HERETIC

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟐

Lurching up to a seat in her bed, Hera pants heavily, the frequency of these nightmares not shaking their effectiveness. Shoving back what little cover she had over her legs, she slides to the edge of the bed and sits somewhat leaning forward with hands braced on the edge and chest sunk in from her shoulders. The light of the sun flows into the room with sounds of prayer from the center of the tattered city.

30°02'34.5"N 31°14'13.8"E - Cairo, Egypt. Year 2525

Landing on her bare feet, her slender toes spread as she walks across the creaking wooden floor. Passing a small square table, her fingers catch the ring of a short glass containing the last of her hard drink from the night prior.

Coming to the window, she leans against the chipped frame and stares. People in the center of the city rest on their knees and bow their heads while a man with a microphone speaks words of prayer in the language.

All work has stopped, all peaceful action of eating, talking, and children playing has stopped as nearly the entirety of the city is there to pray over a past of strife and fear, and for the future to not be the same. With a breath, a chuckle comes from her throat as she swallows the last of the golden liquid.

Grabbing her dust and dirt dotted white tank top, she scrunches it up and pulls it over her head, down her back as her skin stretches from the movement and the long slash over each shoulder blade stretches its healed scar the same. She pulls the shirt to her jean shorts severed at her thighs where the material frays and strings hang. Her clothes showing her level of concern to take care of herself lately, while her hair hangs in much the same fray. With a turn towards the door, she brushes her hair from her right eye, the scarring over it a sign of the injury which caused the bright blue of that eye to pale to a milky white.

Coming down the stairs to the hotel, she enters a ruckus where a kid 18 or so, is scrapping with a few grown men. Passing the scene with little glance, she steps up to the bar to the side of the room and sets her glass down. The tender looks from the kerfuffle to her.

Digging a small gold cross from her pocket, she drops it on the counter, its value to her only in the golden liquid it will pay for. He draws it nearer and pops the cork to a bottle, pouring into her glass. She picks up the liquor just as one of the men slams into the counter. Dodging a hit from another man, the kid ducks and swings a punch of his own. The grunts and sound of the tussle hardly disturbs her as she swallows the whole of the glass in one take.

With the setting of the glass on the counter, the last man standing up in the fight flops to the ground. Hera turns from the bar and aims for the open doors, letting in the hot air from the dirt street outside. Passing the panting kid, she says, "Come on Ezra, I'm sick of this place."

Standing up straight, he jerks at his dark green field jacket that's seen better days to tidy himself. "Me too. The people they let in here," he scoffs and takes after her.

As they move through the city, through the preying peoples, the light of the sun spreads through the crumbled buildings, some standing intact still from the war, while others are torn in half and some lay as simple rubble. The street rest littered with debris as men had done their best to clean their city and make it livable once again, yet the constant threat of the monsters make old life a fruitless thought. A feeling of uselessness, for at least twice a year one of the large monsters, which no weapons or even the old tanks from hundreds of years ago still kept in as best working order as possible, can stop them.

The decaying outer wall of the city built in haste so long ago to keep out the daemons give little resistance now as the current peoples haven't had the resources to maintain it, and with one pass of one of the large monsters, the stone stands no chance.