Arc 3 - Prologue

(Libertatem 1, 59 7:55AM)

“Who are you?”

Papers littered the dark floor.

A single agent glanced at the laminated material, with eyes garnished in brown. Having a group in between the room and hallway, they all stood with strain boots.

Right in front of him, a single man sat on a rotating chair, with his back showing against him. His hand in his pocket, the agent had his fingers trickling the grip of his gun.
“If I tell you now, it’ll ruin the surprise.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

The man stood up from his seat. His back still showed to them, he kept his eyes staring at the window in front. White robes, pale skin, his voice was corroded in old cold. But most importantly, he had light-green hair.

“My name will wait, but for now, I have something to ask … have you ever felt death?”

Everyone pulled out their weapons, which ranged from simple pistols to rifles. With some agents wielding melee gadgets, only one or two honed their crackled fists.

As soon as he heard the buckle of metal, he raised his hands to the heavens. Showcasing surrender, not a tremble of his fingers was foreseen.

“You all are weak. Fragile even. But for some reason, you lot haven’t felt the presence of it.”

“Keep talking, or else you’ll—”

“Die? Get shot? You think a Desert Eagle will stop me?”

The man’s voice was cold, sufficed in ice from the Kepputhan glaciers. Pushing his hands into his sleeves, he had them overlap against one another. Turning his body around, his face and entire outline was for the world to see.

He had circular-shaped glasses, along with wrinkles stretched across his forehead. Wearing sandals as well, having a laidback posture, he pushed up a smirk that reached the bottom of his right ear.

“I am more than just strength.”

Two figures stepped out from the corners.

One of the figures was a blonde-haired man, whose height dwarfed everyone else's. The other figure had red hair, as her glasses were rectangular rather than oval. Glancing at the two enemies that emerged, many of the soldiers and agents pinned their barrels at the two of them.

Briggs remained silent, while his grip on his pistol tightened. Seeing the old man slowly walk forward, not a decibel emerged from his steps. Like walking through a field of feathers, he caressed the dark wood like kisses.

Until he stood right in front of Briggs.

“Do you see my knuckles?”

Jason and the woman stood a meter apart from one another. Being right behind Lazaros, they steadied their eyes upon the group. If one of them moved, a bloodbath would ensue.

“They were not like they used to be. They used to be smooth, they used to be albino. If you were to brush your fingers across them, it would be like touching a child’s cheek.”

Lazaros glanced down at his hands. From his wrist down to his fingers, he scurried his pupils with the many wrinkles he garnished.

He remembered blood. He remembered screams. He remembered those paths that he destroyed with his own two hands.

“But I honed death. And death befalled me. I led my hands down a path of exhaustion of deliverance, to the point where I felt unkillable. In fact…”

Briggs felt his elbows drop, and his legs to buckle. Feeling his body weight harden his knees, he grounded his molars with tenacity. Trying to maintain his cold composure, it failed under the reaper’s shadow.

A shadow that determined whether he breathed his last.

“No human has ever scratched my knuckles.”

Unable to loosen his chest, the gun he held with his right hand sweepingly let loose. Once the gun clacked against the oak wood, it only led Lazaros to take a step back. Chuckling softly, he tilted his head up.

“Come to think of it, it would be stupid to kill any of you. You all work for the government, and I don’t want to deal with men who handle taxes.”

Ignoring Briggs, he settled his eyes onto the group of agents.

Keeping his smirk on display, his smugness distorting the air. With his two accomplices standing right behind him, Lazaros’s arched his head all the way back.

And frosted the words that leaped from his mouth.

—“Let’s change some events in the story, shall we?”—