[center][i]"Do you speak for the dead, old man?"[/i]

The men in front of him kept laughing as their obvious leader kept kicking Brontes in the gut. The God of the Dead, Dying and Lost didn't bother to let blood out or yell, he was too tired for that, only waited for them to grow bored of hitting a homeless man. After all, he did strike first by telling the young boy not to ride his bike tonight or he'd die on the road like his parents. They shocked the young man, his words, and let it all out through violence, the easy way.

[i]"Come on, you'll kill him!"[/i] one of the girls yelled. She'd survive this phase of her life and grow up to be a respected wife in a good marriage with two beautiful twins only to fall victim a few days before her 49th birthday to a drunk driver. She'd die happy though and for some reason, Brontes at that moment decided that he'd be there in her last moments, he'd tell her of her kids and the way they'd live and just how loving her memory would be.

When the hits finally stopped, Brontes raised his head a bit, to look at the boy, now sweaty and with hate all over his face and soul. He'd kill one day, this one.

A few minutes later they left and Brontes picked himself up, didn't bother with his dusty clothes but carefully picked up a small plastic bag he had placed his body over in order to protect. There was a childish toy inside, a [url=http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2012/11/16/article-0-16092724000005DC-163_964x1157.jpg]teddy bear[/url] belonging to a 4 year old boy named Oyu who would die of hunger in a few minutes. It was one of the finest gifts Brontes had ever been given and he would gladly let loose the Dead if that meant protecting his treasure. After all, Oyu's sister had made it for him before the soldiers took her away and in his tender age he had associated it with her so for such a young mind to do something so noble, Brontes was at a loss for words when he accepted the gift.

He got up, bag in hand and entered the busy street, the sky almost completely hidden by concrete and steel. The people passing all around him made an effort to not look at him or touch him at all, in other words not to acknowledge what in their eyes looked like another example of where their civilization failed. [i]I am busy[/i] some told themselves. [i]He should find a job.[/i] the rest and only one for every ten cast a glance towards him as if apologizing or showing sympathy, Brontes couldn't tell. Or he didn't want to.

He kept walking, he wasn't there without a reason. All around him lives and their endings, he could see it all and the fact that some of them had hours or days left was overwhelming. If only they knew.

A little girl waved at him and he waved back, smiling. Children were the only reason he hadn't gone completely mad these past 7,000 years. Mortal children and a certain boy, infatuated with Art and Music and everything cute. Amare had been the only of his kind that Brontes wholeheartedly trusted. Loved, some could say but he, the Seeker of the Lost, wasn't sure that he could love. Love meant putting others before yourself in his mind and so far he didn't have the chance to find out whether he could except from his Betrayal.

He stood against a wall behind a stall and pulled his treasure out of the bag, feeling its rough texture and knowing that it would be garbage to every single man or woman in this city. To be honest, it was made out of garbage in one of the poorest regions of the world but it was made as a gift and gifts are sacred. 

Brontes looked at him, beaming as he drank his chocolate, his new had proudly sitting on his head. He didn't notice him, obviously. How would you notice someone you hadn't seen for a few thousand years? He started walking towards him, his usual confident stride now replaced by short, anxious steps.

He had betrayed him and betrayal always carries a price. Did he understand why? Did Amare know why he never contacted him in 7,000 years, why he never spoke of his plan?

[i]Of course he did.[/i] he told himself and that thought calmed him. He shouldn't underestimate his only friend, he had proved his worth many times.

He kept walking until he was within an arm's reach when he remembered Oyu whose time had come. He put on a soft smile and took care of him before grabbing Amare's shoulder.

"A penny for the dead?" he whispered, barely holding back a huge smile. He was overjoyed to see his old pal after so long.

Thousands of miles away, a 4-year old boy was dying in the arms of his sister, happy, not feeling hungry anymore. She sang to Oyu of the man in black, sitting on top of a grand tower in the middle of the Underdark and of his deeds. She was a spirit, a ghost you might say but she was there, beside him as he was taking his last few breaths.

They both smiled for the last time on Earth and in a busy street, the man in black smiled too.

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