Logan needed to rest and recuperate. The meat was only the basis for his regeneration, but rest was required in order to rebuild his strength. Still… before he passed out, he’d need to see the damage.
With a fresh coat and mask, he stepped up the ladders, apparently unseen by the masses to look at the aftermath of the assault.
The fires had been burning non-stop and by that point, little remained except the white-hot calcium skeleton of the arms in the courtyard. Aside from that, little had happened in the town itself, but the wall had sustained some major damage. Large chunks of stone had been torn from the battlements, several of the cannons had been destroyed and the town’s powergrid would likely never recover. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how they’d recover from the last challenge, but he had no doubt that the festive people down the ladder would find a way. Still… he would make a point out of firing off a few missives as he made his report and request some assistance from the Citadel as soon as he woke up.
It was then that he heard some sniffles from behind and saw, to his dread, that Marcel sat on his knees in a pile of severed tentacles and blood. He was covered in the stuff, but he was physically unharmed - physically, but not entirely. His golden hair was soaked with blood as he wept into his hands next to his shield and a broken spear. Logan had always hated this part - he wasn’t a great talker, despite some thinking it.
“Marcel…” Logan spoke, only for the boy to twist around and lunge at him - wrapping his arms around his dark form to bawl into his shoulder; screaming with pain.
It was unusual. He could count on one hand how many people had actually hugged him and they were nearly all currently in the town. Even after having seen his face... It felt… strange, more than anything. He could feel the heart pound against his chest and the powerful movements of expressive lungs pressed the shark tooth against his skin, yet he remained in place, slowly tapping the boy’s back.
After the worst of the bawling had stopped, Marcel drew back to point to the spot where he had last seen Michael. “H-He was r-right there…” The sobs continued. Logan knew the pattern well - how the pain would grow and grow until a violent expulsion of tears would wipe a mind clear, at least for the time being.
“I’m sorry, Marcel. I could’ve saved him if-” Marcel was quick to shake his head and said: “N-no… I could have… if I’d have gone straight to firing the cannon like L-Luna said…” He hadn’t heard the details - not this time. But he’d heard them before and they were always the same.
“He died a warrior’s death. A Ghast’s death.” Marcel nodded and wiped his nose on his bloody arm. Thankfully, it was not his own blood.
“I thought it’d… it’d feel different. That when one of us died we’d be proud. Like the songs. Like heroes.” Logan folded his arms behind his back, still puzzled the boy hadn’t commented on his appearance once. He drew a long breath of the cooling, smoky air and nodded to none in particular.
“Death hurts. I’ve lost men… many men. Hundreds, thousands - more than I can count. They all died a hero’s death, but it boils down to the same. They’re not around anymore and I’ll never see them again. What made me choose to bring you with me was the look in Michael’s eyes - that hatred he shone as he looked across Cradle for the first time. He really wanted to kill our enemy and he died doing just that - that’s more than his fellow humans could ask of him. But even knowing he died doing what he needed to do, it still hurts like a bitch.” Marcel wiped his nose and nodded.
“H-His last w-words were for m-me to fire the cannon… he fought to the end.” When Marcel turned around to look at Logan, it was with an unmistakably agonized smile, but with the eyes he so hated. They were the eyes of the people of Cradle - the sheepish flock that had rolled over to let the Monstrum dominate them… but he had begun to realize that those meant something else to an Anzanite. Those were not eyes ignorant of the hardships of the world, but the bulbs of someone capable of absorbing it and redirecting it - to face the challenges of the Monstrum and the starvation and live with it. If Logan hadn’t already made up his mind, that would be the moment for it.
He stepped closer and raised the tattered remains of his torn, black glove to rustle the boy’s filthy, bloody hair. “Thank you for your service, Marcel. You’ve served the Order of the Ghast well and you’re relieved from your duty. You - and Michael - will have special mentions in my report to the Governor. Your names will be inscribed in the Wall of Heroes with golden print.” Marcel did not protest nor cry. They both knew his mind had been made up - that the fight had died with Michael.
“But I’ve another task for you - a personal favor, if you will. Mrs. Wellwater’s going to need help raising her child. I can’t think of a better person for the job - I struggle to think of a better person altogether.” He wiped his nose with disbelief as they shared in a moment’s understanding. Logan leaned close and whispered: “Women can’t resist a hero, you know.”
Logan was tired of speeches and talking. The Priest had seen to it - thanking the People for their service and rejoicing in the aftermath of the battle. They were, Logan thought, nothing short of the most courageous people he had ever met, but he imagined they understood as much.
He waited for the courtyard to clear up as he sat atop a big crack in the wall and drank from his flask. In his right hand, he held the shark tooth and took another swig, swirling the ethanol about his mouth as he looked across the night’s sky before swallowing it down.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Next, he scratched another notch in the flask and returned the tooth around his neck. If he’d have gone down, he’d been invited to join the festivities, but more than anything he was hoping for them to blow over.
He needed to make a report, join them in making some workarounds and repairs and finally leave again.
“There ye are.” A familiar voice spoke from further up the battlement. He turned around to see Ethel grin at him, carrying a flask of her own in her right hand. Again, he was caught by surprise upon seeing her smile. She danced across the battlement, sprinkling her last precious bottle of spirits to the air, but by the looks of it she had had enough.
“There I am.” He confirmed and returned to staring at the halving moon. She landed an arm across him, reminding him of the multiple injuries he had sustained throughout the day before landing a kiss on his porcelain face. Her breath reminded him of the accelerant, but he was hardly one to judge - his mouth likely smelled the same.
Once he readjusted his mask, he found her hand landing atop his own, insistently nudging at the porcelain.
“You never told me you were a handsome freak under there. C’mon, you don’t need that.” She tugged, only for him to laugh at her and shake his head.
“The mask stays on, dear Ethel. That said, I am sure there are plenty of others down there who’d be happy to get down and dirty on a night like this. Have you met Abraham-”
“Nah, nah - it’s time. Shy like you, I’m sure you haven’t gotten your pipe blown in a while. Hey - is that also… I mean, is it monstrous too?” She pointed down at his groin with eyebrows rising and lowering fast enough they might be mistaken for seizing. He couldn’t stifle a laugh at the absurdity of how easy-going she was being with his monstrous nature.
“It doesn’t have teeth, if that’s what you’re asking.” He chuckled. Sensing the declination, she resigned to merely hugging her arm around him and sighing. He seized the opportunity to ask her: “No one seems to care too much about… this. Why’s that?” He tapped the mask. She looked at him and raised her red eyebrow.
“What, you kiddin’? You’re a damn hero - saved our asses. Fixed the farm. I ain’t alone in wanting to fuck you tonight, you should come down there, we could-” He raised his hands dismissively and kept up his bemusement.
“If the Monstrum didn’t break me, I’m sure the people would.” Their laughter trailed off and both turned back to look at the skies, sharing in the solemn moment.
“A lotta people died today, Loggie. But if it ain’t been for you, we’d all have died. I think a lot of people are wondering why you are what you are, but it ain’t our business to ask it. The Lord and the Governor sent their angel to us and we’d be damned if we weren’t grateful.” He nearly scoffed at that term again. Angel - a drunk, misshapen agent of their Lord.
“Loggie?” An icy voice sent shivers down their spines. Logan turned to see a second coat standing by one of the ladders with its arms crossed over her chest. Ethel glanced back and forth between what she thought to be two Ghasts and sounded her misunderstanding.
“Ah, I get it - I get it.” She giggled and rose to her feet, motioning for Logan.
“How boutchu let us have a turn afterwards?” The redhead spoke as she approached the ladder to leave the two forlorn lovers atop the wall.
“We never finished the trade, Loggie.” By the sound of her voice, she had dipped into Ethel’s stash. Then again, so had he. He rose from the stones to sigh up at the skies.
“I was gonna ask you for a dance, to be honest. We never got to dance in Sitalii.” He confessed.
She seemed milder than earlier as she approached him to touch his mask, only for him to rear his head and suffer a disapproving glare for it. Insistently, she pulled it off, miring at his inhumane face again.
He could honestly say that none had looked at him in such a loving manner - not since she had last done so a decade previous. But as he stared into her red eyes, it was as if nothing had changed; as if no time had passed at all.
“There’s no music and I don’t know how to dance. But the stars are kinda like the lights of Sitalii, I guess.” She shrugged and gently lay his mask down on the stones.
As he guided her over the platform, she eventually lowered her head to his shoulder- moving her feet with his. It was every bit as an amazing experience as he had dreamed of, the rhythm, the smell of her hair - the feel of those beloved pelvic crests against his pained palms.
“So, what’s next, Loggie? Where are we going after we’ve fixed the place up?” She asked. Though he dreaded to confess it, he was relieved to hear her say ‘we’.
“There’s a village to the northeast. Down in the lowlands… it’s where I trained under the weirdest person you can imagine. It’s also where I found Zeke. For obvious reasons, I need you to be stronger. The mission still stands - I need to destroy that Hive.”
She bobbed her head back and forth and raised her head to look at him playfully. “Really, now? And what’s in it for me?” He couldn’t discern whether this was a playful jest or her being coy.
He flashed his sharkish teeth at her and went on to state: “I’ll teach you about flowers, stars and the sun. I’ll teach you how to kill Monstrum like no one else can. I’ll get you a hound of your own. The list goes on, really.” She puckered her lips and again bobbed her head back and forth.
“Not good enough. I need more. I’m an expensive girl and I’m not talking about silkworm shirts or nutrifungus.” He scoffed.
“All right, meat. I get so much meat you won’t believe it.” Still - not good enough.
“I want back what I lost. Give me that and I’ll help you destroy whatever you want.” As if to make a point, he opened his mouth to run his tongue along his sharp teeth.
“You’re sure you want that? It’s gotten old and weird.” He spun her around and braced her in his arm- bending her backwards so that she could see her namesakes over his shoulder. But even in the vivid movement, she still smiled and nodded.
With a trademark charm she'd come to find was all too common for him, he raised his eyebrow and spoke: “You never lost it to begin with.”