Chapter Text
At this point, it's kill or be killed.
The soft panting of breaths echoed through the HQ. There was nowhere left to run. Between the grey bricks and thick glass windows, there was nowhere else to go. Adrenaline-Revolver pulled out a single bullet from their pocket, they tried to slam it into their gun, but to no avail. Their hands shaking, and the gashes in their chest bleeding heavily- there really was no hope.
The eerie sound of a once-beloved song grew close.
If it weren't for the fact that the man drawing near to them had the capabilities beyond the average civilian, maybe, just maybe, they would have tried something. But they didn't have punches strong enough to stun him.
The clock ticked. Time was running out. The magician- Artful, made a quick sprint towards them, seizing their neck and pushing them desperately against the brick wall he had raised some time earlier.
With several cracks of a wand against their skull, they knew it was the end: their body going limp as the blood trickled out of the wound. They mustered enough strength to look up at the thing that was the cause of their and so many others' demise.
Somehow, it looked just as afraid as they were, an unmistakable terror in its eyes- perhaps it could have even been described as a guilty expression.
Even so, what had them seized by the throat no longer even felt human to them. Someone who had killed so many, guilty or not, had pushed past the boundary of human.
"You are a monster."
With the final slam of the wand against their skull,
"I know..."
would be the last thing they ever heard.
Another massacre. Those follow him everywhere he goes now. With a sigh, Artful lays down the now limp body of the civilian.
Running his hands down his face he can't shake those final words from his head.
You are a monster.
Of course he is. How could he be anything else. His clothes were sticky with blood. He swallowed dryly, trying to take deep breaths to distract from that dizzy feeling in his head.
"How pitiful. Don't you hate what you've become?"
Whipping his head around, Artful was met face to face with a clock. It was positioned oddly, somehow hanging on the window.
"You don't fool anyone," it ticked, "You are as afraid of them as they are of you."
Artful raised his wand with a wobbly hand. There was no way to explain it, but his bones ached, his heart hammered into his throat, palms sweaty, and legs locked...
That thing could see him.
That thing that wasn't even really there, it hugged him from behind. Rough rust scraped against his clothes, cold metal made him shiver, and a face that bore into his skull. He couldn't move.
"Let me save you... from tomorrow," It crushed his ribs. He couldn't even feel it.
The world screeched, and he ran as soon as it let go.
Wails and cries came from the world around him. Rusty statues of people, their faces marked with hashtags, pitied him. stumbling through whatever obstacles had appeared in front of him, he dared not look back. He knew it was calling for him, screaming for him to give up for his own good. He gasped, his lungs burned, and his legs ached. His wand and magic forgotten somewhere amongst the fear
Time blurred together; nothing was recognizable except the feeling of sweat pouring down his face and the choking of blood and spit in his mouth. Crawling up this hill, he could swear his body was on its last limb.
Nearing the top, all that was left were those who were damned looking over the edge of a cliff. With nowhere left to run, he left his body to collapse. It crashed into him, sweeping him up in its arms,
And Artful was no more.