Part 5

  Screaming.

  Everything was a gray, smoke-filled haze.

  Even though it was night, the sky was highlighted a bright orange by what was happening on the ground below.

  Fire.

  Distorted sirens were blaring out loudly.

  Smoke and red flame embers filled the air as a small child slowly walked across as everything was going to hell.

  The area was surrounded by several gray, five-story apartment complexes. Buildings were on fire as people were running in various directions.

  The child's vision was blurry, and the noise was muffled by a ringing sound in his ears.

  An explosion went off near him.

  The child began looking around.

  Signs littered the street with words he did not know the meaning of.

  Through the smoke, people were bumping into each other, trying to escape the mass panic all around them.

  What was supposed to be a simple, non-violent protest to highlight the treatment and abuse of magicians and spellcasters by Russia turned into mass chaos.

  Food carts turned over.

  Bodies lay in the street.

  People are trampling over one another to escape.

  Screaming.

  But still-

  The small child pressed forward.

  His home was just down the street; his mother was home, so the child pressed forward.

  As he kept running, black cracks began to appear on the buildings as he passed by.

  BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  Suddenly, the buildings began to break apart and started to float up into the air.

  Under the child, the ground broke, descending to a bottomless, red void below.

  Noticing this, the child sprinted faster.

  Everything around him began to distort.

  The surrounding houses began to distort and break apart.

  All except one.

  One apartment complex was still standing—his home.

  The ground began to crack, throwing him off balance, causing him to trip and slide across the floor face first.

  Wincing in pain, the child slowly lifts his head to see the apartment complex.

  Everything was quiet.

  Suddenly, black cracks appeared over the building, causing the left side to collapse and the right side to burst into flames, which created a shockwave.

  “Motherrrrr!!!!” The young child screamed out and reached out a hand.

  As he did, the ground broke apart, causing the child to fall into the void below.

  Falling, the child started screaming as the red void was swallowed by darkness.

  August 19th, 1958

  A child of twelve years old eyes opened to a white ceiling above in a quiet, dark room.

  The child, not moving, lay in bed.

  His face was covered in sweat, and his loud, heavy breathing could be heard.

  A nightmare.

  Periodically for the past two years, the child would have nightmares about that night.

  Pushing himself up using his elbows, the child sat on the bed.

  His gray eyes scanned the large room.

  There were several children sleeping in cots spread out in the large room.

  An orphanage.

  This is where this child has been after losing his mother two years earlier. With no relatives to care for him, he was placed here.

  Alone.

  The child looked around in the room before stepping out of bed.

  The floor felt cold under his bare feet as he carefully walked through the cots of sleeping children to a large door.

  Opening the door, the child stepped out into a dimly lit hallway. The moonlight shone in the halls.

  Everything was quiet as the child began looking around.

  Nothing.

  Soon, he began walking down the hall.

  His footsteps were quiet as he moved along.

  The child paused and stopped walking before turning to his left to gaze out a large, closed window.

  Turning to face the window, he placed his hand on the cold glass.

  Off in the distance, beyond the hills and snow, was what used to be his home.

  “Having a hard time sleeping, young one.”

  Through the calming silence, a soft voice broke out, which startled the child.

  At the sound of the voice, he jumped and nearly screamed before cupping his mouth.

  “Woah, easy there." The voice came from a young male who was walking up the stairs.

  Lowering his hands from his mouth, the child spoke.

  “Headmaster”

  A young man with brown hair and silver eyes was dressed in a black turtleneck sweater and thick green cargo pants with many pockets on the side. His black boots were melting snow as he walked up the stairs. He carried a large trench coat between his left and the side of his midsection, and with his other hand, he was unraveling his scarf from his neck.

  “You’re back,” the child said as he turned around to greet the man.

  "Yes, little one. What about you having a hard time sleeping?”

  The child averted his eyes from the man, not answering the question.

  “Is it the nightmares again?”

  The child looked at the man.

  “I see”

  The headmaster walked up to the child, causing the child to look down.

  “After what you went through that day, that is to be expected.” The man said, lightly scratching over a long scar on the left side of his head that reached from the side of his eyebrow to his chin.

  The child's expression became sadder as tears began to well in his eyes.

  Noticing the forming tears, the headmaster spoke.

  "How would you like to prevent that from ever happening again?”

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Friday, June 5, 2009

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Time: 7:37 a.m.

  Location: Bronx, NEO New York City.

  A memory.

  There was a clink as a razor was placed on the counter of a bathroom sink.

  The noon sunlight beamed into a bathroom window.

  White paint and blue square tiles lined the walls. Light blue bathroom mats were on the floor.

  In the bathroom, there was an elderly man staring at his reflection in the mirror above the sink after splashing water on his face.

  A man with a balding head of hair revealed a bald scalp. Wrinkled skin and sunken eyes stared back at him in the reflection in the mirror as water dripped from his face into the sink below.

  Through the patches of remaining shaving cream on his face, he noticed small drops of blood were beginning to appear on his left cheek.

  With his right index and middle fingers, he firmly pressed against his cheek. After a few seconds, he removed his fingers to stare at the smudged blood on his fingertips.

  “Even now, it seems that I still can’t get it right,” the elderly man said as he lowered his hand under the water running from the faucet.

  “It is almost time, I suppose.”

  Turning the water off, he grabbed a washcloth off a rack nearby to dry his face.

  The elderly man walked out of a bathroom into a bedroom, drying his hands with a washcloth.

  Anatoli Azarov.

  The bogeyman

  The mage is an assassin.

  The mage-killer.

  An individual who is credited with the deaths of dozens of magicians.

  The monster parents would tell their children about to keep them well behaved, but

  Right now, he is getting ready for the day.

  He was dressed in a brown button-down shirt that was tucked into his tan dress pants and black socks.

  Sunlight was beaming into the room, shining on the white furniture of the room.

  Dropping the washcloth on a nearby dresser before making his way to a mattress before pausing.

  There was a small, black-haired child in his room.

  The child was wearing a white button-down shirt and black shorts with suspenders. There was dark gray dust and fresh blood that shone in the sunlight coming into the room. The child’s appearance was like he was pulled out of a rubble. His left arm was mangled, and his left arm was gone below the elbow, now a bloody stump that was dripping blood on to the floor.

  The old man smiled lightly as he walked up to the small child.

  "Dmitry, are you peeking into my tools again?” The old man said this as he placed his left hand on the child's head, causing dust and dirt to fall from the child's head onto the floor.

  The child turned and raised his head to look at the old man, revealing his bloodied face.

  There was a large laceration on the left side of his face.

  The wound destroyed the left eye, revealing a badly damaged, empty eye socket. The skin around the other eye was covered in blood.

  The old man or the small child paid no mind to that fact.

  “Father” The child began to speak through a bloodied mouth with several missing teeth, “What is all this?” The child said he was turning to the bed.

  The young child was curious.

  "Oh, this,” the old man said before turning to the bed himself.

  On the mattress were a vast array of knives, each with markings on them. The markings in the first row were red, the second was blue, and the third was yellow.

  Three rows down and six rows across.

  “This is for my job,” the elderly man said as he picked up a knife with a red sigil on the handle.

  He closed his eyes and deeply exhaled.

  “Palmya (Russian trans. Flame)” he said in a whispered voice.

  Suddenly, small, glowing embers began to emerge from the knife. After a few seconds, the embers started to swirl around the knife above the hilt.

  Boof.

  The knife was now surrounded by orange flames.

  The young child looked at the flames in amazement, staring at them as if they were a toy.

  Just as quickly as the flames started, soon the flames disappeared, leaving a knife whose metal appeared as if it were heated.

  “My job”

  The elderly man could feel the heat radiating from the small knife in his hand that was burning orange.

  The elderly man weakly blew on the knife, causing the heat to dissipate and the glowing orange of the metal to fizzle out.

  “My job,” he repeated in a low tone.

  His demeanor had changed as he became more depressed.

  His job.

  The reason he was in this city in the first place.

  The elderly man carefully put the knife back into its spot amongst the array of knives.

  Anatoli turned to the child with a false smile on his face.

  “Say, why don’t you let me get finished for work, and I’ll meet you and your mother downstairs.”

  "Okay," the child shouted out cheerfully as he waddled out of the room.

  Left to his own silence, the elderly man sighed as he sat on the edge of the bed with an expressionless, empty look on his face.

  His job.

  The elderly man gripped the bottom of his pant legs, pulling them up.

  On both of his legs, above his socks, was a black strap holster for holding knives that was wrapped around his leg.

  Lifting his right leg up into the air, he grabbed three knives out of the second row on the bed.

  One by one, he put the three knives into the sheaths.

  Pulling his right pant leg down, he repeated the same process with his left leg. Now done with the second row, he stood up and rolled up his sleeves.

  Just like his lower legs, there was a similar black strap that was on his forearms, near the wrist, for concealing knives.

  With his left hand, he took three knives out of the third row, sliding them in tip first, pointing towards the elbow of his right arm. Grabbing the next three with his right hand, he repeated the process for his left forearm.

  Once that was finished, he pulled the sleeves of his shirt down before buttoning the wrist up. He tugged on the wrist hole of the shirt for a bit before sticking his hand down to see if he could reach the knives without any hindrance.

  With the final row of knives, one by one, he placed each of the knives in the sheaths across his black belt.

  He grabbed his brown vest off the bed before putting it on. Patting himself down, he made his way to the dresser with a black briefcase resting on top.

  He opened the briefcase, revealing several folded maps of NEO New York City covered in red circles and scribbled writing.

  He closed his eyes as he closed the briefcase.

  He stuck his feet in the brown dresser shoes lined against the dresser.

  Now that he was dressed and ready, he took the briefcase as he made his way to the open door, walking down the hall.

  Everything is quiet.

  Pictures were hung against the white walls as he passed by.

  Pictures of a happy family: a husband, wife, and son.

  As he got closer to the kitchen, he heard glass plates being stacked against each other.

  “Good morning, darling." A female voice welcomed the elderly man as he walked into the dining area. The female said as she was wiping the table clean before standing up straight.

  The young female.

  A lady in her late 20s or early 30s with short black hair and green eyes. Like the small child, the young female also had a disheveled appearance covered in gray dust. She was wearing a dust- and blood-covered white off-shoulder trim blouse that revealed her midsection, which had a deep gash across it, with her intestines spilling out just above her black thigh-high skirt.

  Blood was pouring down the right side of her face and the open wound on her midsection onto the wooden floor.

  Anatoli paid no mind as he gently smiled at the woman.

  The love of his life.

  “Katya, sweetheart,” Anatoli said with a soft, warming tone as he took a step inside.

  She did not answer him as he got closer and wrapped his hands around her waist.

  The smell of lemons hit his nose.

  White paint lined the walls of the kitchen. There was a large wooden rectangular table in the center of the room. The counters were black in color, the same as the tiles on the floor. A large gray refrigerator was off in the corner. White, thin sheets covered the four chairs and the table in the room.

  The young woman tilted her head slightly as she got a look at his face. Touching his check with her index finger, she spoke.

  “Shaving again?”

  “Did I do a bad job?”

  ‘Not bad per se, but it could use some work,” the female said.

  The old man slumped his shoulders and lowered his hands to his sides.

  “So, a bad job.”

  “I never said that,” the female said as she poked the old man in the nose before walking away to the sink counter.

  As she was wiping the sink counter, he put the briefcase on the table, which caused the woman to pause.

  "You're leaving for your job; when will you be back?”

  “Hopefully soon”

  The woman turned around to face the old man with a look of sadness on her face.

  “You said that the last time too.”

  That soft statement caused the old man to slightly look up at the young woman. Looking at the emotion in her face, his eyes drifted downward.

  “I know, and believe me, I really wish it could be different, but it is because of this job that I am able to see you and Dmitry later.”

  “Later but…” The young female started, causing the elderly man to look up with a blank look on his face. “We’re here right now, aren’t we?”

  He stood blankly at the young woman as she said those words, in what felt like an eternity.

  He just stood there, mouth slightly open, in a dead stare, not moving.

  "You're here... but…but..my job,” the elderly man said as he placed his fingers on the temple of his head in distress.

  “My job”

  Suddenly, he felt a sharp headache, causing him to close his eyes and grumble in pain.

  Several images or vivid memories flashed in his mind very quickly.

  A room full of small children had identical school uniforms.

  “Complete”

  Dead bodies on the floor

  “This job”

  A first-person point of view of a man being stabbed in his back, screaming out.

  A first-person point of view of hands opening a closet, pulling a mother and small daughter.

  Blood splattering on the walls.

  Seven hooded figures that were seated in a dark room.

  Blood splattering on the ground.

  “And”

  A first-person view of a person watching a child, a young boy running ahead, before turning to the woman walking beside him, as she turned to him smiling.

  A bright flash of light.

  Fire off in the distance.

  Smoke.

  Dust in the air.

  A first-person point of view of blood pouring down on rubble as the individual was trying to move through trying to reach a woman lying on the ground bleeding from her head and her midsection,

  A first-person point of view of several paramedics slowly took a step back in horror before the vision dropped down to a child bleeding profusely from a wound in his head and being carried in his arms.

  A first-person point of view of eyes slowly opening to a dark silhouette under a bright light shining down in a white room.

  “You will be able to see them again.”

  Blood

  Screams

  Knives penetrating several bodies.

  Female screams.

  Blood spurting into the air.

  Knives are being thrown.

  Blood.

  Children screams.

  Blood.

  Screams.

  Buildings on fire.

  Blood.

  Blood pools around a body.

  Screams.

  Screams.

  Screams.

  “We have a job for you, Mage Killer.”

  Screaming.

  Loud screaming.

  Almost deafening screaming.

  The sounds of screaming were slowly muffled by a high-pitched ringing sound that got louder as the seconds passed.

  “Sweetie”

  In a quick flash, the old man opened his eyes to a kitchen with black cracks emerging on the walls as the ringing died out.

  The black cracks continued to spread across the cabinets and the floor.

  His eyes drifted to the mangled boy and young woman standing in the hallway in front of a brown door leading outside.

  His eyes soon drifted to the briefcase on the table.

  “My job,” the old man said in a weak voice as he lifted the case of the cracking table as it was breaking apart, slumping into the ground along with the other furniture and cabinets in the room. “I must go and finish my job.”

  As he made his way down the hall to the front door briefcase in one hand, the paint on the walls began to peel and decay at various points along the wall behind him, with him none the wiser.

  Reaching the door, he placed his hand on the knob, slightly opening the door.

  He paused before taking a deep breath.

  He turned to the young woman and child at his side.

  ‘I’ll be back soon,” the elderly man said as he fully opened the door, letting the sunlight hit him.

  The young woman smiled at him.

  “I know, and we’ll be waiting for you.”

  It was statements like this that made him feel at ease, as he smiled back and nodded his head.

  Stepping outside into the vast metropolis that was NEO New York City, he let the door close behind him.

  Inside, the door closed on a decaying interior, damaged by fire and the elements of weather.

  Blackened burnt walls, which revealed portions of insulation inside.

  Burnt furniture

  A kitchen with destroyed counters and cabinets falling off the hinges.

  Pots, pans, and broken glass are on the floor.

  Missing tiles on the floor

  Shattered windows and melted glass.

  Exposed wiring.

  Toys and clothes are scattered on the floor.

  A building that was falling apart.