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Sacrifice is not easy, or else it is no true sacrifice.
Sunday repeated that over and over in his head. Perhaps it wasn’t fair, or right. Falling back on the lessons his father had taught…given how his father had ended up, perhaps it wasn’t wise at all to repeat those words.
Had those words always been intended to control him? Sometimes he considered it, and then he had to toss them aside, because they were far too fundamental to how he viewed the world, and himself.
Sacrifice was essential. You had to be willing to give for others. If everyone was of such a mindset, wouldn’t this flawed universe become the paradise he craved? Sunday could not disregard such thoughts, nor such ideals.
And yet…wasn’t this perhaps…a bit much?
To put it simply…this was a rather unorthodox problem.
Sunday had thought that his first experience following the Nameless onto a planet would be one of the utmost severity. He had thought they would encounter crisis after crisis, and work to stop them. He had imagined it being a very professional, very proper affair.
Unfortunately, his new companions weren’t exactly professional, or proper.
Dan Heng, he could get along with well enough. He suspected that if he and Dan Heng had gone off alone together, they would have been much more productive. Though even Dan Heng sometimes had a tendency to behave a little erratically…
Sometimes, I think about how they’re so very young, despite the ordeals they’ve been through.
Sunday was only a few years older than the three junior members of the Astral Express, and yet those few years felt like a chasm of a difference. He watched as they approached the stalls and vendors at the festival so easily, playing games and tasting foods, in general…acting like children.
Sunday could not remember the last time he acted like a child. Sometimes he wondered if he ever had.
Ever one for duty and preferring action over standing around doing nothing, or simply indulging in simple pleasures, Sunday instead wandered around the festival, trying to find information, any information he could.
To his surprise, he indeed heard…strange gossip. Murmurings of cursed weddings, of kidnapped brides…the words made the hair on the back of his neck stand up a little.
Kidnappings. Abductions. It certainly sounded like something he should deal with. He wasn’t sure the Astral Express would agree.
When he returned to Dan Heng, March, and Stelle, trying to tell them about what he’d heard, they were all rather ambivalent to it.
“Weddings here are cursed? Are you sure you weren’t just hearing stories, Sunday?”
March didn’t seem to take it seriously, instead focusing on slamming the hammer down, trying to hit the bell provided. Despite everything, it didn’t ring out easily. Sunday wasn’t surprised, even if she did have enthusiasm.
“The people here seem quite afraid…even though they’re having these festivities, it’s obvious that there’s strain in the air.” Sunday spoke coolly, “I believe it is our duty to investigate this matter.”
“Ugh, is it really? We don’t need to go around saving everyone who you think needs help, Sunday…”
Sunday tensed a little, feeling a little offended. It wasn’t about that…Sunday just wanted to help people. He looked to Dan Heng, who he thought might be a little reasonable.
“It can’t hurt to look into such a thing.” Dan Heng indeed, did seem to see the logic, “what exactly did you hear, Sunday?”
Sunday was relieved that at least one person seemed to think he was sane. Even if it was Dan Heng, Sunday would take what he could get.
“Anytime they hold a wedding ceremony, a force surrounds the bridal sedan.” Sunday informed them, and Stelle leaned against a nearby stall, listening carefully, “this force…the locals seem to think it supernatural in nature. It drives all away except the bride, and when they return, she is gone, without a trace. There apparently aren’t any tracks or footprints left behind, either.”
The three looked among each other, but as usual, March gave the most outward reaction.
“N-No footprints? C-Come on, you can’t be saying something like that…are you saying it’s a ghost?”
“I’ve got experience dealing with that sort of thing.” Stelle spoke flatly, “so if it’s really that, no problem.”
Trailblazers truly deal with all sorts of things.
“There’s no reason to believe there are ghosts on this planet, at least.” Dan Heng pointed out, “but I suppose we could look into this. I don’t believe Sunday is going to let it go.”
Sunday didn’t know how he was supposed to let it go so easily. Thinking of women being kidnapped…it was indeed quite repulsive.
No bodies had been found…so maybe they were just being kidnapped for some ulterior motive? Sunday shuddered to think of it. The other three were right. Sunday wasn’t going to let it go.
“I can investigate this myself, if you have to wish to interfere.” Sunday spoke calmly, “the festivities…I understand if you wish to partake in them, but I would rather investigate this, if it’s all the same to you.”
Sunday knew he couldn’t convince the others to go with him. Perhaps he could handle this on his own, though…
The three looked among each other, and Sunday’s chest ached just a little to see a bit of suspicion exchanged between them. Of course, even now, they didn’t fully trust Sunday. He was never let out of their sight for long.
It’s only just, for the sins I have committed.
“We’ll go with you, and ask around, Sunday.” Dan Heng finally spoke up, and Sunday nodded gratefully, “perhaps there is merit to this.”
With that, they did ask around, making sure to focus on locals and those native to the planet. Sure enough, they heard the same story, each and every time.
Weddings were cursed. Every bride would be taken, and their families were beside themselves trying to find them. When the members of the Astral Express heard that, they did seem to soften a little, and their eyes glinted with some determination.
Sunday, meanwhile, kept careful record of every case. They were all so similar. A bride, taken from her bridal sedan as she was led to her wedding. A strange force of terror overcame those attending her, and all of them left. When she was alone…
Well, no one knows what happens.
“We’ve tried even using some as bait, but they’ve gone missing as well.” A local complained, and that made the four look among each other, “at this rate, weddings will be a relic of the past…how am I supposed to get business then, ah? I might as well toss all the robes I’ve made…”
“No, wait.” Dan Heng interrupted them, “toss them, you say…perhaps you’d consider giving them to us instead, for a fair price?”
Sunday and March looked at Dan Heng with wide eyes, while Stelle just tilted her head impassively. Honestly, she was far too calm about this.
Is he really suggesting…?
“Ah…? Are you gonna give the old bait trick a try? Well, you’re braver then I am, I can tell you that.” The man glanced at Stelle and March, “so, ah, which lovely lady…?”
“No way! I’m not dressing up like that…!” March shook her head, “s-so a bunch of ghosts can come and get me, you can’t be serious…”
“March, they likely aren’t ghosts.” Dan Heng reminded her calmly, “you won’t be in any danger. We’ll be right there…”
“Why do I have to do it?” March complained, “this whole story…what if it’s just a scam to earn money, anyway? Can you really be sure?”
“Who would make up a scam like this…?”
Sunday and Stelle locked eyes, and what Sunday in those golden ones scared and terrified him even more then the Stellaron itself could. She stared at him for a moment, then casually spoke up,
“Sunday can try it. Right?” She suggested, as if this was not a completely insane thing to say. Sunday blinked, then went scarlet, “he’s the one who was interested in this in the first place, so…”
“Ah! That’s right!” March quickly seized the idea, “besides, Sunday is the newbie on board, so really, these sorts of missions should be his job, right?”
Sunday had not been expecting the conversation to go in that direction. He blinked, then stared at Dan Heng imploringly - but he found no mercy in those jade eyes.
Hence, his current mantra about sacrifice, which was meant to strengthen his resolve.
Is this really the kind of sacrifice that was meant…
Back in Penacony, Sunday would have taken any sacrifice for the sake of the innocent. Any shame, any humiliation, but wasn’t this too big of a humiliation?
Given all the evidence, he might very well end up disappearing into a puff of smoke. At least then, he wouldn’t have to deal with the embarrassment.
There had been times, when he’d been much younger, where him and Robin had swapped outfits, and he’d covered his face with a mask or sunglasses, in order to lead paparazzi and the like away from her.
So, he supposed…if he could do that, then he could do this.
Dan Heng didn’t even offer…quite cruel on his part.
Then again, he supposed this was his idea in the first place, wasn’t it? When the locals had heard that they planned to set another trap for the supposed killer, they’d jumped at the chance to assist, and send someone else like a lamb off to slaughter.
Really, it was the same no matter where you went, wasn’t it?
Sunday gave a defeated sigh, sticking out his arm and letting the tailor measure it. His height, the length of his legs, even his chest and hips…it was definitely a little embarrassing, but he tried to think of the poor women who must be in terror.
That much was correct. If they were still alive, they were likely terrified. Innocents, who Sunday desperately wanted to bring salvation.
Think of it like that, and it isn’t so bad.
It took a few hours, but finally the tailor brought him out of the dressing room, clad in traditional bridal robes, red and bright, and gold, very splendid and very eye catching.
Thankfully, Sunday had a veil as well. Something to at least hide some of his shame, but he couldn’t see at all, so he reluctantly pushed it back sheepishly as the junior Astral Express members saw fit to observe his shame.
“Wow, Sunday, you actually make it work.” Stelle’s eyes were practically glued to him, in a way that felt decidedly strange, “you thought about modeling like your sister? I think you could manage it…”
“It’s…well, you sure look like a bride, I guess.” March just seemed confused, “I didn’t think the robes would be like that, though…”
“They’re similar to the Xianzhou style.” Dan Heng spoke up, a fountain of knowledge as ever, “there are all sorts of styles among the stars. This planet must have been influenced by their taste in weddings.”
Somehow, having it spoken clinically like that made Sunday feel even more embarrassed. His face was scarlet, and he quickly pulled the veil back down, covering himself. He somehow felt like the Astral Express were having fun at his own expense.
I can’t blame them for that, but could they take it a bit more seriously when people may be hurt?
The robe was beautiful - red, trimmed with gold at the ends. The sleeves were long and hung past his knees when Sunday laced his hands with each other, and the veil too was long and obstructive. When Sunday looked down, all he could see was the ground and what was by his feet.
“...If someone is attacking brides, they may not come if they sense a weapon.” Sunday belatedly mumbled, “ah, my thorns are initially incorporeal, so I suppose I do make a good candidate for this…”
March, Stelle, and Dan Heng all had more corporal weapons that would easily be seen. But Sunday’s thorns could be summoned in a flash, from beneath these heavy robes. He could restrain whoever was doing this…
“There are rumours that the women that are taken are whisked away to the demon realm, to become a demon’s bride.” The tailor warned him again, “well, if you’re a man, maybe he won’t come at all, huh?”
It had exclusively been women so far…Sunday hoped that his figure was enough to trick them into thinking he was a woman.
The Astral Express…seemed to think so, at least.
“I’ll…need to be led off, I’m afraid.” Sunday admitted, “dressed like this, it is quite hard to walk.”
To his relief, March took one arm, and Stelle the other, and they unceremoniously carted him off. Sunday was blind, and had to keep his legs close together, lest he trip.
Really, it was a bit surprising just how convincing of a bride Sunday made. His figure was certainly lithe and slender enough…when the veil was up, and the robes wrapped tightly around him, he could indeed pass for a bride.
Not that Sunday wanted to think about that at all.
He’d dissipated his halo, letting it stay out of reach for now, to better fit into the veil. Sunday’s chest lurched with every step, as he felt a bit uneasy being led by the Astral Express.
At this point, others had heard what they were doing, and had gathered. It seemed every time someone tried this, it drew quite a crowd. Some offered to even carry the sedan. One even offered to lift Sunday himself up and carry him inside. Sunday had protested, but been lifted regardless, the man proclaiming he was lighter then even a sack of flour.
Sunday knew he didn’t weigh much, but this was definitely embarrassing. He was just glad no one could see his face, nor identify him in this humiliation.
“Don’t worry, Sunday. We aren’t gonna run off and ditch you.” March promised, as they finally arrived at the bridal sedan, Sunday fumbling at the door, “we’ll be right out here, the whole time!”
“They say some force pushes people away, but…it won’t affect us.” Stelle spoke the words as if willing them into reality, “even in the worst case…you shouldn’t be in any danger.”
Sunday wondered. It was still possible that the culprit behind these disappearances indeed transported them to another realm. If that was the case, he doubted Stelle, March, or Dan Heng could come with him.
But the reassurance was welcome, even if Sunday also felt…they were enjoying this at his expense, maybe a little bit too much.
I’m simply glad Mr. Yang can’t see me like this.
“I’ll sit inside, and we’ll carry on like it’s a proper ceremony,” Sunday tried to sound composed and calm, “where would weddings usually be held?”
“Up that mountain. You saw it when you were walking around, didn’t you? Shrine up there is where all the weddings happen. Well, are supposed to happen, anyway.”
“After this, it’ll most likely be cursed…”
Sunday’s wings twitched beneath the veil. He couldn’t see right now, but he could remember the mountain that they spoke of. Being carried up that thing while in a sedan, blind and unable to move much, would indeed be quite the trial.
“U-Up the mountain…? You’re saying we gotta go hiking? Seriously?" March suddenly sounded doubtful and apprehensive, “uhh, I dunno…”
“March, Sunday is going through humiliation enough.” Dan Heng replied without any mercy or warmth to her complaining, “and you’re going to complain about walking up a steep mountain?”
“Well, hey, he doesn’t have to walk up it! He gets carried, so…!”
“Miss March, if you don’t wish to come up, I’ll understand.” Sunday didn’t want to cause any trouble, not with the Express, “I am the only one who is needed for this…so you may retreat back to the Express, if you wish.”
Sunday really didn’t have much of a problem with it, although sometimes he wondered about the children that had managed to stop him, and what their priorities were.
Sometimes, I feel like I’ll never understand, nor be understood.
But he had felt that his entire life. This wasn’t truly any different.
“I…I don’t wanna just leave you here, though.” March pouted, “Mr.Yang…he wouldn’t like that at all. So…”
“Come on, March. Working out isn’t so bad, anyway.” Stelle assured March, “I don’t really wanna leave Sunday to maybe become a demon’s bride, or whatever…”
Or whatever, huh…
Sunday was exasperated, but he slipped into the sedan regardless. At least those three would be nearby, though Sunday knew he could at least defend himself. It wasn’t impossible.
No, I can…
The sedan was lifted, by a few of the volunteers. This had become quite the spectacle, huh. Sunday supposed a man dressing up as a bride was bound to cause a stir, and maybe they thought this could actually end their dilemma.
Weddings were supposed to be a sign of prosperity. These red robes, too, signified prosperity, even though Sunday didn’t feel very prosperous right now. The road was quite bumpy, and Sunday was jolted rather roughly within the sedan.
Patience, he reminded himself, closing his eyes and trying to keep calm. He also tried to sense for any changes in the area - emotional, spiritual. Something that could signify what this was.
Leaving behind no witnesses, and forcing all to flee. Kidnapping women, and yet, no bodies remain.
It did almost sound like a demon from some old stories of folklore. Sunday was too old for such things. But he was curious on what could actually be going on. Maybe some sort of illusion? Psychosis?
Those types of things shouldn’t affect him, if he tapped into his powers of the Harmony. But he definitely was curious. To make so many people run for the hills, abandoning a helpless bride…
What could it be? I don’t understand.
Sunday was trying to focus as they went up and up - he could hear March, Dan Heng, and Stelle talking. And yet, somehow their voices seemed to get further and further away. Was it because Sunday was focusing so hard, or…
No, it’s something else…
Sunday’s eyes snapped open, as suddenly, all was silence around him. The sedan fell with a crash, and the atmosphere, the air, all of it seemed so much darker, so much more isolating. Sunday felt a pressure on his chest, like someone was trying to squeeze his very heart. Dizziness enveloped him.
Calm and serenity, he tried to remind himself. With a flash, his halo shone, and the feeling dissipated just a little, as Sunday tried to catch his breath.
The air was very still. He could no longer hear the noise outside the sedan, and no longer could he sense the emotions of those around him. If he had to guess, he was alone.
And he was very alone.
Right. I suspected something like this might happen…
Being transported to some sort of other realm, or going through a gate where only he was allowed entry. Some sort of curse, or illusion…
It was very cold. Sunday felt stiff in these robes, and found it even more difficult to move. He was thinking about what he should do - wait? Step outside? Take off the veil?
Before he could come to a decision, he heard footsteps. Very light, and very careful, but footsteps. Sunday tensed, tuning his halo, and sensed emotions. A human…
No, this is…a little strange…
Something about the emotions he sensed and tuned with carried such weight, such a heaviness that he almost felt like his chest was being squeezed again. No, it was definitely human, but it was a human that had suffered immensely.
Could it be the culprit that he was looking for?
As he tried to think on it, suddenly, the curtains of the dropped sedan parted. Sunday jolted, looking down. Just from beneath the veil, he could see a hand there, covered in bandages and red ribbons.
The ribbons were very pretty, the same red as the robes he was wearing. A symbol of prosperity. Somehow, that struck Sunday very much, almost as much as the bandages.
It was almost a depiction of a groom’s hand; the red signified luck and good fortune, but those bandages…they covered almost the entire hand. Sunday wondered if this could indeed be a ghost, as March had so foolishly said. Those bandages distorted the image of what would otherwise be a clear groom’s outstretched hand.
There’s so much…sorrow coming from them. What do I do?
The hand was extended, as if it were offering itself to Sunday. If it was the culprit, perhaps if he went along with it, he could find the other kidnapped women?
But…holding hands was a little intimate, wasn’t it?
Get ahold of yourself, Sunday.
Taking a breath, Sunday indeed took the hand; his own were gloved as always, and the sensation of the bandages against his own gloved skin was…strangely lulling. Sunday never held hands with anyone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even touched hands with anyone.
It was warm, very warm. This was appreciated, even if Sunday didn’t consciously realize it, because right now, he was very cold. The hand squeezed his own, and then began to gently pull him out of the sedan.
He’s warm. Why would he be so warm?
It was so strange. Everything else was cold, but this man was radiating warmth. That just made Sunday more confused. He took a step out of the sedan, and then another.
Was this the culprit? Sunday wasn’t sure. For some reason, he felt that it was unlikely, even though it was logically the most plausible thing to think.
Yet something about this man, he just didn’t think he was a bad person.
Ridiculous. What am I thinking? It's only been a few moments.
Sunday paused, then took a step, his feet catching on this infernal robe. He tumbled towards the ground, but before he could even come close to hitting it, arms braced him, catching him, his head pressing against a chest.
Thump, thump, thump.
Sunday could hear and feel a beating heart beneath that chest. So they weren’t dead. And they were very warm. The man straightened him, and then brushed his hands over his shoulders. Clumsy hands. Sunday realised those hands were checking him over, as if to make sure he was uninjured.
In truth, Sunday had not accidentally got caught on the robes. It had, in fact, been wholly intentional. He’d wanted to see what this man - the groom, he supposed he should think of him as - would do if Sunday seemed in danger.
His answer was clear; the groom had caught him. Sunday ducked his head a little more, able to see boots from the end of his veil, and the bottom of some sort of scarlet robes.
So, the groom was wearing red as well. How appropriate.
Why is he checking me over? Why is he so concerned with my state?
It was such bizarre behaviour. Sunday felt the compulsion to tear his veil off, and look up at the man, see his face. But somehow he had a feeling if he did that, it would cause quite a bit of misfortune. The man hadn’t taken off the veil, after all.
Sunday stood stock still, wondering if he should speak, but the air was so still and quiet. Something about speaking and breaking the silence felt like it would ruin this. If this was the culprit, Sunday ought to play along up to a point.
The groom was apparently satisfied with Sunday’s condition, and once again gently took his hand in order to lead him onward. This time, Sunday noticed that the grip was very clumsy and stiff. Was he injured? Those bandages had been so prominent.
Yet even with that injured hand, he was so careful. And he began to lead Sunday away, down and away from the sedan. Sunday hesitated, swaying, but then decided all he could really do was go with the man.
For now, anyway. He still reminded himself that he could use his thorns to attack him at any moment.
That impulse was slowly becoming more and more foreign to him, though. Sunday could read others very well, and everything about this struck him bizarrely as a gentle person.
Ridiculous. Sunday needed to be more on guard. Despite this reminder, he still walked with him, forced to let him lead, since Sunday was so blind. Even without that, walking in this rather tight robe was so difficult.
Each step was audible, so sound was not entirely suppressed in this strange place. Sunday’s steps were light, whereas the steps of his would be groom were a bit heavier, and a bit more unsteady. For a bizarre moment, Sunday wondered if he was well.
The air was cold, and each breath chilled him more, yet that hand was ever warm, calling to Sunday like a candle flame. The man’s arm was pressed slightly against his own, too. This was also a source of warmth.
When Sunday had fallen against his chest, he’d estimated that the man was a decent bit taller then him. Broad, as well. Strong. It left his mind whirling a little.
Someone like this could easily overpower most brides with force. So why bother with this sort of ceremony? Is it a compulsion?
Sunday still wasn’t convinced this was the culprit at all. The wind rustled against them both as he pondered on it, and his thorns wrapped around his wrist beneath his robes, ready to fly out and strike.
If he needed to…for now, he should play along. He took a few steps, walking alongside the groom. He caught the pleasant scent of flowers and honey.
Is it from him? I am having trouble making sense of this.
Suddenly, the groom stopped, and squeezed his arm with a weak hand. Sunday froze, wondering why - and then he heard growling, not from him, but from in front of him.
Sunday tensed, and recognized immediately the feeling of corruption.
Monsters of the Fragmentum?
The man beside him scoffed, and then Sunday heard the sound of a sword being drawn. He jerked back, alarmed, but before he could speak or cry out, the man beside him lunged forward, and a single strike went through the air.
Beneath his veil, Sunday could see blood splatter over the hard ground. A moment later, to his bemusement, flowers began rising up from it, circling each other. Beautiful red flowers that Sunday had to fumble to remember a name for.
A spider lily. That’s right.
Sunday still felt extremely uneasy, as he knew violence had happened before him - even if it was violence against monsters. His breath hitched, and he took another step back, unsure of whether to bolt.
Then, he realised that any blood that was spilled had to be from his so called groom, rather then the monsters. A bizarre sensation of concern came over him.
What was he concerned about? This man might be a murderer, he had certainly wielded that sword comfortably even like this.
The groom seemed to notice his unease, and stepped closer to Sunday, nearly trampling the flowers beneath his feet. Sunday’s heart was pounding, and the thorns beneath his sleeve writhed and pressed against his skin, ready to strike.
Instead, the man seemed hesitant - but then reached out his hand once more. Sunday stared, able to see the offered hand beneath the veil, just…outstretched in patient expectation. His own heart hammered and raced, as he stared at him.
Despite everything, Sunday was unharmed. As far as the man knew, he was blind and helpless, and thus killing those monsters had saved his life. Sunday would have been fine, but this man had no way of knowing that.
I don’t understand.
What was he thinking? Sunday couldn’t fathom. But he hesitated, breathing heavily, before slowly reaching forward, once again taking that hand. He couldn’t run now…and he didn’t think it was time to strike.
If he tries to attack me, I will defend myself.
But somehow, he didn’t really think he would have to.
Once again, the grip was clumsy, but gentle and reassuring. Sunday made to take a step forward, but the man’s other hand pressed to his chest, halting him.
While he should have been thinking about the man’s motives, for some reason, all he could think about was how the man must be feeling his racing heart. It was pounding against his chest, against the man’s hand.
Sunday wondered if this was the time to strike, but somehow could not bring himself to move. Instead, he stayed still, as the man seemed to want. Slowly, carefully, the man’s arm wrapped around his waist, and arm. Sunday hadn’t been expecting that.
What…
Sunday almost finally snapped, opening his mouth to protest - before he was gently lifted up. Panic soared through him. This man lifted him up so easily, Sunday felt like he were a pillow stuffed with feathers rather than a Halovian. To his humiliation, he heard the man chuckle lowly, as if amused by this.
What is so amusing about such a thing!?
The chuckle was low, and deep, and Sunday had to admit that even though it was directed at him, it was still a very pleasant sound.
The man took a few steps forward, then set Sunday back down, which just made Sunday confused…until he realized that the man had carried him over the pool of blood rather than making him walk through it.
Did he think he was some sort of gentleman? Somehow, beneath his veil, his face was burning terribly red. He chewed on his lip, but before he could contemplate speaking, the man took his hand again, and began leading him on as if nothing happened.
I don’t understand at all.
Sunday was still quite on guard, but at the same time, he felt oddly drawn to the man. Even his scent was pleasant. Flowers, and honey sweetness. Sunday loved sweet things…was this meant to ensnare him?
He didn’t know, but he squeezed his hand just a little.
It really was like some bridal ceremony - the groom leading the bride off. Sunday’s emotions were such a whirl, and he just didn’t know what to think. No matter how he tried to read this man’s emotions or intent, he didn’t get a hint of malice.
Suffering, though. There’s so much suffering and pain.
Every time Sunday attempted to read him, he was hit with that wave of pain, and knew it was not his own. How could any human live with so much agony? So much suffering?
Yet, the man was not cruel to him. He didn’t drag Sunday along. He never forced him. He protected him, and even tried to make sure he didn’t step through blood!
It could be deranged courtesy. He truly believes that he is acting out some ceremony.
Sunday didn’t know, but his thoughts were getting a little lost. His heart was still racing, and his body was still drawn to the warmth of the man. They had been walking for some time. Occasionally, monsters of the Fragmentum would impede them, but the man would just draw his sword, and destroy them.
Each and every time he did, though, Sunday saw that blood flash across the ground, and he started feeling sick. The man seemed to have no concern for damage to his own person, even though Sunday knew he must be quite wounded by this point?
He doesn’t wrap himself up, or stop to try and heal…he just keeps going.
Why? Sunday finally had enough after yet another encounter where the man was hurt, blood spraying before him. The man reached forward once again to take his hand…only for Sunday to see that it was his wrist that was bleeding with a fresh wound, dripping onto the ground.
Once again, a spider lily sprung up from the discarded blood, but Sunday wasn’t looking at that, he was just looking at that bloody hand in apprehension.
Since Sunday was hesitant, the man seemed to tense, and then scoff. Had he not even realized he was injured? How careless…
Sunday paused only for a moment, before he reached out, taking the man’s arm. This clearly wasn’t what he was expecting, and the man stumbled a little, clearly confused even when Sunday couldn’t see - though his movements stopped when Sunday brought his other hand to his own sleeve.
Without hesitation, Sunday yanked at the fabric, tearing off a long strip of it with a loud rip. After a moment, Sunday took just a single step back, slowly wrapping the strip of cloth around the wounded man’s wrist.
Sunday just couldn’t stand to see suffering. Even from a man like this - maybe especially from a man like this. He seemed to have no concern for his own welfare, nor the numerous wounds that must be across his body. Sunday had to do something, at least.
Or do I? I suppose not, but…
Sunday finished quickly, pulling his hands back, unsure of how the man would react. There was silence. There was always silence in this place, but this seemed far more intense then usual. Sunday’s heart was pounding, as he wondered what the man would do.
What is he thinking? Does such an act of kindness strike him, or is wondering at my intentions?
Sunday didn’t know, but did it truly matter? This man kept getting himself battered, over and over, and the sight of his blood was just…immensely distressing to Sunday, he didn’t want to think of it, or keep seeing it.
And certainly, he didn’t wish to hold a hand literally dripping with blood, from wounds attained during an act of protection.
Silence, on and on, yet Sunday could still sense the man’s presence. What was he thinking? Surprisingly, Sunday was inclined to be patient. Finally, after far too long, he heard a scoff, and then his hand was grabbed a bit more intensely. Sunday was tense for a moment, but the man was only pulling him along…much faster.
Oh. Did I upset him…?
Sunday now wondered if he was perhaps in danger…could trying to help him have aggravated him? He tensed, but the man wasn’t attacking him, he was just taking him along the path, at a much faster pace. Sunday tried to tune him well, but aside from suffering, he couldn’t really read many of his emotions.
Though, for an instant, he thought he felt a rush of peace, within the cradle of pain and suffering.
Finally, they stopped - or rather, then man stopped. He was still holding Sunday’s hand, but he let it over to a handrail. Looking down, Sunday saw a wooden, old set of stairs. The man was gently trying to lead him up.
Sunday frowned a little, but walked up the stars hesitantly regardless. They felt very old, and very unstable. Sunday was now starting to get a little more concerned. Once they reached the top, the man guided his hand to a doorknob.
A house? Here?
Now, Sunday was at the height of his suspicion. Why had he been led to a house? Once he was inside, he would be even more helpless than. Even with his strange interactions with the man, he couldn’t deny that sort of logic.
I can’t just walk in blindly, not like this.
His instincts were screaming at him not to, and So Sunday hesitated a moment, before finally jerking back, reaching up to yank down his veil - and in the same motion, thorns shot out from his sleeve, not offensively, but defensively. They circled around Sunday, as he tried to catch a glimpse of his groom’s face.
An attempt that was very foolhardy - Sunday could not see a thing except a flash of red fabric, and then a bursting of spider lilies throughout the air, spinning in the breeze. Just like that, the man was gone, leaving no trace that he’d even been here beyond those flowers.
Damn.
Sunday clicked his tongue in frustration, idly reaching out to catch one of the falling flowers. It was very soft in his grip, and even though it was the shade of freshly drawn blood, Sunday found it very beautiful.
What a strange man. Sunday stared at the flower, deep in thought. Had that man been the culprit, and thus he’d fled when Sunday had startled him?
Most likely not. A kidnapper, and perhaps a murderer, would likely have chosen to fight and overpower Sunday. Even if that was easier said then done with Sunday, they would have no way of knowing that.
So they left…why? Sunday thumbed across the flower, feeling the chill across his cheek. Now that he was without the man, the cold felt much more apparent. He lifted his head, seeing that he was standing in front of a very old house, in the middle of the woods. Gray was everywhere he looked, and the place seemed drained of colour.
I see. So it is some sort of memoria manipulation, to capture people here.
Hence why Sunday had been seperated from the others. It seemed only the bride could slip in. Sunday glanced up, looking and seeing dead trees, devoid of leaves. There was no greenery around, no flowers…
Except for the ones that the man had left behind. Sunday brushed his thumb against one again, musing on it.
That man…had certainly been alive. Sunday had heard and felt his beating heart. He wasn’t some sort of ghost or apparition, but a living human being, who had led Sunday here, then left. So quickly.
How did he get in…? I don’t understand.
One thing was very likely…he wasn’t the culprit. Sunday supposed he should have let him take him inside…but still, he was much more preoccupied with him.
Why had he helped Sunday? Protected him? Been so strangely gentle with him?
And why had he left, before Sunday could see his face. He found himself a little annoyed. He looked down at his sleeve, realizing part of it was still ripped off, still wrapped around that man’s wrist.
I suppose, sometimes there aren’t any answers. How unfortunate.
--
After heading inside the house, Sunday had found the missing women, hidden together in the basement. Fortunately, they were all alive, and unaware of how much time had passed since they’d gone missing…
Stellarons absorb the desires and wishes of those they encounter. Truly, we still don’t know much about them…perhaps it absorbed the desire of one who was missing their bride, and snapped that back across memoria corruption?
Sunday wasn’t sure, but in the end, he was able to use his powers to take all of them back to the normal realm - albeit, at the top of the mountain. Here, there was greenery, trees blossoming with beautiful leaves, and flowers…but none of the flowers were as beautiful as the spider lily he’d grasped.
Heading back down the mountain, he eventually ran into a search party - apparently, they had been looking for him, at least a little.
The Express wouldn’t abandon me, it seems.
Sunday was quite exhausted by this point, and it all passed in quite a blur. He was also distracted, still thinking of the man he’d met.
“So, so, did they really try and make you a demon bride?” March was asking, “there’s no way, right…? Unless it really was a ghost?”
Sunday was now back in the Express party car, glancing out the window, and looking out at the stars. He was, thankfully, no longer in bridal attire, although Stelle had insisted on keeping it for some reason, Sunday wasn’t going to ask. Some things were truly better left unknown.
“I don’t believe it was a ghost…” Sunday paused, “but as long as they don’t hold ceremonies on that mountain, I believe they should be safe to have weddings from now on. The area is certainly cursed with something…”
Cursed…and also…
“But…I did meet someone while I was within that isolation field.” Sunday frowned, turning back to the three of them, “something that shouldn’t have been possible…unless they were very powerful.”
The three of them did perk up at that, Stelle and March looking carefully at one another. Dan Heng only looked at him, clearly curious.
“Was it someone dangerous?” Stelle asked, “Sunday…you weren’t in danger, were you?”
“No…I don’t believe I was.” Sunday hummed, tracing his fingers over the table. Had he been in danger? He wasn’t sure…
“If someone else was there…they could have had nefarious intentions.” Dan Heng reminded him, and Sunday shrugged, surprisingly casual about the idea, “could they have been behind this curse?”
“Mm.” Sunday shook his head, “no, I’m quite certain of that.”
But why…I don’t have any evidence…
“They, ah, guided me to the place where the victims were being held.” Sunday continued, “but they disappeared when I tried to look at them. All they left behind were a bundle of spider lillies…”
Dan Heng tensed, eyes wide, and then he cursed, whirling around. Stelle and March exchanged a look…for some reason, Sunday felt his heart skip a beat.
“Does this…sound familiar to you?”
If it did indeded sound familiar to them...could he find out who this was, after all?
“No way, right? Why would he be there?” March was saying to Stelle, “ahh, if he was there, Sunday would definitely be dead, right?”
“Not necessarily, but he was certainly in grave danger.” Dan Heng interceded, “you’re lucky to be alive…I suppose that man’s mad master wanted you alive.”
Mad master?
“I apologize, but I’m afraid you’ve lost me…” Sunday felt his heart still racing, racing. His voice was quite soft, as he was processing that they seemed to know who this was.
“But I suppose it makes sense. They seem to follow us wherever we go, even in shadows…”
“Even that far!? What did they want with Sunday? Ugh, everytime they show up, it's such a headache...!"
March and Dan Heng were arguing, and Sunday himself was almost entirely lost, looking at Stelle imploringly for help. To his surprise, Stelle looked away, seeming a bit uncomfortable. What did she have to be uncomfortable about...?
“One of the Stellaron Hunters.” Stelle finally explained to him, and Sunday’s heart skipped a beat, “Blade…his sword strikes create spider lilies…I bet it was him.”
No, his blood creates those flowers. Why do they think it’s from his sword?
Sunday’s mind went back, though. Back to when he was head of the Oak Family. That was right. He had received bounty posters and warrants for all of the Stellaron Hunters. There had only been one man.
Blade.
His face was a blur in his mind, though. Sunday wasn’t sure he would have recognized him, especially since he had never entered Penacony. Was that really the man he’d been with?
“He’s a dangerous madman.” Dan Heng continued, Sunday staring in amusement, “well, all of the Stellaron Hunters are certainly questionable…”
“You met Firefly, and she’s the least crazy…but definitely still a bit out there…” March grumbled, “well, all of the other Hunters are definitely more annoying. Blade, though, he’s the most dangerous!”
Dangerous? Really?
Sunday struggled to reconcile the picture they were painting with the man he had met, who was careful, and even rather gentlemanly. Not concerned for his own wellbeing, certainly, but not prone to violence. He hadn’t hurt Sunday at all.
“I found Miss Firefly to be…a rather respectable young woman…” Sunday started, only to be cut off by March shaking her head.
“Ugh, that’s because you only met weird people in Penacony! Sunday, you never spoke to normal people there! Your view of who's 'normal' is definitely messed up! Trust me! Firefly is definitely pretty intense…!”
Sunday scoffed…sure, most of the people he met in Penacony were suffering, running away from their pain, or in terrible circumstances…
…When I put it that way, it does indeed sound like I may not have a good grasp of a well adjusted person.
“Blade is the sharpest weapon of the Stellaron Hunters.” Dan Heng explained to Sunday, “you were very lucky to escape with your life, Sunday. I suppose Elio must have wanted you alive for something…”
“Still, the idea that you were with him, and you couldn’t even see his face…ugh, that’s like some sort of horror movie…!”
March was clearly distressed, but Sunday was more contemplative. Stelle, too, seemed quiet. Sunday looked over at her, wondering what she was thinking. Eventually, she felt his gaze, and looked up.
“...I’m glad Blade didn’t hurt you, Sunday.” She spoke softly, though Sunday got the sense from her tone that she didn’t really think that Blade would have, “I wonder why Elio would have sent him, though…”
“Is there anyone who can understand that madman’s logic?” Dan Heng scoffed, “hmph…”
With that, Dan Heng turned, and left the party car, clearly in a stormy mood from the mention of Blade. March hesitated, looking back to Sunday.
“I guess just be happy it all worked out…? But knowing that there was a Stellaron Hunter there…ugh, I feel a little freaked out…”
March did indeed look confused, but she rushed after Dan Heng, likely to try and calm him down. Sunday watched, before turning back to Stelle, who had remained, looking out at the stars.
She’s close with Firefly…
“No matter what the other two say, I do believe Miss Firefly was a respectable, strong person.” Sunday reassured her, and Stelle looked back over at him in surprise, “she is trying to seize and define her own destiny, defying the Finality before her…I’m afraid I can’t help but find such determination inspiring.” Sunday paused, “when she spoke in front of me, I truly felt humbled.”
It was true. Firefly’s words had left a deep, profound impact on him.
“...I know the Stellaron Hunters…do questionable things. That…can’t be denied.” Stelle spoke softly, “...but I’ve never liked to think the worst of them, the way the others do. Blade…he helped you, didn’t he? That’s why you’re not panicking like March…”
Sunday nodded slowly. It was true. It was definitely strange. But Blade had likely been there to help him.
"I sensed no malice from him," Sunday told her carefully, "while he may have done wicked things, I did not think he was there to harm me."
Sunday hesitated, then pulled out his phone, easily finding an image of Blade’s bounty poster. He was one of the most wanted criminals by the IPC, so it was simple enough to find.
Ah.
Red eyes, and flowing black hair…Sunday stared for a few moments. Yes, he’d seen that face before. Now he remembered. That was the man he’d met?
Could it have been someone else? No…that’s ridiculous, right?
Sunday remembered the feeling of those flowers against him…what a strange recollection. They were really so beautiful…
No matter what they say, I can’t think of someone like that…as dangerous and violent…
His chest ached with intrigue, and he bit his lip. What a fleeting encounter. He hadn’t even heard a word from him. And yet, it still felt…so significant.
--
“Yooo, Bladie. Was Kafka messing with me again? I couldn’t tell.”
Silver Wolf poked her head into the hotel room Blade was currently residing in, Currently residing in, and trying to relax within, because ever since his mission, his mind had been a complex mess of thoughts.
Never a good thing. Especially around the other Hunters. He had to meditate, to try and clear his head of anything that would stir him.
Silver Wolf…with her noise, was not helping.
“She said you were the groom to some bird guy.” Silver Wolf did not take the hint that Blade was currently in a meditative position, and flopped on the other bed. Blade let out a long sigh, opening his eyes and giving her a slight glare. "So, like you're married now? And you didn't even invite me, huh?"
Really, though, he could never be too angry with her. She was far too young…a child. Blade was far too old for such nonsense.
“Kafka often enjoys embellishing the truth…” Blade grumbled, sitting back on the bed, looking out the window. Without really thinking, he found himself toying with the red stripe of fabric around his wrist.
All of Blade’s own bandages were done up by himself, as he wasn’t someone who liked to trouble others with it, nor share in such intimacy. Therefore, they were all rather messily done up, as Blade was ever careless with himself.
Thus, the bandage done by Sunday Oak stood out. Not only for the bright red shade, but for how properly it was done. Careful. With such precision.
Blade was still fascinated by it. Elio had not warned him about that. All he’d been told was to slip into that pocket realm, find Sunday Oak, blind and veiled in a sedan, and gently lead him to the manor where those women were locked up…to leave when Sunday attempted to take off his veil, and see Blade’s face. And above all else, to keep him safe and secure. Unharmed.
He cared for none of it. Elio asked him to do very strange things on occasion. Blade simply obeyed. He didn’t think about it. He didn’t consider the implications. He didn’t fight against it, the way Firefly was sometimes apt to do.
Elio and him had a contract…one that would hopefully give him the paradise he yearned for. Blade did not have the will to protest anything.
Yet, this had been strange. He had certainly not expected the boy to be so…irksome and unpredictable.
Attacking him? Yelling at him? Demanding an explanation as to his presence? All of that, he would have expected. What he had not expected was this…act of bizarre…kindness?
Blade struggled to think of it like that, because it was not a familiar sensation to him. Once again, he toyed with the red, makeshift bandage. Every time he did so, it seemed to loosen more and more. If he wished, he could take it off in an instant.
Somehow, he kept it on.
It’s only practical. And yet…
“Okay? Then what really happened? I was really curious.” Silver Wolf continued to pester him, and Blade was drawn out of his thoughts. “He’s on the Express right now, right? So did you get to see any of them when you met him?"
“No, just him.” Blade sighed, thanking his lucky stars that it was true, “it was not a very thrilling script…simply a walk in the woods. Is that truly your idea of entertaining, Silver Wolf?”
“Uhh, not really, but it doesn’t really sound like something you’d like, either…seriously, he just had you walking someone through the woods?”
“I don’t question Elio’s decisions.” Blade spoke firmly, and that was still true. He wasn’t…questioning Elio’s decision here, he was just confused. Once again, he tugged at the bandage. He remembered the boy, dressed perfectly like a bride from the Xianzhou.
Such a sight should have sent him into the throes of mara, and yet it hadn’t. Perhaps the warning he’d been given was enough, but it was a little curious. Fortunate, but curious.
“Hey, I don’t either. As long as I get paid on time, I don’t really worry about what he’s thinking.” Silver Wolf had her priorities straight as ever, Blade supposed. Such a simple way of viewing the world.
My own viewpoint may perhaps be simple as well, when I have such a simple wish.
Simple…and yet infuriatingly impossible at once. It would require one of Elio’s miracles to fulfill. Nothing else would do. Blade had no other recourse, other than to trust in Elio and his words.
These words…had been baffling, though. This encounter had been very baffling, unlike any Blade had experienced before. On a mission or otherwise.
Did Elio want some sort of gain other than his safety? I can’t comprehend what he wants.
“Worry about your next paycheck then, I suppose.” Blade scoffed, “you don’t need to concern yourself with my scripts. All things considered, it was rather uneventful.”
“Okay, fine. Glad you didn’t get hurt, though.” Silver Wolf paused, “you didn’t get hurt, right? If it was just a walk through the woods.”
For some reason, Blade felt the question was a little accusatory.
“I ended up needing to fight off some monsters…but it was nothing.” Blade looked away, “this body always heals, so it makes no matter.”
“This body always - ! Ugh, seriously? Can’t you be a little more careful, Blade?”
From anyone else, they would have been alarming words. From Blade, they were only ever the truth. Why did people worry themselves with it?
That boy, he was concerned with it as well. Sunday Oak.
Wrapping him up like that…it was unlikely to have another purpose. So what was Blade supposed to think? He would rather not think. His head should be completely empty, in truth. And yet…
He kept thinking about that Halovian. Tch.
“I’ve told you before, there isn’t a point in being careful.” Blade reminded her, “you will be grateful for my healing abilities the next time you need protection during a mission.”
Silver Wolf made a face, one that indicated that she wasn’t impressed at all. She indicated that, but Blade always defended her during their missions. And where would she be without that?
Honestly, it’s mere practicality.
“You go way beyond protecting, Bladie.” Silver Wolf pointed out dully, “you know, it’s a bit gross to see your innards spilling out, even if you just call it protection.”
“This is not a pretty life.” Blade reminded her, “if you cannot bear the weight of it, then break your contract and leave the Hunters.”
Such was always an option for any of them, although Blade would never take it. He needed what Elio offered too desperately.
“Okay, but…” Silver Wolf gave a frustrated scoff, “you know what, never mind, you’re never gonna listen, so why do I bother? Stubborn old man…!”
Blade tuned out her words, at this point. It was strange. Beneath her childishness, Blade sensed she was really worried about him, but he never understood. Perhaps he would never understand such emotions.
I don’t need to bother myself over this any longer.
Instead, he once again focused on the red bandage that Sunday Oak had given him. He thought about their strange encounter, too. Walking through those foggy woods, the two of them so close together…what had Elio been trying to accomplish?
He did not know who I was. If he did, he never would have done such a thing.
No, if he’d been spending time around the Astral Express, no doubt he thought, correctly, that Blade was a murderer, and a monster. Rightfully so. This kindness was undeserved, he knew.
Perhaps that was why it fascinated him so much…?
“Ugh, and now you’re really not listening, you’re just putting me on mute.” Silver Wolf pouted, “and you got a weird look on your face, Bladie…”
“Strange look…?” Blade huffed, “what does that even mean…”
Blade pulled his gaze away from the bandage, and pulled his thoughts away from Sunday Oak. Perhaps Elio intended for them to meet again. Perhaps not. Either way, did it really make much of a difference?
I should throw this away, and allow the mara to sweep away the memory.
He should. Elio did not tell him he needed to remember it. And yet…he lowered his arm, rather than rip that infernal bandage off.
“Honestly, I’ve never seen you make that sort of face. I guess you can be an expressive guy when you want to be…”
Expressive? Her telling me that is true irony.
Blade just scoffed. He didn’t understand many things. Silver Wolf’s concern, or Elio’s plans. Somehow, he felt he had understood this interaction with Sunday Oak least of all.
Perhaps that was why he indeed kept that red fabric wrapped around his arm for quite some time…a quiet reminder of a strange walk through the woods, and a Halovian who had truly vexed him, with a soft touch and gentle hands.