Chapter 65: The Big Boner, Part 2

"Could you repeat that?" Heather phrased it as if it were a question, but in reality, she was demanding it, naturally.

"It seems Sylvester started killing civilians," Ryan repeated, slowly and after a while, "at a club called The Big Boner."

Heather was speechless.

"I can't leave him alone. At least this time the trouble took three days to find us. It can't be Sylvester, but someone pretending to be him, cloning, disguise, whatever, the case is the same. And entirely possible. It wouldn't be the craziest thing we've seen."

Heather was stating the obvious one after another. But neither Cynthia nor Ryan commented on it. They weren't so foolish as to not know she was just thinking out loud, she supposed. Or they knew that, one way or another, this wasn't the time. They were unaware of what had happened between Sylvester and her, but anyway, it really wasn't the time. Heather had never tried to hide how much Sylvester meant to her.

"If it's just a clone," Ryan said, "it'll be easy to deal with this, for sure. Especially if Sylvester comes back to help us. But if he's being controlled or something like that, if it's his body, even if it's not his will that's in control... Then what the hell do we do?"

"You? You and Cynthia?" She added, stepping closer to him, nudging him with her shoulder. "Get out of my way."

One way or another, Heather would resolve this.

If it was a clone, then she, with her own hands, would destroy that insult to his image, to his efforts, and to his legacy. If he was being controlled, she swore she would bring him back no matter what.

Even if it cost her life.

Life was already too hard.

It wasn't worth living alone, without an equal.

Without a mirror to look at. Selfish humans, craving power, took that for granted. But apart from Sylvester, there were only the Lunar Remnants who were his kind. And what did they have in common, for God's sake?

Twisted monsters. Most of whom didn't even have a human form.

There was only him.

It had always been like that. She felt it in her bones.

It had been predestined, and predestination was enough, wasn't it? If that's not enough, then I have no fucking idea what would be, I guess nothing then, so it has to be.

Predestination.

Two people destined to be together, coming together and staying together.

Could there be anything more beautiful than that?

——

The disco ball spun and spun without stopping.

Even the light it projected was stained with blood. Since the floor was in the same condition, it was hard to discern what was bloody light projected onto the floor and what were actual bloodstains.

Sylvester had killed countless enemies of humanity.

Their corpses were scattered in the club, among the blood and guts. But no matter how many he killed, more appeared.

They were so cowardly that they didn't dare to face him after seeing what he could do, so they ran looking for any way out like headless chickens. But it didn't matter. Enemies were enemies and they had to die. For the sake of everyone, he couldn't let a single one of them escape. He couldn't.

He couldn't

He couldn't.

If he failed after the atrocity he had committed several times, it couldn't be said that it had been worth it. He couldn't look the dead in the face when he went to the other side—the people he had killed and the people who had died because of him, a big pile of poison going down his throat, in any case.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Sylvester staggered forward. He almost lost his balance, but he recovered by plunging the sword into the ground. Still, he bent over even more and vomited.

For some reason.

Why was even his body rebelling against him now?

For some reason.

Sylvester focused on one of the random enemies. He wasn't even the only one lying on the ground.

Not that he had cut off a leg to wait for him to bleed out or anything like that, it's just that apparently fear had gotten to him to such an extent that he had lost feeling in his legs, fallen. Forced to crawl on the ground. Toward the fleeting light of the exit.

He grabbed one of his cowardly legs and dragged him backward, back into the darkness, as he writhed and screamed like a lamb in the slaughterhouse. Is that what I'm doing?

What is it that

Why am I

What is it that

I'M DOING

The desperate inner voice died, leaving him quiet. At least for now. They were stupid questions anyway. What was he doing? Well, his duty, obviously. His duty.

To protect humanity at all costs.

That's why he was born.

That's why he had these powers.

That's why he was still alive.

"No, please!" The guy raised his arms to protect his face. What was he doing? The material his sword was made of would pass through his arms as if they weren't there. Even if it was hard, it wouldn't last long. "Why are you doing this?"

He asked, crying.

Whimpering.

Wasn't it obvious? He came to attack him, to kill him and everything he loved, his whole damn universe. Just because the tables had turned didn't mean that suddenly that man was the victim here.

This was nothing more than the expected outcome.

What had been sought.

He silenced his screams and his annoying questions with a single stroke. The head rolled across the dance floor, surrounded by blood and gore. Now that there was a ball above and one below, the ceiling and the floor were a perfect reflection.

No, what was he saying. That would require sticking corpses to the ceiling.

What nonsense, haha.

Well, it wasn't perfect, but it was a pretty close reflection.

Close enough was what people had to settle for. Despite his powers, he was no exception in that respect.

I can settle for everything except letting a single one of those bastards escape.

He would. He would because he alone couldn't contain so many. But he wouldn't settle. He would bite his tongue, vomit blood.

Out of sheer rage, because no matter how hard he tried, he was never enough to cover everything needed. After all, he was just a man.

He didn't follow the ones who had escaped through one of the doors. Instead, Sylvester turned around, positioned himself backstage, knocking down any door in his way, and quickly climbed the stairs to the roof as soon as he found them.

The cold night air passed through his body like the fingers of Death.

It was refreshing.

The huge white eye of the night sky was fixed on him. It was a spotlight shining just for him.

Sylvester took a deep breath, exhaled.

It hadn't been perfect, but what was? He had done a good job today. Spilled a river of his enemies' blood. So he could pat himself on the back and say, good job, keep it up. Why beat himself up so much? What the fuck was the point?

None.

Nothing, but...

He grinned from ear to ear. A strange, wild grin.

Today's work wasn't over yet.

Some sort of winged demons approached. Vaguely humanoid, but without skin, only pulsating flesh. They also had their backs reversed, as well as their heads hanging grotesquely. There wasn't a single tooth in their mouths, only a yellowish light.

Like a beacon, he thought.

Their wings, well, they weren't wings proper, actually. The twisted demons seemed to be mounted on machines he had never seen before.

In any case, this must be the cavalry. The real obstacles.

Deep down in his heart, Sylvester appreciated it. The only difficulty the massacre inside the club had presented to him was the numbers. Between killing four or five, eight got away from him, and it was a disaster.

But he wasn't a hero, he couldn't just clean up other people's messes. He was a warrior, and he lived for this.

For the rush of battle.

He wondered how they had evacuated all the civilians from the club so quickly, so easily, but that was beside the point. The point was they had done it, they had disappeared suddenly, and Sylvester had found himself surrounded by enemies, alone. And he had dealt with it.

With the sword he had stolen from the first enemy, not his usual katana.

Anyway, that didn't matter either.

Sylvester laughed with his whole body, from head to toe, arching his back backward.

"Come on, come on. And don't bore me!"

Sylvester placed the sword between his legs holding it, yes, the handle with both hands, firmly.

What can I say, he had felt inspired suddenly.

"Taste my big boner!"

The dark energy of the sword (Dark? I feel great) spread with that shout, and as if it had a mind of its own, it knocked down three of the winged demons in the air as it passed, severely injuring a fourth.

And Sylvester kept laughing, laughed like he had never thought he would be able to.

The Big Boner, Part 2: FIN