[PREQUEL] (W) ᴜɴᴅᴇʀʟᴀɴᴅ ♗

12| ''Priority over puppet''

5-6 YEARS AGO AFTER JUMPING OUT OF THE WINDOW AT SOMINO HERNANDEZ HOSPITAL TO AVOID A FIGHT WITH NAOMI-YUA HIMURA.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Everything along with the sides of my head began to pulse upon falling. I just leaned my head back. My eyes peeled open at the already dark sky. Gray clouds mocked the way I ran and flew out the window like a cartoon character.

It didn't benefit me—but instead embarrassed me.

I don't want to think of just how correct Immanuel was. So I had tried to make the effort to ignore his words and Nine's vocalization.

I had gone into this situation completely, thinking I would have hit some form of concrete. It would have broken my fall to such a heavy extent, but instead, I found myself nearly impaling myself with one of the swords and on the top of a white trunk.

The impact of the fall could have easily caused a dent, the second floor wasn't exactly the lowest to the ground. It made my head pound at the way it bounced momentarily.

I winced out in pain, the knife still in my shoulder, the pain is now acknowledged. My jaw nearly dislocates itself from the forceful opening. The throbbing and the metallic taste is something that lingers.

My eyes shoot open the moment I hear the side door fling open. I swing my own arm towards the blade practically sticking out of my skin before pulling it out from the back.

The scream I had let out could have only been described as bloodcurdling and ungodly. Like a little dormouse realizing the shelter he seeked from rain was action at the bottom of someone's musty shoe.

With gritted teeth and lack of energy, I roll towards the other end of the truck's top before falling over.

I fall to my knees if anything else instead of my feet like I had hoped. If my earplugs weren't still buried somewhat deep in my ears, I would have immediately heard the crack instead of just feeling it.

An old man, who looked to have been of middle eastern or north african descent raises his hands. His lips move—but I can't understand a single phrase that spills out. It doesn't help that he's speaking with his hands argumentatively instead of 'vocally'.

I ruled it out as him speaking another language, but instead of staying here longer than I should, I slipped out a quick apology before scurrying towards where Immanuel's car was.

The moment I had entered the car, all the questions he had asked in regard to my disheveled state didn't register. It couldn't have. All that occupied my mind was the mere idea that in a time of need, my alter abandoned me.

Did I even understand the disorder that had been reigning my head since I could formulate a thought of my own? Weren't protective altars there to fight when you took the flight route?