The news hit Cyrus like a thunderbolt, shattering his world in an instant. His mind reeled, unable to process the devastating information. "It can't be real," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "You must be kidding me." The words hung in the air, a desperate plea for this to be some cruel joke.
But the gravity in his father's eyes told a different story. Cyrus felt his heart constrict, a vise-like grip tightening around his chest. He struggled to breathe, to think, to comprehend the enormity of what he'd just heard.
"What happened?" he finally managed to choke out, his voice rising with each word. "What the hell happened? Weren't you supposed to take care of her?" The accusation in his tone was palpable, a mixture of grief and anger that threatened to overwhelm him.
His father's image on the screen seemed to age years in mere seconds. The man's shoulders sagged under the weight of guilt and sorrow. "The karmic monster surprised us," he began, his voice heavy with regret. "The agents of the bureau present were overwhelmed and retreated with the ore, leaving us to fend for ourselves." He paused, swallowing hard before continuing. "Before the reinforcement came, everything was lost. She was greatly wounded during the chaos but survived. We tried calling you, Cyrus. She desperately wanted to see you one last time."
The words struck Cyrus like physical blows. Each syllable drove home the reality of the situation, the finality of what had transpired. He felt his legs weaken, threatening to give way beneath him.
"I..." Cyrus couldn't bear to meet his father's gaze. The weight of his own failure pressed down upon him, crushing his spirit. He felt his heart constrict even further, a pain so intense it was almost physical. Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling over and rolling down his cheeks in hot, silent streams.
The missed call. The one he hadn't picked up. It echoed in his mind now, a cruel reminder of his own negligence. Cyrus felt as if a part of his very soul had been violently torn away, leaving a gaping, bleeding wound in its wake.
"It's all my fault, son," his father's voice cracked, the image on the screen seeming to age even more before Cyrus's eyes. "I failed you, and I failed your mother."
Cyrus shook his head vehemently, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "It's not your fault, Dad," he managed to say, his voice broken and raw with emotion. "It's that of your useless son. If I had more money, I could have saved you from there. If I was more intelligent, you wouldn't have had to do that." His words came faster now, a torrent of self-loathing and regret. "I should have never come into this life."
Each word was an echo of the cries from his soul, a testament to the depth of his pain and self-recrimination. The room around him seemed to fade away, leaving only the crushing weight of his grief and the image of his father on the screen.
"No, son," his father's voice was gentle but firm, cutting through Cyrus's spiral of self-blame. "Arkania has always been like this, and it will always be. Your mother said she was proud of you before she left. I, too, am proud of you." There was a pause, heavy with unspoken emotion. "We couldn't avoid this life for you. But as long as you're living well there, all our efforts will not have been in vain."
Cyrus lifted his head, his vision blurred by tears. "Dad... I... I need to tell you something," he began, his voice trembling. "I... I lied. Things are not going well—" But the words died in his throat as he realized the image had long since disappeared, leaving him alone with his guilt and sorrow.
The weight of his belongings seemed to increase tenfold as Cyrus stumbled out onto the street. He had no destination in mind, no purpose beyond putting one foot in front of the other. The sun hung high in the sky, its harsh rays beating down on his skin, leaving it dry and parched.
Cyrus cleared his throat, pulling at his collar in a futile attempt to find some relief from the oppressive heat. His body was drenched in sweat, each step a monumental effort as he wandered aimlessly. Time seemed to lose all meaning, minutes blending into hours until he suddenly realized it was noon.
As if sensing his misery, the sky darkened abruptly. Cold winds whipped around him, a stark contrast to the earlier heat. Cyrus couldn't help but think, "At least it isn't hot anymore," a bitter attempt at finding some small comfort in his dire situation.
His wanderings led him to an alley illuminated by floating lights, their soft glow creating pockets of visibility amidst the encroaching shadows. The eerie sound of old cans clattering across the ground, pushed by the relentless wind, provided a discordant soundtrack to his misery.
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Exhausted, both physically and emotionally, Cyrus leaned against a juice distribution machine. With trembling hands, he pulled out the last tangible reminder of his mother – an image capturing their arrival in City Zero for the first time. Her smile seemed to bloom out of the picture, radiating an energy and optimism that now felt like a cruel mockery of his current circumstances.
Cyrus pressed the picture to his heart, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "I'm sorry you gave birth to such a failure," he whispered, the words carried away by the wind almost as soon as they left his lips.
The sound of approaching footsteps broke through his reverie. Cyrus lifted his head, resignation clear in his posture. "Even here, I can't stay," he murmured, forcing his body upright with considerable effort.
As he prepared to resume his aimless journey, something caught his eye. Amidst the encroaching darkness, a pair of golden eyes gleamed, their intensity seeming to pierce right through him.
Cyrus halted, his body tensing instinctively. The eyes seemed to be drawing closer, their gaze so sharp and penetrating that he felt exposed, vulnerable. A slight tremor ran through him, partly from the cold wind at his back, partly from the unnerving sensation of being watched.
Gradually, the figure attached to those mesmerizing eyes came into view. It was a woman, her graceful form partially obscured by a black umbrella. Golden hair cascaded down her shoulders, a stark contrast to the neat, tight dark blue suit that seemed to blend seamlessly with the surrounding shadows.
"It wasn't a trivial task to locate you," she said, her voice carrying clearly despite the wind.
Cyrus felt a surge of irritation cut through his grief and exhaustion. "Here we go again," he spat, his tone bitter. "If you're looking for someone to cater to your disgusting ticks, I'm out." He turned, intending to leave in the opposite direction.
But before he could take more than a step, he felt a gust of wind brush past him. His eyes widened in disbelief as he found the woman once again standing before him. Cyrus glanced back, then forward again, unable to comprehend how she had moved so quickly.
"Listen now," she began, her tone brooking no argument.
But Cyrus was in no mood to listen. He turned once more, determined to escape this bizarre encounter. This time, however, his body came to a brutal halt. It felt as if he were a string being pulled taut from both ends before suddenly being released.
A palm landed on his shoulder with surprising force. Cyrus felt as if a skyscraper were pressing down on him, the familiar sensation of a bestial aura enveloping him.
"How dare you walk away when I am addressing you?" the woman glared, her voice a low growl. The bestial traits on her face became more pronounced, her golden eyes flickering with an inner fire. She looked every inch a mighty lion queen, regal and dangerous.
Despite the overwhelming pressure, Cyrus felt a surge of defiance. "I said I'm not in the mood," he snarled, abruptly turning back to face her. As he did so, his own face flashed with familiar bestial traits, an instinctive response to the threat before him.
The woman's reaction was immediate. She let go of his shoulder with a soft cry, stumbling back in apparent disbelief. Cyrus could read the shock in those mesmerizing eyes, a mixture of surprise and... was that fear?
Recovering quickly, the woman straightened, her composure returning. "The bureau has you marked," she stated, her voice steady once more.
Cyrus's steps faltered for a second, the words cutting through his anger and grief.
"They are aware of your non-human nature," she continued, reaching into her suit to pull out a tissue. As she spoke, she delicately wiped the hand that had touched him, her actions a clear display of distaste. "They will be coming for you shortly."
Cyrus's mind was too chaotic to be angered by her behavior. The implications of her words were too significant to ignore. "Impossible," he protested, waving his hand dismissively. "I am not some sort of non-human."
Even as he denied it, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered doubts. Could those seemingly silly words really have come true? He had said he wanted to be non-human, but he hadn't been serious... had he?
The woman's golden eyes fixed on him, unblinking. "Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, their arrival is imminent," she stated matter-of-factly. "It's common knowledge that no one eludes the bureau's grasp." A slight pause, then, "Unless, of course, you opt to align yourself with our cause."
With a fluid motion, she tossed a small card in his direction. Cyrus caught it effortlessly, turning it over in his hands. On its surface was an ancient and strange symbol, surrounded by a complicated array of seemingly foreign characters. Among them, he could make out a single word: "Bite."
Confusion and curiosity warred within him. "Who are you?" Cyrus demanded, his voice a mixture of suspicion and desperation. "How could you know the bureau is after me? And more importantly, why are you helping me?"
Their eyes met once more, and Cyrus felt himself being drawn into an endless abyss. He tilted his head to the side, trying to break free from the hypnotic pull of her gaze. Her appeal was abnormal, otherworldly. Each time he looked into those eyes, he felt himself losing his grip on reality.
Without answering his questions, the woman turned and walked away, her figure melting into the shadows of the night as if she had never been there at all.
Left alone once more, Cyrus resumed his aimless wandering. His mind was a jumble of conflicting thoughts and emotions, struggling to process everything that had transpired in this single, tumultuous day.
As he walked, he turned the card over and over in his hands, his thoughts circling back to that one word. "The Bites," he murmured to himself, the name feeling strange on his tongue. "Who are they?"
The question hung in the air, unanswered, as Cyrus disappeared into the labyrinthine streets of the city, his future as uncertain as the shadows that surrounded him.