Cross and Conflicts

CHAPTER XXII: Plea for Vengeance

To many, the greatest evil in the world is perhaps death. It appears before us unannounced and unwanted not only to rob us of our lives, but also to take away every one we love. There can be no greater heartbreak than death. There can be nothing else that can cause us the greatest pain. To Noumenon Rosaryo, however, the greatest evil in the world is one certain man. No one else but him caused her the greatest pain. No one else but him gave her the most excruciating heartbreak after he took away every one whom she loved more than herself.

 Eyes inanimate, chest still, body turning colder, her adoptive mother, the person who showed her salvation and the one who gave her another purpose to continue living, had already been dead for about an hour. A bullet point-blank to the forehead didn’t spare her. Now, bloodied in her arms, she was unmoving, unfeeling and unaware of how much tears she shed and how much agony she has to bear. Trembling and disbelieving, she embraced her, yet no matter how tight, it wouldn’t bring her back.

 “Ma! Mama!” She howled and it may have been the shrillest of her screams that incited even the sympathy of the wind which sent its condolences through its gentle sway of the leaves of the trees behind them. And the moon, the only celestial witness on this mournful night, glared down at the troubling scene as if attempting to melt away her anguish with its light.

 It happened to her again; she felt the same again. It was the same remorse she felt when her mother died—no, when she was murdered. Now, repeated, another mother for her suffered the same fate in the hands of the same man. 

 Remorse was abruptly replaced by an emotion lying dormant within her for years. She was mad, and for the first time in her existence, she cursed the damnable man, and she wished for his death. She realized that if he hadn’t lived, she wouldn’t be this distraught.

 She gently laid the corpse of Sister Lita down the ruined floor and combed her palm over her defunct eyes to close them. With one last glimpse at her, she made up her mind to carry out a resolve which came out of pure rage: vengeance. There can be nothing more fulfilling for her now, and there’s only one person who can help her.

Noumenon quivered before him as she stood. She was unsteady and blood still continued to ooze from her left calf. Yet she was indignant as she looked at him as she said, “You’re ‘Cross,’ right? The ‘Master Murderer.’” 

 The man in front of her didn’t like the sound her words resonated, but she was correct. He is the masked vigilante who killed more than the number of their fingers and toes combined.

 He didn’t respond and only looked at her impassively.

 She brought her left hand in front of her and stared for a while at the silver ring on her forefinger. It had been a reminder of her cloistered life which kept her from facing the reality of her fate. It had been what concealed her true emotions. Now, to be free from the constraints that bound her, she took it off.

 “Please, I need your help. I want to kill my father.”