Chương 175: 88 - SINS OF THE FATHER

The boy couldn't have been older than 12. He had deep, dark hair, sandy pale skin, and voluminous eyelashes. A handsome boy who would've been a beautiful man, were he allowed to live that long. He slept soundly in his bed, in a small city apartment, blissfully unaware that there was a stranger standing over him, watching him sleep. There were no thoughts in the stranger's head, no recognition that what was looking at was anything other than a target. A means to an end. There were no thoughts in his head, no.

But there was a gun in his hand. His grandfather's gun. The sharp moonlight cast his silhouette onto the window. His hood hid his face in the excess shadow of the room.

"None of it matters," he muttered. The light of the room flicked on, and Monan leaned up against the doorframe, a fresh tattoo reddening his neck. He whistled.

"Got a call from Sam, freaking the hell out. You must've really given him the business." He then glanced out into the living room. A woman was tied up on the floor, rag and tape muffling her cries for help.

"Hey, Steph…" Monan playfully waved at her and looked back to T'balt.

"Kudos. How many times I wished I could just shut her up like that." The young boy in the bed started to stir at the light in his eyes and the voices in the room. It took a moment for the vision to come back to him, but the first thing he saw was the doorway.

"Dad? What are you doing here? Is something going on?" he said tiredly. Monan half-smiled. T'balt did not. He aimed the gun at the young boy's head and put his thumb on the hammer, not taking a single eye off of Monan's face. The kid felt it before he saw it, and flinched back to the corner of his bed, instantly realizing what he was looking at.

"Oh my God… Please. I didn't do anything. Dad, what's happening!?" The boy panicked.

"Hey, Rollo… chill," Monan said.

"It's a bad dream, alright." T'balt glanced at the boy, speaking slowly.

"It's not a dream… This is real. You're going to die, and it's his fault." Rollo traded glances between what he saw as death and salvation. Then Monan looked at T'balt strangely, as if he had just made a joke with no punchline.

"What do you expect to happen here exactly?" T'balt didn't speak. But Rollo, seeing the man's attention was off him, tried to shift away from the barrel of the revolver.

"Stay still, Rollo," Monan commanded. The boy started to panic and squeal, which turned to shivering whimpers. Monan tilted his head at T'balt.

"I really think it's cute that you think you're accomplishing something. I take out your girl. You take out my boy. All is right with the world. Poetic justice. Divine retribution. Innocent soul for innocent soul. But I'm just not that kind of guy. Go ahead and kill him."

"Dad, what are you talking about?" The boy cried.

"Stop him. Don't let him…"

"Shut up, Rollo."

"But he can't… where's Mom? Somebody please…" The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"I SAID SHUT THE HELL UP!" T'balt saw the boy, eyes filling with water, nowhere for all that fear to go. And his hands began to shake. He lowered the gun to hide it.

"I don't believe you," he said.

"You care about this boy. I know you do."

"Is that right? Then prove it. Take the shot. Or are you too much of a coward to do that too?" He let his jaw tighten and then squeeze. Just looking at Monan made his chest want to pop. The pain of his own seething began erupting into a massive migraine, and he needed somewhere for it to go. But a crying child… It wasn't going to help him. He let his shaking fingers drop the gun before they did something else without his permission.

"Goddamn it, T'balt," Monan said.

"How many times do I have to tell you that none of this FUCKING MATTERS!!" On instinct, T'balt jumped towards Monan's son, who was trembling, not at him but at his own father. Monan had pulled his own gun from his back and fired straight at the boy. The bullet went into T'balt's back, bounced off a bone, and came out his side. He rolled through the pain, tackled Rollo to the ground, and took cover on the other side of the bed.

The boy's mother could be heard from the other room, banging her head against the floor in anguish. T'balt cradled the boy's head.

"The hell are you doing, Monan? You'd kill our own son?" Monan scoffed.

"My son died 11, 000 lives ago. Whatever it is you're holding is a prop in my play. At best, an imitation. A damn good one, sure. But a prop. Come on, let me prove it." He walked around the bed and fired again as soon as he saw skin. But T'balt took the boy and moved again, this time taking a shot to the back of his thigh. He pushed the kid out the door.

"Run, go get help." He struggled to his feet. Monan crossed his arms.

"Oh, not what you were expecting? Come on, T. I thought you were up for having a little this time around." Monan aimed again, clearly searching for a space to get at the boy who ran to his mother. T'balt threw his body at the man, and the two tumbled over. But Monan still wasn't in the mood to fight him. It was far too easy for T'balt to mount him and punch him bloody until he was missing teeth. And he smiled again.

"Now you're getting it." Then T'balt stopped… Not because he was done but because the lone window of the room shattered. It was that same device shooting that same smoke from before. T'balt shielded himself from the burning in his eyes as Monan began to laugh and cough and laugh and cough. Then those soldiers rappelled through the window one by one, clattering on the wooden floor. One of them immediately struck T'balt on the head with the butt of their rifle.

It knocked him dizzy, and before he could respond, a rag was stuffed into his mouth.

"Not falling for the same trick twice," the soldier gloated. Then once again, T'balt found himself handcuffed. Then his feet were cuffed, and then a rope was tied around his body. Monan didn't get the same treatment. Though they still handcuffed him, they weren't as rough since he didn't show any signs of resisting through his bloody teeth.

"Targets subdued. Awaiting further command," One of the soldiers said. The leader of them angrily stomped to T'balt and grabbed him by the jaw.

"You listen to me," rang the deep voice." This nonsense is over. I will not have you wasting any more of my time. If you don't comply, you won't have to worry about Monan because you will be dealing with the Phantoms and me." T'balt's eyes widened.

"It's about damn time, Io," Monan said.

"I was starting to think you were never gonna show." The masked woman glanced back at Monan, who was still lying on his back. She then threw her rifle on the bed and sat on it cross-legged.

"How many times must you die before you cease to be a pain in my ass?"

"But it's only good when you do it, bird. I tried to get my rocks off on the new guy, but he's too soft." The woman stared at T'balt, who muffled with his mouth full.

"Tch… I thought you ended your game already."

"I decided to start another because, see, he really wanted to meet you. Ain't that right, T?" The woman took her mask off. It was a chiseled face, as masculine as he'd expected. Bronze-skinned with heart-shaped lips and sharp dark eyes. Most notably, there was a scar on her forehead that looked like an intense burn. She had dreadlocked hair artfully tied behind her head. She let her hair down, relaxing as she hadn't gotten the chance for a while.

"Well, you've met me. And thoroughly pissed me off. I have a mind to draw pictures on you with a wooden stake," she said, the modulation gone with the mask. T'balt stared at her, almost not wanting to believe what he was seeing, and then something possessed him to glance at Monan. Monan shrugged.

"Yeah, the only way to get her to pop is to get on her bad side. So I brought her right to you. Meet another member of the family. Io Ibana, Deserter of our armed forces and Redeemer number 2." --- END OF BOOK 2