Dimensions Collide: Destiny Bond

Prota gasped as she was roughly shoved into a bag. She could see John but couldn’t cry out in time. Her core pounded at her chest, begging to be let out, but she controlled herself despite the terror she felt. She had no reason to lose control when she’d just regained it.

She could hear loud cracks as if thunder was raining down on the land, but that was impossible. The sky was clear, with not a cloud in view. Slowly, the sounds of shouting and battle grew quieter and quieter as she was slung over someone’s shoulder, roughly carried away to some distant place.

Was this how she would die? It wasn’t like she was unfamiliar with the feeling. The year she’d spent on the streets was rough, living on a fine line between life and death. Death wasn’t something that had bothered her all that much. She had nothing. No parents. A stolen sister. A broken life. The entire world had been against her. But…

No. She wanted to live. There was something to live for. Something to fight for. But now that she’d been given a second chance, there was nothing she could do about her predicament. Nothing she could do to salvage this.

“John,” Prota whimpered inside the bag. She’d found someone. Someone who cared for her, someone to live life for. And her sister. She’d asked John for his help, and he’d agreed. How was she supposed to rescue her sister now? She was supposed to protect others. How could she protect others if she couldn’t even protect herself?

She didn’t know. She tried her best to activate her power, but with how badly she was shaking, she couldn’t control even a single tendril. All she could do was tremble as the world slowly grew dark, her vision slowly swimming out of focus.

~~~

“So what do we do now?”

“Leave her alive. Our employer wants them both dead. She’s bait. Do you remember the plan? There’s a chance he runs away. This guarantees that we finish the job.”

“Run away? Really?”

The leader sighed. “Grey told me that… what was his name, Quarta? Apparently, he’s a very logical bastard. Always takes the most efficient path. Never hesitates, never flinches, just does whatever’s necessary. Apparently, one of their teammates was injured when they were doing the raid, and he just kept ploughing through. The others stayed behind to help, but when they found him, he was standing in a room full of dead bodies.”

“...all this with no core? Are you sure we’re suited for the job?”

The leader smirked. “Come on. That bastard doesn’t have an ounce of mana in his body. The only advantage he has is that thing called a gun, and now that we know about it, it’s useless, isn’t it? He’s fast, he’s got good reflexes, but he’ll never match up to us.”

Everyone gathered around as the leader explained the plan. “Six shots. That’s how many times he can shoot before he has to reload. We have a fraction of time to hit him with everything we’ve got, then we just put up shields to block another six shots. It’ll be easy.”

The mercenaries nodded, muttering among themselves. It was a good plan. Quick and to the point. It would’ve been easier with ten men, though. Six men, six bullets…

“Where are they?”

“They should be back soon…”

“Maybe they’re dead?”

Their talk was interrupted as a loud crash could be heard from a distance away. Everyone looked over to see a giant dust cloud rising up, as if a meteor had crashed down to the ground.

“What the-”

A red light shone out of the dust, slowly growing brighter.

“Huh… what is that?”

There was no time to react as John burst out, revolver in hand. Six flashes were followed by six cracks as John emptied his barrel, immediately dropping two men on the floor like flies.

“Sh-shit! Shields, now!” the leader yelled, immediately chanting a spell. His teammates followed suit, erecting a barrier that surrounded their bodies.

Projectile barriers were a type of magic that blocked most projectiles. Depending on the level of your barrier, it was possible to block all projectiles that weren’t magically reinforced. Unfortunately for John, these mercenaries were at that level. He fired off another six shots, but the bullets just hit the shields with a thud and fell to the ground.

“I’m… I’m fine?” one of the mercenaries said, opening his eyes as he patted his body down. “Hey, you’re right! He can’t do shit! The barriers work fine!”

The man who’d called out let a knife drop into his hand, no longer watching John. In a blink, he quickly cut the distance between himself and his target, but unfortunately, overconfidence in a single counter was his downfall.

“You’re aiming for the wrong place.”

John’s open hand shot out and grabbed the man’s arm, using the mercenary’s momentum to fling him over his back.

“Gu- argh!” the man gasped as he hit the ground, dropping his knife at the same time.

John’s face was hidden behind his scarf and hood, but his eyes showed, and they were blazing with an uncharacteristic rage. His voice was muffled as if his teeth were clenched, his muscles under his clothes tight as he pineed his opponent down.

“You guys said something about a projectile barrier?”

John raised his leg.

“My foot isn’t a projectile, right?”

John stamped, crushing the man’s skull under his feet. Without a second glance, he kicked the corpse away and let the blood soak into the dirt behind him. Uneven footing wouldn’t do him any good here.

“...you guys had a spell like this? Why didn’t the other idiots use it?”

John glanced at the remaining five men facing him. Looking at them, he didn’t see people. He saw targets. He saw [Characters]. Disposables.

Just like everyone else in this godforsaken world.

His presence wasn’t necessarily intimidating. But as the mercenaries looked at him, something felt off. They weren’t scared. They’d faced more intimidating opponents. But something felt different. There was a sense of recklessness. A feeling that John didn’t care for his own safety, that the deaths of his opponents mattered more than anything else.

And that was the worst kind of opponent to face.

“C-come on, it’s just one guy!” the leader yelled. It was too late to back out. “What’s he gonna do? He can’t take all of us on at the same time!”

They unsheathed their swords but didn’t charge in. Smart. They circled John like wolves stalking prey, waiting, looking for an opening. There was a problem, though. John was full of openings. His arms hung by his side, his blade drooping down as he checked his opponents out one by one.

“...they’re not bad,” he muttered.

“Now!” the leader yelled, charging in. “Die, you bastard!”

“There it is. Personally, I’d never say something like that. That’s just marking yourself for death.”

John’s body blurred as he vanished, reappearing behind a mercenary, his hands on the sides of the man’s head.

“Two left,” he announced as he twisted, snapping the man’s neck with a sickening crack. Without missing a step, he picked the body up and threw it with such force that the other two were forced to dodge, giving John time to appraoched.

“F-fuck!” the mercenary gasped. However, this one was better prepared as a blue aura started glowing around his feet.

“...what the hell is this?” John frowned.

The mercenary gave a shout then started slashing away, the blade flowing with precision and grace. John would’ve appreciated it had it not been trying to kill him. As if catching a fly, John’s hand flew forward and caught the flat part of the sword, shattering the metal with his fingers, shards flying everywhere. His other arm shot up and grabbed a handful of shards, and in one swift motion, he threw them like pebbles, putting dozens of holes through the sword wielder.

“One left.”

“Wh- who the hell are you?” the leader said, trembling. “Grey- Grey said that you didn’t have any mana! How are you-”

John turned around, and the leader faltered. His red eye was blazing bright, shining through the shadows on his face. He didn’t seem human. More like…

“M-Mystic?” the leader trembled. However, he grit his teeth and stood his ground. “No, no, you’re just some bartender! I’ll kill you and claim that bounty!”

With a cry, his body glowed with a red aura, and he charged in. John watched in surprise as the man got closer and closer.

“Die!”

The leader hadn’t been hoping for much. He hadn’t expected anything at all, actually, so when he felt his sword make contact with flesh, he stared at the deep cut he’d given John with a face of utter disbelief.

“Ha… hahaha! See? You can bleed, just like-”

The man stopped laughing as he felt something pierce his stomach. He looked down to see a stick sticking through his abdomen.

“Ah…”

His hands felt cold as he grabbed onto the very weapon that was piercing him. Slowly, his legs buckled underneath him, and he fell to the ground as the light in his eyes began to fade.

“Hey. Don’t die yet.” John stepped forward. His leg was bleeding, but he didn’t seem to care. “Were you the leader?”

“...yeah.”

“You were really annoying,” he said, his eyes cold.

“It was a job, man. You ever hear of a job?”

“Sure. I did one myself. I killed a bunch of demon cultists.”

“So you’re a hero?” the man cried out desperately. “Come on. I’m just a guy, man. I just wanted to feed myself. To stay alive.”

John scoffed. “Hero? That’s a stupid question. I’m no more of a hero than you are. It’s just like you said. It was a job.”

“But- you did it for the people, right?”

“For the who? I did it because it paid well. That, and it was something that piqued my interest. Unfortunately, I didn’t get anything out of it, so it just turned out to be a massive waste of time.”

“You… you’re a monster.” Reality was setting in. There was no pleading for a second chance, no room for an apology. The man who’d killed dozens of cultists was saying that he’d wasted his time doing so.

John nodded. “Yeah? Your point?”

“...”

“Look, I’m not saying that you’re evil or anything. You did a job. I respect it. You pissed me off, but I can respect it. Unfortunately, that respect isn’t going to get you anything.”

John pulled his gun out of nowhere and pulled the hammer down, the click signalling yet another death.

“Are you going to beg?”

“...no.”

“Good answer.”

There was a loud crack, and then the fields went silent.

~~~

“Hey. Hey, Prota,” John said, rocking the small girl side to side.

He’d found her with her hands bound behind her back, her feet tied together, and a gag shoved into her mouth. He’d cut the rope away, and it seemed that she hadn’t suffered any serious injuries, but that didn’t make him feel any better.

His anger had subsided, the void rising to replace it once more. Even seeing Prota bound hadn’t gotten a rise out of him. His eyes glazed over as he stared, unsure of how to feel. Unsure of what to do.

“Hey. Wake up,” John tried again, then turned to cough. Something wet coated his hand. He looked down.

There was blood.

Now that he was out of battle, the wounds were hurting. Bad. The cut in his leg felt like someone was constantly taking a hot iron to it, searing hot and burning away. He’d wrapped it with cloth to stop the bleeding, but his head was feeling dizzy.

“Fuck… Do I have to carry her back?”

He didn’t even know if he could walk himself back, let alone Prota. What was he supposed to do here? Thankfully, she started to stir, waking up from her forcefully induced sleep.

“J-John?” she muttered, sitting up. She looked around and saw the dead mercenaries lying on the ground as if they’d fallen asleep, but it was obvious that they weren’t just taking a nap.

“Did… did I…”

John shook his head. Prota nodded in return. No words needed to be exchanged.

There was a heavy silence. John looked at the bodies without a drop of remorse. It wasn’t like he was a good person. He wasn’t some hero who tried to save people. He didn’t have much of a moral compass. He was just someone who did whatever it took to further his own goal. But then what about Prota?

Despite her oddities, she was still just a small girl. And she, too, was hindering his path to his goal. This whole situation could’ve been avoided had he avoided her in the first place. What if he’d never picked her up from that alleyway? Even if his humanity didn’t allow for that, he could’ve just given her some food and clothes, but no. He’d grown attached to the point where disposing of her wasn’t as simple as a single action.

“What happened to the year you just spent together? What happened to the memories you made?” Zero said, unheard by Prota. “Are you going to let it go, just like that?”

“I told you, didn’t I? If I think something’s gonna go wrong, it’s over. Something went wrong. I’m just going to get distracted.”

“Then leave. It’s what you were going to do, right?”

“...”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought. You can’t. You’re trying to chase her away because you don’t have the balls to leave yourself.”

“...it’s for the best.”

John was being intentionally cold in this moment. Most people weren’t comfortable being around a killer. Especially a killer who did his job so with so little remorse. He was trying to show her that he wasn’t as kind a person as she thought. That he wasn’t the good life she was trying to obtain.

That being around him meant going through all of this.

To John’s surprise, though, she didn’t look away, nor did she tremble when she looked at him. In fact, it was as if nothing had changed at all. Her face was exactly the same, and it wasn’t just because it never changed. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t disgusted. John hadn’t been sure what to expect, but it hadn’t been this.

“...thank you,” Prota whispered. “Thank you.”

John averted his gaze. “Seriously, you can’t do something like that and expect me not to…”

“Fine,” John sighed. He got up with a grunt and extended his hand. He didn’t have the energy to refuse her at the moment. “Come on, Prota. Let’s go home.”

She took his bloodied hands and followed as he limped in the direction of home. The day hadn’t gone the way they’d thought it would, but it was over. Surely.

“Quarta.”

John froze at the sound of his old party members. He turned around to see the whole gang there. Well, not the whole gang. There was someone missing.

“Grey… Grey had a bullet hole in his head. Did you… do you know what’s going on? And what’s with all these bodies?”

John just stared, weighing his options. The smart thing to do would be to lie. However, in his current state, that was also the option that took the most work. So in this situation, he no longer cared about what was going to happen. He’d do what he pleased, consequences be damned.

“Prota,” he said quietly. “Leave. Run home, now.”

He turned back to his old comrades, facing them without hesitation.

“I killed them. I killed Grey, too, if that’s what you were going to ask. Is there an issue?”

“...” Hestia had an indescribable look on her face. “John. You don’t do that to a comrade. He was a jerk, maybe, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to kill him.”

Gale nodded, a grim look on his face. “Hey. Come on. Give us a reason. Anything.”

Even the stoic Gorm had a dark look on his face.

“...he sold me out.”

“He sold you out? You expect us to believe that? Who would even be targeting you?”

John shrugged. “Why’re you asking me that?”

Gale glared at John, daring him to say something like that again. “Quarta. We were companions. We don’t do that to each other.”

“Companions? Is that what we are?”

“...what are you saying, Quarta?” Hestia said, confused. “If not that, then what?”

“Strangers,” John said quietly. “We were thrown together for one event. That’s all.”

“Then what were we? Mere tools to be used?” Gale yelled. “Pawns to be moved around?”

“Sure.”

“You-!”

It was a half truth, half lie. John did see them as tools. But they were tools in a world full of cardboard cutouts, where the people were nothing more to him than “objects.” They might have been “things” in his eyes, but they were things he could trust and rely on.

In all honesty, he had no desire to kill them. It was possible to get out of the situation without using violence. He could’ve lied. He could’ve shown them the bounty on his head, although he didn’t quite know why he was being targeted. He could’ve explained how Prota was kidnapped, how Grey had come out and said himself that he’d sold John out.

But he’d also learned something. To have people you are reluctant to kill is to have people you might start caring about. People you might find hard to leave behind. John needed to nip the problem in the bud before something worse than this happened.

“...so you’re no better than the cultists we wiped,” Hestia growled, fire magic beginning to swirl around her. “I thought you were better than this. People aren’t just things, Quarta! I’ll show you just how badly a “thing” can hurt.”

John took out his revolver. “You’re very welcome to try.”

“You bastard!” Hestia yelled, running forward.

Hestia was of an infinitely higher quality than the mercenaries John had just fought. He raised his gun to fire, but the adventurer didn’t stop, raising a hellfire that melted the bullet to slag before it even got close.

She cried out as she unleashed a torrent of fire that threatened to engulf John in flames, but he wasn’t going down that easily. Throwing himself to the side, he fired off blindly, narrowly avoiding death. Getting up, he cast a glance at the other two members of the party.

They were standing to the side, doing nothing for the time being, but it wouldn’t be long before they got involved, especially if Hestia would start to lose. He had to end it quickly. She was still a distance away, but no long range attack would work on her. He couldn’t run. His leg cried out at him, and he buckled, no longer able to stand on it.

He didn’t want to use it, but it seemed that there wasn’t much of an option. Besides, the circumstances were perfect for it. Even if he couldn’t use it to a high level, it was possible to use it for just a little. The side effects weren’t great, but that was a price he was willing to pay.

His right eye lit up, emitting a black light.

He began to run up to his opponent, gun disposed of, the weapon of choice now a sword. Hestia wasn’t worried, though. She continued to throw flames, each one nearly wiping John’s body from existence, but he got closer and closer. Still, there was no need for concern.

“I’m not like those second rate punks,” she reminded him. “Did you think getting in close range would help?”

A tornado of flames rose up around her, shielding her from any incoming attacks. To approach such a thing was suicide. No one would be able to approach it without an equivalent level of mana, and John was manaless.

So when he walked through and pierced her heart with his sword, she simply looked down in utter shock.

“Wh- what…”

“Don’t talk so much,” John said, pulling the blade out. “It’ll just hurt more.”

The flames died down as Hestia fell to the ground with a soft thump.

“You… What?” Gale said in a hoarse voice, his face pale. “How did you… you-”

“What kind of idiot reveals their power?” John said. “Let’s just get this over with.”

With a cry, Gale rushed forward like a storm, his blade swinging with the form of a master, even through his rage. John was just barely able to parry the blows, but the attacks that did land didn’t seem to be doing any damage. In fact, John wasn’t getting cut at all. In fact, every time the blade made contact, it would blur, as if cutting into a shadow rather than a human body.

Still, Gale was winning.

John’s vision was starting to fade. The power he was using was taxing his body, and in no time at all, it’d be over. He’d lose to his own ability. Was this it? He’d have to stop using it, but doing that meant certain death. If that was the case, then-

“Stay away!”

A massive explosion of magic knocked Gale back, throwing him into Gorm and giving John time to catch his breath. His vision was pretty blurry, but he turned around to find…

“Prota?” he muttered in disbelief. No, no. Why was she here? Forget that, how was she here? Had he not sent her away?

“John’s… protector,” Prota panted, her hands stretched out. She’d used her power. Not for herself, but for him.

John would’ve been touched had he not been so completely exhausted. He collapsed, his legs giving out under the weight of his body. The leg that’d been cut felt cold and numb. At this moment, a toddler would’ve been able to finish him off. He wanted to sleep, but a thought continued to pester him.

He’d sent Prota away. He tried to get rid of her one last time. But just when he’d given up on Prota, Prota had chosen to stay with John.

He looked out into the night sky. He didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t worth it. But what could he do about someone like her? Nothing. He stared up as Prota fluttered around him like a baby bird, trying to help, but incapable of doing so. How cute.

“I want to sleep. Just for a little bit…”

That wasn’t a wish that would be granted.

There was a loud explosion, and in the corner of John’s vision, he saw two geysers of liquid spurt up from where Gale and Gorm’s bodies had been. What? He didn’t have any allies. John thought back to the old lady. He was sure it wasn’t her, but it was possible there were remaining demon cultists that wanted revenge. Were they back? No, they didn’t have the power for something like that. Then who?

“What the-”

John froze as a figure approached them. From the get-go, it was clear that their enemy wasn’t normal. Her skin was purple, black armour covering a well built and attractive body. Long, silky black hair fell down to the feet, two horns protruding from the figure’s head. That in itself wasn’t the scary part, though.

It was the air the creature carried around her. Every single step made Prota feel like she needed to kneel and worship. Simply being around her felt like a sin in itself, as if you were in the presence of a being you shouldn’t be near.

Prota had nearly fainted from the amount of pressure the demon’s aura was exerting. It was the aura of a ruler, of a god. Its very presence invoked fear and respect. Even John had frozen up, although it wasn’t for the same reason as Prota. This wasn’t the first time he’d faced something like this, and seeing how things were going, it wouldn’t be the last. He was strongly considering plan B, but what came next was something he absolutely could not ignore.

“John Quarta. I am here for your memories. Hand them over..”