Journey of the Son of Ares

"Uzbec, hold him would you."

A beautiful voice shook him from his reverie. Blinded by the yellow seeping in through the window, Uzbec squinted as he followed the voice. Suddenly a weight fell on his arms. It was a boy. His baby boy.

But he... "I— I can't see his face," he said, bringing his gaze to his wife in worry.

The yellow had taken her face as well. Too much light.

"What are you talking about, silly? It's your boy. Look at him." Her voice was so soft, but...

"No, I can't. I can't see. His face, I can't—"

"Look at him!" she shrieked. "Look at what you did to him."

Uzbec's neck wouldn't move.

"Look!"

Uzbec's face twisted. Anything. He would have done anything to not look. At his boy. His sweet boy. Then his dear reached out to him. The skin of her hand melted before she could touch him, and as her body charred, Uzbec couldn't watch.

His gaze flinched to the boy in his arms. He almost dropped him from instinct. His dead boy.

***

Slow blinks. Slow. Blinks.

The carriage shook on the bumpy road, making Uzbec's loose body bounce on the seat once in a while. He looked like a corpse that had been tied to the seat as he relieved the nightmare with empty eyes.

Retirement had treated him nicely in the beginning. Especially surprising, considering that he never meant to retire. Do what you do best and die doing it, was what he was taught. Of course, his teachers were those who sought to take advantage of his... skillset. They sure died doing what they did best. Uzbec made sure of it.

He had longed for a woman in his life before. When he was in his 16th year, the dream took up residence in his skull and couldn't be evicted by any measure. Before he was 20, that dream had been stomped, pissed, and shit on before being flayed and burned to death only to be hung as an example for his future self.

When he looked at himself in the mirror and did not see blood, he felt there was something missing.

But as the years rolled by, his numbness turned into something else. His emptiness was filled with more emptiness and somehow he was more human for it. And after becoming a freelancer, he found himself taking vacations. Just to be. Exist in the world. Observe it. Experience it.

And when love came to his doorstep, he didn't run against all his instincts. Because she was not a threat. She was just... a blind woman. Not physically. Just in some way that made her unable to see that thing in Uzbec that others were repulsed by.

As time passed, Uzbec may have gotten a little blind himself. He didn't see himself indulging in gore, unleashing his rage, or rotting his mind in pure disgust. Still, it was there. Nothing lasted forever. Uzbec couldn't keep his hands clean for long. Not in a world such as the one he inhabited.

The new thing was that he had grown a conscience. A conscience was a mistake. That was what he was taught by his abusers. Things taught with words faded, though. No teacher-like experience.

Sparing a person is a fine way to acquire an enemy.

That's what he learned. You never know what connections people have. A boy you might see your infant son in might be connected to a crime circuit. And after you see your dead family sway from their necks, no screaming is loud enough to cover the creaks in your mind. Torturing everybody even remotely responsible for it changed nothing but their expressions.

Still, he made it last. As long as humanly possible. He was taught to start with the pinky. First the nail, then the skin, then the bone, then—

"Sir, we have arrived," the coachman called from outside.

Uzbec looked up and breathed.

Every time he exerted himself, whether it be to break a man's neck or get up from a cushioned seat, he couldn't help but think, 'What am I here for?'

He regretted not doing it when he had a blade to his own throat. But now it was time to move. To do his job.

Do what you do best and die doing it.

***

The scene was unlike anything Uzbec had seen during his life. The bodies had been cleaned out, but the blood remained. He analyzed its spatter patterns as he walked around, careful of the gaps in the stone floor.

The former Nexus base was a wreck. So this was the work of the liveD. It had happened about half a year ago. One of the first attacks, all of which took place in isolated areas.

It was an amateurish trait. The liveD used to be unsure, so it had picked the easiest targets and since then it had moved on to harder ones. Still, the liveD had unrivaled combat power. Its strength may come from ambushing, but seeing as the other bases have been expecting strikes since the 3rd one, the element of surprise couldn't have been relied upon that much.

He analyzed the slashes on the ground and knit his brows. It seemed the slashes came from around five places. It was a group after all then.

Was it the Five Shadows? Numen was behind the liveD it after all.

Then Uzbec's eyes stilled on the wall. When combined with the marks on the floor, the pieces formed a complete picture. Uzbec saw the assailant moving through the room. The angles of the strikes from every position and their middle told the story. It was one individual. The liveD was one man. One very fast, nimble, and dangerous man with a knack for ruthless violence.

Uzbec began pacing around as he thought. He had thought of himself only as a proficient killer for most of his life, but truly he did his best work when his mind was free to flow. He himself had a knack for connecting things. When focusing, his mind just brought the right things to him.

'Attack patterns start from the West, moving East, suggesting the origin to be Mircrest. Unless it's a distraction. In that case, this scene might be meticulously framed in a confusing manner. A revolution might be brewing. It would explain the timeline of the attacks. Nexus would be the logical first point of attack as well. Orpheus' and the King's sour relationship is known, but they depend on each other's cooperation,' Uzbec thought.

'The one behind this might be of average intelligence or a genius. Hard to know which, but a strength of the highest caliber rarely finds itself in the hands of the dull-minded.'

'The Ruler of Mircrest has very strong allies. Strong enough to be behind this. And if the Ruler of Mircrest does not qualify as a genius, no one does. All evidence suggests to Numen. But there is a chance the evidence is wrong. There is certainly a chance.'

Uzbec headed out and motioned to his coachman.

His gut told him there was more to it. And he was an animal that trusted its gut. A weapon sharpened with loss was a weapon that was not to be pointed without care if one wanted to keep things peaceful. However, Uzbec'd had enough of peace. It was time for something more.

With a blade in his hand and a target in his mind, he felt life was his to control.