Chapter 7

The back door nearly ripped off its fragile, rusted hinges as Shannon plunged into the rain-slick back alley behind the club. She looked up at the pulsating neon sign above her.
Red room… Red room… Red room… A voice inside her head intoned coldly as she clutched her bloody shoulder, the warm blood already turning cold in the chilly night air. And it’s now much redder! The voice screamed at her, she noticed that it was definitively masculine.

“Shut up!” She yelled out loud; a cold, wet thump echoed behind her deeper in the alley. Squeaking out in freight, she ran like a mouse towards the only source of light she could see, a dimly lit vacant park leaving a dazed alley denizen behind.

Running? Like a frightened, bleeding mouse? I thought much more of you Shannon. Again, that voice.

“Leave me alone!” She cried, pumping her legs furiously as she neared the park. Her stiletto heels tumbling her onto a small patch of grass inside as a small piece of gravel slipped underneath her stiletto heels.

Even the smallest thing can bring such a marvel of beauty crashing to its knees. A different voice mused inside her head.

“Who are you?” She yelled into the darkness to no effect.

Me? Well, I am you I suppose. Everything is interconnected, you, me, that street lamp splattered with your pretty red blood. We are all made of the same things, only some of us are… different. A solitary, lonely looking bush in front of her rustled, whether it is the wind or something much more malevolent she could not tell.

“Leave me alone!” She yelled again, quickly tossing a shoe at the offending bush.

“What makes you think you were ever alone?” A pair of yellow eyes appeared beside her, hanging in the air as if attached to some sort of incorporeal body. “But, if you wish to be alone… then I will go; but one would think you would want someone else here with him bearing down on you.” The eyes lifted somewhat, gesturing over her shoulder to her lumbering boyfriend with dull glazed eyes. He muttered something, but passed out before should could make out what he said.

Brandon looked at his hands; his red, blood drenched hands. Absently playing with the blood on his hands with an amazed look one might associate with an infant discovering that mud doesn’t taste all that bad.

“Sticky, yet slippery…” Brandon mumbled to himself over the roar of the club’s panicked patrons. Standing up he stretched to his full height of nearly six feet. He had always been jealous of his older brother who stood at an even six feet.
Funny, how the most insignificant thoughts always come up at the most stressful of times. He thought, spreading his arms. Everything works ok… I don’t understand where this blood came from, is it Shannon’s? Oh, shit… His eyes widened as he remembered Shannon’s predicament. Glancing over his back, he realized a few people had pulled guns and started fighting the newly arrived police. Two corpses already lay on the ground, their throats ripped open. Must have been hit by flechette rounds or a stray heavy caliber bullet to have caused such massive soft tissue damage. Brandon’s fevered mind raced, providing him with information. The hell? Why do I know that? Ignoring his temporary situational awareness he took off after a door many people were now using as an escape exit to get away from the brawl that would surely leave any who stuck around in trey-ark jail.

The sentinel shimmered out of the shadows with a sound not too different from whispering silk. An astonished and enraged gasp came from who he could only assume to be a boyfriend, or crazed stalker, of this beautiful creature lying on the ground next to him. Bringing his foot quickly up and around in a swift roundhouse kick fashion he sent a blow aimed right at the sodden drunks head. He laughed as the large man hit the paved ground with a meaty thud. Adjusting his flowing navy cloak like robe around him and re-adjusting the broadsword that hung at his back, he bent down and gingerly brushed a hand over the woman’s face.

Shannon came to at the caress of a supple leather glove that smelled strangely earthy; the way her gardening gloves smelled after a hard day of weeding in her small backyard garden. She slowly opened her eyes, not expecting the almost intimate touch but rather the frantic pawing of her crazed boyfriend. Looking up at the hooded face of a rather handsome youngish man, she did a double take as she noticed his clothes, suited better to being a medieval thief than a Good Samaritan with his boiled leather boots, gloves and rough spun clothing.

“Who are you?” She asked, almost dreamily.

“I go by the moniker of ‘sentinel’.” The strange man answered, but then added. “Well, it’s really more of a title I guess. By any chance, I don’t really have a name.”

“Where’s my boyfriend?” She asked, somewhat worried about what the strange man would do.

“He’s about three feet behind you sprawled out on the grass.”

“Oh… How did that happen?”

“My foot connected with his face. Now, no more talking; let’s see that shoulder.” He commanded while peeling off the layer of blood soaked cloth. Making audible hums and haws he finally spoke up. “Now, there’s a bullet in you’re shoulder that just won’t do. Stay still, this shouldn’t take more than a minute.” Waving his hand across her face, Shannon felt light headed, like she had been drugged or very sleepy. Uncertain towards what he was doing, she felt a small bit of pressure and heat on the bullet wound, and then finally a cool feeling like ice cold water had been dumped over it. The Sentinel stood up and proclaimed that he was done; immediately the temporary drowsiness had nearly faded from Shannon’s mind, woozily getting back onto her feet she looked at the man and then inspected the wound, which was miraculously completely healed.
Maybe it was the sort of temporary spell he had put on her, maybe it was the copious amounts of alcohol she had ingested; but something screamed within her. He is cute. She thought to herself. Closing her eyes and arching slightly she pursed her lips together. He deserves this. Unfortunately for Shannon, in her she did not hear the thump of impact upon her strange chivalrous rescuer. Nor did she sense that momentarily there was no one standing in front of her. Shannon only smelt a spicy and surprisingly familiar odor. She moaned, signaling her welcomness to the scent and paused to smell it a bit further. Expensive, she first thought. None of my ex boyfriends would drop the cash for something like this. She mused, appreciating it. They’re all obsessed with those retarded “spray this and get women!” colognes advertised on TV. This, this is definitely French. Leaning into it, she pressed her body against the person giving off the scent, and briefly noted that the males physique was much smaller, but more toned, than what she thought her rescuer would be like. Sightlessly, she pressed her lips against a cold resin mask. Her eyes flew open and she stumbled backwards a bit. A sightless death head mask stared back at her, its cold implacable plastic reflected the glow from errant streetlights.

“You’re not who you should be.” Shannon remarked, showing off the truth about her blondness.

“Reaper!” Her rescuer yelled at the new figure, which turned his head towards the noise and hissed eerily.

“Sentinel.” It replied, and then lunged at its opposition wordlessly, which the Sentinel easily dodged by back stepping and delivered a brutal snap-kick at the Reapers jaw. Seemingly unfazed and rolling to its feet in one fluid motion it lunged again at its target, which was taken by surprise. With a sickening snick two blades appeared from the outer side of its forearm and cut deep gouges into the Sentinel’s flank and side. Twisting the fabric of his long cloak around the Reapers arms he momentarily tangled the psychotic fighter and executed a quick spin to avoid the business end of a vicious stab and to draw a broadsword strapped to his back.

“If you wanted blades brought into this; you should have said so from the beginning.” The sentinel muttered as he again sidestepped a very quick, yet clumsy attempt at a slash as the Reaper still attempted to rid the gravity blades of the cloth that was rendering them all but ineffective. Raising the sword to his brow in a mock salute he shimmered out of existence. Still standing wordlessly where she was left before the melee began; Shannon felt like fainting again and hardly registered the arrival of two more onlookers.

“You mind keying me into what’s going on?” Kent Maru yelled at the Keeper.

“Two men are fighting in what I can only suspect is mortal combat. However, these two have clashed before and both are still alive. It is unknown what draws them together, but it always seems to happen where this woman is. Her name is Shannon; the two combatants are the Sentinel, an outcast of my order, and an entity we know only as ‘the Reaper’.” The keeper intoned in a tone of voice one would expect a university professor would take while reading out of a textbook.

“Does this have to do with anything that happened at the bar?” Kent asked, somewhat lost amongst the knowledge of the older man.

“Oh, most definitely.” The keeper replied as the sentinel delivered an invisible downwards slash on the reapers upturned blade that recovered remarkably quickly and managed to score a hit against his stealthy opponent. “But what is different from does. The woman has some small bit of latent powers and that is why it draws the sentinel, but the reaper? I have no idea.” Rolling backwards, the reaper escaped from the effective immediate combat range of the sentinel; and gaining a small bit of rationality retracted and then extended the gravity blades immediately to rid its weapons of the impotent cloth.

“Left.” It hissed at itself, and delivered a slash at the air which was met with a hiss of pain from the sentinel who lost his concentration and the shield of invisibility fell.

“Don’t be afraid.” Shannon said, turning towards Kent and the Keeper.

“What?” Kent replied.

“Don’t be afraid.” She replied again, eyes unfocused on anything. “Don’t be confused.”

“I am here now!” The reaper roared as it lunged again knocking the sentinel on his back
on the ground. Poising its blades upwards in the sky it quickly reversed the direction and speared the sentinel to the ground with a blade clean through each shoulder. Breath almost like steam poured out of the bottom of the mask and vents built into its faceplate and vented into the air. The reapers breath labored as its entire body shook, almost in ecstasy. Retracting one blade it reached into the Sentinels robes and drew out a sick looking knife and tossed it at Kent, who dove for cover.

“It’s going to KILL us!” Kent hissed at the keeper as he dug around in his jacket for his gun. Animalisticly, the reaper cocked its head and looked off into the night.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Shannon said before fainting, on the verge of tears. The keeper looked at her, then towards the direction where it had thrown the knife, which was embedded within Shannon’s boyfriend’s esophagus.

“Why stop?” The reaper asked the air around it. “Why continue?” It answered itself, in a very normal voice. “This is what you wanted.”

”Not like this.”

“Yes, like this.”

“No…” The reaper answered, withdrawing its gravity blade from the Sentinel’s shoulder, who was now unconscious. Looking towards Shannon’s inert form, it took one stumbling step towards her as Kent placed himself between her and it; feeling slightly braver with a pistol in hand.

“Put that away boy, before you hurt yourself.” A much older voice commanded him from the street to his left. Surprisingly, Kent felt a compulsion to do as it said and wordlessly heeded it. “That’s more like it.” The owner of the voice grumbled as he came into view.

“Why are you here…. Bartender?” The reaper asked, confused.

“Mainly because of what you’re doing here; but I’m really just kind of pissed about my bar.” He answered, tan leather trench coat billowing behind him.

“I see… so you will stop me?”

“That is the plan.” Josh, the bartender replied as the Keeper muttered something incoherent to Kent’s ears. Stiffening, the Reaper growled in challenge. Josh grinned smugly.

“I’ve danced with people much harsher than you.” Josh took a wide stance, much like the gunslingers of old. The reaper was quick, but the bartender proved to be quicker.

“Lavitz.” Shannon muttered from her comatose state.