Chapter Four: The Stranger, the Covenant, and the Blood Oath
The sky had quieted, its earlier weeping replaced by a brooding stillness, as if it sensed the threads of fate weaving a new, uncertain pattern. A faint breeze whispered past the gravestones, stirring the air with an almost imperceptible weight. I stood frozen, my gaze locked on the man before me—Joseph, tall and calm, his enigmatic smile carrying the warmth of familiarity yet shadowed by secrets I couldn't grasp. His presence felt like a riddle, one that demanded solving yet promised no easy answers.
"Are you following me?" I asked, my voice edged with wariness, my eyes narrowing as I studied him. Suspicion was a reflex now, honed by the strange encounters that had begun to unravel the edges of my world.
Joseph's lips curved into a smirk, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "No. I'm just here to pay my respects to your father. He was… a friend."
The word friend hung in the air, heavy with implications. My brow furrowed, confusion twisting my thoughts. "Who are you people? And who are you to my father?" The question came out sharper than I intended, a demand for clarity in a sea of ambiguity.
Joseph chuckled, the sound soft yet hollow, as if it echoed from a place I couldn't reach. "Like I told you before, we're the Defenders. And we were very close to your father. Extremely close."
The name Defenders stirred a flicker of recognition, a whisper from the edges of my memory, but it wasn't enough to anchor my trust. My suspicion deepened, carving lines into my face. "Why would I believe that? My dad never spoke of you. I've never seen you before. You never visited, not once. Who the hell are you really?" My voice trembled, not with fear but with the frustration of standing on the precipice of truths I wasn't ready to face.
Joseph stepped closer, his movements deliberate, his voice low and measured, each word chosen with care. "Divine, don't let your lack of knowledge cloud your mind. I know everything about you. I know the night you were born, the exact time, the rainstorm outside. I know the day you took your first steps, wobbling across the porch. I know the day you nearly drowned in the river, your mother's screams echoing as she pulled you from the current. I know when you got expelled for fighting in school, standing up for that kid who didn't deserve the beating. I know when your father taught you to ride your first bike, in that muddy street beside your house, his laughter louder than your protests."
Each revelation landed like a stone, rippling through the still waters of my composure. My face paled, my breath catching in my throat. How could he know these things—moments so intimate, so personal, that even I had buried them beneath the weight of time? "Are you…?" I started, but the question died, too vast and formless to articulate.
Joseph's hand found my shoulder, a gentle pressure that felt both grounding and unsettling. His smile softened, radiating a kindness that clashed with the mystery of his presence. "Don't be afraid. I'm not here to harm you. I came to fulfill your father's final wish."
The words struck deep, stirring a mix of hope and dread. "My dad… had a final wish?" My voice wavered, betraying the boy beneath the bravado, the one still grappling with the void left by my father's absence.
Joseph nodded, his expression solemn, a weight settling in his eyes. "Yes. To protect you from what's coming. The tribulations. And I need to prepare you."
"Tribulations?" The word felt foreign, heavy with portent, like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon of my understanding. I opened my mouth to press further, to demand answers to the questions multiplying in my mind, but a soft voice interrupted from behind.
"Joseph?"
He turned, his face lighting up with recognition. "Deborah?"
Aunt Deborah, her eyes still red from the tears shed at the funeral, ran to him, and they embraced tightly, a reunion that felt both heartfelt and out of place. I blinked, confusion mounting. What the heck is going on? I thought, my mind scrambling to connect the dots. How does Aunt Deborah know this man?
Deborah pulled back, her gaze shifting to me, surprise flickering across her features. "You don't know him?"
I shook my head slowly, my silence a confession of my ignorance. "No."
Joseph laughed gently, the sound warm yet tinged with melancholy. "He wouldn't. He was just a child when I used to visit."
Deborah nodded, her expression softening with memory. "That's true. It's been many years." She turned to Joseph, her voice carrying a mix of curiosity and nostalgia. "So, how's life treating you, Joseph?"
He smiled faintly, a gesture that seemed to mask deeper truths. "Fair enough. Still walking my path, you know."
As I struggled to make sense of this unexpected connection, another man approached, greeting Joseph with the easy familiarity of old comrades. They exchanged stories and laughter, their voices weaving a tapestry of shared history that excluded me, leaving me an outsider in my own narrative. I leaned toward Aunt Deborah, my voice low, almost a whisper. "Ma… who is he?"
Her sad smile carried the weight of years unspoken. "That's Joseph. Your dad's old friend. From their school days. He was always around, helped your dad a lot… even your family. He's a good man." Her words were meant to reassure, but they only deepened the mystery, adding layers to a puzzle I was nowhere near solving.
When the other man departed, Joseph returned to us, his demeanor shifting back to quiet intensity. "I'll be taking my leave now. Please greet Mrs. Sohwo for me. It hurt me, truly, that Sohwo passed at such a young age."
Deborah's face fell, sorrow resurfacing like a tide. "He was a good man. May God remember him."
Joseph's gaze settled on me, steady and piercing. "I enjoyed our talk. Remember—protect your mother. Help her. She needs you now more than ever."
Deborah's hand found mine, her touch a gentle anchor. "He's right. You're a good child. And your mother needs you."
Joseph's smile widened, a flicker of approval in his eyes. "He is a good child. Anyway, maybe next time." With a wave, he melted into the dispersing crowd, leaving behind a trail of unanswered questions.
My mind spun, a whirlwind of doubts and possibilities. Who really is Joseph? Why can Aunt Deborah see him, interact with him so easily? Why does he know so much? Each question was a thread, pulling at the fabric of my reality, threatening to unravel everything I thought I knew. I stood there, rooted to the spot, grappling with the weight of a world that seemed to grow stranger with every passing moment.
Far from the gravestones and the lingering echoes of mourning, in a distant part of the Outer Forest, moonlight pierced the canopy of ancient trees, casting an ethereal glow on a scene charged with tension and imminent violence.
Karen Rose stood panting, her chest heaving with exertion, her eyes wide with a mixture of defiance and fear. Before her stood Mikasa, a warrior cloaked in crimson, her cold eyes gleaming with the certainty of a predator closing in on its prey. The forest around them seemed to hold its breath, the silence broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of the river.
"Where are my friends?" Karen stammered, her voice trembling yet resolute, clinging to the faint hope that some fragment of her makeshift family remained.
Mikasa's response was ice, sharp and unyielding. "Dead. Two down. You're the third. And you'll die by my hand." Her words were a sentence, delivered with the calm inevitability of fate.
Karen's scream shattered the night, a raw outpouring of anguish and defiance. A sudden wind spiraled around her, whipping her hair into a frenzy as a brilliant flash illuminated the clearing. From her hand materialized a katana, its blade forged of spirit and steel, pulsating with an otherworldly energy. She raised it high, her voice a clarion call that seemed to summon the heavens themselves. "May the Lord scream my story out… ESTHER!"
A shockwave erupted, a cataclysmic force that tore through the forest, uprooting trees and splitting the river's surface behind them. The raw power of her Covenant Blade was a testament to her will, a desperate stand against the encroaching darkness. Mikasa was hurled against a jagged rock, the impact resounding through the clearing, yet she rose unfazed, her composure unshaken.
"So… you finally drew your Covenant Blade.
" impressive," Mikasa said, her voice laced with a mocking admiration that belied the danger in her stance. She brushed off the dust from her crimson cloak, her movements fluid, almost leisurely, as if the chaos around her was merely a prelude to her inevitable victory.
Karen's eyes blazed with defiance, her grip tightening on the hilt of *Esther*. She swung again, the katana slicing through the air with a force that rent the earth beneath, sending fissures snaking through the forest floor. Mikasa leapt skyward, her agility defying the laws of gravity, and from her outstretched hand loosed an arrow of congealed blood, its crimson hue glowing ominously in the moonlight.
Karen twisted, dodging the projectile by a hair's breadth. "You missed," she taunted, a smirk flickering across her lips, fueled by the adrenaline of survival.
But Mikasa's dark smile widened, her eyes glinting with a predator's certainty. "Did I?"
Another arrow followed, slicing through the air with deadly precision. Karen dodged again, her movements a desperate dance of instinct and training. She launched forward, *Esther* raised high, ready to strike, her heart pounding with the resolve to end this nightmare. But Mikasa's voice cut through the chaos, low and deliberate, carrying the weight of an ancient incantation. "Let the Lord dry my enemy's vile… Blood Oath."
The four arrows, previously loosed, transformed mid-air, their forms stretching and twisting into blood-red tendrils that lashed out like living serpents. They ensnared Karen, coiling around her limbs with a grip that burned like fire, tightening with merciless intent.
"No!" Karen screamed, her voice raw with panic as she struggled against the bindings. The tendrils pulsed, draining her strength, sapping the vitality from her body. A blood circle rose from the ground, its crimson glow forming a ritual shield around them, sealing them in a macabre arena where escape was an illusion.
Mikasa stepped forward, her presence suffocating, her smile a blade sharper than any sword. "You thought I missed on purpose? No, dear. I can't fight you blade to blade. So I weakened you with Blood Oath. Now you're mine."
Karen writhed, pain coursing through her as the tendrils tightened, drawing blood that shimmered in the moonlight, feeding Mikasa's power. Her vision blurred, the world tilting as her strength ebbed. But then, a blur of green light shattered the blood circle, a radiant force that tore through the ritual shield like paper.
"Mikasa!" a voice roared, resonant with fury and desperation.
It was the third fighter—Ezekiel, the one Karen had believed dead, his silhouette framed against the moonlit trees. His armor gleamed with faint traces of green energy, a Covenant Blade of his own pulsing in his grip. His survival was a miracle, a spark of hope in the darkness.
Mikasa's eyes narrowed, her composure faltering for a fleeting moment. With a flick of her wrist, she yanked a stream of blood from Karen's neck, shaping it mid-air into a lethal arrow. Karen's scream pierced the night as the projectile formed, a manifestation of her own life force turned against her.
In a flash, Mikasa loosed the arrow. Ezekiel's head flew from his shoulders, severed cleanly, his body collapsing in a lifeless heap. Karen's scream morphed into a wail of despair, the sound echoing through the forest, a lament for the loss of her last ally.
Mikasa turned, her expression cold as she whispered, "Goodbye."
The final arrow slashed through the air, finding its mark in Karen's neck. Blood sprayed, a crimson arc painting the ground as her body slumped, the light fading from her eyes. The forest fell silent, save for the faint rustle of leaves stirred by the wind.
Mikasa walked away, her red cloak fluttering like a banner of death, her soldiers waiting silently on the mountain ridge, their bio-tech suits glinting under the moon. She didn't look back, her mission complete, the weight of her actions as unyielding as the steel in her heart.
---
Deep in the woods, far from the blood-soaked clearing, Joseph tread a narrow trail, his footsteps silent against the damp earth. The moonlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows that danced around him, as if the forest itself acknowledged his passage. He reached a small wooden cottage, its chimney curling smoke into the night sky, a beacon of warmth in the wilderness. A young woman stood outside, her axe buried in a log, her hands steady despite the labor.
"I'm back," Joseph called, his voice light but carrying an undercurrent of weariness.
The girl turned, her face breaking into a smile as she dropped the axe. She pulled out two chairs from the porch, settling into one as Joseph took the other. Her presence was grounding, a counterpoint to the chaos he'd left behind.
"I was expecting some water," Joseph teased, leaning back with a playful grin.
"Get it yourself. You told me you don't like water," she shot back, her tone sharp but affectionate.
Joseph pulled a mock grimace. "Me? Not like water? What kind of camel nonsense—"
She swatted his head, cutting him off. "Camels drink a lot, moron."
He groaned, rubbing the spot dramatically. "I wish I'd left you where I found you—in the trash."
Her eyes narrowed, but a smirk tugged at her lips. "You said?"
He grinned, unrepentant. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."
*Thwack.* Another hit landed, and she muttered, "Baka."
Joseph laughed, the sound warm and genuine, a rare moment of levity in a world steeped in shadows. "Why do you keep hitting me? My head is holy."
She stood, crossing her arms. "And I'm your guardian, holy or not."
"Ugh. Rude."
Her chuckle softened, but her expression grew serious, the weight of their reality settling between them. "So… how was it?"
Joseph leaned back, his gaze drifting to the stars peeking through the trees. "He's not ready. But he's curious. That's something."
"You think he'll accept you?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.
"I don't know. But we'll try." His tone was resolute, a promise to himself as much as to her.
She paused, her eyes searching his face. "What if it fails?"
Joseph's eyes twinkled with a mix of defiance and ingenuity. "Then I'll improvise. This man never runs out of plans."
She smiled, a faint curve of her lips, but her voice dropped to a whisper. "You know what you're doing now is against the Defenders' Law. Sohwo was a traitor in their eyes."
Joseph nodded, his expression hardening. "I know. But I'm honoring his last wish." The words carried a weight that spoke of loyalty beyond dogma, of bonds forged in the crucible of shared struggles.
---
Back at home, the moon cast silver light through my window, painting my room in shades of ethereal calm that belied the storm raging in my mind. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts a tangled web of questions and fears. "Who is that man?" I whispered to the empty room, my voice barely audible. "He knew too much… too damn much."
I clenched my fists, the pressure grounding me as I replayed the day's events. Joseph's knowledge of my life—details no stranger should know—felt like an intrusion, yet it stirred a strange sense of connection, as if he held pieces of a puzzle I hadn't known existed. Aunt Deborah's familiarity with him, the ease with which they spoke, only deepened the enigma. She could see him, interact with him, laugh with him. He wasn't a ghost, not a figment of my grief-stricken imagination. He was real, tangible, and yet utterly unknowable.
"Something is off," I murmured, my voice steadying as resolve took root. "Something is coming. And I need to be ready."
Outside, the wind howled through the trees, a mournful cry that echoed the dread pooling in my chest. The world I'd known was unraveling, revealing a reality where faith and danger intertwined, where the legacy of my father cast shadows I was only beginning to understand. As I closed my eyes, the weight of Joseph's words—*tribulations*, *protect your mother*—settled over me like a mantle, both a burden and a call to action.
*To be continued…*