Here are some meaningful and/or cool quotes lifted from a retrospective reading of Harbinger today:
I have blood on my hands, some of it not human.
– Simon Graves, (from “the Message” prologue)
The fire escapes, stairways like scaffolds – a demented spider had spun a web of rust and steel.
The blood stained Beretta, flung unceremoniously to the far side of the alley, clattered to the ground.
It was akin to the light cast at dusk, yet dusk is a withdrawing of sunlight – an interplay of light and shadow. Here there were no defined shadows; just a pallid, unhealthy glow.
There they sat, father and son, long into the night, discussing the history of the Yu family and the finality of destiny.
He turned to wave his friends on – when he saw her. Standing no more than two metres behind Claire.
A little girl.
“C’mon you midget fucker!” he screamed. (Jimmy coming out of his shell)
The sea of forested green blurred out of sight, the sky swirled in a nauseating pattern that tore itself from his gaze. Encased in the churning chaos of the colours, the dark mountain loomed ahead, forever beyond his reach.
So late in the evening, the smells of the rush hour had subsided. The rich flavours of pressed flesh had given way to a stale aura caught within the train. The air conditioning filters fed this pungent air with their artificial breeze.
Here and there, different colours jostled with the green; auburns, browns, greys and plums. Too many to name. They rose as solitary trees and groves alike, imbuing the plain with a rainbow of natural colour that harmonized with the radiant sky.
Tiny holes were gouged into every photo, cascading the crimson light through the empty eye sockets. Glaring balefully at Claire, the pictures were filled with unholy life.
“You are a whispered word about to be spoken. A light that glimmers at the edge of sight.”
“At least you didn’t call me the chosen one.”
– Exchange between Simon and Saul.
the Yu Blade gleamed with expectation as it drank the sun’s radiance. The sword’s characters and runes almost glowed in the afternoon light, in sharp contrast to the dark metal of its blade.
This sword had tasted his blood; his father’s blood; and now David’s. Just as it had done for hundreds of generations of his family. It had turned blood against blood. It had claimed the lives of countless souls, both virtuous and depraved. Now he was the guardian of the sword. And he would one day bleed for it.
Shaking his head slightly, Stains knew something was up. Five guns always meant trouble.
In a flash, Brand stood between the bodies, levelling his compact MP7 at the four creatures rushing headlong towards him. He held the knife behind his head, poised like an Olympic fencer.
Somewhere nearby, an operative was fighting a life and death battle with God only knows what. And losing.
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