AKAME ASSASINATION (40)
"Even I have to admit that was pretty cool," Angel said, giving Jericho's shoulder a rough, comradely pat that made her wince.
"Spare... spare me your gesture of good will," Jericho grunted, pushing herself more upright and out of Teddy's supportive grip. Her breathing was still ragged. "We all did some good work. Don't get a big head."
"Yeah, big guy," Angel turned her smug grin on Teddy. "You should be glad to be on my team."
"Who said you were the leader?" Jericho shot back, testing her aching ribs with a careful prod.
"I am, obviously. I thought it was so obvious."
"You're such a bitch, you know that?"
"Say it again to my face."
"I will."
"Can we all just settle down?" Teddy tried, his voice a plea for peace.
"Shut up!" they both yelled in unison, their glares identical before snapping back to each other.
Teddy sighed. At least they got along when they bullied him. That was a sign of... something.
As they bickered, Jericho's eyes—her good one and the new, eerily pale one—scanned the trampled grass and shattered earth. Her sensory perception, tuned to F.E. residues, found only the fading, corrupted echoes of the voids. "I don't sense anyone else. Where are our prisoners?"
"You mean friends?" Teddy corrected gently.
"No. Prisoners."
Angel stalked over to where Justine was now sitting cross-legged on the ruined hood of the Hammer, examining a scratch on his wrist. "Hey, you good-for-nothing piece of filth," she snarled. "Don't tell me you didn't help us and didn't see where they were going."
Justine looked up, his expression one of profound boredom. "Alright," he said flatly. "I won't tell you."
"You're goddamn useless, you know that?" Jericho spat, joining Angel.
"I try to be," Justine responded, utterly unfazed. His commitment to non-participation was clearly ironclad.
"Can we please just go look for them?" Teddy insisted, his voice taking on a rare edge of frustration. "Maybe they were following the large accumulation of fragments you were tracking earlier, Iman. The one that led us here."
Angel nodded, the fight bleeding out of her as practicality took over. "Maybe. We should follow it and see how it plays out. Before more of those... things show up."
Without a word, Teddy walked over to Jericho, bent down, and in one smooth motion hoisted her onto his broad shoulder like a sack of particularly surly grain.
"How's the height?" he asked.
"Good enough, Ted," she grumbled, too exhausted to protest the undignified transport. She draped an arm over his head for balance.
The trio—Angel walking point, Teddy carrying Jericho, and Jericho scanning the horizon from her perch—continued their journey into the tall grass, following the subtle, storm-charged pull of dense fragment energy. Justine watched them go for a long moment, his unreadable gaze lingering on the path Nala had taken. Then, with an almost imperceptible shrug, he pushed off the hood and began to amble along behind them, a silent, disinterested shadow.
***
A FEW WEEKS PRIOR – THE MASSAI VILLAGE
"Chief, what will we do about the rising missing persons?" The elder's voice was tight with worry. Once every week, the Chief would sit in the center of the village, conducting hearings to understand the problems threading through his people like poison.
"Missing people?" another man asked, the news spreading through the gathered crowd like a ripple of fear.
"Yes! They have been popping up all over—or should I say, disappearing!"
A commotion broke out, a low wave of anxious murmurs and fearful glances.
"Silence, please." The Chief's voice cut through, high and powerful, yet carrying its usual deep calm. "We intend to address this. In fact, I've got my two best warriors on it right now." He gestured to Zena and Orinx, who stood at attention, their faces masks of solemn duty.
The report that evening would come back the same as it always did: Nothing new. No tracks. No signs.
The third chief of what little remained of the Massai was, by nature, a trusting man. His stature was intimidating, his presence commanded respect, but inside was a core of softness, a vulnerability born of a desire to believe the best in his people. This was Nala's father.
That same evening, she came to him in his hut. Her eyes, always so expressive, burned with a determined fire. Her hands moved in swift, sharp signs—the language they shared.
"Let me go. Let me search. I can find them. I am not a child."
"I will not allow it," he refused, his voice final, a wall of paternal fear. "It is too dangerous. The warriors are handling it."
But Nala wouldn't take no for an answer. Her hands flew again, her frustration palpable. "You are doing NOTHING! They find NOTHING!"
In retaliation, she stormed out of the hut, then out of the village itself. (Oh, I forgot to mention—Nala can't speak. She is mute.) Her departure was a screaming silence, an accusation: her father, the mighty chief, was powerless against the shadow swallowing their home. And he felt it. The man who was supposed to be a bulwark, immune to the fears that crippled others, felt like a fraud in his own skin. The real strength, the kind that fought monsters, existed out there. In here, he was helpless.
Nala had witnessed this firsthand. She knew a war was brewing, faster than anyone hoped. She couldn't stop it alone.
But now, she didn't have to be alone. On her back, unconscious but alive, was the boy with lightning in his soul. He had protected her from the silver-haired hunter. He had stood, broken but unyielding, against the twisted creature in the storm. He was reliable. He would help her. She knew he would. She had to get him to the village, to her father, to make them see.
***
PRESENT – THE FOREST PATH
Now, Nala ran. She pushed through dense thickets, her lungs burning, her legs—still aching from her solo fight with the fragment creature days before—screaming in protest. She followed a narrow, hidden path toward the clearing that held her home. She moved on desperation alone.
But the ground betrayed her. Weakened by her injuries and exhaustion, her foot landed on a patch of loose soil and cleverly arranged leaves covering a hunter's pit. It gave way with a soft rustle.
She plummeted down with a short, soundless gasp, landing with a jarring thud on something soft and yielding. The leaves rained down on her head. Dazed, she looked up, blinking against the sudden gloom.
A shadow loomed at the edge of the pit, blotting out the speckled sunlight. A figure peered down, features obscured by the backlight.
"I've caught you now," a female voice broke the forest silence. It was calm, cold, and carried a tone of grim satisfaction.
Nala's hand twitched, the ghost of her golden spear flickering at her fingertips, but the fall had knocked the wind and fight from her. She could only stare up, Gil's dead weight still securely on her back, as the silhouette above shifted, preparing to descend.
TO BE CONTINUED!