In front of the human soldier's statue, Elir looked annoyed at his rain-soaked cigarette. But Nier didn't care about his fallen cigarette. He too stood there, head raised, letting the rain wash over his face and body.
Bial… the air here was always heavy, as if he could never breathe.
Now, this refreshing rain and the cool breeze made it feel as though he was breathing for the first time in his life.
Nier's golden locks were soaked, clinging to his face. He looked around the street—children were laughing and playing in the rain, and even Azar's girls, ignoring customers for a few moments, enjoyed the raindrops on their faces.
Nier noticed an old woman holding a makeshift umbrella of plastic bags. The rain poured onto her, but she held the umbrella up in front of her, steadily advancing until she reached the statue in Bial's center. She raised the umbrella and placed it over the brave human soldier's statue.
Nier's eyes widened as he watched this woman smile at the soldier's figure, now safe from the rain.
The walk home that day was cold, and they didn't speak much because Nier liked the sound of the rain.
Elir entered the small, dark house again. One room, a living area, and a bathroom. If they wanted to cook, they could light a fire outside. Elir's father could afford a bigger home, but why spend Elir's hard-earned money on something like that?
Elir didn't bother turning on the lights. But since when did darkness carry such a foul stench? The smell of rotting flesh… It didn't bother him, though. The stench of this decaying flesh was, to him, the smell of freedom.
He heard a weak voice from the living area. "You think you'll get away with this…"
Elir moved closer. His father was on the couch in the small living area, facing a table cluttered with liquor. That was his father's favorite spot.
Elir sat in front of him, just looking at him: that filthy beard soaked with alcohol (today, soaked with sweat), his father's fat body filling the couch, clothed in a dirty shirt and brown trousers, black shoes, the shirt stained with drinks and leftover food…
Both trouser legs were caked with clotted blood, and white maggots squirmed in the wounds, feeding on his flesh. No space remained among the decaying tissue. Elir had smashed both legs hard with an iron pipe so his father could never walk again.
Elir said, "Didn't you say you'd break both my legs so I couldn't leave? I only did what you would have done. But you're weak—that's why you're the one with the broken legs."
His father spoke through labored breaths, "You bastard… I raised you, fed you, gave you a job… is this how you repay me?" He lifted his hand, sweat beading on his face. "Get me a doctor…"
Elir didn't respond, so his father continued, "Why… why did they give me a child like you?!"
Elir stood and walked away. "No use crying to the gods now, Father."
Elir went into his father's room. Behind him, his father's scream echoed, "Eliiiiiiir!"
How many hours had he slept in his father's room? He used to sleep outside on the couch, but now he couldn't. He hated those white maggots—they were always swarming Azar's basement.
The room was cold, the bed somewhat comfortable, though a bit dirty… Why couldn't he sleep? Was it the footsteps he heard outside? A man with two decaying legs couldn't possibly walk. He hadn't budged from that couch in three days.
Did the white maggots seal his wounds so he could stand and walk now? Elir really hated those maggots.
He moved quietly and picked up the iron pipe, still stained with his father's blood. He listened. Coughing—he'd heard that cough countless times over eight years. Azar's coughs.
Azar was sitting next to his father on the couch, laughing. "You crazy boy, I knew you'd do this one day!"
Elir let the iron pipe slip from his hand. He said calmly, "You can save him if you want—after I leave."
Azar replied, "I couldn't care less about that fat old man. I've come here to ask you something."
Elir didn't respond. He walked over to the faucet, filled a cup of water, drank, then filled another. Nothing seemed to quench his thirst. He hated Azar. He hated his father. He hated the white maggots.
Azar watched him for a moment, then said, "Don't join the army. Stay with me."
Elir kept drinking, and didn't answer.
Azar continued, blowing cigarette smoke, "Why not? I know you don't care about Frata or humans… and you, following army rules and orders? Don't make me laugh. You won't last a week—you'd be executed because you'd decorate your room with your superiors' heads…"
Azar stood, approaching Elir and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Why not stay here and make money as you please? I know you made me and your fat father rich. After he dies, you'll take all the money. What do you say?"
Elir replied, "I don't care about money either."
Azar asked, "Then why go?"
Elir answered, "I don't want to stay here."
Azar let out a loud laugh as he moved around the house. "What, you think you're better than us, like that blond friend of yours? Why are you both so excited to become dogs for the humans? I never thought you could be this stupid."
Elir stepped closer. "No… I just don't want to see your face again."
Azar's laughter faded into disappointment. "My God, is this how you talk to the man who taught you how to be a real man?" He stood and added, "I just hope nothing happens to that blond boy… it'll be very hard for you then."
Before Azar could take another step, a knife from the kitchen table touched his neck. Blood dripped onto Elir's hand and Azar's throat.
Azar laughed nervously. "Careful now… we don't want you waking up to two corpses in this house."
Elir spoke in a heavy, ominous voice with two terrifying wide eyes, "You've seen what I can do to a body. Eight years, watching me crush heads with my bare hands until they turn into lumps of flesh. I never spare the bones. If your audience wants it, I'll keep punching until their teeth crumble too… Remember how much money you made when there wasn't a single piece of a man's head left?"
Elir continued, "Remember the sounds? Remember how their bodies shook? Remember how they pissed and shit themselves in terror?"
Fear crept over Azar's face. His breathing grew heavier as Elir went on, "If you remember all that, how do you find space in your tiny mind to remember Nier's name?"
Azar's breath and heartbeat pounded louder than Elir's words. Elir stepped back slightly. Azar's body trembled as he forced a shaky laugh. "My God, all this for a joke… Aren't you going to joke with this old man before leaving? And here I thought we'd share a drink and a chat for our farewell… My God…"
Azar still trembled as he looked at Elir, who stood unmoving, eyes locked on him. Azar said before turning toward the door, "Ah, youth's passion… I'll miss it. Make sure you come back and visit, agreed?"
His face shifted from a forced smile to a hardened look as he touched his neck and closed the door behind him. The cut on his throat was shallow; he hadn't bled much. So why did he feel so cold, so full of chills?
His eyes widened in terror, recalling Elir's gaze. Would he really have killed me? That boy… he always terrified me.