ODE TO THE END: A BALLAD OF BROTHERS

CHAPTER 7

ADLAI

The odor of gore was an incomparable thing. How could one describe the stench of limbs cleaved on the teeth of jagged steel or the smell of innards polluting the open air? What sort of things reeked of brain matter, or refuse mixed with dried blood? What would those things smell like in isolation? The hooded young man could only wonder, for the summer morning was hot and many disgusting flavors had already filled his nose. The addition of death created an unholy infusion as he entered the Sire's rose garden glade.

The gate was left open allowing the denizens of the slums to ransack the walled hamlet, but no one dared to enter save for him. As he walked past the gates, he saw the carnage of gutted corpses and discarded hearts outsides their bodily containers. The walls were painted with blood crimson color and the greenery had learned the taste of death . The grisly site left many who witnesses scarred, but the young man stepped over one body after another as if they were pebbles along the way. When he stopped, it was not because of the haunting cadavers, but by the behest of the living.

"S-stop or I'll shoot!"

The wanderer was startled. His gaze went toward the upper deck, where he found the source of the threat. The one who shouted the warning did so with a rifle barrel shaking.

"You! You can just turn around before I kill you! T-the gate may be open but that doesn't mean you can come in," said the assistant .

The wanderer stepped back, if only a bit. He mouthed his folly, before doing as told and heading toward the exit. For a moment it looked as if he would comply completely. Then, once again, the hooded stranger stopped. He then turned toward the gunman as if he were of another mind. The wanderer fearlessly approached now.

"Stop," said the assistant. The wanderer was near the stairs."D-Don't come any closer!" The wanderer ascended the high deck. "I-If you don't. I'll do it! I-I promise I'll"—

A blur of black. Bang, then a clack. The assistant had been disarmed and laid low in a single motion. The weapon had been fired, but the bullet only grazed the wanderer's dragging clothes. A fizzling singe on the wanderer's cloak was evidence of this, but the rifle had been made to pay for the offense.

The barrel of the weapon had been bent backward by a force of the wanderer's hand. The gunman no longer had his gun, so he choked on his fear and could not speak. "What's your name," said the hooded wanderer. When the assistant tripped, the wander held him upright. Just tell me I'm not going to hurt you."

After being saved from the fall, the assistant gave his name in gratitude. "Derrick. I mean Eric. I-I am the assistant here. T-the assistant to the Sire . He's inside, b-but there's nothing left. N-n-nothing for you to take." The man spoke on jitters. "Please, don't kill me."

"I won't," said the wanderer. With those words, the cloaked figure threw off his hood to reveal a young man of dark skin, shaven hair, with eyes black as ink. He held a scowling visage, and the assistant quickly took note of the remaining familiarities.

"No!" The assistant screamed as if he had seen Death and bones, and he jumped in an attempt to flee. Alas, the young man held him in place. "L-let go of me, please! You can have the Sire," he screamed "Y-you can take him to that boy! J-just let me live!"

"That boy? What boy? What did he look like," said the wanderer.

"What," said the assistant. He had been sniffling too loudly to hear.

A smoldering anger flashed on the wanderer's face. In response to the assistant's fearful inquiry, the young man yanked him by his clothes and took him by the jugular. "Answer," said the wanderer.