EONS of NEOS

boredom (n.) the reason why

XVIII. boredom (n.) the reason why

Sinclair groaned from an abyss.

His consciousness had taken a hit when Capucine pulled him out of his body. Now he was present, and while he'd been reduced to a sphere of light, he could see. By default, the will of a Premier was strong enough to do this.

How long has it been?

A quick scan of his surroundings revealed that he had been inside the Office, behind the conference room where the small wall of books were. Capucine had left him on a shelf.

Sinclair floated with ease, and it confused him. Surely, Capucine would have prevented him from moving. Was she in a hurry?

With a downward tilt, he saw his body seated on the floor against a shelving unit, with a back hunched over.

The sphere he was drew closer. He aligned himself with his forehead and two became one.

The first thing he did was rub a small headache out of his temple. Sinclair stood with eyelids lowered. "Something's going on," he murmured, rushing towards the door that lead him into the conference room.

On the other side, something roared and rumbled. Sinclair was full of questions when he pushed the door open. He was frozen when he saw past the spanning windows.

Across the barren field of what used to be Danes was. . . sand.

He slapped himself across the cheek lest this were an effect of losing consciousness.

It was real, though. The sand was a lot and alive. It hurled itself this way and that, each grain vengeful and quick. With how thick the air was, it had taken Sinclair a while to see its victims. His cousins were splayed across the ground, helpless and. . . unmoving. They were engulfed underneath it, as each hurl buried them even more into the ground.

Souls can infiltrate inanimate things. . .? If that was written in any textbook, it was done with whiteout.

Sinclair rounded the table and advanced with his forearm pressed firmly over his nose. He sensed the soul in the sand. I didn't expect to see Isla this way.

He pushed against the door and, using his newfound knowledge, he split his soul into two, and was ready to fling it towards her.

Something was off, though. In the near distance, was a pile of unfamiliar bodies and a cat, each one soulless. All five Yägers had come here, but the sand only reeked of Isla. Are the others hiding?

Over his forearm, Sinclair's eyes darted left and right for reason. He landed on Marceau, who was chest-down. From the distance, he looked knocked out, but actually, he was aiming a Reaper at Isla.

He wasn't the only one.

"S-Sinclair. Get down." The advice was given through a hoarse voice, and it was followed by a coughing fit. Nearby, Jacques was struggling to keep his eyes open. A single grain inside it was a sure way to blindness. "It's like a fucking boulder!"

Sinclair stepped forward. "I'm going to stop her."

Jacques caught his breath. "We got the other four. She's the only one left, but she's moving her soul around too quick, I—" He struggled against the storm, spluttering what entered his mouth. "—I can't catch up to it."