Mixtape Ghost N『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』
𝕄𝕠𝕟: 𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟚𝟙, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝔹𝕒𝕝𝕕 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕀𝕤𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕 / / ℤ𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕘'𝕤 𝔼𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕖 / / ~𝟚𝟛𝟜𝟘
Sander found himself walking deeper and deeper into the woods, the cold night air nibbling at the exposed patches on his skin, its bite heightened by the lingering heat of the alcohol. In hindsight, he should have brought a thicker coat. A bit too late to turn around though, as he had been walking for a good while now. So far, it was only him, strolling alone on the narrow trail. No humans around. No guards. The cold was slowly reaching a point where it was unbearable, but Sander didn’t turn back.
He needed to ask about Christmas. The guards must know something, but he couldn’t find any within the mansion. There were staffs, but he didn’t think they knew anything.
They would come for him if he tried to escape. They always did. So Sander ignored the biting cold on his arms and kept walking.
As he expected two guards approached, their scents detectable even before he could see or hear them. When they finally came into view from either side of him, their weapons were raised, tension thick on their shoulders.
”Stop! Where are you going?” the soldier on the left called out, leveling his weapon at Sander’s head.
It took them long enough.
Sander turned, his throat suddenly too dry as he stared down the barrels of a rifle. He did not raise his hands.
“Where’s Christmas? Uh…Last name’s Halvost. He’s my roommate. Where is he?” -Sander spoke quickly, voice straining when the cold began to numb his jaws.
The guard being addressed didn’t answer, instead curling his finger over the trigger of the gun.
”Head back to the mansion if you have no business out here.”
“Tell me where he is. Please.” – His breaths hitched, but Sander held his ground.
The second soldier paused, then seemed to relent, regarding Sander with suspicion, but more willing to humor the question.
”…Andie, keep your gun on him,” he called out, removing a hand from his to pull out his phone. The first half of the name seemed unique enough to not need the student ID and his suspicion proved accurate. There was only one student with that name. A quick check of status and location revealed the person in question was both alive and in transit to their location. He pocketed the phone, settling back into a ready firearm stance against Sander. ”He’s fine. On the way here. That answer your question?”
“W-Why did you take him?” -Relief flooded his system, only for Sander to notice a knot of rage at the pit of his stomach.
The question toed the line of both soldiers’ tolerance, but the same one who had searched up the information sighed, exasperation in his voice. ”Director ordered him left behind to heal the survivors. Now get back to the mansion.”
Sander remembered the ruins of DC. Too many deaths. Far more were injured. What the hell did they do to Christmas so that his power would be enough?
“Aren’t you supposed to protect him?”
On unsteady feet, Sander took a few steps forward, the building rage dulled old fears and past mistakes. Just so he could repeat them, all over again.
”He’s protected. Now step back unless you want to get shot.”
The warning merely went unheeded as Sander continued marching ahead, closing the distance between him and the soldiers.
“Why?” -The question was shaky, laced with desperation and frustration.
Before the less amicable of the two could fire, the relatively kinder soldier whipped the butt of his rifle into Sander’s jaw, the force sharp and precise from years of military training. It sent the lanky boy sprawling onto his back and the barrels of two guns approached inches from his face.
”Back to the mansion. Don’t make me say it again.”
The impact was enough for him to see stars and taste copper, then the fall that followed took the fight out of him completely. Sander only looked up at the guns, breaths shallow and rapid.
”Go on. Back to the mansion. Your friend’ll be here later.” The soldier didn’t offer him a hand up, but at least stepped back and gave Sander room to sit up and leave.
Sander swallowed down a gulp of cold air, its taste tainted by the copper of his own blood. No fire could ignite from this, so his rage fizzled out, ashen in his chest. Pain was still radiating from the tender patch on one side of his jaw, making the ground swivel dangerously beneath his feet as he stood up.
Without another word, the blood mage turned and complied, the weight of defeat heavy on the curve of his shoulders. He reached for his left wrist, blunt nails digging into where the ribbon no longer was.
He needed to ask about Christmas. The guards must know something, but he couldn’t find any within the mansion. There were staffs, but he didn’t think they knew anything.
They would come for him if he tried to escape. They always did. So Sander ignored the biting cold on his arms and kept walking.
As he expected two guards approached, their scents detectable even before he could see or hear them. When they finally came into view from either side of him, their weapons were raised, tension thick on their shoulders.
”Stop! Where are you going?” the soldier on the left called out, leveling his weapon at Sander’s head.
It took them long enough.
Sander turned, his throat suddenly too dry as he stared down the barrels of a rifle. He did not raise his hands.
“Where’s Christmas? Uh…Last name’s Halvost. He’s my roommate. Where is he?” -Sander spoke quickly, voice straining when the cold began to numb his jaws.
The guard being addressed didn’t answer, instead curling his finger over the trigger of the gun.
”Head back to the mansion if you have no business out here.”
“Tell me where he is. Please.” – His breaths hitched, but Sander held his ground.
The second soldier paused, then seemed to relent, regarding Sander with suspicion, but more willing to humor the question.
”…Andie, keep your gun on him,” he called out, removing a hand from his to pull out his phone. The first half of the name seemed unique enough to not need the student ID and his suspicion proved accurate. There was only one student with that name. A quick check of status and location revealed the person in question was both alive and in transit to their location. He pocketed the phone, settling back into a ready firearm stance against Sander. ”He’s fine. On the way here. That answer your question?”
“W-Why did you take him?” -Relief flooded his system, only for Sander to notice a knot of rage at the pit of his stomach.
The question toed the line of both soldiers’ tolerance, but the same one who had searched up the information sighed, exasperation in his voice. ”Director ordered him left behind to heal the survivors. Now get back to the mansion.”
Sander remembered the ruins of DC. Too many deaths. Far more were injured. What the hell did they do to Christmas so that his power would be enough?
“Aren’t you supposed to protect him?”
On unsteady feet, Sander took a few steps forward, the building rage dulled old fears and past mistakes. Just so he could repeat them, all over again.
”He’s protected. Now step back unless you want to get shot.”
The warning merely went unheeded as Sander continued marching ahead, closing the distance between him and the soldiers.
“Why?” -The question was shaky, laced with desperation and frustration.
Before the less amicable of the two could fire, the relatively kinder soldier whipped the butt of his rifle into Sander’s jaw, the force sharp and precise from years of military training. It sent the lanky boy sprawling onto his back and the barrels of two guns approached inches from his face.
”Back to the mansion. Don’t make me say it again.”
The impact was enough for him to see stars and taste copper, then the fall that followed took the fight out of him completely. Sander only looked up at the guns, breaths shallow and rapid.
”Go on. Back to the mansion. Your friend’ll be here later.” The soldier didn’t offer him a hand up, but at least stepped back and gave Sander room to sit up and leave.
Sander swallowed down a gulp of cold air, its taste tainted by the copper of his own blood. No fire could ignite from this, so his rage fizzled out, ashen in his chest. Pain was still radiating from the tender patch on one side of his jaw, making the ground swivel dangerously beneath his feet as he stood up.
Without another word, the blood mage turned and complied, the weight of defeat heavy on the curve of his shoulders. He reached for his left wrist, blunt nails digging into where the ribbon no longer was.
