Witch Hunter Robin Fan Fiction ❯ Witch Hunter Robin Resolution of a Half-ling ❯ Generation Curse ( Chapter 5 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Chapter 5 - Generation Curse
Blowing out lavender blue smoke, Nagira turned around and saw Amon, on a sofa, slumped, staring out in space at the grayish white ceiling. Expressionless. A face that Nagira personally found it distasteful.
“Any answers?” He grunted. “You haven't said a single word since then.”
“Out of options, huh?” He inhaled. “Helpful, aren't they? Guess not everyone is cut out to be what they should be. Not that they lack capability, it's the matter whether they have the initiative to do it. Like my mother.” More smoky wisps escaped through his nostrils. “She left Dad because she wasn't ready to be a mother. Defeats the purpose of coupling like normal matrimonial people do. Broke his heart real bad. Heading rock bottom till your mother came along. She was the only one who could make him smile, including me. Guess that explained why I'm against organizations like Solomon. When you and her were taken away, he was devastated and drowned his sorrows to six feet under.”
“To cut to the point.” The cigarette butt sizzled onto an ashtray. “Instead of sucking in your woes to yourself, why don't you talk it out with Robin, okay? She's part of that curse jazz and the least you should do is to patch things up with her after that little spat. That started the whole mess, didn't it? After all, that face tells me that you are planning to die. The most you will die without leaving Robin heartbroken. That's the very gentlemanly least you could do.”
Silence. Again.
“Ah! This STN-J place is unbearably stuffy!” He headed for the door. “Fresh air is good for the lungs.” Turning around, he saw Robin a split second before his mind could fully register her presence. He nearly jumped but succeeded in controlling his motions. She was an airy shadow, materializing from nowhere. A skill that he often ponder if it came along with her witch heritage.
“Is Amon…”
“Yeah, he's inside.” He crudely replied, retreating. “Go and drill some sense into his thick skull.”
Soundlessly, she entered. Her mouth opened to speak but she held back.
“Please ignore him,” said Amon quietly. “He's like that when he feels helpless.”
“He's not the only one,” she replied softly.
“Robin,” He saw her eyes. Those plain quiet eyes. A look that he recognized. He might felt better if she had yelled at him.
“I'm sorry.”
Her lips parted.
“I shouldn't have said such hurtful things that day,” He hastily went on. “I shouldn't vent my frustration on you. It's just that… I'm… I'm…” His tongue grew heavier. The word stuck in his throat. He hated that word. It made him weak. Vulnerable. He did not like that. Not in front of the woman he loved.
“Afraid.” The word vomited from his lips. “Afraid that this might be happening like it did seven years ago. Yes, Robin.” His eyes lacked the strength to look at her. “Two people were almost killed back then. I was sentenced to death but Father Juliano prevented that and raised me. And now, history is going to repeat itself...” His feet could not find their ground. The floor was tilting.
Robin moved towards him, arms stretching out. Her pillar was crumbling. Breaking down. Breaking down. She had to catch him, salvage any piece of strength left in him. “We can't give up now.” She heard herself say, a tone louder than she normally used. “We still have time…” She buried her face in the arch of his neck. “I won't let you die… Withdrawing, she cupped his face with her hands. It was difficult to shape out the linings with her moist eyes. “Not while I'm alive,” she said passionately, a fury incomparable to Hades' fire.
She pressed her lips onto his. Take it, Amon. She begged. Take my strength. Take my Craft. Take my life. Suck me into your body.
In return, give me your fear. Let it be mine.
Leaping onto the top of the metal crate, Rashib `Carr' Hartmann examined his pathetic supporters groveling at his feet. Nothing can escape from the observant eyes of the occult underworld. Those who survived long enough knew that the Hartmann were renowned for eliminating witch hunters, more specifically those from Solomon. Rashib could tell that there was no need any wishy-washy speeches. That worm Bain did his job well. Too well for his liking. It didn't take long for the witches to notice his presence and voices died down almost immediately.
“Friends. Countrymen. Lend me your ears,” he smiled mockingly. A roar of laughter. “For the past years, we have been hunting down those who hunted us for sport. Have we all not had our revenge one way or another? Have we all not tasted the satisfaction of annihilating those so-called elite witch hunters?” Their heated frenzy was a warm delight to the atmosphere. Patiently, he waited for them to cease.
“Today is a joyous occasion for all.” He spread his arms as if he was about to fly. “Can anyone tell me the name of our most favourite hunter? Yes? Anyone? I'll give you a clue. It starts with an `A'.” His smile grew wider and wider. “Come on.” His eyes rolled scornfully. “Don't tell me you have forgotten him already?”
“Fine. More clues for you sorry lot. His mother is a witch. The Catholic bastards at Solomon adopt him. He hunts us down like dogs. US! His own kinsmen?”
The crowd began to heat up again.
“YES! CAN YOU TELL ME WHO?” His voice rose even louder. “IT'S AMON!”
Exclamations of joyous rage vibrated in the air.
“REJOICE!” He waved his arms up and down, sideways. “He is very much alive and at very vulnerable state.” His index finger shot out like a dagger. “This is the time for us to act now. VICTORY IS OURS TONIGHT!”
With eyes closed, Amon's fingers automatically stroked between the locks of Robin's hair, memorizing very length of each strand. Till today, he never fully realized the depth of her love for him. To hide themselves from Solomon, they faked their identities. A married couple, said the documents, and yet the lives they spent together for the last few years were very much real. Too real that Amon was afraid that it was all a dream, or worst, a nightmare to torment him of a possibility. A possibility that he never anticipated. And he was dim-witted to apprehend the bond between them.
“Robin,” He murmured. Even though she was lying on his chest, he knew that she was awake. “Why is it that a smart woman like you is with someone like me?”
“I don't know,” she replied after a while. “But I rather have you than someone else.”
“Me? A boring, unromantic old man?”
“Old?” Robin pushed herself up, leaning upon her palms. “You are not that old!”
“I am old.” He opened his eyes just in time to see Robin giggling. “An ancient fossil. Guys like me should retire in some uninhabited island and grow pot bellies.”
“Don't you dare, Amon!” She pouted and then, gave a quick kiss on his lips. “As your `wife', I forbid it.”
“Wife, huh?” He pulled her closer. “Okay, let's get married.”
“Marry? You? Now?” She tried to break free away but Amon held her tightly.
“Why not? We aren't officially married.”
“That's… true.” The hold on her gradually disappeared. She sat up rigidly. “But can we?”
“After what we did and the times before that, I assume it's possible.” He reached out and grabbed her hands, kissing her forehead. “It's only proper that we get married. Be officially and legally recognized as my wife.”
“If we do that…”
“Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter at all. Well? What do you say?”
“It is rather sudden.”
A chill ran up her spine. Suddenly, she felt angry with herself. She wondered whether if an explanation was required. Amon was staring at her, waiting. Tossing her mane, she cocked her head. Words were wasteful creations, ferreting out unnecessary fears that circled in her mind. The answer was obvious. Damn Solomon. Damn STN-J and damn the curse. She sent him a message through her eyes.
Marry me.
With renewed passion, Amon kissed her, watching her as he lowered her onto her back. He made love to her again, matching her needs with his. Soundlessly, tenderly, submerged into the rhythm only known to them and oh, they had never felt this pure.
“Where's Robin?” Doijima asked, supporting her chin with her fist.
“With Amon,” Michael replied idly. “Nagira's out for a smoke.”
“With Amon, huh? What do you think they might be doing?”
“Nothing of your business.”
“Nosy-parker, aren't you?” Sakaki returned with a tray of drinks. “What's next for us?”
“No idea.” Michael spun around and reached out for his cup. “Hocus pocus is your specialty. I'm the computer geek. Speaking of which, aren't you supposed to hunt down that last warlock who ran away?”
“If I had psychic powers, I might,” Doijima retorted. “Maybe you should invent a nano chip that can be implanted under the human skin. Saves the trouble.”
“Planting tracking devices into humans were done before you were born, my dear. Witches… warlocks… won't make a difference.”
“Not everyone shares your opinion,” Sakaki commented. “Look at Amon. Half-warlock with a genetic curse. Don't think I want to have kids in this era.”
“A confined bachelor,” Doijima teased.
“Not kidding, this time. Having a bun in the oven is joyous occasion for normal people but Karasuma and me. No way. It's impossible.”
“Look at the system now and back then. When do mankind ever accept anomalies? How many people were killed just because mankind never takes the initiative to understand one another? Look at today. High-tech. Globalization. Yet, mankind is still doing the same thing as their processors. What improvements are we really making?”
“We will never know,” Michael whistled, returning to his comfort zone. The computer screen. “What the…”
“What?” Sakaki and Doijima echoed.
“Thought I saw something on the security cameras… There!” Michael pointed. “What did you see it?”
“No,” Doijima frowned.
“There!” Sakaki pointed, almost hitting Michael's chin. “There it is again!”
“Okay, I see them now!” Doijima half-sprinted to her drawer. Looking up, she saw Karasuma running out of her officer, unlocking her gun.
“Karasuma!” Sakaki shouted.
“No talking!” She hissed. “We've got company.”
At that moment, she sensed something coming their way. She spun, all ready to blast someone's head off. There was none. Calm down, she mentally said. Sakaki was by her side while Doijima remained at the back, impatiently waiting for Michael to finish activating the security codes.
“How did you know?” Sakaki whispered to her.
“I was talking to Nagira when his line got cut off. Besides, we haven't caught the warlock who nearly killed Amon. I figured out that they might pay us a visit.”
“They never have been this offensive before...”
“Don't you know that they have a place for celebrities like us?”
“You meant trophies.” His eyes locked on the main entrance. “Only question is do they prefer whole or parts?”
Almost ending his sentence, the main entrance creaked opened. A hard round object rolled in till it came to an intimidating stop.
Turning on the tap, Amon splashed icy water onto his face. What a day it had been. Robin was asleep on the sofa, naked, with his trench coat for a blanket. Fortunately, no one noticed their long absence. What was more horrifying was that the door was unlocked. Shuddering at the ill thoughts of them being caught red-handed, he splashed a few handfuls more. Rubbing his forehead, Amon laughed softly. A natural one, this time.
Flicking his hair back, he decided to wake her up. Barely making a step, an acute pain shot up in his chest. Holding the basin for support, he gasped.
No. He collapsed onto his knees, using his palms for support. Not again. Then, he remembered what Karasuma had said about sedating him. Whatever poison they were putting into him, its effects was wearing off.
Oh god, Robin!
Close the door. He forced his limbs to move. Close the door. A feeble protection. At least better than nothing. Grabbing the wooden edge, he pushed it forward, not thinking of the increasing pain. His cheeks touched the cold tiled floor, eyes not leaving the door until it reached its destination. He caught a glimpse of Robin moving. A wave of peaceful sleepiness overcame him.
When he awoke, he saw a fair lady sitting by the window frame, staring into the summer sunlight. Dressed in white with its proper laces and frills, she sat there, fingering her long dark locks. Amon frowned. Darting his eyes about, he came to realize that he was in some time era. Focusing onto the fair lady, he had this uncomfortable feeling that he had seen her before. Immediately, her dark eyes met his perplexed gaze. Amon gasped. Mother? There was no hint of recognition in her eyes except a deep sad longing.
At the same moment, a maid came in, announcing that her father requested her presence. Standing up robotically, she followed the maid. Amon did likewise, safely assuming that he was invisible. The fair maiden's father was not alone. Another man was there with him, whose presence made her shot a questioning look at her father.
Her father spoke and her face went deadly pale. The other gentlemen went up to her, held her hand and asked her consent for their happy reunion. She stood motionless, tears streaming down her powdered cheeks. Her father quickly answered in her place. The gentlemen, now fiancé, kissed her hand, obviously aware that her tears were not tears of happiness. Clumsily, her father dismissed her to discuss with his future son-in-law about the dowry.
Grateful for the opportunity to escape, she fled to her room, threw herself onto the bed and began weeping. Amon was right behind her, slightly ashamed at his helplessness. When she could no longer shed tears, she got up and put on a coat. Opening a jar, she took a handful of its contents and blew it across the floor, murmuring a spell. A wave of violet light swept from the right-handed side. Taking the maiden in its magical grasp, it transported her to a meadow which grass was green as jade and sky so blue and yet enchantingly transparent.
Amon turned and saw a young robust lad standing before him, dressed as nobly as the maiden's fiancé. She ran to him with fresh tears. Her lover trembled at the ill news, groaning at their wretched fate. He then spoke of eloping, to break away from the hideous traditions and beliefs. The maiden was appalled. Suicidal, she said. It was bad enough that people to mutter his family name with disgust. To do this would seal the end of his bloodline.
Putting his arm around her waist, he drew her to his heart while she rested upon his shoulders. Both were silent, not caring about a single thing. But their dreamlike state soon ended and the maiden returned with her lover's promise to rescue her from the doom that could destroy their happiness forever.
The scene changed into a majestic building that was in a great commotion. Servants bustled back and froth, carrying all sort of things while trying to serve the Master's guests the best their limbs could manage. Amon saw the maiden, whom now he believed to be his ancestor, surrounded by maids who were adding the finishing touches to her wedding grown. She remained her composure, seeing and hearing nothing save one thought - he's coming for her. He will. He will come.
Before she knew it, she was standing in front of the priest. He had turned to her with that daunting question. Faint with horror she was, even more when her lips spoke those irrevocable words. She could not believe herself but the thunderous applause proved to be very convincing evidence that her dreams were the dreams of a childish fantasy. The man whom she just married to, a person she did not or perhaps had yet to love, was real. Neither old nor ugly in every warlock aspect.
And he was no stranger.
An acute boom exploded at the entrance. She swiftly turned and saw splinters of the aged wooden door scattering over the guests. Some shrieked, shielding themselves. Her bouquet fell to the carpet. She spoke out his name. Her husband responded by shooting out an energy ball. Her lover evaded it and advanced to the altar at such speed that the husband was unable to avoid his aggressive attacks. Creating a dimension portal, he took her arm and about to enter when she pulled back, breaking free of his grasp.

“What are you doing?” Amon heard him cried. “You are free!”
“No!” She answered, moving away and towards her fallen husband. “You are too late. I am married. I belong to him now.”
“Nonsense! You were forced to!”
“No. The marriage vow was made,” she replied. Her husband was slowly getting up but conscious enough to hear her. “I waited for you till the last moment. You did not come. I will not disgrace myself.”
“Disgrace? I am here now!”
“But you are too late!” she nearly screamed. Without looking, she could see her father and kinsmen approaching closer. “Too late! Please go! Go and leave us alone!”
Distraught by her words, confused by emotions, he stood there as if he suddenly turned into stone. The dimension portal closed behind him. Within seconds, several strong male arms held him and dragged him outside. There, they stripped, beat and flogged him. Later, they took him to a barren tree where he was crucified and left to die.
Watching the blood bleeding profusely from his wounds, Amon saw him fading with each rise and fall of his chest. Above were the salvagers of the air, the vultures, waiting to assuage their hunger. For a belief moment, he wanted to release him. Then strangely enough, the lover lifted his head, his red-hot eyes gleaming into Amon's as if he knew he was standing there. With salty tears and blood, he began to chant. There was a chilling rage that it frosted Amon inside out, diminishing his strength. The surrounding began to revolve around him like a whirlpool. Covering his ears, he knelt down, touching the soil with his forehead.
Enough. He begged. No more. No more.
Then, he heard a long dying sigh, a long bitter sigh.
Then, silence.
Opening his eyes, he found himself back into his own world, right where he left it, if `left' was the right word. His legs felt numb when he got up. Somehow, the pain was gone. He did not know why but he was grateful for it. Incantations involving curses were tricky things. Taking in a deep breath, he stared at the ceiling. Families. Thankfully, Robin's was less complicated. Staring at the mirror, he said to himself.
“I don't suppose there was some polite appetizers to the main course.” He rubbed his neck. “Unhappy lover cursing the children of his love whom he felt had betrayed him. Wonderful. And some bloody scriptures once mentioned that sins of the parents should not be passed on the children. Great. Just great.”
A loud siren flooded his ears.
Great. Now what?