"You win, for now!" The monster declared, stepping back.
While Zack assumed the fight to be over, a kick from behind sent him drifting through the syrupy air—the monster's spell working against its original purpose. The force behind the kick almost broke Zack's spine, arching him towards his target, yet he was thankful for the help as he forced through the pain, pointing the blade at the monster's midsection. Aiming for the head or heart might kill the monster instantly (according to the normal anatomy Zack had learned as a human), still, the monster's physique was a mystery, and something assured him that a simple cut was enough to kill the unearthly creature, be it on a vital organ or a tiny laceration on the skin.
The monster's suppressed emotions helped it find what Zack desired the most, and it transformed itself into his wish: his birth mother. A brunette took the monster's place, eerily similar to the brown-haired woman from Zack's dreams. She opened her arms wide, welcoming Zack as if he had come to her with a hug. "My son!" Tears filled the woman's eyes. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting." Her voice resonated within Zack's head. "Punish me as you see fit." It -- no, she accepted the blade—her death.
Zack blinked, a smile forming on his lips. "Sorry," he said in a voice that didn't belong to him. "The kid's asleep, and that woman isn't sexy enough for me."
Both—the person behind the voice and the monster—were unaware of Zack's true feelings. Both of them assumed the woman's appearance would make Zack hesitate, tangling his emotions in a frenzied mess. While the latter was true, and for such entities, Zack's deepest wish was child's play to figure out, at some point, they forgot how complex the emotional spectrum can be.
The crescent blade twisted, Zack's fingers curling around the hilt in a grip that was not his own. A chuckle—low, cruel—escaped his lips, "Apologies, kid, but stay asleep for now!" The voice forced Zack's consciousness back into a deep slumber filled with lullabies. Zack's arm shot forward, the strike putting shame to every blade master that ever lived—the blade aimed at the monster's gut.
The monster's graceful step saved her from death, her body twisting out of the way with an unnatural elegance. Yet even she wasn't fast enough for what followed; The blade's edge expanded, a sudden, violent surge, the metal convulsing at the last moment. The exchange resulted in a tiny, glancing scratch along her skin, and it was done.
After a bizarre fight that seemed to stretch on for ages, the 'Soul Hunters' were shocked, while the monster was furious that a single nick was all it took. She landed, steadying herself, eyes sharp with realization. Her lips curved, an almost amused smile dancing across her face. "Ah… is that all?" she said, taking a step back.
The tiny nick stretched into a cut that continued to grow into cracks. Her flesh peeled apart, splintering like glass struck by a hammer. Veins bulged and twisted, as if something inside her body was clawing its way out. Her legs buckled, muscle fibers snapping like rubber bands stretched too far. She collapsed to her knees, trembling fingers reaching toward the wound, only for her bones to pierce through her skin. Shreds of her insides spilled out as her stomach split. Her ribs, once hidden beneath smooth flesh, now jutted out like jagged teeth, and for the first time, the screeches were her own. Not otherworldly. Not monstrous. Human. Desperate. A wail of someone who understood their end had come. She tried to crawl away, but her own body betrayed her, as every movement only made it worse. The cracks spread faster and deeper as she opened her mouth to speak—And her jaw, unhinged, splitting her head in half, finally led to dead silence.
Zack exhaled involuntarily—a sigh of satisfaction. "Ahh... Now that was sexy." The voice in his head laughed.
——¿-¿=C=?-?——
Zack woke up in a strange place, his mood akin to that of the day before, when ignorance was bliss. Sunflowers and daisies greeted his nose, with the sun kissing him just right, enough to lure him away from the cold and pumping him with newfound vigor.
"Cold," Zack said, hugging his lush pillow. "So soft." He squeezed it harder. "Must be dead... how so fitting." He concluded, until a kick sent him off the bed, and the dream felt way too real.
"Don't you ever get tired of this crap!" a woman said in a harsh, uncaring voice.
Zack assumed she was talking to him until another male voice taunted her back. "Don't you!"
Zack peeked over the bed to find a Disc Jockey spinning records on a worn-out, rusty recorder. Music never escaped the old recorder, and the wireless headphones around the DJ's neck weren't the culprit. For one, Zack recognized the headphones as the latest model; they were only four months away from being officially released. In contrast, the ancient recorder had no way of supporting the new tech. Hell, he had to work hard to get the latest phone because none of the old ones supported these headphones. The man was slender, slightly colored, and had many piercings that didn't seem to belong, as if he forced them onto himself for one particular tattooed woman.
Speaking of the tattooed woman... She wore no heels, yet towered over the rest. Or it could be the illusion of height forced upon her due to a teenage girl dressed in pink. Though a typical blond teenager of his age had the looks, wilds, and a pink outfit, which was too pink for one not to notice, this much pink was still too much. Unlike the pink teen, the tattooed woman was every goth girl's, and every guy who fantasized about the goth nature's dream. Her tattoos around her scars turned attraction into danger. And the longer Zack saw, the more profound his respect and crush grew for the woman.
"Hold back your auras," a grumpy voice ordered. "The kid is awake."
Zack tried to shrink behind the bed, yet their gaze seemed to pierce through the obstacles placed between them, their heads bobbing along Zack's maneuvers. The sensation of having several gazes upon him didn't faze Zack. He had always had those eyes since birth, only growing stronger with each passing year, even more so on his birthdays and auspicious moments. Those darn eyes and that creepy sensation of someone watching were the barriers that kept him a virgin after all. He never even felt safe enough to kiss the girl he liked. Taking things a step further was beyond the point of no return.
While he effectively ignored the sensation and did not question the absurd, creepy skill, one sensation led his crawl to a stop. The old grumpy voice reminded him of the old timer who died saving him in that accursed alleyway. Yet he was sure they had never spoken to each other, nor did he witness the older man talk to the monster. But if these strangers were alive, did that mean they had another geezer on their team, or did...?
'No!' Zack shoved the thought far behind his mind. All of them were freaks of nature, no doubt about it, but coming back from death was a reality Zack didn't want to believe in.
"Death isn't absolute, kid." The old man said, reading Zack's mind. "At least not if you're a 'Soul Hunter'." He chuckled.
"Soul... what now?" Zack looked at them, bewildered, waiting for the punch line, hidden gag, or whatever it is that hundred-year-old folks call a prank. "We can—"
"—Pinky!" The old man interrupted, glaring at the teenager in pink.
"What?" Pinky raised her hands, already accepting the crime. "Teenagers need to go through control, denial, then acceptance. I'm following the handbook as I should! Right?"
"Not on our newest recruit." A voice scolded Pinky before the old man could. "We need to gain his trust the old-fashioned way, tedious though as it may be."
Zack looked around, unable to pinpoint the person behind the voice. His voice originated from beside Pinky, yet he was nowhere near her.
"That is my technique, kid." The voice spooked Zack from behind, shooting him up to his legs, gasping the synonyms of magic. "We call it 'Varnyx'," said the voice. "But sure, let's go with a simpler term meant for dumber beings."
The DJ backspins a disc on the old Turntable, and a sudden boost of confidence enters Zack, pushing away the million doubts and fears that tag along. "Beings? What? Ha! Ha-ha... you say that as if you have somehow outgrown humanity!?"
The tricky voice belonged to the shortest member of the group. He came about halfway to Pinky—now the second shortest person of the group—looked malnourished, wore a kid's uniform, and had perfect hair: combed and parted to equal halves, then glued down to maintain its perfection for eternity. The kid patted himself down, like a security guard at the airport checking for weapons. "Not yet." His cheeky smile turned upside-down into a frown. "Certainly left our mortality behind, though." His smile returned as he spread his hand forward, tempting Zack to reach out and grasp at his immortality.
Zack's emotions were in turmoil as the soul hunters tried to make themselves heard. Before Zack noticed the unforeseen forces tugging and triggering his emotions without his knowledge, another force activated his legs to move forward and accept the kid's empty promises.
"Empty promises?" Zack realized and slapped the kid's hand away. "What the 'F' are you guys?" He tried to run away but stumbled on the bed behind him and fell.
"F? F...!" exclaimed the kid.
"Cool down, Psycho." The old man placed his hand over the kid's head.
Zack's inner feelings told him the old man didn't use the word "Psycho" in the literal sense, but that was the kid's actual name. Similarly, the old man was known as 'Leader Lux' by the strange group. The Tattooed woman was called 'Bazuka Barbie', the pink teenager was called 'Pinky', and the disco jockey was called 'DJ Rizz'.
"What an odd bunch of names... and peeps!" Zack thought to himself, breaking free from the unseen forces tugging on his emotions. If anything from the alleyway were true, he wouldn't be able to outrun these freaks of nature. So instead, Zack stood his ground, praying for the shield to block stuff, and -- anddd... "Oh, crap!"
Zack tried to mimic the emotions and actions, yet the sword never appeared to rescue him. Like a fool, he searched his pockets for the sword and found a locket instead. It resembled a pocket watch, and to his astonishment, the sword's design was engraved on the inner side, with a unique timer holding it back from coming forth. A timer he couldn't read but yet understood.
"Emotions have always been a flood." He remembered another teaching from the woman who appeared in his dreams. "Too much anger always does wrong. Too much love always leads astray!" She said, swinging the pocket watch. "Sorrow leads to loneliness, hate... to destruction! Yet, we still keep, value, and rely on these emotions. Do you know why?" She asked an advanced philosophical question to a toddler. "Because we were meant to control their flow. Trust in all, when one overflows, and trust in just one..." She brought her nose close to Toddler Zack's nose, rubbing against it and making him chuckle. "...when the rest are out of control."
The locket held the specific key to unlock Zack's memory. He didn't understand how that made any sense—like everything else that had happened since the blast, which he had witnessed—but he trusted the mysterious woman and followed her instructions.
Five strange individuals held ten different emotions. They tugged, enhanced, and made Zack's emotions overflow, while he danced about, following their influence. Each decision forced him into action, thanks to the overwhelming emotions nudging him to act rather than think. Once Zack followed the instructions: concentrating on a single emotion, he could distinguish the ones out of order.
"Let them go," Zack warned the group.
"He figured it out." Cheered Pinky. "Wait! Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I keep forgetting." She looked at Bazuka with huge puppy eyes.
"None of the above." Bazuka ruffled Pinky's hair.
"See..." Psycho pointed at Zack and started clapping, each clap sending vibrations across the room, making the glass tremble and the lights flicker. "I told you he wasn't a normal f***er."
"Language." Zack scolded without thinking, recalling another's memory of a man doing the same, which forced him to reenact the scenario.
"Boy's got his father's... stupid-ness as well," said Psycho. "Sure, we can erase that part of the memory again..." He ranted on.
Each word pouring out of Psycho's mouth unlocked a memory suppressed deep within Zack, forcing him to relive his life like he was a stranger standing on the sidelines of his own story. Zack clutched his head. His fingernails were digging deep into his skin and drawing blood. A moment broke, becoming two: Both represented him, his life, yet both felt foreign. Strange. As if he lived two lives, yet never got to experience either one.
Two memories overlapped—fighting for dominance, to be the one truth. The mental strain forced Zack to scream. Yet as he opened his mouth, he forgot how to, as he gaped wide-mouthed at strangers who were also the closest people to a family he had left.
"Family? Them?" Zack couldn't believe his reasoning.
No! Zack gritted his teeth, hearing yet neglecting the pain and cracks forming on them. He dashed out, tumbling over several objects on his way to the streets below. He puked blood all over the sidewalk, dropped onto the road, scraping his knees against the rough gravel, and got run over by a truck yet again.
Psycho clicked his tongue in disappointment. "How many times are we going to kill the kid before we do as I say and brainwash him?" He said with a grin, enjoying every moment of the show.
———<>||<>——— End Of Chapter Five. ———<>||<>———