Chapter 3: The Storm and the Sword
The sky wept, as if the heavens themselves mourned the loss of a soul too burdened by secrets to ever find true peace. Rain cascaded in relentless sheets over the grand estate, a structure that blurred the lines between sanctuary and fortress. Its marble columns, etched with scriptures from tongues long silenced by time, stood defiant against the storm. This was no mere house of worship; it was a bastion devoted to Jehovah, encircled by gardens where every leaf and petal seemed to dance in defiance of the deluge. The pathways, miraculously pristine, repelled the mud and debris as if the very ground rejected corruption. In a world where shadows lurked in every corner, such purity felt like a fragile illusion.
Inside the vast hall, the air was thick with collective sorrow. Hundreds had gathered—friends bound by shared faith, family fractured by unspoken rifts, elders with eyes that had seen too much, and strangers drawn by whispers of mystery. All clad in black, a sea of mourning attire that absorbed the dim light filtering through stained-glass windows. Some murmured prayers, their words a fragile shield against despair. Others sobbed into crumpled tissues, their grief raw and unfiltered. And then there were those who simply stared ahead, lost in the labyrinth of their own thoughts, burdens too heavy to articulate.
At the front, on a raised platform that commanded reverence, a dignified man delivered a eulogy intended to weave comfort from the threads of tragedy. His voice, steady yet laced with subtle tremors of emotion, echoed through the hall. "Let us remember Sohwo not just for his sacrifices but for the truths he sought, the burdens he bore, and the light he passed on." His words hung in the air, a poignant reminder of a life lived in the shadows of greater purposes, where every decision carried the weight of eternity.
I sat apart from it all, relegated to a chair at the far end of the hall, as if my presence might disrupt the fragile equilibrium of grief. Aunt Deborah—my mother's sister, a woman whose face bore the etchings of years spent navigating familial storms—had insisted on this isolation. She sat beside me, her shoulders heaving with quiet sobs, a portrait of anguish that went beyond the loss of her brother-in-law. There was history in those tears, a tapestry of fears and regrets woven through generations. She feared for me, I knew; feared that the whirlwind of mystery enveloping our family might shatter what remained of my fragile composure if I drew too close to the epicenter—the open casket, the speeches laden with half-truths.
As the eulogy droned on, each word a gentle prod at the wounds we all carried, I found myself whispering under my breath, the words escaping like a confession to the void. "Why didn't they let Mom come? She should be here. Even if it breaks her. She deserves to say goodbye." The thought gnawed at me, a persistent ache. How could I help her? How could I lift this insurmountable weight that pressed upon us all? In the quiet recesses of my mind, I pondered the fragility of human connections—the way grief could both unite and isolate, turning loved ones into strangers overnight. I stared into the expanse of the hall, the faces blurring into a mosaic of shared suffering, wondering if any of us truly understood the depths of what we'd lost.
Then, a familiar voice pierced the haze of my introspection. "Sharon?" I murmured, my heart skipping a beat as I looked up. There she was, my sister, emerging from the main hall, her hand clasped firmly by a woman I'd never seen before. The stranger led her toward the exit, her movements deliberate, cloaked in the same black as the rest of us, yet emanating an aura that chilled the air around her. It was a pressure, a subtle malice that prickled at my skin, like the prelude to a storm far darker than the one raging outside.
Instinct propelled me to my feet, and I rushed toward them, my voice cutting through the subdued murmurs of the crowd. "Sharon! What are you doing? Who is this?!" The words tumbled out, laced with a protectiveness I hadn't fully realized until that moment.
Sharon turned, her expression a mix of startle and confusion. "What are you yelling about? Don't you remember her? This is Mom's friend. She used to visit sometimes."
My eyes narrowed, suspicion coiling in my chest like a serpent awakening. "I've never seen her before." Memories flashed—family gatherings, quiet evenings at home—but her face was absent from them all. Who was she, truly? In a world where alliances shifted like shadows, trust was a luxury I could no longer afford.
The woman remained silent, her smile a disconcerting curve that didn't reach her eyes, as if she found amusement in my unease.
I turned back to Sharon, pressing for clarity. "When did she visit Mom?"
Before my sister could respond, the woman placed a gentle hand on Sharon's shoulder, her touch deceptively soft. "Can you give your brother and me a minute, dear?"
Sharon hesitated, her gaze flickering between us, but she nodded and walked away, leaving me alone with this enigma. The hall's ambient sorrow seemed to recede, replaced by a tension that thrummed in my veins.
I spoke first, my voice steady despite the turmoil within. "Are you one of the Defenders?" The question hung heavy, born from fragments of overheard whispers and the lingering dread of recent encounters.
She chuckled, a sound that carried an undercurrent of knowing malice, her eyes glinting with an otherworldly spark. "Seems one of his Defenders has already paid you a visit. How early... Sohwo was always unpredictable."
I took a step back, the implications crashing over me like a tidal wave. My father—a man of mysteries, whose life had been a labyrinth of hidden truths—had entangled us in something far beyond the ordinary. Her words confirmed fears I'd barely begun to articulate.
"Your father... a good man. A mysterious one. But I never thought he'd hide the Key to Salvation inside you."
Her hand ignited then, flames erupting from her skin, which blackened and cracked like the vessel of some ancient wrath. I staggered backward, the sight searing into my mind, overlapping with the shadowy figure from the night before. It was her—the harbinger of nightmares, the embodiment of threats I'd only glimpsed in dreams.
Before a scream could escape my throat, a voice called out from the hall, shattering the moment. The woman turned and glided past me like a specter vanishing into mist.
A relative approached, concern etching their features. "Who was that lady, Divine?"
I stood frozen, the encounter's weight rendering me speechless. They mistook my silence for grief's paralysis and gently guided me back inside, their arm a tentative anchor in the storm of my thoughts. As I resumed my seat, I reflected on the fragility of perception—how easily the veil between the mundane and the malevolent could tear, revealing depths we'd prefer to ignore.
Meanwhile, in the depths of the Outer Forest, where ancient trees whispered secrets to the wind and the undergrowth concealed perils untold, the pursuit unfolded with merciless intensity.
The rhythmic slam of feet against damp earth echoed through the wilderness, a desperate symphony of flight. A slave girl, her breath ragged and eyes wide with primal panic, ran alongside three men, their forms cutting through the thick foliage like shadows fleeing the dawn. The forest was a labyrinth of twisted roots and overhanging branches, a realm where survival demanded not just speed, but cunning.
"Are you sure we'll get there safe?!" one of the men yelled, his voice cracking under the strain, betraying the fear that gnawed at his resolve.
"Yes! I'm sure!" the second man replied, his assurance a fragile bulwark against the encroaching dread.
Then—fwish! An arrow of congealed, crimson energy lanced from the shadows, piercing the second man's skull through his eye in a grotesque display. He crumpled to the ground in a heap of gore, life extinguished in an instant.
The girl screamed, a piercing cry that reverberated through the trees, a raw expression of terror that seemed to summon the very horrors pursuing them.
"The Blood Taker! She's here!" the remaining two men shouted, their voices laced with the bitter recognition of doom.
Suddenly, sleek sci-fi bikes burst through the underbrush—hovercrafts with glowing crimson engines that spat sparks and hissed mist as they levitated inches above the uneven terrain. The pursuers were clad in bio-tech suits, their helmets emblazoned with the insignia of the Order, a symbol of unyielding authority in a world fractured by power struggles. Blasts of light erupted from their weapons, intermingled with blood-soaked bullets that tore through leaves and bark alike.
The two men and the girl weaved through the chaos, their movements a desperate ballet of evasion, each step a gamble against annihilation.
Then—a pause in the frenzy. A shadow descended from above, graceful yet ominous.
In what felt like slow motion, a girl in sci-fi armor landed before them, her eyes aglow with a red hue that spoke of augmented fury. From her palm extended a blood-forged sword, its blade shimmering with an unnatural vitality. Her presence was suffocating, a gravitational force that bent the air around her, instilling a profound sense of inevitability.
The two men halted abruptly, their breaths heaving.
"Run, Karen!" one yelled, his voice a command born of sacrifice.
The blood sword girl raised her hand, signaling her riders to redirect their pursuit toward Karen. The men remained, facing her with a defiance tempered by resignation.
"Why did you betray the Order?" she inquired, her tone calm, almost curious, as if betrayal were a puzzle to be dissected rather than condemned.
"Because your teachings are lies! We're tired of being your dogs!" one retorted, his words a culmination of suppressed rage, a declaration against the chains of indoctrination.
"I see..." she whispered in Japanese, the language adding an layer of cultural enigma to her demeanor, hinting at origins steeped in ancient traditions fused with futuristic horrors.
One man raised his hand to the heavens, invoking a power that transcended the mundane. "Let the heavens roar with my judgment... Barache'l!"
A black lightning sword materialized, striking down into his grip with a crackle of ethereal energy, a manifestation of covenant and desperation.
He turned to his companion. "Ezekiel, run!"
"But—"
"RUN!"
Ezekiel fled, his footsteps fading into the forest's embrace, leaving his comrade to face the inevitable alone.
The girl tilted her head, a gesture of mild intrigue. "You used your Covenant Blade... on me?"
The man charged, his resolve unbroken. "May the blood of the heavens... and the blood of Abraham flow within my enemy's veins!"
His veins erupted in response, blood bursting forth, drawn inexorably toward her blade, which elongated with the infusion, a macabre symbiosis of life and death.
He gasped, the betrayal of his own body a final cruelty.
She slashed, the motion precise and final.
Silence descended, broken only by the distant hum of pursuit.
Karen reached a cliff's edge, the abyss yawning below. With no alternatives left, she leapt, her form plummeting into uncertainty.
Rick, a high-ranking Order officer whose face bore the scars of countless campaigns, activated his sci-fi communicator, his voice steady amid the aftermath. "She's over the cliff. Injured but alive." The report was clinical, yet it carried the undercurrent of a hunt nearing its conclusion, a reminder that in this world, mercy was a relic of forgotten eras.
Karen Rose crawled to the riverbank, her leg a throbbing testament to the perils of escape. Blood seeped from the wound, staining the earth in crimson accusation. From her pouch, she retrieved a small orb—AncientTech, a glowing sphere pulsating with micro-healing cells, a relic of a bygone era where science danced on the edge of miracles. Activating it, she pressed it to her injury, watching as nano-particles emerged in a luminous swarm, weaving across her skin to knit the flesh anew. The process was mesmerizing, a blend of pain and relief that mirrored the duality of her existence.
She gazed into the rippling water, the surface a mirror to her fractured soul. Flashbacks inundated her, pulling her into the depths of memory.
Her village, once a haven of simple joys, now a pyre of screams and flames. The Sins—creatures spawned from corrupted truths, embodiments of moral decay twisted into monstrous forms—had descended like a plague, slaughtering her parents and kin with merciless efficiency. She, the sole survivor, had emerged from the ashes, scarred not just physically but in the recesses of her spirit, where innocence had been irrevocably extinguished.
Rescued by the S.O.A.—the Scientific Order Association, an entity promising salvation through knowledge—they had offered her a semblance of peace. But promises, she learned, were often veils for exploitation.
Instead, she became their project, confined to sterile labs where needles probed her veins, data pads recorded her every reaction, and scans dissected her essence. "Your blood is divine, Karen," they intoned, their words a mantra of justification for her suffering. Every day was a symphony of pain, a calculated erosion of her humanity in pursuit of some greater agenda.
Then came Ezekiel and Dan, soldiers assigned to her guard, their initial stoicism giving way to quiet acts of kindness. They slipped her extra food, shared stories of worlds beyond the lab's confines, and ignited a spark of hope in her desolate heart. In their eyes, she saw reflections of her own longing for freedom, a shared yearning that forged an unlikely alliance.
The night of escape was a cacophony of alarms, screams, and blood—a chaotic bid for liberty that left trails of destruction in its wake. They ran, and kept running, through nights that blurred into days, evading shadows that never truly relented.
Until today, when the past caught up in a torrent of violence.
Her reverie snapped back to the present as a silhouette materialized from the mist-shrouded banks.
"Mikasa?" she gasped, recognition mingling with dread.
The girl smiled, a expression devoid of warmth, her presence a harbinger of finality. "Everyone else is dead. You're the last." Her words hung like a sentence, echoing the inexorable march of fate in a world where survival was the rarest of luxuries.
Back at the funeral, the service drew to a close as the rain outside eased its assault, the clouds parting in reluctant surrender. Attendees dispersed slowly, offering pats on the back and whispered encouragements: "Be strong. Help your mother." Each touch was a reminder of communal solidarity, yet it felt hollow against the backdrop of my inner turmoil.
I turned, my gaze catching a group of hooded figures lingering near the casket, their forms shrouded in an air of antiquity. They performed an ancient rite, gestures fluid and precise, invoking rituals that predated the modern world by centuries. An old man among them whispered incantations, his voice a murmur of arcane wisdom, and the others nodded in solemn accord.
Then he clapped, a sharp sound that reverberated subtly. The veil that had cloaked them in invisibility dissolved, revealing them to the unwitting eyes of the crowd.
Three approached me, their steps measured, exuding an aura of quiet authority.
"Is this Sohwo's son?"
"Yes."
The old man smiled, his eyes twinkling with a depth of knowledge that spanned epochs. "Don't be confused, my son. Soon... you'll understand how this world works." His words were a promise and a warning, hinting at revelations that could unravel the fabric of my reality.
They vanished into the dispersing crowd, blending seamlessly as if they had never been.
I sat there, trembling, the encounter stirring a whirlwind of questions. What world did he speak of? One where faith intertwined with hidden powers, where the divine and the profane danced in eternal conflict? The maturity of such thoughts weighed on me, forcing a reckoning with the boy I had been and the man I was becoming.
A familiar voice broke through. "You okay?"
I looked up. It was Joseph, his presence a unexpected anchor.
"Why are you here?"
Joseph smiled faintly, a gesture that carried layers of unspoken intent. "To help you."
To be continued...