The Bellators

4:1:1

 Ferocious flames and raging roars emerged from the fissure to the underworld and flooded the above, dominating it with reds and oranges ravenously spreading the crumbling haven, covering the entire surface of the azure oasis in the iris. Those fires only grew with greater rage enforced through its louding screams and more violent thrashes, captured by both of the eyes tinted orange, same with the Latino face of the young boy who looked to be a new teenager with a body still prepubescent given a wider and innocent face, albeit for those horrified eyes that were far from blissful. They were instead characterized best with a dullness, an absence of the youthful purity, not exactly in intense mourning but instead in silent hollow lifelessness. His mouth was only slightly parted, his facial muscles weren't tense per se although they certainly weren't all relaxed, not like his short black hairs that wave over him.

Behind his fixated head was a solid charcoal color, the gray that had surrounded the boy, the colorless and simultaneous unboundedness to either side, the limbo in between the two worlds. Although that limbo shattered as does the charcoal surface of the arched door, which dematerialized into innumerable minuscule fragments like particles of a cloud that all scattered before dissipating entirely, revealing the black void behind which he was led into against his will, dragged past the frame into the darkness as the blaze continued ahead of him, taken into the black opposite of his white shirt.

His legs merely moved in accordance to the pace set on him, specifically by the hand clutching his own, the hand of a significantly older being dressed with a long white blazer with long brown flowing hair moving like the wind, the head faced the other way as opposed to the boy who couldn't remove his fixation.

He couldn't remove his gaze as he ran down the staircase and in between the towering huge trees of the dense forest, although not dense enough to cover the night sky despite the many branches spreading leaves hanging overhead. His feet beneath his white shorts just instinctively dragged on the straight path made of cobblestone, cutting through the blades of green grass that waver in the nightly breeze, same with his hairs. The orange tint on his face did extinguish at least, as the further he was moved the dimmer the flames in his eyes got, until they were again just those cold azure gaps into his soul.

Yet the cobblestone path did not extend for very far as soon the two had reached its finality, and with the finality of the path came that of the escape as the man in the white suit halted which without a present force also suspended the boy. The hand was released from the boy's, the hand of the figure who repositioned in front of the boy whose gaze would not change– nor could his expression– despite being relocated outside amongst the trees. In front of his body a shadow emerged, towering over him like the trees, and yet the boy's gaze did not change.

The shadow did regress, lowering due to the lowering of the man now standing in front of the boy, bending his legs to meet the child face to face, wrinkling the white blazer as a result likewise with the same colored pants. While the boy did not move his head, the man had positioned himself perfectly within his gaze regardless, casting the illusion of eye contact even if perhaps he wasn't truly being given attention. Even then, the man spoke with a richly deep masculine voice, almost authoritative by nature, leading an almost godly command and yet with a tone that was sweet and gentle, human and cautious. Those words were: "Wait here Meditat, I'm going to fix this, just give me a few minutes. Okay? Everything is going to be okay."

While perhaps the boy did not tilt his gaze, his head finally moved to execute a brief nod, even that one action reluctant given the pause and slowness. It was however a response nonetheless, and the best he would give, enough at least for the man to respond with a gentle sigh before standing back to his feet. The blazer and pants unfolded and straightened in perfect tailoring to the wearer, and with that one command given the man turned around and ran back in the direction from which they came.