Apostasian Revelations

Chapter Twenty One

He couldn't feel his neck anymore, although it throbbed loudly, the cacophony ringing like the deadly silence of the night, terror succumbing over him as peaceful slumber would erupt.

His eyes were red as he saw things being carried out, the swords were out of both men's grasps.

In an intrepid manner he took his hands off of the man's arms, the crushing force of the stocky man's arms threatening to tear him apart, but it never did.

With a loud and horrifying bang he fell to the sides, clutching his throat from where it was slit, the blistering warm pain erupting from not just there but from his stomach too.

Miguel got up silently before feeling a little light headed, his eyes returning to their normal pure black color, a little coughing fit erupting due to phantom trauma.

He hadn't expected to be cornered in such a way, grabbing his throat with a wince he checking his vitals, all clear and pristine atleast.

Checking the body one last time he kicked it away with narrowed, disgust laced eyes, fresh blood was now splattered all over the room; although Miguel couldn't see much difference having occurred anyways.

He looked around, pocketed what he could before taking one last glance at the corpse of that man, the one he had severely underestimated, if not for that split second decision..

He shook his head, "I'm getting rusty, that's for sure." He murmured out, kneeling down onto the ground with a slow sigh.

He gently caressed the dead man seemingly, although after a few quiet minutes of fondling he found a couple extra papers from his back and front pockets, signs upon signs with clear warnings and labels.

What was it? He wondered. Is it perhaps pertaining to his shop? Or is it something else entirely? He wondered.

He looked outside of the window with a small hint of a frown crawling up his face, his gut was trembling, telling him something wasn't alright, danger lurked near the corners.

But it was okay; for he lurked too.

Getting outside of the red stained apartment with for the rush of air to fill his lungs, he had two options right now, and it seemed as though destiny wanted him to pick the latter one.

In the middle of rush hour, with the sun shining directly above head, he leapt from house to house, chimney head to chimney head; almost catching his foot on the underhand once or twice.

He could see it, the port that is, from the distance and a large fire on a familiarly crooked building, somehow the seemingly eternally damp wood had caught fire.

He gulped. Red eyes scanning around and observing a black carriage with an even darker colored horse striding away in the opposite direction.

By the time he had caught on the dust had settled and he had hopped down, hoping to atleast have everyone intact and unharmed.

What he found was a scarred Svard, petrified Miranda and an unconscious Yuf.

It took a couple weeks for him and his team to get the building torn down and ready for reconstruction, it was no accident for sure but no one was ready to go against the local guard's boss himself.

By the end of the month and nearing the annual ball for the noble class, Miguel had been able to accumulate enough funds to purchase a small apartment with which he hoped to create a new commercial identity, atleast until the present land matters would be settled.

It was a stormy day outside and Yuf had almost made all the finalising efforts on his behalf, Miguel not knowing how to read irked him to no end no doubt.