DONG!
After hearing the first toll, it was hard to imagine it could get any worse. The bell, apparently, disagreed.
The second toll hit harder, deeper, as if the first had just been a warning.
Lazar covered his ears, hoping to mitigate the sound. But it didn't help. If anything, it made it worse, like the bell took offense and decided to make him listen louder to punish him.
It went on and on, as if it might never end, then it cut off, leaving nothing.
Instead of dwelling on what had just happened or enjoying the silence, Lazar focused on something else, the unsettling sense of being lighter than he should be.
His weapons...
The ankle holster, empty. The sleeve knife, on vacation.
He reached for his belt, already knowing it was pointless. His other gun had vanished too, probably carpooling with the knife.
But there was something else on his lap now, something that wasn't here a second ago.
Lazar looked down.
Then he saw it.
On his thighs laid a guardless cold weapon, its rectangular handle and scabbard an oppressive black that seemed to swallow light, carved from a wood Lazar didn't recognize by sight or feel.
Slowly, Lazar drew the blade. Now that he saw the entire weapon, it reminded him of a tantō, except for two things on top of its rectangular form.
At roughly seventy centimeters, the blade was at least twice as long as a normal one, and instead of a slight curve, the weapon was perfectly straight.
Viktor shot to his feet so fast his chair slammed back into the wall.
"What the hell is that?!"
Just like Lazar, a strange weapon had materialized on his lap before falling to the ground following his reaction.
DONG!!
The third toll was nothing like the first two.
The sound wasn't as piercing, almost muted in comparison, yet its impact was far more violent. It didn't just make the air vibrate ; it shook the ground itself, as if the bell's vibration had sunk into the earth to tear it apart from within.
VRRRRMMMM!!!
The tremor rippled underfoot, accompanied by a low rumble that seemed to come from everywhere at once. The kitchen answered with a metallic uproar : cutlery scattered across the tiles, a pan spun before collapsing flat, and plates shattered into porcelain fragments.
The kitchen door slammed open and Mamma walked out, a crossbow clutched in her hands. Her eyes found Viktor first, brimming with a fear she didn't voice, then she barked at both him and Lazar, "We need to get out! Now!"
She might let her eccentricities run wild most of the time, but when things went south she knew how to leash her madness and focus on what mattered.
Normally, Lazar could do the same, make the right calls when things got critical.
He would have liked to say that's what happened here, with the restaurant ready to come down on their heads.
But before Mamma woke him up, he just stood there, spellbound by his weapon, while she kept the composure that should have been his.
If he wanted to put things in perspective, he could tell himself he wasn't doing worse than Viktor, whose brain looked like someone had yanked the plug out and left it dangling.
But really, what was the point in measuring yourself against standards that low?
"Viktor! Pick up your weapon!"
Lazar barked, cutting through Viktor's haze.
He had never raised his voice at him before, Viktor was used to the low, monotone tone he always had.
Lazar was well aware of that, and he let himself believe the break in patern alone might be enough to bring him back to his senses.
"Shit!" Viktor shouted, the curse snapping out of him like a desperate switch to force his body into motion.
Surprisingly, it worked.
He dropped into a crouch, hands clumsy as he tried to grab the rapier skittering across the floor.
Sooner than his nerves had feared, but later than his pride would have liked, he finally managed to close his fingers around the hilt as the tremors grew in intensity.
Lazar pushed open the swinging door and held it long enough for Mamma and Viktor to follow.
During the time it took them to pass, he scanned the dining room.
The two couples had vanished, maybe they ran for it, maybe the staff gave them a polite shove. Either way, they were out of the picture.
As for the staff itself, the fake waiter and the newspaper guy were still there, both glued behind one of the window of the frontage of the restaurant, eyes locked on a distant point.
Their shaky posture and the cross sign the newpaper guy felt the need to make made it clear that they felt safer in a restaurant that was menacing of collapsing than outside.
Mamma stormed toward them, furious at their inaction, her mouth already open to start yelling.
Yet, as soon as she saw what they were staring at, the scolding died in her throat.
In an instant, she understood why they hadn't moved.
Lazar pushed ahead, Viktor close behind, drawn to find out what could be shaking everyone so badly.
The answer stood 300 meters away in the street, a pillar of flame of colossal proportion swallowed an entire intersection, surging so high it vanished into the clouds.
The charred silhouettes on the pavement told the story well enough, those caught too close hadn't even had time to scream, killed on the spot and burned to cinders in the blast.
Those spared the immediate death were worse off : screaming figures flailing in the street, their flesh bubbling, faces melting away as the fire consumed them alive.
Lazar pulled his eyes away. They were beyond saving. Not that he would suddenly turn saint and help them if they weren't, but staring at their agony would only waste time when what he needed was an escape.
He shifted his eyes to the street, which was less of a pandemonium but still an absolute shit show.
Some people simply stopped moving altogether, locked in place as if their bodies refused to process what their eyes saw, while others bolted blindly, slamming shoulders and elbows as they ran.
Wherever Lazar turned his gaze, something was going wrong.
Just now, not far in front of him, a man was shoved against a car hood, collapsing in a heap. A woman stumbled over him, hitting the asphalt face-first, and nearly got trampled before someone pulled her away to safety.
Drivers broke into the same blind panic, yanking their wheels into impossible turns, ramming into lampposts, colliding headlong into other vehicles until the road was clogged with wreckage.
Tires burned, horns screamed, alarms clamored, a racket loud enough to drive the sane mad.
The whole scene reeked of gasoline and fear, Lazar could smell it from where he stood inside the restaurant.
Cars piled up like corpses across the street left no doubt, the only way out was on foot.
Without a word, Lazar pushed through the door and stepped into the chaos outside, offering no command or suggestion, only the silent choice to keep up or be left behind.
Their terror of the street had left everyone rooted to the floor, yet when Lazar stepped out, they felt something changed.
Instead of moving, every gaze turned to Mamma, searching her face for the answer they already half-knew.
She nodded, hooked her fingers into Viktor's sleeve, and pulled him along, her gesture enough to send the others moving after her.
The heat was merciless. Within seconds it made every loose layer cling like a second skin, forcing Lazar to strip down to the black tactical gear beneath the baggy clothes he wore to hide it.
Mamma gave him a sideways look, half reproach, half disbelief, like she couldn't decide whether to slap him or laugh, why show up dressed for war at her restaurant? The question died on her lips, leaving only a weary smile that betrayed reluctant relief that he did.
Lazar stripped off the excess : holsters, sheaths, anything that weighed him down, paring himself to the essentials while a rough plan began to take shape in his head.
Around him, the crowd thickened, people spilling out of wrecked cars or breaking free from their paralysis to join the stampede on foot.
"Anything that drags you down, ditch it now." Lazar commanded, already moving, "After that, stay on my heels."
Lazar pulled himself onto the hood of a stalled car before vaulting to the roof. Hopping from one to the next was faster, he figured, than letting himself get swallowed by the human tide clogging the sidewalks.
During that time, the staff hastened to do what he asked : jackets were removed, ties yanked loose and tossed aside.
Mamma kicked off her heels without hesitation, tore off her apron, and when she noticed Viktor had only undone his tie, she rolled her eyes, seized his expensive turquoise jacket, and ripped it off his shoulders herself, knowing full well he had clung to it for its price tag.
Once unburdened, they followed Lazar's lead.