The square, once a stage of horror and religious ecstasy, was now a tense silence. The crowd, once a chorus of praise to Skull, was now a mass of empty bodies, their eyes fixed on Zack, but their minds elsewhere. The air was heavy, laden with the smell of blood, incense, and the promise of even greater violence. Tobi, beside Zack, broke the silence, his voice a hoarse whisper that cut through the quiet like a blade.
"Do you have recurring nightmares about D-Day?" The question, seemingly casual, hung in the air, laden with a weight that only the two of them could comprehend. Zack, who had been staring at the crib in the center of the square, turned to Tobi, surprise etched on his face. Tobi, however, was not looking at him. His eyes were lost on the horizon, as if seeing ghosts that Zack could not. "I do," Tobi confessed, his voice faltering for an instant. "With Nanashi. And with Momo."
Zack felt a lump form in his throat. He knew Tobi's pain, but he rarely saw it so rawly exposed. "What was D-Day?" he asked, curiosity mixed with a dark premonition. Tobi flinched, his discomfort evident in his posture. He shook his head, looking away. "It doesn't matter." He changed the subject, his voice now a little firmer, but still laden with a deep melancholy. "Have you ever felt free, Zack?"
The question hit Zack like a punch to the gut. Freedom. A word he rarely allowed himself to think about. "I try not to think about it too much," he replied, the honesty in his voice more revealing than any speech. Tobi looked at him, a sad smile on his lips. "I know." He paused, before continuing, his voice now with a tone of genuine curiosity. "Why did you always go first? On missions. To take the hits."
Zack stared at him, surprised by the question. Tobi laughed, a short, humorless laugh. "I always thought you were brave. The bravest of us." But Zack didn't smile. His gaze was cold, tired, as if he carried the weight of a thousand battles. "I went because no one cares if a black-eyed person dies." The sentence, spoken with a frightening calm, hung in the air, a brutal testament to the reality they lived in. An uncomfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the distant sound of the wind howling through the empty streets of the city.
---
Tobi sighed, the sound heavy with a resignation that seemed ancient. "Your father can't change that, Zack," he said, his voice a murmur. Zack just pointed to his own eyes, a simple gesture that spoke volumes about the prejudice and pain he had carried since birth. Tobi fell silent, at a loss for words to comfort such a deep pain. "Nanashi was always against it," Zack continued, his voice now a little softer, nostalgic. "He was the only one who supported us, who saw us as equals. The color of our eyes didn't matter to him." He paused, his eyes lost in memories of a simpler time. "I try to keep his legacy alive. I don't judge anyone by the color of their eyes, not even the violets."
Tobi let out a bitter laugh, the sound breaking the reverence of the moment. "All that bullshit got Nanashi killed," he spat, anger and pain mixed in his voice. "What good was a legacy from someone who died for a noble cause in a world of fools?" The accusation hit Zack like a slap in the face. "Shut up, Tobi!" he snarled, fury flashing in his eyes. "Don't insult Nanashi's legacy!"
But Tobi was not intimidated. He laughed, a low, broken laugh, as he looked at his own hands, as if seeing the blood of his friends on them. "I don't even know why I fight, Zack," he confessed, his voice now a whisper of despair. "I've become a portrait of a little soldier: 'yes, captain!', 'no, captain!'. I'm a joke. And the fuck of it is, I like it." The confession was a punch to Zack's gut, revealing his friend's deep existential crisis. "I didn't expect to see you, but it was good, the old times. Thanks, Zack, you're a good friend." Zack smiled, a genuine smile amidst the chaos. "We're in this together."
The conversation, for a brief moment, united them, but the reality of the situation soon imposed itself. "And the baby?" Zack asked, his voice tense. "I have to take it," Tobi replied, the resignation in his voice cutting Zack's heart. "You know what will happen if they..." Zack began, but Tobi interrupted him. "I know." The discomfort hung between them, the inevitability of what was to come weighing on their shoulders. "If I come back without the baby, they'll kill me," Tobi said, his voice devoid of emotion. "I know," Zack replied, guilt consuming him. "This is all my fault. Shit!!"
"No one asked you to be the hero of the country," Tobi cut him off, the frustration in his voice evident. "We planned for years, you were supposed to be a good boy." The failure of the plan, the idealism that led to the death of so many, including Momo, weighed on them. The mention of Momo visibly shook Tobi. His body grew heavy, his eyes lost their sparkle, anguish etched on his face. Zack tried to comfort him, saying that Momo died for a just, happy ideal. Tobi's response was a cry of pain and anger. "But what about me!? Am I happy, Zack? Fuck, Zack!! I'm a fucked-up, suicidal person who sees no value in anything other than fucking prostitutes and drinking beer in old bars." The pain was palpable, raw, unbearable. Zack, helpless, just agreed that they were choices and that the world was garbage.
The conversation culminated in a dark pact, a promise of violence between friends. "When we fight, don't spare me! I won't spare you! Understood?" Tobi demanded, his eyes fixed on Zack's. Zack hesitated, the idea of fighting his friend filling him with horror. But Tobi insisted, his voice firm, desperate. "Zack! Stop, fuck it! You know how it works." Zack nodded, resignation weighing on his heart. "Yes." They sealed the deal with a handshake, a gesture of friendship twisted by the promise of death. "Not in the face, so as not to spoil the funeral," they said together, a macabre joke that only highlighted the tragedy of the situation. Tobi, in a final act of camaraderie, disappeared, leaving Zack alone with his burden, the echo of his bitter laughter still hanging in the air.
---
Zack stood alone, the silence of the square now filled with the echo of Tobi's words. "Bastard, he always does that," he muttered, a sad smile on his lips. He looked towards the baby, the child's desperate cry cutting through the air like a knife. It was time to act. With a leap, he landed in the middle of the square, the sound of his feet on the stone floor the only sound in a sea of silence. The moment he approached, the chants and prayers ceased. Thousands of sunken, dull eyes, with false, empty smiles, turned to him. A chorus of low voices began to call Skull's name, the sound intensifying, spreading through the square like a plague, uniting in a single purpose of profane praise. The kneeling people raised and lowered their hands in devotion to the baby, who cried in despair, cold, and fear, with the blood moon as its only and terrible companion. The energy of all the inhabitants enveloped the child, a shroud of darkness and sick worship.
"I need to cut the link between the baby and the moon," Zack thought, his mind working quickly. "But I don't see who is mediating the ritual." He looked at the crowd, at the empty faces and lifeless eyes, and knew that the master of the ritual was hidden among them. "I know!" He pulled a location scroll from inside his clothes, an item he rarely used. "I've always hated doing this shit, I'm slow and terrible with scrolls," he grumbled, but there was no other choice. He bit his finger, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth, and began to draw letters and symbols, uniform and irregular, on the scroll. A minimal, almost insignificant amount of the ritual's energy was drawn to the paper, which from white, turned black, fragile as if it had been burned. The paper disintegrated, and black dust formed in the air, floating, dancing, before heading in a specific direction.
Zack followed the dust with his eyes, his heart pounding. It passed through the crowd, moving away from the baby, towards the right side of the square, where someone was camouflaged, hidden amidst the mass of worshipers. "God damn it! Mira's lessons paid off," he thought, a rare moment of relief amidst the chaos. He knew he couldn't move the baby; any sudden movement could kill it. He needed to cut the connection, and for that, he needed to find the master of the ritual. The crowd, as if sensing his intention, began to disperse in the location indicated by the dust, opening a path, revealing the figure hiding in the shadows.
---
As the path opened, the energy in the air became heavier, denser, almost suffocating. Zack felt a shiver run down his spine, a premonition that something terrible was about to happen. And then, he felt it. A smell. A strong, intoxicating, contradictory smell. Blood, cherry, and blackberry. It was sweet, but fierce and hot, a combination that messed with his senses, that made him nauseous and fascinated at the same time. The sense of peace that the smell brought was a lie, a trap for the unwary, because the energy emanating from the approaching figure was the opposite. It was an energy of death, of destruction, of an evil so pure that it made the air vibrate.
The movement of the crowd increased, a ripple of anticipation spreading through the kneeling masses. Zack knew that the source of the ritual, the enemy, was close. The sweet, cloying scent of peace and the overwhelming aura of death created a terrifying duality, a contradiction that sent a wave of nausea through him. He braced himself, his hand instinctively reaching for a weapon that wasn't there. The figure emerged from the crowd, a silhouette against the blood-red moon, and the chapter ends with Zack facing this new, unknown, and terrifyingly contradictory threat, the sweet smell of cherries and blackberries a harbinger of a new and even more twisted level of hell.