Cross and Conflicts

CHAPTER XLIV: Crimson Tears

What is the taste of revenge? And is it really true that it is best served cold? Is it that satisfying or is it something that you’d never want to take a bite out of again?

Such horrid thoughts—she dismissed. She wasn’t the least happy about what she felt and how she had become. Loathing a person was one thing, but killing was a serious dealing. She will never rejoice about killing someone. Sometimes, she wavered, yet most of the time, the recollection of how her mothers died kept her going.

Noumenon thought of Cross’ challenge. Indeed, it was. How would she be able to obtain information about her targets? It was even more so because it’s plural.

The vigilante was as aloof as the green flash during sunset, and her politician father was as secured as a vault. It was impossible to do this much on her own.

The moon was bigger than normal that evening. It seemed like a huge luminous ball along with its equally beautiful entourage of stars parading in the night sky.

It was already past nine, but sleep hasn’t visited her yet. There were too many she thought of as she got out of her room and out of the gothic mansion. The doctor, she assumed, must have already hit the hay earlier, and during the day, after eating a single early meal with her, he was swallowed inside his work room. Cross may be secretive given his position and aptitude; nonetheless, the doctor could be even more so. Aside from his name and the nature of his work, he didn’t tell her much about what he’s usually up to. Of course, it was reasonable not to confide with a novice who technically begged herself to be aided by a professional killer.

She was too alone, and she didn’t like this feeling. Back at the Saint Catherine Monastery, even though everything was solemn and serious, she had the other nuns living with her. Their life wasn’t entirely devoted to praying. They chitchatted. They had some games. They find comfort with the company of each other.

Her surroundings were quiet, save for the rhythm of the tall and sturdy trees that danced with the wind. The novice wrapped herself in a blue jacket, twice her size. She tightened the clothing around her body as strands of her hair swayed over her face. She found a concrete bench and leaned against the cold surface, letting out a soft sigh.

The wind carried with it the faint scent of damp earth and distant blossoms, a gentle reminder of the seasons' inevitable change. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to close her eyes, feeling the world move around her, as though she were an anchor in the ceaseless rhythm of nature.

The quiet serenity of the moment was broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of a stream. She wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there, but time felt unimportant—a fleeting concept in the embrace of this tranquil, untamed world.

The night sky that hovered over the city of Intramuros was surely pretty. She wondered what could have been her life if her father hadn’t killed her biological mother. Wouldn’t Sister Lita still be alive since she wouldn’t cross paths with her? Would her life have been different if she had a complete happy family. Probably, she wouldn’t choose to be a nun. She could may have been a businesswoman like her later mother or a politician like her father if he hadn’t become a murderer.

Her thoughts were abruptly shattered as her peripheral vision caught something that made the hairs in her body stand. Noumenon froze, her breath catching in her throat. A couple of feet away, two figures emerged from the shadows, their eyes wide with a mix of surprise and fascination.

For a moment, none of them spoke, their startled gazes locked in an unsettling stillness. The pale light of the moon painted her features in an otherworldly glow, her wavy chocolate brown hair cascading like liquid silver down her shoulders. She looked ethereal, almost unreal—a vision of some divine being that had strayed into their mortal world.

One of the strangers, a lanky man with a crooked grin, took a hesitant step forward.

“Well, would you look at that,” he murmured, his voice low and coarse, yet tinged with awe. “A moon goddess, right here on Earth.”

The other, a stocky man with a leering gaze, nodded in agreement.

“Never seen anything like it,” he said, his tone darker, laced with something that made her skin crawl. “She’s too beautiful to be real. Almost... too perfect.”

Compliments, perhaps, but there was something unsettling in the way they stared at her—something that felt wrong, invasive.

“And that big ol’ house, I never thought we’d see something like that deep in this crazy city.”

“Good evening,” she said softly, summoning all the courage she could muster. “Nice to meet you. What brought you here, good sirs?”

Noumenon realized that they were drifters who just wandered far enough to be able to reach here.

“We’re looking for people to come with us. Would you like to?” the lanky one cheekily asked.

Their words sent a shiver down her spine. She took a step back, her pulse quickening as she realized how alone she was.

“Sorry, but I can’t.”

But the men didn’t budge. They simply stared, their expressions caught somewhere between admiration and something far less innocent. The lanky one tilted his head, as if studying a rare artifact.

“No need to be afraid, lady,” he said, his grin widening. “We just wanna—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence.

Out of nowhere, a gust of wind stirred the trees, and a shadow descended from above like a raptor on its prey. The newcomer landed between Noumenon and the strangers with an almost supernatural grace, his long black coat billowing behind him like wings. For a moment, he looked less like a man and more like some dark avenger, his crimson eyes glowing like embers in the moonlight.

The men recoiled, their earlier bravado evaporating as they took in the sight of him.

“What the—” the stocky one began, but Cross silenced him with a knuckle punch to his throat.

“Kaaaakkkhhhgg!”

He took out his gun and shot him point blank to the head.

Bang!

It only took one shot, and he was already dead.

Noumenon’s eyes widened in her horror that made her glued to the same spot, like a statue made cold but the ghastly scene before her.

“Aaaaaaaahhhhhh!”

She heard the other guy scream. In the blink of an eye, Cross leapt towards the man and reached for his neck, twisting it in a complete one hundred eighty degrees. His eyes were open as his head was severed from his spine. The corpse dropped with a soft thud on the bed of dried grass.

Noumenon barely had time to process what had happened as Cross walked back to her direction with an aura of dominance. The wind seemed to follow him, swirling the edges of his long coat in a way that added to his almost supernatural presence. His crimson eyes locked onto her, radiating a quiet menace that continued to freeze her in place.

She gasped as Cross yanked her arm with a force that sent a jolt of pain shooting through her shoulder. She stumbled, her breath catching in her throat as she looked up at him. His face was a storm of fury, his irises glowing a menacing red that seemed to pierce through the darkness.

"What in the world were you doing out here?" he hissed, his voice low but sharp, like the edge of a blade. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is?"

"I... I just needed some air," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. Her heart pounded in her chest, a wild rhythm that matched the chaos in her mind. "I couldn't sleep."

Cross's grip tightened, and she winced again. "Air? You think this is some countryside retreat? This is Intramuros, nun. The pits of hell, as you so aptly put it. Anyone could come at any minute and kill you and the owner of that house, and you’re out in the open like this!"

His words were like a slap, each one hitting harder than the last. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. She felt small, insignificant under the weight of his anger.

"You’re a young woman, wandering alone in a city that would chew you up and spit you out without a second thought," he continued, his voice rising. "Do you think this is a game? Do you think you’re invincible?"

"No, I’m sorry," she finally managed to say, her voice trembling. "I didn’t mean to—"

"Sorry won’t keep you alive," he snapped, cutting her off. He released her arm abruptly, and she staggered back, rubbing the sore spot where his fingers had dug into her skin. "Get back inside. Now."

She hesitated, her eyes searching his face for any sign of softness, any hint that he wasn’t as cold and unyielding as he seemed. But there was nothing. Just the hard lines of his jaw and the fire in his eyes.

Noumenon walked back toward the mansion, her steps heavy with the weight of Cross’s anger. The night air felt colder now, the earlier serenity replaced by an oppressive stillness. She wrapped her oversized jacket tighter around herself, trying to shake off the unease that clung to her like a second skin.

She had barely made it halfway when a low, guttural groan stopped her in her tracks. She turned sharply, her heart skipping a beat as she saw Cross drop to his knees. His hands clutched at his head, his fingers digging into his scalp as though trying to tear something out. His crimson eyes glowed brighter, almost unbearably so, and his face twisted in agony.

“Cross?” she called out hesitantly, her voice trembling. She took a cautious step toward him, but froze when she noticed the strange phenomenon unfolding around him. Stones and leaves began to rise from the ground, swirling in a slow, unnatural orbit around his kneeling form. The air seemed to hum with an invisible energy, and the moonlight cast an eerie glow over the scene.

“Stay back!” Cross growled, his voice strained and guttural. He looked up at her, and she gasped. Bloodied tears streamed down his face, carving crimson trails down his pale skin. His eyes, now impossibly red, burned with a feral intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

Noumenon hesitated, her mind racing. She remembered the last time she had seen him like this—the night he had lost control and nearly strangled her to death. The memory made her chest tighten, but something in her refused to leave him like this. He had saved her, after all. She couldn’t just abandon him now.

“Cross,” she said softly, taking another step closer. “What’s happening to you? Let me help.”

“Get away!” he roared, his voice echoing unnaturally in the still night. The sound was like a physical blow, making her flinch. “The voices... they’re too loud. They’re tearing through my head!”

She stopped, her hands trembling as she tried to think of what to do. The sight of him—so powerful, so unyielding—reduced to this state was almost too much to bear. She wanted to help, but she didn’t know how. The swirling debris around him grew more chaotic, the stones and leaves spinning faster as the energy in the air intensified.