Faraway
Table of Contents
Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 Chapter 62 Chapter 63 Chapter 64 Chapter 65 Chapter 66 Chapter 67 Chapter 68 Chapter 69 Chapter 70 Chapter 71 Chapter 72 Chapter 73 Chapter 74 Chapter 75 Chapter 76 Chapter 77 Chapter 78 Chapter 79 Chapter 80 Chapter 81 Chapter 82 Chapter 83 Chapter 84 Chapter 85 Chapter 86 Chapter 87 Chapter 88 Chapter 89 Chapter 90 Chapter 91Chapter 67
Somewhere far from the hospital, in the ruins of what was once a bustling city now being occupied by various people of all sizes and shapes, a purple-haired handsome man sat inside the crowded restaurant alone, sipping his coffee before placing it down with a mischievous grin on his face as he continued to watch the people around him who were seemingly minding their own business, discussing the latest news about what's happening in the world and sharing their personal stories or experiences.
Unaware of the fact that there is a hired assassin among them, he patiently waited for the meeting to happen as he remained seated at the table with a cup of hot coffee while wearing a shrouded black robe to blend himself seamlessly with the crowd.
His expression was full of excitement and calculation, his eyes scanning the room with anticipation of killing someone after having to wait for so long.
He has grown bored waiting for the perfect moment to strike once more, the thrill of the hunt calling to him like a siren's song, beckoning him to seize the opportunity and make his move to anyone here regardless of their innocence.
But he had no other choice than to do his job, being a professional assassin who has been trained ever since he grew to be one in the first place, having no qualms about taking another life, for he knows it's just part of his duty and his obligation to his own upbringing to become the man he is right now.
And looking back at his decisions, he stopped caring about the consequences many centuries ago, choosing to live in the present moment instead of dwelling on the past, considering it to be nothing more than a waste of time.
Suddenly, a figure emerged from nowhere from the corner of his eyes. "I take it, your Daimon?" An ordinary Caucasian man who was dressed in a simple white shirt and dark pants, hair messy and unkempt, his beard was scruffy and lastly apparent hint of exhaustion on his face from the long journey he had to go through.
"You're earlier than expected," the newcomer said with a tired smile, his gaze flicking briefly to the assassin before having to adjust his dark sunglasses to avoid acting suspicious. "You know who I am and why you're here." Cutting to the chase, he folded his arms together while staring straight at him.
Daimon smirked at the sight of the man, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Ah, Mason, it's been a while," he drawled, his voice low and smooth, dripping with confidence and menace. "I see you've hired me for a side gig."
He leaned back in his chair, putting his fingers together as he regarded the other man with a calculating gaze. "Tell me, what's the job? What's the target?" Casual and conversational, beneath the surface, he was alert, his senses on high alert, his muscles tensed, and ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.
He wants to kill somebody, to see their anguish in their eyes when he strikes them, to feel the rush of adrenaline as life drains from their bodies, and to savor the taste of victory and the thrill of the hunt.
It makes him all hot and bothered by it, feeling familiar stirrings in his groin—the primal urges to claim a victim and assert his dominance over them is thrill to experience first hand.
The thought of the kill sent a jolt of electricity through his veins, making him hard and ready to take on the task at hand, but he kept himself, knowing that he must not let his emotions get the better of him.
The bearded man before him began to spill the beans. "I need you to kill Esper," he said bluntly, devoid of any remorse or hesitation. "He destroyed our entire illegal trading business within the Ark, killed nearly all of our members, and had our organization exposed to those fucking machines," anger simmering beneath the surface of his words, his eyes blazing with a fiery intensity.
"I want him dead, and I want you to make sure he suffers before he dies." His voice dripped with venom. "Can you handle that for me?"
Yawning casually, he said, "What? Do you think I can't handle some ordinary Esper?" Daimon's confidence was palpable from the way he spoke. "I've dealt with Espers before; it's my specialty," he added, smiling wickedly. "I promise his death is a memorable one; don't worry about it."
His words didn't seem to concern Mason much, as if he were talking about killing a fly rather than a human being. "Hm? What's wrong?" Noticing a dissatisfied expression from the other man, he raised an eyebrow and asked, "Do you have something else to add to the contract?"
Mason frowned at the sight of this fool, not understanding who or what they were dealing with. "It's not your common of the mill Esper," he explained, his patience worn thin. "This one is different; he's got... strange powers, abilities, whatever the fuck he possesses, he's a real freak of nature, I tell you," his eyes narrowed.
"In addition to that, haven't I told you he was responsible for taking an entire organization down all by himself?" Reminding the assassin of the man's capabilities and trying to instill a sense of fear and doubt in him.,
But Daimon just laughed, a cold, mirthless sound. "Strange powers, hmm? What kind of powers could he possibly have that would make him a threat to someone like me?" A flash of amusement appeared in his eyes.
"I've fought and killed countless Espers, each with their own unique abilities, and I've come out on top every single time," he said with a shrug. "So, tell me more about this 'strange' Esper; what makes him so special compared to the ones I butchered to death?" Curious to learn more, he waited for the other man to elaborate, gleaming with excitement at a possible worthy opponent.
Half of his upper face became darkened, and the cold chill in his words could send shivers down anyone's spine, including the foolish man sitting opposite him. "We know his name is Danny," he said, taking out the recent picture of Danny that everyone had in the organization before their downfall.
Placing it down on the table between them, "and he possesses power we never thought to be impossible until now," showing a young man in the picture along with his odd posture in playing a nonexistent violin IN front of a restaurant, "that Esper needs to die for what he had done."
Seeing how deadly serious Mason is, Daimon became extremely focused on this task than anything else. His eyes locked onto the photo, studying it intently as he felt a surge of unyielding excitement build up inside of him. "Danny, Danny, Danny," he repeated, dripping with intrigue at this curious turn of events, "tell me more about this him; what kind of powers does he have?"
His heart pounding with anticipation, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. "I want to know everything, no matter how insignificant it may seem, so I can prepare myself for this fight of my life." With fierce determination burning in his eyes, he was ready to face the greatest challenge that would test his skills as an assassin to the very limits.
The man was disappointed by the mere sight of this, while Mason is aware of Daimon's skills and reputation; it is always better to be safe than sorry when dealing with the unknown, hence how his entire business went to ruin in a single day.
"We don't know what his full powers is," admitting the truth, causing the other young man to frown from the response he got, "but what I've gathered is that all forms of bad things, as you call them, would appear suddenly from just having the intention of killing him."
This immediately caused Daimon to stop in his tracks, eyes frozen and widening at his contractor, "fascinating." Leaning back and caressing his chin with a display of genuine interest, "So, he's like a walking disaster zone?"
Interest piqued, and he continued to probe: "And these calamities appear instantly, without warning?" Grinning wickedly, he cannot help but feel a thrill of excitement at the prospect of facing such a formidable foe who cannot be touched. "Oh, this is going to be fun..."
"What do you—"
In one sudden move where a waiter was heading in their direction, holding a silver tray comprising of utensils and drinks, he then accidentally slipped on a wet towel at the flower, forcing him to desperately try to regain balance while dropping the tray entirely, causing all the items to scatter across the floor.
"Ahh!" the waiter cried out in dismay, creating a moment of chaos in the busy restaurant as people around them watched the scene with mixed expressions in their faces.
Seeing how close the waiter is, Daimon might as well just be a good neighbor and assist him. "It seems you need some help," he asked with a smile, getting up from his seat to help the poor guy who was struggling to pick up the mess he made.
"Let me lend a hand," he offered, picking up a few scattered items. "I'm Daimon," he said, introducing himself to the flustered waiter, "and I believe you are?" Just as he stood up to look the waiter face-to-face, what he saw made him intrigued at the sight of it.
Instead of a satisfied or grateful look, the waiter was breathing heavily; his bloodshot eyes and snarl were a clear indication of something deeply wrong. "You think you can take my job?!" The waiter growled, his voice low and menacing.
"You think you're better than me?!" His hands clenched into fists, veins bulging in his neck as he held the knife on his right tighter than before. "I'm not going to let you or anyone else steal my livelihood!" The atmosphere in the restaurant changed, the laughter and chatter dying down as patrons noticed the tension.
Could it be...?
After having the mere intention of killing Danny once he saw him in the picture, Daimon would guess his target's powers were influencing not just events but also people as well.
"Interesting," he murmured to himself, his eyes flicking between the waiter and the terrified realization of Mason, who was witnessing the whole scene unfolding before him. "It looks like this Esper's influence has reached here already," he mused, "and it seems to have taken hold of our dear waiter," his gaze locked onto the man's hand gripping the knife, "who's now decided to take matters into his own hands, isn't that right?"
"FUCK YOU!" The waiter screamed like a wild beast as everyone gasped in shock. "YOU THINK YOU CAN TAKE MY JOB FROM ME?!" Causing all of the patrons to scramble in hopes of getting away from the dangerous situation.
Raising his knife, he lunged forward with a crazed, desperate look in his eyes, his movements swift and deadly. "THEN I'LL MAKE SURE NO ONE ELSE STEALS MY WORK!" Just as he brought his weapon down to the assassin's head, The action immediately stopped when his once-built-up rage diminished in the blink of an eye.
"Uh?" Confusion written all over his face, the waiter looked at Daimon with a blank stare, the knife still raised closely to his patron, "Wha...? What happened?" Slowly, he lowered his arm, the blade falling to his side with a clatter, his eyes unfocused.
"I didn't mean to..." Horror dawned on his features after realizing how he acted just now: "Oh god, I did not mean to kill someone!" Feeling sick to his stomach, he almost vomited before feeling the soft hand placed on his shoulder.
"It's not a problem," Daimon said casually, not showing a hint of anger or fear after losing his intention to kill Danny. "Accidents happen," he added while being calm and soothing to the fearful man. "You are clearly not in your right mind, so let's just forget about this incident, shall we?"
Showing his forgiving nature to the one who almost killed in broad daylight without any remorse, he then turned to Mason, who was flabbergasted beyond belief of what just happened, and asked, "Shall we continue our discussion?"
Grateful, the waiter tearfully thanked the assassin for his mercy. "Thank you, thank you," he sobbed. "I don't know what came over me." Collapsing to his knees, he buried his face in his hands, overcome with shame and despair. "I ruined everything," he wailed, his body shaking with sobs.
"I'm so sorry," The scene was chaotic, with the patrons trying to get out of the way, the waiter's cries echoing through the restaurant, and the two men, Daimon and Mason, exchanging a long, searching look.
"Do you forgive me?"
"Yes," the assassin said compassionately, smiling reassuringly at the distraught waiter, "let's just put this behind us, okay?"
As he looked up to the patron, whom he almost killed in a fit of rage, he was suddenly met with a blade embossed on the top of his skull. "Eh?" Blood trickling from the small wound, she stared at the handsome man with a mixture of fear, guilt, and confusion on his face.
"What are you doing?" Stuttering, eyes wide with terror, "I feel..." Slowly, his eyes turned dull, with his remaining life slipping away. "You're not supposed to kill me," he whispered weakly, fading into the cold abyss, "I thought..."
Screams of the patrons filled the air, the sound of running footsteps exiting the restaurant, the sight of the dying man, the feeling of the cold blade in Daimon's hand, the sense of impending doom—all of it swirling together in a maelstrom of horror and despair.
"I forgive you," with a psychotic grin, he felt surge of arousal by seeing this person slowly losing his life right before his eyes, "but I suppose it doesn't matter anymore."
Taking out the wakizashi from the man's skull, he began licking the metallic taste of his victim's blood, reveling in the sweet, coppery flavor while witnessing the body collapsing face flat on the ground in front of him.
"The power of his influence never ceases to amaze me," he muttered with a chuckle, wiping the blood off his lips with the back of his hand. "Now, where were we?" He looked at Mason, his eyes gleaming with a newfound excitement. "Ah yes, him. Let's talk more about it, shall we?"
Laughing awkwardly from everything that had transpired within this place, "yeah, sure," Mason uncomfortably agreed, "first, I think we should get out of here," he suggested, glancing nervously around the now-empty restaurant, "before things get any worse."
Daimon's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Oh, don't worry, my friend," he assured him, "things are only just beginning to get interesting," The two of them, the assassin and the contractor, left the restaurant, stepping into the unknown, their fates intertwined with their target, the Esper whose powers are beyond comprehension, touching every corner of their world, leaving a trail of wonder and chaos in its wake.
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