A Cold Cold Path

[Corporal Light]

It is astounding how the very course of history can change in just a few moments. So many periods of time have been influenced, for better and for worse, by the actions of a single man in just four or five seconds. Oftentimes, these four or five seconds would inevitably vilify or glorify the ones involved; it doesn’t matter who are the true good guys or bad guys. In the end, it’s all determined by what happens and how the people around you perceive your actions.

Ballad knew what would happen once he signed his name on that document. He had tainted his name, his reputation, everything; all for the sake of his mission. When people thought of Ballad, they would think of the man who associated himself with the Society of Supervillains. They would think of the green man who committed countless crimes across the Omniverse alongside these villains. They would vilify him.  They would make a monster out of his public image.

He was already used to that, though. He had already killed people, some of whom did not deserve his wrath. His reputation was already low; signing the document wouldn’t tank it much further. He was a villain. In the eyes of the world, he was a dirty villain.

But isn’t that what all the greatest heroes do? Wouldn’t the Knight in Shining Armor, who had rescued the princess and slayed the dragon, wouldn’t he lay down his sword when it was for the best? Wouldn’t a priest, knowing his followers were being led astray, sacrifice himself to the altar to prevent his God from unleashing his wrath on all whom had angered him? Isn’t a hero someone who fought for good? Someone who would never back down to evil, give in to the darkness, and always, always strove to do the right thing for all the right reasons?

He stared at the parchment, his name plastered at the bottom of the paper like a name engraved on a tombstone. His name looked out of place compared to all the others: Chara, Ascension, Scarecrow. His name, intermingled with the names of psychopaths and criminals. Just the thought made him want to burn the damn contract.

But, as with the greatest of heroes, he knew why he did it. There was no denying why he did it; any attempt to deny it would just be a delusion. In any other situation, he knew what he would do. Sadly, his options were limited severely; this was his only hope.

He was doing the right thing.

So why did it feel so wrong?

Just then, as he handed the paper back to Scarecrow, his new leader, he heard the most terrifying sound he had ever heard in his life: the sound of a Lyker. He had quickly pulled out his gun, forgetting the fact he was inside a cave, and turned towards the sound, ready to blow away the snow cat before it could get any closer.

You could imagine his surprise when he found not a Lyker, but a man. And not just a man, but a group of people, all unique in appearance and, evidently, mannerisms.

The first was all too obvious: the man with the guitar. With a “devil’s-horns” gesture displayed in one hand, and nightmarish music played on an electric guitar in the other, as well as greased up, slick black hair and shades to match, his visage screamed of a man with zero respect and zero fucks capable of being given. As well as a man whose primary advantage did not appear to be his intelligence, as bits of rock fell down from the atrium Ballad and his newfound allies stood in. His muscles grew tense; the cave rumbled slightly. He did not want to push the structural integrity of the cave any farther than needed.

The second person of the group was easily the smallest, about as tall as Chara herself. It was an orange, square robot with a circular, glowing eye in the middle of what he could only assume was its forehead. It rolled up to the front of the group, an unusual looking pistol in its hand. As the man strummed his stupid guitar, the robot babbled away with it, a high-pitched voice piercing the very heavens. He squinted his eyes at the robot, gritting his teeth.

The third person was far too similar looking to Koal to not pay attention to. A black shirt that looked way too big for her, and jet black hair that easily covered her face. Perhaps what was most noticeable about her, however, was the rifle in her hands. It was hard to tell exactly what it was made of, but it looked like a long piece of metal. Sort of like the red-hooded teen’s crutch laser shooter thing. Did it also fire lasers?

If the group was friendly, which, given the circumstances, was incredibly unlikely, he would most definitely had wanted them to come closer just so he could see what the thing looked like. It seemed like that side of him never fully died, hadn’t it?

The fourth and final member of the group the man had brought held another long piece of metal in her hands, though it seemed more hand-made, more reality based, than the black piece of shiny construction the other girl made. This girl’s most significant feature, aside from looking like a mental patient, was a robotic arm where a regular arm should have been. According to SPB, it was some form of limb replacement, which some people did when the damage to a particular limb was too strong. Judging from the fact she still had it, he could only make a guess that she had received that kind of injury way before she had ever entered the Omniverse.

The opposing group was varied, obviously; about as varied as the Society, when he gave it thought. Given they were all carrying weapons of some description, however, he only had one thought in his mind.

Friend? Or Foe?

His question was answered in the form of the 60s rock star greaser man tossing his guitar into the abyss below and walking up to them. Ballad kept his revolver trained on him, staring at him. He was NOT going to get ambushed this time.

“Name’s Kuzuru and these are my bandmates. We’re the Ashen Blades. We moonlight as bounty hunters-”

He already knew what was going to happen as soon as the words “bounty hunters” were said. He brought a hand to his face. Again? Were bounty hunters STILL coming after him?! How long had it been? A few weeks? Maybe a month? Couldn’t people just leave him the fuck alone for just a few seconds of his time? Besides, why did people want to go after HIM specifically? Had they seriously not learned their lesson? Or were they just too bloodthirsty and stupid and-

“I’ve come to slay you murderer.”

Oh.

He lowered his hand, his eyes wide with shock. That voice was far too familiar for him to forget. Agern, the son of a bitch. The same Agern that got him the Camelot bounty to begin with. The same Agern that pursued him for his bounty. The same Agern that had sent Immy to him as part of his plan to kill him.

He felt smoke start rising from underneath his clothes, puffs of it flowing from his coat sleeves. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his wardrum of a heartbeat down and his finger off the trigger for the moment. He half expected SPB to open his mouth, saying some clever, diplomatic phrase so as to lessen the tension.

Nothing. The shade was silent.

His eyes flickered white as he whispered to himself.

SPB. What the fuck am I looking at here?

Yellow eyes.

He reformed…..

I didn't notice. WHY?!

For once, I cannot answer.

He was about to answer SPB’s lack of answering when Kuzuru spoke again, silencing him entirely.

“What kind of douchebag goes around throwing bombs into innocent crowds? Hmmm Ballad? Just what kind of man are you?”

He did not reply. Instead, he looked around, taking a few moments to gauge the reactions on everyone else’s face. He thought he saw a look of outright disgust on the girl’s, the one with the black rifle, face, as well as a similar look on Koal’s. Everyone was doing the same thing; all eyes were on him. Due to that, they could all see his own eyes. Instead of the glowing, intense lights that were visible in any darkness, they were dimmed, as if they were lanterns running off of low fuel. What kind of man was he indeed. What kind of man ran around, killing people, treated others like shit, and expected loyalty from all who interacted with him?

The one who cares, he answered to himself. That was the answer. He cared. He took no pleasure in killing. He took no enjoyment out of widowing a wife, out of orphaning a child, out of ruining people’s lives. What perhaps made it worse, though, was that most of the deaths he had caused were accidents. The bomb was an accident; they were not meant for the innocent. All he had tried to do was kill one bandit, and he had paid the price for his impulsiveness.

Just like before, because of him and the things he made, people were buried in the ground, and the world was far worse off than it was before. A cycle of violence and death that never seemed to stop. No matter how hard he tried, he could never get it to stop.

The only way to stop it is to ensure it never started. The only way to stop violence was to be so violent that no one would be violent out of fear of being violent, thus stopping the cycle in its tracks. That was how peace functioned; a society where unrest and disputes were at their lowest was a society where peace was most prosperous. He could not let his past failures stop him from completing that goal now. Yes, innocents had died. But it was all in the past. He was never going to be satisfied with himself until he was finished. Until peace had finally been restored.

So, with a heavy sigh, and a hardening of his heart, he turned back towards Kuzuru. The greaser was staring at him, a cocky smirk on his face. He allowed SPB to take over.

“A very good question, o Kuzuru, a very good question indeed,” he said, the greaser and his buddies’ eyes widening in the sudden change in his voice, “to which I shall respond with another: what kind of man are YOU?”

“I don’t think you are in a position to be asking questions, Ballad,” said Kuzuru, Agern’s voice sounding out from his mouth.

“On the contrary, Agern, I am. In case you cannot recall, Ballad slayed all forty members of your band singlehandedly. I am of the belief he is more than capable of fighting just four of you.”

He continued to speak, sounding as polite as could be despite the content of his words, “Especially when said four look less like bounty hunters, and more like an incompetently organized camarilla. Allow me to estimate as to why you are here, hmm?”

Before any of them could say anything, he stepped towards them, lowering his weapon for a brief moment. He pointed towards Gaige, who regarded him with an eyeroll as he looked her over.

“You. You’re here for the same reason mister Kuzuru is here, correct?” he said, gesturing towards Kuzuru, “you desire my criminal recompense?”

Before she could reply, he held up a hand, continuing.

“Of course. You’re bounty hunters; you slaughter for money. A criminal business in and of itself. But that’s not the only reason, is it?” he said, glaring at the rock’n’roll greaser, venom in his every word, “no self-respecting bounty hunter would announce his presence by almost killing himself and his whole party by playing that instrument in a cavern system. That makes me wonder about your priorities surrounding death. The thrill of danger… that drives your adrenaline, does it not?”

Again, before a reply could be formed, he had moved on to the next person: the girl wearing the beanie. He was on a roll, and it was clear he would not be stopped unless someone forced him to stop. The other members of the SoSV merely stood back, watching with varying amounts of interest.

He stood, arms crossed, in front of Dawn, speaking in a low volume towards her after a brief moment of staring and of obvious contemplation.

“You. You hold disdain for me, don’t you?” he said, her blue eyes piercing his own. It was clear as to how she felt about him.

He sighed. “You probably want to murder me because of my actions. Well, in contrast to SOME other members of your posse,” he said, glancing towards Kuzuru as he opened his mouth to speak, “I have not made attempts to mislead you. Those civilians I bombarded? I did not intend for that to occur. I was trying to kill one of my assassins, whom your FRIEND here had sent. If anyone is to be blamed for the event happening, it is him. What had happened was nothing short of a tragic accident. Do I deserve for what amounts to a mistake?”

And, finally, he stopped in front of the robot, whom was looking right up at him. Ballad did not say anything; honestly, there wasn’t much to get out of something that could not show emotion.

Without another word, he moved back into the atrium and away from the Ashen Blades, positioning himself in the middle of the semi-circle that had been formed by the Society of Supervillains.

“You cannot accuse me of evil, of misconduct, and of misdeeds when I have been one-hundred percent forthright, upfront, and honest about them while you stand there and hypocritically try to uphold an image of self-righteousness, of dealers of justice, when half of you only want to kill me for the money and for petty revenge. So I ask, members of the Ashen Blades, what KINDS of men are you? Because, to me, you all are no better than the petty criminal of a so-called ‘patriot’ that mister Kuzuru has locked away inside his body.”