Chapter 88: We Finally Meet You

Makun quietly followed Mark.

He was suspicious, but not scared. He knew, although minimal, there were chances of this being an ambush.

However, unlike before, that night when he was completely powerless in the Night Market, when Zack had held him by the neck, he could defend himself now.

If anything unusual happened, he had a chance at fighting back, or running away.

He looked at Mark’s back, his thoughts slowly drifting back to his dream.

The dream of him being chained, in complete darkness, with a glass tube sealing him. He had had them ever since his adolescence. However, he had thought nothing of it until he had been pulled into the Deep by the entity.

It was the first time he actually saw the chains. His spirit body was a prisoner to things he did not know.

He did not know what they were, but he knew they were responsible for his bad luck. He knew they were taking something from him. He had to find what.

He thought back to today’s dream, just before Mark woke him up. Ever since he got initiated, this was the first time he dreamed.

The first time he felt that darkness swallow him again.

Is it some type of premonition? Am I going to know what the chains are?

Makun thought.

PING!

A warrior instinct from the Deep’s memories alerted him of immense danger and without thinking, Makun dove at extreme speed to the ground.

BANG! BANG!

Sharp cracks tore through the air as the bullets flew past Makun, igniting the cart that lay in the middle of the parking lot.

Makun performed a donkey roll and got back to his feet, his gaze fixed on Mark.

“What is the meaning of this?” He asked.

Mark stood rooted, not a single change of expression.

He cocked his Desert Eagle a second time, aiming for Makun’s stomach.

WHOOSH!

Makun sprang forward, a blur of motion. His feet hammered the pavement in rapid succession, each step propelling him faster. Mark, an Initiate, could not hold his own against an Apprentice who had more Ashe than the norm. Red chaotic Ashe flooded Makun’s fist, crackling with destructive intent.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Mark fired. Makun twisted, his body moving on pure instinct. The instinct of a berserk.

The first bullet passed inches from his ribs. The second grazed his shoulder. The third missed entirely. He closed the distance in three strides.

CRACK!

Makun’s right foot lashed out, a vicious sidekick that slammed into Mark’s chest. Mark’s body lifted off the ground and flew backward, arms flailing. Before he could land, Makun was already moving.

His left fist, charged and glowing red, crossed at full power.

BANG!

The punch connected with Mark’s face. Bone crunched. Blood sprayed. Mark rocketed into the distance, tumbling through the air like a ragdoll.

Makun didn’t stop.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

He lunged into the air, legs pumping, body twisting mid-leap. Mark was still airborne and disoriented, completely defenseless under Makun’s assault.

Makun spun, his right leg charged with red Ashe, the energy spiraling around his shin like fire.

BOOM!

The kick landed clean. Mark’s body changed direction violently, hurtling downward. He slammed into the pavement with a sickening crash, cratering the asphalt. Dust and debris exploded outward. The ground spiderwebbed with cracks.

Makun landed a few feet away, crouched low, fists still glowing. His breathing was steady. His eyes locked on Mark’s motionless body.

Something is wrong.

Makun had known it. He had already fought against Mark at the park during his initiation. Back then as a first grade Initiate he had overpowered Mark.

Now as an Apprentice, it was easier. If Makun knew it was easy for him to overpower Mark, then Mark should have known too.

This meant that logically, Mark never should have attacked Makun.

Makun’s eyes widened. He is under control.

He thought back to the scene at the restaurant with Shane and Joe, the dark eerie energy that was around Joe.

He had checked it on Mark earlier, but saw nothing. However.

He concentrated his spirit energy on his frontal lobe, in huge quantity and fixated his gaze on Mark.

He did that just in time to see dark energy leaving Mark’s unconscious body, in a similar fashion it had left Joe’s unconscious body.

The dark energy dispersed.

However Makun was on full alert.

He turned right then left. He knew someone was here right now, looking at him.

He stepped back slowly towards the shelter. He had been confident in his ability to overpower Mark and that he had done.

He was confident in his ability to get out of the situation and that he was going to do.

Makun turned, Ashe fully charged in both his feet and—

Flash!

He sprinted in the direction of the shelter. He did not know who these guys were, nor what their goal with him was.

However, if he entered the shelter and they attacked, or killed civilians, they were going to be hunted by the Suppression Bureau.

They won’t risk it, that he was sure of for several reasons.

Makun closed the distance to the shelter, almost exiting the parking lot, but—

Swoosh!

Makun’s head jerked to the side. The dagger’s edge kissed the air an inch from his throat, close enough that he felt the cold bite of steel.

If not for the fact that his instincts as a berserk were higher than normal, sharper and more brutal than any ordinary practitioner, he would have been slashed clean across the neck.

Thud!

He hit the ground hard, palms slapping asphalt as his body twisted into a backward roll. Momentum carried him over once, twice, before his feet touched down again.

He pushed off the pavement and sprang upright, knees bent, fists raised.

His chest heaved. Breath came sharp and ragged and sweat dripped from his temple.

His Route Core burned, still flooded with red chaotic Ashe from the earlier sprint.

In front of him stood a tall, lean man. Blonde hair slicked back. Formal attire, crisp and clean despite the violence. A dagger in his right hand, its blade gleaming faintly under the dim parking lot lights. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, but his eyes were sharp.

Behind him stood a little girl. Small in size but not in age.

Her frame was delicate, childlike, but the energy radiating from her was anything but innocent. In her arms, she cradled a porcelain doll, its face smooth and blank.

Her smile was wide, dangerous, the kind that made Makun’s skin crawl. It screamed blood. It screamed violence. It screamed that she enjoyed this.

“We finally meet you,” Cheryl said, a giggle escaping her mouth.

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