Chapter 16: Shadows of the Slum Alley
Her form made its way into the last dark alley, laden with wires hanging above its walls, in the dim reach of the sun, before the view of their dilapidated bakery blanketed her eyes. Or perhaps it would have, when she noticed three slurring men laden against the walls of the alleyway—drunk slum folks.
She gulped, her hands instinctively clutching the pouch containing the golden vals, a result of Mephis's sacrifice. Sweat trailed down her face, her heart palpitating. The ground was laden with puddles and dirt, her boots splashing in it.
Idle slum folks like this spelled trouble.
She hung her head low as her figure skirted past them, their bodies reeking of alcohol and gin, the solitary consort of most slums.
She could have made it out of the alleyway if not for a bulky arm that jolted her shoulder backwards, slamming her against the wall—a great mistake, as the golden vals in the pouch now jingled.
Damn it.
Her eyes gazed up from her figure, covered by the bulky man's shadow. The man was bearded, his face stained with moss and foam of gin, a sly grin on his face. The rest crawled out of the ground with a heave.
"Oi, lady, it seems you have some..." His eyes wandered, ogling her figure before focusing on the pouch. "Inventory. Would you like to share?" His gigantic palm reached towards the pouch, but her hands withdrew it behind her.
Her actions birthed a laughter from the bulky man, the remaining lanky two following suit.
"Playing the hero... hahaha," one of them jeered with a smirk across his pale facial features.
"Come on, this is better. Not only do we get money... we also get the beauty," the other lanky one muttered, his dirty tongue tracing his lips. He could see a pocket knife slipping from underneath his tattered sleeves.
The bulky man refocused his eyes on her form.
"Forgive me, lady. Blame the nobles, not us," he whispered, bringing his face towards her ears, intensifying the reek further. She contorted her face in disgust.
She couldn't bear it further.
Her hands, in the hold of a second, reached for her shoulders—more accurately, to the bulky man's palm—twisting his index finger beyond repair.
The man wallowed in a loud grunt, his face hot in anger as his other palm lunged, fist hooked for her hair. She slipped inside the arc like water, elbow rising in a silk-smooth line. The point kissed the soft spot under his jaw; his breath burst out in a broken hiss. She caught his wrist, turned her hips, and he flew, his back slamming the puddle with a wet slap and another groan.
Recovering from their frozen state of shock, the other two charged together—the lanky one's knife low, while the other's boot high.
She sank to her knees in the filth, skirt blooming black, and spun. Her heel cracked the knife-man's chin; bone snapped like green bamboo. As he folded, her fist came up under his nose, cartilage flattening in a red flower. He crashed across the first—not without his knife unknowingly tracing a line of crimson on her cheek.
She winced quietly.
The last man's punch was already coming. She stepped in until their chests touched, slid her forearm along his, gentle as a dance partner, and hooked her ankle behind his. A soft push at the shoulder and he fell, skull knocking concrete with a dull, final thud. His body sprawled unconscious, whilst the other two groaned weakly on the ground.
She heaved, her breath coming in white fogs. Her eyes glowed a faint hue of blue as she tossed three golden vals onto their sprawling bodies.
"Stop heaping your failures on others," she muttered. The blood streaming from her cheek now traced a scarlet tunnel down to her neck, which she wiped away.
"Get a life."
Her figure retreated from the human heap and disgusting alley, her footsteps quickening as she crossed the stone-paved street. She could clearly see hands pointing to her features—specifically to her bloodied cheek—and a few eyes to the jingling of her pouch.
Her figure skirted down the trail of dilapidated buildings and the tavern where she was sure those folks had gotten themselves drunk, halting meters before their bakery. The post screamed "Myre's Hearth," whilst the features screamed repair. Maybe Mephis was right—as dumb as he was to get kidnapped—the shop really needed rejuvenating.
Her eyes scanned the sunny skies, then to the gigantic clock monolith. She could feel her eyes burning.
"Where are you right now? Are you okay,
Mephis?"
Her mouth subconsciously whispered.
Even if he was intellectually potent, he was weak physically.
Damn that Mephis.
Her visage steadily drowned by the crowds of people paving the street—a testament to how populated the slums were. Some stared; some merely walked away, too busy fighting to live to care.
She wiped her eyes, her figure reaching towards the door handle before receding. Her head hung low.
Was this the right choice—telling Mom about all of it, her ascension rite?
Her eyes wandered to the stone-paved street stretching towards the square, a slight elevation ending in stores and occasionally streams of carriages.
She could just... walk away.
Like Dad did—and never came back. Back then, she had despised him for it. Why then was she...?
She sighed.
She couldn't do it to Mom, not twice. There wasn't a certainty she would return, and if she did, probably in a long time.
But probably she wouldn't agree. She wouldn't let her. Wasn't it all pointless?
Her form receded from the door, withdrawing back, only to halt when a voice tore through her mind.
"You know, Auriel, recently I've been thinking," with his face stained with the dust of flour from kneading the dough, his hair tied in a bun, "if really what I'm experiencing with you and Lady Myre is what having a real family is all about," placing his hands behind his head, "then perhaps isn't it the best gift of all? I don't see any reason to walk out of it, like my parents did for whatever reasons.we don't leave precious treasures behind... especially for us slum folks, do we?" Then his silver eyes darkened in the noon sun as he slowly kneaded the dough. "Had to lose mine to realize that. Never walk out on family, Auriel. You probably wouldn't understand..but it hurts. really bad."
They had been around fifteen; she remembered being surprised, laughing it off, but Mephis insisting she swore on it... and...
She did.
She had sworn she wouldn't walk out on family.
A smile lay plastered on her face. She had to give it to that dummy—he still had a shred of wisdom within him.
Her hands reached towards the door. She probably wouldn't be able to convince Mom, but...
At least, unlike Pa did, she tried.
At least that was better than walking away.
---
Back in the alleyway, the cold rush of wind and then a quiet stillness forced him to open his eyes. His bulky hands creased the dirt and water out of his face whilst scratching his beard.
His eyes scanned to see Psion already unconscious, his mouth held agape. He blinked his eyes, trying to focus himself up.
That girl... He creaked his arm; she had been terrifyingly strong. His eyes laid on three golden coins on the floor, slightly dipped in the watery puddle, but he couldn't mistake the golden glint for anything in the world.
Golden vals.
Had the girl left them behind? Then perhaps she had more. Was she a noble?
When his hands finally touched the spot... only an empty puddle, no coins.
"Huh."
Where was it? His eyes wandered up to see the bloodied, grinning face of Ace. In his bloody, skinny hands were the golden coins.
"Like my name says... I aced you, Bulky," he muttered. His face turned to run, but it was a meter too late. Using all his strength, he rammed his lanky form into the alley wall.
Ace let out a groan, his grin contorting into a smirk showing crimson-dyed teeth as he dug his pocket knife into his abdomen. Pain tore through his body as his eyes widely gazed at Ace—bloodshot and derailed—as it gazed at Ace with a malicious purple glint in his eyes.
"Ace... Why...? A... A... c... e." His face contorted again as another pain shot through him. Ace's bloody knife dug into his stomach... then again and again. Bulky's bloodied body collided into the floor, desperately trying to crawl away, his blood dyeing the puddles in a scarlet hue.
His eyes widened as he gazed more clearly at the unconscious Psion. There was also a hole in his chest, the space where his heart would have been.
Had Ace also...?
Multiple stabs registered from his back to his shoulders. His body grew numb to the pain, his ears growing distant to Ace's mad laughter.
His vision swarmed as he finally lost all his strength, colliding on the puddle. He wasn't going to see Miriam today.
"Sorry... Miriam..." His eyes lost their glow. Blood sprayed out of his mouth.
Yet, Ace never stopped stabbing, never stopped digging the pocket knife of his—along with the purple glow of his eyes—into the mountain of flesh. His hollowed laughter bathed the alleyway as the puddle receded into a crimson wave of blood.
Not until a voice registered through his unconsciousness—chilling and manly.
"You've done well... Ace."
The malicious glint in the lanky man's eyes faded, replaced with a bloodshot one. His eyes widened, the bloodied knife dropping from his hands.
"Bulky... Bul..." His face contorted as tears streamed down his eyes, stretching also to the dead Psion, then back to his bloodied hands. His breath came out in hitches, his body lurching nauseously as he withdrew from the bodies.
"I... I killed them all..." His mouth frantically muttered. "I killed... B... Bulky and... P... Sion." A flood of tears streamed down his eyes, his hands framing his face, squeezing it as tightly as he could.
"Yes... you did," the same chilling voice pierced him. This time, not from within but from behind him.
The voice he had last heard before waking up to see all this...
His eyes widened, gazing beside him to see a man squatted beside him. He couldn't make out the features, for he drowned the little of the light that seeped into the alleyway.
But... but... he could make out one thing: a glowing purple eye, with an iris like a clock with figures, like a purple abyss. His hairs stood on end whilst an existential cold wafted through him.
"See, little one," it spoke in a whisper—so shrilling,cold an..n..nd dreary that he almost forgot his own name.
"You don't mess with destiny." That was the last words he heard before his body erupted in purple flames, searing his skin and organs from within, lighting the whole alley aglow in violet luminescence.
And before his very shriek could pierce the air, something tore from the ground below—a huge dark maw, rowed with gigantic serated teeth.
Devouring him and the flame whole, along with the rest of the bodies.
A thorough exorcism.
Note:I'm about to write another story..a casual, chilling one,just a popped up Idea..but the Lord Of The Beginning will always be the Primary focus..
it'll be out by day's End..
"Paradise Glitched:I became the Reaper"