Arc 3 - Chapter 20: Zirardge Ranch III

“Fenix. Whatever you do, don’t look in her direction.”

—What the …

Luke couldn’t blink, as he knew that his eyes were still closed shut. His breath slowed, he honed his blessing.

Sweat riveting down his temples, he felt his right hand grip his uzi. Tightening it with his palm, he leaned his head back onto the shield, until he gulped with solace.

And shot a single bullet from his uzi.

“Don’t move!”

Luke opened his eyes, as he stared southward instead of northward. His finger steady on the trigger, he held his breath, once the figure that stood idly like a statue … breathed heavily through broken lips.

While old blood stained his neck and chin.

“So you were born with luck I take it.”

Holding his trench gun, the same middle-aged man had the barrel pointed at them. Despite not recovering from his wound, it looked as if he could stand already. But wait? Shouldn’t he still be resting from his injury?

“How are you still walking? A sniper shot to the shoulder would—”

“Shut yer mouth.”

The man had the barrel aimed at Luke, while the others grappled the ground with strained boots. His finger on the trigger, he didn’t hesitate to back away.

“One more word and your head is blown. Cleaved off.”

Luke gulped down dry saliva, with the liquid marinating in dust. Averting his eyes to the ground, the gravel road that he sat on, only worsened the eyebags beneath his eyes.

The more he breathed, the longer he felt his body sink. But even so, he straightened his neck, along with his head that was pushed onto the flickering cover.

—Miles isn’t shot. And yet … I remembered his screams…

Keeping his eyes locked on the man, he slowly moved his left hand into his jacket. With his right groveled on the gravel, he was lucky that the embers, smoke, and the night diluted his shadow.

Feeling his fingers feel metal, it didn’t take long before he pulled his hand from his pocket. Having something in his left palm, his finger was already on the button…

—But I can’t think about it now, can I?

A plume of smoke burst free.

Dust, ash, smoke, everything that was imprisoned inside that canister was released. Coughing echoing through the cloud, it didn’t just torment their lungs. Both enemies, who were facing them on both ends, found their eyes to trace the shadows of smoke…

But they couldn’t.

“Betty! Do you see them!?”

“Keep your barrel firm! No matter what, keep the metal locked!”

The tension only worsened, as only the crackle of embers rose from the fields. Rising up toward the heavens, the heat flemished their skin, allowing sweat to rivet down.

Then came silence.

He cocked his head to the right, and licked his lips with a dry tongue. One filled with no marination, no moisture, he narrowed his eyes and shriveled his face. So focused on one area, the crackling of the crops and garlic—

“Found ya.”

He fired a single buckshot.

The bullets scattered in all directions, it rippled through the gravel and ground, and especially the air. And it didn’t take long before someone bursted through the ashes.

Leaping to the left, out came a man with light brown hair, with uzis grappling his palms. Sliding through the road, the soles of his boots and the leather griseled under the rocks and pebbles. Reloading another bullet in the chamber, he clocked it, which sent an all too familiar sound to quell his ears.

“Dodge this.”

He shot again, and Luke dodged it like the plague.

Using his blessing, his eyes were closed and his body was loose. Allowing the motion to take him, he jumped left and right without straining strength. Being only human, he had the strength of the average man.

But had the luck of a man getting a royal flush; 10 times over.

—I can feel it now…

Hearing his ears be blissened in boom, another buckshot burned his eardrums and into his brain. Folding his folds in mush, he strained all of his teeth, and breathed through huffed nostrils.

Taking a side step to the right, he allowed his clothes and hair to flutter in the wind. Without stopping, he raised both of his uzis, and allowed the direction of the buckshot to guide him.

—Don’t take this personally.

Sprinting with eyes fully closed, he shot out both ends of the barrels. Lighting up the metal in red, he felt the recoil shake his body.

As for the man with the trench gun, he stumbled back as most of the uzi bullets struck near. Striking the stable’s walls, dust and wood splintered out from the lead. Although he missed, the man took his lucky projection like a hundred dollar bill.

“Damn you!”

Aiming the trench gun at him, it didn’t take long before he fired two buckshots.

Doing it in repeated blasts, it almost made him stumble forward, but his legs were buckled. Huffing through harsh nostrils, the many bullets tripped over the road like they were hopping.

Sliding through the road, he lowered his uzis, and had them down to the road. As if he predicted it, he knew that—

“Eat—”

—He twitched like a fish out of water.—

The air booming with lead, his head was arched back. Letting go of the trench gun, it dropped to the floor, as his whole body was riddled in lead. Blood poured forth from his wounds, as all of his body strained like an animatronic.

Sure enough, gunsmoke was released.

Seeing him crash onto his knees, his eyes rolled into the back of his head. With the smoke cloud already dissipated, a middle-aged woman with dark purple hair frowned with a glare.

“Don’t try to force yourself. You’re as good as dead.”

His knuckles grazing the road, a stream of blood dribbled down his lips and onto his neck. His breathing drastically slowed, his chest upheaved air that corroded in soil. Vision blurring into oblivion, his body was stuck.

Releasing a long gasp from his lips, it was all too eerie, all too cold. Even the Dark Angels feared for Iris’ judgement.

—“You’d think I’d die? By mere bullets?”—

Without using his arms or legs, he rose. Using only his hind legs, he relaxed his face, and pushed his eyes onto Iris.

All of the bullets in his body sprinkled out, ringing out blood, muscle, tissue, and bone. Taking a step back, Iris felt her grip on her Thompson loosen, as if the man had … regenerated.

Like a vampire.

“Even hell itself wouldn’t allow me in.”

Kneeling down, he picked up his trench gun that was near his right boot. Iris soon tightened her fingers on her gun, as the overall sight of him shaking off the bullets, and even his wounds, was bizarre.

Another round of bullets stormed his body.

Hearing the ricocheting of air, he turned toward Luke, who only shot out in one large burst. Seeing that his bullets had no effect, no damage, Luke widened his eyes. After all, it was like the man had eaten those bullets.

“You guys are like flies, like insects under my boot.”

He didn’t drop his trench gun. Pulling the trigger, a single buckshot burned the barrel, leaving a spray of bullets to trample through the gravel.

Both Luke and Iris glided through the ground, as they found footing within the road. But what about Hope and Miles?

Betty had her eyes on Miles, who groveled on the ground with a face filled with sweat. Judging from the way he used his blessing, he was sucked dry, his dark skin turning white. And with the heat all too hammering, a single line of saliva traveled down his right lip.

But what…

‘Where is that—’

At the last second, a single woman leaped from the left.

Jumping at her, Betty found herself within cross arms with Hope. Letting her heels scrape the rocks and pebbles, she hissed through tattering teeth. Before she took on a defensive stance.

“Heeya!”

Returning the camera toward Luke and Iris.

Continuing to leap through ends and bounds, all of their luck rode on their footsteps. Dust brushing from the soles, from the edges of their boots, they grazed through buckshot after buckshot, with ears ringing with boom.

But even so, they continued along with their momentum.

—Got to keep moving.

Iris sprayed more of her bullets, as the rest of the chamber emptied the leftover lead. Burning the barrel hot, it swelled in red, as she continued to glide like her life depended on it.

Including Luke.

—Hope is dealing with that woman, but she’s poor in combat. She won’t handle her by herself.

Hope didn’t wield her pistol, as it was stationed on her hip. Her hands welded into fists, it was clear that all of her footing was displaced on her heels, rather than her toes. Having heavy feet, she charged straight into Betty.

Who only had to take a step to the left.

—Got to … keep moving …

With his whole being in one battle, and his thoughts toward the others, he knew he would make it out. But what about his friends?

If they didn’t carry luck like Luke does, then how will they compete? How would they barge through with crackled fists and determined grit. And if they do … and if they ever fail …

What will be of all of them?

________________________________________________________________________

(Reverence 2, 59 / 8:01PM)

A few hours before the raid on the ranch.

In the living room of the adobe, men and women in matching uniforms sat casually. Their butts nestled in hardwood, their elbows touched one another, with their bodies packed like sardines in a can.

Two soldiers stood in front of them all. One soldier had a cowlick hair-cut, while the other had a bob-cut reaching her shoulders. Looking like they gathered an audience, the tanned man cleared his throat before he spoke.

“Before I begin, I want to make myself clear. You all have a choice on this matter, so don’t feel pressured.”

Pushing his hand into his pocket, he took out a laminated paper colored in old yellow. Opening the map wide, all of the landmarks were clearly seen with naked eyes, with bits of dust sprinkling his fingers.

Many of the soldiers nodded, but Christian had to break the ice … one way or another.

“What I’m about to propose is to back up the Dark Angels on their raid. What they are fighting against is the Zirardge family located here. Just an hour down south.”

Everyone remained silent.

Some of them looked down to the floor, or swayed their heads back and forth like they heard craziness. Some of them huffing out air, some of them were in disarray, confusion even. All of their reactions, all of them, led Christian to lower the map with tightened fingers.

“Now look, I’m only asking to get my brother back. Whoever wants to back me up, whoever wants to stay, I won’t—”

“So then how does this benefit us?”

One soldier spoke amidst the sea of them.

The man wasn’t regular, but a bunny-human with brown fur fluffing his body. Having tall floppy ears, he had his hands pressed onto the wooden floor, as he wore the same attire as everybody else. He didn’t harbor anything, but only a furrowed brow that pushed Christian to gulp.

“Your brother went on his own, by his own order, and you want us to get him back? To me personally, it sounds like you want us to do your dirty work.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?”

The bunny-human balled his hand, and rested his knuckles onto the corner of his left jaw. Keeping it there, he looked at Christian with no emotion, like he didn’t even have a sparkle to his irises.

And it only worsened Christian’s growing frustration.

“Your brother is not that unique. Heck. He has the lowest scores in IQ, stamina, strength, and even luck. I don’t know about all of you, but I wouldn’t throw my life away for some … kid.”

“Jumbo … quit it.”

Christian tightened his fingers on the map, while his left hand balled into a fist.

Pacifica felt her eyes slant harshly, as the soldier named Jumbo continued to push their buttons. No. He didn’t mean to. He was only questioning their resolve, their reason to rescue such a normal soldier. Putting down their lives, in order to rescue one? Wouldn’t anyone question that basis?

“What happened to your older brother; was on you. Don’t push your mistakes down onto us, all because you failed to—”

The map dropped to the floor.

Pacifica reacted in the knick of time, as she quickly wrapped her arms around Christian’s chest. Having his body hunched forward, all of his eyes were red, with veins scouring his irises and pupils. Trying so hard to push forward, to stomp the wood until it broke, all of his attention was focused on Jumbo.

“Let go! Shit! I told you to shut the—”

“Enough.”

One single command extinguished his anger.

Folding his arms underneath his chest, a man wearing a cowboy hat rested his back against the wall. Wearing dark leather clothing, he had his hands in his jacket, while everyone turned to look at him.

Pacifica let go of Christian, as she settled her hands to her sides. So did Christian, who froze like a fish in an icebox, along with Jumbo.

“You all are adults, so act like it. Christian, what happened to Manny wasn’t your fault, but your reasoning is lacking. They’re not going to follow you because you asked them to. Give them a reason.”

Christian allowed his whole body to relax, as he toned down his anger that harbored his heart. He closed his eyes before exhorting his muscles to lighten.

Opening his eyes, he glanced at every soldier that was in front of him. Last but not least, he also took a glance at the laminated map near his right boot.

“There’s … info regarding the Zirardges. Info that Luke was heavily invested in.”

They all perked their ears.

Most of them crinkled their brows, but they were hooked like a fish catching the bait. Unwilling to walk back and forth, he instead straightened his back, and had his boots clamped into each other.

“The Dark Angels were falsely accused, as you may have heard. But he also told me that he felt watched. If the government, or anyone with eyes and a cloaked robe were to keep tabs on him … doesn’t that mean we’re also being checked on?”

Some of their faces grew a small shade of white. Remembering what Luke told him, it was clear that the government wasn't willing to settle for less.

With all of them hearing his speech, even a couple more figures watched. Three, no, four, no five of them. They all were unique, and two of them were related to Kenji himself.

“What the Zirardges have done to them, what they have pushed upon our comrades, is why they are raiding that ranch. Not for revenge, not for blood, but to get a clear answer.”

Christian finally gained the courage to kneel down, and pick the map up from the ground. Relaxing his eyes, he didn’t focus that much on the coffee writing, as he smiled through warm lips.

“But … after all … Chris is my brother.”

Memories from long ago played. One younger, one older. One that he looked up to, and the other that looked up to him. Pushing his eyes to narrow, and his cheeks to chisel, he returned his eyes toward the group in front of him.

“And we are all brothers. We shed ourselves the same blood, but with the same clothing. Why would we allow a comrade to die? Because he’s weaker than us? Because he’s useless? Wouldn’t that go against the Boss’s teachings?”

David felt a little smile tug against his cheek. Kenji evaluated the way Christian spoke, analyzing him from top to bottom. Followed by everyone else, they all felt the growth, the reasoning and wording behind his sentences.

Courage, relatability, and above all … giving them a choice upon that matter.

“You don’t have to do it for me, nor for the Dark Angels. But instead, do it for the Boss’s sake. By any means, and by any hands, who's willing to accompany me to get him back?”

Silence filled the room.

Everyone held their breath, with Christian being the only one to trickle with sweat. Looking at everyone, including David and the others in the back, he felt like he wanted to—

One soldier raised their hand.

And like a domino effect, another person did so as well. From the back, and the front, two became four. Four became eight, eight became …

All of the soldiers raised their hands, with little smirks plastered on their faces. Jumbo, who kept his lips sealed like a ziploc bag, hesitantly raised his hand as well. Finding that they all pushed their faith in him, even when casualties were at risk, it only made Christian ever so nervous.

“Thank you guys … it means a lot.”

________________________________________________________________________

(Reverence 1, 59 / 10:00AM)

A day prior…

The windows were latched in yellow, as the smell of cigars and whiskey roamed the air. Inside of an office, a large wooden desk was burdened in front of them, or rather him.

Behind the desk, was a chubby man wearing a thick jacket and a flat cap. Having turquoise-colored hair, he also had the same colored bushy moustache.

“Thank you all for taking my bribe. You made my money’s worth.”

“Does it look like I do it for money?”

“Then I suppose that makes you easy. A man uncursed with greed, can tackle anything. Anything.”

Two men and two women stood in front of him, their attire being black suits and fedoras. The leader, who had blonde hair and pale skin, had a side bang covering his left eye. But the agent didn’t heed to no one, as he had his dress shoes stacked on the desk.

“What do you want with me anyway? If it’s to submit to your ranks—”

“I’m not here to take you in. I already know you don’t follow anyone but yourself. But that’s what I like. That’s what I value in a man. To follow one’s goal…”

The man stood up from his seat, and walked toward a random door that looked to be a closet. Adjusting the ends of his brown jacket, it didn’t take long before he stood in front of it.

Having his chubby palm hover the golden handle, he then turned his attention onto the agents.

“Do you know who’s behind this door?”

“Briggs doesn’t like surprises.” Said Alexandra, whose sunglasses hid her eyes. Clinging onto Brigg’s shoulders, her tone made her seem defensive even.

“That I already know. Then again, everyone needs a good surprise once in a while.”

Grasping the handle, he turned it down, which pushed the person to step out. Taking a single step out, his height was dominant, and his aura was imposing.

Every agent took a step back, with all of their fingers hovering over their weapons. All of them in a defensive position, Briggs immediately kicked himself up, and glared at the two of them. Seeing a man drenched in black, a single dread of sweat rivered down his nose.

“Doug Zirardge. Explain yourself upon the enemy you house. Money isn’t going to save you from me.”

Doug, the leader of the Zirardges, walked toward the end of his desk, and crinkled his cheeks. With all of them scared, nervous, it was clear that the agents were drastically out of the loop.

“It’s someone I’m close to. No worries, he won't be attacking you or your friends.”

The man in black had both of his hands in his jacket, and his face was somewhat wrinkled. Despite looking scrawny, his height and the way he presented himself … was by no means weak. Because right in front of them—

—Was Kenichi.—

He stood in front of the open door, for everyone to see.

Looking like a blur of black, he had his hands in his pockets. He glared at one of the agents, the one who had that same frown. As both their faces were mingled in ice, Doug pushed his left hand into his pocket. Pulling out a simple lighter, he used his right to get another cigar from his desk.

“The answer to your question may wait. Would an explanation suffice you? A little reason?”

Pushing the cigar into his mouth, he flicked the lighter, and brought it up to the brown wood. Letting the smoke plunge his mouth, and around his gums, it didn’t take long before he blew out the air.

“Why I have him is because of what happened so many years ago. During my time in the skirmishes, I was only a medic, and I had no heed to gain combat experience. But, what I came across is something born out of a miracle.”

Pulling the cigar out of his mouth, he allowed the faint trace of smoke to rise toward the ceiling. His eyes darkening, but with morning light fluttering his pale skin, he had everyone’s eyes.

“With my very eyes, I came across a man rising from the dead. Yes. The dead. He was a casualty of war, and yet … someone had tended him.”

Kenichi felt everyone’s eyes graze at him, but it didn’t make him falter. No. He looked hardened, as emotions slept through him like a ghost with no shell.

Without a strain to his cheeks, or even his forehead and eyes, he glared at all the agents. Especially Briggs, who averted his eyes toward Doug rather than him.

“But that doesn’t explain why you have him.”

Briggs got up from his seat, with his dress shoes straining the ground. The wood creaking under the strain, he had his fingers on the arm rests, while placing his eyes on Doug. His eyes soulless, no spark or fire lit up his pupils, not even a smile.

“He was a reported enemy during the attack. Not only that, he was part of the reason your tower is destroyed. Your workers lives, your property, it was all dealt by his doing … as well as the Dark Angels.”

Briggs cocked his head to the right, and felt all of his pupils strain at the chubby man. Seeing him all relaxed, all too at ease with this sudden surprise, it only worsened his shivering.

“Explain to me. Now.”

Doug felt his pain, the frustration that circled around the pit of his stomach. Feeling it boil, feeling it torment his soul, he soon lowered his hand to his thigh. With the smoke of the cigar fluttering upward, he rested it on a simple cigarette holder.

Before resting his cheeks.

“Not long after the war, I also encountered a man of many talents. He never told me his name, but only a nickname.”