Patrons-Legacy of the Gods

Δεκαέξι (16)

     "Stop it," he warned. I breathed heavily from the intense and vigorous training. I focused my head, gathering back my thoughts and trying to understand my surroundings. He was right in front of me, wondering of my unknown obsession with violence and warfare. He leaned forward, his hood slowly lifting off his face and draping low, saying quietly but sternly, "You're wasting time on them."

     I couldn't understand the first sentence he even told here. She was fighting against me. She aimed at me. I had to protect myself, without a shield or helmet. "She attacked," I answered in a childish response. Should've said something else.

     He shook his head again. "You're fighting with the wrong thoughts."

     I looked down at his gray armor, wrapping all around his torso along with the tight arming over the black sleeves. On his side, a line of silver glinted in the faint, artificial light. Rows of ovals, rectangles, or probably both. Chains. A few specks of red laid along the first few. I didn't want to ask, yet I knew the small conflicts he dealt. I couldn't imagine the other faces. What was right? To almost kill those men in the brink of death for what sake? Were there sides to pick? Sides to choose?

     "She would have been next inside."

     I didn't fully comprehend, believing I could have done more wrong if he didn't interrupt. Her throat and trachea were fine, weren't they? It wasn't even close to actual murder.

     I glanced around, seeing faded, human spirits floating nearby. Closely. Their distorted faces with every inky slash, stab, or other gnarly wound spread out across their hovering bodies of wispy air. I already lacked shock factors from watching those "disgusting" and petrifying films. Something unexpected always happens, but it wasn't enough to give a grand change of plans.

     They were coming closer. Cramming, cramping, and arriving neck and neck. He senses them, too. I didn't move, thinking they only roamed and did whatever a ghost's business was. All of them left in lines to my left, but one turned to be the odd one out. The far right one with light clothing and faint, blonde hair began to stop. It twisted itself back, one of its eyes wide as the other was ripped through with visible flesh and bone. It charged towards us, increasing in speed and endurance. It flew in, causing the gushy dirt to fly and spread. I braced for impact, unarmed and crossed my forearms in front, turning my head away.

     The noise of clanking metal rustled in my ears, forcing me to lift my head. It was gone. What happened to the white spirit? In the span of a few moments or seconds, I saw the chains once more, now dangling in Haemon's grasp. He did it. How?!

     The rest of the transparent spirits scuttled away, vanishing in thin air. Where did they appear in the first place? Still staring at the rope of metal, his hands were immobile. The jingling chains lowered, now replaced back with the clattering of patron soldiers. I want to get out. Out. The others weren't here. Not even my best friend or Tiana.

     "Need to get them back?"

     I rapidly turned, discovering a shady traitor in the light. Kyle. His hands held small, curved blades. One on each. Two total. He wore a silver helmet, the same material as our armor. He gave a mocking wave with a smug face. I cringed inside the hood. It was difficult to make out someone who welcomed and almost drugged you at the same time.

     "I can barely see them," he noted, looking at the direction of the once conspicuous wraiths. "I've only came because of times of crisis. Or to knot up and secure loose ends."

     Haemon didn't add anything to his introduction. He quietly listened in.

     "She almost killed Marina," said Kyle, surveying us now. "That's a first." What are you playing at?