2026-03-25 20:19 - 20:21 PST
Written by the Storyteller
He hurls the body of another leech into a dumpster. He’s saved a girl from a mugging and a trip to the hospital. Meanwhile, more leeches are sending more girls to hospitals this evening. His duty never ends.
He walks the city, wounded and scorned. Without purpose, without direction. He can bathe the city in the blood of those who wronged him, and still it would not return what he had lost. Kinship and homeland are beyond him.
Eventually, he finds himself stumbling upon a decrepit cathedral, then sitting alone at a graveyard with a few dozen tombstones. He wonders how many of those who lie dead, here, were victims of the parasites that crawl this city. If God is watching, may he bring vengeance for the lives dashed for a morsel of blood, or as collateral from pointless schemes.
Eventually, he returns to the only place he can call home. He thinks of the enmity that befalls him from all angles. Every sect, as he’s come to learn, has their reasons for wanting him dead. He finds himself, once more, not just in a land without allies. Worse, in a land of the most petty, foolhardy, and wicked peoples who care nothing about the wrongs he’s suffered.
Written by the Storyteller
They meet by coincidence. They pass the night sharing their stories. They shake hands in mutual understanding. They move together with a newfound purpose.