In his hellish time in those forgotten lands, the man never questioned its unnatural sense of time. As he rode his black mare across the misted hillsides and roughened gorges, he never once questioned how the sun never moved from its apex in the sky. There was never a night, and never a storm or a change of weather.
The lands were seemingly petrified, locked in a paralysis of time.
So the man rode over this grass, his mare's hooves stabbing and turning the blades to a crumbled dust as they traveled from Colossus, to the high spired temple, and to yet another Colossus again.
The man did not take time into account. He did not know nor care how many days that he had traveled, nor how many hours that he had spent painstakingly whittling away at the Colossi's rocky flesh.
But the mare, she knew. She held no comprehension of time yet could feel and understand the way that the fat melted from her muscle and left her protruding bones to jut from her ragged skin. She saw the same happen to her master, from the way that he grew thin to the awful smell of death and poison that blew from his mouth.
As they rode across a patch of desert, towards the rotting temple that held the thirteenth beast, the mare felt the blisters on her flanks reopen with each violent kick that the man gave her. Her ears reeled back at every harshened command that he spat at her. Go.
So she went, and despite how her hooves slipped in the sand that bit so terribly at her eyes, she got to the temple just as the earth started to quiver.
The man bent over from his perch upon her back and placed a hand on the mare's neck. It was a hand that no longer held the warmth that the mare had once so relished. It was cold and slick, a hunk of dead meat patting at her side. Her hide shivered and she drew her neck away from his touch.
"Agro?" The man was puzzled. He tried to lay his hand on the mare's neck again. She snorted and kept herself away.
It was just the earthquake, the man reasoned. Yes, she was just spooked.
The sand underneath them shifted and slid about the mare's hooves. The man tugged on the reins and bid the mare to canter onto the side, just in case.
As they circled about the temple remains, a sand dune formed, bloating the landscape. It grew and grew, and from it a long, stony pillar breached its surface.
The man watched, spellbound as a long snake wound up from the ground and into the air. Wrapped around its lithe, scaled body were four whale-like fins, ribbed at the sides.
As it rose higher and higher, those fins unwrapped from its body, bending like rubber and stretching to the sides to catch the desert wind. On its underbelly were three clear sacs, all placed along its length and pulsating with gaseous fluids that churned within them. They were what enabled the beast to stay aloft, against all logic and reasoning.
For it was a leviathan, and as man and horse watched it lengthen and slowly propel itself across the sand drenched breeze, they could only imagine what horrific weapons that it carried underneath its earthen armor.
The man dug his heels into the mare's battered sides and bid her forward to gallop in a wide circle. With the reins in one hand, he blindly groped for his bow and quiver.
Sliding through the air, the colossus flew both towards and away from them, its long snout turning this way and that against the wind's current. Apart from the low gurgles and growls that rumbled from it, it was a quiet beast, unthreatened.
Perhaps it didn't see the black speck of the mare dashing along the ground, or it just saw no danger to be had from something so small.
It did not fly by magic alone. As the man notched an arrow he aimed for the clear coated, fleshy bags that hung underneath its central belly. Though the colossus flew high, they were large targets.
Once his aim was clear and the mare had slowed, the man pulled back the string and let the arrow fly. It whistled sharply past his ears.
Squinting, the man watched as the sacs trembled. A black, oily cloud erupted from it. It had been punctured. It had worked, and the leviathan shook as it lowered closer to the ground. The blood that leaked from its bags dripped and soaked into the sand below, leaving behind a trail of dark sludge.
Yes, there was his opening. That was how he would get to it. The man yelled and kicked at the mare's flanks with a sharp cry and raced after it.
The mare did as she was told, sides heaving, breath panting as the man kept kicking over and over. Faster and faster as warm blood tricked down her scarred legs and froth lined the edges of her mouth.
Notching another arrow, the man aimed for the second sac on the colossus' belly and shot. It was a perfect hit, and pus oozed from the puncture.
The colossus faltered again, and took a sharp turn to the left as it lowered even closer. Its four fins dangled at its side, with the tips just barely skimming the sand's surface.
Dust and grit showered up and clouded the land as the man quickly aimed for the last air sac. Before the sand obscured his view he shot once more.
The colossus shuddered and cried out as its last means of flight burst, and the man smiled as it lowered and let its fins fully submerge themselves in the sand. The ridges that lined their surfaces seemed just the right width to grab.
The mare snorted and half-closed her rheumy eyes as the man gave her one final, brutal kick to set her faster. Her hooves nearly slipped in the saturated sand, tinged black with fluids. She had never been forced to go so fast. The man had never made her go more than she could.
But the man was different now, from the way that he felt on her back to the way that he grinned as he shifted up to lean on the mare's side.
The colossus only turned about rarely, so it was easy for the man to navigate to one of the fins sides. As soon as the mare had caught up with one, he let go of the reins and leapt onto it, arms flailing to grab at the ridges.
He caught them, and began to climb to the colossus' furred back. It would be so easy then. As he reached the top, he unsheathed his sword.
The mare had cantered to a stop soon as she felt the weight lift from her back. Her thick legs trembled and shivered as she slowed. Her mane hung in sweaty, greasy locks that bunched together, and her mouth hung open as she tried to look for her master on the leviathan's back.
Soon as he had leapt from the fin to the colossus' back, the man felt his sword vibrate. The dark blue glow of a sigil illuminated further down the beast's lithe spine and the man ran to it. His feet tripped along the thick, greenish fur as he neared it.
The sigil had been hidden, blocked slightly by a small back fin that was planted on the colossus' back. The man knelt down, lifted his sword point-down, and stabbed at it, digging deep into its flesh.
As he pulled the sword away and prepared to stab at the open wound, a thick stream of that same oiled blood gushed from it and drenched his face and clothes in black. The man had learned to ignore it. In fact, he had almost grown to like the warm, wet feel of it streaming down against his veiny skin. It was almost soothing.
He stabbed again. The colossus screamed and tilted back and forth to roll over as it painfully floated across the desert, but it couldn't even manage that. The man was coated in black blood. He had tasted it. It had the thick flavor of rot and mold.
It would only take one more, the man thought. He readied his sword, slick and black, and brought it down with the last of his force.
From down below, the mare watched as the colossus reared back and gave out a keening scream. Its fins wrapped around its middle and it twisted upwards as it dropped and crashed against the sandy earth, kicking up dust in massive plumes.
As the colossus laid still and the corpse turned black, the mare heard that one harsh, desperate cry.
"Agro!"
Even against the loud rumbling all around her, the mare heard it. She always heard it, so panicked even this far into their journey. She kicked up her tired hooves and raced forward.
The man was lying on the bloodied sand, shaken off as the colossus had fallen. He could not move. His legs and arms were broken. That was alright, though; Dormin would fix him, like always.
His blood-smeared, pained face lit up as the mare came to his side and bent her neck forward to let him stroke her nose.
And as much as the mare now despised the way that his touches felt, she still felt such love for him, and pain for what was to happen.
They were facing away from the corpse, so the man did not see the tendrils that erupted from the colossus' flesh that wavered in the air and knotted together. The mare saw them, though, and she could not help but close her eyes as they darted forward and to the man.
The man was silent as they punctured his back and searched through his flesh. His eyes blurred and the clouded smoke that wept from his mouth tasted just as foul as ever.
As he fell into unconsciousness, he heard the mare nicker softly to him.
The white tunnel came into his head. He heard the harsh breathing, so full of life coupled with a voice, her voice.
Then it turned black. It would be black for quite some time.
And there were still three colossi left.