Herobrine's Legacy (The Wielder Chronicles Book Three)

Chapter 6 || Eyes of Fire

Chapter 6 || Eyes of Fire

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- Alex's POV -

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Before, I had faced the issue with a conservative, calm worry; but now, I am sick of her.

"I want you to murder the McKinnon girl."

At first, I couldn't tell if she was serious or not. Me, a dead boy held together by fragile energy, to be sent on an assasin's mission? I almost laughed in her face. Apparently, though, she was being completely and utterly serious. So instead I gave her a confusedly bewildered stare.

"What?" Was my admittedly pathetic reply. Some mysterious spiritual essence I was.

Her harsh purple gaze glared back at me. "Kill Emerald McKinnon's daughter."

I pointed to myself. "Me? Lil - General, I am a decades deceased ghost animated by temporary power. I don't do anything except lay down advice."

She raised a patronising eyebrow. "I brought you back - you obey me, no matter what my command happens to entail. You will finish off the McKinnon family line."

So here I was now, outside a hospital, floating beside a window that, as I'd been told, was where the girl was staying, probably drugged on some kind of mental pain relief, sleeping in the only place she could go to. The Fire Wielder, the General had said, was preparing to take her in but had wanted her treated for both psychological and physical injury beforehand. And as I stared into the window, my all black figure hidden against the night backdrop behind me, I found myself feeling pity.

Pity wasn't new to me; I'd watched over hundreds of doomed souls, guided their way into an unpleasant state of death, listened to their anguished cries. However, this pity was different - this girl was innocent.

She was asleep in an all-too white room, iron lacing the walls and roof, painful to look at for too long. Her hair was still dirty with grime and, from what I could see, blood, presumably from her parents' bodies. Her face was, although unconscious, distorted with negative emotion; perhaps she was dreaming. No matter how I looked at it, this girl - Iris - had done nothing to deserve death.

As one may ask - if I were truly some sort of gross death god ghost thing, why would I let an easy picking like her slip away? And as I would reply: Gross death god ghost things have morals too. It wasn't within what I felt okay to do; it wasn't in the name of cruel justice. It would have been pointless and frankly, unhappily done on my part had I have slain her as she lay quietly, smothered by a fake reality inside her mind. And I don't play pointless.

Besides, she reminded me too much of Lillian.

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- some third person nasty business -

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Nya sat beside the bed, head between her hands like she'd done countless times before. She had barely a minute to regain her composture; then her son would enter the room, and she could not let him see her cry.

Zach had told her over and over throughout the years that crying was okay, healthy even; now that idea lingered, tempting her, as images of her best friend's body flashed across her scarred mind, refusing to allow clear space to think and feel. The two girls grew close after they'd left university; Emerald had married, Nya had married, and they raised their children together; watched their children become best friends with each other with mutual feelings of delight. But now that was all crashing down.