Why the hell did anyone like charcuterie boards?

He found the practice and creation to be odd, especially now that he was here, chopping away at stubborn cheeses that clung to his knife. The smell of the chunks loitered about the room as blue globs of azure mold dabbled against his deep silver cutlery. The very effort was starting to eat away at his patience, and he had yet to finish the cheddar, the gouda, the brie, and whatever meats were patiently waiting to be consumed.

Light came in from the window, though no breeze could ever get past the sealed glass pane. As such, the air remained steady, cold and blistering to some, but perfect for cheese trays. But did they cheese care? No, of course not. Whatever the cheese came from was dead and gone and the cheese, well, the cheese was his to deal with now.

The gunk stuck to the edge of his blade, even after the last bits of the blue cheese crumbled into its own little corner. Cheese always had a problem staying where it should have been, either clinging to knives or getting caught in teeth between bites of dry crackers. Of course, the cheese had never acting in such a way before, but then again, he had always taken cheese in manageable chunks.

A bit of a chew here, some meat over there – nothing too overwhelming as to clog things together. He only had trouble when his overzealousness shrouded his judgement. Eat it all, his head would tell him. None of the pain mattered. Then again, how else was he supposed to act with such a simple treat for him. All he needed was to throw a piece in and chew it up and then chemical pleasure would do all the rest.

Alas, the cheese tray, why have so much preparation for so little payoff? He never understood why anyone would gather the time to prepare a meal so simple, so unbereft of culinary skill, just to see it eaten in such a short amount of time. Such a time to create and consume should have been dedicated to a unique experience, not something to be eaten wholesale as a collection of thoughts and words strewn about a room.

Eating something wasn't supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to be fancy. He wasn't supposed to carve sub sections into manageable bites. He was supposed to consume. He was supposed to eat without feeling like this.

A slipped knife suddenly brought Alex out of his head as he pulled back. The sensations towards his finger burned hot as bright as the blood leaking from his finger. He was about to curse the heavens, curse his ████ for making him cut all this cheese for their ██████ get together, when his eyes came down to the culprit that wounded him.

There was more blood than there should have been. A finger didn't produce regret. His eyes followed the blotches of red, only to find that it continued on and on, flowing out into the blue hues as they mixed into a blackened mush. Meats once hearty and reddened now fell spoiled as flies danced with a hungry glare. They tore into the flesh – flesh? Where was the kitchen? Where was the table? The cutlery? The sun? His hand grew outstretched, stuck in something as he tried to pull out of a wet, sticky ichor the taste of which seemed to dig into his skin. What was this sensation? Betrayal? Anguish? Hate? He tasted – no – felt it all coming to him. He ate it, feeling it all come back to him. He … he needed – no he didn't.

You do though.

Why was he asking these questions? You're a liar. Traitor. How dare you? When did I ask for all this? Who the hell is talking? You should have died when you had the chance? We trusted you. Blood in the water. It hurts, please. Where am I? What aren't you telling me? How did I get here? Shut up Mercer. You were a snake then and you're a snake now. We should have never trusted you. Please, help me, I didn't mean to. Fuck, me which one am I. You're suffering. You are our suffering. AH! IT HURTS! Shut up. SHUT UP! You have to see it, Mercer. Just die already. You're a cancer, Alex Mercer. Everything was a lie. It was all meant for you. See through the words. The regret. Step back.

And then he did.

Lightning, Blood and Steel

Arc 1 Chapter 7: The Claymore part 4

Cole heard the sword first before he felt it shear the air near his face, the man dodging back from yet another relentless strike. Rooftiles scattered like shrapnel. The explosive hit, mere inches from him, had him darting another way for an escape but the swordswoman was gunning for him. She was getting faster, more aggressive. One slash became two, then three. Cole had a mine to shove her back with a pulse, but with how quick she was, he wondered if she would be on him faster than he could recharge his wave.

She finally made a mistake as her sword impaled a particularly thick chimney; a strike intended for his chest that he dodged with a quick roll. Her speed reminded him of his future self-darting around the battlefield. When she took her sword out by pulverizing the chimney, however, a corrupted ravager felt like a more apt comparison.

"Holy shit."

The woman scoffed, "Your friend was quite slow compared to you."

He shrugged, "Well, I don't know his deal. He'll get better."

Her brow furrowed as she aimed the sword at him, "I doubt he could recover from being bisected in half."

Cole sighed. Why did he have to deal with weird, hyper-aggressive types like this? Was she trying to prove something to someone? Somehow, he got the impression that he didn't have all the cards, but he shook his head. Misunderstanding or not, she was still trying to kill him.

"Sure, whatever you think'll do the job."

She came forward, cutting his sentence short. This time he was ready as he whipped around with his damaged amp. He caught sight of her surprise before he smashed the amp against her shoulder, flinging her off the roof. He had to admit, he might have over done it, but seeing as she was part yoma, he assumed she wasn't even close to done.

Cole jumped down and darted for her, careful to come at her weak spot on her left. She was right-handed, sword down. Even if she was fast, he guessed that even she would need a moment to recover. His theory proved true as he kicked her. He felt bones crack before she flew into a wall.

"Shit," he spat. Now that might have been too much. He'd need to check on her then, but at least now he was pretty sure she was down. The dust slowly dissipated, leaving behind rubble and lady sized hole, "You cooled down yet?"

No answer - Cole cursed as he tried headed in through the cloud. He was just about to see how she was when became his turn to get surprised as she came from his flank. Cole heaved to the side as he took a shoulder charge, knocking the amp out of his hand.

He rolled to dampen the blow and even then, he had skidded across the dirt before his fingers dug in. His vision jerked back up to see her coming for him … and without a sword no less. No wonder she caught him off guard.

Fuck it. Not caring about the repercussions, he gave into instinct as his hands glowed. A normal bolt would have done nothing to stop momentum, but a chilling gust of ice did the trick. Without the sword, her forward momentum suddenly reversed, causing her to whiplash backwards. She landed on her side, tumbled and shaking. A second later, she was back on her feet. Blood leaked from the sides of her lips.

"What was that?" she asked softly.

Cole scoffed, "Magic. Trust me, I got more where that came from."

The Claymore spat on the ground. Blood oozed out from her lips as she took a step or so back. She leaned down to grab at Cole's amp. He could see her looking over the amp, eyes running up and down the weapon's edge before he

"Strange weapons, strange abilities – you're a ravenous one, aren't you?"

For a moment, he didn't quite understand what she had meant. Ravenous? Like he wanted to eat someone? The thought clicked when he took the second and realized what she meant.

"No, but thanks for asking before you tried to cleave me in half."

"Who was the other one that you told to leave? Is he another ravenous one? I didn't know your type congregated like rats."

Cole rolled his eyes. Great, she was ignoring him. Of course, the sword wielding monster hunter just had to be deaf as she was murderous. Cole wasn't liking where things were going. He had planned on distracting the lady for a hot second before finding Alex again, but she was tough.

Scratch that, more than tough. She was keeping up with him, stopping him from truly getting too far before attacking and even when attacked, she adapted on the fly. This lady was no joke.

"Well thanks, really appreciate it," he huffed, "I love being compared to roadkill."

"It's too good for your kind, if you ask me."

Cole smirked back, loving the vocal back and forth, "Well look at you, getting all talkative now."

Her answer was an ever-familiar sideways swing aimed for his temple. He dropped down, diving rightward but she followed with an overhead. Metal clashed with dirt and rock as it clanged near him as he rolled. It sparked but not from electricity.

"HEY! Watch it! That's a god damn gift!"

When the third and final swing imbedded the sliced side of the prong into a wall, Cole took the initiative and drew a punch into her cheek. Bolts and sparks crackled, and the woman twisted around. The solid hit should have dropped her, but she remained upright. She remained stunned long enough to get his Amp back.

"Persistent," the woman said.

Cole turned to see her finally backing off towards the previously caved in wall. She tugged at the swords hilt and it came free with a single tug. Sound rippled against the blade's edge as it sliced the air. Compared to his amp, the sword had neither a dent nor a scratch.

Tough as shit, sharper than god knows what, and non-conductive – was this sword designed to fuck him over? As he got a feel for his Amp, he even noticed the handle warped where the woman had squeezed particularly hard.

"Got any more of those swords I can use?"

She remained silent, reminding him of Alex again. At least she answered back, "Trust me – we'll only need the one."

"No shit? You're giving it to me then?"

She grumbled, "Why do you keep talking?"

"I mean, it fair, right? You got to try the Amp. Why don't I get your sword?"

She paused momentarily, scanning him as he stood attentively in anticipation. For as much he tried to jest, Cole had equally put as much effort in how he could get out situation. This was the quippiest he had been, spouting off words and commentary as much as he could just because he knew it worked to throw the sword obsessed maniac off. Ironically, it was his words that did more to pacify her compared to the actual attack he had thrown her way, but he could only wish that words could have been enough.

"Why?"

Cole looked back up at the woman, her eyes glinting the faint golden hue the villagers had spoken about.

"Why what?"

"The running, the passivity – why?"

Cole sighed, "Would you even believe me if I said this was all a misunderstanding?"

"… No, I suppose not."

"Yea, I figured."

Consistency told him she was going to attack again, but this time, she merely pointed her sword his way. The massive weight she held just to do such a maneuver looked staggering and yet she had no trouble glaring her way towards Cole.

"You and your friend – I will hunt you both down. Run, fight – it doesn't matter. I'll always find you and end you. You are not getting out of this alive."

Cole laughed. He wasn't sure if he or Alex were even considered alive. He tightened his grip in the newly made grooves, bringing the damaged prong to life again.

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

Alex came to in an alleyway, his forehead rubbed raw against the side of the building as he began comprehending the world again. Frayed nerves and overworked cells twisted as he pulled himself onto his feet but … then again, at least they worked. His legs shook, muscles and flesh pulsed. Alex didn't know where he was. Alex almost didn't even want to ask.

No wait, he did.

He was some streets from the mayor's house, past a bridge looking structure and into an alley that would open out into a northern exit from the town. This was real. The street was real. The dirt and the grime were real. The stinging wound on his hand was screaming at him as his fingers dig into his human facsimile of a palm and by god, they had gotten in deep.

Alex pulled at the stuck digits, sliding the bladed edges, less prominent version of his claws. How he had managed to create such a condensed version of his claw hands, he couldn't say. They were usually too difficult and far too concentrated to make small and yet in his mental breakdown, he managed to form normal sized bladed fingers on the tips of his digits. They were still sharp though as evident by his self-harm. Alex was careful not to hurt himself further so as soon as he pulled his fingers out of his palm, he got rid of the mutation.

A faint but heavy twang was the next to draw his attention as were footfalls. They were far off but amongst the chaotic running and cooing cries for help, the faint strikes of metal hitting wood and stone louder than thunderstorms. Metal? Roof tiles? Was someone having a sword fight on top of the houses?

His head flashed with pain for a moment as he recalled the culprits. Cole and the claymore, of course, but such recollection came with a cost. Tension coursed over him, turning his adaptable flesh rigid one moment and flimsy the next.

And why the hell was he tasting … cheese?

The harsh clanging seemed to grow louder even when he could sense their battle still taking place in the same relative distance. Only the open palm kept him from fading and before long, he felt honest to god sweat course over himself. It was even worse when Cross had injected him with that anti-virus. At least then he knew to keep his mind off his back and adapt accordingly. This pain, this instance of overwhelming sensations, just kept moving. Adapting or blocking nodes one way simply had it subverting or shifting its efforts elsewhere in a never-ending battle that threatened once more to pull him down.

He needed to get away. He needed to move, to get out before he drowned. The voices … all the voices.

He picked up his pace as he followed the narrow corridor of stone. The road behind him shifted as he became lost in a maze again. The walls felt taller as he tried to pull his gaze towards the sky and escape seemed hopeless. Instinct told him to jump as he gathered biomass towards his legs. Muscles formed as quickly as he ripped and forced himself to gather strength. Even crippled by his pain, Alex would not let himself be held down. He was gonna get away. He was going to figure out what was happening. He was-

Don't … don't run …

His body contorted, legs suddenly giving out in shock as he fell towards a nearby wall. The voice was different. In fact, it was louder and clearer than anything he had felt since - well, ever. He darted his head, eyes shifting left and right before he twisted himself around. The only way he could have heard something so clearly was if it was right next to him … or if he had heard it in his head.

"Who said that?" Alex quietly asked, simultaneously hoping he wasn't crazy. No answers came. Silence taunted him as he stood up and shouted in a reckless haze of rage, "ANSWER ME!"

On instinct, his claws jutted out from his arms, but he soon realized his mistake. Hot, mental needles jutted through his mind, as though his nonexistent brain was being polished by barbed wires and rubbed along each node. The only hope for reprieve was letting go. He pulled back his power and with it followed the pain.

"Fuck … fuck," he cursed, scowling underneath his hood. He was starting to reconsider Cole's words about –

He winced again. It wasn't as bad but what the hell?! Now thinking about Cole was hurting him? What kind of a sick joke was this? He tugged himself along the wall, keeping a steady pace for his sake rather than to get anywhere on time. For a moment, he considered stopping and bashing in his head in or maybe exploding into a giant mass of tendrils to let go of it all. It was the easy way out. He couldn't even think of any other options.

Then again … maybe that was what they wanted. The voices, the mood swings, the head fuckery – someone was gonna pay. He just needed to leave. He needed to center himself and get his options. Away from Cole. Fuck! Fuck Cole! Fuck the Claymore. Fuck everything. He needed to get out and run.

You … can't run … stop … running …

"Fuck you," Alex spat.

Again, the silence followed, and the virus waited. The pain dissipated but he held firm this time, focusing only on the voice. If the damn voice didn't want him to run, then Alex was going to give the voice what it wished with as much spite as he could give. It was the clearest thing in his head to even think about.

"Answer me!" he shouted ad his eyes caught movement again. He lunged for the corner, darting around as he recalled the path would lead into a dead end. Alas, no one seemed to be here and no residue of force or dust indicating jumping. What was he seeing then; some specter made to taunt him?

I will … try.

The haze began to lift from over his eyes. Sight and sounds were coming back to him as he felt his senses returning stronger than before. He should have been completely alone, yet, as he turned around, his instincts told him otherwise. Even as the villagers scattered in every which way other than his own, even when insects and mice had a sense to run off - somehow, he knew someone was waiting to stare him down. He was ready to be cornered and he faced his match.

He just never expected that someone to be a kid.

"Hello," came a meek, boyish voice.

Alex blinked. He could hear the kid as clear as the open sky, but at the same time, he felt as though he hadn't heard anything at all. Only at the tail end of the singular word came through.

Nevertheless, he felt details slipping back in his head, his observation skills returning in full force. He was a small little thing, draped in clothes several sizes too large for his size. The fabrics were as dark as his hair – hell – they were as dark as Alex's clothes. Even with his inexperience with children, he approximated 8 to 10 years of age … though his eyes told a different story.

A pair of dark brown eyes answered Alex's own gaze and while looking or meeting Alex's eyeline wasn't outright impressive in it of itself, there was something about the boy's eyes that sparked his curiosity.

Was that fear he saw? No, it was too strong to be fear. Perhaps hatred then, yes. That would make sense … though the boy didn't have an aggressive bone about him. He still held back, hugging himself as his clothes draped over him, eyes firm and looking back not in a glare but rather … in defiance. Was that Dana he was seeing?

The boy shifted in place, clearly feeling Alex's eyes watch him. Alex stepped forward to get a better look and the kid flinched in place.

"You," Alex muttered, thinking to himself, "You're the little shit that's been following me."

The boy held his breath, chest shaking underneath his clothes. He scrunched his head into his clothes, but at least he wasn't running.

"No … I … I didn't follow you."

Alex scoffed, "Is that so? That wasn't you back with the Yoma … that wasn't you at the inn, scurrying around?"

The boy went quiet again, but this time he recovered his wit far more quickly, "That was me … but I … I didn't follow you … Mr. Alex."

Mr. Alex? That was a first. What did they call him again? Zeus, blacklight, terrorist, Mercer … but Mr. Alex. It was like the kid was afraid to even say his last name, let alone call Mercer for what he was.

"Is that it? You're not following, oh no, but you're fucking with me, is that it?"

Alex drew himself closer, the distance becoming mere feet as Alex towered over the now trembling boy. No longer having the distance of safety no doubt drew a different reaction, one of shaken resolve rather than building confidence. To some, this would have been called bullying, but was far more lenient to Alex compared to the alternative.

"You … can't eat me," the boy suddenly said, breaking Alex's concentration.

"Excuse me?" Alex said, now inches away from the child, "You don't make the rules here. I do. I want you to tell me what the hell is going on and I want a straight fucking answer."

"… No."

The balls on this little shit. Alex sneered in disgust, tempted to go for it. In fact, his body rippled as he contemplated the possibility of eating every little memory the kid had before he responded, "You're gonna start talking or I'm going to-"

"Rip … m-my spine … a-a-and eat me painfully," the kid answered back. Alex blinked; the kid had said the exact thing he was going to say.

"How did you do that? What are you doing?"

"I- … No."

The boy was firmer now, his shaking ceasing as he looked back into Alex's eyes.

"No … I … can't … and you can't eat me … or anyone. It hurts to eat."

Alex flinched, stepping back, "What the fuck are you?"

"Stop it! Please!" he said. Alex felt himself jump on instinct, as though random nerves in his body flinched and pulled at him. He wanted to run again, feeling as though he were about to stare into an abyss.

It was only when he heard the kid shouting that he realized he had blanked out.

"Mr. Alex," the kid said again. Alex looked down, realizing the kid had his hands on his leg, though he felt no sense of touch. Nevertheless, the bioweapons stepped back, but the child followed.

"Get the fuck back!"

"I … I want to help."

"You want to help?" Alex scoffed, "Oh, that's rich. You come to me out of nowhere, you give me visions, fuck with my head, tell me not to run, make my powers go away – you think that's helping?!"

"I-I'm trying," the boy said again, "I want to help … but I can't … I didn't do …"

"What the hell is going on?" Alex asked again, as though it would help explain the insanity.

The boy took in a deep breath, closing his eyes. Alex could do nothing but wait and his patience was thin enough as it was. He considered it again. Fuck it, he was going to eat the kid. He walked forward and reached out for the boy, ready to fight through the pain again just to make sense of it all.

And his hand went through the kid.

The boy's image fizzled but whole. Of course, Alex's hand did not go unnoticed as the boy suddenly stepped back.

"Mr. Alex … please … listen to what I have to say."

Alex stunned and mouth agape, stood there completely unsure of himself. The kid wasn't real? Or was he real? Was this some illusion? No, this wasn't it. Something about the kid was different. He gritted his teeth and glared back.

"Who are you and what do you want?"

The boy nodded, "I'm … Abel … and I want to help you because you can help me."

Alex nodded wordlessly. It made sense.

"Okay, then what do you need help with?"

"I … I … need you to … help me so … we can …"

Alex grunted, "So we can what? Say it straight."

The boy shook his head, "I … I can't. I'm trying but … I'm afraid."

"Afraid of what?" Alex growled.

"Afraid of getting hurt when I try to talk about … it."

"About what!?"

"About the gỉ̶̺̫̮͇̤̝́͒͂̀͂̎͒̈́f̴̃͛̇̀̃͐̃͝t ȉ̴̡̛͍̱̟͖̤̖͖̩͈͕͕̮͗͑̀̍͜n̵s͎̥̤̜̗͎̻͍̉̐̄̒ͅi̴̛̜̯̳̲̰̩̣͉͋̚̚͜dę̴̯̣̙̹̬̤̩̜͒ͅ ̴̢̡̺̗̱͖̼̟̖̰̞̱̈́͊͒̏̽͒̅̑"

The kid's voice scrambled as he collapsed to his knees. His image jerked and sparked, as though fading in and out of existence. Alex tried to go to the child, but just as he thought of him, he too felt enraptured with pain. Thousands of nerve endings punctured and burst while cells began to flay themselves away from him. He felt his body splitting and reforming apart, though for some reason, he knew all of it was in his head. Everything was fake and yet … it was even worse to deal with.

The pain ceased as suddenly as it came with the boy on his knees as he glitched.

"I'm … sorry … Mr. Alex," he started, each word divided by shaky breathing, "I … can't do this … for too … long."

It clicked for Alex then and there. The kid hadn't been hurting him. The kid was hurting WITH him.

"What the hell," Alex thought of something else, "Are you Greene's Kid? Are you Pariah?"

"W-what? No … my … I'm Abel."

Alex shook his head, standing up as he finally got a name for Abel. The kid looked surprised if anything else, perhaps that he could even say stuff about his name, "Are you a part of project Crusade? Blackwatch? Vandenberg Air Force Base? Any of that makes sense to you?"

"No!" he shouted, "This doesn't have anything to do with … with … your stupid virus and your stupid … stupid world. You're … a big … mean … dummy! You weren't always like this …"

Alex stopped, "What? What the hell do you mean?"

The boy stopped, and looked up, staring into Alex. For a moment, Alex thought he felt something moving through his head. A glimpse of an image hit him suddenly, but rather than seeing anything, he simply smelled something. Necrotic flesh mixed with ever regenerating tissue – that was the smell, but it was covered in something, wrapped up. As soon as the mental image faded, he shouted.

"Was that supposed to help?"

"There … I can't … explaining hurts … everything hurts. I tried super hard, Mr. Alex, but I'm not good," the boy curled into a ball, voice finally breaking as it mixed with pained gasps of breath. He tried to continue, but even with the strength he showed trying to stand up to Alex, he had nothing for this.

"I'm scared … Mr. Alex. Every time you do bad things … I see it. Every time you eat … it hurts. All of it … hurts," the boy paused, "I'm sorry … I used the weird memory. I … I tried to find a good memory, but it … it was hard. I'm so tired. Everything you remember is so … dark … and painful."

He looked up, looking directly at Alex's face, "Please, Mr. Alex. Don't run. It doesn't do anything. You can never get away … and then they hurt me again and then I have to see everyone fail … but … but Mr. Cole … and Miss Claire, they're important. Please, you have to believe me."

Alex opened his mouth to shout back but stopped. Another vague scent. A campfire crackling in the dark as the ashen scents ran along his form – across from him stand a shape, one he could detect away from visual aids.

"The Claymore?" Alex muttered, "That bitch?"

"S-stop cursing! You keep cursing, but cursing is for bad people!" Abel shouted, but it was the weakest shout yet. The demand, however, felt as powerful as it could be for a child. Alex knelt down reaching with his hand only to pull back as he recalled the futility of such an action.

"I think you got the wrong Alex."

"No … you're the only Alex," Abel responded, "You're a good person. I know it. You … you can choose to be good … y-you can be bad if you choose it … but everything … is a choice.

He scoffed, "Who the hell told you that bullshit. Was it Macgrath?"

"No, it was you."

Now it was Alex's turn to go silent. With no response left in him, Alex was forced to watch as the boy completely vanished from his vision, his body twisting and fizzling into nothingness. All he could hear was the boy's voice.

Cole … and … Claire … can … help.

Alex shook his head, "How the fu … I mean … how do I do that?"

Back … house … mayor … search.

Loud clanging sounded again, alerting Alex again to the fight. Magrath and the claymore … Claire, right. A flood of information hit him as the rest of his senses called and told him what was going on. Gone was the chaos and madness … but so was the kid. Abel's voice was barely a whisper, fading against the slowly gathering windfall.

"Fuck."

… I … heard that …