'Could it be them? Could it truly be them?' Alex wondered as blood seeped from his tightly clenched fist, staining it crimson. His brows furrowed as he recalled the past, a past he'd sworn to leave behind. That past had returned, and now stared at him from behind, waiting to gobble him up.
But Alex did not feel fear. No, he only felt hatred for those times. Another emotion he felt was competitiveness, as he couldn't assure himself of guaranteed victory against those two.
"We should hurry," said Eugene as he readied his belongings, prepared to initiate their search for the holy altar. He turned to Alex, asking for approval.
"Yeah," responded Alex in a troubled voice. He sheathed Durendal in a very grandiose manner before stuffing their spare food inside the bag he carried behind his back.
"What's that for?" Maxwell asked, eyeing the bag in a suspicious manner. "Why'd you bring food from Vancouver? Are you a picky eater?"