Torn.

TU-45 stands for Tearing Unit, revised model 45. It was hardly the best weapon on the market, but was still a substantial standard-issue weapon for all deployment-level menders who might find themselves in hazardous situations.
I was in such a situation.
A Tearing Unit works in a way suggested accurately by its title: It tears. Every being has an energy copy grafted to their physical form- this copy has been called everything from a life force, to a soul, or something as simple as 'energy'. When a Tearing Unit is targeted towards a being, the seams that hold this energy copy to the form begin to tear. I have been told it is exceptionally painful. The longer the target is the focus of a TU's beam of focused light, the more the energy is torn away. A revised model 45 is almost incapable of fully rendering an energy copy from a physical form: higher models are capable of performing a complete tear in under fifteen seconds. To bring a victim to unconsciousness with a 45, one must stand, defenseless, and focus the beam that shoots from the weapon's barrel and watch the target thrash about, screaming, swearing, and crying out to the powers that be as the weapon slowly tears and collects their very soul.
As the rubble above my chant-summoned shield began to be removed by my attacker, I was prepared to pursue such a course of action. Child or not, the crafty little sill-frrenged being had buried me and probably assumed I was dead.
The warmed weapon grew even hotter in my shaking hand, feeding off my anxiety and rage. Another half-minute, another few discarded rocks, and that frengger was going to pay.
After a half-hour of anticipation, the action was quick. I launched the shield above my head, showering the digger with rocks and rubble, and then proceeded to catch them in my TU-45's beam.
Beneath his gas mask, the child started screaming, and I was sickened to my core with sudden guilt. He could probably only take a few more minutes: a child's energy was hardly enough to present a challenge. After three, the small form crumpled.
I released the trigger and stood motionless.
His clothes were thick, layered, and covered with dust. The latex of the old-fashioned gas mask was clearly torn in several places, causing me to wonder at the necessity of such a broken object.
I found my will to move, holstered my weapon, and moved to his side.
He was breathing, and his heartbeat was still racing from the Tear. I was beginning to feel something of mixed relief and remorse when I was struck from behind.
The back of my head exploded in pain, and I was able to touch it briefly before the next blow came, knocking my forward. As I was rolling about to my back to right myself, still somewhat woozy, my eyes rolled over the form of the child in the gas mask. His eyes were open, and he was moving to his feet.
Sill.
He should have been down. If he had the energy copy of a chid, he shouldn't have been able to spread out his small hands, as he did, grasp my throat, and throw me hard back into the rubble. Things were becoming slightly more paranormal than usual.
I almost laughed starting to brush him away: a child's grip could hardly prove a threat.
As if to complete this lovely circle of irony, the attacker who had hit me from behind joined her friend, and also wrapped her hands around my throat.
Two, three, than four pairs of little, calloused hands worked together to throttle me: I attempted to reach for my TU, but yet another small creature sunk their teeth into my hand and gnawed.
I was losing oxygen, and the blood was pounding in my ears. I was about to die, and the collaborative culprits hadn't even entered grade school yet. I stared up at their small, almost cheery faces. Only two wore masks, one, the gas mask from before, and the other a simple too-large respirator. They were filthy, emaciated, and strangely calm. One of them laughed briefly.
As I choked, and my vision started to fade, I felt even more tiny hands holding down my limbs as they flailed with the inadvertent will to survive.
My body fought, but my mind was strangely composed and mellow: maybe I would see him, in the void.
My vision faltered, my windpipe contracted, and my head lolled back. My brain was aflame, my lungs were aflame, and I could feel the blood trickling from my gnawed-on hand.
Maybe the blessed void would bring me Carmine.
In that thought, there was happiness.
And then, someone's form exploded into released energy.
The girl-child who had been wearing the respirator suddenly and explosively blossomed into a cascade of yellow-orange energy. I could see it, which could only mean three things.
The first was that the blast was created by the beam of a TU-78.
The other was that, to my limited knowledge, the only possessor of that particular weapon was my mentor, Jakell,
and the third was that he was about to save my life.
Three more explosions, these smaller, occurred in the three other causes of my unfortunate asphyxiation. These were controlled, and not so obviously lethal: the energy simply leapt from their pores, a portion settling back in a second after the burst.
Air rushed back into my lungs, and Carmine was gone from my thoughts, replaced by a phrase, which I thought necessary to croak through with my somewhat crushed vocal chords.
"Holy Sill, I nearly just died."
Several more bursts occurred as I rolled over, coughing violently, and a moment later, a soft, long hand was on my shoulder.
"Goodness, Lauriel, can't you attempt to remain with the living for more than a month at a time?"
I glanced up, wiping the saliva from my lips, and attempted to smile while wheezing. Jakell's golden-blonde eyebrows moved up his tattooed forehead a few inches.
"Goodness you're attractive when you're leaking mucus out of your facial orifices. It's a very glamorous occupation."
I wiped at my face again, and felt a warmth spread across my jaw.
"...As is smearing blood." Jakell sighed, dropping to one knee and opening a pouch on his carrier belt.
A glanced down at my hand and half-shriek, half-grunted. "Oh, Sill." The blood was flowing freely, and the pink-red of the muscle could be clearly seen, rising from the open wound.
"Those little baby teeth will do a number on you." He was holding a needle, and took my hand with a firm but gentle grasp. His glove was still warm from the TU-78. "I'd feel better about this if you could look somewhere else," he said, meeting me with an intent, russet-red gaze.
"Oh. I- Sure." I glanced around, trying to locate a visual point. A metal frame, the skeleton of some sort of skyscraper, jutted from the near horizon. I settled for its right corner, which gleamed somewhat in the sunlight. "Got it."
"Good," he said, quiet. I felt the tingle of the first puncture, and squeezed my undamaged hand into my thigh. "So what did you find about the surroundings? Anything conclusive?"
"It's a city from approx. 2023, and a wormhole was torn under it, starting at the westmost face. I'd say this is about half the city, and the rest broke off in transfer. There's burns everywhere, so it's safe to assume that- ah-" I sucked in my breath as the thread slid under the jagged edge of my skin: the stitching string stroked a the ruined muscle.
"Go on."
"It's- it's safe to assume that the wormhole has altered the city and the inhabitants on a molecular or genetic level: the burns are probably form the hydrogen ignitions from the rift."
"Very good," Jakell said, and I winced again. My hand was tingling ferociously.
"How much longer is this going to be?" I asked. Jakell walked into my line of sight with his normal haphazard, lanky swagger.
"I finished two minutes ago while you were looking for something to stare at."
I looked at my hand. The stitching was flawless, etched x-marks across an angry red line; Jakell was a true craftsman.
"Say, notice anything funny about that building whilst you were eyeing it up?" Jakell asked, swivelling on a heel to face me. His face was aloof, yet inquisitive. "Any defining features?"
"There's a little shiny bit at the top right corner."
"Mmm. How about the topmost supports. Did you notice the Marksmen?" My stomach dropped. As Jakell walked towards me, a crude iron arrow struck the ground behind him, raising a dust cloud. "We'll work on the observation skills later. We can chalk this up to delirium due to pain."
"Sill, Jakell, I'm sorry."
"No issue." Another arrow hit the ground between us. "They've got truly awful aim. Probably has something to do with the fact that they're around seven."
"More children? Where are all of the adults?"
"On the contrary, I'm fairly sure we've been dealing with the adults all this time. " Jakell crouched, took my hand and glanced over the stitching. "You weren't able to incapacite one after two minutes, were you?"
I shook my head, but Jakell was still not in need of any answer.
He continued without glancing up. "Energy copies of adults, crammed into the bodies of children. They're probably all in an unnecessary amount of mental turmoil, amnesia, aggression...Wormholes that alter can do strange things to people."
"Wait, they were shrunken?"
"Reversed in age." Jakell nodded. Yet another arrow went sailing yards over our heads, and Jakell giggled. "They really are terrible at this."
"Shouldn't we shield, or-"
"We're already shielded. Basic protocol before personal health mends ensures I throw a basic shield over us. Helps less people die while healing." True to Jakell's word, an arrow struck a few inches above his shoulder, and shattered at the head. Jakell turned towards the building and shouted, "WONDERFUL JOB! THAT ONE ACTUALLY LANDED IN MY VICINITY!"
"If the adults have been reversed, where are the children?"
"Obliterated. If all the life forms were reduced, then anyone under, say, 30 would probably be reversed to infancy or beyond, into an oblivion of nonexistence."
"So what do we do?"
"We make friends." Jakell grinned. "We buddy up, tell them about who we are, and try to mend, or at least make them capable of aging again."
Thwack, thwack, thwack. The arrows hit the shield with a growing intensity.
"Lauriel, my dear, I think it would be wise for us to relocate. I feel we've become quite a spectacle, out here in the middle of a rubble field." He took my hand again, and helped me to my feet. "Besides, how will we ever make friends if we fail to surrender properly?"