[center][h3][color=skyblue]இ [/color][color=#7BCDC8][i]ℭ [/i][/color][color=#57A3C6]h a r l e s[/color]  [color=#4E99C6][i]Λ [/i][/color][color=#3F88C6]e o n[/color][color=skyblue] இ[/color][/h3]
 [sub]~ Charles Home, Evening ~[/sub][/center]
[hr]

Charles’ eyes glared at Rico with an expression masking his true mental state, his steadiness more a bluff than something solid. For the second time today, the professor’s irises held an uncharacteristically icy aura. It was a reaction fueled by rage, hatred, and a subtle hint of fear as they remained on the Prae. Gradually, Rico removed himself from the immortal’s home at last. Charles didn’t move even when sounds stirred outside and everything seemed to have settled down. The room was back to its pristine status once again. 

If Charles didn’t know better, he could easily pass the series of events off as a dream. 

Reality had fear shortly replace his earlier fuming causing a cold shiver to trace down Charles’ spine. Rico’s words hadn’t been forgotten as it played in his head over and over, finally dying down and brought only a bitter relief. His time was ticking down now.  His jawline tensed when he recalled Rico’s mention about ‘checking in later’ and had little doubt it was to see if he had taken the Prae’s threat seriously.

He edged into the hallway, his mind quietly pondered over the reason why the Prae wanted the Resistance to happen, but he came up short in possible explanations. Gradually, he realized he had arrived at his own bedroom. Charles blinked for a moment, surprised, then turned the knob. The hinges creaked, his shot nerves jerked and immediately he stepped back quicker than he expected to. 

The professor’s curly head snapped to the side and observed the sound’s origin, his own rattled mentality had imagined it would lash at him. His heart raced heavily in his chest when his side flared from his wound. Hoping to ease the ache, Charles pressed his hand to his upper torso and felt something wet leak through his shirt. He retracted his hand to reveal the red stains upon his palm and fingers. Weakness, something he’d mistaken for emotional drain earlier, washed over when he realised the cause of his condition. He assumed he reopened his injury when he shot to the floor after Rico’s fury overwhelmed him. Knowing he couldn’t simply ignore this, the immortal pushed forward into his bedroom then lowered himself to his bed. He slid out his emergency first aid kit and removed his bloodied bandages, ignoring the small tremors in his hands. 

He proceeded to examine his injury. A small hole, where the table had penetrated beyond his ribs, remained after his visit with Lilith. He noted it had been reopened once more. His fingers reached forward and prodded it gently, spying the reddish white tips of his ribs growing back painfully slowly. It would take a good half a day or more to fully mend itself. This was time he didn’t have to spare when something was happening tonight and would spark a resistance act against the Prae occupation most likely.  

[color=#7BCDC8][i]Why did such reckless individuals feel the need to rush into action? [/i][/color] Charles thought while recalling his revolution experience. He inhaled and rose upright after he tossed the box onto the floor and kicked it back under the bed. 

His own condition would have to wait until he arrived at [i]The Twilight Spirit[/i]. He had done all he could and there was little more he could until he could acquire the proper tools to speed his healing along. Charles hastily made his way to the closet. He reached in and collected an outfit, switching out his bloodied garments for something fresh. He chose dark jeans, tee-shirt and finally a baggy hoodie to complete the whole attire, tossing them on in his impatience. 

Checking that he had his phone and anything else, Charles marched toward the front door. He wanted to leave and now, unable to stand being in the very place that had once been infested with a Prae’s vis. It was humorous to think he once thought it would always be safe here and now reality had completely shattered that comforting belief. Tonight he would need to find another place to sleep, but he doubt his paranoia would allow him to get a good night’s rest. Spiteful by the fact, Charles slammed his front door shut then locked it. 

Wordlessly, he paused a moment to study the card given to him before he headed out. 

[center]~~| The Twilight Spirit, Evening|~~[/center] 

It had been so long since the revolution. The fact become too obvious when Charles arrived at the aged shop, the title [i]The Twilight Spirit[/i] in outlandish lettering and appearing to be closed for the night. Not waiting to merely stand there, the professor skirted to the nearby alleyway in order to see any side doors he could knock on without getting attention. The effects from his blood loss would kick in shortly and he wanted to be inside when they did. 

Finding a door, Charles’ fist made a fast rap upon the door’s surface. While waiting for someone to open it, he pulled his hoodie up higher and twisted about to lean against the side. The professor carefully kept his arm on his wounded side hanging down and never touched his side, the pain throbbing endlessly. Personally, he found him amazed he could even stand at this point. At this point, the longer he waited… the worse his condition would become. In the end, he hoped he wouldn’t be made to wait too long.