Chapter Text
His mind wandered aimlessly for a fraction of a moment in the void. All the aches in his muscles. The hunger deep within his stomach. His parched throat. All vanished as he felt calm in the void. No rain, no death, no horror. Just nothing but emptiness. It was what his ears picked up that surprised him. Normally there would only be the silence of a gentle breeze, however, there was laughter? It was high pitched, and carefree. Was it himself but younger? Running in the breeze without a thought about anything in the world. But, there was a second voice joining in, a similar tone in voice. He wanted to open his eyes and see who was laughing, but they were sealed shut. The one time he wanted to peer into the void, and his eyes were forced to be closed. There was the thought in his mind that it could only be the same void as always, but that laughter. He knew who it belonged to, and that burned his desire to know.
Using all of his strength, he forcibly opened his eyes as best as he could. Though only managing a slit of vision, before feeling as if he would tear his eyelids out from the skin as he forced them open. For once, he saw something else other than darkness. There was sunlight, an endless field of green blades dancing in the wind, and a slight overcast sky. In the distance were two children, a girl with a green dress and short brunette hair, the other a little boy with a rugged shirt and pants that looked no older than five. Both gleefully giggling and prancing in the field. He reached out his hand, seeing the light skin and outline of sleeves. He opened his mouth but was surprised to hear nothing come out. But before he could get up, another figure was spotted further out. It was her.
Clothes and skin as bright as the stars above, she only stood there, watching the two children prance in the green field. Her lips muttering a word that permeated a surprising amount of force.
"Shut."
Both of his eyelids suddenly crashed down like the gates of an old fortress. His view of ethereal vision snuffed out. He wanted to open his mouth at the children, and at that Woman in white. With only two names echoing in his mind as he questioned what he saw.
Nora, Arthur?
Opening his eyes slowly, he felt the stone cold bricks on the palm of his hand, as he slowly bent upwards. Cyril straightened his posture before removing his gas mask and helmet. He felt a small bead of sweat trail down the side of his face. Why did they appear before him? Was this happening recently? Or was it something from the past as he was away in the war? He wanted to know what it was. Cyril contemplated asking this to Edward, but he though his response would amount to nothing or telling him not to think too hard about it. If he was here this time.
Before walking over to the workshop, he drank in the serenity of the Hunter's dream. No chlorine to grasp his lungs and hold it in a vice, no nightmares from his past coming to torment him, no technological marvels that have gone. The only fog here was the calming grey of peace and the fields of green and white. Incorruptible by the pollutants of war. Somewhere in his mind, he might've been unnerved with the towering pillars and the imposing chateau in the distance. But he had been used to the backdrop with each returning visit. The ambient sound of wind and leaves were apparent, so the old man had to be in the workshop.
He walked through the sea of green and white towards the modest building. His face and hair catching the cool wind, as Cyril half shut his eyes to soak it up. Through the serenity, he could see two figures through the fog, one tall and one short. Guess the old general would be here to see him this time unlike before. Brushing away the possibility of what he was doing in the chateau, Cyril composed himself and broke out of his lull of tranquility.
"Welcome home, good hunter." The calm voice of the Doll spoke up. Cyril acknowledged her with a soft smile and a nod before returning his neutral look at Edward.
The old general didn't face him at first, only doing so when the Doll spoke through the quiet air. He cracked his old bones and rotated his aged wheelchair to face him, denying the Doll assistance once more.
"I trust your travels have gone well, Cyril?"
Nodding as his answer he started to fish out the pocket of his uniform. The torn book, as well as various pages he had scavenged from the room.
"I recovered this in a library of sorts. I...saw something in it that I hope you would help me understand."
The old general reached out for it, grasping the damaged cover with his withered skin. Cyril thought that the two might as well be the same age given their decrepit nature. He opened the old book and started to skim through the parchment thrown in together. His features hidden beneath his beard and hat, Cyril hoped that Edward had an answer for him, otherwise the entire trip would be for nothing. The Doll however, moved closer to the old man, tilting her body to peer at the peculiar scribbles and language. The two soon began a series of back and forth where Edward would pass specific pages to the Doll, who in return would hold onto them gently as both stared at the book. This pattern went on for another minute before Edward closed the book, placing it on his lap before looking up.
“Did you remember anything from what you saw?”
He hesitated before answering. He was still reeling from his nightmarish encounter from the Hellhound, so his vision of what he peered at in the language and art was superfluous compared to a life and death situation, though he tried his best.
"Some sort of land where towers of stone touched a sky of ocean. There were shapes that resembled people, but I can't remember who or what they were. It just happened so fast." Cyril explained.
The Doll stared back at him with unflinching eyes, whilst Edward nodded slowly.
“Ah, I have heard of a place similar to your description years ago. A hunter found it, but I haven’t heard from him in over a decade. More than likely trapped there or he no longer dreams and has gone mad.”
So there were no lanterns there, that’s the only explanation that Cyril could think of. Or Edward was right and the hunter had truly gone mad. But that still doesn’t explain what or where it is. Was it below his feet since Hunter’s dream has towering pillars all around. No, the ones he saw were different, corrupted in a way that he couldn’t think possible for a piece of stone. A bead of sweat started to trail down his face as he started to think of possibilities, but he gently shook his head to break his whirling thoughts.
“What about the drawings?”
The Doll was the one to answer his question.
“The images seem…familiar.” She spoke softly before holding one of the pages. “The Dutch words, I can translate.”
“There’s a page with some sort of identifier for that esoteric language. I didn’t get the time to read it since I was trying to find more.”
Cyril was surprised that the Doll was fluent in more than one language, given the location the two occupied, he was surprised she knew it in the first place. Though he had to assume she learned it well before becoming a hunter.
“Follow the trail of tracks that lead to sites of war, that is where we gather.” She echoed the words from the foreign language before flipping to another piece of parchment. “The city where the conflict would originally end is our next meeting place.”
“Amiens." Edward whispered from his husked voice, before heaving out a loud cough.
Cyril had seen the name before on a map, but forgot where specifically it was.
"That was one of the pivotal battles two years ago. The Germans looked as though they were going to be defeated, but they pulled a miracle from under their boots. Not just there, all around the Western front they managed to push back to where the lines were drawn a year prior." The General explained.
"I know about these sort of metal drones. Was it because of them?"
"Oh no, that wasn't until October when the Copper drones were unveiled. Perhaps it was because they freed up their forces from the Eastern front in 1916 that they were able to innovate."
Cyril had heard about the suddenness of Russia leaving the war. But he had paid it no mind since they were facing turmoil on the front and at home. Perhaps the populace broke out in massive riots demanding their sons and fathers to return home, or they didn't have the material to continue fighting. Or the third option that Cyril dare not utter. "Is Amiens inhabited, or another ruin like Mons and Arras?"
"Possibly, since it was in the forefront of both sides. It saw extensive fighting, perhaps there are people holed up in it, sane or otherwise." Edward mused. "You have a high chance of potentially finding people to save, if you so choose to, unless they abandon the city. But I would count on finding more of those crazed soldiers you call them, perhaps more."
"Thank you for the warning." He was about to head to the gravestone before making a roundabout turn. "One more thing. I've been told about my arm having a number of...what was it, blood echoes?"
The Doll perked up and gently handed the pages over to Edward before walking towards Cyril. She removed his vambrace and started to caress his arm, he was shocked to see the numbers appear on his skin. His vision started to haze as he could see the digits form one by one. The feeling sent a shiver behind him before the Doll let go from her Porcelain grip. He didn't like the idea of being touched like that, it unnerved him.
"My apologies, hunter. I needed to be sure what you said was true."
"It's fine, just try not to do that again." Cyril said whilst rolling down his sleeve. The doll nodded in affirmation. "I met with another of your hunters that left. Phillipe who told me about it."
"Ah the entrepreneur. I figured you would learn eventually." Edward spoke up
Cyril ignored him and focused his attention on the Doll.
“These are used to improve one’s endurance, vitality and more. The more you improve however, the higher amount of blood echoes are needed. You’ll receive them after defeating anyone you fight.” she elaborated.
Cyril nodded as he returned the vambrace to its proper place. “How will this work though?” as he thought of what to do with this mythic currency within him.
“You must stand close to me, and close your eyes. Reach your hand out and I will do the rest”
It all sounded strange to him, he hadn’t expected the Doll to ever be this…talented was the word? He had assumed that she was just a peculiar companion to the General, but there was more to her than meets the eye. Where or how she came into contact with Edward, Cyril would never know. He hesitated for a moment, before following the Doll’s instructions. Eyes sliding down as his vision turned to black, only alone with his thoughts and the sound of the leaves rustling in the ghostly winds.
Though another sound pierced above all the others. An ethereal but calming chime that repeated every few seconds. Cyril concentrated on what he wanted to improve as the sound was the only thing he could listen to. Only when he opened his eyes did the sound end, and the normal ambience of the Hunter’s dream returned. A faint light was dimmed further from the Doll’s hands before Cyril could get a good look at it. He hadn’t felt any different, only thinking of one word and that was the first thing that the Doll said could be improved ‘endurance’. The Doll faced him and nodded once before returning to Edward’s side. Cyril tilted his head to follow her movement before turning his attention to the withered old man.
“I’ll be off. Do you think you can be able to translate the other language while I’m away?”
The General nodded and gave a faint smile through his raggedy beard.
“Of course, though it might take some time, a lot of the letters appear to not have a direct counterpart.”
“Anything is better than nothing. Thank you general.” he replied.
Before Cyril turned to leave, he gave one last look to the Doll’s emotionless face before returning towards the gravestones. Hoping that their deciphering will help speed up his mission.
In this time of turmoil and chaos, his closest allies were the strangest of people he had little idea of who they were. He wanted to learn more of them, especially on why Edward goes to the chateau, but now wouldn’t be a good time to query. Thankfully the Doll was good at keeping secrets and trusting him. Though that confrontation will have to come at another time, for now though, Cyril outstretched his arm towards the stone slab, closing his eyes and letting the black void overtake his vision.
He awoke in the ghostly compartment of the train. The faint bluish-white flames of light dotting the walls gave him an admittedly unsettling feeling. However, Cyril brushed it away, he was in good company. His face was still revealed, not choosing to don it before leaving. He decided to keep it off for once, at least until he reached Amiens. The train was still, no uneven bumps on the tracks and no sound of wheels making their rhythmic sounds. Had Cyril not learned about the lantern in this train, he would've spent a long time retracing his steps to the train, but Phillipe was so gracious enough to show him this one to save on time and energy.
He opened the train door to allow access into the passenger compartment. The cool air hissing away to the gentle warmth of the amber hued room. Phillipe was hunching on one of the couches with a mug of what Cyril assumed was either tea or coffee given the color. Opposite was Rosie who sat cross-legged sipping on an identical mug but with water. Hearing the noise the two turned their attention to Cyril. Phillipe straightened up from his impatient posture, whilst Rosie's eyes glistened. Running over and shouting his name in her broken English, as she left to hug him
"Hey kid, good to see you again." He said letting off a big grin, something he hasn't done in a long time. "Though I wasn't gone for long."
"Took forever." She replied as Cyril gently placed her down. He ruffled her hair a bit before focusing his attention on the conductor.
"Has anything happened while I was away?"
"Other than the odd Copper drone roaming around. We didn't have any trouble on this front. What about you? Did you find what you were looking for?" Phillipe inquired.
Not exactly, Cyril thought to himself. Only more questions that needed answering. Though with a new destination it wasn't fruitless, so there was that.
"It's not what I was looking for, but close enough. A collection of pages that point somewhere else. Amiens."
Phillipe crossed his arms and placed a hand on the chin before responding. “I’ve been there a few times, there’s a small group of people holed up there, but last time I visited them, they were getting ready to move locations.”
“So there are people there?”
“Yes, I counted around twenty last I remembered. However, that was several months ago. Not sure how many there are currently.” He said, shrugging his shoulders. “What are you trying to find in Amiens?”
Cyril wasn’t quite sure on how to begin his search. His only clue was a vague hint and that didn’t offer much outside of a general city location thanks to Edward. He could spend hours combing through the buildings for any hint of occult like activity. Though the fact the words had Dutch on them might help narrow down who the people are. Though finding a Dutch psychopath in the middle of all that chaos would prove to be a challenge. One he was not looking forward to.
“I’m not sure myself, Phillipe. Though, every little detail I find, I feel like I get closer to uncovering the full answer.” Cyril responded.
“Well it’s going to be a long while before we reach there. Might want to take this chance to relax.”
He nodded, and watched the conductor leave the cabin towards the front of the train to get the locomotive started. Cyril sat down on the luxurious seats and began to sink into their soft frame. If only these were light enough for him to carry, then he would have an easier time sleeping far from the glow of a lantern. He could see Rosie walking up to him and shuffling his arm to get his attention.
“You found?”
“Found what?” Cyril asked, straightening up.
“Found scary things?” She replied.
An image of that damnable beast jolted in his mind only for a split second, his eyes locked at the window before returning his attention to Rosie. “Yes I have, something’s are best left, never seen or spoken about.”
She didn’t push any further, realizing that he didn’t want to relive those moments again, despite happening so recently. Cyril only patted her head twice before returning a smile “Better I see that than you.”
Rosie nodded with her doughy eyes and returned to her seat and sat cross legged. Retrieving her mug and drinking from it again. Cyril placed his helmet and gas mask on the other end of the couch before moving back into the soft appliance. Telling her that he was going to get some sleep, and to try and make as little noise as possible. Rosie bobbed her head up and down in affirmation, giving Cyril the chance to shut his eyes and get some real sleep. Though the lanterns may leave him with plenty of rest, he wanted to try and remove himself from that encounter away from the void. Letting it slither back into the crevasse of his mind, as his thoughts drifted quietly.
A thump awoke him from his trance and Cyril groggily shook his eyes. Readjusting them to the amber lights and the ambience of the train wheels meeting the steel tracks. Rosie was staring out of the windows looking at the landscape with an odd sense of wonder. Cracking his arms to stiffen them out, he began to stretch as he stood up from his spot. Rosie turned from her gawking and pointed at something out there.
Cyril moved forwards to peer out the window, a whole host of buildings greeted his vision. Though unlike before, through the horizon, it stretched farther out than Mons and even Arras. A veritable maze of civilization. Though he couldn’t see all of it, from what he had to guess, Cyril assumed it was a little over eight o’clock. The sky around was a blur of black and blue colors intermixed together with the moon providing some illumination, though it was slightly hindered from the clouds blocking it. The sound of wheels grinding slowly to a halt, as well as a door sealing shut broke, Cyril from his gaze. He turned to see the aged conductor walk into the room.
“We’re as close as I’m able to get to the city. The area is a bit risky since there’s a little war going on between two groups of equally psychotic soldiers. No different than the ones you’ve fought.”
“Just regular crazed soldiers or some of the more…special individuals?” Cyril queried.
“There’s quite a bit of those big ones, the Copper drones, lots of animals scavenging the dead as well. Though from what one of the people who has survived here told me, they only fight for a couple of hours before going quiet for the rest of the day. Seems like we’re lucky now.”
Cyril could only hope he was right, lest he march straight into the middle of a warzone. Though given his experience he should be used to it, but not when both sides have an equal hatred of you. He heard the conductor begin to speak French with Rosie who was shaking her head up and down, understanding the probable dangers of Amiens. Though even if she wanted to go with him, Cyril wouldn’t allow her to just wander out in the likelihood of getting shot by an unseen marksman.
He had seen it happen several times. An idiot would peer too high up from the parapet, taking a look out of the cratered landscape that never changes, only to have a bullet lodged firmly in bone and brain as he had seen many fall prey to the baleful eyes of the sharpshooter.
As soon as Phillipe was done speaking to Rosie, Cyril knelt down and looked at Rosie on her level.
“Like before, just stay here with the conductor. I’ll be back soon.”
“Stay here, yes.” She nodded in affirmation before returning to her seat. Cyril was thankful that she wasn’t the type to disregard an instruction. She had enough common sense for her own safety. Walking near the exit of the train cabin he turned to look at Phillipe.
“Keep her safe. If you need to, you can move the train further out of the city if things get noisy.”
“Not to worry, I’ve handled these folk before, and they’d be foolish to get anywhere near here.”
Cyril nodded with a soft smile before donning his gas mask once more. Sliding open the train cabin door, he leapt onto the ground and began his trek into the battle scarred city. Hearing the door slide shut with a sudden force, until all around was the cold echo of the wind. The moon gave off its ghostly white glow as it pierced through the night clouds, giving him plenty of illumination. Taking in a deep breath through his mask, he exhaled once before marching forward into the next battlefield.
All around was rubble strewn roads and buildings reduced to brick piles, much like Arras and Mons with the outskirts receiving the worst of the artillery bombardment as opposed to the core of the city. Though that never meant the interior was safe, plenty of shells appeared to make their mark on dozens of buildings in the heart of Amiens. From simple holes in roofs, to entire floors being demolished, nothing was safe.
All that could be heard was the eerie silence of the evening wind massaging his clothes and hands. No other sounds of ambience like animals, or at least the ones that weren’t deformed and out for blood. Not even the faintest hint of a mouse scurrying for a crumb of food. Though at this point, Cyril would gladly take the sight of a mouse or rat over the crows and horses. Even with what he has been told about the city, he had a suspicion that both of those animals would be roaming around. Maybe not in the outskirts, but to where all the fighting is happening.
Maybe only appearing after those two sides that Phillipe mentioned have ceased fire and gone to regroup, the scavengers would clean up the mess left behind. Cyril didn’t even entertain the idea of imagining it, no sense in thinking about it when he was probably going to see it. He only focused on his long walk.
Reaching the edges of the quiet civilization, Cyril breathed a sigh of relief as he was glad to be out of the outlying buildings. Nothing of use was found out there, aside from a prodding crow that thought it was smart enough to make Cyril its next meal. So one of the two beasts he theorized was her turned out to be true. Can he go for two? He chuckled to himself at making it a game for thinking what could be found in the next destination. Though anything to get him to smile was something he needed to distract himself from the gloomy disposition the war had brought onto many.
The robust architecture became more apparent as he entered the city. There were more details on the walls and window edges to even the roofs. Whereas the exterior of Amiens buildings were small and purpose built. These ones had style, even in their ruined state. Cyril could only imagine what the city would look like when it was bustling with people. Milling about and going about their everyday life. He assumed most of the men went off to join the French army, whereas the women, children, and those who were unable to fight, evacuated as the war dragged on. Perhaps a few defiantly stood their ground and never left their home as the war came to their doorstep. But the chance of survival was near zero.
Though Edward and Phillipe's words that people were holding out here instilled hope in Cyril. Perhaps they could help him out in his search for the Dutch author of the book he found. Or he could be hiding among them. But if that was the case he had to assume the entire group of survivors were cultists of a sort. Praying that wasn't the case, he continued his roaming throughout the quiet streets.
Cyril gripped his weapons closely, and held his index finger on the trigger of the MK VI revolver. Ready to spring his left arm to fire, like a mechanized gadget at the first sign of danger. Though much like the outskirts, the city itself was deadly quiet. Only his footsteps on the brick road and the haunting rasps from his gas mask filled the auditory void that the city had left.
He walked down the streets with rows of buildings walled on either side, giving him the same labyrinthian appearance of Arras. But these were larger in comparison to the smaller French city. He truly felt like he was trapped in a modern maze. Cyril continued down the winding curve the path had laid out for him, glancing at the various shops and signs advertising businesses dormant from the war. There wasn't a single window that wasn't cracked or fully broken, with the displays and interiors of the building appearing to have been ransacked. More than likely by the crazed individuals inhabiting this city.
"Couldn't hurt to look through one." Cyril spoke to himself as he entered a beige colored building.
Gently moving the door aside as it made an unpleasant creaking with the swing. He was greeted with only silence as a response. The living room was a mess of torn and broken furniture. A few bullet holes and blood marked the place which meant there must've been a skirmish here a few days ago perhaps. Shuffling through the refuse Cyril looked for anything of note but all that remained was junk. He soon tried his luck in the kitchen but the pantry had been emptied. Maybe upstairs will prove better?
The steps to the second floor proved to be quieter than the door that led him inside, at least he didn't have to run from falling panels like last time. A trail of dried blood lined the wall on the way up, in the form of a hand, he paid no mind to it as he reached the second floor. Only two rooms, one ahead, and one behind. Cyril opted to take the ladder option and see what was behind him. Opening the rotting door, he saw only a simple bedroom. The desk was crushed by the support beams of the building, whilst the chest at the foot of the bed was looted.
His eyes, however, focused on the broken window overlooking the city. A wide expanse stretching for what seemed like kilometers in the darkness. The faint light of the moon gave the town an eerie sense of dread. But past all that, a bright beacon that drew Cyril's eyes away from the moon and buildings below. A grand cathedral with twin spires jutting up to pierce the heavens with an architecture that looked older than the city itself, with arches and statues dotting the walls with beautiful craftsmanship. Even with the little visibility he could see, the moonlight beaming on the stone.
Though Cyril remembered his last encounter near a cathedral. Perhaps one of those warring factions is using it as a command post. Whatever it may be, checking it out might be better than wandering about the streets. Turning from the window he made his way back to the stairs, only to hear a sudden noise from one of the rooms.
Tensing up like a spring, Cyril aimed his revolver towards the shut door. Taking one step before the door swung open by force, a snarling dog sprung out of the trapped room and attempted to pounce at him. Cyril let out a single shot which caused the canine to stumble its leap, and landed with as much grace as a dying crow. He might’ve aimed for the head had he not been startled by the dog that was upon him
The guard dog was quick on its feet however and ran back towards Cyril, only to be driven back by a swing from the shovel. It missed the beast by a meter, but the dog retaliated with jaws open to clamp down. Cyril however returned with another swing, this time the strike connecting between the rabid beast's jaw hinge, there was no cry of pain as the creature fell to the wood floor with a thud. Its lower mouth barely hung onto the rest of the skull.
Cyril began to ease his breath as the canine was slain. Making his way down the stairs of the house and out of the building. Exiting the derelict structure, he returned to the empty street and wondered what else was going to pop out and attack him. Though all that greeted him was darkness and silence. He soon began his solitary march down the road.
His journey soon took him to a demolished part of the city. For every one or two intact buildings, there were five or seven buildings with either the upper sections destroyed, or the entire structure reduced to bricks. As he continued to walk, Cyril could see several corpses littering the streets. All of whom had the signature scarred skin and tattered clothes of the crazed soldiers. Perhaps the two factions that fought here didn’t care enough to bury their dead. Though Cyril could understand why, no sense sacrificing themselves for a dead body. There were more defensive posts like sandbags and a derelict machine gun, he was surprised none of the crazed soldiers took it with them. Though what did he expect from a bunch of frothing lunatics.
However, as Cyril turned to face the rubble stricken buildings ahead, he was surprised to see a faint flicker of amber light in the distance. Squinting his eyes, he could tell from the narrow frame that it was a lamp post that was somehow still functional after all of this devastation. Still defiant in illuminating the night. Arras and Mons had no sign of power, so he had to assume a majority of the places affected by the nightmarish foe had the same luck. Though maybe he’d be proven wrong at some point, for now it wasn’t his primary concern. Out of the corner of his eye, Cyril could spot a shadowy figure moving away from the lamp post and into the alleyways.
He gripped his barbed shovel tightly and walked forward, fully expecting to be ambushed the moment he turned the narrow passage. Though all he saw was nothing. Only a few wooden barrels and a broken wheel. He made his way forwards, returning to the radius of the flickering lamp.
Suddenly, he heard more movement, as the sound of several bricks being toppled over caused Cyril to turn the opposite direction, only to find nothing. Before hearing sounds from behind again, twitching his head he turned to raise his revolver. The only illumination was from the broken lamp and the moon above, but even then it was difficult to see any figures in the blackened sky. Standing still for several seconds, waiting for any shred of noise to sound off. How many were there? Five? Ten? Twenty? He couldn’t tell if it was malformed animals or crazed soldiers, but he would have to assume it was the ladder.
What felt like a lifetime passed and when nothing alerted him, he decided to take his chances and bolt down the direction he was heading. Anticipating an entire army would follow him at his escape. Only to be greeted with the eerie silence as before. Cyril slowed down his pace until he knew he was far away from that lamp. coming to a complete stop to calm himself. Looking up at the sky he could see the gothic architecture of the cathedral close by. His destination would soon be reached, and hopefully he would find safety in it.
Continuing on down the streets he was nearing the grand monument. Passing through a destroyed French tank, and roads that gave him more options to explore the city, some were covered with mounds of detritus and scraps of metal, whereas others were unhindered by debris. Though Cyril didn’t pay attention to the alternate pathways and headed straight forwards. Soon breaking into a sprint as the build drew closer. Stopping only twenty meters from the cathedral to notice peculiar additions to its frame.
Wooden barricades covered the lower windows, barbed wire emplacements littered around the perimeter as if it was a moat of razor sharp metal. Walls of sandbags covered parts of the walls of the building, in what he assumed was to give the holy building extra protection from the bombardments. There were several bodies strewn in the wire. Crouching down, Cyril could see they were crazed soldiers, their glossy eyes still hung open even in death.
However, in the first time he stepped through this city, a loud shot reverberated through the air and impacted the stone road. Narrowly missing him by a few centimeters. He was taken aback from the sudden surprise and soon stammered his way back up and was turning the other way he came, heading for the nearest cover he could as another shot rang out. This one a total miss as the bullet flung wildly at his right. Though before a third shot could scream out for him, Cyril heard someone shout through the gunfire.
“Jesus Christ Otto! That’s not one of those madmen, stop firing!”
Cyril could tell the accent from the man’s voice. He had served with several folks who were from London, but this one spoke like he was an officer. Even with the silence of the rifle, Cyril was tense and ready to attack at the slightest sign of trickery. He still stood in the open and was surprised to see a man in a British officer’s outfit open the heavy doors of the cathedral. His face adorned with a fancy moustache dark as the night sky, and his uniform adorned with a small shoulder cape. With the officer finishing on his heaving, he turned to face him and looked at the young man with confusion.
“You gonna stand out there, or are you waiting for Christmas? Get inside.”
Cyril obliged the man’s invitation, relaxing his shoulders and walking towards the sanctuary of the cathedral.