"MAAAAAAX!" The boy, with the clothes hanging in shreds from his scrawny frame, crawls over the countless lifeless bodies strewn across the ground. The mist that only minutes ago obscured everything from view is slowly dissipating, revealing the aftermath of the battle. Groans fill the air. Some soldiers press charred limbs to their chests. Legs are broken. Blood everywhere.
The boy's chest looks bruised and battered and his back is marked with a chaotic web of scorch marks. His hair, usually slicked tightly back, is exploded in every direction. He resembles every cartoon character ever struck by lightning ever—because he has actually been struck by lightning. He's searching for someone, but with every moment that passes, his movements grow more desperate. Some bodies he just pushes aside, others he turns over completely to check their faces, but he finds nothing. “MAAAAAAAAAAAAAX!”
Apart from a few groans and moans from the wounded soldiers, his voice is the only sound breaking the deep, intense, and surreal silence that follows the chaos and destruction of the battle.
"She’s gone, Charles. She’s not here," whispers the girl, barely discernible against the dark square. "She’s really gone."
“No, no, no! She has to be here somewhere. She has to be. Maaaax!”
The ones still standing look around in utter confusion. How could a girl, completely surrounded one moment, vanish the next? At first, they were merely baffled, but when a tall man and a child—materialized out of nowhere and faded away at the exact spot where the girl had last been seen, the mood shifted to outright panic.
Everyone has turned to the wolf-man, who calmly tends to a deep flesh wound on his leg before pulling a blue overall over his naked body. Even now, clothed like a simple foot soldier, there can be no doubt about what he is: the undisputed leader. Straight, proud, and silent, he scans the battlefield before turning his eyes to the five wounded individuals in the middle of the circle that his soldiers have left open–two teachers and two students protecting an unconscious old woman and a man who has grown so large that he can no longer get up. His eyes briefly rest on each of them. Then he puts the whistle between his lips, takes a deep breath, and sounds a new signal. Gnat lifts his head for the first time, ready to sprint to his friends, Miss Bleach braces herself, Mister Kwant grumbles something indelibly under his breath, but Shadow already knows they have nothing to fear. And she’s right. All the soldiers turn, and march to the gate in organized lines. Only a small group of men and women, dressed in white uniforms with a red snake embroidered on their chests, enter the square to provide medical aid to the soldiers still lying on the ground. Scroptz is the first to be carried off through the gate, guarded by at least six soldiers. Something has undeniably changed.
The boy checks, increasingly desperate, the gurney’s being carried off, to make sure Max isn’t among them. Only after he has checked every last one of them, does he reluctantly wander back to the group in the middle, closer to tears than to anger. Shadow knows better than to say anything about it.
Although the Wolf-man now stands alone, facing five opponents, he shows no signs of worry or threat as he steps forward toward them. Shadows senses Kwant tensing his muscles. He is the first to speak.
“So Michael, here we are,” he grunts with his signature low insulting voice which seems exclusively designed to offend. The man in blue overall doesn’t take the bait. He just stands there and observes.
“So, Michael, here we are,” he grunts in his signature low, insulting voice, designed solely to offend, but the man in the blue overalls doesn’t rise to the bait; he simply observes in silence.
“You better stop this all silent-and-intriguing bullshit, Mickey. We're way past that. I’m not your cub. You’d better tell us what you’re thinking and what your plan is, now that you’ve fucked this up so majestically. Talk.”
The first audible reaction is a deep, throaty growl, only faintly resembling a human voice. But when Michael finally speaks, his voice is dark, warm, and unmistakably human. This voice is untouched by human deceit. This man is sincere and says what he means.
"Zebedeus, good morning. Yes, here we are. I too had imagined this day unfolding differently."
“Well,” grumbles Kwant, “you sure did your best to make it my last.” His eyes shift to the sky, which had glowed red in the early morning light only an hour ago, but now darkens rapidly as clouds gather with unnatural speed.
“So, are you going to say it, Mickey?” Shadow doesn’t know what he means, but she hears Michael’s teeth grind. Obviously, there’s an old feud between these two that she’s not aware of. She holds her breath, and then…
“Yes, I’m going to say it... You were right.”
“Exactly! I was right—and so were Suzanne, Williams, Antoinette, Kryn, and Marianne. We all were. This is where your military obedience has brought you.” Although he doesn’t raise his voice, every word is intended to wound. “If you had chosen our side, this night would have gone much differently. No fight, no wounded, and probably the Balance still intact.”
“As I said, you were right, Zebedeus. This disaster could and should have been prevented. No need to rub it in. Mastro is both our problem now. We have to look forward. What are we going to do?”
“Indeed,” growls Kwant. “Where’s the only person who can help us right now? Where’s Maxime Kwintens? And where’s Mastro? I’m sure we saw him pass moments ago with his daughter. She’s only six for christ sake.”
“I don’t believe we can do anything for her right now, Zebedeus. They are there—wherever that may be—and we are here. So, let’s concentrate on what we can do, although even that might prove to be too challenging.”
Now, his eyes also turn to the sky.
“There’s a storm coming. If all the predictions are worth anything, our downfall will be slow but unstoppable—and it will start here. You know the protocols better than I do, Zebedeus, but before we do anything, I need to know... are we cool?”
Shadow looks up in surprise. “Cool” is not exactly a word she expected from this rigid man. She glances at Kwant. Tiles beneath his feet start to crack. The result of years of disagreements and clashing personalities. He curses under his breath, looks back at the sky, where the first drops of rain begin to fall and then finally sighs. “Yes, we are cool, cool enough.”
“Okay let’s do this then. It’s your call.”
The man carved out of marble, answers right away. “Protocol 23-B. It’s our only chance.”
“Yes,” agrees Michael. “And try to find Williams.” And after a short silence. “I wish I could help, but I have something else to do.” Kwant looks up as though bitten by a snake.
“This is no time to joke around, Mickey. If you—” The Wolf-man raises his hand, and for once, Kwant stops talking.
“You know I never joke, Zebedeus, but I have to find Max’s parents. It’s of utmost importance that they don’t fall into his hands. It would give him too much leverage over her if they did.”
Kwant nods slowly as the truth of Michael’s words sinks in. “Go,” he grumbles finally, and immediately turns to the small group of wounded misfits behind him, not giving him another glance.
“Suzanne,” he says to the frail woman with a ruined hair bun, “we have to go. You know where.” She nods. Shadow is already on her feet, but Gnat looks around in utter panic.
“No, we can’t. Not without Max. We have to—”
“She’s not here, kid, and if you stay five minutes longer, you won’t be able to do anything for her ever again.” Kwant sounds almost compassionate, while he starts heading toward the gate, with the old woman in his arms and the journalist leaning heavily on his shoulder. Miss Bleach, Shadow, and Gnat follow him.
On the other side of the square, a giant wolf leaps effortlessly over the fence and sprints away between the houses.