Raphael's words infested the air with deeply buried hatred. His eyes remained fixed on his father's offensive state, his grip on the latter's fist strong enough to hold him in place, though not enough to cause the old man any sort of pain or discomfort.
"... You punk, after all these years, you still have a sharp mouth," Gorden soon said, gritting his teeth as he relented. Seeing his father's reluctance to press any further, Raphael let go, allowing the old man to return to his previous position.
"You call it having a sharp mouth. I see it as calling out rubbish when I see it. Same thing, different interpretations," Raphael shrugged. "Still, that's not really why I came here. Sure, asking about your condition came naturally, there's no point in simply knowing about it if I can't even do anything about it. You know how Leo and the others are about this matter, they won't allow me help you in anyway. They see it as me 'extending a hand to the weak which they don't deserve' according to his own words.
"Believe me, as much as I hate you, I want to help, but I can't, not with the way things are now."
Gordon listened to what his son had to say, then responded.
"In that case, why did you come to see me?"
Raphael slightly nodded, chuckling to himself before saying:
"Wow, looks like my words really brought you out from your hole. I'm glad, but anyways, what I came to tell you is that…"
Before he could finish his sentence, a series of screams crowded the ambience. The noise of shoes striking the ground repeatedly flooded his hearing, his attention sharply drifting outside. Something was going on, something bad.
He stood up from the floor, shook himself, then rushed outside, not even turning back to inform his father of his sudden departure. Though it seemed like the old man didn't care much, simply shaking his head as he laid down on the floor, his thoughts soon drifting afar as the tenebrous emotions returned once more.
'What's going on? It's not even the end of the month yet? So why're the Dark Kings attacking the people?' Raphael thought, rushing out from the door. His eyes quickly scanned the terrain, taking note of the flaming enclosures, black smoke, and numerous civilians scattering for safety. Panic settled deep within their hearts, the landscape receiving the brunt of their fright as they blitzed for safety.
Then, in the midst of surging flames, a silhouette emerged, it's serrated wings and forked tail flickering amongst swirling lights. Suddenly, a ringing pain invaded his skull, audible grunts escaping his lips as his eyes squinted shut. His legs shivered as their strength rapidly declined. The piercing pain persisted, intensifying with each passing second.
Eventually, he fell to his knees, both hands gripping his head tightly as the pain became morbidly unbearable. An exoberant scream flowed through the dark skies, his consciousness swaying with vindictive resolve, vanishing from the tangible world as everything went black.
All around him, darkness reigned once more.
Soon enough, the darkness cleared, replaced by the familiar scent of black smoke and ash. A cacophony of voices drew close to his hearing, eyes slowly fluttering open as they took notice of his surroundings.
"I… was out?" He silently muttered, agony spreading all across his body. Slowly, he tried moving his limbs, however, his efforts were met with null results. The pain was simply too much to bear, and on top of that, he barely had any blood magic left to augment his battered state.
'Hah… just like old times…'
As time went on, his senses patiently grew sharper. He could now make out the noise of steel reverberating all across. His eyes painfully scanned the environment, observing a number of blurred figures rushing everywhere. Soon enough, those hazy outlines assumed sturdier forms, his strained eyes narrowing as they recognized the stalwart group.
A platoon of armoured troops traversed the decerated plains, their bodies ensnared within an ever-changing tapestry of crimson energy. All across, they battled fiercely against the tribe of Shadows, a luminescent mixture of red and purple brightening the shadowy space.
Their numbers rivalled the copious presence of the Shadow sect, giving Darion and Jay the chance to draw their brother away from the jaws of death. Arriving at a considerable distance from the locus of battle, both brothers shared worrisome glances as the observed the scope of it all.
A caravan of harrowing thoughts blazed through their perplexed minds, Raphael's groans snapping them out from their daze as they shifted their attention towards him. His severe lacerations made them shudder, Darion cautiously crouching down to comfort his brother.
He reached out a shady hand, a siege of past memories flashing through his eyes all at once as his fingers touched Raphael's wounds. The latter let out an aggravated snarl, eyes squinted as he bore through the pain.
Darion's eyes softened as he slowly applied more pressure, eyes watering as he said:
"I'm sorry that you have to go through all this pain, brother. Let me heal your wounds," and with that, he channelled his blood magic, activating the blood weave skill as he applied his abilities to heal the wounds marring Raphael's body. The process felt soothing, robbing him of his agony at a wondrous pace. It wasn't long till all his wounds were sealed, energy finally returned to his body as he pushed himself back up to his feet.
His eyes remained focused on the armoured men battling against the invaders. Though they were now away from where it began, the large-scale altercation was still taking place all around them. It was only a miracle the enemy hadn't swooped in and dealth with them already.
But then, whenever it was about to happen, some of the soldiers intervened, drawing their attention away. Still, none of them knew why this was the case. From what they knew, the emperor didn't care about what became of the less fortunate. All he cared about were his immediate riches, and his own family. Everything else was simply inconsequential.
Things had been that way from time immemorial. So now, seeing the Moonlight Army fighting against this threat, they simply didn't know how to feel.
'How odd,' Raphael thought, swiftly rushing away from the area right after. His brothers did the same, trailing behind him.
*******
In their humble abode, father and son heared the pandemonium possessing their fellow townspeople. In response to the ensuing panic, Kennedy cautioned his son to remain calm, silent, and pray for the Supreme Sovereign to intervene, just like he had done back then on the outskirts. The haughty youngster couldn't argue against his father, especially since nothing he said right now would change anything.
He remembered how things went back then; all his bold words, hollow provado—it all came crumbling down when faced with real, bone-chilling danger. And so, he bit his tongue, slowly nodded his head, and prayed. Ezeikel wasn't a very religious person to begin with, but he still did his best. Words formed in his mind, which quickly morphed into long, elaborate sentences. Tears gushed from his eyes as he poured his heart out, uncertain of their faith at another tribulating moment.
Seeing his son's zeal, Kennedy smiled, closed his eyes, and joined in prayer. Minutes past, slowly stretching into hours. Still, the screams remained. The acrid odour of burning wood lingered. And the nerve-rattling clangs of hardened materials persisted.
Their distasteful town, which was once a sanctuary for the Abyssal Gang, had turned into a morbid stage of incessant bloodshed right under their noses. And now, no one knew when the conflict would cease.
A loud bang caused the whole building to shudder, snapping them out from their prayers. Ezeikel threw a terrified glance at his father, eyes left agape. A profound network of veins snaked towards his pupil, almost pulsing in synchrony with his reverberating heart.
"Father…" his voice went dry, unable to speak any further. Before he could gather himself, something tore through their living space, taking Kennedy with him as another hole formed on the other side of the enclosure.
Ezeikel was left there, alone and motionless.
Seconds trickled by, his mind gradually coming to terms with what had just happened. And then, his heart rate quickened once more, each beat threatening to rip his chest wide open as hypertense eyes trailed the destruction left by the crash.
First, they observed the whole created at the front entrance, tracing the destruction that followed suit that lead to the other side of the miniscule living space. He raised a quaking hand, pressed it against his chest, and gritted his teeth.
His tears amplified, the thorns of sorrow piercing deeper into his soul as he fell to his knees. He bend down, raised both hands in the air, and brought them down in a barrage of grevious blows. Physical pain became insignificant in the midst of emotional seizures, a series of bruises, cuts, and trickling blood morphing his skeletal arms.