Blood Red Blades

Chapter Eight

 'Cause they're not gay,

Jason Todd

  The camera had been covered when the scaffolding fell under my weight. I did not want to think of what whoever on the other side – the Oracle, a part of me yelled – was doing about it. I crushed it underfoot with my steel-tipped boots, watching the red blinking abruptly stop. Would they inform the vigilantes? Clearly the highest priority was the zombie – no, Essence called them 'soulless' – because no one came. It was a good thing for me. It meant I did not have to hide with a stubbornly glowing blade that seemed to appear out of nowhere and refused to go away.

I didn't drop the All-Blade-thingie because it was apparently the only way to off the Soulless, or so the silver-haired guardian told me before disappearing into inky darkness. She brought up many questions – did I know her? If so, how? Why did she come to me? Who the hell was I? – about my past and present.

Like she knew about what the zombie was. Was she in a cult or something, or – even worse – involved on the making of the thing?

I shuddered, not wanting to go down that train of thought. Later, I decided, concentrate on the zombie-soulless-whatever.

The soft scrapping of a limp limb echoed through the dust-ridden corridors, carried by the low growl of the midnight's wind. Soft moans dragged out, goosebumps riddling my skin. Ice daggers sank beneath the layers of warm clothing, which gently ruffled and brushed against the looming crated that peered down with accusing eyes. Shadows creeped forward, sinking their talons into everything but the sword, which let out a wave of furious golden light in protest.

My heart skipped a beat at how close the soulless sounded. Every nerve tingled with unbridled nervousness, untouched adrenaline slowing building up. I felt giddy, like a dehydrated man who had found water after stumbling around in a desert for months.

Because trying to kill the undead apparently gives me a rush.

Yippy-ka-yay!

I turned down on a T, hoping that I was not walking to my death.

My nerves cheered along, which was probably a good thing.

Right that way, Officer Haywood! I mentally cheered like a three-year old, before the word flipped.

'Guess what? It's Officer now. Officer Grayson. Your name is nowhere near there, okay? I don't need you.'

My breath hitched as I stumbled, pain flaring across my temples as the voice ringed to a stop. This one was different – angrier, louder and scarier. My chest felt tight and constricting, fear bubbling at my throat. Anxiety pooled at my stomach, cotton balls in my lungs.

Whoever this person was, I feared them.

Name, my mush brain processed a feeling of excitement sparking in me, I had a name!

Well, not mine, of course, but I had a name of someone related to my past. More than a simple engraving, or a hazy image of a name, or a voice calling out. This was something I could sink my nails into, someone I could easy web search in the click of a few buttons.

Officer Grayson, you better watch out-

I swung the glowing blade at the shadow that moved, which glowed a little less in disagreement at the strangled choke that escaped the lips of a totally not dead Red Robin, who had the blade right under his chin. A flash of gold and silver indicated that the Boy Wonder was lingering behind. They were both tense, taking in quiet gulps of air.