I don’t want to talk about The First Potens

War or The Arabian Death. It’s not that I

shouldn’t mention them, I simply don’t want.

Let’s learn in silence from that tragedy.

-Savvria Ixen Âkil, President of the ISPC

Ludwig was launched to his right as a leg pierced his defense from the left. His raised arms faltered, but he quickly straightened them up, still conscious of his opponent’s movement. Ludwig, retaining the air in his lungs, threw a roundhouse kick to the leg his foe was standing on.

He had never been good using kicks, but they had too much potential for him to waste. The extended range, and in most cases superior power, was a good tool to use in long and mid range situations.

His foot connected with the left calf. It was a good place to hit, especially if the opponent only had one foot on the floor. In the best case scenario, the kick would throw them to the ground, opening a huge advantage. Worst case, it would stagger them a bit, which could be used to then tear open their defense, if the follow up was good enough.

Ludwig was confident on the strike. He had analyzed the situation and answered it with an appropriate response. It also felt good. He himself had been thrown or struck by this attack, and now he was the one using it.

Ludwig then followed up with a left jab. Or at least, he would have followed up if it wasn’t for a small miscalculation.

He was fighting the equivalent of a mountain. A huge, and jacked mountain.

His foot had done nothing to Logan’s leg, and the left jab he had thrown as soon as his foot touched the ground was interrupted by a right hook coming from the man.

Ludwig spun before falling to the mat on the ring. Of course, Logan grabbed him by the wrist before even his clothes touched the ground.

“God! Ludwig, I’mma be honest, I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Logan said as he grabbed him by the shoulders and helped him stand.

Ludwig’s head was pounding and doing what some people would consider ‘sick drifts’. Of course, sick in this instance had a different meaning.

“It’s… I-It’s fine. I got a helmet,” he said as he touched the protection with his gloves. If it hadn’t been for it, he was sure that they would’ve instead been talking about the funeral arrangements.

“I don’t think that’s enough.”

Despite that the helmet covered plenty of his face and cushioned a lot of the hits to the face, he could understand the man. Heck, he now believed he understood punching bags.

“Ok, ok. I’ll start sparring with someone my weight,” Ludwig finally said with a hand on the helmet.

“Thank you!” Logan said, with an honest look of relief. It was fascinating how much his thick eyebrows curved.

“But before that, can you give me some pointers on our fight just yet?”

“Sure,” the man said while letting go of his shoulders. ”Um, you did very well. Much better than a couple of weeks ago. You’re beginning to build up some intuition to know when to strike. But, like last time, your technique is quite lacking. Not that it wouldn’t, since you’ve only been coming like two or three weeks. ”

Ludwig stroked his left shoulder.

“And what do I need to improve?”

“First of all, you still don’t align your punches.”

Ludwig looked at his right and gloved hand, “And how do I need to align them?”

“Well,” Logan began to say as he moved his hand towards Ludwig’s. “Your wrist has to be straight,” he then told him as he grabbed Ludwig’s and extended it. “Otherwise, you could do some serious and nasty damage to it, which could also leave you in a bad spot while fighting.”

Ludwig let the giant man freely control his arm. Logan was precisely moving and guiding his hand, showing him the correct posture that he needed to use. That made him feel… Curious.

“You also need to be careful with how you kick. You hit my calf with your shin. Some people do that, but I would prefer it if you hit with your metatarsus. It gives you much more power and is less dangerous than kicking with…”

Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone strong that could punch for you? That could kick for you? Someone that gave you the strength that you didn’t have? That could fight for you? An armor that attacked your enemies at the same time that protected you?

The thought had come to his mind as a silly fantasy that could never happen. A dream. A vain desire that would lead nowhere. He then remembered how the world had changed. How he had changed. After talking about his footing, Ludwig approached the punching bag to continue his session. Of course, Logan hadn’t really liked the idea.

Ludwig began practicing his combinations. After the first few days, punching the bag had become some sort of meditation to him. He needn’t worry about getting hit, or what would be the best attack. He just punched it while listening to music. And that felt good.

Shortly after beginning his sesion, the thought returned to his mind. An armor that could attack and defend at the same time… Could he do that? If he could… It would be very helpful for the future.

(Wagner,) he then thought as he landed a right hook on the bag. He needed to give more rotation to the foot.

Wagner thrummed in response, (Yes?)

(Is there a way we could use our strings to… You know, not kick the bucket.)

(Ludwig, I do not know how many times I have to remind you that I don’t understand these expressions of yours.)

(It basically means dying! Do you think we could use the strings to avoid being pummeled; ergo, avoid being brutally killed by a psychopath?)

(Thank you,) Wagner reverberated… Elegantly? Ludwig didn’t know how to put it. (And I do not know, but I think it’s fairly easy to find out. Take out those gloves and punch the punching bag with a hand covered by strings.)

Ludwig stopped his fist in the air, letting it drop to his side. He then gave an exhausted sigh.

(Why does research have to be so violent?) Ludwig thought, more to his own than to Wagner.

(Considering we’re trying to find ways to murder someone, it’s a sign were are going in the right direction.)

(Killing someone doesn’t have to be violent,) Ludwig argued.

(Correct,) Wagner reverberated in accordance. (But you want it to.)

Ludwig didn’t immediately think of a reply as he considered what it had said, finally deciding that it wasn’t true. Ludwig wanted to kill Armstrong, the beast inside was the one that wanted the process to be violent. Ludwig simply didn’t care about it.

Moving on to the research, Ludwig began growing and pulling normal strings with a light purple color that coiled around his right arm and hand.

(Does it matter if I envelop each finger individually?) Ludwig inquired internally.

(I do not think so,) Wagner thrummed.

Ludwig finished his framework of strings, pulling off the glove from his right hand at the same time as he turned the strings transparent. Ludwig didn’t have a good reason to hide his power, but he also didn’t have a good reason to make it public. It also felt… Wrong somehow.

Ludwig tightened his fist and was able to feel the threads around it. They didn’t squeeze his arm, but remained steady as he swung them around.

He then got into a fighting stance.

Ludwig threw a normal punch. He made sure to follow Logan’s advice and kept his wrist aligned with his forearm. Finding ways to protect himself from others wouldn’t be useful if he just hurt his body on his own…

A pain flew across the entirety of Ludwig’s arm. Every point, part, and side of his arm screamed with a burning pain, making his legs tremble and almost falling to the padded floor if he hadn’t held onto the bag. Ludwig pulled himself up, his right arm still embedded in the strings.

(Ouch,) was all he could think as he gasped for air, his heart beat racing.

(Mmh,) was Wagner's response. (Could you punch the bag once more?)

(NO!) Ludwig furiously thought. After all he had suffered, why the fuck would he subject himself to more pain?! He had enough, didn’t he? (Do you really expect me to do that?! Do you know how much it hurts?!)

(Yes,) Wagner reverberated calmly. (But I suppose that you didn’t think this through.)

Wagner sighed.

(I am attached to your brain, Ludwig,) it then continued. (I see what you see, I hear what you hear, I feel what you feel.)

Ludwig was lost in thought.

(Every time someone hurts you, I feel it too. You’re not alone Ludwig.)

Ludwig remained lost in thought. If Wagner could also feel the pain, the crushing weight of all the hits, the burning sensation caused by the numerous strikes, how could he not be angry? Furious? Enraged as much as he was?

When Ludwig asked for revenge, it asked what would be emotionally best for him. If it felt all that pain, how could it not have said that it wanted revenge? Wagner felt Ludwig’s emotions, didn’t that mean that he should also feel its? It had emotions, he could tell for the way it talked to his mind… Why…?

(Could you please do it again?) Wagner asked, interrupting his confusion.

(I… Yes,) he just thought.

Ludwig mentally prepared himself. It would sting, it would burn, it would hurt… But he wasn’t alone.

He threw an uppercut at the punching bag’s imaginary rib cage, pain devouring his arm completely. Ludwig did not flinch, his legs remained steady while his arm screamed in desperation, yet it was more managle than the first time.

He had someone to carry the burden with.

(Interesting,) Wagner reverberated planly. It might have felt the pain, but it sure didn’t seem like that. (We might be able to use them against her after all.)

(How? That didn’t seem like a good ‘protection’. In fact, it made it worse.)

(Check your hand,) was its answer.

Ludwig did, and his hand was completely fine. There wasn’t any blood, scratches, or abrasion marks. It wasn’t even red from the heat.

(Mmh. I mean, they work as gloves, but would they protect me from… I don’t know, a car hurled my way?)

Since he was going to face a fork lift for a person, it would benefit him to know how much the threads could hold. When it came to the example, he had said the first thing that came to mind and seemed possible enough, but it was now that he began picturing the image in his head.

The vehicle, going sixty kilometer per hour, but instead of driving on the road, it would be riding the skies until it fell on his head. The threads hadn’t made his punch stronger, so he saw himself being crushed against the ground, blood spattering and flowing from the hole in his stomach, writhing in his tears as Armstrong walked to him…

The fact that he could picture the image and consider it a possible outcome said a lot about him.

(I do not think that they would be the same, but I do believe that they could still work.)

(But how? Even if I wore armor made out of steel, I would still get crushed by the car. The threads might be tough, but I’m not. I would still get hit by the force behind the car’s momentum… Hypothetically,) he then added. It was starting to get grimmer than it should.

(Because there’s a difference between steel and the threads,) Wagner revealed.

Ludwig raised his eyebrows, (Does that mean that the strings aren’t made out of steel?)

(It does,) Wagner calmly reverberated.

Then that would determine it.

(Ixanite,) Ludwig mentally whispered.. (But… How do you know?)

(I began thinking on the subject from the moment I learned about the reinforced threads, and even deeper thanks to our recent research. I knew about them, but I didn’t know how I knew about them. After deliberating about it, I reached the most likely conclusion. The cause of this mysterious knowledge is my own connection to The Void.)

Ludwig had pulled his threads and gone to the lockers. He was changing his outfit when Wagner revealed the cause.

(But if that was it, then wouldn’t I know as well.)

Ludwig himself was connected to The Void, it was the reason for his strings. At least if what Wagner had said was true.

Not that it was lying to him. That made even less sense.

(No. You have a connection, but it is not the same connection. I’m sorry if it is confusing, the meaning of the word is overlapping. But basically, I have a deeper connection to The Void. But that’s beside the point.)

Not it wasn’t. It was the reason for the difference, hence, it was important and relevant. Now that Ludwig was pondering about it, Wagner had deviated the conversation in a similar fashion before. Was he hiding something? Did it have to do with it not being supposed to talk to Ludwig? But what would be the reason… Reluctantly, he let it slide.

(The pain we felt,) Wagner continued. (We felt it across the whole extremity, when we shouldn’t have. I had my doubts, but after that second punch, I know the reason. The threads are energetic conductors.)

Ludwig was drying the sweat on his bare chest with a black toal. He had already changed his pants, now wearing black casual jeans, still with the same trainers from the session. He had yet to shower, but he would wait until he reached his house.

(Like electricity or temperature?) Ludwig thought as he put on the banana-shirt, the same one he had worn when leaving the hospital for the first time in fifteen years.

(Included but not limited to. There’s also chemical energy, as well as others, but the most important for our purpose is kinetic energy.)

Ludwig stopped on his tracks, bag in hand, as he was about to walk out of the locker room, already changed but still filled with sweat.

(That’s… That’s good news,) Ludwig thought with excitement. (Really good news. With something like that, we could render ourselves immune to her attacks-)

(Not exactly,) Wagner interrupted. (The threads would still be connected to your body, meaning it would still suffer. What it would mean is that the energy would spread across the strings.)

(... So, we would still suffer the attack?)

(We would. But with this we could maybe avoid… ‘Kicking the bucket’ at the first hit.)

Ludwig shrugged. Something was better than nothing.

He then left the lockers and marched to the front door, waving a ‘goodbye’ at Logan before crossing the double door made out of crystal. Ludwig put his hands on his pockets as he felt the breeze coming from the other side of the street. It was November, and he could feel the ambient cooling down. Which was weird, at least here in Florida. He then began walking down the street.

Sting Street was full of businesses, ranging from shops, barbers, restaurants, to even gyms. He had counted four on one of his trips from Logan’s gym to the bus stop which he used to get home, and the distance that separated said route only took about five to ten minutes to travel.

The name might have been confusing, but Sting Street wasn’t a street. It was an avenue with establishments to its left and right, with slim and periodical trees signaling the main ‘road’, where most people walked on, that stretched for about ten blocks from where it started. Due to all this, it was fair to say that Sting Street was packed.

Ludwig was walking in the ride tide of people, going to the bus stop while frequently bumping shoulders with other pedestrians. The avenue was full, even with the explosion caused some weeks prior. Of course, he hadn’t seen it before, but it was hard to picture more people in a space that somehow seemed narrow.

(Do you think the use of acid would damage her?) Wagner asked while Ludwig was pushed forward by one of the man-made waves.

(It depends,) Ludwig thought as he stabilized himself. (If her powers have changed the composition of her body, it’s not likely. However, if they only make her stronger… It could work.)

(Mmh,) was all that Wagner thrummed.

(But if we approach the subject from this direction, there are other options available. If her body hasn’t mutated in some way, we could burn her alive or electrocute her to death, maybe even stopping her heart. But if it has, that complicates things.)

(Even if her body is different,) Wagner reverberated. (We should be able to exploit essential elements for humans. Sleep deprivation, hunger, or thirst are examples that cross my mind.)

(We wouldn’t need to go that far. If we can leave her without air for ten minutes, that should do the trick. But this has another problem in of itself, and it’s how do we force her into one of those situations. Because we can’t force her. It’s physically impossible.)

Wagner vibrated, (Killing is hard.)

(Fortunately, that seems to apply to us as well.)

Ludwig turned right at a side street connected with Sting Street.

The bus stop was way down the tilted street, fairly far from where all the people were. Which made sense, since it would’ve been impossible for a small car to cross the avenue, let alone a big bus.

Ludwig stopped near the bus stop.

He didn’t sit on the bench, despite being completely clear. He instead reclined on one of its walls, which had an advertisement with two black silhouettes that leaned to each other, both armed with some kind of weapon, on top having a pink background with the words ‘The Intricacies Of Love’, in a white and bold font.

Ludwig pulled out his phone. It was seven thirty-three in the afternoon. Maybe he could pull out that wiki that had information on Armstrong, check out if her body was…

A spike of anxiety and fear struck Ludwig.

Ludwig began gasping for air, feeling like he was about to run out. Every part of him was shaking. His legs were weak, barely able to support his weight.

He was frightened. Of what? He didn’t know.

He wanted to run, find somewhere else, be somewhere else. Somewhere where he could be alone with Wagner and his thoughts, despite there not being anyone near him, somewhere where he wouldn’t feel this pressure.

(Ludwig?) Wagner thrummed, worried. (Your heart rate has risen up significantly, what’s happening?)

“You… You said that you were keeping them at a minimum. The…” He stopped himself to catch a few mouthfuls of air, his hair wet from the recent cold sweat. “The emotions from others.”

(I did, and I am… Are you feeling that anxiety too?)

That if he was feeling it? He was experiencing it in the first row, with three D glasses on and special seats.

“Yes,” was all he said.

(What’s happening? For someone to be-)

Wagner stopped his reverberation as it and Ludwig saw a green bottle flying from yet another side street, smashing against the sidewalk.

Ludwig immediately wanted to run from it, from the source of such horrible feelings, such horrendous things. A primal feeling was telling him that there was fire, and that if he didn’t run, he would get burnt.

Yet he didn’t.

A part inside him wondered why, clueless. The other part of him, the one conscious that this feeling wasn’t his, but that it came from another person… Also wanted to run. But something deep inside him refused, disgusted by the idea.

The beast inside propped Ludwig to advance forward.

Every step he took was the outcome of the confrontation between the beast inside, and the anxiety and fear. A clash of emotions, each reclaiming their domain over Ludwig’s body. The beast came out as the winner most of the time, but from once in a while, the anxious fear made him retreat, making Ludwig draw back.

Slow and steady, taking the occasional step backwards, Ludwig made his way to the entrance of the side street, the shards of glass to his right, stained with the remains of what the bottle had contained.

He reclined on the edge of the wall, his heart pounding hard enough that Ludwig could feel it in his ears. Even now, the battle between the beast inside and what it was mostly fear continued, only difference was that the beast was trying to hold what it had conquered.

Ludwig pushed the wall, his hands shaking, and peeked inside the side street.

The side street was narrow, only being slightly bigger than what would have been considered a big alleyway, about four meters from one wall to the other. The road had closed establishments at both sides, mostly pubs and bars with some neon or stylized signs, with what would be considered a negligible sidewalk.

After his quick glance at the street itself, he saw the cause of his fear. Or better put, her fear.

A group of four men and a woman, ranging from different ethnicities, were standing over a bruised, bloody, and partially naked girl, whose legs and but were exposed. Most of the group, at a distance, but still close enough to the girl, were empty handed except for an asian man, who had the girl’s clothes. He held in his hands some leather pants, a green linen jacket, and a pair of purple shoes in his hands. The two in front, the woman and a bearded black man, were on the girl, the former pushing her back against the pavement and pulling her ponytail, while the latter had a blade to her throat with his penis out, encouraging her to what Ludwig could guess was oral sex.

“Are you sure about it?” The man said with an exaggerated smile on his face. “Can I really do it?”

“Everything for you, baby,” the woman said, with her own perverted smile. “Of course, only if our friend here accepts,” she said as she pulled her hair, hard.

The girl didn’t respond. Not a scream, not even a movement, not a single flinch at all. Her eyes were still as if she had been wearing a face mask. Fake. Without feelings.

Broken.

“I’m not hearing a no,” the sexual offender said. “But it would be nice if you said yes. Maybe a cut will motivate you, mmh?” He said as he approached the knife to her throat even more.

Yet the girl remained still, paralyzed by her fear.

Just like Ludwig.

What was he supposed to do at a moment like this? Ludwig felt that it was supposed to be clear, that it was at the tip of his tongue, but the clash of emotions clouded his mind. What was…?

A rumble extended across the wall he was reclining on. Both his head and the heads of the assaulting group snapped to the origin of the sound, not that far away from the group.

A black young man was pummeling the concrete wall with impressive force. He wore a leather jacket with a clear brown color on top of a white T-shirt and blue jeans, ripped where the knees were. His fists were relentlessly hitting the wall at full force, yet no blood was shed from them. The skin remained intact.

“Yo,” the man said, letting his shaft fall and hang from his fly. “Do you mind? We pawns are trying to have a private encounter.”

The young man stopped his left fist in mid air, turning to face them.

“Pawns?” He then asked. The words were full of emotion, mainly anger.

He then approached the group, now silent. The woman on top of the girl nodded her head in the direction of another member of the group, a white tall man with a beard that would have fit a lumberjack. He began marching towards the young man.

Before fists could’ve punched and legs kicked, the young man dashed the meter and a half between them and slapped the lumberjack with his right hand, launching him into the wall to his left. The sound of cracked bones flooded the side street, being distorted by the metal storefront that the fallen tree of a man had fallen onto.

And like that, everybody on the road was quiet, except for the whimpers coming from the lumberjack. The group of pawns were looking at their new visitor, now with more attention, but still with the same careless expressions that Ludwig had seen on their face from the start.

“Let the girl go-”

A shot answered the sound of bones breaking.

The black man next to the woman had a gun on his left, which was still smoking from the tip of its barrel. The young man fell as quickly as the lumberjack did, only his hands were on the exterior of his right shin. Quite ironic, yet equally unfunny as the whole situation had been.

After a moments’ worth of contemplation, Ludwig began breathing once again. He had apparently held his breath since the appearance of the young man. Everything had been so fast, so surreal, so… Surreal? No. If his memory wasn’t betraying him, this type of situation now seemed quite common. But…

How could this be happening? The rape, the shooting. Sunlight still bathed the streets, now with a warm yellow light, giving an uncomfortable calm and soothing sensation to the scene. People were still on the streets. It wasn’t dark. The night didn’t stalk everyone that walked the streets below her white and only eye, giving cover in the shadows to dangerous people like he had in front of hi,-

It was a day. A normal and average day. How could this be happening at this moment? Weren’t they worried that the police appeared…?

That was it.

Ludwig reached for his phone and began dialing nine-one-one. He then turned from the scene, trying to look for cover and a sign that detailed the name of…

Glass crunched under his feet, and fear won over the beast inside.

“What was… Shit! Someone was watching!” The woman then screamed into the side street, turning to get him.

Ludwig began running, obeying the orders from his new fearful master. He almost slipped with the other shards on the sidewalk, but he managed to stay on his feet, though losing his momentum. Ludwig pushed his legs, and as he did, he swore on Logan’s mother.

They were exhausted.

Even with the pain that it provoked, Ludwig forced them to go as fast as they could. With his shaky breathing and flimsy arms, Ludwig tried to run from her, tried to escape-

Ludwig was confused and disoriented, but as soon as he saw the woman’s figure open the door, he got up, tumbling a little, and began running in the opposite direction.

-Turning his head slightly to watch the approaching figure-

He tried going as fast as he could. As long as he could. As far away from her as possible. After what he felt what had been quite the moment running, he peeked behind

-Her brown eyes locked into him, her red and blue tiled shirt waving behind her.

“This is nine-one-one, how may I be of service,” the phone then said.

Ludwig snapped his head, surprised at the sudden voice, slowing a bit involuntarily. The woman chasing him took advantage of the surprise, dashing and throwing herself on Ludwig.

“Help-” was all Ludwig could say before being thrown to the ground, voicing his pain as his head was smashed against the pavement.

The woman kicked the phone to the other sidewalk. She then face Ludwig, with the same smile she had had on the side street-

The blonde woman was walking slowly at him.

-As she approached him.

Ludwig was beaten, exhausted, and worst of all, scared. Fear paralyzed him once again. He tried to reclaim control of his body, force it to get up, run or even fight if it was necessary. He had been training for self defense, hadn’t he? Wasn’t this the moment to put to use everything he had learned? It was, wasn’t it? Then why couldn’t he move? Every time he tried to move, fear caught him deeper, separating him from his own controls and leaving no one in charge.

He was conscious of everything. His breathing, his heart beat, the anxiety and fear coming from the girl. Ludwig could see and hear everything. He was as lucid and aware as he could have gotten. Yet, his own body slipped from his grasp, his muscles still, unanswering.

The beast inside then made them respond.

—-----

Luke squeezed his right leg as hard as he could.

Blood was pouring from his right leg, burning with every drop that spilled in the crimson stained pavement. He had been shot. For real.

(This wasn’t supposed to happen,) he thought to himself. (They should’ve pulled knives, brass knuckles, bats. Hell, even swords! But not guns.)

He had been an idiot, and he was now paying the consequences. This was on his own. He shouldn’t have been such a stu…

Luke stopped himself. He took a deep breath.

That wasn’t going to help. He had to think of a way of getting out of here. Preferably with the girl, but that didn’t seem likely. Luke spared a glance at the group near the end of the road.

He could tell that the two closer to him were tense by their body language, looking around and at their apparent leader. Meanwhile, the bearded man put his gun in his pants, zipping up his fly after like he had just gone to the bathroom.

Luke scowled at the man.

Not only was he abusing a girl, but he acted like it was the most normal thing in the world. He had even shot him with his dick out, which made Luke feel a wave of embarrassment and shame that he quickly shoo away before he lost himself in unimportant thoughts at the moment.

Luke took another deep breath. He had to stop the bleeding first.

Luke grabbed one of the pants’ legs, easily tearing it up with the remains of his pool. While he tied it tight around the area above his wound, his mind involuntarily drifted to his recent display of power. Or lack there of.

Why did his power have to be so bad? So… Weak when compared to any other version of it? Not only did he have a limited amount of super strength, which he had to recharge by punching something, but it only mattered when he punched. Unlike the average atlas, he could be hurt just like a normal person. How could he be of use to anybody with a power like this? How could he be a hero? It was simply impossible. He needed more.

“Do you think Stela will catch him?” One of the men said, the one clinging to the girl’s clothes.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” the bearded leader said, cleaning his black T-shirt. “She’s a fast runner.”

Luckily for Luke, they didn’t appear to care much about him. He then tried to use their distraction to crawl his way out of there. He didn’t like the idea of leaving the girl, but right now, getting out and calling the police would be the better course of action.

As he used his hands to pull himself, his leg burned in pain. He even thought that he had let out a whin from the pain, but it turned out that it had been the person he had slapped. He was still writhing on the floor, his hands to his face.

At least he had gotten one.

“What if that guy is also a good runner?” The asian man then asked.

“We trust her in case… Oh, I forgot about him.”

Luke looked at the thug. He was facing him, reaching behind his back. Luke tried to get up, but his right leg rendered it impossible, causing even more pain.

(Shit, shit, shit.)

What was he going to do? He could have maybe used his pool of strength, but it was already dry. The closest thing to him was the writhing man. Could he use him as a human shield? Maybe if he was lucky he could avoid the first shot and…

The sound of broken glass being stepped on reached him.

“It took you a bit,” said the bearded man, now pointing his gun to Luke. “Maybe you should stop eating so much-”

He turned his head to see a figure emanating a faint red light.

The shape was tall, but that was its least remarking feature. A set of bright strings weaved out of its shoulders, hanging in the air until they began coiling around its wrist, enveloping its fingers and the prior sections of its forearms in darker strings. It also had its head and a bit of its neck covered in a framework of strings, swirling across the entirety of the structure. The only distinctive trait that his face had, apart from the slight depressions between threads, were the two small holes that emanated with brown light.

Besides all that, his presence was a weird mixture of ominous, with the distortions in the air around it, similar to the ones created by hot temperatures, and comical, with the blood stained T-shirt with a realistic depiction of a banana. Nonetheless, no one was laughing at the moment, so it may have been only ominous. Terrifying, even.

In its right hand, it was holding the woman who had sprinted out of the side street… Or what remained of her.

The cadaver’s clothes had turned completely red from its blood, spilling from a million places and open wounds. The body missed its left leg, and both of its arms were bent in unnatural ways, bones piercing out of the skin in its wrists and elbows. Despite the grim look of it, it wasn’t the least pleasant part of the body. The left side of its head had been cracked open, revealing its brain, pieces missing, just like her right eye. Though the face was covered in blood as well, some of the exposed nerves on it hadn’t exploded.

The figure dropped the cadaver to its feet, smashing the back after. For the second time today, the side street was flooded with the sound of bones, vertebrae, and ribs breaking.

That made the road burst with movement.

The black bearded man made a one hundred degree turn, aiming his gun to the thread-humanoid-monster while the rest adopted positions behind him, the asian man dropping the clothes on the ground. But just as he moved, the shape directed the air distorsions toward him, which was by the unloading of the gun's magazine.

The figure began moving forward, extending his left hand in front of him and following the gun with it. Sparks flew from its hand just as the shots impacted on its palm, but not only that. With every shot, the shape leaned more and more forward, just as he approached him faster, almost as if getting more eager, his prey getting closer and closer.

The now scared leader ran out of bullets shortly after he began firing. Despite his lack of ammunition, he kept pressing the trigger, surely expecting bullets to spill forth without an end.

Luke couldn’t see his face, but he guessed it didn’t have that smile and calmness he had displayed before.

The figure stopped, looming over the man, the weapon still clicking. It grabbed his left arm and stamped him against the wall, swinging him in front of it next, unleashing a series of punches directed to the stomach. After what could have perfectly been the twentieth punch to the gut, the shape’s fist pierced his stomach, appearing at the other side.

It then used the arm that it had through him to launch him into the air, landing a powerful punch at the right side of his face as the body began to fell, which made the head rotate completely. The corpse hit the ground with a wet splat, very much lifeless.

The asian man was next. He was also the one that received the most merciful beating. He lunged towards the figure, but was incapable of doing a thing when it pierced the underside of his chin with its middle and index finger. The shape then smacked his head against the pavement behind it, making brain matter, blood, and teeth spill in every direction.

The last man standing was quick to his feet, and probably the smartest. Yet his luck wasn’t on his side.

The figure put his hands together, weaving the two sets of strings into one, forming a big and thick stream that quickly caught the running man. It lifted him into the air and began smashing him against the walls and buildings. Once it threw him to the ground, Luke was able to discern his face, lacking any flesh with a skull darkened by the blood.

Without hesitating, the shape, close enough to Luke for him to call it a man, approached the still whimpering man whose jaw had been fractured, and hauled him up, his feet dangling in the air. It then inserted the mass of threads of one of the arms into the man's mouth… The outcome wasn't pretty.

And in less than five minutes, the lives of five people left this plane.

Luke was speechless. He wanted to puke, poke his eyes out and attend therapy. What he had witnessed was disgusting, gruesome, and frightening. And somehow… Somehow… He admired it.

The power, the confidence, the control it had displayed over the situation… It was admirable. Horrible, but admirable nevertheless.

Luke was unsure about what the figure was going to do. It stood there, besides the mangled corpse for a minute. It then began moving to the entrance of the side street, probably getting out of the scene before someone got too close to the…

It stopped next to the girl.

Its threads began pouring from both its arms like a viscous mass, touching the ground to the approached the girl, still paralyzed from the fear.

“Hey. Stop. Leave her alone,” Luke said to the figure.

It continued moving.

“Hey! Don’t do it! Don’t fuck it up!”

Whatever it was going to do, it didn’t look like it was going to be something nice. He had to stop it, before it was too late, before it did something stupid, he own it that much. It might have killed five people but… But those assholes deserved it. He had saved his life and the girl’s, he was a hero.

And even heroes could kill.

With his leg still burning, Luke crawled his way forward, closer to the shape and the girl both.

“HEY! STOP! I’M STILL KICKING, AND I’LL BEAT YOUR ASS IF YOU DON’T GET AWAY FROM THE GIRL!”

The figure stopped. It then looked at him.

(Fuck.)

It approached him, still eager to hunt some prey. At least, until it collapsed to the ground, the threads pulling back from his arms and head, revealing a long-haired white man with a light beard on his jaw.

Luke crawled to the nearest wall and used it to get up. His leg burned throughout the entirety of the process, yet he managed to stand up. He then approached the man laying on the floor.

Police sirens blew in the distance.

—-----

Ludwig woke from his slumber.

As consciousness kicked in, so did a brutal head and a stinging pain across his whole body. Memories from a few weeks back rushed to his head, as well as the ones from the recent events.

Ludwig sat and looked around him. He was in a different location from last time, an actual alley way instead of a side street, with two trash containers in it, one to his left, and the other one next to the end near the street. He was also able to see a back peeking behind the other side of the container to his left.

With a grunt, Ludwig raised to his feet, the movement making the blood and… Matter on his shirt and pants to squish with a wet noise. He went around the thrash container and faced the figure laying on it. Ludwig then grabbed his phone and put on the flashlight to move the darkness out of the way.

It was the young black man that had entered the side street, and now that he was looking at it from closer, he was able to distinguish his features.

His short and dark hair stood straight on top of his head while the back and sides were shaved. His thin browns rested on top of his closed eyes, which had bags under them, and his slightly small nose. His face had a squared shape, and his skin turned lighter on his right cheeks and chin. Overall, his face had a delicate presence to it.

Ludwig then saw the blood spattering from his right leg. He crouched and checked for a pulse.

Fortunately, he found one.

He then attended the man’s wound, tensing the tourniquet around his leg. It luckily wasn’t spilling much blood, but he still did it to make sure he didn’t bleed out.

Ludwig searched the man’s pockets until he found his phone. He used the emergency call button and called nine-one-one. After a brief and awkward discussion, the person at the other end of the phone had said that they would send an ambulance to the device location.

Ludwig stood up, wondering what he should do, wondering if Wagner would say something. It did not. He then decided that he himself should go home. Ludwig made a movement to take a step, but then something dawned on him.

His appearance probably wasn’t the best to go around.

He flipped his T-shirt and pants on its insides, blood and something squishy scattering across his chest and legs. He then slowly walked his way out of the alleyway and began marching through the sidewalk, his mind empty.

He soon, or at least what it felt like it had been shortly after, found a bus stop. The station made him pull out his phone and check the time. It was nine-thirty-one.

Luckily for him, he didn’t have to sit there alone with his thoughts for long. A bus stopped right in front of him. He made his way in. There were a few people in it. Some glanced his way, others didn’t.

Ludwig sat on the back of the public transport. His hair stank with sweat and other smells he didn’t want to put a name to.

He then waited for his stop.