Chapter 61: The Awakening.

Marcellus could no longer feel the rain.

He remembered its touch against his face. That sense of cold water running down his cheek. The smell of wet ground, and screams of Maeve.

Then even those memories began to lose their meaning.

He had expected nothing after death.

But he did not expect to remain aware.

He couldn’t feel the pain. There was no breath to struggle for. He couldn’t tell whether he was standing, falling, or suspended in something that had no name.

’So, this is death?’ The thought came without fear. He had already made his peace with what he deserved.

It was even surprising that even after the atrocities he had committed, God decided to give him a second chance to life.

Then something stirred within the void.

The nothingness around him seemed to change, as though something that had been still for an impossibly long time had finally begun to wake.

His attention turned toward it.

In the heart of the endless void, a child sat suspended in absolute silence.

His legs were folded beneath him with small feet tucked comfortably together. He appeared no older than five, with the soft, rounded proportions of a healthy child.

Yet there was no flesh beneath that familiar silhouette.

He was made of flames.

Pink fire shaped his little arms and rounded shoulders, gathered into delicate contours of his face, and rose from his head in a wild crown of rose-colour. His hair writhed and curled in perpetual motion.

Each strand seemed like living ribbon of fire that shed tiny sparks of pink petals into the darkness

At both ears, hung earrings made of pink petals bound together by the fire. They burned without turning to ash. They swayed gently whenever the flames around his head stirred.

Before his chest, he held his hands almost together. A narrow space between his little palms remained, and within that space floated a white orb wrapped in pale-pink flames.

Then the child’s eyes opened.

He didn’t look around in confusion, he just simply woke. For a moment, he remained perfectly still.

The child turned his head, settling his gaze on Marcellus.

Marcellus watched the child’s expression. His features barely changed.

Marcellus couldn’t understand how he knew, but the child had said something. He didn’t know how, or when.

’Pathetic,’ But the judgement was unmistakable.

"..." Well, Marcellus couldn’t really speak.

.

.

.

Maeve stared at Marcellus’s body. She didn’t move. Her hands hung at her sides. Her lips remained slightly parted.

"Just...why?" He wasn’t her lover. But the comfort he had provided her, considering the heirs she had witnessed throughout her training. She just knew that he did not deserve death.

The Closer stood over the body, his machete hung loosely from one hand. He glanced at Maeve, then at the man who been standing beside her.

Niccolo Barolo had his hands inside his pockets. A field of force protected him from the rain. And his eyes were fixed on the man in leather jacket, standing beside Rafferty. The Cutter.

Niccolo’s eyes then shifted to Marcellus. The boy was dead. There were no attempts to heal the wound, and he couldn’t hear his heartbeat either.

His golden eyes shifted toward Maeve. She was still looking at Marcellus, as if she expected him to get up and say something mocking once again.

Across him, Rafferty watched the scene with mild interest. The operation had cost them considerably more than anticipated. The barrier of tornado should be beginning to attract attention of the House Severan.

"5 Minutes. They’re all you have," he said, looking at Niccolo.

"Make your decision, Sir. Will you choose to protect them or leave peacefully, without getting Union involved into this?" Rafferty put forward a choice.

Niccolo looked at Maeve. He thought for a moment, glanced at the exit of the aircraft where the hostess was looking at the whole exchange.

"I’ll stay." He said.

Rafferty’s expression remained unchanged. He had little patience for needless exchange, particularly with a deadline approaching.

"Ha!" The closer scoffed, and adjusted his grip on the machete. His attention moved between Niccolo and the women.

"Stay back," The Cutter finally spoke, still looking at Niccolo.

"Why, brother?" The Closer furrowed his brows.

"The moment you step out of that veil, you’ll die," The Cutter said.

The Cutter finally leaned off the bonnet, and began pacing towards Niccolo.

He reached out for the twin Machetes that hung loosely to his sides.

"This accounts for triple the contract’s value." The Cutter glanced at Rafferty, and Rafferty just nodded.

The enormous skeletal scythe behind Niccolo appeared once again. Its silver blade hovered above his shoulder. Its edge reflected the pale lights of the runway.

The Cutter suddenly stopped.

*THUM.*

No sound crossed across the airfield, yet every awakened person felt it.

Something struck once inside their chests, so violently that their hearts seemed to have been seized and beaten against their ribs.

The sensation lasted less than a fraction of a second.

Niccolo’s fingers stiffened inside his pockets.

The Cutter’s shoulders locked.

The Closer leaped backward from Marcellus’s body, his machete rose instinctively before he even understood why he had done such an action.

Even Maeve felt it. He hand went to her chest, but the sensation was now gone.

The rain continued falling. The tungsten anchors on the distant ridge still held the outer barrier and the veil.

Nothing had visibly happened.

Niccolo had encountered people whose Force could overwhelm entire battlefields. He had stood before awakeners who could kill him before he had time to draw his weapon.

But he had never felt anything like that before.

Something had just... made itself known.

Every instinct in his body had told him to fear it.

His eyes moved toward Marcellus, but the boy remained dead.

Then a pink spark appeared inside the wound of his body.

Then another spark appeared at the dge of Marcellus’s bloodstained shirt. It flickered once, leaving a thin trace of pink fire against the fabric.

[Operator Status: Vital signs absent.]

[Force Adaptations: Recalibration initiated.]

[Axiom: Observation (ACTIVE).]

[Axiom: Observation (ACTIVE).]

[Combat Grade Recalibration: Initiated.]

[Combat Grade: 5.]

The Pink sparks spread. Fine strands of fire emerged from Marcellus’s chest, stitching his wound and running beneath his clothes, along his limps.

The rain touched his outstretched hand. The droplets would vanish before even reaching his skin.

[Registered Technique: Oscillation. Recalibrating...]

[Registered Technique: Zero Point. Recalibrating...]

[Registered Technique: The Weeping Garden. Recalibrating...]

[Registered Technique: Vaticinator. Recalibrating...]

[Registered Technique: Nociceptor Override. Recalibrating...]

[Registered Technique: Cellular Repair Acceleration. Recalibrating...]

[Registered Technique: Intent Recognition. Recalibrating...]

[Registered Technique: Blood-Crystal Conversion. Recalibrating...]

Marcellus’s fingers twitched.

The movement was small.

His fingertips pressed against the tarmac. The surface, began cracking beneath them.

A thin fracture spread across the wet ground, passing through a shallow pool of rainwater.

The water shivered, split apart, and evaporated along a narrow pink line that spread in the cracks.

[Technique Recalibration: Complete.]

[Combat Grade Recalibration: Initiated.]

[Combat Grade: 4.]

The fire brightened. A strand of pink flame slipped from his shoulder and curled through the air. A few more strands of pink flames followed. They spread around his body in thin, fluid lines.

[Oscillation: Recalibration in progress.]

[Zero Point: Recalibration in progress.]

[The Weeping Garden: Recalibration in progress.]

[Vaticinator: Recalibration in progress.]

[Nociceptor Override: Recalibration in progress.]

[Cellular Repair Acceleration: Recalibration in progress.]

[Intent Recognition: Recalibration in progress.]

[Blood-Crystal Conversion: Recalibration in progress.]

[Combat Grade Recalibration: Initiated.]

His arm lifted, pressing palm flat against the ground.

The pink flames surged outward.

[Combat Grade: 3.]

The multiple strands of flames narrowed extending up from his body in countless fine lines.

The airfield filled with pink light. The surface of the tarmac shattered in a spreading web of fractions.

The Veil surrounding them began trembling as sharp cracks sounded above them.

The Closer looked up.

Fractures appeared across the transparent barrier. Cutting through the structure that had withstood Niccolo’s attacks.

"What in the world---" The veil began to vibrate, its surface distorted under a force it had never withstood.

Cutter’s eyes were fixed on Marcellus as the boy struggled to rise as if every organ and part of his body was being awakened one moment at a time.

The body had been dead. They had watched the heart being pierced. They had watched the light leave from the boy’s eyes.

Yet now the dead man was moving, and the force gathering around him was increasing by the moment.

The Cutter tightened his grip on his twin machetes.

He had fought powerful awakeners, and even killed people stronger than himself.

Then the pink flames swept across the runway.

He crossed his blades in front of his chest as the pressure struck him.

The barrier around them cracked again.

Rafferty raised his arm to shield his face.

Nccolo remained where he stood. He could have moved, but he chose to stay right there instead of reaching Marcellus. His instincts had stopped him at the first heartbeat.

[Technique Recalibration: Complete.]

[Combat Grade Recalibration: Initiated.]

[Combat Grade: 2.]

The flames moved faster than before. The dome veil groaned. Its entire surface bowed outward, fractures spread across it from every direction.

The Cutter’s boots slid backward. The Closer threw himself sideways as a narrow streak of pink fire passed his shoulder and carved a glowing line into the tarmac behind him.

[Recalibration ongoing.]

[Oscillation: Recalibrating...]

[Zero Point: Recalibrating...]

[The Weeping Garden: Recalibrating...]

[Vaticinator: Recalibrating...]

[Nociceptor Override: Recalibrating...]

[Cellular Repair Acceleration: Recalibrating...]

[Intent Recognition: Recalibrating...]

[Blood-Crystal Conversion: Recalibrating...]

"Silence."

Marcellus finally spoke a quiet word.

The notifications stopped.

Every line of flame vanished at once.

He stood upright.

Pink petals rose and collected to either of his ears. Forming into a pair of earrings, held by a fine line of pink flames.

They swayed gently as he lowered his arms.

He looked down at his clothes.

The black overcoat had twisted around his waist. One cuff sat higher than the other, and its edge folded beneath the sleeve.

He straightened it.

Then he adjusted the other cuff.

Marcellus ran his fingers along the fabric, smoothing out the creases. His gaze lingered for a moment before he lifted his head.

The closer watched him. The man had recovered enough of his composure that something was terribly wrong.

However, he had killed him once. He could kill him twice.

Whatever happened to the boy’s body, there was no reason to assume that the same tricks that had saved him before would cease to work.

He used his illusion once again.

A second Closer appeared several meters away, and his machete rested against his shoulder.

The false image smiled at the boy.

"You’re a little tough to kill. I’ll give you that Sever---"

Marcellus’s hand moved sideways.

He reached out into the empty space where there was nothing.

And then...his fingers closed around the Closer’s face.

The real one had been standing right beside him.

For a fraction of a second, the assassin’s eyes widened. His hands rose instinctively, but his core just fell silent.

It was Zero Point. But no notification announced its activation.

The Closer’s illusion remained in place for an instant, the unfinished sentence still hung in his mouth.

Marcellus’s finger’s tightened.

And then he yanked his hand.

His shoulder had barely turned. But the sheer power from the throw made Closer’s feet leave the ground.

His entire body was wrenched sideways with such violence that the fractured dome like veil burst apart around him.

*CRACK---BOOM!*

The remaining barrier shattered.

The Closer’s body passed through the collapsing structure like a projectile. His body crossed the distance to the aircraft before the fragments of the dome had finished dissolving.

He couldn’t do even when he was suspended in the throw. His core had just gone silent.

Niccolo saw the body coming. He could see it clearly, the force itself had shattered the neck bones of Closer.

But Maeve saw nothing of the throw. One moment, the Closer stood beside Marcellus, the next he was just gone.

*CRASH---KKKKK!*

Then the aircraft’s engine erupted. The closer struck the running engine with the full force of the throw.

The intake took him at full thrown speed. His suit, bones, and blood met the spinning metal.

*GRNNND---THUD---SPLAT---*

Fabric and skin vanished into the fan in a red spray. His arms separated at the shoulder, slapped the cowling before the blades turned all of his body into wet strips.

What remained of the pelvis and legs kicked once against the airframe, then jammed. The engine choked on him, its metal screamed.

A chunk of spin spat out sideways and skipped across the runway. Blood sheeted and ran down into the rain.

The aircraft shook, then the engine died in a grinding, clogged stop.

There was no body left to identify. Just a ruined suit fragment caught on a housing bolt.

And the rain continued falling.