They Are Made From Lightning

FOUR (四)

四

four

Eris

Some existed in the dark underworld of Equatorial city. Others existed in the temporary façade of a glittering overworld. Eris and Chaos, arguably, existed somewhere in-between. They were two things: wanderers with no home, and walking turmoil.

During the day, the Equatorial city's epicentre housed a large operational district. Workers worked meticulously to ensure the running and safety of the city. On the outside, they seemed like a well-oiled machine. The façade was relentlessly powerful. Some maintained the solar panel operations, making sure that they were collecting enough sunlight to power the city. Scientists ensured the oxygen levels within the equatorial region were still within stable, habitable boundaries. They ordered plants from greenhouses all over the city. Governmental agencies sustained food stock. Meteorologists monitored the distance of the storms clouds in the distance – the ones that covered the whole of the Earth save for the equatorial belt where the city stood.

And yet, one thought hung over their minds so well that it could've been the storm clouds themselves.

God save them all.

But at night, the city revealed a new face.

*

Midnight and beyond approached as the hours went by, like a slow descent to the witching hour. Shadows skittered between alleyways, and through hallways. People no longer populated the streets.

Except for Grenson, that was. He'd worked over-hours tonight, and was returning home lugging a briefcase so large that he had a briefcase-induced limp on his right leg. He cursed under his breath as he dragged the weight of the case through the alleyways behind his workplace.

He sincerely hoped that the overtime pay was going to be worth it.

He just had to make it through this alleyway, turn a corner, just to the next main street, and then catch a cab home. That was all he had to do. It's that easy, he repeated to himself. Easy, easy, easy.

At that very instant, a high-pitched laugh echoed throughout the alleyway.

His head snapped up, eyes scanning the dim alleyway in front of him. The owner of the voice was nowhere in sight, and it took him several moments to decide that there was (hopefully) no one waiting in the darkness to ambush him.

He began to talk again, slowly, step by step like a child learning how to walk. Scanning his environment, breathing as softly as he could so as to not wake the monsters that observed him with glistening teeth. The suitcase was beginning to feel like a liability – if anyone came at him brandishing a knife and a wry smile, he decided that it would be best to drop this damn thing to hopefully divert the attention from himself. A decoy, if you will.

Leave the carcass out so the monsters with glistening teeth would decide that a briefcase was more valuable than a man in a working suit.

He was ready for the monster with the knife and wry smile. He was ready.

Just as he was turning the corner to the main street, he felt a jolt of relief surge through him body like a shot of lightning. Was this what heaven looked like? A street fully lit by lanky poles of streetlights, a triple-lane road and the purr of engines racing through the midnight streets?

He was so overcome with relief that he'd failed to notice the person bump into him at first.

The very first thing he noticed about them was the sterile, white trench coat that was draped over a figure. The person hung their head low, and he couldn't make out a face. A strength and power seemed to trail them, and when the breeze blew, the white coat billowed to the will of the wind.