Green and Blue (1)

Darkness cloaked the narrow alleyways. Eriksson ran, pursued by three dark-blooded men. There were four of them running, and one more—wounded and barely conscious—was carried on Eriksson’s back.

Warm blue blood, still fresh, streaked Eriksson’s cheeks, while dried remnants clung to his skin like war paint. A man groaned intermittently, his voice growing weaker with each breath, his hot exhales against Eriksson’s nape fading away. His arm, slick with his own blue blood, trembled. Markus lay slumped on Eriksson’s back, his limbs twisted at unnatural angles, stark white bone piercing through his flesh like toothpicks in skewered meat. He whimpered, his sapphire eyes welling with tears.

One of the dark-brown blooded men sneered, casting a glance at his companion. “We should just kill him now or leave him behind. Why bother taking the blue one?” He spat onto the ground.

Eriksson’s grip tightened around Markus’s frail, quivering frame.

“Father ordered us to bring them to Gent.”