Chapter 10

  William wondered for the hundredth time as his hands pushed to his ears, turning numb from his tight grip. He remembered her voice and touch for years. Words kept echoing like memories of stories.

  Why did she mention these words in the middle of a camp? He didn't get it.

  Of all things, there were situations like this in the past and almost none of them were this dreadful. Then, there were those scarier than anything because his mother was present, yet so still far away. Now?

  It was yet another uncomfortable moment and there were screams and terror. The closing clutter was getting assertive, darkness in the air thickened, and screams were huffed.

  There were no signs of safe tests, so this must be the worst kind.

  Or it was a reality.

  Outside, in the middle of the broken day, Mother never left him like this.

  William wondered next, turning his hands and feet to appear even smaller. He would hate him like this for sure.

  His mother was always there for him. His father was not, and whether he was, it wasn't good or bad since William knew she was also close. Either painted, saved, or lucid, she comforted him and was there for him.

  Most screams were muffled versions of shrieks and bangs, while the closest was like this weird tormenting buzzing that prevailed over his flesh and mind.

  Not this time, Mom. You lied to me, haven’t you? He assumed and rejected reality. This is a nightmare.

  Unwillingly, he reconciled with the buzzing and how some notes went up a notch, changing like the wind that was once fast, or duller, completing different noises. Something changed. He did a little. Some noise faded and something else came next.

  He opened his eyes, watching the bloody surroundings like a painting or dream that he seized for exaggerated lies. His mother described it before. His eyes were unable to grasp everything, but the smell, noise, and aversion were everywhere. He was immature even in this world, where he wasn't crying.

  Blood, bones, and gore were before him, mixed with mud. Nothing resembled human anymore, so he couldn't correlate it, or he couldn't think of it.

  Everyone had this wet sticky substance. Even him. His mother explained to him how colors represented wisdom and visions, and how darkness had no color whatsoever, yet she declared it wasn't something deviant and wrong. It was a weird perspective since shadows were darker, and if he closed his eyes, what was there if not darkness?

  The colors of life and death weren't bound to anything; they were preferences like laws and energy within the living sprinkled with facts around. Some bore it better than others.

  William was a weird contrast to this gore, which wasn't ruined. There was Carnijaw and an empty alleyway.

  He watched what was before him, and gazed onward and even upwards with a stone-like expression. He froze, realizing that he had seen this monster before. Blood. Big hands. Many eyes. Bones. Gore. Was that truly a dream back then, or had he seen it in shadows?

  This was... stranger.

  Buzzing paused, his mind shook, and something else skipped a beat in his entire body.

  He remembered this crimson was unlike what was within his hand. These were people in front of him, or so they used to be. Bones were in piles and pieces, and he acknowledged that after noticing the skull on the ground. There was even an eye mixed inside, with a human jaw still hanging on some stubborn tendon. The brain was chewed out until it was crystal clean.

  Turning his face around, he knew this mess wasn't supposed to be here. He would know. Probably. He was uncertain about it since he had never been here before, and even if he were, memorizing and getting around in this noise and head wasn't fine. He was sure his mother didn't leave this behind.

  “M-mom?” he asked out loud, expecting some answer, or the face of his mother, but that Carnijaw kept lingering above.

  No answer came, though a tendril slumped from the sky, floating like a snake attached to a string. For some reason, Carnijaw didn't notice him and sent one probe into a strange gap in this Reality.

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  The tendril was dark in shade, with red-blackness representing its maturity. It moved like a snake that William memorized from some books, but the tip of the tendril resembled a tightly shut fist rather than a head. It was firmer, pointy, and almost like a spearhead, clutched and fixed before him like a curious snake.

  He remembered it too late. His body could no longer move.

  The tendril's tip opened up and spread its four parts, revealing flickering light inside as well as a sharp tongue-like spiral. There was a mouth, and it drove onwards, pushing against some boundary. It hit William, grasped his face, and forced him against the wall.

  It hurt. The pain...

  He yelped in surprise and struggled. Expecting a five-year-old to defend against this was futile. He was captured and the end seemed unavoidable.

  Struggling? He failed.

  Crying? He was surprisingly good at it, for a future Walker.

  He softened his yelps thanks to his fright and lost voice. Those little fingers clutched his small head quite well. There were no considerable noise changes, and even those beats remained the same.

  But he did remember that Screen.

  William couldn't tell where was, but he knew the pain parting away from buzzing sounds. Something turned sharper, almost resembling a grinding voice. It was a messy laughter that took pain for fun.

  He felt weakness, altered gravity, and a lot of force. He was grasped and picked up into the sky as weightless feelings frightened him more than that blood. Or it was this inability to fight back that was worse.

  He could see things. Weird things. His shaking eyes observed a grumbling and chewing creature between the gaps of those fingers. Carnijaw before him was so close, he could almost touch it, although he was dozens of feet above the ground.

  Carnijaw waited until the chewing was over. Meanwhile, it observed a strange little rat that was hidden, yet still there. It felt William like a struggling cocoon of weightless space, resembling no flesh. There was no head or limbs, but it surely held onto something. There was no light.

  It found much more interesting prey than some mere food. Carnijaw cheered, screaming loudly in its proclamation. Either to others or for itself, it was happy to feel the Fourth Mark.

  It shredded this gap with dozens of strikes. Either with its jaw, sturdy hands, or snatching jaw, it took a lot of effort until the gap cracked apart, revealing William's true appearance. Although small, this boy was a prey too. Its instincts told it so, even if one part was correct, and the other was itching for more. Much more.

  The freshness was too much, while that crimson glint was more enticing than any blood or brain.

  This prey struggled even if it was too little. Carnijaw did not find it odd; it was laughable. There was no strength in this kid, so any attempts were worthless and bothersome. Not even enough to flinch it.

  Many adults perished under this monster, much less a Walker child with no sovereignty, System in his head, Emblem's overwhelming force in body and blood, imagination, or boundless forms.

  It was a normal sight. Years of work made the difference, but some Walkers were unable to grow and become proper soldiers. Outside was simply too large with many uncharted territories and even bigger secrets.

  Young, mature, or old, the vastness of this world remained even after a century of the Dawn. It remained as big as before, but humanity did not.

  Walkers tried really hard, regardless of their chaotic nature of origin and birth. The Federation and other places wanted more of them, yet there was no way to gather them all. Darks were against this logic and they had to consume and have fun.

  So when Darks moved, free and without any Walker or one or a few, they could hunt. Camp Nolan was like an open buffet, so they feasted. It wasn't at the level when the Dawn happened, and where nothing stopped. In 2014, humanity fought with everything they had, but that everything turned out to be worth a fart.

  Thousands of casualties, if not more, already stained the soil. It was a droplet compared to the vast history. Still, even this droplet was significant for this era.

  Carnijaws were at the stage where guns became meaningless against their powers. Their size was strong, their minds restless, and their defenses weren't about some cheap tricks. Quick and vigorous movements and attacking patterns could shatter buildings not only because of their size. Every one of them could do much more than that.

  William didn't know specifics about these monsters, but he knew they existed. Being unaware would be stupid of his parents, so he knew dark things about this world even when young and hopeful for his mother. Eclipsed to his bloodline, it was closer to him than his current sight, even though many missing details made his circumstances, parents, and age, worse.

  William was afraid. It wasn't because he was weak. He wasn't ready. His ignorance was the bliss of his mother, and a fatal mistake in situations like these.

  His mother always said to wait for something, so he always waited, or not at all, since he often forgot it soon after she told him to live and be better. Memories of children were never confident, concrete, or easy to rely on. That fact couldn't change overnight, or just because of one cursed object embedded in his flesh.

  Carnijaw ended its cheering and flapping tendrils around in joy. It was completely unbothered by the struggles of this boy, but its tendrils aiming towards him did not come for blood. The air tensed and tendrils relaxed. Carnjijaw ended up hugging William, missing a deadly attack on purpose. A tendril spear aimed at the back of his head.

  It sensed something wrong.

  A danger. From this little prey? That was as intriguing as bewitching.

  Its hunter instincts got ahead of its Hunger, making it seem challenged and hesitant, and watchful and curious.

  Some Darks were wrong on so many levels, that it was appropriate to expect the unexpectable. Even within the same Family, or in various Ranks, this degree of truth made their Madness into personalities. They were beasts, but no animals. They were something entirely to this world.

  Some might be even docile against unwilling challenges, turns, or become so savage that their Corruption would overturn, mutate, and fight against their Ranks. Then, everything could become dangerous, strange, or nonsensical.

  Almost like William, who was currently developing his Mark while his Emblem watched everything keenly. He did as well, but how far could he go this time?