Issue #31: Ninth V - To The Birthday Boy!

If I could turn back time, then I would have not answered that question entirely. In fact, I would never have been there in the first place. Yet, I can neither turn nor travel through the continuum and, instead, is forced to wallow in the pits of despair as my mother's eyes gleam with excitement, having heard an answer that was neither a confirmation nor dissension to her question.

"I swear, mom," I threaten. "I'm, like, nine. I don't need a wife yet."

"Oh, Edmund." She says my name as if I had offended her. "I'm just asking. Nothing harmful about it."

"Nothing beneficial either." I retort, crossing my arms before she grabs it forcefully and we beeline towards Uncle Peng.

"Maria!" Uncle Peng greets, giving mother a peck on the cheek which, unlike Charles', she actually consented to. "I am grateful for your invitation."

"Please, thank you for coming. I know you don't like events like these." She says with a forlorn smile before her eyes glow with interest, "And who are you, little lady? Is this your new bodyguard, Peng?"

Delian puffs her chest and crosses her arms in response to my mom's words, "I'm stronger than these chumps!"

"Neoi, show your respect. Hug you Aunt Maria." Uncle Peng sighs in exhaustion.

Delian is quick to transform into a fluffy panda–racial metaphor, notwithstanding–and hugs Mother with reckless abandon, early tilting her over in surprise. Mother cooed at her cuteness, pinching Delian's cheeks before returning to her senses and moving away to present me to Uncle Peng as if I'm some prized possession.

'I probably am.'

"It's an honor for you to attend, U–Minister Peng." I greet him politely, bowing my head ever so slightly.

While I may be close enough to call him Uncle Peng, Peng Jin is still a diplomat of high renown and the closest to becoming a minister in the Committee's interior cabinet as long as he bows his head to the main political party of his country. As such, it is expected of me, even by my mother, to show my respect.

He nods, a proud smile on his face. "Please, you have a lovely home and an even lovelier family. God, you've grown so much since I last saw you. Look how tall you are now. You've grown, what, six inches?"

"Eight, actually. Since last December." I reply, chucking my hands in my pants pocket and hoisting my shoulders up to look more tall.

"Pretty soon, you're gonna be taller than your mother."

He looks around and raises his arms to gather the attention of those who had yet to react to him before clearing his throat. "While I cannot stay for long and enjoy the festivities until the night, I am more than able to say a few words of congratulations to our birthday celebrant."

Mother leads them to their table before taking a seat herself. Uncle Peng takes a glass of champagne given to him by his bodyguard before raising it up, the crowd following along.

"Maria and I were never the closest of friends and, to be frank, I found her a little… gossipy." He winks at mother, who blushes at the knowing chuckles of the crowd. "Yet when I found myself alone in a city that does not want me with a child to raise on my own, there she was… a helping and comforting hand. Although we don't spend all that time together, the times we do, however, is like unloading a year's worth of laundry when you've been wearing the same pair of pants for a month. It's cathartic and problematic because she can't keep things to herself…"

Mother raises her clenched fist in mock anger, which elicits another round of laughter before Uncle Peng continues, "Anyway, all throughout our friendship, there have been many instances where we indulge ourselves in our misery with our children. The most memorable of which was the night before Edmund's fifth birthday. She calls. Instantly, I can tell that she's been crying. She tells me that something is wrong with her son and that it's as if something changed within him. She tells me that Edmund has wounded her, emotionally and physically. A pocket knife tearing off the flesh of her stomach…"

A series of gasps run through the crowd as my hair rises uncontrollably. As he tells his story, memories of that night resurface in my mind and it beckons me to dig deep into the depths of humiliation. 

I was such a fool back then, mind altered by the sudden infiltration of my past lives that I hid myself in my for the next few days. Mother was so worried that she ordered Olgar to break open the locked and stuck door, and I was so angry and frustrated that I lashed out at her.

I gaze at her as her eyes droop at the story, fists tightly clenching the hems of her gown.

"... And I was about to leave the Embassy because you know how it is in Gotham and the superhero crap, but the moment I put down the phone, I heard another voice on the line… It was Edmund. Let me tell you, folks, I was scared for her and, frankly, she was scared of his son."

I haven't sifted through my memories back then. I was still a five-year-old kid who got thrown away by a serial killer and began experiencing the pain, the sorrows, the joys, the ups and downs of a downtrodden man. Back then, I couldn't even look at myself because I thought I was going crazy. Thoughts of being locked to a padded room where the leaves of time would pass me by were more than enough to break through my softened psyche.

"Then I heard the words that softened my heart." Uncle Peng gazes towards mother, pity and sorrow morphing her countenance.

I didn't know she would remember that, nor did I know that he was the one behind that call. My lips part in instinct, as if unconsciously reminding myself as to why I'm fighting criminals and controlling my quickly growing abilities. 

"I'm sorry, mother. I'm sorry I hurt you. I promise not to do it anymore. Please don't cry, stop crying. No one's gonna make you cry anymore, so please stop."

It's as if I've been transported in that moment, a moment of weakness that had since been turned into my most sacred vow.

Uncle Peng notices the look on my face and so do the other guests, giving me a pitiable look.

"I don't know much about the inner workings of your relationship, but from what I DO know… you've gone above and beyond in your promise." He holds up three fingers. "That's right, ladies and gentlemen. The hoodlums of this city threatened with which we hold dear, the peace and order of Gotham and this young man over here. He shook off his juvenile naivety and brokered what I would call 'Rough Justice'. Not only did he safe keep his mother and eight other women in that bathroom, he did so at the cost of three fingers. Ladies and gentlemen, forget Superman. That is the mark of a true hero!"

"Hear, hear!" Bruce yells triumphantly, which is soon followed by a cacophony of applause and hollers, most of whom are towards Uncle Peng instead of me.

'Jesus, he's showing off again. But for who? Wait, is it for whom? Fuck, I should not have–'

Mother clears her throat, interrupting the celebration and my thoughts as she bashfully clangs her glass and a fork together.

"Save for the part about me, that's a wonderful speech, I suppose." She jokes, eliciting laughter from the crowd. "My dear Edmund. Ever since you were little, you've always wanted to be a hero. I'll see you in the hedge or by the pool, doing those poses and air-fights. I would catch you reading fantasy books and researching the heroes you see in the news. Often, I would hear you mumble in the shower about, uh, the ambassador from Themyscira,"

A shower of laughter cascades unto my body, cheeks flushing in embarrassment before mother continues with a laugh.

"I remember you telling me that you'll be a hero soon. I'm afraid you're wrong, Eddy. Because to me, my son, you are already a hero, no greater than the posters you keep under your bed. Happy birthday, my dear Edmund!"

I don't know when tears escaped my eyes, but it did and I couldn't be… happier?

Bruce grabs a champagne glass from the hands of the fellow seated beside him, raises it, and shouts with gusto, "To the birthday boy, Edmund Ser–"

An abrupt explosion loudly interjects Bruce's words, showering smoke, wood, fire, and blood across the vast room. The force of the blast–most of which is coming from the southern tip of the room–forcibly ejects me from my seat and launches me towards my mother. Bones and flesh crash against each other as I grab a hold of her and we tumble down unto the ground, splinters of wood embedding itself through my clothing and unto my flesh.

The fumes prevent me from breathing.

The heat saps every moisture in my skin.

The stinging pains permeate my every orifice.

Screams arose after the initial cascade of explosion, agonizing wails followed soon after. If not for the ringing in my head and smog disorienting my vision and my nose, then I would have quickly realized that my mother was unconscious. Her sunken lids trembling as pain courses through her body, blood dripping from her extremities, damage not armored by my body.

"Bruce!" I shout at the top of my lungs, "Olgar!"

I easily push through the pain, grabbing Mother by her waist and neck, and begin rolling her body outwards. My first priority is her escape, second being the treatment of her wounds. As for my wounds, that's already being healed by my body and doubly sure when I feel thousands of ant-like tingling rumbling through every inch of my flesh.

"Edmund!" Uncle Peng's voice vanquished the buzzing in my ears as he stumbled down to our area. "I can handle your mother. Get out of here. Take the north exit."

"No." I mutter, blood trickling down my facial orifice.

"Please, son. Let me take care of her. Go, Delian is already out." He pleads with me, agony visible in his face as he hefts my mother up while carefully evading the detritus littering the floor.

I gaze towards the south where smoke clouds the side of the chamber. Sounds of gunshot and clashing blades soon join the pollution that slowly overwhelms the survivors of the initial explosion. Dread washes their pain anew. Tears flowing in their collective eyes could fill a pool as the sounds come closer and closer while the smoke nary dissipates its dark color.

"Edmund!" Uncle Peng shouts towards me, noticing that I had not followed him, but the throng of bloodied guests before him prevented him from saying any further. His body along that of my mother is pushed inwards by the masses, no longer within my sight.

I steady my breath to give my lungs a bit of reprieve from the smoke and smell of putrid, burning flesh before lurching forward to grab a knife. I've already figured out where most of the fighting is, but I don't care about that. I have an inkling as to whom is the mastermind of this fucking bomb. At the very least, I need to get back at them for hurting my mother.

I trudge forward, wading into the smoke and sensing the other patrons wailing in the distance.

"Go north! Get out of the smoke!" I shout as much as possible to snap them out of the trauma of the explosion. Unlike me and the other folks, they aren't trained to save themselves in the event of an incendiary explosion. Most people would assume that their instinct would tell them to run and flee from the aftereffects, but the fear–true fear–felt by their bodies is wholly different from their expectation.

Your limbs would seize up, if not from some injury then from the sight of dozens of people screaming in pain as their limbs are torn, their flesh are scored, their skin is ripped apart by the sudden increase in pressure and the subsequent explosion of fire and chemical material.

"You fucking bitch!" A roar pushes through the cacophony of wails, alerting me to Olgar's location as he throws a masked woman atop a still standing table.

Newly dressed in a tight jade green dress and nylon stockings adorned with yellow stripes except for a portion of her upper thighs and all of her left shoulder, the woman wears a Kitsuné mask to hide her identity. Which is wholly for naught as I quickly identify the exposed parts of her body as similar to that of Angela Nguyen.

Olgar's opponent shrugs off the soot and wood in her body before deftly wielding two large curved double-edged blades–a variation of a Katana with a wider fuller than normal that, by her swings, is more built for weight and strength rather than speed and flexibility.

With a Katana above her head and another in a cross-guard, she rushes forward and swings her blade towards a deeply bloodied Olgar. Unlike the Russian spy, the woman is not one bit wounded except for the bruises visible in her exposed skin.

I grip the butter knife in my hand, eyes trained on their fight as I hide behind an overturned table and wait for a chance to butt in the fight. I only need one distracted moment and I can jam the knife in her neck. 

Not long after, Olgar allows her to tear off his side in exchange for grabbing a hold of her left shoulder. He twists the skin as he quickly positions his right foot over her left leg and grabs a hold of the back of her clothing for an over-the-hip throw. Before he can throw her, however, Angela drops her swords and lurches down to counter-weight Olgar's impressive strength before using her forearm to chop at Olgar's left elbow joint. Her right leg bends like a puppet and springs her back free of Olgar's right arm before bending her left knee to hit the back of Olgar's leg and headbutt him to finally free herself from his tight grip.

She rolls to the ground and re-equips her blade as Olgar rolls his aching arm joints, both warily eyeing each other amidst the cacophony of fights–guns and blades.

"You're good. Wanna hate-fuck after this?" Olgar asks, waving his arms in the air once as if using gravity to pull all the joints back in place.

Angela does not answer, merely tilting her head and runs in my general direction. Both mine and Olgar's eye widens at her blatant escape from the confrontation, but it quickly becomes obvious to me that this is my chance.

A sigh escapes my lips as an active Optic Leap appears in front of me–two meters in length and width. Olgar quickly catches up to Angela, leaping towards her and catching her by the shoulders. 

They tumble on to the ground with Angela being the first to stabilize her position and swing a blade downwards, only for Olgar to catch the blade in between his hands. His delighted roar constitutes my distraction as another portal opens up above her back, the light hidden by the smoke.

I jump through the portal, appearing atop and behind Angela as I lunge at her back and thrust the silver knife at her neck. 

She isn't an assassin for nothing, however, as, at the last possible second, the hair at the back of her head stands at attention and she steps forward, so that the knife impales her right shoulder blade. Her shriek of pain informs me of the success of the stab before my entire weight pushes against her back, causing her to stumble forward and plant a kiss on Olgar's bloodied fist.

A cringing snap emanates from her jaw as we are thrown off the ground and back onto the floor, air wheezing out of my lungs when I jump off of her and land chest first onto the detritus.

"Kid!" Olgar roars, "What are you doing–Finish her!"