Arc 2 - Epilogue

(Kalemonath 1, 56 / 6:55AM)

Six years ago.

One day after the attack.

Melted skyscrapers howled across the city. The souls of the damned haunting the landscape, most of them reincarnated into the brick and stone. Forever etched into misery, not even the scarred trees bristled with the wind.

All was lost. Ticia was lost. But it wasn’t over.

Out from a mountain rubble, it shifted and tumbled like it was going through a terraquake. And out from the bottom birthed one man, who looked like he wasn’t trapped; but rather was excavating.

Without exerting his body, not a single muscle twitched from his arms, as stone and brick fell. No scratch latched across his body, he wore nothing but a fancy tuxedo. And he had a handkerchief inside his breast pocket.

“I was told of this … but yet …”

He held something in his arms, something that lacked the basic necessity of warmth.

Looking all around him, nothing moved for over a thousand miles. Bones littering the remains of cobble, flesh and muscle burned to a crisp, only skulls and femurs laid waste. Tightening his grip on what he carried, he had it nuzzled onto his chest.

“I still can’t reel with all of this…”

His boots crackled the debris below him, as stone and brick were beneath his soles. Drawing a breath, he pushed it all out, leaving his mouth to agape open.

Until his right foot tramped on something, something that resembled chicken bones.

Hearing a collection of them pop and zip, he knew he shouldn’t look down. Everything told him to not look down. Small, frail, he knew it was by no means chicken bones … and he drew to the worst of conclusions.

But this uneasy feeling suddenly ceased.

“Huh?”

He perked his ears.

Turning his head right, he noticed a man clad in all black, who wore a mask that covered his face. His hands deep in his pockets, he averted his eyes to the ground, and stared at a pile of bones in front of him.

“I’m sorry…”

The blonde-haired man in question, held a corpse within his arms. It wasn’t just him, but he sensed many more lurking in the shadows.

Pushing all of his attention on the man clad in black, the wind began to pick up the more he stared.

“I didn’t want to do it…”

No response was given, as the man darkened his face and narrowed his eyes. Strands of his blonde hair trickling his forehead, both of his hands twitched under the strain he pushed himself in. Growling from his low-monotone throat, he then stared East.

“Get out of my sight.”

Without question, the masked man walked South, and treaded lightly across the debris. Being the only man to grieve, being the only man visible in the hellish wasteland, he then bent down.

Placing the corpse onto the small mound of debris, it looked to be none other than his wife. Pushing his knees onto the crackled brick, his body weight scraped itself down to the bone. But even so, he went against the pain, as he took out his right hand…

—And placed it onto her forehead, which dribbled out blood.—

“They’re all watching me, but they won’t do anything.”

Tapping his finger repeatedly, he stared right into her eyes, eyes filled with nothing but gray. No brown, no color, he felt her whole body radiate freezer air.

Her hair was dark brown, her ears were pointed …all signs point to…

“So please bear with it dear.”

She looked to be in her mid 30s, and she wore baggy clothing. Continuing to tap her forehead, a small brim of warmth glowed.

“One day, you will reunite with your son. Our son. So please … Mary …”

Leaning his lips close to her ear, he hunched his back in the process. Allowing his vocals to quiver a sultry whisper, he had enough charisma and fortitude for the wind to cease …

Silence brimmed—totally.

“Live for me.”

He ceased his tapping.

—As she opened her eyes.—

END OF ARC 2