Arc 2 - Chapter 31: S + J

(Libertatem 1, 59 / 3:02AM)

The sounds of a chain can be heard…

‘Huh … what…’

And he couldn’t move his hands.

Unable to push himself forward, his butt pressed firm against the dusty floor. Looking upward, he felt a cold metal around his wrists.

‘Am I …’

With blurred eyes, and an upward face, he saw a black chain tangled to the edge of a wall. Keeping him prisoned, the chain was connected to two cuffs that were wrapped around his wrists; tightly.

‘What happened…’

His knees stacked on the ground, blood soared through his legs, granting him the ability to stand up gently. Having his boots plastered on the ground, every ounce of his skin burned and swelled from sweat.

‘Ah shit!’

Like a fire sweltering inside his abdomen, his intestines twisted and turned against his insides. His breathing increasing every harder, the stabbing sensation only worsened for his quivering eyes. Arching his head, he tried to take a step forward, but his chains stationed him in place.

‘Just where the hell am I?!’

—“I’ve seen you’ve awakened, Jerry Phillips.”—

The voice, crafted and churned like warm molasses, pushed all of his temples to release droplets of sweat. Paling his face, he widened his eyes, and let his throat jump repeatedly.

“W-Who are you!? Show yourself!”

Yelling with a raspy throat, he pushed his body so that his back was against the wall. Unable to hear anything again, he let his eyes trail the dark and desolate industrial building, which was cluttered with darkness.

Until silence came.

He saw a man with a gray hoodie, walking in the distance. His hands in his pockets, his hoodie covering his face, Jerry kept his eyes widened. The shackles of his chains clicking repeatedly, he took note of the figure’s walking … which was in his projected direction

“There’s no need to be scared. What you’re experiencing is nothing abnormal.”

The same low voice reverberated the walls, with bits of rust caressing onto his body. But there was something off.

“Although, it is abnormal for one to be chained.”

He saw a glimpse of the hooded man’s face. Once the figure reached him, he didn’t need a shadow to intimidate him, as the man looked down at the elf. His sneakers inches from Jerry’s boots, both of them saw each other’s eyes.

And by just barely seeing his face, he noticed it was brittle with youth.

“Free him Jason. Show him we mean him no harm.”

The voice barraged through the rusty air, which pushed him to gulp down whatever dry saliva that stuck inside his throat. With the hooded man being Jason, he began to unclip the cuffs from his wrists, as he had a key already within his baby-like palms.

Turning the key, the shackles dropped near their feet, and left his wrists to turn red.

Dropping down his hands, he had his full attention on the gray-hooded man, whose height was several inches taller. Pushing his hands into his pockets, he turned his feet around, and began his trek toward the area where he was first sighted.

“W-Wait!”

His stomach started to burn again. Placing his left hand onto his abdomen, he caressed his jacket with his fingers, followed by his eyes narrowed tenfold.

“W-Who are you! Tell me now!”

The darkness began to elicit an eerie aura, making him hunch his head forward evermore.

“A-And why am I here!?”

The back of his hair went up. Feeling like he was being watched, it was like some apex predator or monster had been keeping tabs … for a while.

Turning his head for just one second, he had his eyes pinned on the wall, but it was a window for—

“I think I should’ve made my introduction more clear.”

He heard a voice from behind. Being the same cold tone from earlier, he turned around, and saw a figure that was abnormally dressed.

The man’s hair was light green, and he wore white robe that resembled a priest. Wearing black crocs, he had glasses, which were circle-shaped rather than box-shaped. Upon having many wrinkles suturing his cheeks and forehead, the man looked to be in his mid-50s, which was unusual considering he had a chiseled face.

‘What the hell!? Just what is he?!’

Jerry pushed his back against the wall, as he saw the man stack his hands and arms inside his sleeves. Making him look like a villager in a particular survival game, the old man pushed his lips outward.

‘He’s the same man that Jenny and Loraine bumped into … the description matches …’

He yanked out his sword, with the tip of it pointing directly at the man’s chest.

Pulling out one of his hands from his sleeves, the old man used one of his fingers to caress the lining of his glasses. Pulling it down an inch, he kept his scleras white, while staring directly into Jerry’s reddened ones.

“There’s no need for you to pull that sword out.”

His breath brushing onto his face, Jerry smelt the mints and toothpaste that drenched his gums. Unable to take a step back, as he already had his back pressed against a wall, his sword rattled.

“A-Are you the leader? T-T-The one who led the attack on the city?”

He tried to keep a firm grip on his sword, but the handle loosened the more he sweated. Sensing his green eyes deepening into his soul, the old man did nothing but wipe a strand of hair from his forehead. Placing his other hand onto his chin, he let his nails barely dig into his skin, which was wrinkled yet smooth.

“I’ll let you think about that. I for one like to let others think for themselves.”

Keeping his hand stationed on his chin, he began to caress his cheek with his rubbing fingers. Doing this repeated motion, he cleared his throat with a straightened back.

—“The name’s Lazaros; Lazaros Roosevelt. And yes, I’m the one who led the attack today; and from six years prior.”—

Lazaros began to walk backward, all the while a collection of footsteps rumbled from in back of him.

Jerry’s swords continued to quake, as the rumbling shivered and trembled the ends of his boots. Unable to squint, he was too strangled with fear for him to narrow or glare his eyes.

Seeing that he was too afraid to fight, Lazaros chuckled.

“It’s ok Jerry. They won’t bite, I promise.”

The rumbling from beneath grew louder. Along with silhouettes appearing in the distance, they were all coming from behind Lazaros. Once they were out of the darkness, they stood right next to the green-haired man, and stationed their eyes at the shivering elf.

“N-No way…”

Gemma, Ryan, Pedro, and the lich girl Mia were all staring at him. They weren’t robotic, as they either barely held in their laughs, or giggled quietly like a group of kids.

Next to them, Kenichi and three black-hooded figures looked toward him, with one of the figures being several inches taller than everyone. Two of the hooded figures were feminine looking, and one of them had her body away from Jerry’s eyes.

“What is this!?”

Nobody attacked each other, which left no room to think for Jerry. As he dropped his sword to the ground, its noise clattered throughout the empty dark building.

“W-Why are you all …”

His voice breaking, he couldn’t muster the usage of words. Continuing to have his cheek pressed by his palm, Lazaros let his hand drop, and softly giggled at Jerry’s shocked fear.

“What? Cat-human got your tongue? You remember your pals?”

Jerry began to look around the enemies his friends faced. All of them being here, in this exact spot, there were also the other enemies they haven’t faced. Knowing that escaping would be impossible, he couldn’t configure the reality in front of him.

But that was all Lazaros needed, a way to break one’s spirit. Seething with enjoyment, he had his lips pointed upward, while speaking to Jerry with his eyes directed at his subordinates.

“Ryan and Gemma were you students, and Pedro was your teacher. I don’t know about the rest, but there is something else.”

“Something what!?”

Feeling his cheek itch, he began to scratch it with his dull fingernails. Maintained, cleaned, everything about the old man reeked of cleanliness … which can be close to godliness.

“Hehe … it'll be shown later. Say Jerry…”

Being in the middle of all his subordinates, an oscar worthy image appeared in his mind. Already brittle with fear, it only paled his cheeks and forehead, and washed his skin with sweat.

Lazaros pulled out a small bottle from his pocket, which was none other than hand sanitizer. Squeezing the bottle, he had his left palm open, and let the gooey liquid caress and salt his skin. Pushing the bottle back into his pocket, he rubbed the sanitizer repeatedly, until every knuckle and finger was slain from bacteria.

“How about I make you a deal.”

Shaking his hands back and forth, he slowly walked toward the elf as his skin dried. Thumping the cold rusty floor, his aura and presence was enough to stall Jerry like a frozen mannequin.

“You can join our little group, and become something more than just a soldier. Sure you’ll get processed, but power is gained through a little tribulation.”

In the split of a millisecond, he placed his right hand on the top of Jerry’s head. Having every finger inscribed on each part of his brain, it was like he knew where to place them. Squeezing his head a couple of times, his skin loosened by the command of his nails.

“Or you receive a lobotomy. It's your choice.”

His boots lodged onto the floor beneath him. Unable to pick up his sword, let alone fight, not even his breath went haggard. He couldn’t look down, and his eyes were stationed into the depths of Lazaros’s irises.

With no other choice, he clenched his eyes, and squeezed them shut to avoid the reality in front of him. As he felt Lazaros pull his hand back, five finger marks were left behind on his skin.

‘What’s going to happen to me? If I … If I…’

“Let me break it down for you Jerry. What do you still gain if you remain in the Dark Angels? Hmm? What is truly awaiting for you if you stick with them?”

A collection of tears watered the corners of his eyes, followed by his cheeks wrinkling ever so strongly. He was bound by fear, 100%. Tinnitus ringing against his ears, his knees buckled, nothing can bound him from—

‘Wait … I …’

He heard a voice

He slowly began to open his eyes, as his red scleras returned to their natural state. With his arms and hands dragged by gravity, his fingers wiggled softly, although the sword below began to cloud in rust.

Pushing the strength to glance down, he saw his own reflection on the blade.

‘What’s my reason for being here…?’

Hearing that same feminine voice, it was trying to break against his blaring tinnitus. His eyes peered into the same blade he always wielded, he saw the carving that was attached on the grip.

[Why is it that you always wear that eyepatch?]

It was two letters; an S plus a J.

‘Love…’

Like he was infused with a drug, every bone, muscle, and once of blood within his body shifted into fifth gear. Crouching down, grabbing his sword, he pointed the tip of the blade directly at the shocked Lazaros.

His eyes sharpened, along with his boots tightening against his toes. Everything locked, everything held down, he pushed the corners of his eyes into the top center of his nose. Having a death grip on his sword, and wielding it with just a right hand, he had his left balled into a fist.

“I’m not joining your frat party. No way in hell.”