Chapter Text
"Never seen regular rain like this in Blackrock!" His friend chuckles at the astonishment, staring up at the sky, the roof of the bus stop sheltering the group from the droplets soaking the ground, "Usually it's just hail and blizzards," They note, turning to the two others next to them, "So foggy too." They all stood, waiting for the bus, which most of them argued they walked to way too early, as it supposedly appeared in twenty-five minutes. "Maybe it's all the ghosts!" Another friend chuckles, referring to the graveyard behind them, filled with countless soldiers from previous battles.
Hyperlaser holds his umbrella on his side, listening to them chatter and lightly joke. He didn't like being near the graveyard, as it only brings worry to his mind, knowing what if one day he laid in a box under the ground? His corpse littered with bullet wounds? Blackrock isn't the nicest nor the most appreciated faction, as in its past it picked fights with whoever, whenever. Being trained as a soldier, he's equipped for war, despite being taught to be more of a bodyguard and assassin than an army soldier. The Administration would take whoever was available to fight in their wars, wanting to gain the upper-hand quickly.
One of his biggest fears, that if he was in a war, if he somehow survived, would his friends? Hyperlaser didn't find himself very approachable, being quiet and a tad awkward, his friends now were maybe the only people he thought he'd ever be able to be friends with. Hyperlaser hated the thought of visiting their graves, seeing names of the Inphernal's he trained with, and spent nights drinking his life away with.
"Lost in the fog, Hyper?" His friend, noticing his look and silence, asks almost teasingly, knowing he has his head lost in his own thoughts.
Hyperlaser turns, a bit embarrassed to be caught, "No, I was just zoning out." He responds, "I might go explore the graveyard, just to get my feet moving."
"Don't go too far, bus should come in twenty-three minutes."
Hyperlaser nods, clicking his umbrella open, and leaning it against his shoulder. His boots thud against the pavement as he turns to the entrance of the graveyard, going down the driveway as rows of graves in the snow stretch out in front of him. In the middle, a dark rotunda gazebo sits next to two dimly lit lamps.
He starts on the left, graves of rich men and former army generals with flowers and opened alcohol bottles with the contents poured out, he can see bits of shattered glass from smashed jars that had now disrupted roses inside. The names are barely familiar, some being mentioned in his training once or twice, others unrecognisable. Would people destroy the offerings left at Hyperlaser's grave? Would people even leave offerings?
The snow crunches beneath his feet as he walks along the rows of graves, looking over each name, their death, and offerings left for them. He can't recognise a lot of these names. One old soldier died in a battle previous to the most recent, his gear being the exact same as one of his friends. He shuddered, hating the thought of them being dead. The thought of this being their grave, except more recently, forced him to tear his gaze away and walk out of the row of graves.
His eyes look back to the gazebo, an urn cased in glass sits in the middle, a metal plaque on the stand. Curiosity drags him over to the gazebo, finding it to be the main man behind this graveyard. They have him, just here? Behind some glass? Hyperlaser is surprised the urn hasn't been stolen.
A flash of light catches his eye, it cracks against the ground far in front of him somewhere in the graveyard, and it's loud thunder echoes afterwards. A thunderstorm? Those were rare in Blackrock, he can almost hear his friends laughing in shock and surprise from the bus stop.
He best get back to his friends before the thunder gets worse, he turns, only to see someone sitting on the seats provided at the gazebo. Embarrassingly, he yelps and flinches, how did they walk here so quietly? And how did he not notice them before?
They don't seem to care that they spooked him. Actually, it's hard to tell, considering a veil is covering their face, held up by their tall horns. "Rainy, isn't it?" They hum, pointing out the obvious, "Quite rare to find thunder in Blackrock."
Hyperlaser relaxes his tensed shoulders and attempts to appear nonchalant, "I suppose." He responds, his voice quiet.
Their gloved hand pats the seat next to them, "You have time to chat?" They ask, offering a conversation with Hyperlaser.
A bit surprised by the offer, Hyperlaser checks the time on his phone before responding, "Uh.. Yeah, just ten minutes." He hesitates to sit down for a second, as if he's doubting the actions he's currently making, he isn't usually 'approached' by strangers and offers to speak to him.
They're very quiet, their posture quite elegant. Without trying to seem obvious, Hyperlaser looks them up and down, slouched over with his elbows on his knees, the other Inphernal seems to be doing the same, just more obvious.
The person was very tall, absurdly tall. They appeared well-fit but didn't seem the type to work out. Their outfit was quite dark and gothic, a black waistcoat and blouse, with a white jabot and black bowtie. They wore black dress pants and shoes, their veil was lace — similarly to the rest of their outfit — and black as well.
"What's with the veil?" Hyperlaser asks, nearly fumbling over his words and finally looking over at them.
They hum, "It conceals a rather recognisable face." Despite their wording to remain hidden, they lift the veil, having it rest against their neck, like a scarf. The Inphernal behind the concealed face definitely is more well-known, and definitely more rarer to see compared to his brothers.
"Ghostwalker...?" Hyperlaser mutters with wide eyes, of course the deity of death is at a graveyard...
"And you are?" Ghostwalker tilts his head, his face is rather uncanny to look at, considering there isn't one normal feature on him. The lack of a mouth and the 'X's on his eyes, which has bleeding mascara running down. Never thought such classy deities would have such gothic fashion styles.
Hyperlaser shakes his head, knowing he must look stupid. "Hy-Hyperlaser." He stumbles, almost scared to talk to a deity, knowing he'll likely embarrass himself like just before. His friends will never believe him. He rests his head in his hands, looking away as if he was hiding his blush.
Ghostwalker looks over him once more, "Never met a soldier before."
"Never met a deity before." He poorly attempts to joke, his nervous chuckle not being followed with a response. He scowls in embarrassment and stares at the ground. Right, Ghostwalker didn't feel emotions.
That sounded like a nightmare, never being able to laugh or be happy, just neutral? all the time? It makes his mind wander, question after question making him more curious about Ghostwalker, how does he enjoy things? Does he even have favourite things? If he has a style, he must be able to, right?
A gloved hand brushes under his chin, brushing against his poorly shaved scruffy beard, it guides his head back to face Ghostwalker.
"Its rude to not look at someone while they're talking to you." Ghostwalker ridicules, bringing his hand back to his lap, "Are you nervous?"
Hyperlaser swallows his own saliva, his cheeks bright, "Ah- Just a tad-" He stammers, smiling awkwardly and looking away again.
"I suppose that's understandable, considering my familiarity with mortals in this region." The deity's hand brushes his blue horns, muttering something about the shape and colour.
Hyperlaser shivers at the feeling, so touchy for a deity. As he's about to thank Ghostwalker for the compliment, he hears his friend shout his name.
"HYPER!! The bus is here! Get over here or we're leaving you to the ghosts!"
Ghostwalker brings his hand away, "It was nice talking with you, take well."
Hyperlaser turns back to him, but sees the deity formerly sitting beside him, feeling all over, had disappeared. It was like the conversation was all in his head. He rises to his feet, opens his umbrella again, slowly walks away from the gazebo, and jogs over to the bus to join his friends.
He doesn't mention his talk with Ghostwalker, staring out the window as the 3 others converse with each other.
Shit.. did I zone out again..?
The constant chatter slowly enters his ears again, one of his higher-ups points to random parts of a clipboard of a Inphernal someone had ordered to have killed. His higher-up — Airstrike, was their gear I think. — continues on and on about them, Airstrike was always chatty compared to his other bosses, thankfully he only talks about the mission and doesn't drive off-topic.
"They live in the District closest to ours, meaning we won't be providing transport and expect you to get there on your own." Airstrike informs, tapping the 'District 3' underneath their home address, which was some apartment. "We wouldn't even be able to anyway, considering most of our vans are broken." Airstrike grumbles.
He suppresses a groan, knowing he'll have to trek through thick snow and somehow dodge past soldiers from other districts. Disguising yourself to be a part of a district was very easy, as Hyperlaser has done it over and over, and has many fake I.D's in case anyone asks for confirmation. The battles between districts is stupid and are slowly diminishing, it's more of a petty grudge against each other now, compared to the multiple harsh wars that occurred long ago.
Airstrike continues on about the crimes the Inphernal committed and the reasoning behind the clients request, which was over some argument and random street fight. Apparently the two worked together as criminals, and some failed attempt at murdering the other resulted in the Inphernal stealing all the profit the two earned with their equal work. They had an argument about the profit and their fight in the streets made little news. The client only informed them of this argument and fight, but digging into the requested Inphernal's history had revealed more. The administrators didn't want to deal with the legal trouble, so they chose to just ignore it.
"You have three days." Airstrike dismisses, handing him the clipboard and waiting for him to leave the office. Hyperlaser takes the clipboard, knowing he'll just skim over it and leave it in front of the office, his boots echo through the dark room, and the door clicks behind him, nothing but the low, far-away chatter, footsteps and the sound of machinery filling the workplace. The visor scans the clipboard, a rather annoying feature Subspace added to his vision-repairing helmet, as it often distracted his focus, though it was good for remembering information.
He discards the clipboard on the small table between two chairs nearest the office, before leaving his workplace to head home.
.
.
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Keys jingle as the door creaks open, his cat, Princess, brushes against his leg with a meow, staring up at him. He doesn't like leaving Princess home alone, and has considered getting her a friend, but he really can't afford or handle anything like that right now, and Katana never has time to cat-sit. Princess can survive on her own though, and has many toys to entertain herself, an automatic cat-feeder (That he only turns on when leaving for a mission) giving her meals when it is time.
District 3 was one of the easiest districts to hide in, despite being one of the most aggressive in the past, as a lot of places didn't care to check if Hyperlaser was from their district or not. Princess follows him as he grabs what he needs for the walk, tougher boots, a jacket, and a fake I.D., usually, soldiers like him would take bullet-proof vests for surprise attacks, but Hyperlaser found that his helmet enhanced his hearing, and could detect sounds miles away.
He leans down, back popping joints as he rubs Princess' head, earning a loud meow and purr. He gently kicks a mouse toy that was left on the ground by Princess, distracting her as she jumps for it.
Hyperlaser likes to rest and eat before he goes on a mission, but with the description of the Inphernal being 'lazy', he doubts he'll spend a day out there.
The door clicks shut behind him and he locks it, heading downstairs and taking the shortcut out of his district. Thankfully, his apartment wasn't too far off from an exit.
The Districts were quite compact cities with clean cut-offs, it's uncommon to find a random house, as despite the smaller cities, they often owned a lot of land. District 3 and 4 were much closer to each other than the others, with District 4 being just slightly bigger than District 3. Most of their land was littered with abandoned war trenches that was considered bad luck to walk on. Hyperlaser didn't believe the superstitions though. The battlefield was nothing but a cruel remembrance for veterans, and a graveyard full of unknown soldiers who were shot and blown up until unrecognisable. The path he planned to take only visited one of these fields, one he made himself very familiar with.
His boots crunch the snow beneath him as he walks further and further from his district, a large forest appearing in front of him, which he is careful to navigate. After this forest, his district is practically covered by birch. Midnight Crows caw loudly from trees, sitting and watching as he passes them, Crows? At day? The hair on the back of his neck stands, his body feeling strange, crows appearing during the day is a bad luck superstition as well, is this some sort of message? Don't let it get to you. They aren't real. He shakes his head and continues on with tensed shoulders.
The crows follow him, even when the forest opens into the massive field, they watch from trees far away, cawing and calling more of their flock. It distracts him so much, he nearly falls into a trench that's been covered with years of snow.
He trudges forward, forcing himself to tune out the loud coos and caws of crows that stalk him. His visor points to the district not too far away, he feels like he's been walking for an hour, and its only a couple hundred feet in front of him? Cautiously, he continues walking but makes himself more aware of his surroundings, knowing their soldiers will do perimeter checks and see him. With these crows following his every move — despite the fact they should be sleeping — they'll be sure to spot him quickly.
Eventually, the city noise returns to his ears, he knows District 3's streets are filled with bickering criminals, drunkards, and dangerous things littered on the pavements, he's navigated past all of them before, he's usually ignored or given rude stares through windows. He jumps over a fence, being met with a familiar alleyway. His visor instructs him to the target's apartment, and possible areas to take the shot. It advises him an apartment opposite the other would suffice better compared to other spots, but requires spare money to rent a room for a day, and an I.D. to confirm.
Good thing his wallet was in this jacket, and thankfully the districts used the same currency. He followed the directions given, finding a rather small apartment complex — one he would consider more of a motel. The visor updates, providing a short way to access the advantage spot. It tells him to ask for the balcony spot on the second floor, and so, he makes his way to the other apartment, entering the place and following with his visors instructions, they check his I.D. and take his money, and is then given the key.
Hyperlaser knows he would be able to figure this out on his own, without Subspace's stupid additions to this helmet telling him what to do, but being instructed is what he's done for his entire life, following others orders, and besides, he knows it will provide him the best, and quickest way. Besides, it's barely been two hours and the job is nearly complete, most missions require a week of hunting an Inphernal down. Especially ones in other factions.
The apartment clicks open, it's small, yet made for a group of people, considering there's two double beds. It's quite boring, with not much decoration and plain walls. He ignores most of it, heading out for the balcony, he summons his gear, looking out to try spot any potential witnesses. The shot is usually the most dangerous part of his missions, it's loud, bright, and very obvious. It's begun snowing, with the light snow piling on the railing, which he brushes away to sit his gun.
Looking across, he spots an Inphernal which his visor identifies as his target, sitting in bed, watching TV. With no witnesses nor anyone else with him, it seems to be perfect, yet Hyperlaser carefully lifts his gun, resting it on the balcony as he aims, knowing the target would need to simply turn his head or look away from the TV to see him. What an idiot. Who just casually hides away after an argument, and not assume the man you stole from had done the worst? Especially in District 3. Suddenly, just as he steadies his gun, the crows appear again, standing on his balcony railing, he doesn't shoo them off, in order to keep his aim, but they've begun to annoy him.
He lowers his head, staring through the scope. 'Clear' his visor confirms, telling him to take the shot. He doesn't hesitate, pulling the trigger. The loud, eviscerating ray echoes through the small compact group of buildings, brightly flashing against dark walls, the glass door of the balcony shatters open, and flies through the Inphernal's head, causing blood to fly out the entry wound, coating the bedsheets and the man as he falls to his side. Once the shot is made, one of the crows lands on his head, causing him to flinch and try to hide away, as if someone had seen him.
With a frustrated growl, he waves his hand above his head, whacking the crow as it and its flock fly away. He de-summons his gear, entering the apartment and shutting the door behind him. The visor confirms the kill and sets out a new set of suggestions. He could stay the night to help prevent suspicion that he caused it, as he had barely been in the room for 10 minutes, but if the body is found, might be interrogated when trying to leave. Or, he could leave now and become a more suspected and wanted person.
His fake I.D. had a fake gear, so it's harder to hunt him down with it, besides, he doesn't even live in the district, so that would make it even harder to find where he came from, and District 3 isn't exactly well-known for conducting police searches, barely being able to host court sessions.
Deciding on the visor's second suggestion, he now moves from the apartment down to the receptionist, finding the desk empty. The keys are thrown onto the table and he leaves before another worker takes the previous place.
The streets are the same as before, as if no one heard the loud gunshot. It's probably normal around District 3 to hear gunshots, so maybe that's why they're ignoring it. As he walks past the still bickering Inphernal's, rude stares and bars filled with Inphernal's drunk out of their minds, he's suddenly stopped by two of the drunkards he saw before on his walk, who appear behind him, holding each other up with an arm wrapped around the other's shoulder, they appear to have left their drinks at the bar and now prowl the streets until they crave the sweet liquor again. Hyperlaser turns to look at them, knowing he'll walk away if it's something useless.
"Hey.. Hey you! Have I seen you before?" One asks, staggering forward, closer, while their friend grumbles and keeps their feet planted, "Don't bother with her- She's-" They burp, interrupting themselves, "She's probably some stranger-" They scowl, not seeming to like Hyperlaser.
"Hey, what's your gear, lady? Where you from? Yer too so-soouhh- so-phisstacateed-" They attempt to say 'sophisticated', but their poor forming of words make them struggle into a murmur, "For District... 3" They flirt, motioning to his outfit, which is more sleek than most rugged appearances in District 3.
With a disgusted squint, Hyperlaser sharply turns back around and continues stomping forward.
"Hey! Lady!" The persistent drunk one calls out, "Come back! I wasn't finished-"
"Ohhh- It's not worth it- She's a pppr-prude!" The other friend grumbles, forcing his friend away.
.
.
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Soon, he's over the fence and back into the large field of snow. A blizzard slowly begins to form, Great... The visor should've warned him about this. It seems to be forming fast, and he digs his hands into his pockets. It's much foggier now, how has the weather gotten like this in less than thirty minutes? He tugs his hood up to protect his visor as rain starts pelting down. District 3 must be covered if he couldn't spot this when leaving.
Soldiers sent on missions that had to endure these kinds of blizzards sometimes don't come back, falling into a pit of snow and never coming back. With the cold forcing the shivers up his spine and the anxiety to nibble at his brain, he unclasps his radio from his belt, holding it close to request help in case he does fall in a pit of snow. With how far he's already gotten, turning back would just be useless, and he would have to book a new room. Though, considering the vehicles aren't working, how likely are they to actually come out and help him? They would just tell him to follow the safety instructions that are painfully unrealistic.
A wet sensation tears his gaze away from his radio and his mind from his anxiety, he's stepped into a puddle in the middle of the battlefield. When he looks down at his foot, it's coated in a thick, muddy dark red liquid from a puddle, and the snow surrounding the puddle has thinned despite the blizzard, and soaked up the red liquid. Is this.. blood?
He stumbles back, perplexed, fresh blood? The tracks of tanks, leftover wiring and rotted corpses litter the place Hyperlaser considered an abandoned battlefield, yet, it still looks like its in the middle of war, and he's in no-man's-land. It's foggy, and he can barely see the trees not so far away. The fog appears more like smoke. Smoke from fired cannons that lingers for far too long.
Thunder cracks through the sky—yet it feels like its right beside him—and he drops to the floor, ducking, his instinct leading him to believe its gunshots. when it quietens, and it reveals it was just thunder. The blizzard has formed into a thundersnow, a rare occurrence that almost never happens. He swallows his fear, slowly rising back to his feet when he trusts that bullets won't pierce his way, looking at where the forest was, a figure has appeared in the strangest attire to wear in a thundersnow.
In the midst of the fog, a tall, (hopefully) Inphernal curiously wanders around the battlefield, as if it were a graveyard. Their face is covered by a veil, their tall horns poking through the lace. They wear a long, gothic, lacey black dress, which is certainly not the type of clothing you'll see out of an outsider visiting Blackrock, or even a Blackrockian, the weather is too harsh for such thin clothing. Hyperlaser can't help but stare, don't they know of the superstition? Why are they mindlessly strolling around this place? He doesn't call out for their attention, what if they're the so-called 'Bad Luck' this place gives? Considering the racing of his heart and the urge to run away nipping at him, this serial killer sure knows how to scare someone.
Letting out a shaky breath that shows amidst the fog, he notices them stop and slowly turn to him, hands clasped tidily in front of them. He holds his breath, the situation feeling straight out of a movie or a nightmare. The worst part is that he feels as if he recognises the strange Inphernal, but can't put his finger on it.
His feet move before his mind thinks, causing him to trip over his feet, scrambling away, running to get out of the battlefield. It feels longer than before, and he doesn't look back to see if that tall Inphernal is following him, it doesn't sound like they are. His visor refused to even attempt identification, and bugged out once he faced that stranger, and now is not showing any sound in the large hearing range it has. When his legs grow tired and he falls to his knees in exhaustion from running, he finally looks back, the blizzard mist covers the forest and probably the Inphernal, if they were still there. What he saw, a harsh battleground with pools of blood, rotted corpses and tracks from heavy machinery, is now the cleaned, abandoned, snow covered field it is.
It's definitely not what he saw before, which only scares him more, where'd it go? His boot was still wet, it definitely can't have been a hallucination, where's the battlefield? He flinches at thunder cracks again, lightning hitting a lone tree and causing it to alight. I need to get home before this thundersnow gets the worst of me. Breathing in deeply, he attempts to slow his heartbeat, before getting back onto his feet and trudging back, the bloody print of his boot trailing behind him, eventually disappearing as the snow soaks the last bit of blood from his soaked boot.
Even if that all was a hallucination, did it have any meaning? Who was that Inphernal they visualized? They were way taller than your average Inphernal, even taller than Katana. Why did they just.. stare at him? And how did they hear his shaky breathing?
The crows return, interrupting his thoughts with his cawing. The flock that stalked him earlier have returned, snuggling up to each other to protect themselves from the severe weather, being pushed by the wind or resisting it, making it appear as if they fly in place. He doesn't scowl or sneer at them, but continues forward, trying to ignore their calls and focusing on following the footsteps he created only one or two so hours ago.
As much as Katana wants him to talk about his worries, he doesn't feel like he should mention this situation if he ever does.
.
.
.
He doesn't go and check the mission off as complete with his boss yet, as he likes to rest on the extra time they give him. His keys jingle and the door gently opens, Princess' bell jingles and she runs to Hyperlaser, meowing up at him as he enters the apartment, as if he had been gone for years. Patting her head, he slips off the soaked jacket and removes all the warm clothing, turning on his heater to warm up the house, Princess leaves him alone to curl up next to it. His boots have tracked snow to his shoe rack, white and red snow. He ignores it for now.
He just wants to take a nap. He doesn't want to think deeply about that hallucination or whatever it was. The sun had begun to lower, or at least he assumed, barely being able to see it from the fog of the thundersnow and the apartment's kitchen window view. As he is about to turn and leave, a crow lands on the window with a note in its beak, causing him to jump in surprise. He receives notes from Katana, so its not like birds appearing at his window isn't common, but it's never a crow that doesn't seem scared by him. It caws impatiently as he stares with astonishment.
Slowly, he opens the window, and the bird invites itself in, holding the note out. He holds his hand out, and the crow drops it in his hand before turning and flying away. With confusion, he closes the window, turning around as he takes the binding off the rolled-up note, reading what's on it.
Memory is a blurred window.
Within, the lamplight is clear and mellow,
each shape familiar: but beyond the pane
there is a world of swirling mist and rain.
Memory is a blurred window.
and gazing out into the slanting glow
I wonder know if I'll ever know
what it was I saw so clearly back then
and now am trying so hard to see again.
It was a scene so simple and plain:
I thought a deity was sitting in the rain.
It was a poem, written in very fancy hand-writing that Hyperlaser is surprised he can read. It's confusing, strange, and only causes the anxiety inside him to rise. Who sent this creepy poem to him? Was it the Inphernal? Why are they talking about deities?
His head hurts too much to think about it, his bed calls his name.
He abandoned the window and left for his room, discarding his uniform and replacing it with his casual wear; pyjamas.
The dingy apartment light flickers dead as he flips the switch, he's been asking for a replacement but only received multiple 'We'll get to it soon!''s by his landlord. He sighs as he drags his feet to the side of his bed, sitting down on it and unclasping his mask to put on his bedside table. The visor displays something as it's removed. The blur between being able to see versus complete blindness hits him fast, as it feels as if the sun has been turned off. He tucks himself into his bed, getting comfortable as the soft jingle of his cat's collar nears closer, before Princess jumps onto the bed and cuddles up to him.
He likes to leave the door open so Princess can leave whenever she wants.
He yawns, burnt skin painfully stretching as he does. He falls asleep to the sound of purring and the quiet voice still questioning the poem in his mind.
The streetlight hums above the bus stop he sits in, he's not sure how long he's been waiting, but it feels as if it's been forever. Looking at the wall of the bus stop, his bus is meant to arrive in twenty-five minutes. His phone battery was dead, and he wanted to move around before the bus came.
Knowing there's a graveyard behind him, he stretches his arms out and he stands up from his seat. He doesn't like the graveyard, always finding himself visiting the same graves all over again. He wasn't sure why he was bringing a bouquet out to get drinks alone, but he brings them with him into the graveyard.
When passing by the names of soldiers and civilians he doesn't recognize, he doesn't notice the fact their names have been covered in moss and snow.
With one blink, he finds himself in a recognizable row of graveyards, but doesn't question the way he jumped between scenes. His friends, lined up neatly without any surrounding snow covering their names, their graves still appear as fresh as they were when they were planted in the ground. Hyperlaser's offerings from years before still sit, empty alcohol bottles — each of his friends favourites, — dead flowers, and their favourite gifts. There's another, a new grave at the end of the row, facing the entrance with its back to the trees
He faces his friends, bouquet in hand. His friend, closest to the trees filled with fog — to which he doesn't note as weird either — always loved flowers, in-fact, the flowers in his hands were their favourite. He leans down, resting the flowers against their gravestone.
With a sigh, he turns, of course his feet dragged him over to here. At least he had a use for the random flowers he had. Looking up, not expecting a sudden figure behind him, he flinches from surprise, finding a strangely tall figure resting the same flowers as he just did on the unfamiliar grave. They wear a large black dress and their face is concealed with a veil, he can't help but wonder why it feels so familiar, and why when they glance at him, shivers run up his spine.
They don't seem particularly interested in him, as they merely let their gaze linger on him for a second before turning and having their heels click against pavement as they disappear into the night.
Strange.. feels like I've seen them before. Even if I didn't actually see them.
In his mind, the second part makes total sense. He turns his back to the grave they left flowers at, it has no offerings other than the flowers, and a black kitten with a jingling bell on her collar turns around the headstone and curls up in front of it. Princess?
Kneeling down to properly see and read the headstone, he freezes.
'HYPERLASER'
'KORBLOXIAN MERCENARY FOR 48 YEARS.'
'THE HARBRINGER OF BAD LUCK'
Him? But he's not dead? What does it mean by 'Harbringer of Bad Luck?' He hurriedly stands up, turning to his friends' graves, noticing their deaths have been changed from 'DIED IN A FIRE' to 'DIED TO HYPERLASER'.
Loud gunshots shoot through the graveyard, and it's not long until his headstone is shot in half and so is he, collapsing against the snow with a hole through his heart.
Hyperlaser wakes, muscles aching with pain and wanting to scratch his skin off. He's flat on his back, the blanket was kicked off the bed and Princess is loafing on his chest.
He hasn't had nightmares like that in a long time, reminding that it should've been him who died, not them. Why save one when you can save three?
He groans, his sore muscles demanding he get up and take his medicine. He softly scratches underneath Princess' chin, hearing her purr loudly as she wakes up, meowing as she hops off his chest, onto his bed. He can hear the creak of his bones and feel his muscles tightening and the feeling of his charred skin stabbing his muscles. A sore, rough hand pats his bedside table for his helmet, which he clasps around his head, squinting and rapidly blinking as his eyes adjust to the new vision.
Suddenly, the tapping at his desk window is much more obvious (Princess claws at the window, which makes Hyperlaser assume she's seeing a bird), with a sore groan, he hops off the bed, using the wall to support him as he tries not to crumple from the cramps in his leg muscles.
Princess claws at the window, an unfazed crow taps impatiently at the window, another note in its beak. With a loud, exhausted sigh, he gently drags Princess out the way and shoves the stiff window open, the crow drops the note in his hand and flies off once again. He grunts, muscles shaking as he forces the window shut.
Before he deals with whatever creepy note his secret admirer, stalker, or serial killer gave him, he leaves it on the desk and shuffles to his kitchen to take his medicine and rub whatever ointment they make him use to prevent the severe itchiness of his skin. He turns on his coffee maker as he does, preparing himself a coffee as Princess saunters over to her food bowl, waiting patiently. He feeds her the wet slimy slop they sell at the night market he goes to — surprisingly very healthy and recommended by vets — mixed with some dry food. When the food is presented to her majesty, she happily munches away at it.
Taking his black coffee with him back to the desk, muscles no longer stabbing at him and tightening. He takes out his chair, sitting down on it. The two crow-given notes sit atop each other on his desk, and his laptop (Which he’ll soon use to document and confirm his kill from yesterday).
The new note hasn’t been tied with rope, but folded into quarters. To which he unfolds to find an image of a black short-hair cat, sitting on a balcony, unaware of the camera. Underneath the developed photograph, in black Indian ink and fancy writing, ‘The Harbringer of Bad Luck’ has been written, referencing his dream.
How the hell did this person know about his dream? Was it mere coincidence? Is his mind playing tricks on him again? What even triggered that dream, and how did it happen before the new note?
...
He rips the photo into multiple pieces, discarding them in the trash. Some dumb newspawn is playing a prank, and his mind is on their side.
Whose that dress-wearing Inphernal with a covered face appearing in his dreams and hallucinations (if that was a hallucination, which he hopes it was.) and why do they keep showing up?
Do they have something to do with the poem?
Princess' bell jingles and she jumps back onto the bed, curling up and going to sleep near his pillow. He unrolls the poem again, reading through it.
Memory is a blurred window.
Within, the lamplight is clear and mellow,
each shape familiar: but beyond the pane
there is a world of swirling mist and rain.
Memory is a blurred window.
and gazing out into the slanting glow
I wonder know if I'll ever know
what it was I saw so clearly back then
and now am trying so hard to see again.
It was a scene so simple and plain:
I thought a deity was sitting in the rain.
A deity sitting in the rain? Was this poem directed to one of The Swords? If so, who?
Hyperlaser didn't have big opinions of the deities, sure, he finds Firebrand's actions clearly wrong and unjustified, while the thousands of dead Inphernals, who could find a way to defend such a faux protector? But with the thrown around rumours that villainise the other Swords, he cant find one that he believes. Katana has spoken about his disdain of them to Hyperlaser, and he's heard whispers of their actions from other mercenaries and scientists, in fact, it's how he discovered Firebrand burnt down Lost Temple. Hyperlaser can justify the others hatred for them, but doesn't remarkably find a way to hate them all himself, of course, any of the theories could be true, but Hyperlaser isn't one to blindly trust the words of others.
Is this poem directed at Firebrand? The foggy memory caused by the smoke (possibly amnesia, which can be caused from fires), blurring up the window to the deity who caused the Scorch? The rain, possibly a metaphor relating to a theory that Firebrand had had enough of mortals, that he brought a city eternal fire? The rain could be his anger or depression.
But.. the perspective comes from the author, remarking them as the person who say the deity was sitting in the rain. But it didn't make sense, who would send a note to a random Inphernal who has nothing to do with The Swords, a poem of them talking about their memory, and how it somehow correlated to a deity? Unless, the perspective was meant to be from the reader?
Was Hyperlaser the one who forgot? Forgot who?
The patter of rain on his window yanks him out of his in-depth analysis of this poem, and he glances up. It's very foggy outside, mist swirling down and tapping against his window, the lamplight shows the pavement down below. The sun barely rises, the darkness of the night slowly inching away as the sun rises. No one is out on the street, and he's not even sure why he's staring down at it, expecting something to happen.
A black umbrella, covered in lace pokes out from his blind spot, strolls into view, the tall Inphernal wears the same long black dress as the one who visited his grave in his dream. He gasps, jumping out of the way of his window, scared they might see him.
It can't have been a hallucination this time, the Inphernal has too consistently appeared for them to be a mere illusion, and the notes are definitely real.
His eyes scan the poem again.
'I thought a deity was sitting in the rain.'
Is that Inphernal a deity? What do they want with him? And who is it?
What business has Hyperlaser ever had with a deity?
.
.
.
There's scream of sirens and terrified Inphernals, with the crackling and snapping of burnt rumble crashing to the ground, alongside the flickering flames that have overtaken the building. Ambulances rush horrifically burnt Inphernal's away, but it's unlikely they'll survive with what the flames have done to him.
Hyperlaser can't feel his body, his lungs filled with the smoke and bones crushed from fallen rubble.
A group of firefighters drag him out from the rubble, his legs are smashed, but he can barely tell the difference between that and the harsh flames clung to his burning skin. The Inphernal's saving him grunt as they carry him out through the door.
Have they saved his friends yet? He hasn't seen them since the first piece of rubble crashed down and everyone started panicking.
He painfully coughs and hacks up smoke, it feels like it's stabbing his throat from the inside as the burning smoke leaves his lungs. His mind grows more woozy and tired, (Which should've been because of alcohol).
They bring him outside the door, a group of witnesses, emergency services and others standing and helping out wherever they can, victims are being strapped down to gurneys and driven away by a speeding ambulance. They hastily fling the doors open out of a ambulance to strap him down on.
He doesn't focus on that though, as he's too weak to even think or twitch a finger.
His eyes caught on a far-away witness.
A tall Inphernal, dressed in a gothic black suit, watches without much care in the world. Their face, it's blurry, but so is everything else because of the smoke. Yet, their horns are visible, tall and grey. A small glowing halo floats above their head, and two wings are curled behind him, appearing ghostly and similar to the halo.
...Who is that?
The Inpherno has been dark. It's been dark for a week now.
The flames still feel like they linger on his skin every time the bandages rub against his healing scars. He's slowly been going blind, his vision getting more blurry and worse everyday. At this point, nearly everything has become a blur, yet he can still recognise the face of a doctor or his dying best friends.
The amount of alarm and commotion happening in the past week he's been in the hospital is overwhelming, for both the patients and the doctors. A week ago, during a small party between mercenaries who had all completed their training had been happening inside a Korbloxian training camp. They are still searching for the culprit(s) who burnt the place down, or what caused it to break down, but a lot of useful evidence had been burnt in the fire.
Hyperlaser was one of the mercenaries in the party, one of the victims in the arson, and one of the only survivors.
Hyperlaser's skin had been burnt viciously, his bones crushed underneath rubble and his lungs contaminated with smoke. The flames had burnt and cracked his horns into nothing but stumps, and when he found that out, he couldn't even cry because the flames had taken that away from him too.
There was about 20-30 Inphernals in that party, and all of them are either dead, or not expecting recovery.
His ears have had to listen to a heart monitor every second of every day, whether it be his own or his friends. Which he's now allowed to visit, as they have allowed him to leave his room via wheelchair and IV bag hooked onto it.
His guide had wheeled him over to a small hallway of his friends, lined up and separated by curtains. Hyperlaser had his own room, as the hospital was most focused on him, since he was likely to survive.
He was left with the friend and the end of the hallway, a bouquet of flowers next to them from other friends or family who weren't in the fire.
He hasn't said anything, as speaking was not recommended by his nurses.
He can barely see their face, but he knows who it is, and they look as if they were on their last leg, seconds away from death. He weakly holds their hand, knowing it might be the last time they ever feel them. Their heart monitor beeps slowly.
His eyes linger on them, before turning to the thunderstorm happening outside the window.
Everything's blurry, and looks like splotches of colour, but a strange form cuts that blurriness away just for themselves.
They stand on the other side of the road, underneath a streetlight, holding a umbrella and wearing a black suit, a lace, transparent veil over their head, and despite the clearness they bring, their face remains blurry.
They're strangely tall, and stand politely.
Probably just another person grieving.
Hyperlaser turns back to his friend, hand barely holding tighter, yet it feels as if he's death-gripping their hand.
...
Slowly, their heartbeat lowers, before they eventually flatline.
His friend has died, heart no longer beating.
His muscles ache as he leans forward, wrapping his fragile arms around the corpse and hugging it. He wish he could cry, and as much as he tries to, nothing comes out.
Nothing but the beeps of the other monitors and the flat one of his friend's, he stays silent, hugging them for one last time.
A hand is placed sympathetically on his back, but he ignores it.
It's cold fingers send a shiver up his spine, and it feels like the Grim Reaper stands next to him, comforting him as his friend has passed.
Yet, he doesn't acknowledge the deity of death.
.
.
.