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Sometimes, ignorance is bliss. Sometimes, it’s okay to stand by and watch. Sometimes, even if guilt claws at your stomach and seizes your throat, you can move on and pretend to be blind. Sometimes, you’re unlucky.
Pushing off of his feet, Sinclair continued a mad dash through the school’s 3rd floor hallway. Labored but controlled, he breaths through his nose and out the mouth. Tilting his head towards the windows, he is graced with the presence of a full moon. It lasts but a moment, the image engraved, his steps heavy as it echoes throughout the space. Without any intentions to stop, he moves his right hand. They ghost against the walls, making minimal contact. During that minimal contact, there is a faint shimmer of blue. His current destination was soon in sight, a flight of stairs up ahead.
Sinclair is running as his life depends on him. Hopefully not, but realistically, close to his back was something inhuman. Its appearance resembled a human, yet, one look was all it took to know otherwise, to know that it was wrong. Shifting his head slightly to the side, something red flies past his ear. Predictables attacks like those had been carelessly launched for a while now. Easy, but annoying in how they didn’t let up the slightest. That was just the difference in physical stats.
Finally reaching the stairs, his hand continues to ghost up the walls along the path. Skipping three steps at a time with lengthy strides, it doesn't take Sinclair long to reach the door, which he proceeds to easily bash in with a well-aimed kick near the lock. The door goes flying, landing a few meters ahead. He trails after without a moment’s rest, moving into the open rooftop and running across to the other side. Then, he waits, finally being able to take a breather.
“Ha…phew…”
Everything was prepared. A moment later, and on cue, from the roof’s entrance, there is a monster which comes barreling through. Its shape is human, but most of its features are hidden within a veil of darkness. Something akin to a curtain which allows the faintest details to be gleamed. Aside from that, the most noticeable parts were its eyes: dark, crimson red, a pool of blood which slightly dripped down its face.
The thing ejects from its hand another skewer of red. Sinclair shifts his head by a slight margin, dodging effortlessly. That was only one of the firsts. From its hand, and soon, other parts of its body, skewers begin to grow out of them. It reminded him of mushrooms on a log. Without flair and without mercy, he dips low, his right palm making contact with the ground with such ferocity that it sounded like thunder.
The effects were immediate. A blue hue began to rise from the ground. It rose steadily, enveloping the entire school along with them. As soon as it did, the creature shrunk back a step, only to back into an invisible wall. Perhaps it finally regained a semblance of humanity, because Sinclair saw it fidget in place, eyeing the skewers retreating on their form. Whatever thoughts it had at the moment, he crushed it all in the next moment.
A torrent of blue motes gathered above the creature. It shaped itself at Sinclair’s command, forming a sword pure blue. With a swipe of the hand, the sword impaled the creature. Closing his hand, the blue motes began to envelope the creature. Starting from its head, it began to dissolve them, inching lower and lower until nothing was left.
“May you rest in peace,” Sinclair offers without much sincerity. “Haaa.” It was a rather long sigh. He palms his face, squeezing the bridge of his nose before rubbing his eyes. Pulling out his phone from his backpocket, he lets out a groan. “Almost 2.” There were classes to attend in 6 hours, not to mention travel time, etc, etc. Getting home as soon as possible was all he could think of, and so proceeded to channel the remaining energy that he had scattered around the school beforehand. In the process of doing so, he feels something out of place, right behind him. Not directly, but further, behind the wall.
The glow of blue surrounding the school, still slowly rising into the air, was condensed into Sinclair’s palm in the shape of a sphere. Color drained from the entire premise, a bright ball of light now in his hand. He shapes it to his will, sharpening it, packing it as tight as possible. A burst was what he needed at the moment. What is considered an effective attack? It’s one which ends a battle in the first move.
Turning and jumping back, Sinclair launches the ball in tandem. As if a star had imploded, there was a bright flash as the entire section behind him was vaporized in an instant, along with whatever had been hiding there.
“Sigh. Time to go home.” He turns to the side, walking towards the edge of the roof. From there, he vaults over the railing, sending himself plummeting towards the ground. Sinclair lands smoothly, making almost no noise in the conclusion. Dusting off his clothes a little, he proceeds towards the gate. Upon reaching it, he cocks his hand back and punches at the air. There’s a crack and he pulls his hand back and closes his eyes. As if in a dream, the world shatters into bits and pieces, along with the rending sound of shattered glass. Reopening his eyes, Sinclair gets a running start before leaping onto a house. From there, as if a rabbit hopping over the moon, he leaps from roof to roof until reaching home.
It takes a little longer than usual. Reaching his home’s rooftop, Sinclair stretches his neck and shoulders. Like a thief in the night, he sneaks through his unlocked window without making any noise whatsoever. From there, he simply flopped into bed and closed his eyes. Hopefully he'll wake up on time tomorrow. These late night hunts were starting to affect his grades. Darkness encroached upon his consciousness and sleep came quickly.
Sinclair didn’t dream that night. Instead, as if blinking the hours away, he wakes up just as he recalls having fallen asleep. What greets his sight isn’t the usual ceiling. Instead, it appeared to be a woman. She peered down upon him, her eyes like that of a cat’s.
“Don?” he murmurs.
“Yes?”
“What are you doing?”
“Waking you up.”
“Right…why?”
“You’re defenseless.”
Sinclair tried to move his arms. Don had his wrists under her palms, making a depression in the bed with how forceful she was being.
“I surrender,” Sinclair proceeded to state with a heavy heart.
Don beamed a smile so bright it made Sinclair close his eyes.
“Okay. Then, I want pancakes, eggs, sausage, hash browns, and uhm, a morning kiss.”
Sinclair reopened his eyes to see a faint hue of red coloring Don’s face. He smiles gently, shifting upwards to press his lips against hers. They connect softly, lasting for a moment before Don forces him back down. The back of his head connects with his pillow once more, their lips still intertwined. Don seemed to want more, but reluctantly released the kiss. She released her grip on him soon after.
“Satisfied?” Sinclair asks, sitting up and shifting to the edge of the bed.
“Of course not.”
“I see.”
Standing up, Sinclair left for the door. Don stayed behind, proceeding to make his bed like she usually did. It was routine by now.