It was a pleasant gashunk-shing . Much to her surprise, the sound of the sword slashing through flesh was pleasant. Perhaps that was at the fault of the throes in their overtaking of her body, or the reminder of the squish the eyes of the ogre had made when she had began to ride it with her needles.
But no matter how pleasing the noise was, the reality was horrible and terrifying.
She heard the sound of a thud, seeing the hilt slap roughly against the blue swirl pattern of the boy's shirt. Against her better judgment, she winced. Her mouth fell open in shock. There's no way this was happening. John's body went limp and fell off the slanted blade, tearing itself up more with its own weight. A piercing chuckle came from between Bec Noir's lips.
It was sickening. More so his laugh than the gruesome death of her most treasured friend. Rose brought her dark hands to her mouth, fighting the wracking urge to heave. And then all at once, she was filled with anger.
The sobs and heaves growing in her throat subsided, the voices of ancients in their twisted tongues growing more indignant in her ears. She felt her face flush—Her hands tightened their grip on The Thorns of Oglogoth. The Noble Circle of Horrorterrors always seemed to rise up when she began to feel angry. It was as if she had stopped thinking and became a marionette.
Poised to strike, the dark ectoplasm rising higher with her emotions, she gritted her teeth. Rose lifted and squared her shoulders, cursing in a tongue lost to anyone in the Skaian galaxy. But then Noir made a peculiar move, which caused her to lose her footing. He showed her his back, smiled, and flash-stepped away.
So that was it, then? He'd just leave her alone with the bodies of those she's cared for the most. Her brain told her he wanted to see her crack. He wanted to see her cry. But there was no way she could show him that weakness. There was no chance she'd let him see her off her guard. She kept the Torns clutched in her hand, kneeling over John.
She holstered the Thorn at her right hand into the tie around her waist, placing her hand on his cheek gently. Her brow knitted. It was hard to see him this way. He had been so strong through everything. It killed her that she couldn't warn him of the fate of his father… He was so excited to finally see him again. But in this situation, he had broken further than she had ever expected. Than she could handle. It felt like Noir had stabbed her through the heart instead.
She couldn't stand it any longer. There was no way she could have held back the tears forming at her eyes. She let one slide freely down her nose, but bit back the rest. She told herself she couldn't do this.
As if pushing her thoughts away, a hand came through her vision and nestled on top of her own. Her eyes widened. John was alive. She could see the ragged breaths, and the effort it took to take them. Peering into the gash, she assumed his lungs were slashed to bits. Oh, how she wanted him to stop and be able to let go in peace. The tears slid down her face more, dropping onto his chest.
"Hey… Rose…" he wracked. She shut her eyes, using the back of her left hand to wipe her face. She looked at him imploringly, not wanting to miss his last words. "Marrying you… It wouldn't've been so terrible… I think being like this… It's changed how I feel about you…"
Suddenly the worries about his efforts didn't seem to be such big worries anymore. Had he just admitted to loving her? Had she just lost her chance? He was slipping away with every word, his blue eyes growing dimmer and dimmer. Even if she could reply in a language he understood, it seemed like no words could make him understand how she felt. She simply nodded, offering him a weary smile.
"I know its stupid how we just met for the first time now… but…" It was a trailing murmur, and he had never gotten to finish it. He faded out, a toothy smile on his pale face. His hand was still tight over her's. It felt like all of her tears had dried up. It was empty.
She made her way away from John, crawling pitifully on her knees towards where her mother lay. She could hear her even now, scolding her about the way a lady would cross the room. A bitter smile broke onto her face. Even in this dire situation, it was funny how you could think the things you think.
She sat beside her body on her knees, looking down at her gently. Even in this situation, Rose's mother had fought for her. There was no way of knowing now all the things she had done for her, but perhaps the one-upmanship she normally presented herself with was genuine love and care. Maybe she really did enjoy the drawing Rose did enough to weld it in an extravagant frame. Maybe the wizards weren't in mocking, but in support of her interests. If only she had made the revelation before hand.
Mother, in this situation, what would you do?
She saw John's father laying still as well, a pipe hanging at his open lips. It aroused nothing already arisen in her chest. It was terrible how hard Mr. Egbert had been fighting for John's safety. It was sickening how he was just ended for doing the best for his child. And how his child was doing the best for everyone and was still stricken down.
John was looking out for you, you know.
The voice came at the edge of her thoughts, but that voice wasn't her's. It wasn't the Horrorterrors, either. She turned her head from the bodies, noticing a strange creature flicking its tail mysteriously. Its long ears were edged with golden rings, and a pink tinge was at the tips.
If you make a contract with me, you can have anything you desire. But, of course, in exchange I'll need something too.
At this point it was hard to care what the exchange was. It wasn't as if she had much left. Whatever this thing was, no matter if it wanted her life, John's had become far more precious. He was the savior of the waking world. And what was she? She was about to go on a suicide mission—About to challenge Bec Noir. Throwing her life away was never an issue for the safety of the one she had loved so dearly. For a chance at life for her brother, and her friend as well. There was one thing Rose could do, and that was to agree.
She lifted her right hand, dipping her fingers into a pool of blood at her mother's chest. That which had not congealed stuck fast to her fingers, then began to drip. She pulled her fingers toward the checkerboard flooring, creating crude letters in a language she had all but forgot.
I wish for John's life.