That moment made Hale freeze, his grip around Saint's neck recoiled as if fire found its way towards his skin, effectively burning him. A loud thud could be heard as the now limp body of his victim found its solace on the cold floor. Saint's head lolled to the side. Blood made its way out of his lips, forming a grotesque show of crimson bubbles as he tried his hardest to breathe.
Hale cared no less to the worthless fool that's right next to death's door, but he couldn't believe it. Why Anthony was there, it's impossible... it shouldn't be.
"Why are you here? " he managed to ask. He knew the answers, but it's something he wished to be a lie. His breathing hitched as he moved closer, his steps a little hesitant.
Anthony's face was unreadable, blank like a white paper, but he never let go of his weapon. "Don't come any closer... " Anthony's voice croaked, his shears on a protective stunt, ready to defend himself and his companion stationed at his back.
Hale shook his head multiple times. There must be a mistake. His mind reeled, struggling to accept that the raven he's been trying to track is right before his eyes but not Anthony...
"No, " he whispered and laughed softly. The hatred and the lust to kill the raven was wavering at this moment. It's now filled with an insatiable anger for himself for getting attached, which caused him to try to avert to the truth that... they're enemies.
"Why? " It was soft at first, a choke, until it pierced through his soul. He felt betrayed. Anthony is like him... he should be like him. A loud roar erupted from his chest, still questioning, "Why, Anthony? Why?! "
His gaze fixed at Anthony, whose eyes were now occupied with various emotions, first; a wave of disbelief and the second, a more repulsive one-a mix of disgust, hurt and anger. The latter made a mark on Hale's heart. He couldn't understand why Anthony felt this way towards him. He should sympathize with him because they had the same reasons.
A searing pain stabbed his heart, a familiar pain he longed discarded-a weakness he doesn't want to have. His jaw hardened. "You can still change sides, Anthony... along with your companion. " He tried to convince Anthony as he tried to go closer again, his hand trying to reach him.
Anthony coated his shears with his dark flames. It hissed as if trying to warn Hale. Anthony's companion, the cat man, also raised his gauntlets-ready to fend him off.
For the first time, Hale felt as if he's a monster. The look in their eyes is something he doesn't want to see.
Anthony shook his head, his voice filled with contempt as his eyes found its way towards Saint's helpless body. He should be feeling betrayed that it's someone he knew that's their enemy, but all he could feel is fury. For Saint, his uncle, Trace, the other victims and... Aegir. This is the person that made all these unthinkable things... who killed many people and toyed them.
Hale shook his head, laughing deliriously. He opened his mouth and uttered in a low voice, "No... we're not meant to hurt each other... " He doesn't want to hurt Anthony. He couldn't bring his blade to cause him any harm.
The hilt of his shears felt like dead weight on his grasp. As he opened his mouth to reply, a dark wisp of smoke took its form beside him. It materialized into the shape that of a man, one black feather flew in the air until it multiplied and became a torrent of raven-coated plumes. A sharp shriek followed until the smoke eventually dissipated and revealed the bowing form of Trace, his uncle.
His uncle's head snapped toward their enemy, and his gaze resembled that of sharp blades. Although, already an undead, the veins in Trace's neck and arms bulged and twisted-a clear testament of his wrath.
His words laced with venom, he spat, "Don't believe anything he's saying. You know he's the enemy. He'll just use you for his purpose. " For Trace, it's the undeniable truth. The scar that this person left him was immense, and him, as one of his generals before, knew him better than anyone... he's beyond repair. He doesn't have any conscience.
"He needs to die. " The words left his lips. The person he's referring to was too stunned to speak, glued on his spot. His body felt cold and numb, but he could feel as if pain was trying to surface-the searing pain he long buried.
Hale raised a shaking hand, pointing his trembling finger at Trace. "You too... Why... Why do you keep on betraying me?!" His voice was pained, desperate, half shouting. Hale never expected to unearth these feelings... to be this weak! He was supposed to kill! To be a predator and not to be eaten alive.
Hale's dark aura roared, crackling mercilessly and making the air difficult to breathe. He let out a frustrated scream, fighting against the resurfacing memories that clawed at his mind.
"You all shouldn't have done this to me!" he roared.
Beside Anthony, Aegir, the cat-man, hurriedly cast a shield of pink energy. "He's dangerous!" Aegir screamed. A blazing hot gust of air filled the space as if fire itself were dancing on the wind.
"Get ready! " Trace's hand glowed with black energy, his hand morphed into sharp raven talons.
The three of them desperate to stand their ground against the unforgiving wind. Even with the presence of Aegir's shield, it can not protect them completely from the power they're pitted against.
Five enormous, rotting hands erupted from Hale's back. They cracked and moved viciously, like vengeful ghosts. Blood seeped from their skin, turning from crimson to black as it coated their surface.
Hale's laugh was maniacal. "I guess it can't be helped! I can't spare anyone, even if I wanted to save a spot for all of you!" The five hideous hands attacked the trio indiscriminately, and everything they touched burst as if struck by an explosive.
Anthony imbued his shears with his aura, hoping the extra power would be enough to evade the relentless onslaught and strike back.
"Aegir! " Anthony called.
From above, Aegir leapt through the air, waving his hand. A flurry of bouncy, pink bubbles materialized and shot forward like a rain of bullets. They continuously struck their target, enveloping it to slow its movements and minimize the damage.
Meanwhile, Trace levitated upward, arms spread wide. A faint blue light shimmered in his palms before flying into the air and solidifying into dozens of raven-feather daggers. Their razor-sharp tips pointed at their target, poised to turn it into a pincushion.
Yet, even with their combined display of power, Hale remained unfazed and insatiable.
With a snap of his fingers, a deafening noise erupted. A series of explosions ripped through the air as the bubbles surrounding Hale's five ginormous hands burst and sizzled into nothing.
"Taste this!" Hale bellowed.
Two of his hands clenched into fists and shot toward Anthony with the speed of lightning, leaving him no choice but to evade the brutal hits. Each strike was heavy, forcing him to stagger and grit his teeth. The next blow created a massive shockwave that sent Anthony flying like a ragdoll. His body slammed into a tree, and he coughed up blood, his right shoulder, a bloody mess of burnt flesh, and dripping blood.
"Anthony!"
Aegir was quick on his feet, rushing to his master's side without a second thought for the hand relentlessly pursuing him, ready to grab and throw him just as it had Anthony.
Trace, despite his hands being full of sending daggers at the other hands and evading their attacks, still found a moment to help his allies. He released two large skulls with flaming blue eyes. From their mouths, they unleashed a barrage of vibrant blue flames, scorching the hand that was hot on Aegir's heels.
Hale's laughter echoed across the battlefield, a hollow, cruel sound. "Weaklings! Let me do to you what they'll do once you're useless-strip away the ones you love and leave you with nothing!"
A single tear escaped his eye, a spark that further fueled the rage burning within him. He hated these tears. He wanted them to be the ones crying, not him!
He was fed up with the despicable people who had no loyalty, who bit the hand that fed them. He was past the point of no return, and if there was any sliver of regret left inside him, he would starve it until it was dead.
"You'll understand what I mean," he whispered, his eyes locked on Anthony, whose lips were stained with his own blood. Hale smirked. A long, twisted spear made of malicious red energy and dripping black blood formed on his palm.
The cursed spear shot forward, not at Anthony, but directly at Aegir.
-
They say that as you die, your life flashes before your eyes—a final, gracious gift of memory. For Saint, it was no gift at all. His entire being was a storm of pain, each agonizing pulse a fresh wound as he relived a memory he would have willingly traded for oblivion.
The memory was sharp. He was being dragged, his arm caught in the merciless grip of a man with a wild mop of curls. The man didn't care about the half-dressed woman who was complaining about being interrupted. He just pulled some money from his pocket and threw it at her. The woman didn't need to be told twice. She grabbed her shirt and quickly left.
The man was clearly angry. His face was red, and his hand was not gentle on Saint's arm. It was meant to cause pain. Vin, that same man, stopped and looked him in the eye. "Why are you here?" The question was the same as always. It was like his personal alarm clock.
The whole room smelled of cinnamon and vanilla, just like the man himself. Vin shoved him hard, not a small push but a shove meant to knock him down and hurt him.
Saint laughed. He was used to this. He never fought back because he found the man's anger to be funny. It was the same feeling that kept him coming back to this place.
"No one needs you here, you jerk! How many times have we told you to stay away?" It was a countless number of times. Vin's forehead was wrinkled with stress, and for a moment, he had the wild thought of making Saint disappear with magic, sending him to some snowy mountain where no one would ever find him.
" You're only courting danger that has nothing to do with you!" Vin added. Saint just shrugged, his hand inside his pocket.
Saint spoke in an easygoing tone, making Vin even more annoyed, " I can not leave Anthony. He's my friend. Naturally, I want to help him. " That's a half-lie. Anthony is his friend, yes, but sticking with him comes with perks to lighten up his dull life.
"Too bad, your house is just around the corner of theirs. You should be grateful I'm hanging around with a workaholic like you. " He laughed, patting Vin's shoulders. That's another lie. He's keeping the man as his companion. Although he always wanted to beat the shit outta him, Vin is a great listener to his whims.
But the man was always the smartest, not believing everything he says on face value. "When will you ever learn? When you'll someday face the music of your stubbornness and you'll expect us to risk our lives to protect you? " Vin scoffed. Saint is aware that out of all of them, he's that bug. Weak, helpless, easy to kill. He's the only human sticking his nose to their business.
But that thrill makes it more fun. He just couldn't let it go. He'll prefer dying over his boring life.
Saint flashed a playful grin and twirled his finger. "When the time comes, dance with me." He had the nerve to joke, knowing it would annoy Vin, who loved music more than anything. Saint had seen Vin use music as a weapon before, and it was epic.
Vin kicked out a leg, but Saint easily dodged and grabbed it, laughing. "What good are you? You're just a human. You're only using us to live out your hero-in-a-fantasy-world fantasy." Vin yanked his leg free.
If Saint could one day wake up as someone like them, he would give up anything to make it happen. Everything they do is what he dreams of.
Saint joked again. It was the best he could do. "Maybe I can be your meat shield. Wouldn't it be great to take a fatal hit so this pathetic human can save your butts?" He smiled slyly. Reality was a cruel bastard. He knew it wasn't possible. They didn't need him; they were strong, and he was just forcing himself into their lives.
All of this—daydreams and wishful thinking—was just entertainment to cover the emptiness he felt inside.
Who would have thought that reality was such a scheming son of a bitch?
Saint let out a weak laugh, blood spitting from his mouth. His hand trembled as he held the long spear that had gone through his back and out his chest. Who would have thought his daydreams could come true?
It was a quick choice. He saw their terrified faces, heard Anthony's scream when he thought Aegir would be hit. Saint could have run after waking up and seeing everything, but he used the last bit of energy he had to take the hit for them.
He couldn't hear them, but he knew they were calling his name. Maybe this was a good way for him to go. At least they would remember him as a hero.
A small smile touched his lips as his legs gave out and he fell to his knees. "I... did... good... right?" he said weakly.
Hale, the villain who did this, started to laugh. "Wrong target, same reaction, huh?" he mocked Anthony, whose eyes were full of tears and hands were shaking. Anthony was being held back by Aegir, who was also frozen in shock, his eyes wide.
But what Hale didn't expect was that as Saint's head dropped, the long spear he had used to stab him began to change. A low gurgling sound came from the weapon, and it hissed until its solid shape became pure blood.
"What happened?" Hale wasn't sure. He hadn't pulled his weapon back. There was no attack from Anthony, either.
It was impossible that this foolish human did this. He was close to death, and Hale was sure he wouldn't survive. It was already a miracle that he had woken up from what Hale had done before, and he had wasted that chance to do something reckless again. Just like his father that Hale also killed before.
What would he expect from the dumbest creature of all?
Hale held out his hand and tried to call back the blood he used to create the spear, but no matter how hard he tried, it didn't come back. It stayed stuck in the chest it had torn through.
The sound of galloping creatures filled the air until Artemisia, Vin, and the others appeared riding elemental horses. They're here to interrupt his fun.
Hale gritted his teeth angrily. It was time to retreat.