Ambrosia

~ PT-III

But the vehicle never touches me.

I raise my head. My luck must be through the roof right now because the vehicle crashes just in front of me and keeps rolling, slamming into the government officials, until it stops again, landing almost perfectly on its flattened wheels when it does.

I don't know if I should stand—don't know if I could stand at this very moment—because it seems so pointless. Still, I force myself up to my feet as I realise the civil shoes poking out are still. A cool breeze skims my cheek, blowing my curls into my face and drying out my eyes.

The helmetless figure—the one with the pale face and long dark hair—from before stands on the other side of the vehicle, much, much closer than before, and bored eyes locked on me through the front windows—a shade of purple similar to amethyst.

My shallow breath fills my ears.

The armoured jeep creaks, the roof caving in. It jolts suddenly, thrown to the right, the bodies of the officials following suit like sticky magnets.

The figure approaches.

The armour, which is the first thing I notice, is a dark shade of muted purple—it seems there may be some obsession with the colour. It's layered in satin-finished metallic plates. And, despite having been shot at with assault rifles and all manner of explosives, there is not a scratch on any of it.

Broad shoulders and long limbs. Silky black hair with an almost subtle widow's peak. A masculine face, shaved jawline, defined cheekbones, and the sort of dark eyebrows that are close to the eyes in the middle but curve up in the middle and out at the ends. He looks almost human; nearly earthly; and yet there is something so obviously not about him—aside from the strangely coloured eyes. It's almost frightening; hackle-raising. Every alarm in my brain is sounding, and yet, in the face of his constant advance, I'm rooted to the spot.

In the back of my mind, I wonder if the appearance is only a front. Aliens wouldn't really look so much like us, would they? Not unless they grew up on a terra planet too...

My ears pop, the same way they do rising in a plane, and I hear my name in the distance. Kennedy and Grace call for me from across the field, but I can't even turn my head to look at them. I'm almost afraid that if I do, he'll act and I'll have no time to react.

I try to swallow through the tightening of my throat.

"Kneel," he says, still approaching. I don't reply, and I certainly don't move. "You are not the chosen one who will upend the inevitable—kneel."

I'm able to take a single step back before my body freezes once again.

Damn.

I hadn't thought anything of the sort. Why would anyone want to be the chosen one? "It sounds like a lot of sacrifice on my part that I'm not willing to make..." I mumble, and I don't know where the words came from; they just sort of spew from my mouth.

Soon enough though, he's within arm's reach, and he stops there. Those eyes, like something out of a dream, have me pinned. Even if I wanted to listen to instructions, considering this seems like the closest to death I have and will ever be, my limbs would not allow me to.

"I won't repeat myself again." Low; neutral. I recognise his voice as the one that had spoken after the relayed, perhaps recorded message. It seems strange to have such an apathetic tone, not one way or the other, when committing the atrocity he has. I would expect disgust, hate even, but not disinterest. It almost makes me angry.

"I can't," I admit.

Suddenly, with inhuman speed, his hand reaches out to my throat. Static shock. It's not just surprising but painful, and instinctively, I slash out with my nails which strike across his palm. His arm retreats; he curls his fingers and then opens his hand. He's bleeding, and though the cut was mostly superficial, his expression as he watches it leak out is blank. He blinks.

I'd almost forgotten to breathe, and as I remember to, a gust of wind floats by, carrying on it a sweetness I've never smelled before. A mouthwatering sweetness like no other.

His blood drips down the side of his hand and hits the ground. He doesn't raise his head but only his eyes to look at me. My tongue has a strong idea of what it would be like to just pull the wound into my mouth—sick as that would be.

I step away slowly, swallowing the excessive liquid filling my mouth.

The heads of the soldiers snap up. Possessed, they rise to their feet and round on us. They rush toward us, running and stumbling and shoving each other out of the way. The alien doesn't move, standing firm as they charge him.

But instead of attacking, they fall to their knees and start to lick up the blood from the ground. Sticking their fingers in the viscous substance and stuffing it in their mouth. Off the ground...

And I thought I was sick.

"Seleste...!"

I don't waste the chance; I spin on my heels and dash.

I glance over my shoulder and see the six at the forefront running up to the scene, and I hear the helmetless one's voice: "Let them go... They'll be back."

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So this part was much shorter just to end of the chapter. Finally, the next update will be Chapter 02, where we get to see a sneak peek of life after the apocalypse/alien takeover.