Chapter 59: Death of Marcellus Severan (3)

{Tatsumisaki, the airfield.}

The night had draped the sky over.

*Tick-Tuck*

*Tick-Tuck*

*Tick-Tuck*

*Tick-Tuck*

*Tick-Tuck*

Two black SUVs sat at the far end of the runway, with their headlights turned on. Exactly where an arriving aircraft would have to come to a halt.

Rain fell hard in lines across the tarmac.

On the bonnet of the left vehicle, Rafferty leaned with both hands braced on the wet metal. He had grey hair, flattened by the rain. An old face, and a fit frame under a three-piece suit. He did not wipe his eyes, his attention held the runway.

Beyond the painted lines, the air was beginning to turn.

Thunder rolled above the ridges. Wind dragged the field in wider pulls, feed a slow rotation that had the full width of the runway inside it.

They were standing in the focal point of the rotating winds. The beginning of one of the frequent occurring natural phenomenon on the Island of Tatsumisaki.

The tornado was faint as of now. But its diameter engulfed the whole of airfield.

*Tick-Tuck*

*Tick-Tuck*

*Tick-Tuck*

Inside the SUV, the parking indicators kept their rhythm against the dark dashboard.

Three men were inside the SUV Rafferty was leaning on.

They held no conversation.

The architect.

The closer.

The cutter.

Front passenger wore a white hoodie, damp at the cuffs. In his hands was a small tungsten nail resting across his palm. It was short, dense, and extremely heavy for being the size of an ant.

It had golden inscriptions running on the metal in fine lines, catching the low light that seeped from the indicator buttons.

In the back seat, one wore a suit with a neat posture. He had a machete resting across his thighs, with a blade turned dark with blood. He was wiping the blade with a cloth gently.

Beside him, a man wore with a leather jacket and still hands. He did not watch the blade, or showed any concern for the rain.

The closer, sitting beside him, was his disciple.

Oddly enough, even with different aesthetics, the three men held uncanny resemblance in their appearance.

They all had green eyes, paired with black hair cut to the same length and style, with a skin tone hard to differentiate.

*Tink. Tink-tink. Tink.*

Rain struck the roof. The droplets of water streaked down the windows.

Outside, through the streaked glass, the second SUV has similar atmosphere.

Men with suits were seated still in the other car. The only difference was, that they weren’t alive.

Severan house staff. Including the drivers, escorts, the men who opened doors, and stood in corridors. Their heads hung in different angles, with eyes wide open of the horror they might’ve witnessed before their death.

Rafferty did not look back at either vehicle.

A low hum passed through the rain.

Rafferty raised his head.

Far beyond the runway, tow white lights emerged through the darkness. They approached slowly at first, then grew brighter as the silhouette behind them descended towards the airfield.

A black private jet. Its wings were level with the horizon, its nose angled slightly against the strong winds. Rain struck its fuselage as the aircraft continued its approach.

The sound of its engines grew louder.

*WHOOOOOOOOOM---*

The wind changed the moment it landed. The architect, sitting inside the car looked at the approaching aircraft, and tightened his fist around the tungsten nail.

What had been a faint movement of air became a wide, spiralling wall of a tornado, sweeping around the runway in a continuous circle.

Rain rose from the tarmac in thin streams.

Thunder cracked above the ridges. The sight of its light began engulfing inside the tornado walls.

The golden inscriptions on the massive nails that were struck into the ground by Dagny Hammera, began glowing as the walls reinforced themselves with an increasing pressure of air.

The aircraft descended through the rain, and every person’s expression on the ground remained unchanged.

The jet crossed into the field. For an instant, its right wing dipped under the pressure of a violent crosswind. But then it corrected itself.

No pilot piloted the aircraft. The flight system processed the changing conditions and adjusted its course rapidly.

The aircraft levelled out. Its landing gear extended beneath the fuselage.

*THUNK. THUNK. THUNK.*

The wheels locked into place. The runway lights shone through the rain as the aircraft lowered itself.

The wheels touched down.

*SKRRRRRRR---*

Water burst outward beneath the landing gear.

Rafferty pushed himself away from the bonnet, and joined both of his hands casually in front of his abdomen.

The aircraft slowed further. Its wheels passed over the final stretch of tarmac before it came to a complete halt precisely where the two black SUVs were waiting.

The engines continued to run.

For moments, nobody moved.

Then, the white-hooded man looked down at the tungsten nail in its palm. The golden inscriptions on it were different from the nails on the ridges, it glowed with faint rhytm.

He released the grip of his fist, and turned the nail between his fingers and leaned back against the seat.

"He’s here," he said.

...

*Tssssshhh*

Inside, the cabin door unlocked with a quiet click. The hydraulic mechanism engaged, and the exit began to open.

Cold air entered through the widening gap, carrying the smell of rain.

Niccolo rose from his seat, adjusting his coat before walking down the aisle.

The hostess followed him.

"Mr. Henson, Will I see you again?" she asked.

He turned towards her. For a moment, she seemed uncertain whether she had been too forward. Then Niccolo smiled, leaned down, and kissed her.

"Of course. " his voice was brief, and warm.

Her expression brightened at once.

He gave her one last look before letting Marcellus pass.

Marcellus didn’t spare either of them a glance.

The aircraft stairs had been positioned beside the exit.

He stepped towards the open exit, then descended the stair.

The hostess watched him for seconds before following as far as the doorway.

Something was wrong.

There was no ground crew waiting to receive the passengers. No attendant beside the stairs, no one approaching with the usual greetings or instructions, even the area around the two black SUVs seemed strangely deserted.

She glanced towards the runway, then back into the cabin. She didn’t particularly want to complain. Instead, she fetched an umbrella from the aircraft’s storage compartment and carried it towards the exit.

Marcellus had reached the bottom of the stairs.

The rain struck his black overcoat, running down its length and gathering at the hem.

He tilted his head towards the dark sky, allowing the cold drops to fall against his face.

The hostess opened the umbrella.

"Young Master-"

"No need." Marcellus interrupted her.

"I like the rain." He said.

He stepped away, leaving her with the open umbrella and no further explanation.

Behind him, Maeve appeared at the exit. She looked at the umbrella, then at the rain sweeping across the runway.

"May I?" she asked. She wasn’t really fond of rain.

"Of course." The hostess handed it over.

"Thank you. That’s very kind of you." Maeve gave her a small smile before following Marcellus.

Maeve hurried trying to catch up to Marcellus, holding the umbrella against the wind. Since her core was completely exhausted at the moment, her physical strength matched an average woman of her size.

He continued walking towards the two black SUVs. Their headlights cut through the rain, illuminating an old man standing beside the nearer vehicle.

Grey hair, three-piece suit. An unusually fit frame for someone of his age.

He remembered the face from the video call.

"Rafferty, was it?" he asked.

The old man lifted his head.

"It has been some time," Rafferty replied. "Young Master Marcellus."

Marcellus looked him over, and thought for a while.

"People sure look different on call."

"Is that so?" Rafferty tilted his head.

"The video call version of you was considerably less depressing," Marcellus glanced at the rain running down Rafferty’s face.

"I see that I’m not the only admirer of rain," he scoffed.

Marcellus continued towards him. There were no attendants waiting beside the vehicles, which he found a little odd. Windshields were so dark, he couldn’t really see who was inside the cars.

Behind him, Maeve kept her pace.

Niccolo followed a few steps farther back, his one hand held an umbrella, the other rested inside his pockets.

He had enjoyed the flight, the wine, and the woman had been a delightful company. He had little reasons to be dissatisfied with the evening.

Until he looked at Rafferty.

Niccolo’s gaze lingered on the vehicles.

Even from afar, he could see all of it clearly. One of the cars was filled with dead passengers. Their heads were titled at unnatural angle, some had slumped sideways.

He couldn’t hear their breathing either.

Niccolo’s expression change.

The old man’s composure, the missing attendants, the figures in the second vehicle, then he looked around. He could feel the force surge violently in the walls of the thunder storm and tornado.

It was a trap.

But it was too late.

Behind Marcellus, Maeve adjusted the umbrella against a sudden pull of wind.

She hurried to close the distance between them.

Then---

*Thud*

Her forehead struck something.

The impact was light, but unexpected. The umbrella tilted sharply and rain swept beneath its edge.

"Ah---what?" She caught herself and reached forward.

Her hand met an empty surface.

Maeve frowned.

There was nothing in front of her. There was no glass, no wall, no visible obstruction. The runway extended ahead, all the way to Marcellus.

She touched it again, and her fingers met resistance in the empty air.

"...What is this?" She was confused.

Marcellus continued for another step before her sound reached him.

He turned around. Maeve was standing several paces behind him, one hand extended into the empty air, the umbrella slipped sideways in her other hand.

"What is she doing?" He murmured, looking at her.

"There’s something here!" Maeve called out.

Marcellus glanced at the empty space between them and then looked back at her. "Are you trying to make me take the umbrella?"

"NO! I am serious!" Her indignant answer made him pause.

Maeve tried to move forward again, her palm pressed against the invisible surface.

Niccolo appeared parallel to her. He was calm, but the pleasant ease he had carried throughout the flight was gone.

Even the hostess that watched them from afar was bewildered of what was happening, but her concern was mostly for the Karl Henson she knew of.

Maeve looked at him approach.

"Mr. Henson...there’s---"

"I know," he handed his umbrella to her.

"Hold this for me, please," he handed his umbrella to her.

Rafferty was also intrigued at the presence of this new individual.

Niccolo stepped forward. He rolled his right shoulder once, then drew his arm back.

He didn’t gather any force. He simply...punched.

*KRRAAAACCK-----!*

The impact struck the invisible surface with a deafening report.

For an instant, the air itself appeared to brake.

A circular distortion spread from the point of contact, racing across the barrier in a wide ripple.

The dome shuddered, and the ground beneath Niccolo’s feat fractured.

Cracks raced through the runway, spreading out from his stnce.

Maeve stared.

The barrier was visible now.

A vast, curved shell enclosing Marcellus, Rafferty, and the two cars behind him.

Yet, it remained intact, turning invisible once again.

Niccolo looked at the barrier, slowly lowering his fist.

Not a crack marked the surface.

"..." Marcellus looked at the sheer physical power of the man, and nodded. He was impressed.

Despite the situation Marcellus himself was in, he felt not a shred of fear.