Date: Mon, 14 Jan 2019 22:07:14 -0500
From: Purple Jubliee <purplejubilee17@gmail.com>
Subject: After Earth Went Dark; Part II: Chapter 3

Hey everyone! Thanks for coming back. Here's Chapter 3, enjoy!
purplejubilee17@gmail.com

Huge shout out to Rachel for becoming my very first patron at
patreon.com/purplejubilee, you're AWESOME!

Consider donating to Nifty!
Thanks
<3 PurpleJubilee

After Earth Went Dark; Part II
Chapter 3

       As the sun began to set on their little campsite, Elliot decided
that he had to do something about the smell of horse. There was a little
stream nearby that he could use to wash quickly. He knew it wasn't the best
idea to go off in the woods on his own with the sun sinking, but the smell
was strong, and he wanted to at least lessen it.
	After Louis's revelation that someone was searching for Ida, or for
someone that resembled her in appearance and nature, Marcel had taken her
aside to discuss the matter in private. Whatever they had decided, the vote
on whether or not to enter the town had gone forward, and the group had
chosen by a fair margin to take the risk.
	The stream was not far away, and Elliot found it quickly. He hoped
that it was far enough that he wouldn't be disturbed as he
bathed. Stripping out of his clothes, he slid into the deepest section of
the stream, which was about three feet, and crouched down so that only his
head and shoulders were above water.
	The weather had not yet begun to turn, and likely would not start
for another few weeks to a month, but even so the water was chilly and took
some getting used to. Elliot scrubbed himself down as best he could with
just his hands. Even without soap, it felt good to rinse the dirt and oils
from tending the horses off his skin. Taking a breath, he dunked his head
under the water to rinse his hair out as well.
	When he came up, he froze, and not because of the chill of the
water. He could hear voices nearby. They were coming from the direction of
the camp, so he was not worried about intruders, but he also didn't want to
be caught naked in the river. As quietly as he could, he crept out of the
water and gathered up his clothes. He knew he wouldn't have time to dress
before whoever it was broke through the tree line so instead, he put only
his shoes on and darted to the closest tree to hide behind.
	Almost as soon as he had ducked out of sight, two figures broke
from the trees, walking close together. It was too dark to see who it was
for sure.
	"Is this far enough?" A voice asked that Elliot recognized but
couldn't place.
	"I think so." The accent of the second voice marked the person
unmistakably as Marcel.
	"We haven't had a chance to be... alone in a while." The first
voice said. Elliot sucked in a breath as he recognized it as Jay.
	"That has not stopped me from thinking about you." Marcel's voice
took on a charming tone.
	Elliot immediately knew he was witnessing something that was not
meant for him. He didn't know how he could slip away without drawing their
attention though.
	Marcel gave Jay a gentle kiss on the cheek. "You mustn't be so
worried about what others would think." He said softly.
	Jay slowly put his arms around Marcel. "I know... Just... It's
hard."
	It was difficult for Elliot to watch for many reasons. He was
embarrassed being a voyeur on this obviously intimate moment between them,
but also the touching exchange reminded him of Tyr. Jay and Marcel quickly
became more passionate. They kissed each other deeply, in a manner that
indicated it was far from the first time for either of them.
	Jay tried to muffle the noises they made, but they still carried
clearly to where Elliot was hiding. Even though he knew he shouldn't watch,
Elliot couldn't look away as Marcel helped Jay out of his shirt. Seeing the
well-developed torso underneath gave Elliot a tingling feeling through his
body. He recognized this feeling as the same electric jolt of desire that
he had experienced when he had seen Tyr undress. It was not as strong with
Jay, but it was unmistakably similar.
	As Marcel's hands began to roam farther down and Jay's quiet moans
took on a more pleading tone, Elliot knew it was time to go. It was not
right for him to be seeing this, and the two of them were probably too busy
to notice his escape. With immense effort, Elliot tore his eyes away from
the erotic scene unfolding in the woods just as Marcel dropped lightly to
his knees. Elliot thought he caught a glimpse of something between Jay's
legs but refused to look back as he stole away into the night.
	Spending time with Tyr had made him better at moving quietly, and
the two by the river had other things on their mind. Elliot made his
unnoticed exit with relative ease. He stopped a few hundred yards away to
put his clothing back on and realized that, despite the exertion of fleeing
the scene, he was still fully erect from the short time spent watching. The
thought of what Marcel and Jay were doing back at the stream by now made
Elliot almost regret leaving. It had been a long time since he had touched
himself at all in a sexual way.
       The loss of Tyr had dulled that instinct powerfully, and even the
scarce few times he had done it at Uncle Mark's, it had always been with
thoughts of Tyr in mind. Now that he knew Tyr was not coming back, the
thought of it didn't seem right at all. Elliot pushed the thoughts and
feelings down, as he had become so good at, and finished dressing. He
tossed his still damp hair out of his eyes but didn't bother to tie it up
again.
       Back at camp, most people were bedding down for the night. Elliot
folded out his bedroll near the dying fire and pulled his pack closer. His
arousal had faded but left a familiar loneliness. He wrapped his fingers
around the cold steel of the axe head before pulling it close to his
chest. Tucking it under his shirt, he felt the weight of it over his heart
and the cool touch of the metal on his skin. He wondered where its twin had
gone. Maybe it was buried with Tyr. Or maybe that terrible Hermod had taken
it. The very thought of his name made Elliot shake with rage and brought
tears to his eyes.
       Elliot grabbed Tyr's journal to distract himself. It had been some
time since he had opened it, but now he just wanted to be close to Tyr. The
familiar handwriting, somehow simultaneously neat and messy, calmed him.
       The journal was difficult to read, not only because Elliot often had
to keep himself from crying when thinking about the hand that wrote it. Tyr
simply vomited his thoughts onto the page with no continuity or
formatting. Some pages were nothing but lists of unrelated words that no
doubt only made sense to Tyr. Even in his most haphazard entries though,
everything Tyr wrote seemed to pass through some kind of mental
filter. Elliot also got the impression that Tyr did not even realize he was
censoring himself. It was as if the blocks were so ingrained that they had
become a part of him.
       Elliot also learned that Tyr had a very strange sense of time
keeping. It took Elliot a confusing long while to figure out that Tyr often
used time measurements like "hour", "day", "week", and "year", almost
interchangeably. He supposed it was a way of making fun of the long and
tedious way that Tyr talked about time passing in whatever facility housed
the mysterious "Project Aesir".
       After a particularly tedious entry in which Tyr seemed to just be
quoting line-by-line from some sort of gun repair manual, Elliot decided to
put the little book up for the night. The dying fire was making it hard to
see anyway and the camp had gone quiet around him. As he sat up to pack the
journal away, Jay and Marcel made their way into the clearing stealthily.
       Marcel waved when he saw Elliot was still awake and gave him a
little wink. Jay on the other hand blushed red and looked down at the
ground. Elliot wanted to say something to make Jay less uncomfortable but
had no idea what that would even be. He also didn't want to disturb any of
the others that were sleeping. Giving a small wave in return and what he
hoped was a reassuring smile to Jay, he lay back and curled up to sleep.

       The town of Madison was small and in very poor shape. The windows of
almost every building were boarded over with plywood or lumber, even though
many of them seemed to still be occupied. Marcel had given the group an
enthusiastic pep talk before entering the town. He had boosted their morale
and brought optimistic smiles to their faces at the prospect of
entertaining a new group of people.
       Seeing the town first hand made their enthusiasm difficult to
maintain. Marcel had climbed on top of the wagon as Ida drove it and struck
an inspiring pose like a general directing his troops into combat. It was
impressive that he could maintain his balance atop the bumbling wagon. The
guitar players, Carlos and Jim, strummed an energetic rhythm as they walked
along, trying to draw as much attention as possible.
	Occasional passersby ducked quickly into alleyways when they saw
the group coming, but Elliot saw more than one cautiously peer out as they
passed. The people were thin and ragged and most carried makeshift clubs or
weapons of some sort. They were used to the worst sort of living and Elliot
couldn't help feeling for them.
	Marcel called for a halt in the center of town and leapt gracefully
down from the wagon. "Listen up my Champions of Cheer!" He called loudly to
the troupe. "This may be our greatest challenge yet. There is too much
suffering in the world and this little town has seen more than its fair
share. Many of these people surely have not felt the warmth of a true smile
in a long, long time." He gestured dramatically over the whole group. "This
is our mission! Our calling! To help them to forget their sorrow and pain
for a little while."
	"What is this?" A gruff voice demanded loudly, interrupting
Marcel's speech.
	Two men stood in one of the smaller side streets. They were both
rough and unshaven characters with patched clothing. The man who had spoken
had a rusty machete hanging from his belt. His companion carried an
aluminum baseball bat that was severely dented and had a large wad of
tobacco in one cheek. To Elliot, they didn't really look like the type in
the mood for a smile.
	Marcel was undaunted, however. He sashayed over to greet the two
strangers with his most extravagant grin.
	"Hello there! We are the Traveling Theater of Cheer! You may have
heard that we were coming to bring a little sunshine back to this place."
Though Marcel's voice had the same almost melodic cadence to it that it
always did, there was something different about his posture. His knees were
bent slightly, and his shoulders were angled away from the two men almost
imperceptivity. It was, Elliot realized, a stance that readied him for
trouble without seeming aggressive.
	The man that had spoken raised an eyebrow and gestured around at
the dilapidated buildings and nearly deserted streets. "This look like the
place for your kind?" There was disdain in his voice but Marcel either
didn't notice or chose to ignore it.
	"My friend, every place and every person can surely enjoy some
lively entertainment, can they not?"
	The man's grizzled face twisted into an even deeper frown. His
companion spit brown saliva out of the side of his mouth.
	"Why don't you clear off?" the man suggested quietly. "Wouldn't
want anything to happen to you."
	Marcel beamed, unphased. "We will certainly think about it. Perhaps
you will consider coming to the show tonight as well!" He inclined his head
politely to the two men before spinning theatrically on his heel and
returning to the group, all of whom were looking on anxiously. The two
glared at his back before sauntering down an alley.
	"What are you all standing around for?" Marcel asked the troupe as
though genuinely curious. "Don't you have practicing to do?"
	As though a spell was broken, the group members turned back to the
task of setting up their camp and practicing their acts. Marcel pulled Ida
aside to speak quietly to her and Elliot subtly stepped closer to be able
to hear.
	"Do you think that was the dangerous man we've been hearing about?"
Marcel asked her.
	Ida shook her head. "He barely looked at me, or at any of the other
girls. If he was looking for someone particular, then we would have caught
on."
	"Hmm you are right, as usual. What say we take a little trip to
visit this bar owner and hear what he has to say?" Marcel turned to the
group once more, forcing Elliot to pretend to be busy with the
horses. "Jim? Be a dear and look after the camp for a bit, won't you? We'll
be right back."
	Jim, the older of the two guitar players, nodded solemnly and
patted the side of his jacket. Elliot remembered Jay saying that the man
supposedly had a gun somewhere.
	A strange feeling of tension had been growing in Elliot's mind
since they rolled into town. At first, he had chalked it up to the rumors
of danger and the rundown state of the town, but now with the thinly veiled
threat from the two thugs and Marcel and Ida running off on secret errands,
Elliot felt unease hanging heavy over him. Even Marcel's unwavering
façade of optimism did little to quell the unpleasantly familiar feeling
building within him.
	Elliot's stomach dropped into his shoes as he remembered the last
time he had felt this creeping suspicion. It had been on that horrible day
in the little clearing by the road. Tyr and Hermod had been talking
together like old friends, all the while knowing that one of them was going
to have to kill the other. Elliot had picked up on the uncomfortable
undertones of the conversation but had not understood them until after the
fact. Right now, he had that same sense of foreboding. It felt like
something was lurking just beneath the surface.
	He watched Marcel and Ida depart and let them get a solid lead,
then patting Maple's snout once more, he slipped away from the camp and
followed them down the street. He hadn't gotten far when a hand suddenly
grabbed ahold of his arm.
	Before he could stop himself, Elliot pulled the knife from his belt
and whirled on the would-be attacker, only to find Jay, staring wide-eyed
at the blade now pointed at him.
	Quickly, sheepishly, Elliot tucked the weapon away again, although
he silently congratulated himself on his own reaction time. "What are you
doing?" He demanded.
	"Me? What are YOU doing?" Jay asked indignantly. "Sneaking off and
pulling knives on people, you could get kicked out like that."
	Elliot looked down the sidewalk to where Marcel and Ida were
rounding a corner two blocks away. "Just looking around." He lied.
	"You're following them, aren't you?" Jay pointed out the
obvious. "Why?"
	Elliot sighed, looked at the ground, and shrugged. "I don't
know. Aren't you curious? Doesn't it seem like something's off?"
	Jay twisted his lip. "Yeah, now that you mention it. Marcel was
acting a little on edge last night after he talked to Ida."
	The memory of Jay and Marcel in the woods made Elliot's face redden
slightly but he didn't mention it. "Well, I'm going to try to figure out
what's going on. Come if you want, but please don't tell anyone if you
don't."
	"I'll come too." Jay said. "You shouldn't go off on your own."
	The two boys hurried down the sidewalk after Marcel and Ida,
ignoring the suspicious looks they got from the rare pedestrians. They
rounded the corner just in time to see the two enter a slightly larger
building at the end of the block. They approached cautiously but did not
try to enter. There were boarded over windows in front with cracks just
wide enough to peer though.
	The building was as dingy and unwelcoming inside as it was
outside. Elliot could just make out Marcel and Ida standing by a bar
talking to the man behind it. It was of course impossible to tell what they
were saying, but Ida's body language suggested that the man was not being
very helpful. It was not a long conversation. Ida abruptly spun on her heel
and headed for the door.
	Elliot and Jay scrambled into a nearby alley and hid behind a
dumpster just in time as Marcel and Ida emerged from the bar.
	"You think you know this person?" Marcel was asking.
	"I hope not." Ida replied. "If so, we should hope he's moved on
from here."
	Marcel clicked his tongue in disappointment. "You are nothing but
drama, you know. Should we leave?"
	Ida ignored his jab. "There would be no point. If he's still here,
he already knows we're here. If not, we wouldn't want to catch up with
him."
	"Darling you need to choose better exes." Marcel's voice dripped
with sarcasm. The two quickly passed the alley where Elliot and Jay hid.
	"That's not... What are you two doing?" Ida spun abruptly to face
the alleyway.
       Elliot had no idea how they had been spotted. He had barely been
peeking an eye out from behind the dumpster. Ida had barely glanced in
their direction.
       Marcel stopped in his tracks, peering curiously down the alley,
clearly not seeing what Ida was seeing.
       "Come out. Now." Ida ordered sternly.
       Knowing they had been discovered, Elliot stepped from behind the
dumpster, not making eye contact. Jay followed more reluctantly.
	Marcel's mouth opened in surprise, then he frowned. "Jay? What are
you doing here? Elliot?"
	"You really wear it on your sleeve, don't you?" Ida asked Marcel
dryly. "You two." She turned her attention back to the eavesdroppers. "This
doesn't concern you. Get back to the camp. Elliot, Maple and Timber had
better be brushed until they shine by the time we get back."
	The boys slunk out of the alley past Marcel and Ida. Marcel gave
Jay a raised eyebrow but said nothing.
	Back at the camp, the trepidation that the troupe members had felt
on entering the town was beginning to give way to routine and training as
they rehearsed their acts and prepared for the night's performance. Jay was
obviously a little irritated with Elliot for getting him into trouble and
he left him to tend the horses with only a brief nod.
	Elliot took care of his duties as quickly as he could. He wasn't
sure if he was expected to perform that night but decided he had better be
prepared. He practiced some of his flourishes and movements with his knife
to make sure they were committed to memory. The idea of performing in front
of a crowd was suddenly very daunting. Elliot was not much of a
showman. Thinking of having people looking at him while he ran through a
few paltry knife tricks had him feeling like he would rather crawl under
the wagon and hide.
	He intended to ask Ida about it when she returned, but when finally
she and Marcel got back to camp they both seemed on edge and
distracted. Elliot didn't think she would be in a mood to answer his
questions. He also reasoned that, if a woman as independent and confident
as Ida was worried then there must be very good reason to be. This did not
help his pre-performance jitters at all.
	Marcel approached him and placed a comforting hand on his
shoulder. "Don't be so nervous, my friend." He squeezed gently. "You look
like you are ready to be sick."
	"Do I have to have to perform tonight?" Elliot was embarrassed to
even ask.
	"Have to?" Marcel looked at him curiously. "It's not about `have
to'. Your talent should be building inside you just aching to be released
into the world." He paused studying Elliot for a moment. "Yes, you have
to." He said bluntly before turning to depart. "Ah!" Marcel spun back on
his heel. "I almost forgot. I found a little something that might help you
out."
	Reaching into the front seat of the wagon, Marcel pulled out a
small wrapped bundle and handed it to Elliot. It clinked as he did. When he
unwrapped the cloth, Elliot found four small knives about the same size as
the one he carried.
	"Can you work with those?" Marcel asked, plucking one out of the
bundle and twisting it idly in his fingers.
	Elliot lifted another one out and tested the weight. It was similar
to Tyr's knife but not exact. "I think so." He said after a moment.
	"Excellent! I had one of the boys make this up for you this morning
too." He pulled out a round piece of plywood that had been painted like a
target. "A bit drab maybe, but for now it will do the job, no?" Marcel hung
the little target on one of the poles they used for torches. "Just, be a
dear and try not to take anyone's eye out?"
	Elliot spent the next few hours practicing with his new knives. The
repetitive action of throwing and retrieving was calming and kept his
nerves at bay. The different weight of the knives took some getting used
to, but after about an hour he was able to hit the little target almost
every time from about fifteen feet away. By the time Marcel called a halt
so they could get set up for the performance, Elliot had improved his
groupings and taken the range out another five feet.
	Night fell on the small town and the troupe lit their circle of
torches. Marcel seemed to be everywhere at once, giving pep talks,
straightening outfits or rehearsing a series of steps. He came to Elliot
and examined the scars on the target.
	"Fantastic! You will make a wonderful intermission show." Marcel
turned a critical eye on Elliot. "We will find you something suitable to
wear next time. One step at a time." He chuckled and then was off once more
to continue his inspection.
       A crowd did gather eventually. Elliot thought they might not. It was
significantly smaller than the one at the previous town, only outnumbering
the performers by a small handful, but Marcel did not seem to mind. Carlos
and Jim opened the evening with a beautiful duet that was soft and slow
with complex solos trading back and forth. As soon as they finished, they
launched into a more up-tempo tune. Marcel and Ida twirled out to the front
performing a sultry tango.
       Elliot watched in fascination as the members of the troupe performed
their acts. He hadn't known that the show was so varied. Two teens executed
an elaborate juggling routine, tossing balls back and forth between each
other without breaking their concentration. A young girl bent herself into
impossible shapes and contortions that made Elliot wince. All the while,
Carlos and Jim provided the ambiance, sometimes with the help of Louis on
his box drum.
       Finally, Elliot's turn came. Marcel gestured extravagantly, and all
eyes turned to him. His heart pounded in his chest and he felt heat
radiating from his face. Suddenly his mouth felt very dry. He had never
been the center of attention like this before. Forcing himself to swallow,
Elliot picked up a knife in each hand. He tried to ignore the stares of the
crowd. Someone laughed behind him and he had to convince himself they were
laughing at something else. Closing his eyes, he began to run through the
series of spins and twirls he had practiced. Very slowly at first.
       Marcel began to clap in time with the music that Jim and Carlos
continued to strum out. Others began to join in. This gave Elliot something
to focus on rather than the vacant stares of the crowd. His motions became
faster and more confident and he began to move his arms as he did so to
show off his skill. He glanced at the target over his shoulder. It looked
impossibly far away, even though he had just been practicing with it
earlier.
       Elliot caught one knife, turned, and launched it at the target all
in the same motion. The crowd gasped but then applauded as the blade stuck
fast into the plywood. It wasn't a good hit, but it was a hit. Quickly,
Elliot sent the second knife following. This one bounced off the target
altogether, causing him to flare up with embarrassment.
       Marcel gave him an encouraging nod and Elliot gathered up the other
two knives. Executing some more flourishes with them, he sent them both
flying at the target one after the other. Both found their mark near the
center and stuck there, quivering. Elliot's chest swelled with pride. The
audience applauded, and Marcel gestured for him to bow. He did awkwardly
before going to collect his knives.
       The rest of the performance went off without a hitch. The groups of
dancers finished off the evening with the same breathtaking display of
coordination and acrobatics that Elliot had witnessed before. Ida and
Marcel were an incredible duo, performing flips and twirls at a lightning
pace, all in time with the sensual Latin rhythm provided by their
musicians.
       The reaction when the elaborate dance ended was muted compared to in
the previous town, but was a glowing reception compared to what Elliot had
feared. The amount of confidence and charisma that Marcel was able to
instill in his fellow performers was fully contagious, and even the people
of this downtrodden town were not immune.
       "Splendid everyone! Wonderful!" Marcel congratulated them all as Ida
waited by the donation box. Only a sparse few people dropped anything in,
but many of the crowd waited around for a chance to talk to members of the
troupe.
       Elliot's relief was extreme from the moment his act had
finished. Now that the night was through, he was surprised to find that he
missed the adrenaline rush he had felt after those last two throws. All the
nerves and trepidation faded from his mind, replaced by the elation he had
felt when the people applauded him. Already he began to plan what kind of
tricks he could practice for the next performance.
       Too wrapped up in his own excitement, Elliot didn't notice the
sudden shift in the atmosphere. The mood turned rapidly as a small group of
men gathered in one of the streets nearby. The crowd noticed however and
dispersed quickly. When Elliot finally realized that the noise had faded
away and looked up, he saw that about twenty rough looking men had formed
an unfriendly-looking rank near their camp. Upon closer inspection, he saw
that they all carried makeshift weapons. The man at their center looked
somewhat familiar and Elliot eventually recognized him from his rusty
machete as the same man that had confronted Marcel that morning.
       "Hello gentlemen!" Marcel called exuberantly. "So sorry you've
missed the performance. It would have been so nice to have such a large
crowd."
       "I told you to clear out." Machete man said in a low voice. "We run
this town, and we don't want you here."
       Marcel put a hand to his chest in indignance. "Well, I am terribly
sorry my friend. If you wish, we will depart immediately, however it would
be most kind of you to allow us a night's sleep first."
       "No." The man pulled his weapon from his belt. "It's too late for
that." He raised his voice, so everyone could hear. "Don't fight back and
it will go easier for you. There's a fair few pretty ones among you that we
wouldn't want to rough up too much. The rest of you, should have listened."
He looked pointedly at Marcel. "If you live, maybe you'll learn a thing or
two."
       Elliot gathered up his knives. By now, he knew men like this. Like
the men that had attacked him and set his adventure in motion. Like the men
who had killed his father. Like Brogan the "Bone Crusher" from the
Tournament. Like Hermod. There would be no reasoning with them. Blood was
going to be shed.
       "I'm sorry you feel that way." Marcel took a tactful yet subtle step
backward that a casual observer might have missed. Elliot noticed that Ida
had slowly made her way toward the wagon. "Surely there is a way that we
can settle this like gentlemen, no?"
       The man in front spit on the ground beside him. "You had your chance
for that this morning. It's too late now. You made your..." The man gasped
as an arrow abruptly embedded itself in his chest.
       Elliot turned as the man toppled over to see Ida, already with
another arrow on the string.
       "Leave it!" She ordered. "You might win, but it won't be without a
fight. Who wants to be next?"
       There was a moment of indecision where Elliot thought that maybe
Ida's words would sway the mob. With a sudden cry of rage, another man
rushed forward. Even though he was immediately dropped by Ida's next arrow,
the signal had been given. The mob of men surged forward, yelling
incoherently.
       Elliot felt the icy grip of fear on his limbs as he tried to make
himself react. He grasped two of the knives in his fists tightly. The camp
erupted in chaos as most of the troupe members fled. Marcel nimbly dodged
out of the way of a plank of wood swung at his head. Another man fell with
an arrow in his neck. Elliot jumped violently when he heard the sound of a
gun go off. The guitar player Jim had revealed a small revolver from inside
his shirt and was taking aim at the charging men one at a time.
       Looking down at the knives in his hands then back up at the mob,
Elliot's mind whirled. He had never killed anyone before. The thought of
ending someone's life terrified him. Then he thought back to the last time
he had hesitated. He hadn't been strong enough to shoot the man in the
woods, and that man had killed his father.
       With a cry of anger, he whipped both knives into the crowd of
men. One caught a man in his thigh and brought him down cursing, the other
went wide and sailed harmlessly into the darkness. Grabbing up the other
two, he quickly sent them soaring after. He did not see where they went
though, because a large figure bowled into him, knocking him to the ground.
       The man that had plowed over him raised a bat to bring it down on
Elliot's head. Elliot struggled to pull Tyr's knife out of his belt. The
man groaned suddenly as one of Ida's arrows sprouted from his chest. He
toppled backward with a thud.
       A shadowy figure detached itself from one of the alleyways and moved
in among the group of men. Elliot's heart sank. If people continued to join
in, then there was no way they would survive.
       As if taking a cue from his thoughts, a strange thing began to
happen. Their attackers began to drop right in front of them, struck down
by some invisible force. Elliot saw one man fall, then another. No arrows,
no gunshots, they simply fell down.
       Another angry man ran up on Elliot, who had his knife in hand
now. As he aimed and prepared a throw, the man gasped and dropped to his
knees before falling forward. Blood began to pool around him and Elliot saw
one of his own knives protruding from the back of the man's neck. Confused,
Elliot tried to find the source of the attack.
       Elliot's heart stopped short for a long moment as another man fell
dead about fifteen feet away, his head twisted at a sickening angle. Behind
the now dead attacker was that tall, imposing figure. Like a vengeful god,
surrounded by carnage he stood, wearing a tattered black tank-top and
forest-green cargo pants. The head of a small once impressive axe was
clenched tightly in his hand.