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II. Stoic
Walking down the hallway, Atlas extended an interesting question to Gaijin, "So this voice in your head...tell me, is it speaking to you now?"
"Yes."
"Fascinating. And so what does he tell you?"
Gaijin responded but the Purple Man did not appear to be paying special attention to Gaijin's response, for his eyes were solemnly fixed upon a door, more particularly the handle of the door. The door was wooden and nestled along the side of the long corridor. He reached out for it.
Gaijin heard condensed voices on the other end of the door. He was curious.
With his hand wrapped around the handle, he turned to Gaijin. He soon turned away and knocked on the door and spoke softly, "Join me in the study."
Gaijin, with a detection of confusion, wondered who Atlas was speaking to.
But Atlas did not allow Gaijin to stand and ponder, for he was already moving down the corridor. He kept his head turned back until Atlas's voice stole his attention, causing him to steer his attention forward.
"I would like to ask, what motivates you to chase a woman with such a force alone?"
"I made a promise to someone. Also, I don't care for others much, I favor the peaceful quiet of my own company."
"I see. But in a world such as this, I fear the only true peace and quiet you will find is in death. But, regardless of the outcome, just know as long as you stand by us you will always have a family here."
Gaijin did not respond, allowing their conversation to dissipate into the emptiness of the corridor.
They both strolled leisurely down the hallway.
Atlas turned to Gaijin, "I will tell you now, this life I have lived has not been the loveliest one. It has been very long and arduous. I have beheld some very unsightly things that I will never unsee. I am sure you have, too. We are the few who shield the many. But, I fear these passing days will be something that we can not protect the people from. I have always known that I could not stop people from seeing and knowing true terror. Personally, I believe it is time they found it out."
Atlas ceased from his ramblings for a moment, fixing his eyes upon his feet. A subtle change in his voice became rather noticeable.
"I sometimes wonder what it is we are doing...the futility of it all."
A look of madness to which he efficiently concealed from Gaijin fought to dominate his countenance. Atlas tried to remain calm, fighting to remain optimistic.
"From these centuries of living, I have assembled a family in which I can trust to defend humanity, love humanity, understand humanity. But what of us? We Purple Men truly know nothing of ourselves. We do not know why we feel this unyielding compulsion to fight for humans. We know nothing of how we are born. We do not even know where we come from. Sadly, while we were learning more about our human counterparts, we have truly learned nothing meaningful about ourselves."
A glum and feign smile cemented upon his gloomy physiognomy.
"Tell me, Gaijin, do you believe there are worlds which exist beyond our own?" A look of boyish innocence was on his face.
"I do not know," Gaijin responded, looking deeply into Atlas' eyes.
Gaijin sighed and removed his gaze from Atlas.
They were now fully down the long hallway, preparing to turn left and down another shorter corridor. Atlas, believing he was saddening the atmosphere with his hazy despondency, opted to change the subject of their conversation as they were leisurely coursing closer to the study where all the others were expected to waiting in. As he began to speak, Gaijin heard the door which Atlas spoke through open from down the hallway. Before he turned the corner, he caught a sight of three well-outfitted men exiting the door in close tightness.
Atlas began to chuckle weakly. "Listen to me going on..."
"I do not want to burden you with my own woes. We will be needing you and your mind in excellent condition. In the coming seconds, the men behind us will join us and the others in the study room. In there, we will devise evacuation across the empires, containment plans, amongst many others."
They now approached the entrance of the warmly lit study. They saw the others sitting down on two round couches speaking amongst themselves in small conversations, some were heated debates. Most of them were on the couch to the right nearest the fireplace, besides Baccus who was lying unmoving on the couch to the left, his tattered mask lying on his chest.
Atlas did not make his presence known to the group, instead, he discreetly walked over to Baccus and sat beside his head without speaking a word. Slowly, the others began to notice him, their eyes each lighting up as they observed him. He peered down at Baccus with wide and saddened eyes. The blues within him was growing the longer he beheld Baccus. He placed his hand on Baccus' forehead and kissed the back of his hand before pressing it down gently on Baccus' feverish forehead. He looked down glumly at the mask on Baccus's chest. He closed his eyes and whispered a few words before reopening them and removing his hand away from Baccus.
Gaijin, who remained by the entrance, observed everyone in the room. He sighed to himself as he walked towards them. There were empty spaces on the sofas but he decided to stand. Lagging from beyond the hallway was a collection of three shadows which spilled into the prodigious study.
There were three men standing just before the entrance in a huddled pack, their bodies hardly leaving an inch of space in between the other. They were nervous. With every step they took, a quiver could be seen surging up and about their frigid bodies which were all enrobed in royal-looking attire and covered in richly adorned jewelry.
The one man at the far left had a queer appeal about him. It was almost comical. His mustache was blonde and swirled from his lips to his nose. His complexion was fair and he stood at a height taller than anyone else in the room.
The one in the middle was short, no taller than anyone in the room other than Olympia. He, too, was enrobed in an expensive fur coat, jewels which gleamed and beamed were around his neck, and a picturesque crown cresting proudly on his scalp. He was by far the tensest of the two other individuals. His eyes were bulging and his limbs were trembling in an all too humiliating way. He was scratching nervously at his expensive dress with fingernails that were groomed with delicate care. His skin was brown and his beard was dark brown and stretched far from his chin.
The last man on the right had a dull look to him. He was much older than the other two gentlemen, an age likely in his late fifties. His gray hair was receded and his fingernails were slightly long and uncomely, and he too had a fair complexion. His face sprouted with freckles and blemishes.
They were a nervous bunch, a cattle waiting to be herded. Not leaving one another's side, they collectively gathered themselves with the others on the couches, staring intently at Atlas who was still by Baccus' side. They did not speak a word.
Looking down at the unconscious Baccus, Atlas sighed loudly.
"Gaijin, please relieve him of this pain," he said with a single tear nearly forming on one of his eyes.
He removed himself from the couch Baccus was resting on. The more his eyes peered down at the viciously mutilated tissues, punctured bones which tore through Baccus' crushed dermis at unpleasant angles of the torso, the more he became disheartened. He held a love so powerful for those he called family, a love so plain to see.
As Gaijin walked towards Baccus, the rest leered in closer with a collective interest. They were like moths gathered around a tender flame. Gaijin stretched his right side of Baccus's near-dead vessel and worked his left side around the rest of his battered body. He pressed his chest down and settled himself on top of Baccus, removing his mask and placing it on the wooden floor beside them.
The others waited silent and agog.
He shut his eyes, relaxed his mind, and allowed himself to break apart with those particles rising from his body. Parts of his body broke off into flakes and shatter into dust. First, his fur and skin began to dissipate, then his hair and nails, until every part of him began breaking away into ash.
It was almost magical, an unlovely glamour, an otherworldly transfiguration, and deterioration of the body. It was like nothing they had ever seen. Black flakes of decayed flesh began whithering and scattering onto the wooden floor to then disappear. His skeleton began to soften into a malleable sludge which poured and stained the fabric of the couch.
As Gaijin was breaking down into what was now essentially just mush, Baccus' body also experienced odd changes to his body. His collarbone, which was torn out of the skin, began to press itself back underneath the flesh, the sounds of the bones conforming back together were quite smooth and unnoticeable. It was like a quiet magic. His torn flesh began to reconfigure and align together again with no visible scarring. The rib cage was being slowly pressed back into its round curves and the organs surrounding the rib cage were gradually being restored to totality. His tattered nerves and veins were being reconnected and restored underneath the epidermis. This was ongoing until he, who was once a broken man, was, at last, whole.
Gaijin was now nearly nonexistent, not much of him remained now apart from the slowly rising black particles that emitted from what remained of him. There was a look of fascination which reflected from within Atlas' eyes. He continued looking, his mouth widening more and his eyes enlargening with increasing expanse.
Gaijin was now no more. All who remained on the couch was Baccus who was seen motioning about slowly and moaning silently. Upon finally gathering strength and recollecting consciousness, he unknowingly opened his eyes to the group who looked down curiously at him. Their faces each painted with the same look of confusion and patience. Baccus rose from his back and sat upright with his back against the soft sofa. He slid his hands down his face with a restrained flurry, feeling around his face with his digits each spread far apart. There was a blatant heaviness in his breathing, a hulking pounding in his chest, and an awful flurry of sweat trickling down his face and neck onto his chest. His body was expunged from any mark, no scars are lacerations were present. He was untainted like a newly blank canvas.
Although to the eye he was repaired, there was a look of sickness and weakness in his eyes. The bags underneath his eyes were cavernous and vortex-like, a depression of blackened forces pulling his eyes into sunken pits of disparity. He peered at the crowd who was gathered around him. Breathless and without a thought to articulate, Baccus sat silently with both hands pressed firmly over his face, his warm breath moistening the inside of his hand.
Tears, which he tried desperately to conceal, leaked from his eyes and splashed on the hardwood floor. There was an undeniable quivering in his head, a pounding ache that would prove resilient. He grunted his teeth together and tried to calm his racing heart. A tingling sensation drove itself across all facets of his body. Though Baccus tried to conceal his agitation, everyone surrounding him saw he was distressed.
Still, there was a visible emulsion rising towards the ceiling of the room, and even passing through the hard surface of the ceiling. There was a slightly invisible luminescence, a shimmering paroxysm of light energy, emitting beyond Baccus' body and clothing. A light only the Rare Men could witness with clarity. To the others, there was just a hot undulation of translucent heat waves and radiation which sizzled and expanded around him.
The three of those nervous men look at Baccus, their eyes wide and their ears attentive. They looked upon him as if they had seen a miracle. Chills surged about their frail bodies. Their behaviors could be best described as 'paralytic', for they stood frozen and flummoxed. A man who was once plagued with loathsome scars reaching most parts of his body, and limbs assailed by puss that spewed from the insides, and cavernous tears so deep in the body that the darkness could stare back, were all gone. It was just too jarring.
Baccus waved his hands at those who crowded him and looked down at him with devoted curiosity, signaling to them he was indeed fine. He looked up and invited a smile onto his face, though feigned. He appeared wounded still. A wound that was not inflicted upon the physical body, but instead the mind.
"How do you feel, Baccus?" Alastor inquired calmly and in a low tone.
Atlas and the others waited patiently for his response, their eyes never leaving Baccus.
"Enough of me! We need to propose plans and execute them quickly! There is hell outside! We cannot allow these Deathknights another step into our kingdoms! No more wasting time!"
Baccus was determined, there was a cracking in his voice. His eyes, although noticeably dulled, sparked with passion, his urgent words were a brief lightning and his strong voice was the mighty thunder that followed. Baccus watched their expressions change from a collective concern for his wellbeing mixed with a cavernous curiosity into an unsettling realization of their situations. They could not rebut the validity of Baccus' statement.
"What did he say?" One of the three men questioned anxiously, his heart ready to jump from the chambers of his chest. The two other men were also panicked.
"Deathknights?" The short brown man moaned.
Atlas sighed to himself and looked down at his two uncovered feet which were placed tightly together.
"I am glad to see you are in a good spirit. But yes, you are right," Atlas confessed.
Atlas found a place on the couch near Baccus. He glared the fireplace. His eyes conveyed he was in a state of deep contemplation. After looking into the dancing embers for some seconds, he turned away and looked at the others. Their facial expressions displayed a painting of befuddlement and anxiety, trepidation and doubt.
The ambiance was crude and unfriendly. Atlas was aware the longer he and the rest resided safely within these walls, the more barbarity was being committed upon the people who were not so fortunate to be free of the Deathknights' presence.
The air felt still and heavy within the room. Everything felt out of place for Atlas. His mind was bombarded by festering concerns.
Atlas questioned, his voice growing hoarse and solemn, befitting of such a bizarre and chaotic occasion, "What do we know?"