The Outsiders

The Outsiders: Chapter Thirty-Two

Soum Menjivar

Though I could hardly move my head, I stared in awe of Khristopher.

It wasn't hard to get captured by the Snatchers; I just ran, yelling and wailing for the Snatchers. The hard part was facing Ptomatteo. Like an arrow had stabbed my chest. a deep purple light filled my chest while Ptomatteo held his back to me. The remaining guards locked me in a cell with Sonia, but there wasn't much life in her eyes after she was left without food, water, and light. I was there for only hours, but the soar-spot that was Khristopher and my bond made it harder to survive.

            The only words that ever left Sonia's mouth were simple: "they took her too."

            Before I could truly leave my thoughts, A pair of dark wings sprouted from Khristopher's back. Unlike the ones made of his soul, the wings had feathers like a crow, growing glossy from his back. As quick as the wings grew, the more torn the Gothic dress became as the corset sprung off. Swiftly running his hand up his face, a crown covered his eyes and most of his nose. Covered in glossy feathers, the crown blended in with his short hair and wings. With the flick of his wrist, a large Scythe appeared in his hands with a blade longer than the staff he once used, almost as long as his legs.

            Walking over the clippings of his hair, Khristopher swung the Scythe towards Ptomatteo, holding the blade to his neck.

             "Did you think you could just steal them from me?"

              Sneering, Khristopher swung the Scythe through Ptomatteo, threatening him with the large weapon. Frozen with shock, Ptomatteo only watched Khristopher pull out the jar that held my soul, placing it among the rest of the shards. Squeezing it in his hand, the glass cracked as Khristopher slowly walked closer to Promatteo.

"Khristopher, don't make a scene. It's your celebratory banquet!" Promatteo scolded, waving his hand.

Khristopher could only stare at him quizzically knowing that the soul was already in my chest. Promatteo tapped his chest before his eyes widened.

                "Call the guards! Now!"

                Ptomatteo rose from the ground, sickly and frail as he clutched his hollow chest. The servants looked among themselves, unsure of what to tell him. Taking a breath, I could only think of the bitter-sweet outcome of the dispatched troops.

              "S-sir, the troops left hours ago." A servant muttered as Khristopher glared at him.

              "Where are the guards?! Where is Spareaux?! Where—" before Promatteo could finish his sentence, Khristopher kicked him into the floor.

             "What? Do you not have anyone to protect you now? Pity," said Khristopher before turning to me.

            "Shift!" he yelled, throwing the jar my direction.

Shattering over my chest, a burn scorched my skin with the sting of the glass slicing through the fabric of my shit. The burn seeped into my chest, filling the void that I bore on my chest. Growing rough and raspy, my breath was staggered as the heat spread through my veins. A searing stretch pulled at my limbs, contorting them into a state of strain again the ropes that held me to the wood.