The Bellators

4:10:3

 Up close, the wide azure eye keeps open, the starry iris shining as the man's heavy breaths have no end, echoing in the isolation that encloses the face immediately forward. That starry eye cannot be seen from the outside, for it's concealed behind the parallelogram lens that blazes blue on the white mask beneath the black hood and above the golden shoulders. Those golden shoulders shimmer softly above the blue fabric suit tight enough that the man's muscles can be distinguished underneath the thin gleaming streaks that branch around the body, all extruding from the central pencil emblem on the chest. His arms by his side, the man just stares forward, his black cape still, the glow of the frosty crystals tame whether it be the ones on the shoulders, knuckles, or black boots.

Behind him stands the other man though this one isn't concealed from the outside, as his wrinkly bald head is exposed the same as his expanded yellow eyes and dropped jaw, facing in the same direction forward, his arms too by his side with his right one gripping his bulky handgun. His brown overcoat remains parted down the middle, allowing sight of the purple-stained black jumpsuit underneath, his casual, even messy clothing a stark contrast to the other man's highly advanced suit.

At this moment though the two have the same expression and gaze forth, past the yellow gus hat resting on the floor, some of the small fibers shedding their dye thus exposing the natural kale green color along the rim and top, though some is hidden under the red band wrapped around. Next to that hat sits another lid, though this one's fibers are natural that being long strands of black hair that mostly conceal the skin, however many of those hairs are soaked in the red puddle with small chunks of brain scattered on the patches of hair and puddle. Bits of the brain shine the same as the crimson blood. Though closer to the hat than that patch of hair is the remainder of the head that rests on the floor, the face planted flat on the floor thus only the back of the head is exposed, the open slice pointing straight at the two men which gray matter slowly slips out of, being pushed along the stream of juice. Below the neck though the body is mostly covered in the black coat used as a cape, only letting glimpses of the exposed arms be seen and the knees above the feet wearing those red sandals. The coat almost functions as a blanket to rest the man, or a tarp to cover the corpse.

Standing on the opposite end of the body is the one in the white jagged boots, the metal ring of the kunai pouched on the knee shimmering the same as the black fingers of the samely white gauntlet. The dark ninja robes similarly to the man in blue completely conceal the man's body, any of the skin or hair, though different from the man in blue is his ominously dark figure, like a standing shadow.

That figure stares back at the two men in front of the corpse, all four of them standing in the frontmost room of the train, all standing on the metallic wooden floor with the golden finish, the same floor harboring the round tables further back, curved holographic screens projected from their surface. Whereas the floor has an opaque surface, the walls have window screens displaying the black void outside, dead space the train continues hurtling through, carrying everyone inside with it whether they were part of the crew or invaders, these four all stationary.

That is until one of the four moves, that being Ekitai who stumbles forward with his jaw still hanging, stepping around Meditat as he disorientedly ambles a few more steps before then collapsing on his knees, calling for Meditat to slightly lower his head, his movements not as lucid but opposedly rigid, abrupt.

He watches Ekitai kneel in front of the king's corpse, panting under his breath as he drops his weapon by his side, blankly staring straight at the gaping hole through the cranium of his old friend whom he was just starting to make amends with.

Meditat then abruptly raises his head up, his own expression hidden but his posture and movements telling of the shock coursing through his body.

Focus returns to the shadowy man on the other side, simply staring back through those cold yellow eyes on the white mask. The plates composing the gauntlets from a distance oddly resemble wrappings, his entire suit having a traditional appearance that would be dated by millenia and yet here he is, standing though his breaths aren't audible as though he were a ghost.