End World: Volume One

Chapter 2 - Mad Ravings

The band finished preparing their instruments — they all played strings. Although they were casually dressed and sat on chairs on the end of a town square, these were clearly specialists in rehearsal.

One of the musicians, a violinist, paged through his score sheet placed on a stand. 

A large figure in a straw hat walked through the square.

The violinist had settled on a page and was ready to begin the rehearsal.

The large figure wore black leather gloves.

A gust of wind blew over the band and the violinist's stand tipped over. The violinist barreled to catch the stand, however, black-gloved hands beat him to it.

The Peacekeeper's pin rested on the breast of the black-gloved man with the straw hat's dark uniform. The violinist looked up to thank the large Peacekeeper but was startled by his appearance.

"Oh dear, it seems I've lost your page," the Peacekeeper said.

The other musicians seemed shocked by his appearance as well. The Peacekeeper reset the stand and held a little smile on his lips that only enhanced his eerie disposition. His face was a blend of white and brown. He had startling, frosty-blue eyes, and his cornrows, like hail, snuck downwards from under his straw hat. This was Lerumo.

Lerumo's crystalline eyes darted towards a boy exiting an alleyway off of the conjoining street. The boy's movements were frantic. The boy wasn't just scared, he was terrified.

Lerumo looked back at the silent band, "I'm very excited for the Festival this year," he attempted. The musicians were still perplexed, unsure of how to respond. One of them, however, broke their silence,

"Then you'd better make sure that we're all safe until then, sir," the cellist said.

She was the kind of person who could read well into the room but saw things for what they were. Lerumo liked her. To her, he was simply a Peacekeeper.  She had an endearing appeal about her, one that he had not known for a long time.

The boy ran in the direction of the square.

"Perhaps I will go to the Festival," Lerumo thought.

He stretched his arm out to caution the boy to stop running, but he was too late. The boy went crashing into his big arm. "Oh," Lerumo said as he looked down at the fallen boy. He looked back at the band in a farewell.

"You're in an awful hurry," Lerumo said to Khaya. Khaya, noticing the pin on the large man's chest, "Please, I need your help." As he got up he continued, "I think my friend is in danger. There's this man—" Lerumo placed his gloved hand on Khaya's shoulder, startling him. Again he wore a thin smile on his lips. "Maybe it is time for me to start again," he thought.

Aloud he offered, "Let us go and see how we can help."

As Lerumo and Khaya walked towards the alleyway, he wondered if it would be strange if he did show up at the Festival.

In the alleyway, the burns on the arm the madman had grabbed onto extended to just below Sefara's elbow. Tears streamed down her face as she endured the searing pain. The man looked at her, pain and sorrow in his expression. His sadness latched onto her heart and tried to suffocate it. The man's expression went blank. Pupils dilated. His mouth opened wide, wider than physically possible. His jawbone snaped and reshaped. The madman had become a Terror.

Sefara tried to pull her arm back. The Terror's face was dull and haunting. Its eyes greyed and glazed over. Its mouth like a vacuum, wide and hungry. Sefara kicked at its face, forcefully breaking its hold. She fell to the ground. The Terror then stood up. Was it just her, or was he slightly larger than she recalled?