章節 35: Tears
The midday sun hung high in the azure sky, its brilliance unhindered save for a few faint clouds lingering near the horizon. The Lynn Street was lively with bustling passersby, their chatter blending with the occasional sound of carriage wheels on cobblestones. Yet, as Elliot strode along the path, the crowd parted instinctively, leaving a wide berth around him. His steps were measured, deliberate, the soft scrape of his boots a counterpoint to the distant hum of life.
"Darling, stay close!"
"Don't go near him."
The murmurs of the townsfolk carried a mixture of fear and disdain. Mothers clutched their children, pulling them back with wary glances, while others turned their heads away the moment Elliot's piercing gaze fell upon them. His eyes were like shards of frozen sapphire, unwavering, and devoid of warmth.
'None of them have the right to judge us Reds.'
Elliot's thoughts simmered, his lips curling in disdain as he spotted a curious little girl peeking at him. Her round cheeks flushed pink as their eyes met. She was no more than half his height, her small hands clutching the hem of her mother's dress. Elliot sneered, spitting a glob of blue-tinged blood onto the pavement without breaking stride. The child recoiled, hiding her face against her mother's side.
With a sigh, Elliot ran his tongue over his dry, cracked lips, tasting the metallic tang of old blood. His hand grazed the faded door in front of him, his fingers brushing against splinters as he knocked three times. From the depths of his pocket, he pulled nothing but the brittle remnants of dried blood. He clenched his fist and took a deep breath.
The door creaked open to reveal a tall man with a broad chest and hair slicked back neatly. His stance was commanding, his orange ring glinting proudly in the sunlight. Edwin. The man hadn't changed. Behind him, seated on a worn sofa, was Samantha, flipping through the day's newspaper with casual indifference.
Edwin's gaze bore down on Elliot, sharp and unyielding, as he seized him by the suspenders and shoved him inside with brute force. The door slammed shut behind them.
"Where in the Goddess of Night's name have you been?" Edwin's voice thundered, veins bulging against his skin as his fists tightened. His sleeves rolled up instinctively, just like in the old days.
Elliot, undeterred, met Edwin's fury with a cold, emotionless stare. "What day is it?" His voice was low, calm, his words cutting through the tension like a blade.
"What day?!" Edwin roared, his face reddening further. "You disappear, disgrace the Goddess's pact, and now you ask me 'what day it is?' You filthy Red swine!"
With that, Edwin's fist shot forward, a hammer of raw strength. It was fast—deadly, even—but Elliot's enhanced physique absorbed the blow, though it sent him crashing against a nearby cabinet. A sharp pain spread across his cheekbone, blood trickling down from the reopened wounds on his face.
"By the gods!" Edwin snarled, shaking his fist. "Your cursed blood is staining my entire house!"
Before Edwin could strike again, Samantha hurled a slipper at his head. "'Your' house?" she shrieked, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "Who do you think paid for most of it, huh?!"
Her tirade sent Edwin into a stunned silence, his chest heaving as he glared at her. Elliot leaned against the cabinet, wiping blood from his lips as he watched the exchange. His expression barely shifted, save for a slight grimace when his fingers brushed the tender bruise forming on his cheek.
Samantha's voice rang out again, but this time Edwin's attention was elsewhere. His gaze snapped back to Elliot, who now stood by the sofa, dripping blue-tinted blood onto the carpet.
Elliot picked up the discarded newspaper, his eyes scanning the bold letters across the front page. "Seventeenth of Astra," he muttered to himself. "Zero Astarion, the Day of the Violet Dunes…" His voice trailed off as he pieced it together. 'The day has come. Today, at 4:20 PM, I'll be reunited with Ren.'
A bitter smile crossed his lips. "Finally… after all this suffering…"
Elliot glared upward at Edwin, his teeth clenched, his azure eyes darker than usual, shimmering like storm-tossed seas. Blue blood painted his battered body, its glow refracting faintly under the dim light. Opposite him, Edwin stood tall, a mocking sneer curving his lips, his fingers coiling as if to crush the very air. Samantha's shrill cries tore through the atmosphere, a discordant hymn to chaos. Edwin lunged forward, his arm cocked back in a throwing motion, the ring upon his finger pulsating with an ominous glow.
Elliot, unmoving, braced himself. The strike landed squarely on his shoulder, the healed flesh absorbing most of the blow. He staggered slightly but stood firm, unyielding. Edwin faltered, disbelief twisting his features. "W-what… How is this possible?!" he roared, his steps faltering. Samantha's gasps echoed his confusion, her hands clutching her chest.
A surge of power coursed through Elliot's veins, his muscles hardening to stone yet retaining an uncanny agility. His eyes locked onto Edwin's unblemished arm, a predator honing in on weakness. Without hesitation, Elliot dashed forward, his speed surpassing the limits of human ability. Each fiber of his being pulsed with blood, a relentless cadence driving him onward.
In a heartbeat, he was upon Edwin. Time seemed to slow as Elliot's fist hurtled through the air. Samantha's scream hung frozen, her mouth agape. Edwin's eyes clenched shut, his arms struggling to rise in defense. It was too late. Elliot spat a mouthful of his own blood, the crimson droplets hovering in the air before spiraling toward Samantha's open mouth.
The blood slid down her throat, unbidden and unstoppable. Samantha gagged, clutching her neck, her body convulsing as the foreign substance took hold. Blue veins spidered across her pale skin, her lips trembling as blood spewed forth, staining the ground. She collapsed, her knees buckling. "M-my baby…" she choked, her voice a faint whisper as her trembling hands cradled her stomach.
Elliot's gaze flicked downward, catching sight of her abdomen. Slightly rounded, it betrayed a fragile promise of life—a life now slipping away.
'Pow!'
A sharp blow slammed into Elliot's temple. Edwin, teeth bared in desperation, had swung his broken arm, the artifact on his finger glowing faintly. His fractured bones jutted grotesquely, yet he pressed on, tears streaming down his face. "You bastard!" Edwin howled, his voice cracking. "You've taken everything—my wife, my child! You filthy red-blooded scum!"
His words dissolved into incoherent rage as he swung wildly, his strikes fueled by despair rather than strength. Elliot sidestepped each blow, his expression darkening. He extended a hand, his crimson blood snaking through the air like a living thread, weaving into Edwin's veins.
Within seconds, Edwin faltered, his movements halting abruptly. His body convulsed as blood poured from his eyes and mouth, pooling at his feet. He collapsed beside Samantha, their lifeless forms entwined.
Elliot stood over them, his fists trembling. His lips quivered, but no words came. His vision blurred, droplets falling from his cheeks. 'Am I crying?' His hand brushed against his face, the salty taste of tears confirming what his mind refused to acknowledge.
Through the haze of emotion, his gaze wandered to the shattered window, where the faint outline of a little girl emerged in the distance. She was smiling, her hands clasped in those of her parents. They laughed, the sound carrying faintly over the mist as they disappeared into the fog.
'Ren…'
…
Elsewhere, Eriksson strode through the shadowed corridors of a modest manor, streaks of green and brown blood staining his clothing. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, smearing away dried crimson. His eyes narrowed as he approached the sitting room, where Hank Dosen awaited him, wringing his hands nervously.
"So, this is the prize you spoke of," Eriksson remarked coldly, his gaze falling on the artifact—a shriveled hand encased in ancient wrappings.
Hank managed a weak smile, his fingers twitching. "A-and you're unharmed, I trust?"
Eriksson's expression remained stony. "It was a Brown. He put up a fight."
Hank's shoulders sagged, relief mingled with guilt. Eriksson stepped closer, his voice lowering. "Either you raise the payment, or you hand over the mummy's hand. Explain its worth to me, Dosen. I don't take kindly to missions shrouded in mystery."
Hank hesitated, his face paling. "I… I can't give you the hand. Its value transcends money—it's priceless. But I'll increase the payment to 1,200 Elis. That's the best I can do. Please, understand. If I part with this artifact, I'll be doomed. The one who seeks it… they're no ordinary person. They'll imprison me in a place worse than death. You must believe me!"
The man's voice cracked as he fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. Eriksson regarded him with disdain before scrawling numbers on a slip of parchment. "Fine. Transfer the money in monthly installments. Two hundred Elis, every month, until Indigo next year."
Hank nodded fervently, clutching the note as Eriksson turned and walked away.
…
As Eriksson stepped into the stormy night, Hank remained alone in his dimly lit study. The rain tapped insistently against the windows, the wind howling like a chorus of vengeful spirits. He sat before the artifact, his nails bitten to the quick, his leg bouncing nervously.
"Sebastian…" he whispered, his eyes flickering to the name etched faintly onto the artifact's base.
The storm intensified, the room growing colder. Shadows crept along the walls as the lamps flickered, their light barely holding back the encroaching darkness. Hank swallowed hard, his breaths shallow.
A sudden crash startled him. The window shutters slammed shut, and the lamps extinguished in unison, plunging the room into pitch blackness. Hank's heart raced as he turned toward the artifact, his pulse hammering in his ears.
Two golden eyes emerged from the darkness, their glow cold and unfeeling. A figure stepped forward, draped in robes of shimmering gold. His hair cascaded like molten metal, his skin radiating an otherworldly brilliance.
Hank gasped, his body frozen as the golden figure reached out, its hand tightening around his throat despite the distance between them. His vision blurred, his veins bulging as he struggled to breathe.
"A-Astarion," Hank choked, his voice barely audible.
In his mind, he heard a voice—not spoken but imposed upon his thoughts, its tone like the toll of a death knell. '"Speak not my name, insect."'
'Crack!'
Hank's neck twisted unnaturally, his head lolling backward. His body crumpled to the ground, blood pooling around him. The golden figure stood over him, unmoved.
"Sebastian," Astarion murmured, his voice carrying an eerie calm. He lifted the mummy's hand, his golden eyes glinting with recognition. "It has been far too long, old friend."
For a brief moment, the golden light flared, illuminating the room with an almost divine radiance. Then, as abruptly as it had appeared, the figure vanished, leaving behind only darkness and the steady patter of rain.
Hank's lifeless body lay still, his vacant eyes reflecting the storm outside.
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