Guardians of The Damned-Chapter 10: The Mist! Save Me!

"The Mist! Please save me! This boy is insane! He's trying to kill me!" the man screamed.

I looked between the man and the boy, back and forth, before settling my gaze on the latter.

"Is that true?"

"This has nothing to do with you, Mr. Mist. Leave before I kill you."

He said it with confidence—no arrogance, just certainty. He clearly believed in his ability.

I studied the boy in silence. Something about him felt... different. But no, that wasn't quite right. He hadn't changed. I was only seeing him more clearly now.

"I'd like to see you try." I smiled. "This time, don't run away."

His eyes narrowed with hate. "You're going to regret it."

The mech moved toward me. I took a slow drag from my vape and released a mouthful of smoke into the air. It lingered a while before fading.

"Aren't you going to need that?" the boy asked.

"I don't need it to fight a kid," I chuckled, slipping it into my pocket. I stepped off the hoverboard, landing on the steel platform with a heavy thud. The metal groaned under the weight.

"Don't blame me if you die."

He raised his arm. The mech surged forward.

"One thing you should know when fighting an Honor..." I shifted into a stance. The mech was already close.

"...Always assume they never go all out."

I threw a punch. The mech tried to dodge—only to realize it couldn't. It scanned its body and detected thin streams of smoke weaving through its armor joints, clinging like glue, locking them in place.

It could dodge any attack it saw coming—but it hadn't noticed this one.

Normally, a mech would recognize foreign elements like that. But thanks to the ever-present smog in Olympus, my smoke had blended in seamlessly. There was no way it could tell the difference.

My fist slammed into its face. Metal caved in, sparks flying. The impact launched the mech several meters back. It crashed off the bridge and landed with a thunderous bang on the roof of an abandoned factory.

The boy stared, face twisted in disbelief. Then came the fear. He opened his mouth to speak—but I was already a blur in his vision. A sharp pain struck the back of his neck. Darkness crept in. His body collapsed with a dull thud.

"Now then," I turned to the office worker, "you'd better tell me everything—and only the truth."

"Yes, yes! Of course! What do you want to know?" he stammered.

"We'll get to that. But first, let's find a better place to talk... and clean yourself up."

"Huh?" He blinked, confused. Then glanced at himself—covered in blood, sweat, and maybe tears.

"You're right... but where should we go?"

"I'm not familiar with Olympus," I said, lifting the unconscious boy onto my back and calling the hoverboard over.

"I know a place. Want to go there?" he offered, thinking.

"Sure. Lead the way."

I placed the boy on the hoverboard, then turned to Yin Hee and handed her a wad of bills.

"Find a hotel and watch the boy. The rest is your pay."

Her eyes widened at the five 1000-Erk notes. One of those could feed a family of four for a month.

"I thought you didn't have money?" she asked.

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"What kind of idiot walks around announcing they've got cash in a high-crime district?"

"Makes sense," she nodded. Then eyed the hoverboard.

"How do I drive this?"

In response, I raised my hand, gestured left and right, forming a stem and handle—like a scooter.

"Your power really is amazing!" she said, then gripped the throttle and sped off into the distance.

I turned back to the office worker. An awkward silence settled between us.

"We should get going," he said, finally.

"Yeah," I nodded. "We should."

---

We ended up at a nearby public bath. The place was huge, the walls lined with a mural of a mountain I recognized from the surface.

"Isn't that Mount Stanserhorn?" I asked, already submerged in the warm water. The heat seeped into my muscles, washing away exhaustion. Heavenly was the only word for it.

"You know a lot about the surface world, Mr. Mist," he said.

"Been there for missions. Hey, we never introduced ourselves properly. Call me Sunny, if you want."

"No, no. With all you've done, it'd be rude. Mr. Mist is fine. My name's Mark Adams—just Mark."

"Alright, Mark. Tell me everything."

"Of course."

He spoke for a while, trying to stick to the important details—though he paused often, carefully choosing his words.

Here's what I gathered:

Mark had been the most loyal supporter of the boy's father. At first, I doubted his sincerity—but I kept listening.

Someone approached Mark with an offer: betray his partner for a massive payout and a future opportunity. Mark turned it down without hesitation.

He reported it to the boy's father, who, to Mark's surprise, told him to accept the offer.

Confused but trusting, Mark agreed. The deal was supposed to be a secret between the two—but somehow, the entire company found out. Mark's reputation tanked among the father's allies.

The opposition welcomed him with open arms.

Not wanting to side with them, Mark returned to the boy's father for advice. The response was simple: go with the wave.

From that moment, the father began to fall. One by one, his supporters followed Mark to the opposition—until no one was left. Eventually, he was fired.

Mark tried to help, multiple times. But the fifth time he offered his hand, the father snapped.

He threatened to kill Mark's entire family.