A gas station 3 blocks away to the south of intersection exploded in a raging inferno while surface cracks appeared under the front tires of the Lincoln. The shaking had now truly reached its worst; pipes burst under foot and several light and telephone poles fell and broke. Powerlines snapped and the entire front face of a 4-story building buckled under the immense shaking and collapsed on itself. Small sections of city blocks and streets followed, crashing and collapsing downward on each other, sinking into a sudden abyss of fire, gas, and asphalt while other splotches of land just simply shot upward. In all it looked a living creature burrowing beneath the city, causing land to upheave and dishevel itself as it moved about in its sense of state of natural being. In the car, the radio abruptly snapped to life, screaming and jumbling its speech, gargling and mangling its various tones as the knob jumped between stations. The chatter of the radio, mixed with the sudden smell of ozone and nitrogen coming from the backseat would’ve easily overloaded the senses of most weak-willed of humans, but not Wilhelm.

Years of serving his master had made him used to the sudden feeling of insanity that came with each interaction. By now it was almost second nature for him being so close to the gentleman.

But then again, Wilhelm’s master wasn’t human.

And neither for that matter, was Wilhelm.

The ripping of powerlines, the snapping of wires and the whooshing of water from uprooted pipes and crackling of glass continued until the quake finally ceased its temper tantrum and consoled itself with the peaceful bliss of the sheer level destruction it wrought in its wake. Wilhelm looked around waiting for a follow-up that never came (to his relief), and far as he could see from inside the car, Figueroa, York Blvd., and wherever else within 15 to 20 block radius effectively looked as if a bomb had detonated directly under it. In all, if you’d snap a photo and compare it side by side to its original state, it’d be like comparing a newborn baby to the daddy you assumed was his—you’d never even believe there was a resemblance at all.

Huh, he thought, and I liked Mexican eatery to used be around these parts. Oh well, guess it's Uber Eats for now.

Diagonally across the street from the left side of the car, a single street light shone; one of the few remaining left with no damage, save leaning to it side. A second later, the backseat leather makes a creaking sound.

“Ah”, the Master said stirring from his transcendental state, “it would seem that our guests have finally arrived, how kind of them to drop by on such short notice.”

At this, the old gentleman turned to the left car door. He moved ever so graciously, that on cue, Wilhelm moved as well, shifting the gear to park and then stepping out of the car to open the rear door on his side. As he did so, a group of figures appeared before him standing 12 feet away on the other side of the intersection.

He shot them a quick glance as he touched the rear door handle, and while opening the door his sight didn’t improve his own personal feelings about them.

There were 12 figures, each of varying shapes, heights, and build. They were spaced out across the intersection, creating a half circle surrounding the pair. Whether this was a show of force or simply a state of order in appearance, Wilhelm never bothered to answer, as he noted to himself how the 12 were spread into various groups or instances. One group had 3 clustered together, while pairs of 2 were dotted about, and then there was 1 solitary figure standing farther away from everyone else. Before Wilhelm could get a better glimpse of the one, a series of small clicks turned Wilhelm’s attention from the main group, and by chance lead him to the last and the smallest of the 12: a little boy, standing farther alone by himself away from the rest. 

There was something about this boy made Wilhelm’s skin prickle, and as he looked on and focused his eyesight better, he understood why.

He was tall for his age (which couldn’t have been hardly any older than 12, maybe even 13 stretching it), with short unkempt hair that looked as if it’d yet to be cut, and skin so porcelain and pale that its deathly parlor cast a haunting disturbance that nearly clashed with his light tan. He looked incredibly homely and out of place among these people.

For clothes, he wore a dark burgundy blazer with brass buttons and navy-blue lining and a pocket handkerchief; the trousers were khakis with a soft, charcoal brush along the calves and the knees. This boy had evidently arrived from a boarding school, given the nature of his outfit which had a crest of a rose and crane is bright gold and pink on the chest pocket on the left breast; but it only seemed to further contrast against the shape of his thinly framed body. What made him menacing to Wilhelm, however, were his eyes.

They were sullen and bored, with dark circles denoting the lack of proper sleep, making his expression mute and irrefutable. The pupils were milky, a creamy citrusy orange...

Well, if the fruit was shaved of its skin surgically and painfully. 

A clear, viscous, oily substance flowed from his shoulders, bubbling up above him in a hue of a purplish-black-orange stream of energy—like a lava lamp. And on his left arm sat a strange creature that Wilhelm could not recognize.

When Wilhelm looked closer at it, he immediately wished he hadn’t as a cold shiver ran the length of his spine burning like a potent acid.

Sitting on the young boy’s left shoulder was a creature unlike anything that ever should’ve existed in this world.