"Berserk Warrior." A male voice spoke, stern, calm, and absolute.
A man walked from where the fountain had been. Five foot ten, In his thirties, Lean built with Nothing special about him at first glance. Short dark hair, Plain jacket, Dark jeans and Brown leather boots worn from use.
But his eyes told a different story.
Anger flickered through his brown eyes.
He scanned the scene in seconds. The mother and daughter huddled on the ground, trembling behind the golden barrier. Then he turned his eyes to the small dog's body, limp and broken near the bench. Lastly, he looked at the possessed figure convulsing on the pavement, black smoke pouring from burnt hands.
If he had been even a second too late, the mother and kid would have died.
He looked at what seemed like empty air and spoke.
"Celine. Take care of their memories."
He paused, then turned his head in another direction.
"Ryan. Behind me."
"Yes, Mark."
Two voices resounded, one female, one male, unseen but present.
