Chapter 24 Sins of the Creator
From the hole created by the explosion, the light of the Black Moon shined through, illuminating the mine. Besides the Headhunters, the enormous area was desolate. The walls were charred black, painted with the burnt remains of the undead.
Boseman, with heavy breath, uttered, “Well, put me in a skirt and fuck me sideways, princess.”
“Rather cliche, right?” Elora huffed, now awake and conscious.
“Fancy a job?” Boseman joked.
“Mute, get down there,” Goliath ordered.
“In the centre!” Nest announced. “Look!”
From a swirl of blood that ignored gravity, a heart grew which sprouted veins and organs followed by a skeletal frame to support it. A ribcage locked together, protecting the internals. Muscle enveloped the skeleton and skin quickly wrapped around it. Elora watched as the man she just obliterated, returned, and so did the rest of New London.
“Would you like a hand, Lady Evergrand?” Pointy offered, seeing the rest of the two teams skidding down the slopes.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” Elora replied, taking a hand away from her heaving chest.
Elora joined them in the centre as Roach stood up in naked glory. Tallies covered him—his skin bared no marks or cuts. She had to look away.
“It’s fuckin’ true then,” Kilo commented.
Goliath chucked his clothes and equipment down in front of him. Roach replied to Kilo with a stare under his mist as he dressed himself.
“Where now?” Goliath asked, hoping for ideas.
“They were guarding something,” Nest remarked, “why put all of them here?”
“It’s got to be here,” Boseman remarked. “So find it.”
“I don’t know what we’re looking for,” Nest replied in a huff.
“I didn’t ask for a fucking chat, I want solutions,” Boseman grunted.
Then they all heard a tapping noise. Their attention was drawn to Mute who was behind them. They turned to watch. Ever so lightly, she was knocking the tops of her shoes into the charred stone below. What was she doing?
It only clicked with Pointy. “Don’t move,” Pointy calmly suggested, lowering his centre of gravity and feeling the stone beneath his feet. He pressed his furry ears against it and listened to Mute’s knocking. Pointy could only describe the returning sound as hollow. “There’s a cave under us!” he announced.
Sure enough, a crack grew around them. Elora quickly ran over to Roach and held the back of his leather duster.
“Trust!” Boseman barked, keeping himself balanced as the cave shook.
“I got us!” she yelled back in her small voice, palms outstretched.
The ground fell away, breaking into large portions and disappearing into darkness below. The Headhunters began to slowly drift down, courtesy of Trust.
“Thank fuck we have you, luv,” Spike remarked, opening his legs out to gaze below.
“I’m glad my services are appreciated,” Trust replied, smiling at him through her mist.
“Where are we headin’?” Boseman asked hastily.
“A pit of sorts,” Pointy replied, pushing his glasses up his face. “Spike, play a note.”
Spike obliged and flipped his guitar onto his chest, playing a single, reverberating note.
“Definitely a pit, but there’s something in the centre. It’s large and … mushy,” he told them, questioning his own words. “It smells, oh my.”
Thankfully for Elora, her gas mask blocked the smells. She extended a palm out and dropped a few licks of fire below.
“I’m going,” Pointy remarked, his throat contracting. Vomit flew out but still fell at the same speed as the team.
Illuminated by the licks of fire was a pile of flesh slanted at an angle.
“What the fuck is that?!” Elora screamed.
“Calm down, woman, you never seen a big pile of flesh before?” Kilo responded snarkily, wrinkling her nose.
Goliath was the first to touch down on the flesh—his boots sank a foot in. It wasn’t just fresh flesh, but far-past rotten too which only added to the grotesque sight and smell.
“I can smell it through the mask now,” Elora cried, lifting it up to spew below as her feet squelched down into it.
Trust killed her spell and gravity forced each one of them down into it.
Boseman scowled as he reached into a pouch on his waist and pulled out a small black ball. With his powerful bicep, he launched it into the distance. After a few seconds, it impacted. Upon it, light projected around, colouring every smell invading their noses and giving a clear picture of where they were.
“Holy fuck,” Spike muttered, looking around in disbelief.
It wasn’t a pile of flesh they were standing on, it was a mountain.
“That sick fuck,” Roach spat, eyeing the grand room.
Pointy went to speak but found vomit still in his throat; his advanced smell was more a curse than a blessing. “Stop—stop!” he spluttered. “Nobody move, there’s something—”
The flesh shook underneath them.
“Get to the ground!” Goliath yelled, diving off.
An enormous skeletal hand reached out of the centre and attempted to push itself up. Out emerged amidst the flinging of flesh next was a skeleton unmatched in size, a behemoth woken from its slumber.
“Undead giant!” Boseman screamed at the top of his lungs. “Get down!”
Suddenly, more undead burst through the curtain of flesh, grabbing at their ankles. The Headhunters were flung across the cave in a panic.
Upon reaching the ground, they all scrambled for position, their weapons brandished.
“Half-giants don’t get that big!” Kilo protested, obliterating a skull with her spear.
Goliath looked dumbfounded at it. Yes, he was huge when he turned gold, but he had never seen a giant of such calibre. He might be two stories tall when he turned gold, but this one was five. Its ribcage had fused, its jaw ever present with cracks and its leg bones riddled with deep slashes. It was a violent death.
“It’s an old one!” Pointy exclaimed. “From before even Eurella!”
Goliath clenched his jaw in horror. “How did he find it?!”
“Fuck knows!” Spike yelled as his guitar strummed against a skeleton.
“Can we take it?” Goliath quickly asked Pointy.
Roach aimed a pistol at the head of the undead giant and charged it to half-power. With a sturdy grip, he squeezed the trigger. The empowered bullet zipped through the air, connecting with the forehead of the undead. Only a small indent was left after it ricocheted off. It only seemed to enrage the undead giant further. It began to dig itself out of the mountain of flesh faster.
“The answer is no,” Pointy replied.
“Can I use my magic?!” Elora screamed.
“Don’t bother fuckin’ asking!” Boseman barked at her.
Pushing the gas mask back on her face, she summoned a rune a few feet in front of her. She conjured fire which she pushed through. The rune superheated her flames and twisted them into spiralling spears. With each one that connected, a powerful boom sounded out but only left a graze on its tough skeleton.
Boseman ruffled around in his pouch and brought out another explosive charge. He lobbed it at the undead giant who had just batted away the remaining flesh in its way. The explosive connected with the fused ribcage.
A powerful explosion ruptured the flesh pile, pushing the undead giant on its back.
“That’s twenty seconds!” Boseman screamed. “Find an exit!”
Mute darted away, scanning the outside of the dome-shaped cave for an exit. Pointy began firing arrows at the wall too, hoping one of them would penetrate through.
“Roach,” Goliath said, turning his head back to him, “you know him well. What is this?”
Roach was staring into the ground for an answer. Finally, he said, “We fight it.” He aimed his pistols at two undead and fired.
“Are you mad?”
“Have any better ideas?”
Goliath grunted. “Fuck. Boseman, we’re gonna have to fight it!”
“Nothing will get through its bones!” Boseman shouted. “Its rib cage is fused up to its neck so we can't hit its spine!”
The undead giant roared as it pushed itself back up. Whatever vengeance it had died with, it had kept it.
“Can’t you go big?!” Kilo bellowed.
“It’s not a switch!” Goliath shouted back.
Spike stepped forward and strummed his guitar and began playing a low note rapidly. The deep tone halted the smaller undead in their tracks. “I can’t do fuck all to that at this distance!” he exclaimed.
Boseman looked over to Trust. “Get me at its spine! Goliath get me a path and Nest, I’ll get you a good angle.”
“Yes, boss!”
“Roger, sir! Kilo, a rest.”
Kilo moved in front of Nest as he brought his sniper rifle onto her shoulder.
Goliath moved toward the horde of skeletons and batted away a clearing for Boseman. The orc began to run at the flesh pile, a clubby hand vibrating into a blur. He suddenly dove forward and a portal emerged in front of him.
Their eyes were drawn to the undead giant’s head where a portal had just emerged. Like clockwork, Boseman came flying out of it at breakneck speed and reared his shoulder back for a powerful blow. The impact alone pushed the head of the undead giant down, causing it to fall on all fours. That was when Nest fired his shot. A powerful, elongated bullet passed cleanly through its spine and into the stone behind.
Boseman landed on the mountain of flesh and rolled down to the bottom. He scrambled to his feet just in time to see the undead giant rear back up and begin a charge at them.
“How many more bullets ‘ave you got?” Kilo questioned her teammate.
“Thirty-five now,” Nest responded.
“Split!” Boseman ordered upon reaching the bottom.
The undead giant came thudding toward them. Roach grabbed Elora and pushed her far out of the way of its path. The undead giant swiped at them, its fist crashing into the stone behind. Chunks of the ceiling and wall fell around them.
Suddenly, amidst the chaos, Pointy exclaimed, “There’s an exit!”
From the violent attacks of the undead giant, external light had entered the cave. Another flying fist of the undead giant slammed into the ground, shaking the cave further and the debris separated both teams.
“Go!” Boseman shouted at them. “Find that fucker, that’s an order you hear!”
“We are leaving!” Goliath called to his team.
Roach grabbed Elora's hand and pulled her back up to her feet. The Ill-Favoured Five rushed towards the hole in the wall as the cave began crumbling. Mute was the last to enter and a falling stone quickly blocked off the exit.
“Fuck,” Golith grunted, catching his breath.
All of a sudden it became quiet - only the dulled shouts and vibrations echoed through to their side. They were in a carved-out hallway much like the ones at the base in New London, but pillars on either side held it up. Hanging lights lit up the way every few metres. The stench of decay was powerful in the air - they were getting closer.
“I guess forward—” Roach didn’t manage to finish his sentence as a bullet pierced the top of his skull. He dropped to the ground.
They ran behind the pillars for cover as an array of weaponry was fired at them. Goliath managed to drag Roach’s body with him as it reformed itself.
“How many?” Goliath yelled over the sound of gunfire.
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“Ten, heavily armed,” Pointy replied, his head pressed against the stone wall.
Roach, now conscious, pulled two grenades from his equipment belt and yanked the pin. “Three seconds!” he yelled to Goliath. “I need a launcher.”
“On it!” Spike replied, chucking his assault rifle over his shoulder and clutching his guitar.
Roach and Spike locked eyes; with a chuck upwards, the safety clips came off and with a powerful soundwave, were sent hurtling towards the flashes.
“Moving castle!” Goliath shouted, right before the explosion.
Roach and Mute darted behind his legs as Goliath marched forward, his club protecting his eyes. Once the dust had settled, gunshots came their way.
Spike grabbed Elora’s hand and said, “Stay on me.”
She nodded hastily.
Once the Moving Castle had passed the set of pillars, they moved up towards the next set, offering suppressing fire. Elora stuck to Spike’s side like glue—her fire was useless at the minute. She was a glorified camerawoman.
“Launcher!” Roach yelled, spotting a laser aiming at Goliath.
Mute leapt off towards the enemies while Roach attempted to dart to the further pillar. The projectile connected with Goliath’s chest, sending the massive man flying backwards with a trial of smoke.
They were close enough now; Roach moved with purpose, firing his two pistols to cover Mute as she engaged in melee combat. Pointy fired his translucent arrows while Spike was peppering them with his assault rifle.
With a final slash from Mute, the last head was cut off.
They all looked to the back of the cave—Goliath had sat up with burn marks covering his arms and an impact crater half an inch into his armour. Clawing at the stone, he pulled himself up and shook off the impact. With a roll of his shoulders, he asked the team, “All good?”
“Yes, sir,” they replied.
Just then, a wave of cold energy hit them. It brought feelings of despair, dread and doom. It was as if all life had been sucked out of the air, and a dense mist quickly appeared from nowhere.
“The spell again!” Pointy exclaimed, firing two arrows into the rising Children of Discordia. “Crush the bones.”
It was quick; most were missing limbs and didn’t have the mental capacity to shoot a weapon.
“He’s used it again?” Elora questioned, horrified.
Pointy nodded slowly.
“We need to hurry,” Roach told them.
“The longer we wait, the weaker he becomes,” Pointy countered, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“The damage he will do now will be more if we wait,” Roach argued. The skull on his back was swimming around—it could feel it too.
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10 Years Ago. Somewhere in New London
Akira Weslen’s foot tapped against the ground and his fingers drummed against his chin. He was staring at the metal table with open eyes. In the room with him were the rest of the Band of Unholy Brothers. He suddenly shouted without looking up, “Is everyone ready?”
“We are a go,” his second in command told him.
“Bring in A39!”
Solomon was dragged inside by his hands, his decrepit feet dragged behind him, leaving a black substance on the ground. Faeces and dirt covered his body, with only his rib cages and hundreds of needle marks adding dimensions to him. With a lifeless face and sunken-in eyes, he was hoisted up onto the grimy hospital bed.
Solomon stared at the skeletal spider above him—it was happening again; another few hours he was going to spend in the Land Between. He would smile if he could. It was a place where he wasn’t tortured, starved, belittled or degraded.
Akira Weslen pulled a latex glove over his hands and grabbed Solomon’s jaw. His focused eyes stared through his blank ones.
“Like we practised. You need to make the deal with her. Whatever she wants, we will get it for her. Anything. Do you understand A39?”
Solomon nodded slowly with what little energy he had.
“No benzo this time,” Akira Weslen told the woman next to his IV. “We’re going in now.”
“His heart rate will accelerate—”
“I do not care!” Akira Weslen bellowed. “Administer the NC-10.”
Silence filled the room but only for a few seconds. The metal spider above Solomon began to slowly make its way down—needles revealed themselves from its limbs, dripping with the viscous, purple liquid. All at once, they penetrated his soft tissue and dug deeper until they reached his bone marrow.
“Heart rate accelerating. Lower than usual.” Solomon was not anxious or scared, he was pleased. It was the chemical that increased his heart rate.
Akira Weslen’s eyes turned grey as he watched Solomon’s fragmented soul leave his body. It was once intact, pure and untouched, now, it was splintered into a thousand pieces with only the young boy’s extraordinary willpower holding it together.
“A39 is comatosed.”
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Solomon opened his eyes, seeing the blank canopy above. He saw it every time. He got up in the same way he had before. However, the young boy had learned to walk through the Land Between—travel between dreams and memories. Walking over to a tree, he stepped through it, emerging out onto an enormous branch stretching through the sky with oblivion beneath and above. There, he found the woman with no face sitting down. A light breeze ran through her black hair and nightgown.
“Hi, Sephora,” Solomon said, sitting down a few metres away from her.
“Back so soon?” she asked him, turning her head toward him.
Solomon looked down at his hands but didn’t reply.
“I hope you’re not doing their bidding, Solomon,” she told him sternly but in a joking tone.
“What else can I do?” he sighed.
“Solomon, I know you are only a boy, but no one ever should request to speak to a True God. In reverence to the Three Moons, Gods of any calibre, Deviant, True or False, may not meddle with the First Land. History shall not repeat itself.”
“I don’t care about history,” Solomon replied, wiping snot from his nose. “I just want it to end.”
“End is not your finale. You will be trapped here permanently if you die. Your soul is shattered into such small fragments that they are impossible to find, even with my revealing eyes.”
Solomon looked down, twiddling his thumbs. Unprovoked, tears began to stream down his face. “She’s coming,” Solomon began to sob, “she’s coming.”
“You spoke with Yelia?!” Sephora screamed, jumping to her feet.
Solomon began to bawl his eyes out—even with his limited emotions, he couldn’t prevent it. Sephora was someone he spoke to every time he came to the Land Between. She was a rock—someone he could speak to, someone who could answer his questions and hear him out. Now, he had betrayed her.
Sephora spun on the spot, panic evident in her stance.
“Solomon, run!” she screamed.
“I want this, Sephora. I want my end!”
“You never make a deal with Yelia! You stupid boy! Get out of here before she comes!”
Tears drowned his eyes as he looked at the oblivion below. His decision was final, no matter what it put him through or what irrevocable damage came after.
In the distance, where the clouds met the branch, a wave of fire emanated from it, burning the strong wood to its core. Embers flew off a spreading spill of magma coming towards them.
Sephora stepped in front of Solomon, her black wings extended and her hands aspread. She was more worried for Solomon than herself. Meddling with the First Land led to tens of millions of deaths; what will happen if it is repeated? No being from the First Land is meant to remember what occurs here, even if they visit, but the young boy standing behind her could. He could communicate between the worlds—he was a Plain Walker, the most valuable item to a person like Yelia.
From the smoke and ash, a barefoot stepped out, its painted toes digging into charcoal.
“You must not do this!” she screamed at the figure.
In naked glory, Yelia stepped out; her figure was lustful to the eyes of men, and her face birthed jealousy from women. With each step she took toward them, her hips swayed sensually. She stood abnormally tall at nine feet.
“We all must do things sometimes, niece,” Yelia replied. Her tone was teasing and the devilish grin on her face proved it.
“You know what happened last time! Someone like him should not be here. It is those in the First Land sending him here to contact you!” Sephora pleaded.
Yelia kept walking—magma and ash following her. “Those who seek a greater power should be rewarded for it, right niece?”
“Don’t do this,” she pleaded once more, “the Age of Deviants has proven what this will do. Millions will die again. Putting power into those—”
“I’m not putting power into those people,” Yelia corrected, stopping a stone’s throw from Sephora.
Sephora was puzzled, and then it dawned on her. She snapped her head to Solomon; he was holding his hands by his waist and looking down with tearful red eyes.
“And to calm you, niece,” Yelia went on, “I shall merely make a deal with him.”
“He’s just a boy,” she replied, staring back at the teary Solomon. “The great Yelia of Death, Doom and Destruction wants a weak boy?”
“Weak?” Yelia questioned angrily, taking a step forward. “In what Lands is that boy weak? You can feel his soul, niece, you feel his will—it even rivals the First King. I just want to give him what he deserves.”
Sephora snapped her head back to Yelia. “This boy only wishes for death. I refuse!”
Yelia’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and she swayed it either side. Her head switched back to them, and she uttered, “My young Sephora, Warm Hand of the Dead, this is your own doing, and your hesitancy to see the First Land from a different perspective. It is crumbling … IT IS IN RUINS! For when the sky splits and it rains ash, that young boy will be my warrior. He will be my unrelenting passion—a fear spreader in my great name.”
Sephora spread her wings to their fullest extent and slammed her right foot into the ground. Black feathers burst from beneath it, covering her form. With a powerful flap of her wings, she scattered them, revealing a battle dress that adorned her. It was like her gown, only dyed black and tight in the right areas. In her right hand was a scythe twice the size of her, sharpened to the finest point. Across her head was a chaplet of withering roses.
“Your decision, niece,” Yelai whispered to herself. She held her hands sparingly to the oblivion above and let magma envelop her body. Once it had reached the tops of her fingers, it fell off completely. Her body was stained with ash, with her breasts and groin covered in dyed-black snakeskin. Across her face was a metal pointed helm which only showed angry eyes. The points of the metal helm curved backwards, forming a twisted wall of thorns at the back of her head. There was no weapon in her hand as there was no weapon powerful enough. “Call for your father!”
“My father doesn’t wish to witness your defeat.”
“Your courage is admirable, niece.”
Sephora glanced behind her at the tearful Solomon. He was still staring into the ground—he was a statue. Snapping her head back to Yelia, she waved the scythe around her head, switching hands. With a wave of her wings, a strong gust of air was sent to Yelia.
Yelia didn’t move—the wind didn’t budge her. Raising her hands to her waist with open palms, a limb of ash extended from her exposed thigh. Sephora chopped it quickly and with haste despite the size of her scythe. Three more ashen limbs were projected from Yelia’s body, but these were thicker and faster.
Sephora ducked under one and chopped two with a single strike. Spinning around, she cut the third one off.
Yelia’s upper lip twitched. Suddenly, dozens of ashen limbs sprung off her body at incredible velocities. Sephora flapped her wings, softening their speed and began spinning her scythe so fast it became a blur. Her agility skyrocketed; her limbs hyperextended and the speed at which she dodged the attacks was phenomenal. This was the power of the gods.
Yelia sent more, dozens more. “How long can you hold, niece?” she questioned teasingly.
Although Sephora was quick and agile, it wasn’t enough for the True God, Yelia. As the barrage of attacks continued, Sephora was hit multiple times, piercing through her battle dress and turning her skin ashen and putrid. She was sent flying backwards over Solomon from a direct hit and into oblivion, bruised, torn and defeated in under a minute.
Yelia gasped as her ashen limbs retracted back into her skin. “Well, Solomon, I have come to fulfil our deal.”
“I don’t want the deal,” Solomon sobbed, staring into the ground with teary eyes.
“Then what do you want?”
“I want them dead! I want them all dead!”
“Oh I can do that,” Yelia said softly, stepping forwards, towering over the small boy.
“And I want to stay here, forever.”
“A soul ready for slumber cannot stay here, Solomon. Let us make a new deal; I promise it will be what you desire,” Yelia offered.
“As long as I can rest, and the rest of the children can be free.”
“Such noble actions from a young boy. Then yes, those who were involved in your wrongdoing will be killed, and the children with shattered souls will be restored. How does that sound, Solomon?” she questioned, extending her ash-free hand with sharp, painted nails.
“What do you want in return?” Solomon questioned, rubbing tears from his eyes. Though he was an innocent boy, he had listened to what Sephora said.
Yelia cocked her head and retracted her hand. Slowly, she knelt, reaching Solomon’s eye level. With an outstretched finger, she tapped his chest. “I will allow you to rest for eternity, but your soul shall be mine.”
Solomon’s upper lip twitched—he couldn’t think through it properly for he was just a boy. “Why do you want mine?”
“I like your soul,” she told him, straining her neck forward to stare at his eyes. “What do you say, Solomon, a deal?”
Solomon gulped and blinked twice. He nodded. Truly, the boy didn’t know what he agreed to.
Yelia smiled with her teeth, her eyes flickering with devious intention. She felt a calm wash over her. Only with his permission could she perform it. Upon standing back up, she opened her mouth impossibly wide. The tongue of a snake whipped in and out, tasting the air of the Land Between. It was a yellow python, and once its head emerged out, it locked onto Solomon.
Suddenly, it hissed and bared its fangs. Far quick for him to think, it lunged at him, sinking its teeth into his shoulder. Solomon let off a harrowing scream as its venom entered his bloodstream.
“SOLOMON!!!” Sephora screamed, appearing from a cloud in the oblivion. Her white gown flowed behind her as she sprinted towards the young boy.
Solomon fell onto the ground belly first and the snake began to chew out his back; it started to carve itself onto him. He was paralyzed—he was motionless, and couldn’t scream.
Sephora summoned her scythe from a flurry of feathers. She spun around and leapt, wielding her weapon above her head. With a downward strike, she sliced the head of the snake.
“Solomon,” she said, breathless, bending over him.
She noticed that the snake had almost finished imprinting itself on him. The deal wasn’t complete; the power had not enveloped him. However, the damage caused was irrevocable; Yelia’s imprint could overpower all. So Sephora did the only thing she could to save this boy from Yelia’s grasp in the First Land. She altered the deal, infusing her power with Yelia’s.
She flipped Solomon over and held his face. His mouth was open and his eyes were wide; he didn’t respond. There was no life in his pupils. She grabbed the hair covering her face and went to pull it away, hesitating at the last step. Was it worth it? Was it worth it to plague him for eternity? Could he handle it? Regardless, she couldn’t let Yelia have the boy’s soul
There were no options left. Gripping his chin and holding it still, she pulled her hair away, revealing her face.
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“Weslen, his soul is um—”
“What is it?”
“It is reinforcing itself?”
Akira Weslen’s eyes turned grey, seeing Solomon’s soul returning. It was different; it was aged—powerful. The disconnected parts were intertwined with a white and grey lace.
“Any external forces?” Akira Weslen questioned, his knee frantically moving up and down.
Before she could answer, Solomon bolted upright and his mouth stretched open impossibly wide. The python weaved its way out of his throat, its tongue zipping in and out. They all gasped except Akira Weslen. This was it. He stood up immediately, coming face to face with it. “I would like to make a deal,” he told it, straightening his back.
The snake’s tongue moved towards him but did not strike. “A deal has already been made,” the snake spoke.
“With whom?”
Solomon snapped his eyes open and a muffled scream came out. The snake caught alight, turning into ash and embers. A sudden gust from nowhere thrust it around the room, sticking to the people inside. The embers burnt through Solomon’s restraints, freeing him.
Solomon fell off as chaos enveloped the room, landing on all fours.
“KILL HIM!” Akira Weslen screamed, aiming his palm out.
A flurry of ash and embers covered him, burning his body and face. He swatted them away, giving Solomon just enough time to shoot for the door. His fragile body was no longer; his ribs didn’t poke out of his chest and his eyes weren’t sunken anymore.
By magic, the ash and embers picked up speed, burning through every room Solomon ran past. They exited out into the hallways, covering the warehouse. Flames birthed from the embers, and within seconds it had become a blaze visible to the entirety of New London.
Solomon ran through the flames towards the grates on the floor. Hundreds of fingers were sticking up, shouting for help with hoarse voices. Suddenly, a steel beam fell from the ceiling, sticking into one of the grates.
Before he could pull them off, he felt his entire body rotting.
“Kill them all!” Akira Weslen screamed with three people behind him.
To their ultimate surprise, the young boy, Solomon, began to grow a new body. Akira Weslen, with eyes of fear and awe, watched as muscle and organs regrew on the skeleton. As the skin formed, he saw it, the stolen blessing, the skull - it was not entirely from Yelia.
Solomon turned around, facing his captures; anger and pure hatred washed over him. The young boy had not fought before, but he wanted to - he wanted to rip the throats out of all of them.
However, the blaze quenched it as the ceiling came down, covering another portion of the grate. He needed to save his friends first, revenge would come after. Yanking on the grate he was thrown into, he managed to pry it off. Dozens of starving and dirty children began to climb out, running towards any exit they could see.
Solomon was looking for two in particular. “Where are you?!” he yelled to them.
“I’m here!” a girl’s voice called out. She was being trampled by the others.
Solomon reached in and pulled with all his strength, managing to get her out.
“She’s there!” the girl cried out, pointing into the pile of bodies - an unflexed hand was sticking up with the identification number of ‘A14’ tattooed on her wrist. He dove in while the rest clambered out.
The blaze was becoming worse. Bodies littered the ground beneath the grates; killed by starvation, magic, crushing or fire. He managed to get his head under her waist and hoisted her on his shoulders. A19 ran over to the side and helped him push her up. Climbing out himself, he picked up A14’s limp body and grabbed A19’s hand, then dashed for the nearest exit. They didn’t run long as shouting drew their eyes back.
Akira Weslen emerged with a few others, slaughtering the fleeing children without remorse. Solomon didn’t care at the moment, he needed to get his two friends far away. His revenge would come in time.