfying it was like consuming three years' worth of happiness in a single moment. She felt invincible, an unstoppable force of nature, powerful beyond measure. Her sinister smile unfurled swiftly across her face, like a shadow stretching under the setting sun, as she took her first deliberate step in what felt like months, moving away from the looming structure behind her. Only a disorganized, hapless delinquent would wander into such a treacherous place without a meticulously crafted plan.

Her boots touched the ground, but the rest of her body wouldn't move.

We're not leaving, Anita said.

"The hell?" She said,

Partial control, remember?

She rolled her eyes as she felt propelled to turn around and walk inside the lobby.

This shouldn't have happened. She has control again. Why is it different now? Because of a few silly words and a half-assed agreement? Please. That doesn't make sense.

"How are you talking? You're supposed to be on lockdown." She asked, using every bit of strength to not walk up the flight of stairs, but Anita's will overpowered her best efforts to leave.

We're saving that little girl, Anita ordered.

She dragged herself up each step. "It's going to be for nothing." She reached the third floor. Her hands instantly locked onto her sides, gripping onto the dangling ring blades and holding them.

Still stained with the blood from the Horsemen earlier, she thought of how much blood these weapons must have on them. Forever engraved in the steel and forever cursed to touch nothing but flesh and blood.

She sighed as she looked at the double doors, still filled with men. "This isn't that deep."

Doesn't matter, Anita snarked.

Her annoying self's fury controlled her limbs as she forcefully walked through the double doors.

C'mon, Anita said with glee, You love a good fight.

That was true. When she was mainly in control, her heart beat for glory and battle. It gave her purpose.

"Hey there, little lady!" one of the burly men shouted. The others gathered around, looking down at her as if she were a small, helpless child. "You've got no business here anymore." Each of them brandished their weapon of choice—guns, bats, knives—anything to make them appear even more menacing.

She couldn't resist laughing. "You think that, combined with your bulky frames, is enough to intimidate me? HA! I've taken down creatures capable of consuming every inch of your sluggish forms." She strolled a bit further, grinning beneath the man's sturdy chin. Teasing before the chaos unfolded was always a thrill for her.

"I doubt that," The man responded with cockiness. The rest of the men followed with a smug expression. "You think those saucers are enough for us? You're outnumbered and outsized. And you're getting into shit that's bigger than you on so many levels."

She chuckled, her eagerness bigger now. Her knuckles crunched as she thought of her next actions.

"You know what? Fuck it."

She swung her arm with precision, the blade gliding through the man's neck like a hot knife through butter. Crimson droplets erupted violently, cascading through the air and splattering onto the cold, unforgiving floor, as well as painting her face with a macabre artistry. With a swift, merciless kick to his face, she continued her relentless assault, her other arm delivering punishing blows. Both weapons, once gleaming and pristine, now dripped with blood, marred by countless lethal, deep cuts that testified to the ferocity of the encounter.

The men stumbled backward, their eyes wide with fear and shock. Their breaths quickened, and their hearts pounded in their chests. Instinctively, they tightened their grips on their weapons, knuckles turning white as they clutched on for reassurance.

She lifted her gaze, breathless and panting. The sight of the grown men, their brows furrowed in deep concern as they stared at her, filled her with a reassuring sense of validation. Their worried expressions served as a silent confirmation that the choice she was about to make was indeed the right one. The tension in the air was palpable, a testament to the gravity of her impending decision.

She tilted her head. "Seriously? I find it hard to believe that you guys have never seen a murder live."

The silence grew more along with the men's fear.

Her expression turned cold as she sprinted across the dimly lit hall, her ring blades gleaming in the artificial light. With a swift, precise motion, she sliced through the first man in her path, his eyes widening in shock before he crumpled to the ground.

She propelled her leg upward with force, sending another adversary crashing against the far wall. The man barely had time to react before she was upon him. A third man, panicking, raised his gun and fired haphazardly. With fluid grace, she twirled her ring blades, their solid metal surfaces deflecting the bullets. They ricocheted violently, embedding themselves into the shoulders, necks, and even heads of the surrounding men, who fell like dominoes.

She moved with the stealth and ferocity of a predator, her eyes ablaze with a primal hunger. Her previous self, unaware of the intricacies of combat, would have floundered. Her attacks had once been clumsy and unimaginative, easily countered by any skilled fighter. But now, she was a force of nature, a whirlwind of deadly precision.

She was an enigma, a murderous force. She surged through the chaos of battle like a bird soaring with lethal elegance. Her weapons were mere extensions of her will, unnecessary but adding a thrilling edge to each encounter. A sinister smirk crept across her face, unable to restrain itself. The anguished screams of her foes orchestrated a symphony of despair, and the violent spray of blood on her skin sent electrifying, euphoric chills coursing through her veins.

She outmaneuvered them with ease; the men, brimming with nothing but inflated egos and delusions of grandeur, underestimated her from the very start. At a glance, they assessed her size and swiftly dismissed her as insignificant, assuming she would pose no threat. Yet, beneath her unassuming exterior lay a formidable force, capable of executing every cunning maneuver and devastating tactic they could only conceive in their wildest imaginations.

Her upper body strength was formidable. She could absorb punches that churned her stomach and made her insides twist, yet still muster the energy to deliver a retaliatory blow ten times more powerful. Her lower body strength was equally impressive, allowing her to coil her legs around the neck of a brooding adversary. With a surge of effort, she could compel her thighs to flip both of them to the ground, using his bulky frame to cushion her fall, creating the perfect opportunity for her to effortlessly slice through his neck.

With nothing but her bare hands, she unleashed slaps and punches that resonated with a force felt through generations, echoing the strength and ferocity of her actions.

That's enough, Anita said.

Of course the weakling would think that's enough.

The few men who remained breathing either stumbled away in a hasty retreat or struggled to their feet with weariness etched into their every movement. Their muddled minds clung to the foolish notion that their meager strength and stubborn persistence were enough to halt her relentless advance. But dispatching merely two foolish men would never suffice. If the corridor wasn't entirely drenched in crimson by the time she emerged, it wouldn't be enough. She craved torrents and torrents of blood, an ocean of it, for it to even come close to being sufficient.

With a measured calm, she lowered her gleaming ring blades to her side, her eyes fixed on one of the exhausted men as he prepared to strike. His right hook was pathetic, a pitiful attempt that even a child might surpass. She effortlessly leaned to her left, her movements fluid and precise, before driving her fist into his right cheek.

Her knuckles impacted his skin with a jarring force, and she savored the fleeting warmth of his flesh before the devastating blow shattered his neck. The sharp crack of bones breaking was a symphony to her dulled, unfeeling ears. His body collapsed to the ground like a lifeless rag doll. Meanwhile, the other man took the wisest course of action and fled, his footsteps echoing down the blood-slicked corridor.

"Now it's enough," she said, walking into the apartment.

She heard the panicked rustling of paper and feet stomping around in the curtained room.

The man in the smoke had nowhere to run. It was either to face the vulgar might of her or delay his inevitable end.

She smelled the scent in the hair. Fear and anxiety. It mostly consisted of sweat, but to her it was almost like a peppermint scent that made it easier for her to breathe. There is nothing sweeter than that realization that the final kill would be gracefully delicious. She took out her ring blades and cut open the curtains

"Don't take another step!" the man in smoke commanded, his voice sharp and echoing through the dimly lit room. Though the swirling haze had dissipated, he remained concealed in the shadows of the darkest corner, where the light only illuminated his lower body, casting eerie silhouettes.

He gripped his gun with a fierce intensity, the cold metal pressing firmly against the skull of the little girl. Her face was obscured by the darkness, hidden from view, leaving only the outline of her small, trembling form visible.

With his other arm, he wrapped it securely around the child's neck with a tense and protective hold. The shadows seemed to close in around them, thickening the air with a sense of impending dread.

Oh my god, she's not moving, Anita noted. She's not breathing!

"No shit, genius." She muttered.

The man's hand trembled violently, as if it had never before gripped the cold metal of a gun. The barrel wavered, pointing unsteadily at the young girl, a testament to his inexperience and the dread that clung to him like a pungent odor. His fear was palpable, almost visible in the air around him.

She observed him with a derisive smirk, her disdain evident in the curl of her lip. "Just how pathetic can a so-called man be?" she taunted, her voice dripping with scorn. "A child? Really? Let me guess, your debut crime was stealing candy from a baby, wasn't it?"

"You think this is a joke?" He stammered, his voice a frantic blend of desperation and bravado. Sweat glistened on his brow, trickling down his face and splattering onto the girl's pale arms. "I will do it!" he insisted, though his eyes betrayed his uncertainty.

His voice was cradled with fear, yet there was a chilling honesty in his words. He was prepared to commit the unthinkable, driven by a primal instinct to survive, even if the act would haunt his conscience like a relentless specter.

"Put those things down!" he commanded, his voice cracking like a whip in the tense air.

She rolled her eyes with exaggerated annoyance and let her ring blades drop. They hit the worn wooden floor with a heavy thud, slicing through the aged planks with ease. Her hands rose in a gesture of surrender, though her expression remained unimpressed.

Her leg quivered involuntarily, a controlled urge to dispose of him with a swift, brutal motion.

"Hey!" he shouted, his voice laced with panic. "The slightest move will cost you a life."

"And what exactly do you plan to do?" she retorted, her voice calm yet laced with an undertone of challenge. "You can't hold onto that child forever."

A manic chuckle escaped his lips, the sound echoing eerily in the dimly lit room. "I might if it means escaping you," he replied, his eyes alight with a mix of fear and determination. "I've heard rumors of an assassin taking down the powerful, leaving their bodies unrecognizable. I'm on the rise. My friends in high places are elevating me to their level. You won't end my journey here. I've worked HARD to get where I am."

She scoffed again, dismissing his bravado with a wave of her hand. "You're nobody," she declared, her voice cutting through his delusions like a knife. "I'm only here because of an annoying voice in my head. You don't know the meaning of hard work. You have no concept of what it takes to be a person of influence and respect. You're merely a rat clinging to the reputation of those who are superior to you. It's as simple as that."

His grip on the gun got tighter.

"Did I strike a weak nerve in you?" She taunted,

He circled her like a predator sizing up its prey. The dim light cast long, eerie shadows across the room, making it feel as if the walls themselves were closing in on her. She knew once he left, rescuing the girl would become exponentially more difficult.

Her eyes darted around the room, desperate for anything she could use. The rusted cages, with their bars covered in a patina of decay, were too far out of reach. The curtains hung limply, their tattered fabric far too short to use as a makeshift restraint. A surge of frustration coursed through her veins—being unequipped was a blow to her professionalism.

The gun—strapped behind you. On your back, Anita said. The one Justice gave me earlier.

A gun? Her heart leaped with a glimmer of hope. She hadn't noticed its comforting weight until now. But the man still had his weapon pressed ominously against the base of the girl's skull. The stakes were too high; any rash action might provoke him to fire.

"Even if you're climbing the ranks," she began, her voice steady despite the tension, "how sad would it be to kill a child? There's only one man I know who does that, and it always serves his plans. He manipulates everything to his advantage. Killing that girl to escape from another is just sad. Pathetic. You're pathetic."

"Did you forget what I have right now?" he sneered, a twisted smile playing on his lips.

"Oh, I'm not as dumb as you," she retorted coolly. "I'm not the one using a defenseless little thing instead of just shooting me. I'm unarmed, as you can see."

"Shut up!" he barked, his composure cracking.

She smirked defiantly. "Make me, coward."

His gun was trained on her, the barrel gleaming menacingly under the sparse light. But she was ready.

She drew her own gun from her back and squeezed the trigger.

He fired first, but her bullet found its mark, striking the center of his forehead.

His body contorted grotesquely, twisting in an unnatural dance. The bullet's impact had triggered a transformation beyond the capability of any ordinary projectile. Wisps of smoke began to seep from deep within his organs, spiraling upwards in delicate tendrils. This eerie smoke thickened, enveloping him until he disintegrated, collapsing slowly into a large, ominous puddle of ash.

The agonizing ashes tainted the air with the acrid scent of cigarettes and the biting aroma of whiskey, a haunting blend that would be lingering in the apartment for years to come.

She stared at the gun in her hands, her expression a tableau of bewilderment and disbelief. What kind of weapon was this that she held, capable of such a macabre transformation? And why on earth would an elderly man have it stashed so casually in his walker, offering it as though it were merely butterscotch candy? These questions swirled in her mind, but the answers would have to wait.

Pain seared through her shoulder as she realized she had been hit, but the bullet soon pushed its way out of her skin, and the wound sealed itself with supernatural speed.

Ignoring the lingering pain, she rushed to the girl, gently lifting her into her arms. "It's okay. You can wake up," she whispered soothingly.

Her heart plummeted as she registered the truth: the child's skin was icy to the touch, a chill that spoke of more than just a recent death. She hadn't been cold for merely two days.

This was the lifeless cold of someone long gone, a realization that turned her face ashen with grief.

"No, you can't be. Please, don't be dead," she murmured, her voice cracking with desperation. Her heart felt heavy, and she sensed the tears threatening to spill over, though she was not one to weep for someone she had no personal ties to. Her fingers trembled, struggling to maintain their hold on the lifeless body, her grip slipping as if the world itself were slipping away. "No, Anita. You don't want to feel this," she whispered to herself, a futile attempt to stifle the tide of emotion.

Warm tears cascaded down her cheeks like a relentless rain, each drop a testament to her helplessness. She felt stripped of power, as if the very essence of her strength was being drained away. The world around her faded, and she found herself retreating into the depths of her own mindscape, where reality blurred into the shadows of her thoughts.

Anita sobbed uncontrollably, her tears flowing like a relentless river as she clung desperately to the lifeless girl. The injustice of it all pierced her heart. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. This fragile child had been left unprotected by a cruel world. She likely never experienced the warmth of love or the comfort of companionship. Thoughts of a bright future, unmarred by life's harshness, were foreign to her. Her short life had been a relentless battle against struggle and death, and now she had finally succumbed. The unfairness of it all was a heavy burden on Anita's soul.

Her cries of sorrow echoed through the room, a haunting melody of what she failed to accomplish. She clutched the girl tighter, as if trying to infuse her with the warmth and care she had been denied. Anita wished for the world to know that someone cared, even if only for a fleeting moment. Despite her inability to save the girl in time, she wanted it known that at least someone had tried.

Anita's mind swirled with guilt and regret; she could have tried harder. She could have made a more determined effort.

"This is all my fault," she wailed, her voice choked with snot and agony. Her hysteria was a testament to the depth of her sorrow and the passion she felt for this innocent soul.

Anita, a voice urged, we have to go. We can't be seen here with this mess. The horsemen will piece everything together quickly if they find us.

"No! I can't leave her alone!" She protested, her heart breaking at the thought.

She will forever be alone. We have no control over that now.

Anita knew the voice spoke the bitter truth, though every fiber of her being rebelled against it. With the last fragments of strength left in her weary body, she forced her tired legs to move.

She strapped the strange gun behind her and put her ring blades to her sides. Slowly, she rose, her steps heavy with the weight of failure as she made her way out of the apartment, down the stairs, and out of the building. Her clothes were stained with the stark reminder of her inability to save this child, a cruel testament to the horrors life had to offer.

All she had to offer was a silent witness to death.

The island of Yucha

City of Batey

Chapter Four: Attack from Beyond borders

Thick, acrid smoke hung heavy in the air, an ominous harbinger of danger.

The little boy had been taught the old adage: where there's smoke, there's fire. His father had warned him countless times about the deadly nature of flames. But the boy was innocent; he hadn't started the blaze.
His mind was too preoccupied with dreams of chicken nuggets performing a whimsical dance. (His dreams were bizarre, a testament to the vivid imagination of a child.) The smoke infiltrated his lungs, expanding and growing, much to his distress. With a start, he opened his eyes, his vision blurred with burning tears, and his small hands shook with fear. A fit of uncontrollable coughing racked his body. He followed the trail of smoke that snaked out of his bedroom door, discovering its source was beyond the confines of his home. The smoke wove through the kitchen and living room, dark and sinuous, reminiscent of ravens on the wing. Could this destruction be the handiwork of some fearsome creature, a dragon perhaps?

The gaping hole in the ceiling seemed to suggest such a possibility, though dragons were said to be extinct. The boy, only four years old, was at a loss for what to do next. Desperation clawed at him as he yearned to find his father, whose absence was uncharacteristic and unnerving. Time was slipping away, and the relentless inferno edged closer. Tears streamed down his cheeks, mingling with the soot as his coughing fits grew more violent. His small voice called out for his father, a plea for safety in the arms of someone he trusted.

The ground beneath him shuddered violently. Dust cascaded from the crumbling ceiling, while the fire paused in its relentless advance, as if holding its breath. The pungent smell of smoke was replaced by a chilling sense of uncertainty and fear as the tremors intensified. The boy's mind, overtaken by imagination, conjured images of monstrous attacks as the only logical explanation.

Suddenly, the door burst open with a powerful gust of wind. The boy, still coughing, watched as a shadowy figure emerged through the swirling dust, its eyes glowing a fierce red. The creature that stood before him was like no monster he had ever heard of. Its skin, a glossy metallic black, lacked flesh but shimmered with the light of the fiery inferno. It was almost as if it were made of metal, a notion that defied the stories of folklore. Perhaps this was a consequence of some misstep in Kaski's virtue.

Paralyzed by fear, the boy couldn't move. His mind screamed for him to run, but his body remained rooted to the spot. He watched, wide-eyed, as the metal monster raised an arm, preparing to claim its next victim.

The boy squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the last tears trickling down his cheeks. The reality of his situation was suffocating; he didn't want to die alone. In truth, he didn't want to die at all.

Just as the monstrous creature prepared to unleash its unearthly terror, a resounding thud pierced the air of the burning landscape.

Tentatively, he opened his eyes and witnessed the beast shifting its attention to a brave young soldier who had leapt onto its back, wielding a macana with fierce determination. Each strike of the metallic-laced wooden club bounced off the monster's head, but the soldier persisted. The boy was so captivated by this desperate struggle that he failed to notice another soldier sprinting towards him until a firm hand grasped his shoulder.

"Hey," said the soldier, his voice steady despite the chaos. He appeared too young to bear the title of soldier, yet he was old enough to seem like an older brother. "Are you okay, kid?"

The boy shook his head, unable to speak the words.

"Don't worry," the soldier reassured him, his voice a comforting anchor amidst the turmoil. "Your dad's waiting for you, Jacob. I'm James. You're safe with me." The soldier extended his hand, offering safety and hope. "Let's go."

Jacob took the soldier's hand, feeling a sliver of relief amidst the fear, and together they moved away and rushed away from the commotion.

James cradled the boy with the tenderness of an older brother, his grip firm yet gentle. His eyes flicked over to Carl, who was being tossed about by the monstrous creature—its exact nature a terrifying mystery. James concentrated, directing his thoughts toward Carl like a radio signal searching for a receiver, a technique imparted to him by his old teacher, one of many invaluable lessons. He slipped into Carl's mind effortlessly, maintaining a vigilant awareness of his chaotic surroundings. The sounds of the struggle, the thuds and grunts, filled his ears as he began to sprint.

Dude, dodge, he instructed telepathically, his mental voice clear and urgent.

It's not easy to do that when this creature has the strength of a hundred men, Carl shot back, his frustration evident.

I'll be right back. Don't die, James replied, his mental tone a mix of urgency and reassurance.

Reaching the staircase, James was met with a wall of flames, their heat searing and intense, blocking his path. He clutched Jacob tighter, considering his options.

He could take to the air, risking further damage to the building and potentially endangering Carl and the boy's life, or he could attempt to move the flames with simple will. Despite having only five months of rudimentary telekinesis training, the latter seemed the wiser choice.

Unlike Kaski, who required a deep understanding of virtues, elements, and ancient incantations, telepaths relied solely on their own discipline and focus. No incantations in the ancient tongue were needed to persuade the simple flames to heed his command.

With a steady gaze, he willed the flames aside, coercing them to cling to the walls and clear his path. He dashed down the stairs, his pace quickening with each descent. Upon reaching the lobby, he deftly moved the flames away from the exit, creating a safe passage.

As soon as he approached the opening, the ceiling above him crumbled with a deafening crash. From the dust and rubble, Carl and the monster emerged, locked in a fierce struggle. Without hesitating, the soldier lunged forward, his machete slicing through the air in a desperate attempt to pierce the creature's hide—though the beast's skin was as tough as iron, and the blade barely scratched it.

James, caught in the chaos, frantically scanned for a path to maneuver behind them without putting Jacob in danger. The boy clung to him, his grip tightening with fear as the turmoil intensified. Carl summoned every ounce of his strength, his muscles straining as he fought to harm the monster, but his efforts were in vain as the beast hurled him effortlessly across the lobby like a ragdoll.

Jacob's eyes widened with terror, and he buried his face into James's chest. James took a cautious step back, biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment to act. His gaze remained fixed on the scene unfolding before him—the monster pinning Carl against a shattered wall, its mechanical arm morphing into a deadly blade.

With a steely determination, James surged his will upon action. His glare was unwavering as he the creature was sent crashing into another wall with a resounding thud due to his unwavering and unavoidable telekinesis.

I had that, Carl grunted, struggling to his feet.

Sure, James replied with a knowing smirk. I'll be back. Don't die.

"Let me catch my breath, then," Carl said, a hint of humor amidst the tension.

As Carl drew in deep inhales of the crisp, smoky air that filled his lungs, James burst out of the building, shielding his eyes against the blinding sun. Overhead, massive blimps loomed, casting long shadows over the pacing of hurried men below, where soldiers darted about, offering aid and reassurance to the frightened citizens gathered in panic.

A small crowd huddled near the building, positioned just beyond the reach of the flames yet still feeling the ominous presence of the beast within. A squad of Kaski soldiers charged forward with urgency. Eight of them carefully arranged moonshine around the perimeter of the building, forming a shimmering circle of white, glistening sand.

"Wait!" James shouted, his voice carrying urgency.

Moonshine, a potent blend of herbs, was employed to cast a protective barrier spell around the enclosed area. This spell thrived under the moon's glow, particularly during a full moon, but given the dire situation, the eight Kaski were compelled to attempt even the slightest connection to the moon's power despite the sunlight dominating the sky. Once activated, the barrier would trap anything within until one of the eight guardians relinquished their hold.

"James," Kimberly called out, her voice laced with worry. "Where in the name of Ataa is my brother?"

"He's inside," James replied, a hint of reassurance in his tone.

"Is he unharmed?" she pressed.

"Mostly, yeah," he responded.

"Is he going to be fine?" she asked, her voice tinged with desperation.

"Oh, for sure... for now," James said, the last words trailing off as he turned to sprint away.

"What do you mean 'for now'? James!" Kimberly shouted after him, her voice rising in urgency.

James hurried over to Jacob's father, who stood anxiously at the edge of the crowd. The father cradled his son as Jacob ran into his welcoming arms. With a grateful smile, the father thanked James.

James nodded, his expression warm. "Jacob, you were really brave today. I'll be back to check on you." He turned to the father, his gaze steady. "Leave now."

He hopped back inside the protective circle, his eyes aimed at Kimberly and the seven other Kaski standing straight.

"Do not break the barrier until you see me with that thing's head," he demanded with a voice firm as iron.

Kimberly nodded in agreement, her expression set with determination.

The Kaski divided themselves amongst the moonlit clearing, a mystical air enveloping their ritual. Four of them began conversing in the ancient tongue of virtue, Arawko, their hands weaving intricate gestures to perform the virtue with precision. Their fingers folded together, then gracefully unfurled to create the image of a perfect circle, a symbol of unity and unbroken strength. Around their necks, vials of infinitum glowed softly, amplifying their connection to the natural world and infusing the air with an ethereal energy.

Meanwhile, the other four Kaski stood erect, their voices merging into a cacophony of distorted tunes that, surprisingly, blended into a sweet and mesmerizing melody. Their hands mirrored the same circular gesture, their voices a plea to the absent moon, beseeching its power and aid in this critical hour. Each voice was like an orchestra unto itself, their harmonious cries strengthening the shimmering barrier, a tangible force of virtue rising from the earth to complete the circle's protection.

James inhaled deeply, focusing on the rhythm of his breath as he released his tension. The looming threat of the beast did not unsettle him; such challenges were expected as routine to him. What worried him the most was letting back his restraint of his exciting yet uncontrolled powers, ones that were even more confusing than his telepathic abilities

His skin began to crackle subtly, releasing arcs of electricity that danced across his body like restless spirits. Though his powers were not mystical like the Kaski and more of an unknown science that no trained physicist could truly understand, he has grown accustomed to the uncertainty of his exciting cosmic powers. The crackling energy, a vivid tapestry of red, black, yellow, and black electricity, surged with growing intensity as he reached for his sword, drawing it from its holster with a deliberate, practiced motion as he rushed back into the battle.

He leaped into the lobby with a powerful force, his landing sending shockwaves through the air as the cement flooring cracked and splintered beneath him. The electricity danced around his body, sizzled, and popped, creating a buzzing aura of energy. His eyes darted around the chaotic scene, ears straining to catch the sounds of Carl's struggle and the sickening thuds of blows landing, but Carl was nowhere in sight.

Suddenly, the monster burst forward through a gaping hole in the wall, dragging a conscious yet immobilized Carl along like a ragdoll. Its massive hand clamped around Carl's neck, lifting him effortlessly as if he were nothing more than a small animal.

I didn't die, Carl said with a touch of humor despite his dire situation.

James's gaze shifted to the other side of the lobby, where Carl's club and machete lay discarded on the ground. The monster's arm had morphed into a menacing, sharp blade ready to strike.

He focused on the weapons lying forlornly on the floor. Catch, he thought.

Carl's hands reached out instinctively as his weapons flew back to him with a will of their own. With the club firmly in his grip, he swung the macana in a powerful upward arc, connecting with the beast's chin and sending it staggering backward. The monster's grip on Carl slackened, and Carl rolled away, coming to rest beside James.

"You're welcome," James said, as he settled into a ready stance, his grip on his sword tightening in preparation.

The beast stumbled, momentarily disoriented, but quickly regained its footing. Its other arm transformed into another deadly blade, poised to slice through both boys to satisfy its bloodthirsty intentions.

James focused, entering Carl's mind. I'll go on the offensive. You—defense.

Not a smart idea, Carl retorted. You're out of practice with that sword of yours.

I won't be smacked around like you were, James replied confidently.

Are we going to keep talking, or are we going to kill this—whatever this thing is? Carl shot back, readying himself for the imminent battle.

The hulking monster loomed toward them, its presence casting an ominous shadow. James, gripping his sword tightly, widened the distance with a calculated step. He extended his arms, brandishing his gleaming blades with precision. Each swing was deliberate, executed with a masterful intent rather than the reckless abandon of an amateur. The monster retaliated with its left hand, wielding its blade with ferocious intensity, aiming to overwhelm the boy with sheer power and relentless blows.

Carl, meanwhile, parried the monster's right arm weapon with his sturdy macana. His machete gleamed in the dim light as he delivered a slicing blow to the creature. But a simple slash was insufficient to breach the monster's metallic hide. Undeterred, he relentlessly hammered the marked area with his macana, determined to exploit any weakness. James's relentless pursuit forced the beast into a defensive scramble, its movements becoming erratic against his strategic assault. The macana thudded repeatedly against the spot he had been targeting, the reverberating booms echoing through the grand lobby, causing dust to cascade down like powdered snowflakes.

In the art of sword fighting, James was a paragon of skill compared to the lumbering beast. His agility and cunning far surpassed the creature's brute force. With three deft, powerful slices, he pierced the monster's exterior. Yet, instead of blood, a strange blue liquid oozed from the wounds. Pooling on the ground like a foreign substance.

Carl's relentless assault finally paid off, as the relentless pounding of the macana revealed the inner workings of the beast. "What in the name of Ataa is this?" Carl exclaimed, his voice echoed.

Beneath the creature's skin lay a tangled mass of wires, a startling revelation of its true nature.

In a surge of fury, the monster lashed out, its forearm striking Carl with tremendous force, sending him hurtling through the air. With a guttural roar, it redirected its rage toward James, lunging at him with both arms, desperation fueling its every move.

James held his gleaming blade aloft, muscles straining as he pushed back with all his might. The monstrous creature staggered, its massive form wavering. Carl, with determination etched on his face, charged back into the fray, swinging his heavy club with force. The impact resonated with a sickening crack as it met the beast's skull, sending fractures of spider webbing across its surface.

The beast, undeterred, shoved Carl away with a powerful swipe. "This thing needs to stop pushing me aside!" Carl exclaimed in frustration, his voice tinged with exasperation. He prepared to rush forward once more, but James instinctively took a step back, a creeping doubt settling in his mind. A wave of uncertainty washed over him, threatening to drown him in hopelessness.

At that ominous moment, the monster's chest began to part, revealing its menacing, red glowing heart pulsating at the center like a sinister beacon. It turned its attention to Carl, and an eerie humming of machinery filled the air, a sound so piercing it seemed to slice through their very thoughts.

"Shit!" James shouted, realization dawning upon him. The creature intended to end Carl's life and use his death as a means to escape. Desperation fueled James' actions as he swung his blade in a wide arc, aiming to intercept the beast. But the monster's arms met his strike with brute force, sending James stumbling back, yet still standing as a guardian before Carl. The ominous humming intensified, growing louder and more insistent.

Hesitant, Carl's instincts screamed at him not to move past James, yet doubt gnawed at him. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, voice laden with concern.

James remained silent, his thinking unshaken. There was no alternative, no other path to take. This was their stand.

The beast unleashed a massive surge of energy, projecting a slender yet formidable laser that sliced through the air with precision. Carl instinctively turned his head away as the lobby was suddenly bathed in a vivid crimson hue, a visceral warning of the danger that now enveloped them.

James's scream echoed through the room as the laser struck him, yet it did not claim his life. Instead, his body hesitated, reluctant to embrace the electricity that crackled around him. Doubt gnawed at him; could this peculiar ability withstand such an onslaught of energy? This was far beyond the minor abrasions of sunlight he was accustomed to, which his body effortlessly converted into electrical energy, enough to power his neighborhood for a month. But a laser was an entirely different beast.

This extraordinary gift was an offshoot of his telepathic prowess, an uncanny ability to adapt to any life-threatening situation. Initially, this skill was as unpredictable as it was relentless, manifesting solely in the form of electricity for reasons unfathomable to even his seasoned telepathic mentor. It was whispered that this was a rare ability, a gift only a handful in the annals of history possessed. Yet, in those rare instances, the power of adaptation—or more accurately, Darwinism—was usually more subdued, allowing the telepath some measure of control.

James's remarkable brand of Darwinism, however, was a force unto itself, driven by its own survival instincts, indifferent to the collateral damage it might inflict. Out of fear of the potential havoc his powers could wreak, James focused more on honing his telekinesis and mind-reading abilities, sidelining the untamed adaptability that made him a living weapon. To his nation, he was a guardian with untapped potential to protect and serve. To himself, he was a ticking time bomb, a threat that should be contained. The fear of losing control loomed over him like a shadow, and perhaps today was the day it would come to pass.

The electricity surrounding his body boosted as he released the stress, channeling the raw power of his ability. Each day, the mental strain of holding back threatened to overwhelm him, yet he persisted, haunted by his mentor's cryptic warning that his adaptive potential was unpredictable. He could feel his body absorbing the laser's energy as if it were a vast, unforgiving desert, devouring the scorching beam siphoned directly from the monster's chest.

Gazing at his hands, he watched in awe as the crackling arcs of energy transformed before his eyes. No longer did they merely circle his arms, torso, and legs; instead, they rearranged themselves into intricate, glowing hexagons that adorned his skin like otherworldly tattoos.

Carl, noticing the laser's once-blazing light begin to fade, circled around James and crept to the rear of the monstrous adversary. With precise, determined movements, he struck the beast and drove his leg down upon the machete in its grasp. The monster erupted in a piercing, mechanical bellow as it propelled back to its feet, its chest sealing with a resounding clank before it flung Carl away with a violent, indiscriminate swipe.

Taking a moment amid the chaos, James knelt, attempting to collect himself as the absorbed energy slowly settled within him, each pulse of power merging into a steady, internal strength. Clutching his sword tightly, he charged forward toward the monstrous foe. His blade met the creature's hardened exterior with a resounding impact even as he parried its twin, merciless blades. The clashing of their weapons was so intense and relentless that it drowned out even the echo of the fading laser.

In a sudden, unforeseen maneuver, the monster disarmed James, forcefully shoving his prized sword aside. Yet even then, as he locked eyes with his formidable opponent, James felt a surreal connection—an awareness that the creature was not crafted from mere flesh but from something altogether different.

It was not simple machinery like that found in old bullet trains or basic computers; this was an advanced, almost sentient form of engineered artifice that defied ordinary explanation.

With deliberate might, the monster raised both massive arms and swung them in brutal, sweeping arcs. In response, James lifted his own arm, unleashing searing streams of electricity that rippled outward like turbulent waves. For a moment, the monster faltered, its heavy form nearly frozen as its lone eye blinked intermittently, as if caught in a malfunctioning cycle.

Nodding with steely resolve, James hurled the mechanized beast violently aside, sending it reeling from his relentless assault. Carl quickly rose and moved toward him, his eyes wide with trepidation, not for his own safety, but for the peril he foresaw befalling his dear friend.

Determined to minimize the risk to Carl, James repositioned himself closer to the monster. As the creature attempted to pry open its chest compartment in a desperate bid to regain control, James fired back with bolts of pure electrical energy. The hexagonal patterns etched across his body flared brightly, each radiant burst of energy intensifying as he discharged volley after volley upon the beast. The relentless barrage proved too much—the monster was blasted clear out of the building, hurtling into the blinding sunlight under the watchful eyes of a thousand stunned citizens.

In that chaotic moment, Kimberly caught sight of her brother, blood dripping in vivid streaks down his skull. The impulse to shatter the barrier spell surged within her, yet she paused, remembering James' solemn request and the gravity of the battle unfolding before her eyes.

James's anger escalated with each passing moment as he unleashed his fury upon the beast. Every bolt of electricity he fired tore through its tough hide, fragment by fragment. It wasn't until he raised his hand, releasing a surge of electricity that reverberated through the air, that the creature's entire metallic surface was obliterated, disintegrating into dust upon contact with his formidable power.

What remained of the monster was merely a shell, an advanced suit of armor with technology the likes of which the inhabitants of the island of Ataa had never encountered. With the metal casing stripped away, there was no monster—only a girl, her screams echoing in agony as James's electrical energy seared her exposed skin.

"James, you got her," Carl advised, his voice cutting through the tension. "You can stop now."

But James scarcely registered Carl's words. All he could hear was the hum of pure energy surrounding him. He summoned his sword with a thought, and it soared through the air, hovering above him as his electric aura infused the steel, crackling with lethal potential.

The sword inched closer to the girl, who was now begging for mercy, her pleas a stark contrast to the charged silence of the crowd that watched in stunned disbelief.

"Hey!" Carl shouted, his voice urgent. He placed his hand on James's shoulder, only to jerk it back as the intense heat seared his palm.

The realization of what he was about to do hit James like a cold wave. What was he doing? He wasn't a killer. The hexagonal patterns that surrounded him shimmered and dissolved, reverting to their original form. Gradually, the electricity subsided, dissipating from James's body until it vanished entirely. He glanced around, meeting the eyes of the crowd, who now regarded him with a mix of fear and awe, as if he were the true monster they should fear.

The girl, once encased in the metal armor, lay curled into a ball, her breath rugged and uneven as the remnants of pain coursed through her battered body.

James noticed Jacob's father shielding his son's eyes from the scene. He turned to Carl, who looked back at him with a reassuring yet concerned gaze.

"It's fine, man," Carl reassured him.

The acrid scent of burnt flesh emanated from Carl's palm, a stark reminder of the intensity of James's power.

James then looked toward Kimberly, the only Kaski who seemed unfazed by his display, her eyes cautious rather than terrified. "Drop the barrier," he said, his voice steady as he reached out to grab his hovering sword, placing it securely in its holster. "Please. Just drop it."

The Bronx, New York

Chapter Five: Ruin

The Kingsbridge Armory, a colossal structure that once stood as the largest of its kind in New York, was a bustling hub of community life. Its vast halls hosted numerous events, bringing the local populace together in celebration and camaraderie. Within its expansive confines lay an ice rink so enormous that it could comfortably accommodate fourteen football fields, a testament to its grandeur. It once boasted a movie theater, offering a cinematic escape for the city's young adolescents. Yet, before all these transformations, it served a different, more solemn purpose as a military base, steeped in history and discipline.

Nowadays, the place stood desolate, inhabited only by spiders weaving their intricate webs and enormous rats scurrying through the shadows. The building loomed over the citizens outside, yet they seemed untroubled by its presence or the potential it once held. They no longer cared to voice their opinions or share their visions for this abandoned place. The Bronx itself was slowly deteriorating, a testament to their collective decision to resist becoming yet another territory claimed by the Divine. Now, they faced the dire consequences of what seemed a foolish choice. The people endured hunger and struggled to make ends meet, clinging to the hope that the Divine might find a sliver of mercy in their icy heart and grant the borough a chance to reconsider and amend their missteps.

Whispers of the borough's plight traveled vast distances, echoing through secret channels that reached as far as the endless expanse of the Sahara Desert, where Tatia and Susan harbored a daring idea. It had been five long months since their covenant witches had been ruthlessly slaughtered, victims of petty vengeance and blind allegiance to a radical regime. During those months, meticulous plans had been laid. If a rebellion were to ignite, it needed to spring forth in a part of the world teetering on the brink of disaster.

Tatia and a few Coven members executed their plan, departing with her to the Bronx under the veil of night. They arrived at the historic military base when the moon was high, its silvery light casting elongated shadows that cloaked their movements. The group, shrouded in darkness, slipped unnoticed past the watchful eyes of the city. They carried large, heavy boxes filled with essential items necessary to establish their presence and further their cause.

Inside the base, George awaited them. He was the sole mortal who had bravely volunteered to align himself with magical beings for the sake of their mission. Tatia and Susan lowered their hoods, revealing their determined expressions, and handed him a box that weighed heavily in their arms.

"Thank you, Georgie," Tatia said with gratitude in her voice. "I trust you weren't spotted sneaking in here."

George nodded, a confident grin on his face. "The folks around here mind their business. They live by the motto, 'Don't see nothing, don't say nothing.'"

Susan's eyes roamed the neglected surroundings, her brow furrowing in disapproval.

The walls loomed around them, their surfaces marred by deep cracks, aged and weary. The paint was a sickly hue, mottled with patches of mold that seemed to creep and spread like an illness, giving off a faint but somewhat pungent smell that made the area stale and earthy. Rats scurried across the floor, their tiny claws clicking against the concrete as they fled into the shadows, disturbed by the newcomers encroaching on their territory.

"This is no place for a rebellion," Susan remarked, her voice tinged with skepticism. "This place feels like a resting ground for disease and death, lying in wait for their next victim. At least, that's the impression it gives."

Tatia let out a long, weary sigh. "We've been alive for so many years, witnessing rebellions erupt in places far worse and more oppressive than this. Just give it time, please. Besides, I warned you that coming here was a bad idea." Her words carried the weight of experience and caution.

The armory had a pronounced industrial aura, with its rugged exposed brick walls and sturdy steel beams, a testament to its rich historical significance. Each room and section had been thoughtfully designed for various purposes, from expansive drill halls to bustling administrative offices. These vast, open spaces, once bustling with military training exercises and storage, now held immense potential for what they could embody and represent in the future.

Susan scuffed her shoe against the floor, her determination unwavering. "I committed my support to this cause because I will always stand by you. I refuse to remain on the sidelines as we edge ever closer to danger." Her voice was resolute, filled with loyalty and defiance.

"But, Suz," Tatia replied, her voice gentle as she moved heavy boxes with her bare hands, exerting strength like a mortal, "we need to maintain our cover. News is going to spread faster than it did when we first heard of this place, I'm afraid." Her words were laced with urgency and caution.

Susan rolled her eyes, a slight smirk playing on her lips as she delicately waved her fingers—middle, index, and thumb—toward the boxes, guiding them with a flick of her wrist to an empty spot across the decaying ice skating rink. "Yes, I know, Tatia. Since you've been excommunicated from the Coven and I have not, it poses a tremendous risk if anyone outside our community sees us collaborating."

"Not just me," Tatia warned, "If anyone sees you with any other member in this room, we're doomed." Her gaze was steady, her concern palpable. "Take the Twilight Door back home—I mean, your home. It's for the best until we've established a stronger influence." Her words carried a sense of urgency, a plea wrapped in practicality.

Susan ignored the advice with a smug look.

"That's nonsense. I'll be good and discreet, I promise," Susan said with a confident grin. "Besides, I really want to check in on our dear niece. She deserves to hear about the family news before everyone else gets wind of what her aunt is up to."

Tatia let out a soft chuckle. "You know the rules, Susan. You can't talk to her. I'd do it myself, but she doesn't really like either of us."

A sly smile spread across Susan's face. "What if I told you that the Coven and I have been working on an agreement? One that allows us to be part of her life and even train her?"

Tatia stood frozen, her mind racing to comprehend her sister's revelation. Just as she opened her mouth to respond, George's voice rang out, interrupting their conversation and pulling their attention away.

"What's the matter?" Susan inquired, concerned.

George sprinted toward them, his face etched with worry. "Just moments ago, an apartment was reported to have multiple people dead, including the bodies of children. From what I've heard, the condition of the bodies bears an eerie resemblance to the way that crystal miner was killed."

The sisters exchanged a glance, their expressions mirroring a mix of disbelief and fear.

"The killer's here?" Tatia asked, her voice tinged with incredulity. "What are the chances of that happening?"

George shrugged, his eyebrows knitting together. "I have no idea, but I think we should check out the place and see if this beast left anything behind."

Tatia nodded, determination hardening her gaze. "Good idea. Where is the reported building located?"

"Inside a building on 197th Street," George replied.

Anita trudged through the shadowy streets like a zombie, her feet dragging and her eyes vacant, oblivious to the frightened and wary glances of those who crossed her path. The streetlights cast long, eerie shadows that danced in the night, making it unsettling to stand next to her. Each step echoed in the silence, a hollow sound that mirrored the emptiness inside her.

She had no clear destination, no warm sanctuary to call home, nor the will to recover from her recent actions. These actions loomed over her like dark specters, serving no purpose other than to haunt her every thought and weigh heavily on her weary soul.

The persistent voice in her mind urged her to remain concealed in the night's black blanket. People didn't need to talk about the girl drenched in blood, wandering the streets without a care. But she ignored the internal warnings and continued her relentless march.

The blood of the men stained not only her clothes but also seeped into her skin, now dry and cold. It clung to her like a chilling reminder of the violence as she wandered aimlessly through the labyrinth of streets, shivering and clutching herself tightly for warmth. The wind whistled through the narrow alleyways, carrying with it the distant hum of a city that never truly slept.

She soon became aware of the eyes of those few who were awake at this ungodly hour, their gazes like silent accusations. But what did it matter if they noticed her? What's the worst that could happen? Would she be detained and subjected to experiments? Perhaps that would mean serving some purpose, rather than remaining a walking husk of her own failures and unanswered questions. She was weary of being ensnared in mystery, her life a tangled web of violence and unending turmoil. The night air was heavy with her exhaustion and despair, each step echoing with the weight of her burdened soul.

She longed for it all to end, for the cacophony of her life to fade into a profound silence.

Despite the hollowness that had long overtaken her, tears continued to escape her eyes as if by instinct—an unfailing reflex honed by years of sorrow and despair, each drop a testament to the weight of her depression. Even when numbness reigned supreme, her body betrayed her, crying out as naturally as a sponge absorbs water.

Stumbling through the darkness, she became painfully aware that she was moving in aimless circles. As her vision tentatively sharpened, she could make out only overlapping, smudged patches of color—an endless loop of blurred hues haunting the corners of her sight.

In that murky clarity, the all-too-familiar voice in her head sounded minuscule, like the frail buzz of an ant. The more that savage inner demon shouted for her to hide away, the more its venomous influence seemed to wither, leaving her to question the logic of concealment. "What's the point?" she mused bitterly. "Why retreat if the crushing sense of worthlessness follows me no matter where I end up?"

Before she knew it, she found herself standing atop a towering building. The oppressive dullness of the sky gradually began to yield to the dawn, as soft ribbons of pink unfurled along the horizon. The frigid air slapped her face with unrelenting harshness, its biting chill swirling around her as she peered down at the indistinct, shrouded ground far below. The height unsettled her—how had she ascended so far, so effortlessly? Yet none of it mattered now. Perhaps this dizzying altitude was the universe's final sign, the swift, merciful exit she had craved.

With no moment's hesitation, she shut her eyes, steeling herself for the plunge. She hurtled downwards, meeting the cold, unyielding concrete with a brutal impact as a thin veil of blood mingled with the biting chill. Alone in that desolate moment, she was convinced that no one would ever tread upon her anonymous sacrifice—a solitary exit unnoticed by the indifferent world below.

Then, a strange voice cut through the final echoes of her fading existence, dripping with casual condescension: "Oh, young blood, that's pointless."

Who had spoken? She wondered in her final, faltering heartbeat as life ebbed away.

In that fleeting instant, she had achieved what she so desperately desired—the profound quiet that had haunted her every step. But as the stillness settled, it was abruptly shattered by the clamorous resurgence of life. Slowly, imperceptibly, the intense cold that had enveloped her began to recede; her mysterious healing factor awakened, snatching away the silence that had promised release.

Undeterred, she climbed back onto the roof, driven by a relentless compulsion. Again, she allowed herself to plunge into oblivion, repeatedly falling from that dizzying height in a hopeless bid to force her powers to finally surrender. Yet, such mercy would not be granted to someone as conflicted as her. Over and over, she embraced the void, each desperate attempt to merge with the comforting warmth of death fueled by her last flickering hope.

Her last fall was peculiar, almost surreal. As she tumbled, she caught sight of a blur that stood out starkly against the earthy tones of the ground. This blur, a vibrant and unexpected hue, appeared to stretch out its arms as if poised to embrace her. The wind, usually a mere whisper, suddenly gained strength, swirling around her with a gentle ferocity that seemed to cradle her descent.

She floated downward with an elegance akin to a feather wafting lazily to the earth. In that suspended moment, someone reached out, enveloping her in a comforting hold, their eyes meeting hers with an intensity that promised solace. Then, the world around her faded, and she wondered if this was death, finally drawing near, offering a tender invitation to the tranquility she had long yearned for.

....

Her eyes fluttered open and then drooped down for a few minutes before she summoned the strength to keep them open fully. The afternoon sun spilled warmly across her forehead, while the faint clatter of someone rearranging dishes roused her muffled hearing. The couch beneath her was threadbare and weary, its springs rudely pressing against her back, persistently poking into her skin with each movement.

The ceiling above was painted a dreary, aging yellow, marred with cracks that snaked across the walls and even encroached upon the ceiling itself, like a web spun by time. The only vibrant presence in this unfamiliar space was the hanging pots of plants, their lush foliage adorned with blossoming flowers, bringing a touch of life and color to the room.

With a groan, she propped herself up and glanced toward the sound of dishes being put away. Her vision gradually sharpened, slowly accompanied by the awakening of her other senses.

Where are your blades? The voice inquired, a distant echo in her mind.

"Great, you're back," Anita murmured under her breath.

Shut up, the voice insisted. You don't have anything on you that could make you a threat. Either rush out or attack.

"Shut up," Anita retorted, rubbing her hands over her eyes in an attempt to clear her thoughts. "I don't care for the time being. Let me be."

A gentle hand rested on her shoulder, its touch comforting and friendly, devoid of any malice or intent to harm her—or so she believed. The hand didn't exert any force to push her back onto the couch or prepare her for a strike meant to shatter her already weakened senses. No, the hand was meant to reassure her, to let her know she was safe.

"Hey," Piper said, offering Anita a steaming cup of coffee. The fragrant aroma wafted through the air, mingling with the crisp morning breeze. "I was beginning to think you'd sleep through the entire week. Not that I'd mind, but it's a bit concerning." She settled down beside the girl, a freshly washed cloth in her hand. With tender care, she began to gently clean away the dried blood, her movements deliberate and filled with empathy.

"P-Piper?" Anita stammered, shaky and disoriented. "How did I end up here?"

Piper gave a kind, gentle shrug. "Girl, I was going to ask you the same thing. You somehow made your way up to the roof of my building. At first, I was puzzled by this constant thudding sound against the ground. Then I peeked out the window and saw you. I tried to call out to you from the roof, but it was like you were in your own world, oblivious to everything around you. You fell and climbed back up at least ten times. I had to catch you before you took your eleventh fall."

Anita groaned softly, wincing as the damp cloth made contact with her skin. It wasn't because Piper was being rough—quite the opposite. Piper's touch was gentle, guided by her compassion and eagerness to tend to the crimson marks. The discomfort came from Anita's unfamiliarity with being cared for, the sensation of someone else's kindness brushing against her vulnerability.

"Do you live here?" Anita asked, her voice tinged with disbelief as she took in her surroundings.

Piper nodded confidently. "This is the eighteenth floor."

Eighteenth? Anita's mind reeled at the thought. "How many floors are there?" she inquired, her curiosity piqued.

"Twenty-one," Piper replied with a nonchalant shrug.

Anita let out a heavy sigh, her thoughts swirling around the dizzying height from which she had plummeted, only to be miraculously saved from certain death. Her eyes roamed over her savior, searching for any signs of injury or bruising. There was no conceivable way this girl could have caught her without bearing the marks of such a feat.

"How are you unharmed? How did you catch me?" Anita's voice trembled with disbelief.

Piper shook her head softly, dismissing the concern. "Don't worry about that. Focus on drinking that coffee and getting cleaned up." She rose from the plush couch and moved gracefully to the kitchen, which was only a few steps away across the warm, wooden floor. She laid the napkin, now stained a vivid red, on the cool countertop. "I'm serious. There's a towel and some clothes next to you on your right. I picked out some of my old clothes that I thought matched your style. Drink up before it gets cold."

Anita sat motionless, her throat parched. She was taken aback by Piper's composed demeanor, the way she neither panicked nor regarded Anita with frightened eyes. Piper exuded an air of calm and collectedness, as if she were accustomed to such extraordinary events.

"You have no questions you want to ask me?" Anita ventured hesitantly, her voice laced with an underlying fear of the response.

Piper shook her head once more, her gaze steady and reassuring. "Trust me, I've seen a lot of things. It's almost routine for people in my family to encounter strange stuff. That's why I keep my distance from my mother's side and stick to myself. It's not my place to pry into your life. I'd rather just help you."

Anita genuinely smirked, her lips curling with amusement. "That's very un-New Yorkian of you," she remarked, her tone teasing yet playful.

"Eh, not really," Piper replied with a casual shrug. "I didn't ask questions that didn't concern me." Her voice was nonchalant, as if she had mastered the art of selective curiosity.

Anita nodded in agreement, her eyes glinting with understanding. "Very true."

"Yes, now drink," Piper urged, gesturing towards the steaming cup of coffee sitting on the table, its rich aroma wafting through the air.

It could be poisoned, the voice warned.

"I'd rather just take a shower," Anita confessed, the thought of hot water washing away the day's grime sounding infinitely more appealing.

"Fine, but you're drinking that coffee when you're done. Hopefully, it doesn't turn cold," Piper insisted with a knowing smile, pointing towards the bathroom. "The shower on the right."

Anita gathered the soft towels and fresh clothes beside her, rising to her feet. "Thank you, Piper," she said, gratitude evident in her voice.

"No problem," Piper replied, her friendliness genuine.

Anita marched into the dimly lit bathroom and reached for the showerhead. She turned it on, the water cascading down with a soothing rush, steam beginning to fill the small space.

She hadn't indulged in a normal shower like this for months, and she had forgotten how soothing such a simple task could be. The water cascaded over her, steaming and hot, just the way she liked it. Her skin welcomed the heat as a much-needed balm. Perhaps the scalding water could wash away her mistakes and cleanse her of the burdens she carried.

With her eyes closed, she surrendered to this fleeting moment of happiness, letting the water envelop her completely. It was as if each droplet absorbed her worries, if only for a brief respite. The sensation was captivating and almost magical, erasing her troubled thoughts.

A smile began to spread across her face as the warmth wrapped around her, reminiscent of a comforting embrace. It reminded her of the hug she had given that little girl, right after holding her lifeless body, an image that haunted her still.

How could she ever forget that poor, defenseless child? How could she have allowed such a tragedy to unfold?

Her smile faded, replaced by a grimace as the haunting events of the previous night replayed in her mind. The sorrow of her failure and the relentless tide of depression crashed against the fragile shores of her mental landscape, threatening to overwhelm her.

What right did she have to have a moment of peace when there was a girl dead? Where she had killed just for it to be pointless? What were these feelings of warmth and comfort when that poor girl lay cold in that disgusting apartment?

Tears mingled with the shower's spray as she cried once more for that little girl, mourning the life that could have been if only she had tried harder to save her. The water continued to flow, a silent witness to her grief.

She stopped the shower and dried herself. She slowly put on the clothes as she kept back further tears. Piper didn't need to see them. That kind girl has already done enough for her.

She swiped the foggy mirror and looks at herself. The fit was good, very normal and typical for a girl her age. A long-sleeve pink shirt with white in the torso area and a light blue star in the mirror. Her lower, starving stomach showed a little bit. Her jeans were tight on the waist but baggy on the lower legs. There were flowers at the bottom with flowers stitched on them, blossoming into roses.

I'm not a killer, she thought as she stared harder at herself. I'm not a killer.

She scrunched her hair with a towel with the hopes of drying it faster. She opened the door and walked out. Piper was standing near the table, holding the cup of coffee.

"Oh, look at you." Piper said. She got up close to her and checked her face. "No scars. Now that's a cool ability I wish I had. Maybe one day." She handed Anita the cup of coffee, insisting even more that she drink it.

Anita finally took it.

It could be poisoned, the voice repeated.

"She had the chance to harm me and didn't take it," Anita muttered as she went to take a sip of the drink. To her surprise the drink was still hot as if it was just brewed. "How did you—?"

Piper smiled. "Don't worry about that," she said, wiping sweat from her forehead. "By the way, I cleaned out your toys." She went to grab her keys that were hanging on the wall that divided the living room and kitchen. She pointed at the couch, unphased by the weapons.

The ring blades were polished to perfection, shining when the sun hit them. And the gun still had the slightly used essence around it.

"Justice," she whispered. I have to talk to Justice.

She placed the cup down and armed herself, attaching the clippers at the sides of her new pants and the gun under her shirt—despite it showing a little bit along with her lower back. "Piper, I want you to know I really appreciate what you've done for me. Seriously, I do, but I won't burden you any further. I'm gonna head out."

Piper shook her head. "And you're coming back. Someone needs to check up on you. Not everyone in this fuckin' city is as kind as me. Look, I have to do shit too, but I'll be back in half an hour. Go do your shit, and make sure to hide it well before trouble comes through the door. I don't need any bullshit in my house other than you. I expect you to be here when I come back."

Anita chuckled. "And if I'm not?"

Piper shrugged. "Better find a volcano to fall into. Because if I find you, I'm coming for that ass."

Anita laughed. "Ok, fine. I'll be back."

"You better!" Piper exclaimed as she watched Anita walk out of the place. Once the area was cleared, she sighed. "What did my dumbass get myself into?"

"You won't believe the mess she's left," Kit said.

She tiptoed around the bloody mess from the hallway and the room. Gagging at the sight of the dead kids in the cages and the one with blood smeared on it.

She did a slight smile as she saw a burned, crisp body a few inches away from the child. "At least we can tell Seth his gun works."

Justice sighed on the other end of the call. He was at the park watching the boys play basketball like he always does.

His ear lit up a lapis blue as Kit continued to talk into her lapis earring piercing.

"Any Horsemen around?" Justice asked.

"Nope. They've left to ask around if anyone saw anything." Kit answered. "There are bloody footprints leading out of the building, Justice. I know you told me to expect the worst when I came here, but I'm guessing you meant for Anita. What are we going to tell Seth?"

Justice rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. He didn't need added stress for a person his age. "We tell him nothing in the meantime."

Kit sucked her teeth in. "He's not going to hear a word of this. He's almost as omnipresent as you. And that's saying something considering you do almost everything."

The more she stood in the sight of bashful murderers, the more she grew sympathetic. These kills were not ones of vengeance but ones of passion without any previous planning. Each kill screamed out the rushing desire to save the little girl, and the blood smeared on her conveyed the sorrow.

Kit's eyes teared up a little bit at the sight of this child. "You want me to find her?"

"No," Justice said. "Things are going to play out soon. Your part will come in. Get out of there before the entire place is covered with Horsemen. Thank you, Kit."

Kit nodded. "Yeah, anytime."

His hearing aid dimmed down until the lapis blue light was completely out. He closed his eyes as a chilly breeze brushed against him.

"We need to talk." Anita said, standing in front of him.

He smiled at the sight of her. "Nice clothes. Trying something new, I see."

Anita sat down next to him. "I'm not in the mood for your games right now." She folded her hands together and kept her eyes on the ground. "Who gave you that gun? Where did you find that gun?"

He shrugged. "I just be finding shit."

Anita groaned. "Cut the crap!" She didn't mean to yell. The exhaustion of everything she's feeling was getting to her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, young blood." Justice replied. "Everything will be found in the end. Trust me."

Anita rubbed her eyes and groaned once more. "I'm tired of thinking that with no result, man. It's not happening, and nothing seems to be going in my favor. Just tell me who gave you the gun."

"It's not my business to tell you," he said. "It's not my place either."

She sighed. She doesn't have the patience to deal with this old man's stubbornness. "Justice, please."

"Have you heard about the mess that happened a couple buildings away from here? Horsemen came to the scene of a hallway and an apartment with slaughtered men everywhere. Very sad." Justice's tone was mellow and knowing. "Any idea who would do that?"

Anita's lips strained with an uncomfortable smile and light chuckle. "Who told you?"

"Does it matter?"

No, it doesn't. Hiding the fact that she was responsible for the murdering of weak men wouldn't make it any easier. She still committed the crime.

"No, no, it doesn't."

Justice nodded. "I've come across a lot of people in my years. I was always told to listen and never judge. It wasn't my job to get involved in the lives of...others. My job was to be a watcher. But, young blood, I cannot watch you slowly ruin yourself."

Anita wanted to look at Justice, eye to eye, and tell him she did not wish to bring attention to the already struggling borough. But she could not muster the courage and said, "I was made bad. What can anyone expect from me?"

"Nothing if you don't hold yourself to certain standards."

Standards? She thought. "Standards are so far from my mind. I can't afford standards."

What is she doing? Speaking her feelings out like she's important. She came to the park for one thing, and that's all.

"Who gave you the gun, viejo?" She said, pushing back an uproar of tears.

Justice shrugged. "It's not my place to say. I wasn't even meant to give you it."

"Okay, fine." Anita got up and stomped out of the park.

He watched her leave with worried eyes. Was it his job to worry about those he was supposed to watch over? No, he only cared about them when his job required him to. But this girl is reaching into a void of endless despair she will not be able to dig herself out of. Everything will fall into place soon, but not soon enough. Not until he intervenes once more.

Bronx, New York

Chapter six: Not in the mood

The buses were perpetually overcrowded, like sardine tins bursting at the seams. Even if the entire street were engulfed in flames of vicious, malicious fury, passengers would still be crammed together, exchanging exasperated glances as if accusing each other of hogging precious inches of space.

Piper had deep disdain for the bus. She much preferred walking to her destinations, despite the cacophony and throngs that characterized Fordham's streets, which somehow managed to feel both bustling and desolate. Her feet were well-acquainted with the path to Montello Hospital and back home, a routine she found strangely comforting, never growing weary of its predictability.

As she strolled, she made a conscious effort to avert her gaze from the multitude of Divine posters plastered everywhere, their bold slogans urging citizens to embrace 'righteous grace' and 'kindness' and to welcome their hospitality. These posters had defaced much of Fordham, obscuring the shuttered stores and their weathered signs, each of which whispered tales of simpler times before everything became so convoluted.

Piper deftly navigated through the hurrying masses, who moved with the mindless determination of lemmings with no clear destination. They seemed unburdened by purpose or responsibility, a notion that struck Piper as oddly enviable. How fortunate they must be, she mused.

"Hey, Piper." A vendor lady yelled out.

Piper smiled and reached into her pocket. This lady had a lifetime supply of smiles every day of the week. Piper never caught her off guard with a frown or stank face expression.

"Heading to the hospital?" The vendor said, taking the crumpled up dollars Piper passed.

"You already know," Piper replied. She grabbed a paper cup with the most deliciously soft coconut ice cream. She took one bite and felt her chest become lighter as some of the stress went away. "Thank you, girl. You're a real one for this." She waved goodbye and hurried on.

The sun was beginning its graceful descent down the horizon, painting the sky with strokes of amber and gold. She was eager to reach the safety of her home before darkness fully claimed the day. The streets, once the sun dipped below the skyline, would become a haven for those lost in a haze of substances, their minds adrift and unpredictable.

Rushing through the bustling throng of Horsemen congregated in the middle of the road, she couldn't help but roll her eyes at the sight of the narrow-minded men. To her, they were nothing more than puppets, blindly following orders without a thought of their own, and she held no regard for such blind devotion.

By the time she reached the hospital, her ice cream had melted away, leaving only a sticky residue on the paper cup.

The front desk was deserted, as was often the case. This hospital was known for its affordability, but not necessarily for its efficiency. It was a place where death was not conquered but merely delayed, holding out hope for a miracle to intervene.

She dashed up the stairs, her footsteps echoing off the walls, paying no heed to the stream of nurses descending on the opposite side, each holding boxes filled with their personal belongings, a sign of the hospital's constant state of flux and uncertainty.

Must've been laid off today, she thought.

Finally, she made it to the eighth floor, panting and with sore legs.

The floor was deserted with no sound playing and no one in their rooms.

"Hello?" She called out.

If there's no one here, could that mean...?

She hurried to the last room of the hall. A sigh of relief was released once she noticed that nothing's changed.

The delicate blossoms she had brought just last week still floated in a crystal water cup positioned beside the window, their petals glistening with the remnants of early morning dew. Nearby, the melted candles from the previous week—now hardened, waxy stains clinging to the worn surface of the old desk—spoke of times past. Overhead, the dream catcher she had painstakingly crafted in days gone by swayed ever so slightly against the ceiling as if exhaling a tired sigh. And in the dim light, the cracked chair with its broken leg stood sentinel beside the fragile figure of the patient.

The patient. Piper's heart clenched every time she thought of that word. Calling her father "patient" stripped him of the life and vibrancy he once held, reducing him to a mere diagnosis in the eyes of a sterile system.

The ventilator tube, arching willfully in a curve into her father's throat, continued its mechanical rhythm—a lifeline that, if it faltered even for a heartbeat, would unleash the furious retribution of the managing staff. Piper was all too aware that any lapse would incite a storm of consequences too severe to imagine.

Gently, she eased herself into the chair and let her trembling fingers caress her father's cheek. His skin was cool to the touch, neither the warmth of life nor the chill of the grave, but a steady coolness that spoke of a fragile balance between hope and despair.

"Hi, Dad. Sorry I'm late," she murmured softly, her voice wavering as she dabbed carefully at the dark, spreading veins that bore the mark of poison. With each passing week, those veins deepened in color, a stark reminder of the relentless infection that now defied the gentle ease of progression they once followed. Her heart pounded like a countdown timer edging ever closer to a catastrophic alarm.

"Oh, Piper. I didn't hear you come in," came the measured reply from the nurse, who had been watching over her father with an expression that mixed duty with deep resignation.

Piper offered a small nod. "I don't know how—I shouted hello as soon as I walked in," she insisted, though her voice was laced with a quiet desperation that belied her words.

The nurse, holding the updated medical chart in her hand, glanced down at the new details scrawled across its pages.

"How bad is it?" Piper asked urgently, her eyes searching for any glimpse of hope. "I can feel it getting worse."

"It is worse," the nurse admitted softly. "Piper, I'm afraid he has only a few months left. There's nothing more we can do to sustain him."

But Piper ignored the grim statement with a stubborn defiance that had carried her through previous crises. "How much more do you need to keep him sustained? Triple last week's payment? It might take me time, but I can manage it."

The nurse's head shook, her eyes clouded with sorrow. "You're not understanding. I'm afraid no amount of human medicine will reverse his condition now." She pressed the chart into Piper's hands. "At first, the morphine worked; it didn't interact with the illness like chemotherapy did. But now, the disease has learned from the morphine—embedding itself deeper into your father's white blood cells, commanding his immune system to fend off its effects. He is developing a dangerous tolerance at an alarming rate."

Piper's head fell in disbelief. This could not be the end—not now, when she had fought so long to keep him alive. "Please, tell me you're kidding. How can this thing control his white blood cells? That's not how science works."

The nurse offered a resigned shrug. "In your father's case, what he has isn't purely science; it's more like magi—"

"I know, I know," Piper interrupted, her voice rising with fierce determination. "I won't let him die in a matter of months. Most of the others on this floor are fading away, but he's been the last man standing—you hear that? And I won't let that change."

The nurse's gaze was compassionate but firm. "I'm sorry, Piper, but everyone has been moved. The hospital is closing indefinitely, and we have until next week to clear every last item before the Divine takes what it pleases with this building."

Piper's frustration bubbled up into a bitter laugh. "You're kidding me. Those assholes are taking over even when we aren't even recognized as a territory?"

"The councilmen decided to allow the Divine to campaign among the people, hoping to speed a decision," the nurse explained, her tone heavy with regret.

Piper closed her eyes and sighed deeply, her thoughts a storm of despair. The Bronx, her home, was losing itself—a casualty of power misused—and while she was relieved that mass slaughter had not followed, the cost was still unbearable.

"Fine," she said with a defiant edge. "What place could take him now? Who could truly help him?"

The nurse's reply was laced with cynicism. "Every other hospital is far too expensive for you. No offense meant, but given his condition, no one would want to take in a dying man—it's seen as a waste of resources."

Frustration contorted Piper's features as she tilted her head back in exasperation. "Don't even start—if I have to, I'll expose you and your entire department as nothing more than a drain on what little resources remain."

The nurse departed, leaving Piper alone in the heavy silence. Alone with her father, whose still form was overshadowed by the creeping sludge of corrupted blood, darkening his veins with every agonizing pulse.

In that quiet, oppressive moment, Piper felt tears welling at the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm so, so sorry," she whispered, each word laden with heartbreak.

Now, with a single week to find a new refuge for her father—a destination unknown and fraught with uncertainty—Piper's mind raced for a miracle. Her hands, trembling yet resolute, were the only instruments she had left. Perhaps, just perhaps, she could become stronger, even without the long-held practice or extensive knowledge of her gifts.

Carefully, she placed both hands along the contours of her father's face and closed her eyes, centering her focus on the faint, waning rhythm of his heartbeat. Weak. Lonely. Unprotected. Just like how she felt whenever she visited.

She concentrated now on the vile, creeping sludge that was swiftly replacing his vital blood—a malignant force that rendered human life perilous and could spell instant doom for the gifted, unless treated immediately. The cold, biting chill earlier in the morning that sent shivers racing over her skin became her anchor. That cold was exactly what she needed—only now, she must draw upon it with greater intensity.

Her hands grew frostier with each passing second as a delicate mist of magic began to dance around her fingertips. A frost-laden breath escaped her, fogging the window with a ghostly haze.

As her face grew ever paler, she poured that numbing chill into her connection with her father's veins, attempting to freeze the encroaching sludge—a desperate, temporary measure to buy time in her search for a true cure. She disengaged her hands as she felt herself becoming one with the coldness.

For a fleeting moment, she watched in strained disbelief as the ice gathered around the darkened veins, momentarily stalling the insidious flow of the poison. But that hope was short-lived; the relentless heat of the corrupted blood soon melted the fragile frost, erasing the temporary pause in its grim march.

Desperation tightened its grip on her heart as the realization struck—"I can't stop it." With a final, anguished whisper that barely broke the heavy silence, she told her father, "I can't save you," and slowly, tearfully, she stepped away.

She walked into the bustling streets with deliberate slowness, indifferent to the prospect of getting home late. She paid no attention to the people who brushed against her shoulders as they hurried past. Her mind spun with possibilities, each more frantic than the last. She couldn't bear the thought of her father dying. That was no solution. She had clung to him for so long, and she was not prepared to let him go yet. He still had a purpose to fulfill, and the unfairness of it all gnawed at her heart.

Her shoulders grazed against a cold, metal surface, but she didn't bother to glance up.

"Hey!"

A sharp, unyielding grip seized her wrist with alarming tightness.

Piper looked up, her gaze meeting the brazen stare of the person who dared to clutch her wrist as if she were a wayward child about to dash into oncoming traffic. Her expression flattened into one of disinterest, and she rolled her eyes dramatically, reaching their furthest limit in her annoyance.

Horsemen, she thought with exasperation. Today of all days.

"Let go of me! You have no right to grab my hand like that," she shouted, tugging fiercely to free her wrist from the soldier's grip. "Seriously, let go of me, or I'm going to start beating your asses."

The horseman and his partner exchanged amused grins, their expressions smug and irritatingly self-assured. Their disgusting little smirks hinted at a false sense of righteousness that seemed to grant them license to do as they pleased. Who would dare to stop them?

"You're the one who bumped into me, little girl," the horseman retorted, his voice laced with an unsettling undertone that barely masked his creepiness. As his grip on Piper's wrist tightened, she could feel his enjoyment of the power he wielded. Though his eyes were concealed, his unsettling grin sent a shiver down her spine.

"Listen, man," she said coolly, though her tone barely concealed the simmering tension beneath. "I'm really not in the mood for you strong-arming me like this. So if you can..." She glanced at her wrist and then at his arm, the unspoken threat hanging in the space between them, "...any day now."

The Horseman chuckled, a low sound that resonated with a dark amusement. His partner edged in closer, his breath hot against the Horseman's ear as he murmured, "Nice pink hair. Do you happen to live by the Bailey Houses?"

Piper forced calm over her simmering anger, her eyes hardening as she replied, "And why would that be any of your business?"

"Don't get cute with me," the Horseman growled. "You fit the description—a girl with pink curly hair, seen helping a person of interest. Have you heard about the massacre near your area? They say it claimed the lives of several men and even a couple of children."

At the sound of "children," a cold shiver ran down her spine. Could it be that she had unwittingly aided someone capable of such depravity? No, Anita was no child killer—she reassured herself fiercely.

"I have no idea," Piper answered, her voice trembling just slightly despite her best efforts to steady her gaze. "I don't spend my nights stalking the news. I have a life—responsibilities to tend to."

The Horseman shook his head with a derisive sneer. "For a little, scrawny girl like you, that's not exactly music to my ears."

Piper exhaled sharply, forcing a false smile onto her lips. "Well, with handsome, strong men like you around, I suppose I should feel quite secure," she said, the sarcasm thick in every syllable.

The tight grip on her arm increased suddenly, and she heard the unmistakable cracking of her bones as they pressed against one another. "What did I say about being cute?" he hissed.

"I can't help what I am," she replied, her eyes playfully fluttering as if to mock the two men, even as her heart pounded in her chest.

Without another word, his partner extended his arm and revealed his palm. A small glass aperture embedded in his glove projected a flickering image of light that danced across Piper's face.

Squinting, Piper examined the hologram. The picture was intentionally blurry, as though the photographer hadn't bothered to switch on the flashlight. Within the dim silhouette, a girl was visible—her body streaked with blood, clutching herself tightly as she roamed the night. Though the image concealed her face, Piper instantly recognized her.

Anita, she thought, a mix of dread and disbelief swirling within her. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

"Do you recognize this girl at all?" The Horseman pressed, his voice a blend of menace and curiosity. "We've got more than a dozen witnesses claiming they saw her fleeing the scene, heading down toward the Bailey Houses."

Her mind raced with turmoil. There was already too much weighing on her, and lying to these determined men, who were certain to saturate the neighborhood with their inquiries, felt like an extra burden she couldn't bear. She reminded herself that her loyalty to Anita was tenuous at best—she barely knew the other girl. She'd only been trying to be kind.

Her lips parted, ready to spill everything she could recall about last night and the early hours of this morning, when a memory of her late father's lessons halted her words. In his quiet, unwavering tone, he had once said, We help the people in this family, a reminder that echoed softly in her mind as she hesitated.

Piper let out a light groan. Kindness was free, just as hatred was, but her father had instilled in her the value of extending a helping hand to those in need.

"No," she finally said, her voice steady despite the inner storm, "I have never seen that girl before. I have no idea who she is. She could be walking down the street, and I wouldn't know a thing about her. Sorry. Can I have my arm back, please?"

Reluctantly, the Horseman released her.

As Piper rubbed the pain away, her voice dripped with sarcastic gratitude. "Thank you so much. You guys really are making a difference here. We sure needed more assholes."

With that, she turned and melted into the crowd, her heart pounding as she slipped into anonymity among the throng of people. Yet a small voice within her trembled with fear—perhaps they could sense the hidden web of lies she'd spun. Uncertain and uneasy, she wondered if she had indeed dug herself into a deeper, darker hole than she could ever climb out of.

The thought, along with the tangled web of circumstances surrounding her father, poured over her in heavy, relentless torrents throughout her walk home. Every step was accompanied by an incessant murmur of anxious overthinking, as if her mind were a storm cloud refusing to dissipate, blurring out the finer details of everything else around her.

When she finally reached her floor, the sight that greeted her sent a chill through her veins—the door was wide open. The alarming thoughts were swept away in an instant, replaced by the thunderous pounding of her heart and the quick, shallow rhythm of her labored breathing. She closed the door behind her before leaving. She made sure both the bottom and top locks clanged into a state of impenetrable security, marking a stark contrast to the vulnerability she felt moments before.

A soft, disconcerting rustling echoed from within the apartment, as if someone were methodically rummaging through her space. The sound, laced with quiet indignation, suggested that whoever was there was lamenting over the fact that there was nothing of value left to pilfer. With each cautious, silent step, she stepped into her apartment. Her fingers, twitching with barely contained mystic energy, weaved subtle patterns in the air as she edged closer to the kitchen, thinking perhaps the intruder might be overcome by hunger. Too bad she hadn't replenished her food supplies in the past three arduous weeks.

In one swift, determined count of three, she sprang toward the kitchen and closed her eyes, summoning a controlled burst of wind, guided by magic, from her hand. The gust, barely enough to disturb a feather, had little effect on the intruder.

"Well, that isn't very kind," came a voice—smooth, feminine, and imbued with a motherly warmth. Recognition sparked within Piper's weary eyes as she slowly opened them, relief washing over her in gentle waves; it was her aunt, Susan.

Her aunt's presence was as arresting as ever; her blonde hair, straight and angelic, cascaded elegantly over her shoulders, framing a face that still radiated benevolence. Around her neck, the familiar lapis necklace glimmered softly, a subtle reminder of times long past.

"Fuckin' geez, Susan. Why are you here? And why would you leave my door wide open, acting like you pay any kind of rent?!" Piper's exasperation burst forth, her words laced with a mixture of sound and fury, as she clutched her heart in a vain attempt to quell the rapid, pounding thuds that echoed within her chest.

Susan's throat cleared gently before she swept a gesture toward the clutter of hundreds of food bags strewn across the floor. "How much is your rent supposed to be that you have nothing else in this place?" she asked coolly, closing the refrigerator, which now stood generously stocked. "We can unbag the rest later. Come, niece." As she opened her arms for a warm embrace, Piper instinctively recoiled, unwilling to return the gesture.

"No hugs. I don't hug someone I can't bring myself to like. Why are you here?" Piper demanded, her tone edged with caution.

"Um, I'm your aunt," Susan replied with an almost humorous, matter-of-fact air, as though stating the obvious were supposed to ease the tension.

"Yes, you are. Sadly," Piper retorted, the bitter taste of regret lacing her words.

An uneasy silence fell between them, the atmosphere growing thick and stiff, as if charged with unspoken truths and long-held resentments.

With a gentle, imploring motion, Susan placed her hand tenderly on her head. "Darling, please. At least feign some kindness towards me. Or at the very least, pretend to like me. I did just buy you hundreds of dollars worth of groceries—you're welcome, by the way."

Piper's eyes narrowed in disdain, her scorn palpable. "I didn't need you to do that. I was just fine without them," she snapped, her words as sharp as broken glass.

Susan let out an indignant sound, sucking her teeth in disapproval. "No, you were not," she chided, gripping Piper's arm firmly. "Look at you—you're too skinny. Your arms are nearly skeletal."

Piper jerked her arm free in a swift, aggressive motion. "I have enough people holding on to me like a possession, thank you very much," she said, baring her defiance. Stalking over to the fridge, she grasped an icy bottle of orange soda, the condensation slick against her fingertips. "Thanks for this, though. Seriously, I do love this soda. Okay, you can go now."

Susan's head dropped slightly in resignation. "Piper," she said in a gentle, mellifluous tone, "can we talk? I haven't seen you since you were twelve."

Piper raised a single defiant finger as she gulped down her soda. "Ten. The last time I saw you and Tatia, I was ten," she corrected.

"I'm sorry. Being immortal tends to jumble up the years for me—that's one of the many downsides of eternal life," Susan replied sheepishly, the room settling into a heavy, contemplative silence then. "I've been thinking about you lately. I've been wondering how you're holding up, how you're doing."

Piper's expression hardened further, every glance at her aunt intensifying her inner revulsion. It seemed as though every word Susan uttered was smothered in pity, a pity that demanded forgiveness—a luxury Piper was neither willing nor able to grant. "That's nice. I haven't thought about you at all. I have better things occupying my mind."

Susan let out an anxious breath, her eyes searching. "How's your father?"

"You never cared about my father before. What? Now that he's dying, you suddenly have room to feel sorry for a mortal?" Piper snapped. "That is not true," Susan protested softly. "I have always had a soft spot for Enzo. After all, he was the only suitor, in a long line of them, who could tolerate Katerina."

"Don't drag Mom into this," Piper demanded sharply. "My father's still dying. If I don't do something soon, he'll be gone within weeks. Thanks for asking—if that's all."

Susan clasped her hands to her chest, her face etched with genuine sorrow. "Oh, dear. I'm so sorry."

"Keep that to yourself. I don't need you here. Thanks for the food, though I could've bought it myself. Thanks for wasting my eyesight and my time," Piper declared, gesturing dismissively towards the door once more. With a dismissive wave—a silent command born from her potent magic—she conjured a gust of air that sent both of their hair swirling wildly and the door closing shut.

"I have matters..." Susan began, but the words hung in the air, unfinished, as the chasm between the two widened by every breath, "to discuss."

Piper groaned as she began to slouch, her body sinking into the wall like a deflating balloon. "I could give two shits about what you want to talk about," she spat, her voice dripping with disdain. "You're not welcome here. Not even with that perfect hair of yours."

Susan smiled at the backhanded compliment, her fingers tenderly grazing the glossy waves that cascaded down her shoulders. "Oh my, thank you. I have been having a good hair year," she responded, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Piper jabbed a finger towards the door, her expression unyielding.

But Susan shook her head slowly, a solemn resolve settling over her features. "No, I'm sorry, my dear niece, but this is something we must discuss," she insisted, her voice firm yet gentle. "Especially since it's becoming increasingly apparent that your magic is growing. I was hoping to intervene early on, but you are my blood. I should've come sooner."

Piper's blood simmered beneath her skin, years of pent-up bitterness threatening to boil over, yet fatigue weighed her down, tempering her ire. "Susan, I'm seriously not in the mood or interested in what you have to say to me," she retorted, her words laced with sarcasm. "Aren't you witches supposed to be rule followers? I'm pretty sure even buying me food is considered betrayal to that cult of yours."

Susan raised a finger, her sassiness bubbling to the surface like a geyser ready to erupt. "First of all, little girl, I am a sorceress!" she declared with an air of triumph. "I didn't endure years of study just to levitate a simple pencil. Secondly, I am not part of a cult—I belong to the oldest coven on the planet. And lastly, no one other than your aunt knows I'm here, so no one would know I'm bending the rules. Well, the council knows, but they're ok with it. Just this one time, though, unless this conversation ends well."

Piper, unimpressed, leaned against the wall, her head making a dull thud as she gently banged it in frustration. "My last memory of you was Tatia screaming at you for the agreement you made," she recalled, her voice tinged with bitterness. "You could've at least waited a week or so after I was confirmed."

"Darling," Susan began, her tone softening, "as a trusted member of the coven, I had to alert the council that you were not a sorceress or witch. If I hadn't, the lies that would've followed in the years to come would be too much to bear. Besides, for your kind and for your safety, I had to make an agreement."

Piper tilted her head back and let out a peal of laughter, a calculated move to keep the simmering anger within her from boiling over. "My kind? I thought we were the 'same blood.' You know, you can just say what I am," she said, her voice laced with a daring edge.

"I'd rather not," Susan replied, her tone clipped and measured.

Piper chuckled, a sound that was both bitter and amused. "Of course you won't. Your lot has always been afraid of alchemists," she said, the word hanging in the air like a forbidden curse.

Susan's eyes narrowed into a sharp glare, as if the mere mention of the word 'alchemist' was the most egregious offense imaginable. "Be careful how you use that word. Others might put you on trial as a heretic merely for uttering it."

"Al-chem-ist," Piper taunted, drawing out each syllable with mocking precision. "I don't care. It's not like I'm a threat to magic folk. If you're here because of that, let me assure you, I've adhered to the terms and have refrained from delving into any kind of magic. I'm no threat to your pristine standard of life."

Susan shook her head slowly, as if burdened by unseen weights. "No, it's not that. I'm afraid circumstances have changed. Have you kept up with the news?"

"Do I look suicidal to you? Why the fuck would I be watching the news?" Piper said.

Susan nodded, acknowledging the point. "Fair enough. Witches were killed not long ago by the Divine themselves. They accused us of violating the peace treaty and used it as a pretext to unleash violence, leaving us at a disadvantage. If the coven engages in war, we would be decimated. That's why I'm here. Following Tatia's plans, we are establishing a base here and setting things in motion."

Piper laughed again, the sound filled with disbelief at such a ludicrous notion. "Are you suicidal? Thinking of starting a rebellion? The Divine crushes them before they can even make the slightest ripple of change. There's no way your little coven agreed to this."

"They didn't. Well, not officially. To everyone outside the council, they just know Tatia and a few members were excommunicated. I am soon to announce my resignation," Susan said, her words carrying the weight of impending change.

Piper straightened her posture, her eyes narrowing as she confronted the unsettling truth. "You can't be serious," she declared, her voice a blend of incredulity and resolve.

Susan inclined her head with measured gravity. "I am. That is precisely why I have come. The council must hear my impassioned pleas, and before that, I wish to take you as my apprentice—to guide you through the intricate, arcane pathways of your magic. When you are fully prepared, you can help fuel the rebellion."

"You know I cannot accept that," Piper countered, her voice thick with frustration and disbelief.

"And why is that?" Susan asked, a flicker of hope threading through her steady gaze.

"Uhh, I simply don't like you. And besides, this whole scheme is absurd. Launching a rebellion against a formidable, well-disciplined military force is sheer madness. You're binding yourself to risk the lives of people and shoulder the blame for every consequence for as long as you have breath left," Piper argued, her voice tinged with cutting sarcasm.

Susan rolled her eyes in weary exasperation. "It isn't like that at all. We have a carefully crafted plan."

"Wow, a plan? That totally changes everything," Piper replied with dripping irony, her sarcasm a thin veneer over her inner cynicism.

"Don't you ever crave to uncover who you really are? To evolve beyond the limits of who you are now?" Susan pressed, speaking with earnest vulnerability.

Piper shrugged dismissively. "Unless I can cure my father and ensure nothing bad ever happens to him again, I'm not interested. I don't want to learn more about myself. I can simply warm a cup of coffee and summon a gentle breeze to remind me who I am. Whatever spark of curiosity I had got smothered a long time ago, thanks to you. Now—and I mean this sincerely—just go!"

Susan seemed to shrink under Piper's harsh verdict, her posture curving with shame as she absorbed every biting word. Defending herself seemed futile, likely only to deepen her embarrassment. "Okay. I'll go. But I will be around the neighborhood for the time being," she murmured.

"Super," Piper said sarcastically, her words as cold as a winter chill.

"I hope you will consider my offer more deeply. I hope you find some urge to talk—to me or even to your Aunt Tatia—especially if you're hurt," Susan added softly, her words laden with concern.

Narrowing her eyes in confusion, Piper asked, "What the heck do you mean by that?"

Susan pointed discreetly at the overflowing garbage can in the kitchen. "There was a rag stained with blood on the counter when I entered. I tossed it aside before I started restocking. You seem fine, but if you do have an injury—"

"No, that wasn't mine," Piper interrupted abruptly.

"Then who was it?" Susan pressed, her voice gentle yet laced with worry.

"No idea, but that reminds me—I have a friend to pick up," Piper replied sharply, snatching her keys as she rushed toward the door. In her haste, she nearly forgot about Anita and the errand she'd tasked the young girl with earlier.

"You know your way out. And please, don't leave my door open. Use your magic or that crystal of yours to lock it this time," she instructed before dashing down the stairs.

Her heart pounded with a mix of urgency and apprehension as she silently hoped that Anita wasn't about to engage in another reckless escapade that might lead to something that could bring a lot of unwanted attention.