TOO YOUNG

He got used to the battles, the sights, the smell, and the sounds. He was one of the youngest ever to be selected within the most elite unit within his military, but it never got to his head. His life was useless anyway, or so he told himself, so he decided to fight, and he fought hard. It was all he knew either way; that’s why they always sent him in alone. No one would speak to him, they wouldn’t even look at him, but he didn’t care. He was a tool, and he was damn good at what he did. Little did he know, though, this battle would change everything.

He had been deployed when the grunts were getting overrun, and he was sent to clean up their mess, just another Tuesday for him. Until he saw her, bruised and tattered, curiosity got the better of him, and he observed as she decimated his allies. She moved with an ethereal grace, like she had been doing this for years, no… decades, maybe longer. One thing caught his eye, her hair flowing with a smooth grace, though it was stark grey, and the whole time, her eyes ceased to shine a spark. That spark that seemed to tell you someone was human when you made eye contact with them, a spark he had lost long ago.

That’s when she turned his attention to him, tilting her head at his frame. Even behind his mask, she could tell something was different about him, something that caught her eye. She walked towards him, her steps quiet and calculated, her eyes still lacking the light. “You’re not afraid.” She spoke, her voice low and raspy, “Why?”

The young man stood frozen for a second, surprised she even decided to speak to him, “Don’t know. Had to admire the art, I guess.”

She smiles at him, a darkened smile that seems to challenge him more than ease him. “I just murdered your comrades, and you couldn't care less. You do know who I am, yes?”

“You’re Iris. The goddess of death. Eternal Wanderer, and a bunch of other names I don’t bother to memorize.” The young man shrugs, “Plus, they aren’t my squad, I run alone.”

Iris’s eyes widened at the young man, and there was a hint of amusement in her stare. “Such boldness. What is your name, warrior?”

“People call me Geist.” He takes a step forward, his rifle gripped tightly in his hands.

Iris scoffs, “You’re Geist? The hunter? The one who strikes fear in even the most seasoned warriors?” She looks Geist up and down; despite his disciplined stance, masked face, and advanced gear, she could read him like a book. “You’re young. Too young. What are you, twenty?”

“Close enough,” Geist shrugs. He squints his eyes as he takes in the woman in front of him. Despite her grey hair, her petite frame was well-kept, on par with supermodels he had seen in old magazines when he was a kid. “What about you? Your hair tells me you're as old as a grandmother, but your body tells me you’re my age.”

Iris smiles at Geist, she steps closer to him, and stops at an arm's length away. “I’m over three thousand years old, and yes, I take pride in caring for my body.”

Geist laughs, a loud bark exiting through his mask, “You’re joking. Three thousand years?” Geist’s laugh softens as he sees Iris’s face turn sour.

“Then strike me down.” She points at his rifle, “Since you don’t believe me.”

“Oh, so you’re a liar and you’re crazy. Surprised to see your lovely government sending actual psych ward patients on the battlefield.”

In a flash, Iris swiftly swings at Geist. He dodges the swing and steps back, raising his rifle at her, his eyes darkened through his mask. “Dumb move.”

Iris grins at him, the gesture a silent challenge. “Do it.

Show me why they fear you, hunter.” She dashes at him.

Geist doesn’t hesitate, takes a deep breath, and fires.

Three rounds pierce through the air directly into Iris’s head. She recoils and stops in her tracks, a low grunt is heard as she slams into the ground.

Geist moves toward her body, tapping her shoulder with the barrel of his rifle. “What an idiot…” he mutters.

Iris rises back up, the shots in her head seemingly vanished as if nothing had happened. Her smile fades, the weight of her situation on her shoulders, “Believe me now?”

“What the-” Geist fires again, his rifle roars through the battlefield as he empties his whole magazine into her, methodically aiming between different vital organs, whatever it took to put her down. Nothing. She still stands, albeit a bit more pissed than before.

“Was that necessary?” Iris sneers, she brushes her fingers over the wounds, the subtle pain of her skin being stitched back together makes her suck through her teeth.

“Just… had to make sure.” Geist shudders, his steps slow as he places some distance between himself and whatever this being he shot into.

Iris steps closer, her palms visible to Geist, a gesture of surrenderance. “I think I’ve made my point clear. You do understand now, yes? I can not die, even if I wanted to.”

“Yeah, I get that now.” Geist sighs, his posture relaxed as his rifle points towards the ground, “So… what were you experimented on or something? Made to be the perfect super soldier?”

“No. A higher being gave me a blessing. I was meant to be a beacon of hope for my people, and a fist of vengeance to the enemy; yet the more I walk this earth, the more I realize-”

“That it’s a curse?” Geist looks directly into her eyes, his curiosity at an all-time peak.

“Yes. A curse.” She nods, “You know… you’re one of the first to understand truly. Why is that?”

“I was experimented on when I was eighteen. They gave me something that boosted my senses.”

Iris tilts her head, “That explains your reflexes. I was around the same age when I was given this blessing… no, this curse. Yet I was so excited about it. Were you a volunteer as well? Doing it for your country?”

Geist lowers his head as dark thoughts flood his mind. “I did volunteer… but not because of my country, more for a-” he grows quiet, the silence in the air deafening between them.

“For an end.” Iris speaks, her hand slowly rises to Geist’s shoulder, “You’re alone.” She steps close to Geist, resting her hand on his cheek, the action causes him to stiffen. She looks deeper into his eyes, that missing spark now gently appearing. “Perhaps you and I are not so different.”

Geist looks into Iris’s eyes, and for a moment, his posture relaxes, his breaths come in slow, and his eyes reciprocate that same spark. “Maybe not…”

Perhaps he won’t be alone in this world. Not anymore.

Timothy Williams is an aspiring novelist enrolled at Full Sail University pursuing a bachelor’s in creative writing. When he’s not writing, he can be found collaborating with his peers and honing his craft by studying successful authors. Follow him on Instagram @tx.williams890.