Judgement Blood: A Celestial's Vendetta

'Keep looking down.'

Dwellers were everywhere, and everywhere was Aluminium.

'Don't look them in the eyes.'

But not around him. They parted when they neared him and avoided him.

'They're not looking if I'm not looking.'

But he had to see, just once. Where was he? Was he in line yet? He made sure to wake up extra early today to finally try those roasted tomatoes they added to the breakfast buffet. 

Everyone was singing their praises. His father was the one who woke him up because he asked him to, then went back to sleep again.

His father was unusually sleepy lately. Was he getting ill?

'No, Ilyas. Don't look. If you look, they'll see you.'

All he saw were dull shoes and the jumpsuit's grey, puffy legs.

The tiny frame of a seven-year-old child, with a face that still hadn't slimmed down its baby fat, waded its way through a heavy mass of Dwellers in Five's refectory. 

Children didn't walk alone around the Vault, but Ilyas was a special case. Dwellers preferred to keep their distance, so they never bothered him.

'Just... Just don't be silly. Don't be silly, Ilyas. Don't look.'

Suddenly, he bumped into someone standing still in front of him.

It was his fault. He wasn't looking!

'Oh no! Oh dear!'

Ilyas had to look up. He had to apologise.

"I'm really sorry! I'm sorry I didn't mean to bump into you!"

He finally looked up to see another child, slightly taller than he, looking down on him with contempt. The child cleared his throat, which only sounded high-pitched and adorable, and said arrogantly, "Are you here for the roasted tomatoes too?"

Ilyas stared wide-eyed for a few seconds, then nodded ardently. "Yes! Yes, I am!"

The taller child considered him for a moment, then chuckled in a comically evil manner. "Ha Ha! Well then, you just lost to me, buddy, because I am going to take every last one of them!"

Ilyas...

Ilyas strangely didn't feel anxious in front of this child; instead, he felt... challenged? He forced an adorable, serious look on his plump face, then said in a faltering, resolute voice that he never used before, "No way! I... I will tell on you! Ms. Henriette, uh... she loves me. She will keep some for me, too!"

The taller child laughed again. "Well, we will see about that, buddy! Know the name of the one you will lose to, it's Antonio! A future inhabitant of Two, the devourer of Roasted Tomatoes!"

An adult Dweller interrupted them by reprimanding them for being too loud. They both blushed and tucked themselves shyly back in line.

Ilyas was shocked. 

'Devourer of roasted tomatoes? Like-like the Devourer of Souls from the Wasteland Crusader?'

Ilyas gulped. "I am Ilyas, and I will not let you... finish all the roasted tomatoes, scavenger!"

'Scavenger, he he. I said it like Alexander did!'

Antonio gasped in childish excitement, then exclaimed, "You read it too?! Ha ha! You are probably one of Alexander's supporters, aren't you!"

Ilyas frowned. "What?! Of course I am!"

Antonio laughed again. "Well then, we were born to be adversaries. Alexander is the true monster of the story, always sticking his nose into other people's business. Only blind people like you can't see it!"

The two children bickered back and forth about all things related to the Wasteland Crusader and roasted tomatoes until it was finally their turn to be served.

And to both their heartbreaking disappointment, Ms Henriette looked at them with pity and said, "Oh, Antonio, Ilyas, did you two get to know each other? And you're both here so early. Oh, but I'm really sorry, we've already run out of roasted tomatoes, if that's what you're here for."

Antonio went on tiptoes and stared at the empty aluminium tray in absolute despair; then his mouth quivered, and he held back his childish instinct to cry. Ilyas looked behind him only to see Dwellers frustrated at them for holding up the line.

Or maybe that's what he made himself believe.

Anyhow, the need to look down returned. He stared one last time at the empty tray with bleary eyes, stuttered a good morning to Ms Henriette, then an unnecessary apology behind him, and tried to walk away.

But just as he did, Antonio stopped him by clutching the cuff of his jumpsuit. It seemed he did sob a little bit because he was sniffing and wiping his nose. Antonio shifted from foot to foot shyly, then said softly, "I am your adversary, okay... I... I will not let you have your portion of roasted tomatoes tomorrow!"

Ilyas pursed his lips, looked around him anxiously, then nodded firmly and said, "You're evil cannot reach me, scavenger!"

Antonio's reddened eyes widened in another bout of excitement, then everything suddenly became incoherent. Lights came from places they weren't supposed to. The Aluminium shifted unnaturally, and Antonio became distorted until-

Until Ilyas opened his eyes to see the rocky ceiling of a cave.

'Ahhhhh, what a dream.'

He hadn't dreamt ever since that nightmare in the Vault before everything went bad.

'That's an understatement.'

Antonio. He missed that fella. No one ever believed that they truly despised each other, not even Ilyas. 

They were adversaries.

Yes, that's what they were. Sworn enemies who met every morning during breakfast when the refectory was relatively empty and argued all morning about the Wasteland Crusader in a manner of conflicting interests.

Antonio always backed up Alexander's incumbent enemies, while Ilyas insisted they were just fleeting, like all the others.

Whoever got their portion of roasted tomatoes first always controlled the flow of their heated debates. Then, after breakfast ended, Ilyas would head to his Tasks, and Antonio to his until they met the next morning.

'I hope he got to Four at least.'

That was always Antonio's dream: to get to Two. Although his merits couldn't compare to Ilyas', he also never failed to work hard and go above and beyond.

"Good morning, my good southern friend. It must be pleasant to be greeted by yours truly first thing after opening your eyes." Alexander greeted him from the mouth of the cave. He was tending to his wounds, checking on their progress. "I pray you enjoyed a comfortable rest?"

'He sounds more like himself than yesterday. That's... good, I guess?'

Ilyas groaned as he sat up and rested against the craggy wall.

'Ah Goddammit! I miss Aluminium.'

The weather outside was a bit cloudy, to his disappointment. The rain stopped, but those grey bulbous clouds promised more.

"I did sleep well, thank you."

Ilyas removed the makeshift covering from his bare skin and inspected his own wounds. But for his underwear, he was naked. He disposed of his jumpsuit for good last night before sleep overtook him. That thing served much more than its purpose.

'Huh...'

The patches covering the wound from the Twinblade weren't as red and soggy as he thought they'd be. 

"Ah, you noticed," Alexander said. "That's the Sanguiniser for you. Magic of a Harmonic's blood. I cannot express how fortunate we are to have stumbled upon them. All thanks to me, of course."

Ilyas looked between his wound and Alexander in bewilderment. It was, in fact, 'magic' because how the hell did it work so well?

'I just wish that it did more for this Goddamn pain.'

But that was a little too much to ask for, even he had to admit. He turned to Cenric, still the same as he was yesterday, then to the forest outside.

It was the same as it was back when he awoke with Cenric tending to the wounds on his temple, if not a little dimmer.

There was no sun, and there was no GentlePug.

Ilyas then thought about something for the last time before deciding on it.

'I hope I'm not being stupid here.'

He placed a hand on his mask and pulled it off with a-

Hisssssssss!

The pipes, which were like loyal slithering, thin serpents, lost their life and flopped like mundane brass pipes. The green eyes dimmed and died, returning to being two gaping black holes. And the mask's sinewy-like reach to his neck and along his head receded into the edges of the brass thing.

Alexander jerked his head toward him, alarmed and entranced. "You're really taking it off?"

Ilyas didn't say anything, fixated on removing the thing completely. 

When he did, he blinked a few times, felt the fresh air caress his skin, and sighed in relief.

Alexander was staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes. "That fool Cenric did tell me, but... but you really are nothing as I expected, my good man."

Ilyas tilted his head at him. "What do you mean, sir?"

Alexander shook his head and then turned away. "You look quite... You don't look like the person I saw yesterday, that's all."

Ilyas took a deep breath. "Ah, yes. I know what you mean. I do not feel like the person I was yesterday, either."

Oh, but he was. Ilyas knew that well.

The reasons for removing his mask were quite simple. First, he had already survived a few days without it before his lungs started feeling funny, so he knew he wasn't going to be in dire danger without it for a while.

Second, the mask healed the damage done to his lungs by the atmosphere in the worst-case scenario.

Third, the mask needed to repair itself, and since the crack hadn't changed one bit from yesterday, he assumed that it needed to be off for that to happen. Why? He didn't know. But he did learn a useless but interesting fact, that the mask needed his energy to operate.

Fourth, his father was from the surface, so although his lungs were still vulnerable to the atmosphere from being in the Vault his whole life, he still had a certain immunity to it.

In any case, removing the mask for a while was very much needed.

He needed respite from the disturbing brass thing being his identity for sure.

'Gosh, how troubling.'

Everyone who ever looked at him after he left the Vault, be it friend or foe, looked at him with a look of discomfort and unease. That certainly did little for his already scarce self-esteem.

Alexander buttoned his black shirt, then leaned back while looking intently at Ilyas's face. "I must admit that I am really curious about you, Mister Ilyas. There are many peculiarities about you."

'Hey, it's the same exact thing Cenric said!'

Alexander continued, "You stumbled upon one of the Retreat's scouts in the middle of a Salivitian-infested forest, alone. You are from the south, but you're somehow in the midst of a conflict in the Mediterranean Sea, seemingly unaffiliated with anyone. You were dressed in absolutely bizarre clothing and spoke in an equally bizarre, but I must say charming, accent. And you are completely oblivious to Coherency, the backbone of the world's hierarchy. I do not harbour any negative suspicions towards you after yesterday, but still..."

It wasn't lost on Ilyas how out of place he must have seemed, and for a reason he didn't know, he wasn't anxious to face the suspicions. He didn't know the extent of how much the Surface Dwellers detested the Vault Dwellers, and to be quite frank, he didn't care anymore. He could always just not say. 

"I'm sorry, Alexander, sir. I cannot tell you. I cannot tell you because someone dear to me, who knows more than I, told me not to. I really, really want to, and I haven't a clue why I can't... but still I can't."

Alexander seemed almost satisfied by that answer, with only one little itch bothering him. "Can you answer me just one question, then? I really want to trust you, but with so much ambiguity-"

"Yes, of course! Go ahead."

Alexander took a deep breath. "Are you ever going to hurt us? Any of us?"

Ilyas stared at him silently, startled by the vagueness of his question. "That isn't something in the realm of possibilities, Alexander, sir."

The sincerity in Ilyas's voice and now visible eyes seemed to thoroughly satisfy the Young Lord. He nodded and turned to Cenric with poorly hidden concern.

"Yesterday, Mister Cenric said that he would teach you what he knows about Coherency, so no matter how disrespectful and improper this man is, I will honour his words and leave your curiosity unquenched. And although I know you must be ruing not being taught by me, a man's word is a man's word."

Ilyas nodded firmly. "Yeah, you're right. I doubt it will be long before Mister GentlePug woke up anyway."

Hopeful thinking. 

Alexander burst out in coughing and laughter, "'GentlePug?! That's hilarious! Oh, good sir, how did you think of that?"

Ilyas scratched his head sheepishly. "Eh, just a mental mistake that I said out loud. Mr Cenric seemed to allow it. But said only me!"

Alexander grinned mischievously. "Only you, huh? Well. He won't like what he'll hear when he wakes up."

Minutes later, they were eating in silence. Not an awkward silence, but a tired one. Their wounds were still too debilitating.

It was quite embarrassing when Ilyas realised last night that he didn't have to take a deep breath and remove his mask to eat all along. As it turned out, the thin mouthpiece astonishingly sucked food into his mouth as long as it was a certain size.

'Of course, the mouthpiece had a purpose, you idiot!'

Of course, now with his mask off, he was comfortably chewing like a glutton. His sallow body needed this. But that wouldn't always be the case, so that was good to know.

He also found himself surprisingly comfortable in the garments Alexander offered him. Before, he thought them to be very constricting and overwrought, but they were actually perfect.

Ilyas wore black formal trousers with a black belt and silver buckle. A black button-down shirt, similar to Alexander's, that should have embraced and accentuated a charming physique, but instead felt loose on his scrawny body. Over it all, he wore one of the Salivitians' black overcoats.

If Ilyas put on a little more mass and saturated his face with some nutrients, he would have looked like an entrancing thing.

While tearing apart a piece of dried meat, Alexander, much more comfortable with Ilyas now, said without much propriety:

"Cenric talked about the gory manner in which you killed a certain man in the forest, right? And I must say, after yesterday, I am even more curious. I mean, the plan was for you to escape after distracting them for Cenric and me to launch our ambush, but that bastard with the Twinblade pursued you. We were quite horrified at the time. We thought it would be the end of you, and since it was dark where you were, we couldn't see a thing.

But you came back.

And you came back looking like, mind my manners, a horrifying walking corpse. My question is, how? What exactly happened? You aren't even an Imitator."

Ilyas stopped eating, looked up, and pursed his lips. 

'Ah, what a question. A good question indeed. Hm. A truly magnificent question. Hmmm. Now for the answer. The answer. What could it possibly be?'

Of course, even Ilyas was still absolutely flabbergasted by how he had done what he did. He still hadn't contemplated yesterday's events yet.