Darcy Hugh
Darcy kept running against the clock, gasping for dear life as he barely took any breaths. He was burning, no; it burned too much to breathe in the first place. His legs, his throat, his lungs, his heart, his entire body was burning like coal, unbearably so.
But the priest didn’t mind the pain; he didn’t even notice it as he pushed his body to its limits like a machine about to break down any second now. The pain he was feeling was nothing, it meant that he could still run.
No, his mind was solely driven by a single purpose, to arrive there as quickly as possible. He didn’t care about anything else, for that was the only thing in the world, his world, which mattered. And so he prayed, he prayed that his motorcycle wouldn’t die on him, he prayed that one of these vehicles would stop, he prayed that someone- anyone would hear his pleads between heavy breaths, he prayed that one of these goddamn cars on the street wasn’t either broken, scrapped or fucking taken.
But more than anything and everything else, more than he ever prayed before, Darcy prayed that whatever happened, they would be safe. So please god, I’ll do anything, I’ll do anything. So please, God please I beg you, oh God don’t take them from me. Please. Please! Kill me but don’t take them, don’t! Oh God, have mercy. Oh God.
He promised, he had promised them. Not like this, not like this goddamit! But no matter how he prayed, cursed or commanded, it was with horror that the priest finally arrived before the spectacle and realized that praying was no use.
“Haaah...haaah...no...!”
The orphanage was burning to the ground. Walls were crumbling, consumed by the wrathful flames of God. Trying to suppress his emotions, he scanned the area, scavenging it with desperate eyes without a moment’s hesitation or as much as a pause to find composure. And yet... it was futile.
The burning sensation suddenly turned into a chill. It was over. Done. He didn’t know who, he didn’t know why or how. Why did this happen? What should I do? What can I do? The horror and gravity of the situation finally dawned upon him. It was gone. All of it. Everything important to him was being taken by the flames.
But he had made a promise. Without a moment’s hesitation, he ran up to the inferno and kicked the door open. Even if it burned, even if it hurt, even if it was unbearable, even if it killed him, Darcy walked into the burning rubble, searching what was once a simple orphanage but that was now nothing less than hell. He dug into the burning wood and stone, scalding his hands so many times his skin melted off. He needed to save someone, anyone, so he could cling to at least something.
But no matter how much he burned, all he could find was dust and burning remains and even the burning agony of his body did not complain to the fire in his mind. His world was burning, and as he was now, he was simply unable to do anything. Anyone should have given up by now, walked away and moved on.
But Darcy didn’t, he couldn’t. It was the one thing he couldn’t do. He couldn’t even hear his stifled screams over the overbearing silence of the flames, drilling into his ears and slowly but surely taking everything from him. All would burn without exception, and there was nothing he could do. It was too late. It was his fault. But even so, he couldn’t accept it. He kept searching the orphanage even as it was crumbling down, despite the fact that it was growing more and more evident that he would die if he stayed any longer.
He needed to save someone, or he wouldn’t be able to live as a human being anymore.
And then, just as the burning pieces of gore that were once his hands struggled to open a door, the gate crumbled down and revealed yet another room. The last, final room that was to be his coffin. And suddenly, his eyes were finally filled with a glimpse of hope.
“Eliza.” He gasped, tears falling down his cheeks. He didn’t mean it, he didn’t want this.
He was sorry, so please don’t die. Please. I beg of you, God, please answer this one and only prayer.
He stepped forward, about to reach the girl. It was cruel, tragic. Even for a trick of fate, a bad twist of luck, no one should have to suffer such a death. For just as he was about to grab her and take her to safety, the orphanage, the whole world and the depths of hell itself crashed down on him.
Hey.
Wake up.
There is still much to do.
...
Are you content with such an ending?
With all this.
No?
Then stand.
You are weak.
Worthless.
A zero.
But because you are zero, you can become anything.
I will grant you his power, and you will become part of my flesh and blood.
Who am I?
A friend.
Do you accept?
Good boy.
You have my blessing.
If one had to describe this, one could only call the situation a miracle. Of all twenty-seven residents of the orphanage, that single man had survived. His body had been horribly disfigured by the flames, but somehow he had managed to cushion himself between another body. Someone had taken the brunt of the flames, but he had survived. And now, that man was staring blankly at a blindingly white ceiling of a blindingly white room.
Of all people, he had to survive. But while his body indeed lived, his mind had surely died. It had been hours since he woke up, and his body was still as limp and inert as when they got him, aside the occasional movement of his pupils. He didn't cry, moan or make any noise, as if he was truly dead. And yet, his pulse was real.
The nurses left to do some check ups, overwhelmed by their massive workload lately. When they came back to his room, he was gone.
