Protectors- Consequence

Chapter Six: The Truth of Crimson

Spirit and Wraith did not move as they faced the laughing man, whose ordinary clothes had fallen away, replaced with a medieval armour, adorned with white and gold flowers. He had the air of someone experienced in combat, although neither of the two had witnessed a being such as this before,

"Sorry," Wraith spoke, a veil of shadows changing its voice to a dark drone, "I have no idea who that could be,"

"Threatening murder is considered a crime," Spirit elaborated, "and to help protect this Crimson, we are going to have to detain you,"

"Check all the records," He continued, "and you will not find any note of a Benjamin Crimson, no matter how hard you look. Believe it or not, he his from a totally seperate multiverse, made of different start and end points to yours, although they all end simultaneously,"

"Why are you telling us this?" Spirit questioned, 

"Because your friend there is from another universe among your multiverse," The man replied, his smile dropping as he breathed deeply, "but if you are unaware of Crimson, I will have to proceed with punishing you for your sins,"

Before he could launch an attack, Spirit froze time, leaving the man still, no violence in his stance. It was as if he had no intention to fight them himself, something that left Spirit chilled slightly as she charged up a ball, using the broken glass from Greiger's escape to add some punch to the attack. It fired quickly, stopping after it left Spirit's control, before she allowed the universal gears to begin moving again. The orb crashed into the man, his face overcome with shock as lines were traced in his skin by the powerful glass. He stumbled across the counter of the hotel's fancy kitchenette, but the thud of his heavy armour on the floor was not heard. Signalling to Wraith, Spirit circled the area, only to find it empty, every trace of the man gone,

"Where the hell is he?" Shaine asked,

"I can't tell," Spirit replied, frustration building in her voice, "it's as if he just disappeared into thin air,"

She turned, coming face to face with the man, who was once again in the room, his wounds bleeding slowly onto the carpeted living room. In his left hand he clutched a dagger, a strange instrument that was thicker at the blade than it was at the handle. In his right was a chalice of wine, which he sipped, muttering under his breath, before dropping it, the vessel disappearing as it hit the ground, as if sinking into the carpet. Then he launched himself forward with superhuman speed, slashing at the duo, his blade glinting in the light of the room, which barely fought the darkness outside. Just before the blade landed, he through his body sideways by ninety degrees, striking and destroying the glass chandelier that had granted light. As the room was thrown into pure darkness, Spirit was instantly disorientated, whilst Wraith only became more powerful, sending invisible shadow tentacles at the man. He once again hit the ground, and the tentacles came up with nothing, returning to the dark room they had emerged from,

'What the hell is going on?' Wraith thought, confusion overwhelming its senses,

A sudden flash of light stunned the two, and Wraith felt something hard and sharp rip through its calf muscle, the thick blade's impact scattering skin and blood with its weight. Time quickly stopped, and despite being unable to see properly, Spirit fired purple magic blindly into the darkness, before resuming time. Wraith was caught alight with the purple fire, which healed the wound almost instantly while casting light around the room, illuminating the darkness. The man pushed off the ground, diving for the door, but Spirit caught him with a blast, sending him flying into the sturdy wall with a crunch. He slid slowly to the floor, grunting with pain, before standing, revealing him to be uninjured, his armour shimmering in the purple gloom,

"Who the hell are you?" Spirit shouted at him, hoping to disorientate the man alongside the question,

"Nothing to do with you," he let out a chuckle, "just a man whose only goal is to get Crimson's head on a platter,"