Part 9
A large gray steel door in the back of an apartment building opened with a loud noise, leading to a quiet alleyway outside.
Everything was quiet beyond the sounds of birds chirping.
Spring was in full effect, as the air was warm with a light breeze.
A heavy-set man walked out in a gray t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops carrying a large black plastic bag in his left hand, with his right hand holding the door open.
Now fully outside, the weather felt irritating to his skin.
The man began walking to a large, green-wheeled garbage dumpster with a black lid covering it.
Walking up to the dumpster, he lifted the lid up with his right hand, revealing several black trash bags inside, ready to be collected and taken away.
Not wasting time, the man tossed the bag inside with a grunt. Wiping his right hand on his shorts, he removed his left hand, holding up the lid and letting it fall shut.
He began to walk to the closed door but paused as he attempted to pull his keys out of his pockets.
Suddenly, all sound began to die down.
“Huh?”
Footsteps could be heard with a loud echo.
The man began turning his head from side to side, but he could not pinpoint where the sound was coming from.
“………….orry” Through the muted sounds, a voice spoke out that sounded like a cry.
“I…am so very……sorry.”
Step.
Step.
Each sound echoing.
Step.
Getting louder.
Step
He was trying to pinpoint a location.
Step.
Then everything went silent.
There.
Behind him.
A few feet from him
An elderly man
There in the alleyway stood a man who was known and unknown as Anatoli Azarov.
The mage killer
He stood there with his feet apart, his hands at his sides, and a knife in his right hand. The expression on his face was that of a scowl, as he never took his eyes off the man, as if he were an animal eyeing his prey under the cover of grass.
Slowly, Anatoli moved his left foot forward to take a step.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
There was a slight grunt as a young teen was lifted off his feet and flipped into the air onto his back, his back hitting the hard ground.
He felt as if all the oxygen was taken from him.
The teen let out a whimper as he laid on the ground. He slowly opened his eyes, staring at the white ceiling above him.
His arm was twisted as a teen stood over him, causing him to wince out in pain. His legs thrashed about as he tried to free himself.
This action caused his sparring partner to twist his arm tighter.
“Alright, alright, I give!!!” the teen said as he began tapping the mat under him with his free hand.
The other teen let go of his arm, letting it fall to the mat, with the teen exhaling deeply.
Grabbing his arm, the teen calmed his breathing as the other teen held out his hand. With a deep exhale, the teen grabbed the other’s hand, and with a grunt, he pulled himself up to his feet.
Two and a half years.
That is how long he has been here.
By now, his body and mind had gotten used to this routine.
During that time, he has managed to go through a growth spurt or two, and his body has become leaner in stature. His hair was cut shorter like all the others.
There is no individuality among today's teenagers.
He glanced around the room.
There are several others in pairs of two in combat training. Some of the teens were fighting bare-handed; others had wooden weapons.
(With this training….are we supposed to fight sinners? If so, then…..)
The room was filled with several grunts coming from the other teens.
The teen dozed off into his thoughts.
Suddenly, the program director walked forward, causing all the teens in the room to stop what they were doing and turn their attention to him.
“I believe this wraps up today's lessons and combat training; as such, you guys may get ready for supper, but as long as you do not forget what you learned today and all the other days that you are here, it will help you when the time comes for you to go up against the sinners of this world.”
The teen looked at the program director.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
The cafeteria.
Supper.
The teen sat by himself at an empty table.
With his head rested in his hand, he was playing with his food, picking up a piece of broccoli and letting it fall back down onto the tray repeatedly.
Sinners.
That word again.
He never pondered that word this much before.
The young teen looked down as he focused on that word.
A word many of the adults use—frequently.
The teacher, the nuns, everyone in this facility, the way they said it and how they did it, with such contempt and such venom.
Why?
There was a lot he did not understand right now.
“You seem to be lost in your thoughts, young one. Is everything okay?”
A soft male voice interrupted him from his thoughts, causing the young teen to look up.
With a quick exhale, the teen demeanor softened as he saw the headmaster of the orphanage he used to stay at.
The headmaster slightly smiled.
"It's been a while; how have you been holding up?”
The teen sat up and straightened his posture, just as he had been taught to do countless times before.
The headmaster examined the teen's face before his smile lightly faded.
“You seemed troubled; are you having a hard time here?”
The teen turned his eyes away, looking down at the plate of food.
“I’m doing good... I think, but I am not sure. I am just trying to figure something out."
“Something school-related"
The teen felt nervous.
He gulped.
He did not know how to ask this question, but-
He knew that if he didn’t ask, he was never going to get any clarity.
The teen turned his head toward the headmaster.
“What is a sinner?”
“!”
The headmaster stared at the child before averting his eyes. After a few seconds of silence, the headmaster looked up to the ceiling.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
“PLEASE……..PLEASE SOMEBODY HELP ME!!!!!” a wail broke out.
But no one answered.
In the alleyway, heavy panting and heavy footsteps broke out.
The sound came from a heavy-set man as he was running in an alleyway that now felt tight and constricted.
Blood dripped down onto the floor, coming from the man's left arm.
To the man, this alleyway seemed to go on forever with no end in sight.
Locked doors.
Turns.
Dead ends.
Corners.
Still, he kept running.
To the fleeing man, it was all the same.
There was no way to escape; the old man appeared before him and attacked him out of nowhere.
He couldn’t tell where the elderly man was, but he knew that he was here—somewhere.
Hunting him like an animal.
Why?
Did he cross somebody on purpose or without knowing?
There were so many thoughts going through his head.
Everything was silent except the heavy breathing coming from the man.
A knife with blue markings on the handle was thrown and stabbed itself in the concrete ground near his left foot. He stared at the knife.
There was an unnerving silence.
At first—nothing.
Then, cold, white, thin smoke started to rise from the ground from around the knife.
Shiiiiiik.
Ice emerged from the ground upward.
As the man attempted to pull his leg away, ice encased his foot up to his ankle, causing the man to fall to the ground with a loud thud.
The man let out a loud yell as he tried to grab his leg.
The freezing cold was unbearable, almost burning.
Throughout the sound of his yell, loud footsteps could be heard, and the hopelessness of the situation began to hit him like a ton of bricks.
The man did not waste any time trying to figure out whose footsteps they belonged to.
He began to crawl on the floor, using whatever strength he had to escape.
His body felt heavy as he tried to move to the open street.
Grunting filled the alleyway.
He maybe got less than a few feet, but all his struggling stopped when he felt something press against his ice-covered foot.
Shaking, the man turned around to see the old man behind him, with his right foot pinning the encased foot of the man to the ground.
His eyes drifted to the elderly man's face.
It was stone cold, lacking any sort of emotion, as if the person he was staring at was nothing more than an animal.
His heart sank.
There was no escape.
Seeing his face, the man on the ground began to thrash around violently.
(So that is what they are calling them.)
The elderly man pressed his knee against the back of the man to keep him from moving.
(So that means you know what that word means?)
With his right hand, the elderly man stuck his hand up the sleeve of his left arm.
He put weight on his knee.
Slowly, he pulled out a knife with a yellow marking from out of the sleeve.
The man who was pinned to the ground stopped moving.
“Ple….as….e help….me” the man said in a low whisper.
In his thoughts, someone had run by the two, causing the elderly man's eyes to drift upwards.
In the corner of his eye.
Someone had managed to slip past his magic barrier.
To his left.
At the sound of the plea, the person stopped in their tracks.
That person's back was facing the elderly man.
Black hair that was tied in a ponytail with a red wrap.
A black jacket with red stripes on the sleeves.
Black pants.
Black sneakers with red stripes
A teenager.
A high school student.
The teen's left foot moved as he turned his body counterclockwise at the source of the faint plea that called out to him.
As he did, his facial features became visible.
Light blue eyes that peaked through his black bangs.
The expression on his face was that of nervousness, as if some hair-raising creature were behind him.
Something he could not explain.
A feeling.
Dread.
He could feel a bead of sweat travel down the side of his head.
The elderly man slightly raised his head.
The teen’s eyes widen as he has a chance to glance at the scene.
It was just for a few seconds.
An elderly man kneeled over an individual knife in hand.
The individual looked disheveled, with a look of fear on his face and pleading eyes as he stared at the teen.
The teen clenched his fist.
The elderly man dusted his knees as he stood up.
Silence.
(…..That a vague question with no correct answer depending on who you ask, but with him…..If I were to guess... a sinner would be someone who disrupts the tranquility of our peaceful lives.)
The teen’s eyes drifted upward as both men stared at each other.
Chapter 8: END
