Tongues of flame licked hungrily at the structures in one of the larger neighborhood, casting an eerie glow that painted the night sky in shades of fiery red and orange; the crackling of burning wood echoed through the air, intermingling with the cacophony of chaos that unfolded below. Dozens of armed individuals — their forms cloaked in darkness — moved with swift precision, their weapons clutched tightly in their gloved hands; rifles and shotguns glinted menacingly as they prowled the streets, their presence a chilling reminder of the danger that now plagued the once peaceful neighborhood.
They advanced like a well-oiled machine, their footsteps muffled by the chaos that surrounded them; each movement was calculated, each corner methodically checked as they scoured the area with ruthless efficiency. Shadows danced and twisted, their elongated forms mimicking the disarray that reigned in the heart of the flames — the scent of smoke permeated the air, a pungent reminder of destruction and fear.
Amidst the chaos, the armed individuals focused their attention on one particular house, its modest façade now a beacon of vulnerability in the sea of chaos. Under the cover of the night, they closed in on their target, their eyes hidden behind tinted goggles that mirrored the darkness around them; civilians scattered like frightened animals, their cries for help echoing through the night, their desperate pleas for safety ignored by the relentless pursuers.
These people moved with deliberate intent, their footsteps barely audible against the backdrop of chaos; they flowed like a river, avoiding the panicked civilians as if they were mere obstacles in their path. The darkness seemed to embrace them, their dark armor blending seamlessly into the night, while steel gray pants clung to their forms with an eerie stillness; their joints — left unprotected — exposed a glimpse of weakness amidst the overwhelming façade of invulnerability.
The night air crackled with tension, a palpable energy that seemed to heighten their senses as they prepared for the final assault. With an almost imperceptible nod from their leader, they breached the door, splintered wood giving way to their relentless force; the interior of the house was swallowed by darkness, broken only by the flickering light of the flames outside. They moved with a calculated swiftness, clearing each room in their search for their quarry — cupboards were flung open, furniture overturned as they left no stone unturned in their relentless pursuit.
And yet, in the end, their efforts would prove to be in vain, for the house stood empty, devoid of life and the targets they sought…
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"What the hell are you all idiots doing!? They can't have gotten far! Spread out and find them! No stone left unturned!"
The gruff voice of one of the unknown armed individuals pierced the air, the words that came out of his lips laced with both frustration and urgency; his command echoed through the narrow alley, his men swiftly obeying his orders and fanning out in different directions, disappearing into the darkness like shadows on a moonless night. The tension in the air grew palpable as their footsteps echoed against the walls, their search intensifying with each passing moment.
They had sought refuge behind a sturdy stone wall, its rough texture pressing against their backs; the cold, hard surface — weathered by time and adorned with ivy tendrils — provided a semblance of safety amidst the chaos. Minato's eyes darted across the cracked bricks, his senses heightened as he observed the shadows cast by the flickering streetlights. Mrs. Osborne — her normally serene expression now etched with lines of worry — held her son close, her arms wrapped protectively around him, their bodies melded together in a desperate embrace. The sound of the two's rapid breaths filled the air, mingling with the thumping of their own hearts and the muffled voices of the armed individuals searching for them.
His gaze went to the blade and evoker strapped to his belt before it shifted towards the young boy huddled beside him. Rean Osborne, with his wide innocent eyes and tousled black hair, looked up at him with a mix of fear and confusion… and despite the gravity of their situation, the Wild Card couldn't bring himself to subject the child to the violence that may ensue should he choose to utilize the full extent of his abilities.
In the end, so long as he could help it, then an excessive display of violence — with all its inherent chaos and danger — had no place in the presence of a child… which means that he is now restricted in the methods he could employ to ensure their escape. Besides, while these people are certainly in the wrong, it doesn't change the fact that he had no wish to take their lives.
With a calm and calculated demeanor, his mind began to analyze the situation. Considering everything that had happened thus far, waiting for an opportune moment to escape would be much more prudent than engaging in a confrontation head on; his eyes flickered with determination as he observed the scattered crates and discarded debris nearby, forming a mental map of potential escape routes.
'No… not good enough.'
While Minato was confident in his abilities to escape the situation unscathed, the same couldn't be said for the other two person beside him. Every single one of the armed individuals seemed ruthless and determined, their voices carrying a sense of desperation and a willingness to do whatever it took to capture or perhaps even kill their targets, which, based on what he knew so far, is none other than the Osborne family. That they seemed content on ignoring the other civilians in the surrounding area was, perhaps, the only silver lining in this dire situation. Nevertheless, the knowledge he had gathered up until this point was not sufficient to determine his next course of action; he needed more information — a clearer understanding of the motives and capabilities of their pursuers — and unfortunately for him, there is only one sure way for him to obtain it.
A soft sigh escaped from his lips as he turned his attention inward, focusing on the power that rest deep within his soul. As the Wild Card, he had been granted the ability to wield multiple Personas, each representing a facet of his being; among them, Lucia — the ethereal figure shrouded in delicate silver threads — possessed the skill that granted him the gift of extraordinary perception. However, the over-utilization of such active ability is not without its own drawback; the splitting headache that suddenly assaulted his senses was an unwelcome reminder of the toll it took upon his own mind — a consequence of pushing the boundaries of his power without the aid of an evoker.
The world around him shifted as the Persona that once belonged to his teal-haired girl answered his call, the surface of his surrounding taking on a more surreal hue; his perception expanded, his consciousness merging with the fabric of reality. Lucia's gift continued to guide him as he stumbled slightly to the side, offering him a constant stream of information that flowed seamlessly into his mind.
"Mister Arisato, are you-"
"I'm fine," he cut her off with a gentle shake of his head, interrupting the woman's concern as he reoriented himself. "Just… be ready to escape."
"O-okay…"
Through the Persona's ethereal sight, Minato perceived the alley with a newfound clarity. He could see each tiny crack in the worn pavement, the discarded cigarette butts littering the ground like fallen stars, and the few splotches of paint adorning the walls in their vibrant hues. Every sound echoed with heightened intensity — the distant rain, the scuffling of rats in hidden corners, and the faint rustling of the wind whispering its secrets through the narrow passageway. Her gifts were so potent that they allowed him the abilities to pinpoint the exact location of every individual within a vast radius, their movements, and even the minute details of their surroundings; it was as if a web of knowledge had woven itself within his consciousness, a tapestry of awareness that granted him an advantage in this dangerous game of hide and seek.
As he analyzed the topography of their surroundings, a plan began to take shape in Minato's mind; he pinpointed a series of interconnected backstreets, alleyways, and hidden narrow passage that would provide them with a means of escape. Mentally marking each route, he determined the optimal path to evade their pursuers, one that would allow them to avoid the well-lit main roads and leading them deeper into the labyrinth of shadows.
Opening his eyes, he turned his gaze towards the woman beside him, his expression composed and resolute; her eyes met his, a flicker of hope shining within them despite the fear that still lingered. Gesturing towards the newly designated escape route with a subtle nod, Minato conveyed his intentions without uttering a single word. Kasia Osborne, understanding his silent message, tightened her grip on her son and nodded in return, her trust in him unspoken yet unwavering.
The sound of footsteps grew closer, the voices of their pursuers growing louder as they closed in on their location; time was of the essence, and with Lucia's guidance, Minato knew that the opportune moment was swiftly approaching. The persona's ethereal existence remained at the edge of his perception, a comforting presence that whispered its support and guidance as he began to call upon the aid of another one of his Personas.
His senses sharpened, his reflexes honed to a razor's edge, and his body seemed to move with a newfound grace as a surge of energy coursed through his veins; the air around him crackled with anticipation as the power of the Persona manifested itself using his body as a conduit. The valiant knight who had once upon a time wielded the Sword of Promised Victory bestowed upon him the aspects of his legendary persona, granting him the strength and dexterity of an unrivaled swordsman, an instinctual reactions that bordered on precognition, and an unwavering resolve that burned like an unquenchable flame.
The sound of his breaths melded with the symphony of chaos surrounding them, his heartbeat harmonizing with the rhythm of battle that lay just beyond as he reached for the hilt of his blade — his fingers grazing the cold metal with a gentle touch; the mystical steel whispered secrets of its untapped potential to him, its weight familiar and comforting in his grasp.
With deliberate motion, he began to unsheathe his blade, the soft metallic hiss serving as a prelude to the impending clash. Slowly — inch by inch — the ornate, silver blade emerged from its scabbard, catching the dim light of the alley as if it were a celestial beacon amidst the encroaching darkness. The craftsmanship was impeccable, the blade glinting with an otherworldly sheen that seemed to mirror the resolve burning within his eyes. His grip on his sword tightened, his fingers finding solace in the familiar contours of the hilt… and with a deft twist of his wrist, he shifted the weapon, revealing the blunt end of the blade — an unorthodox choice, but one that would allow him to disable his enemies without inflicting fatal harm — a desirable outcome for this particular scenario.
He could hear the soft whirring of pistols being cocked, the metallic clicks that echoed throughout the alley like a sinister symphony. The armed individuals, unaware of the imminent danger that awaited them, continued to press forward — their footsteps drawing ever closer, their guns primed and ready to unleash a hailstorm of bullets… and as the first of their pursuers emerged from the corner, Minato sprang into action, his instincts guiding him like a masterful conductor just as one of the masked man noticed his and his benefactor's presences.
"Targets in-"
'Too slow…'
With a fluid motion, he dashed out of his hiding place and swung the blunt edge of his blade in an upward arc, the weapon connecting with the nearest enemy's elbow as he attempted to aim his pistol — a sharp crack echoed in the narrow alley as bone met steel; the assailant cried out in pain, dropping his weapon to clutch at his broken arm as the gun clattered to the ground, the sound swallowed by the chaos that ensued. Time seemed to slow as Minato continued his assault, his movements swift and precise like a dancer caught in the throes of battle.
The rest of the enemies reacted with a mix of surprise and fury, their attention turning to the unexpected threat that had emerged from the shadows; their guns barked in unison, bullets slicing through the air like deadly hornets seeking their prey. His heightened senses — honed by his Persona's abilities — allowed him to perceive the trajectory of each bullet, the air humming with their deadly intent… and with a calculated grace, he weaved through the onslaught of bullets, his body a blur of motion. He sidestepped, ducked, and twisted, evading the hail of lead aimed in his direction; the threat of death hanging in the air like a tangible presence as bullets whizzed past his head like angry wasps, their deadly intentions thwarted by his nimble movements and supernatural reflexes.
"Slippery bastard! Hurry up and take him down!" Exclaimed one of their pursuers, his hand reaching for the pistol holstered on his belt as soon as his rifle ran out of bullets. "Spread out and surround him!"
"Ja!" The rest of the men answered as they began to box him in; affirmative, if his limited understanding of German were to coincide with that of this world.
His body seemed to defy gravity as he maneuvered effortlessly through the barrage of gunfire; he bounded of walls, his limbs twisting and contorting as he proceeded to somersault through the air with an almost ethereal grace, each move executed with impeccable precision. The enemies struggled to adjust their aim as his acrobatics rendered them mere spectators to his aerial display; his agile form seemed to dance amidst the chaos, his body a kinetic sculpture in motion. With each leap and twist, the Wild Card continued to close the distance between himself and his adversaries, his blade poised to strike at the earliest opportunity.
He landed gracefully behind one of the armed individuals, his momentum propelling him forward in a seamless transition from one acrobatic feat to another. In a swift motion, Minato swung his silver blade downward, the blunt end crashing against the back of the enemy's unprotected knee with a bone-crushing force — a pained cry escaped from the man's lips as his leg buckled beneath him, sending him sprawling onto the ground; he writhed in agony, his firearm slipping from his grasp and skidding across the pavement, its metallic body clashing against the stones with a hollow thud.
The only two remaining pursuers — their faces contorted with anger and disbelief — redoubled their efforts, their fingers tightening around their triggers as they unleashed a fresh wave of bullets in Minato's direction… even so, the Wild Card's evasive maneuvers persisted, his body moving with the fluidity of a ghostly apparition. He twisted, spun, and leaped, defying the laws of physics as he navigated the deadly storm; each bullet seemed to brush past him by mere millimeters, the air vibrating with their passing as if fate itself intervened to ensure his survival.
"Fuck! We didn't get paid enough for this shit!"
Desperate, one the enemy reached for the radio strapped to his vest, intending to call for backup, but just as his trembling hand grasped the device, a sudden surge of power surged through Minato's outstretched arm, his Persona lending him his aid in the form of a temporary immobilization spell — the mind-numbing pain that came along with it almost enough to cause the Wild Card to stagger and fall. The enemy's movements froze, his arm locked in place as a tiny bolt of lightning impacted his body; panic flitted across the man's face as he tried to regain control of his limbs, the radio slipping from his fingers and clattering to the ground.
"Orbal Arts!?" A surprised gasp escaped the lips of the other enemy — a woman, Minato noted with a mild interest — as the small current of electricity snaked across her comrade's body, causing him to convulse involuntarily. "B-but how!?"
No… it was none of them.
He knew of Orbal Arts and their usages, yet the spell he used had not been one derived from the technological marvels of this new world. It was a simpler and lesser variation of 'Zio', a particularly deadly technique when used in full force, but no less useful in its utility even in its weakened state… not that it would help them much in this kind of situation, especially since the gunfire alone would've alerted the others to their location.
Before the woman could recover from her surprise, Minato capitalized on the opportunity; closing the distance between them in an instant, he delivered a swift strike with the hilt of his blade, aiming for the back of her head — the impact sent a shockwave through her body, rendering her momentarily disoriented as she stumbled forward, her grip on her firearm loosening. Taking advantage of her weakened state, Minato swiftly disarmed her, his left hand moving like a blur as he wrestled the shotgun from her grasp and tossed it aside; his leg moved upward as he proceeded to deliver a knee strike to her abdomen, knocking the wind out of her and forcing her to collapse onto the ground.
A soft shuffle of footsteps alerted him to the danger approaching from his back; the first man he had dealt with — the one with the broken elbow — lunged forward, his knife glinting in the dim light of the moon. Mrs. Kasia, recognizing the danger, tried to warn him of the approaching threat, yet in the end, such thing was not needed, for Minato's heightened perception had caught every nuance of his movement…
With the reflexes granted by his Persona, Minato swiftly turned and parried the man's attack with expert precision; the clash of metal against metal reverberated through the air as their weapons collided, sparks dancing like fireflies in the darkness before the Wild Card swiftly disarmed his opponent… and with another surge of strength, Minato twisted his body, using the man's momentum against him; he leveraged his own weight — aided by his Persona's enhanced abilities — and delivered a powerful throw. The man hurtled through the air, his body tumbling and crashing against the pavement — the impact sent shockwaves of pain radiating through his body, and he lay sprawled on the ground, dazed and defeated.
"Let's go…" His voice was quiet yet filled with determination, his gaze shifting to the rest of the fallen enemies sprawled on the ground before he began to move towards their designated escape route; his benefactor wasted no time, pulling her son closer to her side and carrying him forward, his small form cradled protectively in her arms.
Their footsteps echoed throughout the alley, the sound muffled by the chaos that still lingered in the air; they moved swiftly and silently, shadows enveloping them as they slipped away from the scene of battle — the night seemed to embrace them, offering a shroud of anonymity that shielded them from prying eyes…
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To say that he was angry would be an understatement…
Gavin Rabenfels, the man in charge of the battalion assigned to eliminate the two defenseless, sorry excuse of a target, seethed with an overwhelming rage — it crackled in the air like an impending storm, twisting his normally stoic features into a visage of fury; veins pulsed on his temples like striking serpents, while his eyes blazed with an inferno of indignation. They scoured the darkness of the desolate alley, searching for any sign of the elusive targets that continued to evade his grasp. The furrowed lines etched deep into his weathered face told the story of a man who brooked no failure — his pride wounded and his authority challenged.
No, to even insinuate that he was merely angry would be a grave disservice to the depths of his wrath. The man was livid — a tempest of fury swirling within him, threatening to consume everything in its path. His clenched fists trembled with an intensity matched only by the fiery storm raging in his eyes; the muscles in his neck strained against his collar, cords of anger pulsating like molten lava beneath the surface.
"You've got to be- another dead end!?" He bellowed, his voice booming through the narrow alley, ricocheting off the walls like a thunderclap; the squad of armed individuals that followed him recoiled, their faces etched with unease as they shuffled their feet, avoiding eye contact with their furious leader. "Those useless fuck! Can't even get their head straight!"
The squad of jaegers — trained professionals who prided themselves on their efficiency — found themselves at a dead end, quite literally in this case; the alley they had pursued their targets through narrowed into a cul-de-sac, a wall of brick and mortar looming before them like an impenetrable barrier.
"Once I get my hand on those bastards…" His words were punctuated by clenched teeth, the sheer force behind them seemed to cause the very air to quiver; he raised a hand, his fingers balling into a tight fist as he slammed it against the wall with a resounding thud.
It was supposed to be an easy job…
Get in, kill the woman, kill the brat, then get out, all done under the cover of the night… and yet, nothing in this mission ever seem to go according to his plan; it was as if the universe itself conspired against him, every step of the way had been met with obstacles and complications.
First, there was the fact that both their targets had somehow managed to escape their initial attack for some inexplicable reasons, and then there was this hero wannabe whose continued interference had thrown a wrench in their meticulously devised operation; it was a humiliation that gnawed at his pride, fueling the flames of his fury. What was even worse, is that the boy even managed to subdue not just several, but dozens of his men with nothing but a blade! The entire pursuit became no different than a fucking game of cat and mouse, with the targets always managing to stay one step ahead!
"What's taking them so damn long!?" The man seethed, his hand instinctively reaching for the communication device strapped on his vest; he pressed the button, his voice laced with impatience as he spoke. "All squads, report! Where the fuck are those three!? I want an update! Now!"
It only took a few moments of tense silence before the crackling voice of one of his subordinates broke through the static of the communication device, his tone filled with apprehension.
"This is Squad 4, reporting in. No sign of the targets, over."
"Squad 2, no sighting of our targets, over."
"Reporting from Squad 3; negative on the targets, over."
Seconds passed as the rest of the squads continued to chime in, their reports echoing through the communication device like whispers of excuses for their incompetence; his grip on the device tightened, his knuckles turning white as frustration coursed through his veins like a venomous poison… yet amidst the chorus of disappointing updates, a voice from one of the men he posted as an overwatch pierced through the static, interrupting the cascade of failures.
"Zulu here. I got no eyes on our tar- wait, hold on…" The voice crackled with uncertainty, the words that came from the device creating a tense pause; he leaned closer to the communication device, his breath held in anticipation. "I think I spotted some movement. A few blocks east of your location, over."
"Overlord to Zulu; can you confirm!?" Gavin demanded, his voice tinged with impatience.
"Hang on, Overlord; I'm tracking them through the scope… uh, looks like a man along with a woman carrying her brat. Hold on…" The overwatch confirmed, a slight sound of rustling coming through the communication device. "And… yes! Got it! Attention all units, I've got visual confirmation! Targets are heading towards the forest on the east! I repeat, they're making a run for the forest on the east!"
"Fucking finally!" His voice was laced with a mix of relief and determination; the weight of the momentary victory lifted some of the burden off his shoulders, replacing the seething anger with a renewed sense of purpose. "Zulu, you are clear to engage! Don't you dare let them out of your sight!"
"Copy that! Engaging!"
"Alright, listen up you worthless shits!" The crisp, commanding voice that came out from his lips resonated with a certain authority as he pressed a finger against the communication device, activating the channel that connected him back to all the other squads. "Fan out, and converge on the forest to the east! We have less than an hour before the military police arrives, and I'll be damned if we let those mira slip through our fingers!" The urgency in his tone was unmistakable as his words reverberated through the air, each syllable reaching the ears of every Jaeger under his command. "Well!? The fuck are you all waiting for!? Moved it, you bastards! Double time!"
"Ja!"
The air seemed to thicken with anticipation as he along with his squad began to run, each step propelling them closer to their quarry; Gavin, his earlier anger simmering beneath a veneer of determination, led the charge — his boots pounding against the pavement as they sprinted towards their objective.
'As if I'll let myself be a laughingstock. Besides…'
He had led countless missions just like this one before, faced insurmountable odds, and emerged victorious.
This time would be no different…
To fail now would be to leave a stain on his reputation — a scar that would haunt him long after this night. No… they will find their targets, and they will execute their mission, for it will be a cold day in hell before he'll let those pricks at Hamel get all the glory.
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Cutting apart sniper bullets proved to be far easier than he had ever expected, though in hindsight, he should had known that his Personas would've granted him a significant advantage in that regard… not that it was enough to prevent one of the bullets from grazing his shoulder. Still, he would readily admit that the fault lies with his own lack of experience in using his newfound power rather than any flaw in his Personas' abilities.
And speaking of their abilities…
'-known individual approaching from the south-east. Is a woman. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Wore a full-plate armor. Is desperate. Is angry. Is ready to fight. Is ready to-'
His gaze shifted towards the dense woods on his left as he leaned against the rough bark of a towering tree, a sliver of curiosity flickering in his eyes before his attention returned to the object in his hands; the tip of his finger traced the intricate design etched into the surface of the evoker, his touch gentle yet purposeful — the silver device felt cool against his touch, a comforting weight in his palm as he waited for the headache to pass.
Despite the oddity of the entire situation, he knew that the unknown woman currently speeding towards their location was not their enemy. There was an air of urgency about her, mixed with a tinge of worry that radiated from her very being; it was something he had grown accustomed to, a familiar blend of emotions that signaled someone in distress… and yet, she was not alone. Other than the woman, he sensed another presence lurking in the depths of the forest, this one closer to his position. The person moved with a slower pace compared to the unknown woman, their footsteps cautious yet hurried; Minato's attention sharpened as he focused on the erratic rhythm of their heartbeat — panic, concern, restlessness… all swirled together, intertwining with each beat.
Closing his eyes, he allowed the sounds of the forest to fade into the background, his senses honing in on the presence; in his mind's eye, he pieced together an image of a man — a military officer, by the look of his attire. A symphony of colors and textures filled his consciousness, the crispness of the officer's uniform, the glint of a badge, the creases of worry etched onto the man's face visible for the Wild Card to see.
'… Giliath Osborne.'
Strange… he had expected the man to be absent for at least several more days, as his benefactor had informed him. Then again, perhaps him being here would also be for the best.
"M-mommy, I'm scared…"
"Shush now," his benefactor quickly knelt down in front of her son, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace." Don't worry, Sweetie; everything is going to be okay." The woman whispered, her voice gentle yet firm. She pressed a comforting kiss on her son's forehead, her fingers stroking his hair soothingly.
"… Mrs. Osborne," his voice, calm and composed, cut through the atmosphere; his words carried a subtle undertone of assurance, a quiet strength that offered a sense of security amidst their chaotic situation. "Go and head in that direction." He gestured towards a path that led deeper into the forest, his eyes focused on her as he continued. "Keep going until you reach a small clearing. Your husband will be able to find you there."
"M-my husband? Wait, what are you-"
"Trust me…" He interrupted the young woman with a gentle smile, his voice soft yet unwavering. "There isn't much time. I will stay behind and hold off our pursuers."
"You… you're staying here alone? B-but your shoulder-"
"Is going to be fine," the Wild Card spoke as he pressed his free hand firmly against the wound on his shoulder — a soft, green light emanating from his palm; a gentle warmth spread through his flesh, knitting the torn tissue and sealing the wound before he withdrew his hand, revealing smooth, unblemished skin where the injury had once been. "… as you can see, I can handle myself just fine. Besides, I have my own reasons for doing this."
"W-what? B-but, how did you…" His benefactor trailed off as she look upon his uninjured shoulder, her eyes shifting back towards his face, searching for any signs of deception or weakness; finding none, she nodded reluctantly, her voice barely a whisper. "I… Mister Arisato, I… I don't know how you did what you did, but… thank you. My son and I… we wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you." The woman inhaled shakily, her hands trembling slightly as proceeded to pick up her son, holding him close like a precious treasures in her arms. "Please, be careful… I pray that the Goddess will always be by your side."
With a nod of encouragement, Minato watched as the dark-haired woman turned to face the path he had indicated; her steps were hesitant at first, but gradually gaining confidence as she began to disappear deeper into the forest. The rustling of leaves and the faint snap of twigs accompanied her departure, the sounds blending harmoniously with the symphony of nature that surrounded them as the Wild Card shifted his attention to the boy nestled in the woman's arms — his gaze meeting the child's wide, innocent eyes as the boy peeked at him from over his mother's shoulder, traces of tears glistening on his cheeks.
"… a mother's love, is it?" Minato whispered with a bit of envy in his voice, his words carrying a bitter melody that echoed in the stillness of the forest.
Shaking his head to dispel the melancholic thoughts, the Wild Card tried to focus on the present moment; he flashed the young boy a soft smile, his eyes conveying a sense of reassurance and determination before he turned his gaze towards the celestial body hanging high in the night sky — the silvery glow cast by the moon bathed the forest in an ethereal light, illuminating the surrounding foliage and casting long shadows on the forest floor.
'-mies closing in. Distance is now around a hundred meters to the front. Fifty-six man. Thirteen woman. Enemies uses various weapons. Enemies uti-'
Minato twirled his evoker between his fingers, the cool metal glinting in the faint light as he proceeded to hold it close to his head, his eyes closing as he allowed the familiar weight of the device to anchor him.
'I chooseth this fate of mine own free will, and I will bear the responsibility for my actions… no matter what end they may bring about.'
A soft, almost inaudible chuckle escaped from the wild card's lips as he opened his eyes, his gaze lingering for a moment longer before he redirected his attention to the approaching footsteps and the growing commotion around him; his fingers tightened around the evoker, and the Sea of Souls stirred within him — each and every single one of his Personas ready to be called forth at a moment's notice, prepared to face the trials that lay ahead… and as the footsteps grew louder, a figure emerged from the darkness, stepping into the small clearing where the Wild Card stood. The leader of the enemy — an older man with fiery red hair that matched his fierce gaze — commanded attention with his mere presence; his face bore the marks of a life filled with battles and hardships, deep lines etched into weathered skin, and a scar that snaked across his cheek.
"You! Where the hell is the other two!?" The words that came out from the man's lips dripped with a mixture of arrogance and disdain, his tone leaving no room for negotiation; his subordinates quickly moved to spread themselves in a loose formation, their eyes filled with a mix of anticipation and bloodlust as they trained their guns on him. "Answer me you bastard!"
Minato's calm demeanor remained unshaken as he met the leader's intense gaze with an unwavering stare. The moon's pale light filtered through the dense canopy above, casting an eerie glow on the clearing and illuminating the tension that hung in the air; he stood tall, his posture relaxed yet filled with a quiet confidence that belied the dangerous situation he found himself in.
"… turn back," the Wild Card replied evenly, his voice carrying a gentle authority that seemed to echo through the trees. "You will not find what you are looking for."
"Turn back, you say?" The man's piercing eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a scornful smirk; laughter erupted from his throat, a cruel and mocking sound that echoed throughout the silent forest, his action quickly followed by the rest of his men — their collective amusement swirled in the air like a chilling gust of wind. "Do you take me for a fool, boy? We know they're here…" His voice was laced with a hint of both greed and contempt as he spoke. "Their blood worth a lot of mira… too valuable to let slip through our fingers, you see. So, I'll give you one more chance; hand them over, and we might spare your damn, pathetic life."
"… you have yet to understand the consequences of your actions." Minato quickly squashed the sense of pity that welled up within him as he beheld the ignorance and blind ambition that consumed the older man, the words slipping from his mouth with a cold clarity. "I implore you to reconsider; there is no need for further bloodshed."
The leader's laughter swelled, a boisterous symphony of mockery that reverberated through the night; his subordinates joined in, their guffaws intertwining with his, creating an unsettling chorus of derision. The man's eyes gleamed with a twisted delight as he raised his weapon, pointing it directly at the Wild Card, a glint of malice reflected in his gaze.
"Damn fool," he sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "Fine then; if you won't hand them over, then I guess we'll just have to search for them ourselves. You, however, will die in this place. I can't exactly have you getting in our way now, can I?" With a sadistic grin plastered on his face, the leader motioned to his men, signaling them to carry out his orders; the tension in the air grew palpable as the men moved to comply with his command, tightening their digits around the triggers in preparation to unleash a hail of storm. "Kill him!"
A barrage of bullets erupted from the myriad of guns before him; the projectiles streaked through the air, hurtling towards the Wild Card with deadly intent… and yet, just as the bullets were about to strike their target, a sudden tremor shook the ground beneath their feet.
The earth convulsed with a violent quake — once, and twice, and then thrice — causing the unknown armed individuals to lose their balance and for their aim to falter; some of the projectiles veered off-course — missing their mark by mere inches — and those that were supposed to hit him never made it to their target. The forest trembled in response to the seismic upheaval, trees swaying and leaves rustling in a show of nature's fury; a torrent of water erupted from the ground, coiling and coalescing into a swirling barrier that surrounded the Wild Card in its protective embrace — slowing the bullets and encasing them in a frozen sheen of ice as the liquid solidified.
Silence fell upon the forest, broken only by the crackling of ice and the fading echoes of gunfire; he stood unscathed within the shimmering cocoon of ice, the frozen bullets suspended in mid-air like deadly ornaments. From the corner of his eyes, he could see the incredulous gazes of the enemy soldiers, their expressions a mixture of shock and disbelief; the leader's triumphant sneer had vanished, replaced with a hint of uncertainty.
"… I see," Minato — calm as ever — sighed softly, a hint of weariness creeping into his voice as he pushed himself off the tree, his movements slow and deliberate. "That is… unfortunate." His eyes locked onto the leader, his words carrying a tinge of regret and disappointment even as a streak of crimson ran down his cheek. "Just remember; you could have prevented this…"
With a simple flourish, he expertly twirled the evoker between his fingers, the polished sheen of the metal reflecting the glimmering moonlight in the cold of the night before the Wild Card proceeded to bring the device to his own head — its muzzle pressing delicately against his temple; a brief moment of stillness hung in the air as his finger rested on the trigger, a resolute expression etched on his face.
"W-wait, what are you-"
"Persona…"
And so, the line that separated the Sea of Souls from the Mortal Plane… shattered.
The ground beneath his feet trembled once more, echoing the awakening of his inner strength as a deafening bang reverberated throughout the forest. Frozen barrier of ice shattered into countless fragments, scattering like glistening shards in the moonlit night; bullets exploded into a shower of frost, their fine particles dissipating into the ether.
I am thou, and thou art I.
A figure emerged from the depths of his consciousness, radiating an ethereal light that eclipsed the brilliance of any star. His is a regal presence that commanded attention, draped in a flowing robe that shimmered like the cosmos itself.
I am the Harbinger of Dawn; the Herald of Enlightenment.
Pinions of iridescent feathers unfurled majestically from his back, their resplendent surface a glorious gold that spanned like arcs of sunrise; their luminescence bathed the surroundings in a celestial glow, symbolizing the promise of a new beginning.
From the heights of the High Heavens I have descended; from the depths of thy desires I have come.
A visage of a perfect, serene beauty adorned the divine's countenance, reflecting the wisdom and ancient knowledge that rested within his being; his eyes ablaze with a fire that exuded both tranquility and an unyielding resolve.
I am the Beacon of Hope; the light that banishes all darkness.
His voice — resonant and commanding — echoed throughout the forest, piercing the stillness of the night with its power. The very air seemed to vibrate in response to his words, as if the world itself acknowledged the arrival of the celestial being; his enemies — their face contorted with a mix of fear and awe — took a hesitant step backward, their bravado evaporating in an instant.
I am Helel.
A sword made out of pure light materialized in his hand, its radiant blade gleaming with a brilliance unmatched. With a single swift motion, he raised the sword high above his head, his eyes sweeping across the people that gathered before him — calculating their worth with a gaze that seemed to lay their souls bare for all to see.
And I have come to deliver unto you your judgment.