The Hurricane

“I just had a thought strike me, that’s all. The truth is I know very little about my employer. At least with Lord Death I know he is for certain immune to anything that can sway a living mind or heart.” A God was a God, no matter how you sliced it, but no one knew what Aeon was, so he may be fallible or corruptible.

Legault reminded himself for the third time in this conversation that if he himself had seen morphs and dragons, it was not impossible that the kid in front of him had been face-to-face with something resembling the embodiment of Death.

“The Centurions Cores don’t have an immediate effect, someone I know picked one up and was perfectly fine. Though, the time it takes to affect someone varies person to person.” Isaac explained, latching on to this path of the conversation and trying to let his irritation go. “For the length of time I’ll be holding it, I should be fine. As for whoever aids me on my quest, I really do plan to get it out of here immediately, so not enough time for madness to set in.”

A thought struck Isaac. Did Aeon have immunity to these things? Had he been handing over cursed artifacts and other items that drove a man to commit unspeakable horrors?

Suddenly Isaac squeaked. “…I think if I get that jewel extracted I will defy orders and hand it over to Lord Death instead.” 

Lord Death.

Legault cast about in his memory. Such a name would surely be attached to someone, anyone he knew in his particular line of work. It was not. It was also vaguely ludicrous -- as if Hurricane wasn’t.

Ending one life to save others. The answer was a telling one. He’d not specified any particular circumstance, but it would seem this man had one in his own mind already. 

“All life is precious…” It was the kind of thing he would expect Asbel might say, the kind of thing he knew in principle to be true, but struggled to truly believe. Perhaps that is why he had walked the path he had and why his hands steeped red. 

“Yes, I suppose you are right, in a sense.” 

“It can be easy to forget. The first kill is hard. The next one’s easier, and the next easier again.” Physically, but also mentally; the stain never truly washed off, Legault had found. Living with death on his hands was a decision, and a choice.

“Yes, that is true. To say something is right is to merely say it aligns with one’s own beliefs. Though what is correct; what should and should not be done is also subjective in its own way.” Neither truly offered him an answer.