Soul Bond.

CHAPTER FOUR. THE MIDNIGHT PACT.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE MIDNIGHT PACT

The streets of ogba were alive with an eerie silence, the kind that grips a city only in the dead of night. Midnight had fallen, shrouding the sprawling metropolis in darkness save for the occasional flicker of faculty streetlights. The air was heavy, a mix of distant car exhaust and the faint, acrid tang of decay that seemed to linger in every shadow.

Arunne walked briskly through the deserted streets, his shoulders hunched and his breath shallow. His head jerked left and rights, his eyes scanning the night with paranoia so raw it was tangible. His disheveled clothing clung to his tall, lanky frame, and his steps faltered as though each movement required more effort than the last.

A few homeless souls dotted the sidewalks, their fragile frames partially hidden in makeshift blankets of rags, their bodies formed silent, twisted shapes on the ground, blending into the darkness. Arunne glanced at them, his expression wavering between pity and disgust. He adjusted the bulge in his pocket, making sure it was intact, his lanky frame turning into an alley cloaked in shadows.

The air was cooler here, damp and laced with ‘ibaje oníràntí’ (mildew). Arunne slowed his steps, the scuff of his worn shoes echoing softly off the brick walls.

At the end of the street lay a small figure, curled up in a heap on the cold concrete. The dim light of a distant bulb cast her silhouette in sharp relief. She was small, barely ten years old, her frail body wrapped in a threadbare blanket. Her skin was ashen, and her breathing almost imperceptible.

Arunne crouched beside her and tapped her shoulder gently. The girl stirred, her large, sunken eyes snapping open with a start. For a fleeting Moment, panic clouded her gaze, but then recognition set in.

“Arunne!” she whispered, her voice hoarse but laced with relief.

“Shh,” Arunne cautioned, his voice trembling “its me.”

The girl sat up slowly, her thin frame trembling with cold. Arunne reached into his pocket and pulled out the food he had brought. The little girl’s eyes lit up, the ghost of a smile breaking through her otherwise vacant expression.

“For you,” he said softly, handing her the bread and biscuits.

The girl snatched the food eagerly, her small hands trembling as she tore into it. Arunne watched her eat, his gaze distant, his mind plagued by a storm of emotions.

“You want?” she asked her little fingers clutching the bread she offered him.

“Enjoy, it’s all for you” he declined forcing a smile.

The little girl returned to her food, as she devoured every crumb with a desperate fervor.

“Tank sir” she murmured in broken English, her voice barely audible.

Arunne nodded, unable to speak. He stood abruptly, his body rigid. Without another word, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the backstreets of ogba.

An hour passed.

The city was as quiet as before, it’s silence now suffocating.

Arunne returned to the alley, his steps deliberate but unsteady. In his hand, he held the knife, it’s blade gleaming faintly in the pale moonlight. His hands shook violently, the knife rattling slightly as he tightened his grip. Tears streamed down his gaunt cheeks, glistening like dew in the dim light.

The little girl was asleep again, her frail body curled into itself, her breathing rhythmic and soft. She looked peaceful, almost angelic in her vulnerable state.

Arunne knelt beside her, his movements slow and deliberate. His face twisted with anguish as he raised the knife, it’s blunt edges catching the light. His lips moved silently, mouthing words that could have been a prayer or a plea. So with a trembling hand, he plunged the blade into her chest.

The girl’s body jerked slightly, her eyes fluttering open for the briefest of moments before closing again. Her skin turned pale, almost translucent, her breathing ceasing in an instant. As usual the blade made no sound as it pierced her, and when Arunne pulled it out, it was as clean as it had been before. No blood stained it’s surface, and none pooled on her tiny chest.

Arunne stared at the lifeless body, his hands trembling so violently that he almost dropped it. His breath came in ragged gasps, and a guttural sob tore from his throat.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “please forg…."

Just as the words were leaving his lips, they were interrupted by a sharp pain which shot through his chest. Arunne clutched at his chest, his face contorting in agony. Blood began seeping from his nostrils, his ears and even his eyes. He collapsed onto the ground, writhing in pain, the dagger still clutched tightly in his hand.

His body convulsed violently, his limbs jerking uncontrollably as blood poured from every orifice. The sound of his choking gasps echoed through the alley, a grotesque symphony of his agony.

And then, abruptly, it stopped.

Arunne lay still, his lifeless eyes staring blankly at the starless sky. His body was contorted, his fingers locked around the hilt of the knife as if it had fused with his hand.

The alley was silent once more, save for the faint rustling of the wind. But in the shadows, something stirred. A low, guttural whisper echoed through the alley, a sound that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.