(IM)MORTAL

16

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THE SIXTEENTH CHAPTER
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༶•┈┈୨ THEY CAME WITHOUT warning. Demons rained from the crimson clouds, and Earth's population was cut significantly low in a matter of seconds. Seconds. That was all it took to kill a dozen humans, to bite their heads off, to drink their blood.

Shrieks and gunfire woke Rouge, and the first word out of her mouth was the name of a boy who was nowhere to be seen.

Something wicked had come, and it had never heard of mercy or warning.

Rouge was out the door by her next heartbeat, gun on her hip, dagger in her sleeve, a fight in her soul.

She called for a boy who was nowhere to be seen. She beheaded many demons. Hours of gunfire and bloodshed of both colours passed in a red-and-green blur.

. . . There was a time where she thought she saw a human girl with Chaos in her fingertips, disintegrating demon after demon like nothing. But when Rouge blinked, the human was gone, so there was the assumption she imagined it due to the trick of the light, the war, the chaos. It had to be in her head; humans could not handle such power.

Rouge did not see Shadow again until it was dark—and the demons thrived in the night; stronger, faster, harder to kill when the moon was out. It seemed that for every one she killed, ten took its place.

Rouge was exhausted and there was nowhere to hide, to rest. No safety. No sanctuary. She was almost out of bullets.

One had the audacity to grab her by the wing. She screamed as she felt her bones pop. Then there were bright electric-green stars in her eyes as it yanked harder and harder. It was going to rip her wings right off.

A flash of blue, green, then darkness. Rouge tasted the electricity in the air, on her tongue, down her throat. She knew. As she lay in the rubble and ash, her eyes screwed shut, she knew who had come to her rescue.

"Shadow." Like a breath of fresh air, a song. "Where did you go?"

He had her in his arms. She felt her pain cease, the cool sense of relief, like ice on fevered skin. He was healing her.

He never answered her question, so she went silent, awaiting the end of the healing process. She was back home when she opened her eyes again, lying on the couch whilst he sat in the chair, his forehead leaning upon his left hand. His breaths were weighted, interrupted by the occasional cough.

The streaks of dirt on his cheeks and chest and shoes told a tale of adventure. That he was occupied. He was doing something about what was going on. There was ash in his hair, scrapes on his legs.

         But her heart froze over and her breath was stolen again as she understood where

(who)

         he pledged his allegiance.

There was red blood splattered on the edge of his glove, not green.

Human. Mobian.

Definitely not demon.

It did not take long for Rouge to put it together.