The viscous blue fuel seeped into the Supervisor's eyelids, mixing with the teardrops that flowed involuntarily as a defensive reaction from his body. He rubbed his sockets violently with his hands, but it only increased the burning and pain, as if merciless acid had been poured on him. He tried to open his eyes, but the lids were heavy and stuck, and the darkness that enveloped his vision was absolute. Perhaps what crossed his mind in this terrifying moment was not the physical pain, but one cold fact: Blindness. He felt the chill of certainty run through his limbs; perhaps he would never see with his eyes, never behold the factory lights or the blue of the fuel again.
Yes, it was foolish to neglect protecting himself, or to be that overly confident. Even he, with his usual cunning, knew this; it is natural for a cornered opponent to do anything to defend themselves. Perhaps his feeling of safety deceived him, thinking his raven mask still covered his face and protected him, forgetting that Silas had ripped it off moments ago. But, despite the disaster, Moros realized in that moment that he would have to deal with this catastrophic situation with closed eyes.
Silas remained still in his spot, neither moving to flee nor attacking in the moment that availed itself. Even he hadn't expected this brutal act from himself; the motion came from him without thought, like an animal instinct, to splash that blue substance onto his opponent's face. He stared for a long time at Moros's pained face, as if wanting to see if those eyes would ignite with the blue of the fuel that filled them, or be extinguished forever.
Moros stood up slowly, his closed eyes resisting the pain, his face wet with the glowing liquid and tears. He drew his dagger from the ground with a deliberate, calm movement that didn't match his injury.
"You know..." Moros said in a raspy voice, tilting his head slightly as if listening to the air, "I've always wondered... which is worse? To be blind and unable to see your present... or to be blind to your past?"
He moved his dagger in his hand skillfully, adopting a defensive combat stance, and continued: "If I have truly become blind, I don't care, and I won't hold a grudge against you for this reason... but your ship... I have never seen anything like it before. Perhaps this is an additional personal reason not to let you leave."
Silas stepped back, holding his cane with both hands: "You caused this to yourself, Moros. Let's end this now. You can't do anything in your condition, and I don't want to hurt you anymore... just let us leave."
Silas had made the situation clear to him; Moros was helpless. There was no point in a blind man trying to fight. He even thought for a moment about making him a hostage again for safe passage. What could a man who cannot see do?
It was strange that all Silas asked for was just to leave. Even he himself was aware of this contradiction; why did he break into the factory in the first place without a clear goal? Maybe it was curiosity, or he naively believed he would find a heroic solution for those homeless people. But what he wanted now, desperately, was to reunite with Elyra on their ship again, and get away from this madness.
"Don't flatter yourself..." Moros whispered.
Suddenly, he lunged toward Silas with terrifying speed, aiming a precise dagger strike that would have been fatal, slicing Silas's throat, had he not dodged it in the last fraction of a second. Silas had been deceived by the illusion that the fight was pointless and that he was in control, and he almost paid for it with his life.
Moros moved powerfully toward him, aiming his dagger at multiple vital spots on Silas's body; the neck, the heart, the thigh. Silas was only retreating, trying to dodge the blows with difficulty, as if he had become the blind one and Moros the sighted. The Supervisor moved as if he saw with his skin, hearing the rustle of Silas's clothes and his ragged breathing.
But in a moment, Silas woke up to reality. This was not a helpless man, but a wounded beast. He stopped retreating and delivered a powerful side blow with his cane, causing his opponent to halt his offensive momentum and block it with his arm.
"Your first strike was from close range, I couldn't dodge it..." Moros said, shaking his numb arm from the blow, "but this... won't work."
Just as Silas rushed forward raising his cane for an overhead strike, Moros evaded the blow with a simple, smooth duck, like a bird sensing a trap before it snaps shut.
The fight intensified, turning into a dance of dodges and exchanged blows between the two men. Each was cautious, but what Silas couldn't believe was that Moros could feel his movements and anticipate them with frightening accuracy. He could see his eyes were closed, he never opened them, he was sure of this, yet every movement of his cane didn't cause even minor damage to the Supervisor's body after that first hit.
Suddenly, silence was no longer the master of the place outside. The sounds of mechanical gears mixed with real human screams, not like the artificial screaming ghosts. They were screams of hunger, anger, and despair accumulated for years behind the cold walls.
The first wave of homeless people entered through the open gate, led by Kim, who looked possessed as he ran through the factory's mechanical fog, his eyes searching for anything to confirm his decision was right. They entered with hope, their intention stemming from a simple fact: the gate opened in their faces, and in their simple minds, this meant nothing but an "invitation to enter." They saw good in the people within their sight, rushing toward them like soldiers of ghosts in their ivory-white uniforms.
But the reception was not the welcome they dreamed of.
"Go back to your holes!" one worker shouted, brandishing a massive wrench, his ivory uniform stained with black oil spots that looked like ugly wounds on a pure garment.
This was not what the crowd of homeless expected from the workers, but they continued to surge through the gate like a torrent. Despite the threat, they continued until they collided with the workers like two opposing armies. The homeless pushed with the power of sheer despair; that kind of strength that makes you walk into fire because you no longer feel the cold. As for the workers, they moved out of pure fear. Fear of chaos, fear of losing their positions and privileges behind these walls, and a greater fear of the Supervisor's wrath if the factory fell.
The place turned into a chaotic brawl arena. The homeless pulling the workers by their white clothes with the desperation of a drowning man, trying to enter in search of warmth or food, and the workers striking with their clubs and brass wrenches to repel this human flood. However, the beating wasn't enough to stop them. They continued to flock through the gate in large numbers, even those who weren't present when Kim gathered them didn't know how they were drawn and found themselves in front of the gate that opened wide, like a magnet for the desperate.
The heated sounds of the battle coming from in front of the factory gate penetrated the thick walls, reaching the ears of Silas and the Supervisor, whose fight had not yet ended in the storage hall.
Silas had begun to control the situation a little. His analytical mind started working, and he learned the rhythm of Moros's blind movements. He moved his cane to feint to the right, then delivered low kicks with his foot that left Moros unable to predict, as if he suddenly lost his compass. Moros retreated, signs of fatigue appearing on him.
Silas raised his cane to deliver a decisive blow to end it and allow him to escape.
But what stopped Silas from fighting, and made him freeze in place, wasting the advantage that had arisen, was that sound he had never heard before in his life.
WOOF! WOOF!
A bark.
It was a bark, and although it was a dry, mechanical bark with no life in it, it changed nothing. Silas had never heard such a sound, nor even seen the creature it came from before.
The side door of the hall opened.
"XX11... Come on, boy... we have a man here to play with."
Ben, the Deputy Supervisor, entered with a malicious smile on his face. And with him, a creature walking on all fours entered.
It was a metal monster, designed to mimic the shape of a huge dog, but made of steel plates and exposed gears. Its lower jaw was a powerful hydraulic piston, and its eyes... Its eyes glowed with a bright, sickly yellow, centered by a small black pupil moving with deadly focus toward Silas.