Heading South for the Summer

It was only a few days after his father's funeral, and Eric was in no way inclined to stay as far North as Portland for a number of reasons.  The weather in general was too cold there, making him more likely to suffer his father's same fate, or at least the fate that most people understood.  Truthfully, Eric's fear of colder conditions had been well-founded on his part for most of his life, but this just solidified his desire for more tropical conditions.  Of course, his father's actual fate expedited matters.  He probably would have been willing to stay through at least the summer so that when he left he'd know where he was headed, but the threat of a target on his back made him move much quicker.

He felt kind of lucky that the killers had some respect for the dead as he got off of a cramped Greyhound headed towards the prior-destroyed New York, which he noted as probably the dumbest place to go, although this was a stop.  He had quite a few things to figure out, and he did occasionally need to stop in order to know what direction to go, stretch his legs, and because it had a hint of normalcy for him.  The teenager was used to traveling around, but considering his limited travel options at the moment, it was better to take it a few steps at a time.  His finances were limited by the amount of his father's inheritance which, while not a terribly small amount, wasn't...well, his dad wasn't exactly rich, and he'd still needed to pay funeral costs, so it would help if he made a bit of money on his way South.  However far South he was going.

Eric had a couple of large bags and a cardboard tube that totally had blueprints in it as he considered just how far South he needed to go.  Some of his father's belongings were rather difficult to get through customs, and he couldn't just leave them like he did the house, so leaving the country was a non-option, as optimal as heading far enough South that he'd get some heavy use out of that high school Spanish class was; it was nice and warm down there, or so he heard.  Texas was pretty far away, although he questioned if he could reasonably afford to go that far down and still have enough money to get himself established.  The whole time he thought about these options, he knew the way he looked.  He was dressed pretty heavily for the warmer seasons, and Eric wasn't known for his physical strength, so it didn't look like carrying the heavy bags was easy on him, especially considering the restriction in arm space the tube he had created.  It wasn't enough to cause a scene, but he could tell at the very least the "weirdo" comments from school were still an active criticism...not to mention the fact that, even with the combination of the physical exertion, the weather, and his attire, a few may have noticed that his brow bore not a drop of sweat, even though it realistically should.

A young woman was walking along the sidewalk, holding pamphlets for her religion. This poor soul had been taken by Legion, who was on a mission. Retrieve the sword. Through a bit of collective outreach, it was able to find out about the magical weapon. She smiled and and dashed a bit forward to tap his shoulder. She really didn't need his attention for that long. "Excuse me sir." Legion had her appear to be particularly interested in the boy. "Excuse me I was wondering if you were lost in this world and needed to find faith!" She optimistically handed him the paper, the biggest and earnest smile on her face.
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On top of a building, in an apartment, there was one of Legion's Malitia Vassels, members of the hive mind that are armed to the teeth with Military grade weapons. On the floor of the apartment there was a man in a pool of blood. He tried to resist when Legion had broken in, so the Malitia killed him as silently as possible. He had a sniper rifle in hand, standing on top of the furniture to get a view without sticking the gun's very long barrel out of the window, which would likely draw attention, and the panicking kind.

"So what we do at the Church of Cthulu is pray to the Great Old One who will us with praise and love and beauty once he starts to notice us. Are you interested?"

Legion was positive it's plan was going to work. But for good measure, around the corner there are two vans each with six Malitia in them, and a third with his main players, the Metahumans. Everything was in motion, and as the the woman continued talking, the Sniper let out a bullet. Unfortunately, a powerful gust of wind appeared out of nowhere, finding its place in the woman's head. The two squads of Malitia moved in first, guns out.

The young man could feel the tap on his shoulder, and in spite of his desire to find a more permanent destination as quickly as possible, he couldn't just shrug off someone as unassuming as this woman. He'd turned to pay attention, rewarding her politeness with engagement of his own, especially since she may have just needed help with something. Then he heard what she was actually after, and in that moment started to put his hands up a bit defensively to give himself room to back up slightly.

"Oh, no, I certainly appreciate the concern, but really, I am quite--" He didn't realize she was one of the sorts even his dad would have slammed the door on; the "one foot in the door" type of salesman, that took his politeness as a chance to give their pitch. Eric moved a step or two back, looking around him to see if anyone noticed how zealous her worship was. Yeah, he did notice that it was the worship of something he'd always understood as a squid-faced eldritch abomination beyond human comprehension, which certainly explained why she was so adamant with her worship.

In the brief moment that Eric looked around, he noticed a couple of odd things around him. The vans he noticed a block or two away would probably have not caught his attention at all if not for their close proximity to one another, which at that moment seemed like a simple coincidence.

"Listen, you're a nice person, and I certainly appreciate your concern, but I'm afraid--" At that precise moment, the young man's eyes widened as he saw life swiftly drain from the woman's eyes; this sight prompted him to quickly duck and use his lower position to try to get through the crowd as unnoticed as possible, cursing under his breath. He saw the direction she fell as he looked back, and as the panic unfolded around him, Eric ducked into an alleyway holding the cardboard tube and his bags close to him with the realization that these little coincidences he'd seen out of the corner of his eye weren't coincidences; he must have been targeted, most likely by the people that killed his father.

Eric's goal at the moment was to keep himself in relative isolation, which was really the best he could do with people screaming and running. Besides the panic was good cover, as long as he could concentrate for a few seconds, pulling up one end of the tube and reaching inside, finding the handle of its true contents; the Blade of the Phoenixian Soul. Eric closed his eyes, away enough from the chaos that he could at least keep his mind primarily on the incantation in the language that he still didn't really know, requiring an escape plan of his own that was more reliable; he'd likely have to ditch one of the bags in the process, but he could just start heading South more directly in 5...4...3...2...