Asylum

Ultimatum

Lana Elwood

He was nearly unhinged. When Cerberus finally broke and another version of him overpowered his normal self, he was unrecognizable. He was stressed, furious, and frenzied. Cerberus wanted to let out all his emotions, and the only way he thought he could do that was the cause some damage. I expected him to take it out on me after he screamed about something with my family. Apparently, he had encountered my father before his life in Asylum, which is highly unfortunate for him. I don't understand why or how, and my father never discussed anything with me for very justifiable reasons.

So, when Cerberus reached for the tied Sage, dug his fingers behind his eyeball, and pried it out, I was surprised. Why wasn't he hurting me instead? Did this version of Cerberus not care who he was harming, as long as he was feeling better about himself? It's a frightening concept, and I wonder if I would have been the object of his violence if I was closer to him than the Sage was.

What Alex did was over the top, but he couldn't stop himself; he was already drowning in the sea of another being. I did notice he never used his full, physical strength, however. It was as if, even in that brutal form, he still didn't want to inflict injury on anyone. His vehement self was all for ripping the Sage to shreds, but it's like Cerberus almost had that part of him tamed, or at least on a sort of leash. Undoubtedly, there would have been a lot more blood to clean up if he was a complete goner.

Once Cerberus had finished tearing his victim to ribbons, he collapsed on the floor with a heavy thud. I pried his eyelids open, but he was unresponsive to any hand signals I gave him or lights I flashed in his eyes. No matter how much I yelled at him to get up and clean the mess he made, he never showed any recognition of comprehending I existed.

Huffing a sigh, I walk a whole two feet to the bathroom, where thin and unabsorbant towels loosely hang on a rack. I salvage the bathroom of all but two towels and start to clean up. I personally am unaffected by the stench of aged blood or the tacky texture it takes on when left out for too long, but if anyone walked by and got a whiff of it, they'd notify the owner of the inn.

I mop up the guts and gore; plucking the nails and tooth from the ground and tossing it in the garbage can. I come across something a few inches long with a hard, but meaty feeling. Disturbingly, I comprehend it's an entire finger. When did Cerberus remove a finger? How did I not notice it?

I examine it further, noting the multiple hairline fractures at the base of the phalange. This was not a clean sever. Last I remember, Cerberus used nothing but his hands to break the Sage to bits. He must have bent the finger so far back that it tore right off. I ponder if what part of Cerberus's past my father tainted, and if he had any contribution to the inner rage Cerberus hid so well.

I stuff the dirty towel in the trash can, untie the unconscious Sage and lay him on the floor, then put his bloodstained chair on the balcony to avoid stinking up the apartment. By the time I come back in, tie up the trash bag, and put on some shoes, Cerberus is still out cold. Irritated, I rip a paper towel from the roll and scrawl on it.

Taking out the trash – figuratively and literally.

It's after two in the morning, so I have to hurry and deliver this battered body to Ren and Co. before it's too late and everyone arrives while I'm there. I'm not in the mood to fight tonight. For now, I want to plot about what to do with those spoiled brats so I can end this mission swiftly. I don't want to be around for another scene with Cerberus. Who knows who his next target will be when he loses the grip on himself?

Slinging the body over one shoulder and looping my wrists through the trash's handles, I shuffle out the door. It's late enough that people aren't coming and going through the inn, but just to avoid even the slightest chance of someone seeing this scene, I use the fire escape. Lugging all the weight is annoying, so I toss the trash bag over the railings, smirking when it crunches on a car's windshield.