Mhaieiyu
Arc 1, Chapter 2
His Name
Two men armed to the teeth—one figuratively, the other literally—entered a vastly spacious room, its gigantic pattern-carved doors swinging open slowly so as to reveal what could be aptly titled a throne room. Streaking the walls were several drapes with regal variations of red and white and symbols representative of the Syndicate’s reign. A large, rouge carpet lined the floor, connecting the entrance to the tall-standing throne that sat upon a precipice of stairs. Looking at this room alone, one would easily assume this Facility was, in fact, the centrepiece of a grotesquely powerful Empire.
“General. Brigadier,” a voice boomed as it announced their presence; his fatherly courage and keen, clear and profound voice sending shivers down his lackeys' spines followed by a peculiar feeling of comfort.
Several guards in the same sleek armour Kev outfitted in stood proudly by the carpeted floors, protecting the individual seated above with admirable determination — their suits an imposing concrete grey whilst they wielded a variety of weapons of equally astounding calibre. The man that sat upon the gloriously adorned chair was a large, loosely armoured knight among men; his long and uneven whitening blond hair falling past his shoulders. The many scars that had formed on his face only added to his battle-worn appearance, his age just shy of being that of an elder. The beautifully forged greatsword that he kept beside him—its tip nearly piercing the floor as he used its gold-plated handle as an armrest—served as the encompassing piece to his brilliant figure.
Both Kev and the man accompanying him kneeled in a synchronised fashion, earning a chuckle from the king-like figure.
“Don’t be foolish, men! Rise. One does nay see Her Gates from the lowly floor. At ease!” the impressive figure commanded, his hearty laughter bouncing off the high walls.
Raising to their feet, The Man spoke up with a toothed grin.
“Greets, Alpha. Who’s screwin’ with us this time, eh?” he asked, already anticipating news of a public riot or an extraneous threat.
The nobleman swung his free hand as he slowly stood up, his age restricting his joints.
“Good Goddess I’m losing my days. Kev, thanks for the assistance. This way, mate,” he thanked the General, giving him a respectful salute before removing himself from the room.
The Man waited for the monarch-like leader to step beside him, leading the pair into the exterior of the building. Just outside the massive facility was a truly beautiful display. The entire building sat upon a foundation atop the edge of a waterfall surrounded by an abundance of nature, the gorgeous combination of flora along with the soothing sounds of the water cascading below sending any who bore witness to it into a nearly hypnotic state of calmness. The two tall figures leaned against the security rails whilst blue flowed freely from beneath their feet.
“You don’t often pull this kind of shite, old man,” The Man humoured, his voice milder than his words. “Ye're either telling me ye’re a dead man, or somethin’ heavy is brewin’.”
Alpha gave a low chuckle, patting The Man on the back with surprising strength, earning a grunt.
“My weeks be numbered, I’ll be proud enough to say that much, aye. The latter be the truth, mate. Some mighty storms are coming our way. I’d hope we’d the strength to endure it face-first,” Alpha explained, his voice becoming sharper and more serious with every word. The Man gave him a subtle glance for a few seconds, before looking forward once more.
With a low sigh, the gravelly voice of the recent drinker responded.
“Yanksies?” he asked, nearly knowing the answer but dreading it to be true.
“Nay.”
“Dwellers…?”
"Neither."
“Fuckin’… Marauders? Cops? Cults?”
“Gettin’ there,” the kingly man uttered.
With a low, inhuman growl, The Man slammed his head against the rails with force as he grumbled his last guess.
“Crimsons...”
“Aye, man,” the Head of Men revealed, his voice becoming hollow.
“You’ve gotta be shittin’ me… We didn’t push the fuckers back enough?!” the disgruntled Man yelled out, anger seeping as his mouth began to foam. With an acknowledging nod, the nobleman put a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Seems so, lad. We aren't far off from the decade's time by now, we just got the short end earlier than fancied. I know you’re not going to savour the course, but… ye be the Guardian,” Alpha explained, feeling sympathy for his old comrade. He knew well that such a calamity would come soon enough. Alpha had resigned himself to such a fate from the day he was set on top. As for the bloke beside him...
“Aye, caused me nothin’ but trouble. Piece of shite labels,” The Man spat, unnerved by his future predicament. Alpha gave him a worried look, turning back to the building as he destined for his chambers. Stopping for just a moment, he spoke.
“It be more than a label, friend. Take up yer platoon; they’ll need all the training they can get. We’ve gone soft these last years,” he concluded, offering his piece of mind before walking away.
Once out of earshot, The Man sighed in frustration.
“One of these days. I swear it,” he vented to nobody in particular, staring out into the wilderness for a few more moments before making way for the hospital, a task lingering in his mind as his anxiousness only grew. Glancing at a gadget strapped around his wrist like a watch, he pressed down on one of its buttons before speaking into the microphone — a communicator.
“Corvus, where the hell are ye?” The Man demanded, his steps hurried as he sped past his many armoured or robed co-workers. After a few dreadful seconds of silence on the opposite end, a crackling response came.
“Boss, you aren't going to believe this.”
“What!? Crimsons…?!”
“No? That fried chicken place opened again.”
“Fuck’s sakes, man!” the Brigadier barked, seething from the misguided concern. “Are ye tryin’ to give me a heart attack?!”
A chuckle could be heard from the device.
“Feeling jumpy today, Guardian? I’ll get you your coffee while I’m at it. Meet me by Mains, consider it a kindness.”
"Ye mongrel. Make it quick, I have shite to do. And news to share,” he admitted, looking up so as to not get ran over by the passing vehicles. The Man noticed some people stare, to which he gave a beastly smirk in turn.
“News? Spill it,” Corvus replied, curiosity filling him. The Man raised a finger above the communicator.
“Up yours,” he shot back, unflinchingly. Before the angel could offer a rebuttal, the communication was severed by the now sniggering mess of a man, only to trip over loose debris thereafter.
Walking through the densely populated streets, several biped creatures ranging from humans, to small anthropomorphic lapines, to boulder-sized beasts covered in either fur, leather or skin, passed him by with passive intent, many having to be wary of their next step so as to not crush—or be crushed by—any other walkers. While many bumped into each other in the unstoppable bustle, some larger beings made sure such disrespect—albeit accidental—was duly noted.
Grimacing as a small crowd had formed to watch a pair of civilians beat each other further ahead, The Man chose to take a different route than he used to, not wanting to have to intervene as the pair seemed fairly matched at the least. If it became too violent, surely a number of the countless officers would make an example out of one of them. Thus was the disturbed social norm of this city, just as he unfortunately remembered it as. Not that anyone seemed too inspired to attempt any radical changes. Perhaps in his youth The Man would’ve attempted, but surely now it was too late. This generation’s Guardian’s work seemed to be approaching its natural end; a fact that, while compelling, was profoundly terrifying to the otherwise combat-driven, life-defiant man.
A few minutes had passed as he walked absent-mindedly, pondering over the coming storm. If it wasn’t a farce or a false alarm, the odds of victory were deeply stacked against him, and if their ‘Prophet’ were to lead them, a bullet to the head sounded more appealing. Goddess only knows how powerful he’d have become by now.
Looking up, The Man noticed the restaurant his co-worker seemed so infatuated with, along with the subject in question leaning by a wall nearby. He shook away his thoughts and wore a sly smile as he advanced, his sharper-than-average teeth barely visible between his lips.
“You know, meeting you twice a day is considered a curse amongst the garrison. I’ll admit, you've piqued my interest. Coffee?” the angel admitted, offering him a cup of the stimulating beverage; The Man taking it without much say for thanks.
“Meeting any old fool is a curse, aye. Let’s walk,” he rebutted, walking in the same direction as he came. Tagging along, the angel-like being looked at him, expecting him to speak. After a few long moments, patience thinned.
“Seriously? Come on, don’t leave me waiting——”
Corvus halted his own complaint as he was interrupted by The Man’s sombre, tired voice.
“They’re back, Corvus. Their job’s decisively not fuckin’ done yet,” The Man said, pressing his forehead against the cup, letting the heat singe his skin red.
The vague information didn’t take long to register in the angel’s mind. The resentment he felt for the Crimsoneers was clear in their gaze, the encounters they shared with those bizarrely fanatical monsters—both human and beastly in form—marking his very being. Corvus almost seemed to beam at his words, as disturbing as they may be.
Before he could utter a word, The Man continued.
“Alpha said it, so we know it’s probably legit. Look, bub, I know what you’re gonna say," the Brig asserted, giving the winged man a look.
"Thing is… We lost too many men. If we couldn’t pull this off with the old gang, there’s jack shite we can do now," he said, his eyes slitting. “I know it stings, mate. Trust me, I do. But against that mob? We might as well be spittin’ at them. We’re gonna need a blessing and a half from Her just to push ‘em back a bit. Payin’ a visit's... out of the question,” he concluded, his tone stern and mournful.
It pained the gray-cloaked drinker to see the similarly-aged comrade close his eyes in acceptance. The one thing he cared for most, locked away by a key too hot to handle. And just as the angel thought the iron might’ve finally cast, it turned out no less scorching to the touch than ever before.
“I understand. I’ll hold off my sentiments for the sake of keeping our affairs in order,” Corvus spoke, sadness clear in his voice. Dishonesty did little to ease the agony of his situation, but if it meant he wouldn’t lose his spirit in combat, no price seemed too high. Not anymore.
The angel was a brilliant fighter. His keen eye and tactfulness in combat coupled with his agile and seemingly limitless airborne capabilities splendidly — like a bird of prey of highest praise. But alas, the swordsman needed his archer to be complete. To strike back blows unseen by his eyes. To be his much needed global vision, and to give him the motivation to persist even when all seemed hopeless.
Corvus’s hand settled on the handle of his sheathed blade, his grip tightening as he looked on. In spite of the news, he kept his head high and his back straight. A sight that would make any leader proud.
Little longer than a quarter of an hour passed before the pair stood in front of the hospital, its large, illuminated sign beaming the words ‘Polyhospital – Medical Assistance For All’. Walking inside, The Man walked up to the counter, where a familiar nurse had returned to her usual duties, much to her apparent dismay. Looking up, she almost rolled her eyes as she stood at attention, a welcoming facade feeling unnecessary for the well known visitors.
“Evenin’,” The Man said, “we’re lookin’ for the kid you robbed us of?”
“Harsh. As if anybody could get away with—— never mind. Yeah, he walked out.”
“What?!”
“Yeah-huh. With that Howler thing. Can’t believe he made that aggressive bitch so cooperative. I think I saw her smile, even.”
Leaning her elbow on the desk and resting her cheek lazily on her palm, she proceeded to ask. “Gonna kidnap him, or wait until he gets killed tonight first?”
“What direction, Ma’am?” Corvus asked.
“I don’t know, ‘sir’.”
Looking at a clock on the wall, she flapped her hand in disregard. “You should probably get looking, officers. It’s getting dark.”
With a confirming glance outside, The Man thanked the sarcastic woman before turning, making a beeline for the exterior they entered from. Stepping up to the railing, The Man clutched the iron bar as he scanned the horizon.
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“Damn it kid… How do those beasts recover so fast?” The Man said, exasperated.
“What are we looking for? I thought the Tsukis were human,” Corvus asked.
“He’s got a Howler with him. Cryptid, just like ye," he responded, teasing the angel.
“Hilarious coming from you, Guardian,” Corvus chuckled, elbowing him.
“Heh, shush.”
Cracking his back with a quick thrust of his fist against his spine, The Man proceeded, “Right. Take to the skies — ye can hardly miss white hair.”
“Sure. Behave, eh?” the angel sniggered, revving up to take off. As the winged man flew away, The Man chuckled to himself followed by a deep breath. With a task in mind, his mentality shifted into a state he well recognised. Locate, intercept, extract.
With a changed attitude and a sharpened gaze, The Man was quick to analyse his perimeter, his head shifting directions like a machine as he walked through the several streets, scanning alleyways and all walks of life for any possible signs of the scurried boy’s presence.
♦ ♥ ♣ ♠
Walking peacefully in a park, the teenager and his newly found inhuman friend enjoyed the peaceful nature of the green scenery, even if located in such an abysmal city. Tokken felt stupid for not asking the doctors to inspect his foot, and it ached way too much to walk all the way back to the village he lived in. Chloe had requested they visit somewhere with least pollution, her snout picking up on the filth too well for her own good. With the forest too far, he opted instead for this relatively close natural enclosure. The space was a breath of fresh air—both figuratively and literally—from the surrounding city, and almost made one forget the world outside. Though the park wasn’t much for size, the space within was surrounded by community-grown trees, which served in walling off any unpleasant views and odours. Flowerbeds had been meticulously planted and nurtured carefully with healthy, albeit lacklustre colours. A small artificial river leading to a quaint lake lined the core of the park with a bridge to connect the divided earth. A small pocket of heaven in a hellscape, one could say.
Inhaling deeply, the human couldn’t help but smile. The park seemed devoid of people, though the coming darkness didn’t aid in confirming such. With a nod from the boy, the pair walked in peaceful silence towards the lake’s edge, sitting down as they spotted an aquatic, serpentine creature; a gorgeous creation of nature with pristine cyan scales that reflected the water’s surface, giving it a jewel-like appearance. It danced blissfully by the surface, diving down occasionally to breathe.
Satisfied with the brilliant display, Tokken looked down to see a marvelled Chloe laying in the comfort of the grass, her eyes nearly sparkling as they observed. Looking forward, the teen parted his lips to speak, only to be interrupted by the juvenile Howler.
“Thank you,” she spoke, the pure honesty in her voice defying her otherwise timid character. Tokken wanted to respond in kind, seeing her efforts superior to his by a margin, but chose not to soil her gratitude with humble speech. With a small smile lining his gaze, Tokken placed his hands behind him so as to support his back as he leaned backwards, staring up at the lavender sky.
“Thank you too, Chloe,” he replied, the two exchanging a glance before returning their attention to the majesty of their environment.
For a good few moments, the boy ignored his anxious doubts, worries and concerns. It felt as though the entire world had finally given him a moment to breathe. His life had been tarnished by experiences that seemed uncharacteristic considering his behaviour. He lived his life ignorantly prodding for hope, but felt nothing short of hell shove him back. He was better off now, in a village that at worst used him as an errand boy and smack-talked his shortcomings, but his path to those days were filled with large bumps and prickly stingers. What weighed him down most was his future; or rather, the future his ancestors had forced upon him. Giving the sheathed pocket knife on his hip a cold stare, he could only hope tomorrow wouldn’t be the day he'd have to challenge his supposed position on the great scale of purpose.
Chloe felt no different. Left to survive almost entirely alone in a world that despised all walks of life after a fateful encounter with higher beings. A day that would inevitably mark her soul and make her question her motivations for years to come. Unlike the boy, she lived by no prophecy. No purpose to at least guide her.
Even if she would’ve grown to hate it, she couldn’t even tell herself she wasn’t born by coincidence; a luxury only one of the pair shared. But Chloe had no need to ponder such thoughts now. Why should she? This place was so soothing, it almost felt like she had so nearly found an exit to the terrors of the outside. So nearly.
Hearing several sets of steps grow louder as they approached the duo, Tokken wished under his breath for it to be merely a group of late-night park-goers or a large quadruped seeking for peace in such a place. Of course, such a fortune wouldn’t come to pass as he discreetly turned to see the nearing mob.
Four men of varying sizes in dirtied, ragged clothes, one of them covered in fur and possessing features akin to a feline. They all wore sickeningly suspicious grins and smirks. Two held daggers, sheathed or unsheathed and toying with the blades like lunatics. One held a hand beneath his worn-out jacket, likely concealing a firearm. The humanoid feline was definitely the muscle of the group, his right fist outfitted with a steel knuckle duster that had likely seen its use.
The teen placed a hand on his switchblade’s handle as he eyed them carefully.
“Don’t worry,” Tokken whispered, silently trying to calm his increasingly nervous friend. “I’ll take care of this,” he added, standing up so as to at least show some confidence in his stance.
As predicted, the men closed the distance between them and the lad without trepidation, their route planned the moment they laid eyes on the two. The scrawny man with a dagger leading the group gave a devilish smirk to Tokken's unfittingly brave behaviour, his stance slouched and relaxed despite the situation.
“Evenin’, stranger. Whatcha up to tonight, heh-eh?” the hooligan asked, the click of a lighter going off as a member of his gang took a drag from his cigarette. The boy signalled for Chloe to up and run, the beast only daring to stand behind him. He had secretly hoped the presence of a Cryptid would dissuade them, but her small stature and their likely ruthless past experiences made it apparent that wouldn’t happen anytime soon.
With a low sigh, Tokken spoke.
“Look, we don’t have any money.”
“Rude,” one of them jested, wheezing his blackened lungs out just from saying a word.
“We jus’ wanna talk, ‘s all,” another added, brandishing his dagger.
“Ain’t too pleased with your attitude,” spoke the sole beast in the group, stepping forward and cracking his knuckles. “We oughta teach the kid some manners.”
The group laughed viciously at the pair, the female canine showing weakness and hiding behind the human in spite of their apparent roles on the food chain. Tokken couldn’t help but stare in silence, lowering his gaze. He absolutely felt fear, but beyond all else he felt disappointment.
“Do you people seriously… live like this?” he asked, his voice quiet. The hazy chuckles ceased, a few brutish words of confusion leaving them.
“Fuck’s it to you? Cough it up,” the previous skinny lout commanded, bluntly. Refusing, Tokken looked up again.
“We have nothing of value. You’re all wasting your time."
He stood his ground for Chloe. Goddess knows this would be different otherwise. His words weren’t dishonest — he truly had nothing more than clothes and herbs to offer. The gangster produced a low sound of dejection, his gaze lowering down to his possessions, as well as Chloe’s immaculate fur. With an accusatory point of his slender index finger, he rebutted.
“Oh, yeah? Fancy lil' knife ya got there. We’ll skin the pup with it as a bargain,” he offered, chortling along with his comrades. Looking sickened, Tokken stomped his shoe down, raising his voice.
“What the hell is wrong with you freaks?! Isn’t this city built for——!?”
“It was built by bipeds, fer bipeds,” the smoker concluded, revealing his rusty pistol as he was finally close enough to effectively use it. The scrawny leader of the mob flashed a sickening smile, pointing the tip of his fishing knife to the teen's neck.
“It’s a game o’ balance, bud. Yer life or yer goods. If that means fur, we oughta take it, dontcha think? We’re already pass’ the turnin’ point now, right?” the criminal explained, excusing himself of his doings. “Now comes the million zed question. What side o’ the balance are ya looking to pay up with?”
Tokken felt bile build up in his throat at the horrendous options they had laid before him. He knew that to run would be foolish, as there were no areas to take cover behind, and the vast open space coupled with his damaged ankle meant they could easily take potshots until somebody got lucky. His lips quivered as he opened his mouth to speak, noticing the increasingly fatalistic gaze in his newly found companion.
If the city was this ruthless, even in a place like this, Tokken vowed to run far and forever keep away from the city's edge. if he survived.
“Yer philosophy’s a lil' quirky,” a bearish voice spoke, as a figure started sauntering towards them unexpectedly.
In the darkness of the night’s shroud, illuminated by the fickle light the moon provided, the group could only stand their guard as the leopard hybrid stepped forward, balling his fists in a primitive defensive stance.
“No point givin' options if they lead to the same conclusions, don’t ye think? Either way, the pup would’ve died. No point committin’ a murder without purpose, no?”
Even in the dim light, the tall figure’s toothed smirk was eerily visible as he continued to walk towards them.
The thug carrying a pistol took aim and yelled in warning. “Ay! Piss off, mate. We’re doin’ business ‘ere!”
The figure walking towards them stopped, leaning forward slightly as if to study the weapon. “Shite, pistols? Crime’s getting more lucrative, huh,” The Man mused, reaching into his jacket for a few seconds, as if looking for something. The crime boss, losing his patience, murmured an order to his armed subordinate.
“Found it! Can’t see jack in the dark. Old eyes, these,” the figure said, raising his voice.
Just as he said this, the criminal aimed down sights onto the intruding target and put his finger on the trigger. Seconds before he'd fired, the figure in the dark produced an indiscernible item from his coat. Any reluctance to fell the intruder immediately proved a mistake as the criminal’s head was destroyed by the excessive force of the gunshot. With a croaking gasp, the three remaining bandits took a step back from the falling body once belonging to their comrade.
Although he cursed himself for it, Tokken appreciated the violence. He felt nothing but disgust for the thieves, and wished them all the worst; shamed as he may be for thinking such. Kneeling down to protect the eyes and ears of the terrified canine, he kept a keen view on the event, hoping it would end in his favour.
The figure stepped a bit closer, tossing his weapon onto the dirt path as he strolled with unsettling calmness towards the lot, his hands slipping into his pockets. The sole Cryptid of the gang suddenly broke into a hazy laughter, much to the surprise of his allies.
“You jus' tossed your only leverage on the floor, dipshit.”
Breaking into an aggressive sprint with a readied fist, the sudden ambush was much too visible. In spite of this fact, any well versed civilian knew that a single well-timed blow from the biped feline would most assuredly cave in the skull of an average human male. And yet, despite this, the figure kept his composure, even walking towards his assailant.
When close enough, the beast revved a mighty thwack with little reaction from his target. Just as the attack would connect, however, the figure slipped under his arm with a swift duck-and-weave only to clock his opponent’s head with terrifying force, propelling the beast directly to the floor in a somewhat uneventful smash.
While the arrogant gangster’s skull hadn’t been crushed due to the resilience of his species, the Cryptid was most assuredly concussed. Standing straight once more as if to flaunt his stature, he locked his fingers together to pop their joints before marching on to the remaining two. His actions were nothing short of bewildering to the silent teen, who had until recently considered him a normal person. So suddenly it was made all too apparent that much like his timid-yet-beastly saviour, this man was no common kind either.
Gritting his teeth with widened eyes, the leader of the group grabbed his last remaining ally before throwing him towards the danger. The thug facing The Man felt his entire body quiver as he shakily raised his only weapon — a fanciful switchblade with engravings evidently stolen from a nobleman. The blade was in good condition and had likely seen little use, considering it was still razor sharp. This did, of course, spell one thing clear: the hooligan hadn’t seen much experience in actual combat, and relied mostly on intimidation to get his stolen goods. A fact that became evident as he swung the thing like an axe, instead of opting for a swifter stab or a quick slash. Catching his wrist with a hand, The Man quickly twisted it to the point of dislocation so as to make him drop the weapon, before bludgeoning him with a jab from his right. The attack sent the man off his feet and in the air a short distance before colliding with the dirt unceremoniously. With a snigger, the combatant pushed his knuckles into his palm, feeling the joints pop once more.
“Look out!” Tokken yelled, noticing the leader run from behind The Man to attempt to stab his neck.
Just as the blade would pierce him, however, the tall figure squatted down to pick up the previous assailant’s weapon of choice, just as a moderately-proportioned sabre flew through the air and hacked the thief’s hand off in a beautifully clean swipe, the speeding weapon ceasing its trajectory as Corvus phased into existence beside the attacker, its handle in the angel’s clutch. The amazingly swift act was a magical technique commonly used among experienced sword and magic users known colloquially as ‘handle teleportation’. Fairly straightforward, really.
The poorly attired victim barely had time to register the attack, noticing his hand on the floor still clutching the weapon he once brandished with such rowdy carelessness. His mouth hung open as he fell onto the grass, his skin going pale as his life sprayed from the open wound. Finally embracing the reality of his situation, alongside the pain that accompanied it, the skinny thug produced a blood-curdling scream, his other hand clutching the stub in a desperate attempt to cease his blood flow. He grew delirious for every passing second, babbling incoherent nonsense as he rocked in place from the pain. In spite of the delirium, the Man simply stood up to admire his newly acquired switchblade. The angel, having sheathed his sword after cleansing it of its filth, walked over to Tokken, kneeling.
“Forgive us. We should have found you two sooner. We apologize for the unsightly display.”
Under normal circumstances, the boy would’ve yelled that such violence was not only unnecessary, but completely inhumane. However, the young man found himself smiling instead. He felt awful for seeking such feelings of accomplished vengeance, but he knew better than to act upon such thoughts, and as such allowed the incident to phase him.
“No. Thank you. I don’t know how that would’ve gone had you guys not come by. Thank you,” he expressed, pure gratitude in his tone. He looked down at the fear-stuck Chloe, kneeling down to pet her. “And I’m sorry this is your first impression of this place, even if it’s mine too. We’ll leave as soon as possible.”
The Man turned around, facing the dying criminal with slight remorse. The gangsters were mostly quite young, and so it was a shame their only life was wasted as scum. But the damage they likely committed was irreparable, and their lack of morals only worsened his feelings towards the suffering thief.
“I think that’s enough, eh? Take it easy up there,” The Man hoped, the event not fazing his tone. Walking over to the gun he had previously dropped, he withdrew the firearm from the dirt before aiming the barrel towards the paling head of the criminal. And as he finalised the combat with a mercy kill, he lowered the gun to his side with a slight pang of jealousy.
Finally turning to Tokken, he spoke up.
“Ay, kid. Don’t leave our sights again, y’hear? Don’t need ye starting fights with every damn soul in this place, oy,” The Man complained, walking towards the three. The youth wanted to defend his innocence, but his mind was too busy wondering something.
“Why did you save us again?”
“I couldn’t tell ya.” The Man shrugged.
“Well, okay then… What are your names?” Tokken requested, the angel standing up once more to meet Tokken’s eyes.
“My name is Corvus. Celestial and Sixth Lieutenant of the Syndicate’s Military Force.”
With a fatherly yet vain smirk, The Man raised his head high as he introduced himself.
“Name’s Emris. Don’t get used to it.”