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“What a fucking nuisance,” came a small groan from an equally small individual. The shape of his humble home was nothing to consider impressive, with little more than a living room attached to a minuscule kitchen. At the very least, one could commend the young man on his cleanliness, considering the eternal nineteen-year-old mature enough to maintain a reasonable outlook on his abode. Artemis crumpled the letter in his hand and dropped the parchment into a metal cup. What followed were the embers of a matchstick, complying with the instructions he had been given. 

“It is an honorable assignment, Artemis,” a ghostly voice trickled through the boy’s mind, before a shape manifested itself before him. It was a shame, indeed, that none could witness the beauty of Angelicus, a spirit embodying the very concept of valor and chivalry. “You ought to make your way towards the gates. Do not cause your companions to linger, on your behalf.” 

Rolling his eyes, Artemis reached for a pair of cargo shorts which he proceeded to slide onto slender legs, followed by a t-shirt to cover his scrawny torso. Truly, the gear of a noble warrior. “Dude,” the boy spoke, lowering himself to the floor as he began to tug his shoes on, “they likely don’t give a shit whether I’m there, or not.” Artemis wrapped a set of dainty fingers around his trusty sword, a shorter blade that functioned perfectly with the size of its wielder. He clasped the buckle around his waist and reached for a small round shield which had kept him safe since even the days before valor followed him closely. 

“Mind your language,” the ghostly entity returned, a soft sigh leaving its inhuman visage, “whether your companions' desires maintain a want for your presence is irrelevant. You have a duty, and that supersedes an emotional response.” 

With a moment of silence, Artemis raised a brow at his closest friend and ally. Angelicus was a wise entity, without fault, a creature of ancient worth. Though the boy had asked his spirit of a past long since brushed aside, Angelicus maintained that previous chapters of his existence were unimportant. He would have been right, of course, but curiosity lingered within the boy now bound to this ghostly entity. 

With a hand on the doorknob, Artemis stepped out of his small apartment before starting down the stone steps in an empty stairwell. Battle, war, blood, and endless conflict did not bother the boy as much as it probably should have. Indeed, there were those fearing for their lives on the daily, those who embraced their loved ones in a desperate attempt to freeze time, if for just a moment, before being forced into the abyssal maw of the Badlands. Artemis did not fall into any of these categories. He was a lonely boy, and of that, there were no lies. Only Angelicus lingered at the young man’s side, and the spirit’s presence offered the boy an ability that Artemis had no control over. The very same ability which removed his worry, and rather replaced it with a desire to fight, or die in the process. 

With a long distance traveled, and the lighting of a cigarette, an exasperated sigh escaped Artemis’ lips, along with a puff of smoke, following suit. Before him, there were three other spirit users, each one a sight to behold. However, the boy did not linger and rather approached the bench before dropping to the ground next to it. “‘Sup?” Came a quiet greeting, with all the enthusiasm of apathy, where Artemis leaned against the wall in a lazy fashion. He adjusted the beanie atop his head, preventing a messy mop of raven black bangs from covering a set of large, obsidian eyes. It was time to get going.