Chapter 72: Earth, Wind, and Fire (6)

1

As previously mentioned, Jonathan Harker was like a god in his world. An authority literally impossible to challenge. Thanks to his immortality, he had reached that position. It was natural for someone outside the natural cycle of life and death to be revered and feared.

So his fist hitting him was the long arm of the law from another universe. Which was a more stupid way of saying he punched him with all his might, lifting him off the ground and making him fly like a ragdoll caught in a strong wind.

The impact knocked the air out of his lungs. His sword, of course, remained buried in Jonathan Harker's body, though it was useless. Sylvester breathed heavily on the ground, writhing in pain. Something didn't add up. His mind was like covered by a fog.

He had wanted to cooperate with Harker while at the same time investigating a way to end him, finding the weakness of his supposed immortality (hoping there was one in the first place) or at least a way to get rid of him forever. Lock him up and bury him at the bottom of the ocean, where he wouldn't bother anyone ever again, or launch him into space, who knew, he couldn't think right now.

The point is, he had never wanted this.

Why had he attacked him now? Had he let his anger get the best of him and made the stupidest mistake of his life? He knew it wouldn't work, that he was immortal, for God's sake!

Something didn't add up.

That's what he thought as Harker approached him casually with the sword still buried in his chest. Damn, it seemed like he couldn't even feel pain.

I'm going to die, he thought.

Jonathan pulled the sword out of his body and let it fall beside him, almost on his right hand.

What was this?

"Pick it up already." Those cold eyes looked through him, touching his soul. He vaguely registered that the hole in his chest had already regenerated. Immortality, practically instant regeneration, and overwhelming power. Completely unfair. This being was truly like a god. "Next time you try, I'll break your arm."

Only the arm.

Of course.

Why would he kill him directly? He posed no threat to him. He could afford to simply punish him for trying to kill him.

He almost felt like laughing.

This was too fucked up.

Sylvester picked up the sword and stood on trembling legs. Well, the hands holding the sword were also trembling. And not out of anger. Not anymore.

So this is what it feels like to be afraid, he thought.

"Can you send me back to my world? I have responsibilities, a war to end, for starters."

"Yes. In theory. We have a portal machine. It won't be easy to find the right universe, but, in theory..."

Jonathan Harker's expression didn't change one bit. As usual.

"Very well. Take me there."

Sylvester tensed.

"I also have a war to fight. I have to defend my people."

Jonathan stared at him for too long. Sylvester was tense, wondering if he would break his arm as he had threatened before or had a worse punishment in mind for his disobedience. Being immortal, did he even know how fragile normal humans were?

It was ironic coming from him, who barely remembered when he was normal, but it was still true.

Besides, now he was normal. Basically. Not entirely, not yet at least, but he was fragile enough not to even think about fighting him. Those demonic insects would be a big problem now too, even.

Shit.

"Alright," he said finally. He did take his time. "Let's get to work, then."

With that said, he launched himself at the nearest horde of creatures without further delay. There were screams. Crunches and explosions. Jonathan didn't even make a slight crunch. He worked, as he had said, in complete silence. It was no effort for him. He was crushing them like the insects they resembled.

He had found a powerful ally, there was no denying it.

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But he was only his ally for now.

And when that changed, what the hell could he do about it?

KILL HIM YOU CAN'T STOP NOW

The sword's blade was covered in darkness. It vibrated in his hand, filled with a mysterious power.

FEAR IS THE FIRST DEATH GET RID OF ALL THOSE OBSTACLES AND FINISH HIM

I WILL DEVOUR HIM

He didn't understand why, but Sylvester was no longer afraid. So he approached Jonathan from behind while he was taking out the trash, killing the horde of demons by the dozens with each move he made.

This time he saw him coming.

Jonathan turned and stopped the sword with one hand. The blade sank, cutting his skin. Blood flowed freely. Didn't he feel pain? It wasn't a serious wound, of course, but once again his expression didn't change one bit. Was it possible that he didn't even feel pain?

"Again, so soon?"

There was a certain incredulity in his tone.

"Okay, it seems you're not a tame animal. I'll find my answers elsewhere." He pulled the sword from his hands and threw it far, far away, over the rooftops that scraped the sky.

Then, he put both hands on his neck and started to squeeze.

"Blame me in hell if you want, you wouldn't be the first, but I gave you many chances. Didn't I? I think I've been very fair."

It almost seemed like he was genuinely asking instead of mocking him now that he literally had his life in his hands.

I fucked up, he thought.

It was nice while it lasted, more or less, but this is the end.

Now to die. To rest. Deep down, it's not so bad. I've been waiting for this for a long time. And I'm not alone anymore, there are people at my level, even better than me, ready to continue the fight.

So why can't I rest?

What was selfish about it? And even if it was selfish, to hell with it.

Sylvester closed his eyes and stopped fighting.

2

Heather finally found Sylvester.

She should be scared, but the first emotion was surprise. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Sylvester broken, defeated. At the mercy of some stranger who was strangling him.

But everything could be fixed, she thought as she landed explosively, attracting the stranger's attention and very likely preventing him from simply twisting his neck or crushing his head.

This could still be fixed. Especially now that Sylvester didn't have that sword.

"Who are you?"

That man was not a human being.

Heather understood it instinctively as soon as his eyes locked onto her.

She took a step forward, with one hand on the wound, which was still bleeding. Leaving a clear trail behind her, on the shattered ground.

"Let him go."

"Give me a good reason."

"There's no need to fight among ourselves for now. We have bigger problems. Besides, if you don't obey me, I'll kill you."

Sylvester had crushed her, but only because he loved her too much to hurt her. The stranger had easily defeated Sylvester, so it wouldn't be that easy, but she could do it. She had to do it if he refused to listen to reason. For Sylvester. For both of them.

"Not even I can kill myself."

Heather accepted it easily. It was something she had never seen before, something that should be impossible, but she had been forced to accept a lot of things since she was born. Starting with her own strange existence. She had sought an explanation, giving herself a title, a mission. Now she no longer wanted to be the Lunar Princess. She wanted to be a human being.

Heather took another step forward.

She wasn't afraid. Despite that, despite her state. Why should she be?

"Better for me. I can grab you by the neck and throw you to the bottom of the ocean."

The newcomer grimaced, relaxed his grip. Like a shark smelling blood in the water, Heather smiled. Right there was the weakness of his immortality, making him wish he could die.

"Or I could take you beyond the clouds, to the darkness of space. In any case, you would spend the rest of eternity suffocating, reviving, and dying again. So let him go. Now."

Sylvester should be able to do any of those things, so it wouldn't be that easy. But anyway, she had penetrated his facade of coldness. She had hit him where it hurt the most, clearly, with that about sinking him to the bottom of the ocean. Maybe he came from a primitive civilization with no concept of space. In any case...

The stranger obeyed, and Heather forgot about everything else, running to Sylvester's side to hold him, to support him, to...

Cry. Cry with relief. It was the first time she had cried in her life. She hadn't been sure she could do it until now.

It was a pleasant feeling, actually. As if she were connected to a part of herself that wasn't supposed to exist in the first place. Sylvester had lost that damn sword in the fight. He should be free. They could still fix this. Fighting together, they would stop this crisis, as impossible as it seemed at first, like all the times before.

And then they would earn some time together.

Maybe a few weeks. Maybe a few days.

She would even accept a few hours.

She just wanted to spend as much time with him as she could, discovering more things about herself along the way.

"How are you feeling?"

2

The fog that had been covering his mind lifted.

It disappeared in Heather's arms. It wasn't a relief, quite the opposite. He looked at the woman with wide eyes.

"What have I done?"

"You haven't done anything."

It was easy to say that. Heather loved him (he had already accepted it, just as he felt the same for her, despite everything). What else was she going to say?

But it had been his hands, his body, his voice.

His mistake.

Because none of this would have happened if he had thought things through better. Defeating an enemy so easily wasn't realistic. He should have realized that the sword was the real trap. Paradoxically, although he had practically no evidence, it was logical to think so.

He could also have resisted its influence or something.

The point is, one way or another, yes.

It had been him.

"Heather..." He took a deep breath. His throat hurt. Everything hurt, but especially his throat. He didn't know what to say, so he just shut the hell up.

Heather nodded, who knows what she thought she was nodding to, and simply hugged him tighter. While the world around them burned and crumbled by the work of nightmare creatures from a place where all human knowledge and achievements were like ants proud of how well their anthill was built looking at the world of giants on the surface from their dark and damp hole trying to glimpse and connect the dots although they weren't equipped for it from birth because they were small and utterly insignificant creatures around which nothing revolved waiting for the boot that would scatter everything into the air and erase any trace of them from the universe itself.

They were leaving them alone for now. The army of demonic insects marched in a line.

Whether out of fear of Jonathan Harker or to grow stronger with the entrails of easier prey, they marched from the alien trees with their color out of space and spread through the city sowing death.

In short, the boot had arrived for the ants.

Earth, Wind, and Fire (6): FIN