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Sinclair didn’t really count the days anymore, there was no practical use to it for him. Some days, he would wake up next to Kromer, legs and arms entangled in an attempt to be one. Other days, the morning and night would blend into one burning, bloody blur. But that was fine, Kromer would always appear and greet him, eventually.
Today was one of the former, his nails digging into the flesh of her shoulders. She didn’t mind, in fact, she rather seemed to enjoy it. Referred to it as something irrevocably human. (She was always talking about how human they were, an infection within even the tamest conversation.) Her hair was spread out awkwardly, two-toned bangs that just blended and merged together. Sinclair never understood how she managed to keep them separated in the middle of purging, despite having seen her do her hair innumerable times. He carefully unlatched one of his hands to brush them out of the way, to get just a glimpse at her sleeping face.
There was a certain vulnerability to this time of day. It was such a stark contrast to how she was normally. There was still an allure to her, of course. But instead of her usual black hole self, she was more like a simple star in the sky. (Just one of many, burning bright. She, too, would burn out one day.) But, Sinclair was getting ahead of himself. He pried himself off of her, Kromer grasping onto him as much as he was clinging to her. (One out of need, one out of want. It was funny how they fit together.) As much as he would like to watch more, he had to start his morning training. Halberds weren’t for the weak.
It was a strange weapon for him to wield. No one else in Nagel und Hammer did, anyways. (It made him stand out, it was a reminder that he was different from them) But something about the way it towered over him in the armory drew him to it. Finishing the buckles on his training belt, he looked out the window to where the kleinhammers were training. They weren’t good, per se. It was rather crude, the way they just swung their hammers about, occasionally having the misfortune of hitting one of their companions. (It wasn’t like he was better with the halberd.) He took his weapon from where it was leaning against a doorframe.
The fresh air hit him like a hammer to the face. The town around them was in shambles- burned out houses, family pyres, and the odd prosthetic that got tossed about. It was fine, they weren’t human; they didn’t deserve any humanity from him. (But they were human at some point, right? It wasn’t right then, right?) The group of kleinhammers Guido was training snapped to attention as they saw him approach.
“One Who Shall Grip, are you here to practice again?” the großhammer asked respectfully, despite already knowing the answer. (Why did he have his respect?)
“Is my training area set up?” Sinclair asked in turn.
“No hammer has touched it.”
“Good, please leave me be while I train.” Sinclair stated, putting on the mask of authority that was expected of him.
Guido simply nodded and turned back to his hammers. Ah, so he didn’t quite have the same level of respect that Kromer held. (He didn’t want it.) It didn’t matter, he balanced the halberd upon his shoulder and walked to his training spot. It wasn’t much, just an alley between two burnt out houses. But it was enough.
Sinclair settled into his stance, left foot forward right foot back. Back foot balancing on the balls of his feet to give him more maneuverability. Left hand in front of the right. Front hand looser than the back one for quick changes in positioning. Like mechanical clockwork. (Was he any different from the torn apart masses of wires in the houses surrounding him?)
He doesn’t really need to train all that much, but it’s good to learn better techniques. Get so comfortable with the weapon that it was just an extension of him. (When he was younger, he imagined a paintbrush instead, perhaps.)
Treiben, a simple Treiben.
Tag. He swings the halberd behind him. Unterhut. The tip of the halberd pierces the ground as it slashes through the air. A simple pattern, anyone could do it. Sinclair finds it easy to fall into the motions.
Tag. (He can’t feel the burning yet.) Unterhut. (Other people seemed to, though.) Tag. (Was she up yet?) Unterhut. (She didn’t even wake up when he pried her off of him.) Tag. (Guido seemed to be warming up to him more.) Unterhut. (Did he really want that?) Tag. (Was he really doing this technique right?) Unterhut. (There was nobody to train him but books.) Tag. (There wasn’t anyone to teach him anything at all.) Unterhut.
His muscles burned at this point, a sufficient warm-up. Sinclair never truly learned how to guard himself, just accepting any attack he couldn’t instinctively block. (He didn’t deserve to block them.) Kromer didn’t take any issue with it. She would take him in her arms and cover every wound herself- marveling at which would heal, which would scar. (She loved scars and other human imperfections.)
But, he should practice anyway.
When he was younger and watched mock fights, he thought it looked like dancing. Front foot forward, back foot sliding to meet it. Front foot slides left, back foot matching its stride. Like a waltz, or a tango, or one of the other dances he wished he had paid more attention to in school. (He was always more focused on her than proper footing.)
Oberhut. Raise the halberd to the middle of the body, forming a vertical line. Mittelhut. Point the halberd away from the body, horizontally. Unterhut. Point the halberd down to the ground. Sinclair stepped through the motions, trying to remember how it went. He was supposed to do oberhut again and start a new set of motions, but he could have sworn there was something else! (He should have paid more attention to everything around him.) It didn’t matter, he could just practice what he knew.
Oberhut. (Split the self.) Mittelhut. (Split the other.) Unterhut. (Split the earth.) Oberhut. (What would his parents think, if they saw him now?) Mittelhut. (He can’t afford to think like that!) Unterhut. (They would definitely hate him.) Oberhut. (Why was he thinking about them at a time like this?) Mittelhut. (The bodies had long since cooled, the houses next to him were burned days ago.) Unterhut. (They were a family, weren’t they?) Oberhut. (He had a family.) Mittelhut. Unterhut. Oberhut. Mittelhut. Unter-
Sinclair wheezed and drove the point of his halberd into the ground, sweat dripping from his face. Lungs burning from over-exertion, he leaned upon the handle of his weapon. (Of course he did, he never knew when to stop.) The sun getting higher and higher in the sky didn’t help, either. (She had to be awake by now.) He should have brought water with him.
“Sinclair~” A voice called, teasing yet adoring. Ah, there she was. Dressed in her white and silver and as radiant and burning as the sun. (He wanted to throw up.)
“Kro-” Sinclair coughed, throat dry from mild dehydration, “Kromer. You’re up.”
She had the audacity to laugh, “Of course I’m up, it’s almost noon.”
Had he really been lost in training that long? Long enough for her to put her bangs in order, at least. Did she come looking for him for a reason? Did she miss him? (Did she really need him?) Or did she have plans for him? (She always has, from the start.)
“Hmm, Sinclair, have you eaten today? It didn’t look like you did when I got up?” She approached him, still blinding (He couldn’t look away.), “Did you?”
Oh, she came to him out of concern. (She must need him to spill blood later.) That was… nice of her. Sinclair shook his head, no wonder he felt so bad. Training on an empty stomach wasn’t the best.
Kromer put a finger to her mouth, “Well, we can’t have that now, can we? Come on, let’s go scavenge something to eat.”
She grabbed his wrist and gently tugged him forward, barely giving him enough time to get his halberd out of the ground. Kromer just laughed at his struggle, and gave him a moment to get himself in order. (Small mercies were a sign of love, right?)
The walk back to the house was uneventful. (“The house,” as if it was normal domesticity instead of a place of slaughter.) It was one of the unburned houses, one that they simply decided to drag the heretics out of and add to one of the pyres. The assorted hammers thought nothing of their glorious leader half-dragging her second in command away. It must have become a common enough sight at this point. (He didn’t really mind that, did he?) At last, Kromer practically skipped up the porch and opened the door, whistling a low tune. (She could be cute like that, sometimes.)
The whistling didn’t stop as she went through the kitchen and dug through the pantries. The heretics of this home were mostly flesh and blood still, but still not worthy of their humanity. (Was he?) She pulled out various cans of food, tossed boxes to the side. Reaching shelves he would have to tiptoe for.
“So, what are you thinking? There’s soup, buncha cans of tomato. But you’re probably too warm for that. Ah!” Kromer exclaimed, pulling a box down from the shelf, “You haven’t had breakfast, so cereal should do!”
Sinclair frankly doubts that she had it, either, given her mere suggestion of it. How… thoughtful of her. (He would definitely have to spill blood for her, later.) It had been so long since anyone other than her treated him this well. He decided to help her and rummage around for bowls, silverware- anything would suffice. They had eaten MREs out of bags before, at the least.
Her whistling returned, just another quirk of hers. (It made him feel weak in the knees.) He held a pair of bowls out, waiting for her to fill them. There was no table; the chairs got crushed when they dragged the heretics away. (One of them reminded him of his sister.) But, it was fine. They could stand or they could sit; as long as they were together, Sinclair didn't care.
The two of them sat on the floor, legs sprawled out, backs pressed to the cupboards. He leaned into her as she poured out the mildly stale cornflakes for him. Thankfully, Kromer didn't pull away when she was done. (She sat to his left, as if making sure he could lean into her and not her gauntlet. Another kindness.)
"Geez, Sinclair, did you overdo it?" She teased, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead, "You got all riled up without me~"
He blushed, yet leaned into her touch. (Was that innuendo?) "Maybe, I lost track of time."
She moved a leg on top of his, a half entanglement. (He was trapped) Her hand slid across the side of his face, cupping his cheek, “Of course you did.” (Perhaps he didn’t mind.)
Kromer drew her hand away entirely and put it in her bowl, eating with her hands. They sat in near silence, minutes ticking by as she ate. (He thought he was hungry) Occasionally, she would bump her foot into his, as if she was reminding him of her presence. (An unnecessary task, he basked in her light.) She always enjoyed eating- would even take time out of her day to cook for them.
“Hmm, Sinclair, is something wrong? You haven’t even touched your food,” she stated, slightly cocking her head to the side, “Here, why don’t I just-”
She reached into his bowl, picking up a few flakes and holding them up to his mouth. (He wants to bite her) At his lack of action, she gently pressed her fingers to his mouth, encouraging him to eat. He acquiesced, letting her slip the food in his mouth. Kromer made a pleased hum, and dragged her fingers down his throat when he swallowed.
“Now that’s a good boy,” she murmured. (He was a trained dog.)
Another pinchful, fingers pressed to his mouth again. (It was hard to think) Another acceptance. Fingers bumped his teeth before slipping away. Her eyes betrayed nothing.
Sinclair wasn’t sure how long they did this, until she pulled her fingers and self away for the last time, carefully wiping the saliva on his pant leg. (His, all his.)
“There, Emil, isn’t that better?”
(What did she want from him?) He just nodded as she took the bowl from his hands, set it in her own, and pulled herself off of the ground. (The horrible loss of touch.) They had other things to do today. Or, rather, she did. (He’d get dragged along, dog on a leash.)
“Now get up, I have some strategic planning meetings today. Some sections are calling in from other districts, too!” She exclaimed. Right, their operations were spreading. It was glorious; they could erase all the heretics in the City at this pace. (What an awful thought.)
He got up and dusted himself off. The training belt could stay on for this, right? It’s not like he would be playing a major role for the rest of the day. (She didn’t need him like he needed her.) Kromer never commented on it, so it was fine.
They left the little, still-standing house and walked through the town again to their makeshift headquarters. Guido was already there, maps and lists spread out on a table. (He was always rather punctual.) The little town they were in was crossed out.
“Guido! Thank you for setting everything up for me. How’s the training going?” Kromer asked.
Based on the deep set exhaustion he appeared to carry despite through armor, not well, “This group will need additional training before they can be moved to more advanced practices.”
Kromer winced, “They can’t be that bad. I mean, it’s just swinging a hammer.”
Guido sighed, “Medical aid had to be registered on three separate instances today.”
“Ah, well, it looks like our next target is rather small, so it should be a good proving ground for them,” she said, leaning forward and pointing to a spot on the map. (Why did she move her body that way?)
“I concur, though we might need additional forces from here,” Guido pointed to a different spot on the map, not too far from their current location.
Sinclair watched from the sidelines as they debated, nothing to add to the conversation. (He never played a role in strategy) Kromer would occasionally wave her hands trying to emphasize a point, while Guido always held the same composure. (It was a wonder that he managed to raise her.) Eventually, she appeared to get frustrated and pulled out a phone from under the table, slamming it down. Guido reached over and dialed a set of numbers, people on the other side eventually picking up and fighting for a speaking spot.
“One Who Gr-” “Calling in fr-” “Keep quie-!” (Would he eventually be one of those voices?) “I need fo-” “Location sec-” (No, she always kept him close.) “Hello? Is any-” “I need to-” (He didn’t want to have to be that far for that long.) “Okay, one at a time!” “O’ One Who Grips, I-” “Sorry for be-” (What a mess.) “You’re break-” “Shut the fu-”
“Everyone, wait your turn to speak!” Kromer ordered, the line falling silent, “Now, can the Gechingen commander speak?”
“O-of course, O’ One Who Grips,” a woman on the other line mumbled, “Thank you for answering my call. I’m asking about-”
The conversation faded into background noise. It’s not that Sinclair didn’t care, it was just hard to focus on it. Occasionally, someone else would join the call and throw the whole thing into cacophony again. (She always was able to get it under control.) He wasn’t sure how long the calls went on, but the sun was slowly fading as she kept writing down various issues and complaints. At one point, Guido left and brought them some soup. (Tomato, his favorite. Did he remember?)
Kromer started pacing the room, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Let me get this straight, you lost five kleinhammers to “friendly-fire”? Did I get that right?”
The person currently on the line sputtered and started making up an excuse. Kromer snuck behind Sinclair and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. (A moment of weakness, or something more?)
“Say, how about I hang up and we go to bed?” she murmured, muffled from the fabric of his coat.
Sinclair nodded along. She briefly detached herself from him and approached the receiver. The excuses were still spilling from it as she hung up. Kromer ran her hand through her bangs and sighed. (They fell back to their proper place, somehow.) She looked exhausted from the people pleasing. (Who wouldn’t be?)
She lazily slung an arm around his shoulders and led him back outside. The stars were just starting to shine in the sky. (That’s what she was, wasn’t she?)
“See, Sinclair, leading Nagel und Hammer isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I can’t just purge heretics all the time. There’s planning, plotting- working with other people to achieve our common goal. I have K Corp contacting me about more opportunities in their district!” she exclaimed.
Sinclair leaned deeper into her, gaze still turned to the stars. (They really were bright tonight.) “Sounds like a lot of work.”
“Ugh, it really is. There’s a surprising amount of paperwork. But don’t you worry, I’ll get you back to cleansing this city of filthy heretics in no time!” She assured him, patting his shoulder. (Why was that a good thing, again?)
“Of course…” he stated. (When would she go back to being a black hole?)
The house was cold, as Kromer flung the door open. She took the lead, practically bounding down the hall to their room. (It was stolen.) By the time Sinclair got there, she was already stripping down, peeling off her gauntlet strap by strap. He carefully approached and helped her, earning a small smile in turn. (A gift.) Her shirt didn’t need his assistance.
It was a guilty pleasure to watch her undress, especially when he was supposed to be doing so himself. (It’s not like she discouraged it.) She seemed so vulnerable doing so. A person much idealized, but still a person. Scars littering her arms and legs, stretch marks on her breasts and belly. (It was hard to look away.) A slip of light in the dark world. (He should look away now.) She had already slid in bed by the time he was done. It wasn’t long before he followed
The pair wrapped their limbs around each other, huddling close under the blankets for warmth. (Always trying to make each other whole.) Kromer leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. (No ferocity to her, she hung in the sky like a dead star.) He nuzzled his head into the crook of her neck, bare skin against bare skin. (Why couldn’t she just be a black hole and devour him whole?)
“Goodnight, Emil. I love you,” she whispered. (Did she?)
“I love you, too,” he returned. (Did he?)
Sinclair gave in and closed his eyes. (Why was she like this?) (Why was he like this?) (One day they would burn together and deserve it.) (Did he deserve this?) (Absolutely.) (God, he hopes she dies.) (What a horrible thought!) (He hopes they die together.) (If they hadn’t eaten each other alive yet, they will eventually.) (She always said that to live was to consume.) (He hated her.) (He loved her.) (Goodnight.)