Stings of cold air, shrilling, heavy sounds of clashing waves, sullen sky with pillowy clouds—shielding the beauty of the pearly moon.
Sear beach grass faltering, the seashore covered in ivory snow, an agape of moist sand between the fringes of water and frost.
The haunting scenery of pure white snow soaked in scarlet blood, flowing a river for the darkened sea, over layered lay twelve, unmoving, marred men poising horror of a battle ground.
A man with a bloated face on the sea shore, legs thrashing aggresively, debile hands fighting to breath, battling to wrest the foot in a black leather boot—smothering his throat.
Harder...
And harder...
The man above him harrowed the boot in his bone.
The man gagged, light dulling from bursting red eyes.
A gun in the hold of his hand, and the other—where a burning cigarette was in between the pinch of his long fingers.
He loosened the force of his foot, and savoured a puff of smoke, his cheek hollowing as he drew in deep the nirvana.
Exhaling out slow—the hazy murk, the vapour floated one with the freezing breeze.
He stared down at the shattered man.
A smirk lined up the corner of his lips: the middle-aged man under his mercy, adorning fear of death in the marble eyes, sparked amusement on the brims of his own gloomy orbs.
This end of a long mission would be imprinted by his dead. The slaughter of the master culprit; who cored the gruelling depravities shoved down on woman and children in the country; for now.
It was the fact; no matter how long a man lived, he would never live to see the cease of barbarity, triggered by their own kind.
Human trafficking embodied a crucial issue in Erriador.
All these months he had masqueraded as one of the dealers where he had his soul corroded, seeing through the monstrous act they put through the victims.
To inflict pain before he eventually killed the involved, an atrocity where they prayed for dead, he thought tormenting them slow could lighten the eerie darkness inside. But eliminating the evil sooner saved time for a quest to round out more.
So, the jaded man aimed the gun at him, his head held high, his stare sullen.
He shot him, the body jerking with each blast.
Twice...
Thrice... More clinking mailed bullets...
The struggling motions of the man went limp, the head exploded, grime splitted brain matters, warm blood oozing out his body—melting creeping with the cold snow.
A frown cramped his features.
He removed his blood–stained boot from off the corpse, and kicked him—planting him face down.
He threw the cigarette on the wet, crushing through the sand under his shoe. He then watched the far sea waves swirl in, flowing away the wasted cig.
His senses drew to the sound of crunching footsteps. The tall shadow of a man emerging out the winter reed, his visage clearing as he walked near.
Scanning the swarm of rotting, cold dead men, his nose scrunched up in disgust, the pungent smell repulsing him.
"You've made some bloody mess here, Agent Czar." Remarked the man, his keen gaze rivetted to his shadowed form.
Rhett ignored him, the back-up team following Agent Knight's trail.
Knight instructed them to attend to the dead bodies. Then he glanced at the familiar figure of the man by Rhett's feet, his frown deepening.
Knight saw him walking away so he jogged after him. "How dare you kill him without my permission?"
"I am the head of this operation. You are under my command Czar!" Knight raged.
His nose flared at a nonchalant Rhett.
He scoffed when Rhett got on the bike and put on the helmet.
"Fucking ridiculous!"
"Answer me damn it,"
Rhett finally looked at Knight, his expression remained unchanged.
"I'm not led."
.
.
.
Agent Knight clenched his fist, grating his teeth in anger as he saw Rhett speeding off and dissapearing into the night.
The mission was over. He was the leader of the elite team, but he never got the ordinance or respect deserved of the title.
But he did.
Czar had cleaned up the circle of predators on his own rule.
And Knight was left with only a mere part to play in the hunt.
"Fucking asshole!"
---
Christmas was only days away again.
The streets were adorned in dazzling golden lights, green vines and wreaths of decors.
He was walking within the crowd of people. The night city bustling in spirit. The fast, faceless silhouettes in the shades of black smoke.
If he looked up, they revealed an eerie grin, mocking him.
That is why, his gaze was on the ground, unaware where his feet would lead him.
For he didn't have a home.
The weary body bore a restless mind. The reflecting rapture did nothing to unburden the stern and dusky eyes.
It would have been his third Christmas with her.
He was back to the grim phase of life.
She intertwined their fingers, she so easily caressed him away from the muddled past. She was his... his—everything.
Now she was gone. She had taken away his life. She left nothing; but a breathing corpse.
His steps froze, a foreign heat flickered in his eyes.
There stood a woman; her very long black hair waving along her waist, her white dress floating down her ankle, her curl strands and the flare of the dress, slow dancing with the breeze.
She was still, and her warm cocoa eyes were on him.
She wore the most beautiful smile; a heavenly glow—and just like everytime, the world blurred and faded.
"Angel..." Rhett breathed.
She smiled brighter, the radiance of her frame, her ethereal face so clear and close.
She tilted her head, her arms reaching out for him.
His eyes moistened, heart thrumming so loud and rapid, fighting to abandon this body and thrash out to be in her embrace.
He pushed away the crowd to get to her.
He saw her there in the midst, and she was so close.
He stumbled in the middle of the street, gaze thrown on the cobblestone where ashes of frost were feathery sprayed over—strangers cursing at him.
With frightened and widened eyes he jerked his head up to look if she paled.
His sigh wavering; she blinked reassuringly at him.
She would wait for him, for he will eventually hold her. They could never be seperated; for they are forever one.
The distance never seemed to end.
His features ruined to a frown. He walked faster, then he started to run in the tightly clamped crowd.
It was alarming, he could not reach her.
Suddenly someone walked through her.
And she faded.
The white smoke swirled in the mist. His pupils trembled, limbs loosing strength, he almost fell to his knee.
Then he saw her, walking towards a flower shop, she was heading accross the street.
He forced his betraying legs to run to her.
He swallowed down the bile rising his mouth. His breathing ragged. His gaze tying a firm knot to her form.
How would the fate unfold to steal her away again?
But he did not worry about it, because now that he held her wrist, he would not let anyything cut his half away from him again.
"Angel,"
The woman turned her head to face him, a frown drowning her previous ecstasy. She harshly snatched away her hand, grossed out by the stranger's touch.
Rhett's face collapsed, now ashened. The soul burned and died for once more.
She looked nothing like her. She felt nothing like his Neva.
Slitting apart his wiring grave, a man knocked his chest. But he couldn't even sway his rigid form.
"The fuck man!" He exclaimed, shielding behind the petite woman.
Rhett's bottomless eyes glanced at the man.
Then he simply turned around, his gaze roving here and there—to nowhere.
The man looked at his retreating back as if he was a moron. Glimpsing down at the woman with worry and love swirling in his eyes, he shrugged his shoulders and asked her if she was alright.
Neva was never here. She was a hallucination, an illusion. She was never found.
Two silhouettes trailing Rhett for a while now, they watched him in compassion as he walked through the door of a bar.
"Boss finally lost it," Leaning in, Ace whispered in Sky's ear. She glared at him and started ambling towards the bar, while Ace left behind rushed after her.