Oh yes, boys and girls. It's here and done!
First off, I'm sorry it took so long, but it's not that I haven't been writing, quite the opposite: this chapter turned out a lot longer than I had originally thought. I aimed at around 8k… it came out as 14,5k So yeaah… This chapter alone makes up more than 10% of my entire fic.
Had I split it up into 3-4k chapters (as my usual chapters are) I would easily have been able to release one chapter every other week, but I wanted this to be the final one so I couldn't do that.
And I also intentionally spent more time on this one than any other, for I wanted it to be perfect, spoiler alert, it's not: I still feel I could improve upon it, and I'm not entirely sure if it's good or bad. But, as I said, I've kept you guys waiting long enough. I almost feel bad about it.
Well, I've thrown around enough excuses.
This is usually when I say ¨Enjoy,¨ but I'm not sure that word fits this chapter.
So I'll say only:
I hope it's worth the wait and that it doesn't disappoint.
A Scar of Vengeance
"We should leave our bags here," Aela said, "We're not far away now."
"I remember," I said, shrugging off my rucksack to lean it against the trunk of a fir.
Aela took a small wooden jar out of her bag before she placed it on the ground and removed the lid. She briefly dipped three of her fingers in it and drew them across her face, diagonally down from her forehead, right to left, all the way down to her neck. Three stripes of dark umbra blue—the same face paint she had back then.
She reached out her arm and handed me the jar as she had finished, turning to her bag as I took it.
Was it really necessary? Even if it was a tradition her father had taught her, I didn't see much of a purpose in it. Perhaps she did it to honor her father. Or was there another reason?
I dipped my thumb in the liquid, felt it stick to my finger, and looked at the black goo on my thumb. What type of face paint would suit me? Last time, I had drawn four fingers down my face. Would that do again?
No, I thought as I looked at my thumb. Today needed something darker. Something with meaning.
I wiped my thumb against the tree and scraped off the paint before I took my four fingers to the jar, dipped them, and clenched them together as I drew a wide thick line across my eyes—left to right—darkening them.
If my eyes were to glow today, as I knew they would… I wanted them to show.
I wanted them to be the last thing she'd see: them, burning with fury behind a layer of cold dark black.
The facepaint felt itchy as I looked around us: I remembered this place, recognized the opening, the placement of the trees. It was hard to make out with all the snow, but this… this opening was where we had been supposed to meet up with Skjor. On that day. The day I first met her.
The day I had been late.
That was months ago. It didn't feel that long, but it was. So much had happened since. Nothing good.
"This way," Aela continued impatiently, already leading ahead as she paced through the snow.
"I said I remember." I didn't mean to sound frustrated, but I was. We were here. This was it. This… was it. I could feel it: a warm sensation in my chest.
It was calm around us. A fine day. With white powdery snow. Black and grey stones. Deep green needle trees. A clear frozen blue sky. I could hear birds chirping, the wind blowing through the trees, the dry snow gnarling with our every step.
The calm of nature somehow made me feel unnerved. It shouldn't, but it was too good a day for a day that in no way was intended to be good.
Push the 'unnerveness' aside. Get sharp. I needed it.
This is the day for which I haven't been able to sleep. This is the day for which my wolf hasn't tormented me with nightmares. This is the day for which I've haven't cared to eat.
For this is the day I have been waiting for: wanted, craved.
This… is the day I'll have my revenge.
"Down," Aela said, stooping to a knee. "We're here. We should be careful."
I got down on my knee beside her. Felt the cold snow through my glove. The old fort had come into view, and as we moved closer, so did the surrounding camp.
Except for the thick coating of snow, it looked just how I remembered it: The wide stone wall surrounding the center fort, the old tents, stables, and training area. Nothing had changed. But something was wrong.
It looked abandoned.
There was no campfire. No horses. And all the tents were in the same places as last, some of them had even collapsed. The place looked abandoned to the point where even the snow was left untouched. And most importantly: there wasn't a single Silver Hand in sight. If Krev was here—why wasn't the Silver Hand?
I don't think anyone's been here since that day.
"Are you sure she's here?" I asked, turning my head to look at Aela. She looked as suspicious as I, but also confused; chewing slightly on her thumbnail.
"…Yes," she finally answered. But, to be honest, she didn't sound all that sure. "Let's move."
She drew her bow and quickly slid down the small slope, almost leaving me behind before I could react. A 'click' behind my back as I drew my axe and put it in front of me as I slid down after her. She had taken up a quick pace, putting some distance between us before I reached the end of the slope, and so I had to jog to catch up with her.
As I ran to catch up, my axe felt heavy in my arm as I held it from swinging forward and back. Heavier than usual. Don't tell me…
For the last couple of weeks—since I found Ysolda—I'd slept poorly; my appetite's been off; and I haven't taken part in any training. Even before Ysolda… Since Skjor… I haven't even dueled Vilkas since Skjor died.
Don't tell me…
I'm ¨rusty?¨
No. I'm imagining things. Overthinking. This body wouldn't weaken that quickly. And my axe isn't that much heavier. It's barely noticeable. It's the pressure of the day, playing with my mind. Nothing more.
I finally caught up as Aela slowed down, treading lightly as she got closer to the camp. She smelled the air, as I've seen her do many times before, as we carefully moved between the tents toward the center fort.
Being inside the camp only confirmed what we had expected from the distance: The camp was abandoned. there wasn't a single sign of anyone being here recently.
"Did it snow last night?" Aela asked quietly as she moved in front of me.
"Not much," I answered, thinking back at my night watch. Maybe it had snowed enough to cover any tracks, but not enough for them not to leave any dimples behind in the snow. And there were no dimples here. "You sure she's here?" I asked.
"Yes," she answered, instantly this time, without looking back.
She sounded certain—Why? Had she caught a scent? Seen something I hadn't?
I sniffed the air as we closed in on the center fort; deep, focused, and long breaths. It didn't feel as ridiculous as it used to feel. But I didn't smell anything. Nothing but… cold air, the bitter scent of juniper from the surrounding firs, the sharp scent of stone, and… leather and steel—from Aela.
What did Krev even smell like? I didn't remember. From that day I only remember the smell of rust, blood, and iron from that torture-chamber; the smell of decaying corpses, guts, and the musky scent of fur from that ¨werewolf-chamber;¨ and that overwhelming smell of copper and iron-red, slaughter, and death from that hellish corridor straight out of Oblivion—Skjor's handiwork.
But I didn't remember—at all—what Krev smelled like.
"How can you be so sure?" I asked. Aela had sounded too sure—I needed to know.
We were standing by the main door now. Aela was looking down at the snow in front of the door as she slowly pushed it open. There were no tracks in front of it. No dimples in the snow. If anyone was in there, they must have entered at least two days ago.
But she didn't answer my question.
"Aela?" I said, demanding her attention. Her motions stopped. but she didn't look at me. "How? Can you be so sure?"
Aela was peering into the dark entrance, steadily holding the door open with her right. She was holding her bow by her waist with her left. But there was no arrow on it. As if she hadn't expected any resistance. I could hear her sigh.
"Because she told me she'd be."
Wait. What?
"She… told you she'd be?"
If I had been walking, I'd stop in my tracks. But all I did was stare at Aela's back as she held the door open, feeling her comment turn the insides of me. Feeling my hand squeeze the hard leather-wrapped handle of my axe.
Again: ¨She… told me she'd be?¨ ¨She told me she'd be!¨
"She told you she'd be?!" I repeated at her silence.
Aela kept her back towards me as she held the door open, tilting her head down. What had she done? What deal had she made?
"What do you mean: She told you?!" I asked again—No!—demanded. Is this the thing I've felt she's been hiding?! Because she's been hiding something! Ever since we left Jorrvaskr! I knew she'd been hiding something!
"What do you want me to say?!" Aela snapped, turning toward me, "I found her! We fought. She let me live…"
"You fought her?!" Her wound? Krev gave her that?
"…And she said she'd be here—where she killed Skjor—if I brought you!"
"Wait, what? 'If you brought me?!'"
"If I brought you!"
Krev had asked for me? Why? "By Ysmir, Aela. What did you do?"
"Oh, I know what it sounds like: You think I made some deal? Betrayed you? The Companions? Well, I didn't!"
"I don't know what to believe. But if Krev told you she'd be here— there's nothing honorable about her. This is a trap."
"Of course it's a trap! You don't think I know that?" Her eyes had begun to glow; she's angry at me? "All this time, I've sought nothing but to avenge Skjor! Nothing else mattered! And now, this is the best lead I got. The only lead! And if me bringing you was the only thing she asked? The only thing I need for revenge, then I don't care that it's a trap! And frankly, I don't see what she has to gain from me bringing backup."
Too many questions on my mind. Why had Krev asked for me? And Aela had spoken with her? If this was Krev's idea, us coming here, then this is without a doubt a trap. There's no way this can end well. But if Aela was right, and Krev really was in there? Then how could I turn away? Why should I?
"But I get it," she continued with a degrading snap, "you have a wife to get back to. And maybe running headfirst into a trap isn't to your liking. And maybe, avenging Skjor isn't as important to you anymore. But you owe him!"
¨You owe him,¨ she had said. And ¨a wife to get back to.¨ Suddenly I felt shame, and hard, burrowing guilt. Enough to lower my head, shy away from her glowing glare. ¨You owe him,¨ she had said… She did blame me. And why wouldn't she? I sure did: for everything… everyone.
"But go on then! Turn back if you want! Run home to your woman! But with or without you, I'm going in there to kill that bitch. Because unlike you, I got nothing to lose and everything to gain. And unlike you… as long as she dies… I don't care if I don't make it back out."
How ironic, that no longer ago than only last night, that same sentence had set itself upon my mind, clenched its sharp teeth into my meaning, and comfortably rocked me to sleep. Aela knew how I felt. She might not know it, but she knew exactly how I felt.
Aela turned sharply away at my silence, grabbed the handle of the open door, and set her feet to enter. Her mind was set. She had already stepped over the threshold.
"Wait…" I said.
She actually did stop, standing in the doorway with her back toward me.
¨Nothing to lose and everything to gain,¨ that's the only part that didn't agree with me. If Aela died, and Hircine was real—an afterlife on his hunting field—Aela would meet Skjor there. But if I died… Ysolda wasn't moon-born. I have nothing to gain in death.
The only thing I have to gain… is vengeance!
I steadied my axe in my hands and drew for a cold breath, "I'm coming with you."
I never intended anything else.
321
There was dust in the air: particles and dots danced with the following draft—only visible in the rays of light flowing in from behind us—as we entered the dark room. Traces of snow flew, lingered, and circled around our boots as we walked. The sound of the draft: a distant ghostly howl as the downward staircase facing us sucked it in, inhaled it into the belly of the fort.
"Close the door," Aela said.
"Why?" I asked: the open door was our only source of light, not that it mattered once we got deeper inside.
"That draft, we won't be able to smell anything in front of us."
"We need a light," I said as I reached for the door handle, looking at Aela as she moved to the side of the staircase, looking down the stairs as she nocked an arrow on her bow.
"We don't," she said softly, almost whispering. "Without the draft, if anyone's down there, we'll smell or hear them before they're close enough to act."
I gave her neck a long look. Did she intend we'd fight in pitch-black darkness? With nothing to guide us but smell and hearing alone? I wasn't sure I could do that.
"Just trust your instincts…" she suddenly said with a scolding tone of withheld annoyance—she must have sensed my hesitation. "…and your reflexes. If your mind hesitates, give over to your body—it'll know how to act."
This is a trap. Krev brought us here. This is without a doubt a trap. And now Aela wants us to move in complete darkness. It didn't make sense.
"I really think we should light a torch," I whispered.
"A torch?" she said, turning her head to me. "By Ysgrammor, If anyone's hiding down there they'll see us long before we see them. And the sound and smoke from the torch will only be in the way of our senses."
That's—
"Trust me," she continued with a stern look, "You'll come to learn that in darkness, we're far superior to humans."
¨Superior. Humans.¨ The way she said it almost gave off a chill; as if she no longer considered herself such: human.
Are we?
I drew for air and pushed the thought aside. Aela was right: a torch would be a bad idea and a dead giveaway. But still. Darkness. I didn't see much of a choice: if we come onto a trap, trust Aela to find it before I do.
Again, I sighed and pushed the door shut. And it turned dark. Except for a thin stream of light begging through the door-crack—a transparent wall cutting the darkness in half—it turned dark. And silent. So silent. The ghostly howl had ended, the draft was gone, and in its wake remained nothing but pressing dark and deafening silence. A void more than a room.
I could hear myself breathing, eyes gaping wide as they searched for Aela. I closed my mouth, still, I could hear myself breathing—and I saw no Aela. I saw only the thin stream of light splitting the room, the dust passing through it. But outside of it? outside of the light? I thought that with these eyes, I'd at least be able to see something. But there was nothing.
"I can't see," I whispered.
"Really," I heard Aela snark sarcastically in the dark, "This way. Just follow my voice. And smell"
Smell. I could smell her, somewhere out there. It was hard to pinpoint but…
I held my axe at my side as my left hand carefully searched the air in front of me. Slowly I moved forward, uncertain of the floor. One step at a time.
Five steps… Shouldn't I be reaching the stairs by now? Six… Seven…
A sharp clang rang through the room as my axe hit something hard—the wall?—and the sound echoed down the staircase.
"Shh!" Aela hushed sharply on my left. She was on my left? I must have walked slightly askew. There was no way I'd be able to tell someone's location by smell alone. General direction? Sure. But the exact location? No way.
"Over here," she whispered as I felt her grab my hand and lead me to her side. "Here…" she continued as she raised and pressed my hand against the cold stone wall to my left. "…use this for guidance. And keep your axe in front of you—not at your side. Just follow me—I'll take the lead—I don't trust you to notice a tripwire in the dark." That… was probably for the best.
She let go of my hand and I heard a few light steps in front of me, sounded like she was walking down the stairs. I pressed my hand against the wall and held my axe in front of me as I slid my foot along the floor to find the first step, and almost stumbled as I found it.
"We keep quiet from now on—no more talking," Aela whispered as we slowly descended the stairs, "Keep your senses sharp, and if I stop: stop. If you hear anything, smell something, don't speak, just stop, I'll notice." As sound a strategy as ever, guess all I could do now was place my trust in Aela. "And try to move quietly." Easy for her to say, she wasn't wearing armor half her weight.
The air was cold and dry as we continued, it tasted like dust in my mouth: earthy. I focused on listening on Aela's steps in front of me, but still, I could hear my breathing, and the soft brushing sound as my gloved hand slid against the wall. The more I focused on my senses, the more I became aware of the slight breath of air whiffing at the hairs by my neck, there was still a small draft, barely noticeable but it was there. Now that I focused, I could even hear it whisper as it passed us: a lover's breath against my ear.
Aela was right, even as small as the draft now was, it made it harder to smell anything from further ahead. All I could smell was cold stone and wood, and the two of us. But… there was something else in the air, a small discreet odor, growing as we reached the bottom of the stairs. The odor increased, turned into a stench as we rounded the corner: rot and decay.
Even in the pitch black, I knew what the smell was. If memory served me right, last time we were here, we had faced two men in this room. And judging by the smell, they were still here. Rotting on the floor.
I let my hand go of the wall as Aela's steps went into the room, seemed we could only follow the wall for so long. She trod carefully, and carefully I followed. The stench was now thick in my nose, and I could taste it as it stuck to the back of my throat. I didn't want to swallow, but the stench forced me to, and the sound of me swallowing sounded loud against the background silence in my ears.
I wondered as we walked, where they were. Were they beside us as we walked, lying dead on the floor? Or in front of us, and we had yet to walk past them: perhaps we already had walked past them. Or, without my knowing, right over them.
There was a noise coming from the floor, hiding behind the sound of my breathing: A wet wriggling sound. I didn't know what it was. All I knew was that I didn't want to step in it: it sounded disgusting. And, thankfully, the only thing my steps landed on was hard stone.
Again, I felt Aela grab my hand. She didn't even fumble for it, just grabbed it as if she knew exactly where it was. And again, she lifted it to the wall. I assumed it was the next hallway, that the room was now behind us. And so we continued forward on light footsteps.
The stench followed us into the hallway, carried by the hidden draft. If it had been hard to catch the scent of things in front of us before, it'd be impossible now: at least to me.
Even with our sneaking pace, the next hallway felt longer than I remember. A lot longer. I could feel the seconds drag as I felt the wall, felt the stone floor beneath my feet, and the rotten stench in my nose.
I don't know if I was imagining it, but the draft felt stronger as we passed the corner: perhaps it was my senses attuning to the dark.
There was a whistling sound. At first, it was distant, but as we walked on, it became clearer, closer. Again, Aela's footsteps wandered off into the dark, and I had to let go of the wall to follow.
There were plenty of new smells in the air: spices, dried herbs, and clay overlapped the receding stench of decay. And a strong smell of wood lingered in the air, and the smell of coal. The whistling sound? A fireplace? Chimney? That must be where the draft exited. I remember; this room was a kitchen.
The air got fresher as we walked through the room: the draft pulling the stench from earlier with it. It actually smelled nice with all the dried herbs left to hang, homelike even.
I still couldn't see a thing as we continued through the room, but for some reason, I took a step to my left as I followed the sound of Aela. I don't know if it was a subconscious memory or something else, but for some reason, I had the feeling there was furniture to my right: table and chairs? Not sure how but… the air to my side smells of… too much wood. And I don't want to walk into it and knock anything over.
Another pair of stairs, no more than eight steps down—I counted—before we reached the bottom. I darkly remember this hallway as well, nothing but the smell of wood, iron, rust, and stone. But also new smells: earthy air and damp mud. Even blind in the dark I could almost 'see' the row of cells—the scent of rust on our right—and the sparse wall-mounted shelves on the left—the scent of wood. A faint scent of wax lingered in the air: growing stronger as we walked, only to dwindle before it grew stronger again. The wall-mounted candles. By the smell, we've passed four of them.
I didn't need to put my hand against the wall to walk this hallway.
The stone floor felt hard beneath my feet, a tapping sound from our steps bouncing off the walls as we walked. A shy echo.
Tap-tap, tap-tap tap-tap…
Other than our footsteps, it was quiet… Quieter than before. Too quiet.
Even as I tried to hide it, I could hear my breathing. And I could hear my heart beating in my chest, it sounded loudly in my ears. And more so, I could hear Aela's breathing as well: slow and prolonged inhales, silent and relaxed exhales. But outside of us… I heard nothing.
Why did the silence feel so much more intense than earlier? Why were my heartbeats suddenly so loud? Why was everything outside of me suddenly so silent? pressing? Had my hearing began to adjust? Or was something missing?
The draft. That gentle whisper in my ears. It was gone. Since the kitchen, it was gone. To think something so small, a sound so insignificant could make such a vast difference. And it was verging on horrifying. Terrifying as it grew, the sound of my heartbeats only getting stronger and more rapid as they began pressing at my throat.
I turned my focus outwards, on the distant echoes of our footsteps: the only thing keeping the silence at bay. And again, as if obsessed, I listened to the echoes.
Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, shr—
A brushing sound, something soft.
My heart took a skip at the sound and my breath froze in my lungs together with my body. My foot stopped before it had reached the floor, elevated above the ground as I felt slight resistance beneath my boot.
A tripwire? A pressure plate? This place was a trap—we knew that since before we entered—and here it was. How had I been so distracted by the darkness that I forgot to remain focused on that fact?
I remained still—not daring to lift my foot: who knew what kind of trap it was?—and kept holding my breath as I desperately listened for Aela: should I speak up? She had told me not to. And if someone was hiding in one of the cells, waiting for precisely this to happen, now would be the time to strike. But would she really notice?
The hallway had turned quieter—more so than before—as I listened for her. No sound of footsteps. No sound of her breathing. She had noticed. And right now, she must be listening in on whatever she believed me to have heard. But it was so silent.
Again the sound of my heartbeats rose in my ears, pounding as I held my breath in shaking lungs. Please notice.
The silence only seemed to grow as the seconds passed, and the heartbeats in my ears almost turned… deafening. And the darkness around me only seemed to creep closer, pressing against me as my gaping eyes appallingly searched for focus in the seemingly endless void. If I reached to my side? Would there still be a wall there? Or would my reach go on forever? And my hand forever search to grip nothingness?
Please notice, Aela!
Still, the panic-inducing silence only grew. I could feel it nagging at my skin, licking goosebumps up my neck. It was inside my armor!
And people describe silence as relaxing?! There's nothing relaxing about it!
But then—out there—when it's silent, one can still hear the soft breeze ruffle leaves, the insects clicking as they worked, crawling in the grass, and the distant song of birds. One can still hear the calm of the river, the water murmuring between stones, and the trees creaking as the wind caressed their crowns, whispering. And all those things, silent as they are, are relaxing.
But down here, the real silence resided. And it wasn't hiding behind comforting noises of nature—masquerading as safety. It was intrusive, pressing, demanding, violent and loud! It screamed 'danger' and forced its dead teeth into one's skin; its cantankerous bite petrifying muscles. It sadistically held you in place; pressing down with the world of a water, yet teased you to move; if only so for you to stop it, knowing fully well you couldn't.
No. This—down here—was where the real silence resided.
And there was nothing silent about it.
Enough! I can't take it!
"My foot," I exhaled shrinkingly—a single scared breath as I no longer could hold my breath.
I heard Aela move, felt her touch my leg as her fingers worked their way down my shin, reaching my boot. A scuffling sound as she worked whatever trap was beneath it.
Hastily I felt her rip the thing from beneath my foot, brushing against my sole, before she stood up and forcefully pushed it into my chest plate.
"Get it together," she snarked as I instinctively clenched the soft-feeling piece before it fell to the floor.
It was heavier than I had anticipated. And soft. Hard to feel through the gloves but it felt like a rug or… a fur. A familiar scent behind the thick layer of dust; Skjor: his fur-suit. It was still here.
I clenched it hard in my hand; Its scent probed my mind with bad memories: That day… If only I hadn't been late that day, then none of this would've happened.
¨You owe him.¨
I tossed the fur-suit aside for the memories—together with the earlier feel of panic. Aela was right: ¨get it together.¨ We were here for a reason, and sentimentality wasn't one of them: revenge was.
Aela's footsteps had turned distant as I took up the pace to catch up. There shouldn't be much left of this cell-riddled corridor.
Trying to walk quietly made it difficult to catch up to Aela; she moved a lot quicker on quiet feet than I ever could, but gradually I did, and before I knew it, I realized the corridor was now behind us: somehow, except for a sudden odor, the walls didn't feel as close.
But as we entered what I knew to be the torture chamber, I could already hear the next room: buzzing. The sound of flies. It only got louder as we crossed the room, briefly interrupted by a rattling chain—hanging from the ceiling. I could feel the dust fall on my face as it rattled. Smell it, too. If it was me or Aela who set it off, I couldn't tell. But it was a nice distraction from the earlier silence.
As the rattling settled, the buzzing returned. And the odor only increased as we walked: the smell of death.
For the first time since we entered, I was glad it was dark. Glad that I couldn't see the hung up beasts I remembered from this room. Glad that I couldn't see the skinned carcasses decorating the walls; the gaping heads mounted on the shelves; the stretched-out skins left to dry.
The room didn't smell as bad as I thought it would. But then again, the corpses had been on the verge of rotting the last time we were here. That was months ago: I doubt there's anything but bones left by now. Still, the odor only grew as we moved forward. And so did the buzzing.
Strange. I thought the buzzing had originated from this room.
There was another scent… Smoke?
Something suddenly touched my face—I almost bent over backward as it hit me—and I took a step back to duck under.
That's right, I remembered. I had to do the same the last time: duck under the werewolf corpses that hung from the ceiling.
Bending my knees, I crouched down as I moved forward, aiming the axe-head forward so it didn't get stuck on anything. It was hard to recall the room from memory, and as the odor began turning into a stench, even my nose couldn't aid me in the layout. And the buzzing, still, only grew.
It should be safe to straighten up now—surely we're past most of the room.
Tickling. I felt flies in my hair as I straightened myself. Felt them crawl on my forehead, and brushing them off only seemed to work temporarily: they quickly found their way to sit on my skin again, or buzz around my ears—I couldn't hear Aela's footsteps because of them.
Suddenly my feet stopped as something flashed in my memory: a mixed feeling of pity and fear. I knew… there was a cage on my side. And for some reason, I slowly reached out to my right—and felt my fingers touch cold iron bars.
This cell… this is where that werewolf had been held—his fearful whimpering and panicked avoidant eyes as he crawled into the corner of the cell flashed into my mind.
"You didn't notice?" Memory spoke, ¨The cage door isn't locked…¨
The memory. Fear alone had kept him caged. Fear…
That's what it did. The bars never existed, did they? Not to him. Only fear kept him in place. Kept him from moving, fleeing. it even kept him from fighting. And first now, it struck me: it had done the same to me.
Last time I faced Krev, fear had held me back: telling me to flee from the back of my mind. It had held me back for every swing. Kept me from being… me. Not until those bars had separated us—and the back of my mind had told me I was safe—had it receded. And once it receded, anger, rage, and fury had taken its place: hatred born from the realization of what she had done to Skjor. But not until those bars had separated us.
I grabbed an iron bar, clenching it tightly in my hand.
And what was the prize of that fear? Just what was the result of my own fear?! Skjor died because I was late, because of chance—there's no denying that. But after that? Ysolda? Jida? Their deaths were entirely placed upon my own two shoulders. Had I not been afraid back then—had I killed her the first time we met? Then!…
How much different was I from the wolf locked inside this cage?
Fear alone had kept him from pushing open his door. And fear alone had kept me from 'opening my own.'
I wonder if he was still in there: a starved skeleton locked behind unlocked bars, starved to death as fear had been his sole prison? If he was, I couldn't smell him. Perhaps he overcame. I hoped he had. I hoped he had escaped his cell. Then so should I. Because the last time I was afraid…
My loved ones died.
I let go of the bar, clenched my axe firmly as I smelled the rotten, earthy, smoke-tinged air. I listened through the buzzing of the flies, heard the hidden crackle of a small flame—no—numerous flames. Torches?
Yes—no more fear from now one. None of it. It served no greater purpose other than for the weak to survive as they flee—egocentrically sacrificing everything they so ¨dearly¨ hold behind them as they flee for their own singular safety! Disgusting! Had I not first joined the Companions to protect?! And what a protector I am! Shivering at the touch of darkness! Struck to panic by the sound of silence! How poetically protective I truly am—oh, mighty Companion!
Well no more! It ends today—and so shall Krev! As I set my mind before—ironclad!—my outcome doesn't matter as long as I deliver vengeance! For honor! Theirs more than mine! For mine no longer matter: it has already gone past and beyond lost!
Back to reality, shall we? Aela's steps were already more than distant—echoing, actually—around a corner. She had spent no time waiting on my behalf, and why should she? I'm the one taking my time figuring things out—Aela already knew, as I should've before we entered. Why was it every time I spent time with her, I realized how much I still had to learn? How much would I have learned, had I spent more time with Skjor?
I increased my pace and walked forward into the darkness, feeling it wash over me as it passed me: no longer holding its crippling grip over me. The buzzing of the flies dulled as I learned to ignore it, and focus my hearing on the world beyond it: anything more important than the obviously distracting first impression. And by itself, my nose searched past the stinging stench of rotten corpses as it found hidden traces of…. scentless soap? Clean skin.
She's here. I knew she was.
I'd be impressed with myself. But truth be told, I was too distracted by the reborn thought of vengeful purpose; distracted by the ascending sensations of my senses. How eye-opening it was, that I no longer needed my eyes to walk these halls: the repeated echoes of my footsteps told me where the corridor bent and the cold scent of stone gave away the walls. I could even smell the traces of frozen dirt behind said stone: icy.
¨You'll come to learn that in darkness, we're far superior to humans.¨
So this is what Aela meant? This is how she saw it all? And all it took was a sudden change of heart, a change of perspective? All it took? well… that's not something one can teach: experience—only the events of life offer that.
Yes. Experience. But at what price?
¨Needed to experience death,¨ she had told me Skjor had said. Ha! How cruel. But to think Skjor could still teach me from beyond his ashen grave. Was his spirit here? Do I believe in such things? Does it matter? No, I only need my own.
I turned for the corner I knew existed in the dark, and saw a faint yellow light against stone, flickering with soft shadows against the wall as the next corner turned to the right.
I had smelled them: the torches. But still—where's Aela?
Forward again I went with confidence and purpose, for I could see again—not that I any longer needed to: I've come to realize sight is my least worthy instrument.
That corner. I know what's behind it: Skjor's hall! The corridor—that corridor. I've thought of it as hellish so many times, but now, I almost felt it inviting, fitting for the occasion, for it described everything I'm about to do: brutal slaughter! And so I turned it.
Now, this was a sight to behold: mounted torches burning on the walls, flickering with desperate red-yellow light as they licked the cold damp foul air for oxygen; dark walls, splattered up to my waist, as the long since dried blood had turned black against the stone—pure scent of iron—an uneven floor as dead, thin, limbs reached for the enclosed heavens, death written across over their lifeless bodies as the only thing holding their humanoid form together was their still intact armor. The air was so foul the stench stung my eyes, I swallowed down the sour taste of stomach-acid as my stomach began to turn. And on top of it all—almost by the end of the corridor—a dark silhouette against the closed double door, standing proudly atop a layer of corpses: Aela.
And by Shor, by Ysmir, and Ysgramor, and all the gods alike… the insects.
This is where the buzzing had originated from—not to mention the stench—flies covering the floor, walls, and ceiling alike, buzzing through the air as they carelessly exchanged their tiny seats. Maggots and worms feeding upon the rotting corpses: more skin on top of bone than flesh by now. So meager. Matte-black scarabs and beetles, that shimmered gold in the light, trodded their landscape, searching dried intestines for the greed to feed and fornicate. And spiders: cobwebs hanging from the ceiling as the spiderwebs covered every corner and crevice—decorating the air, see-through from the torchlights. They too crawled on the bodies, too many legs to count. But it wasn't the flesh of the dead they were after, but the ones living upon it.
It was a feast. Everything by my feet and forward was a feast, was it not? Men, slaughtered by a werewolf, reduced to food for bugs and flies to lay their eggs in. And those eggs, in turn, hatch to feet on the flesh as it steadily rots. And as the maggots and worms endure metamorphosis, they, in turn, become prey for the spiders. It was comical.
Sabercats, bears, werewolves, and men! Apex predators above all, at least so we're told. But it's all a lie. A lie we tell ourselves to hide the real truth. These… these insects, crawling beneath my feet, were the true predators. Hidden—Hiding above the top of the food-chain, ready to drop down upon us through the sections the moment any of us decided to drop dead in the dirt.
And that's the truth of it all: by the end, no matter our own strength, these creatures will devour us all. Again, how comical: that the tiniest of creatures, the ones we rarely even notice, will always be above us—rattling the food-chain without us even noticing until the day we no longer can notice anything at all.
Reality is disturbingly disgusting. And nothing at all as we imagine.
I could feel them—hear them squish as I took my first step into the revolting corridor.
The sound. All the buzzing at that wet wriggling sound. It was the same wriggling sound I had heard before—just after we entered. It came from the maggots. From their feeding on corpses.
There was a severed skull on my left as I trod the corridor—bones cracking beneath my feet. It was looking at me. Looking straight at me with empty eye sockets: shadowy, hollow, pits. A gaping mouth so filled with wriggling maggots I almost expected it to exhale with a gurgling sound. But for some reason, the thing that disturbed me the most was that the skull still had hair: a good head of ragged dirty blond shoulder-length hair. It made a disgusted shiver run up my spine.
I tore my eyes from his sight, breaking my eye-contact with the dead, as, again, my stomach took a turn for the worst. The air was so thick with the rot I could taste it as it forced itself down my throat, sticking to the roof of my mouth: oddly sweet, but foul, sticky, and thick. Again, I swallowed.
I continued forward atop the layer of bony, armored, corpses, trying to ignore the flies as they tried to taste my skin: no amount of swatting could possibly keep them at bay. My eyes had grown accustomed to the torchlight, and they were no longer as blinding as they first had been: Aela's silhouette had become clearer, more colorful… Why wasn't she moving?
The warmth from the torches was welcoming, except for its effect on the corpses, but that begged the question: Why were they lit in the first place?
Because she lit them, of course. But then, why only here? Why this corridor? Why not the earlier hallways? The entire basement? Surely she had wielded a torch as she walked here: giving her the means to light the way as she walked. But no. She chose to lit this hallway and this hallway alone. Because she wanted us to see it, that's the sadistic creature she was. Not only because she wanted to remind us of Skjor's monstrous rampage, but because she wanted to remind us of the fact that she defeated him. That the door by the end of the hallway was closed, only confirmed it.
Why wasn't Aela moving?
I took up the pace to reach her, hearing their bones break beneath my feet as their armored pieces scrambled aside. Unlike last time, my feet actually reached the floor as they dug themselves down the body parts.
"Aela?" I said in a low voice, muffled behind my hand as I tried to keep the stench out of my mouth and nose. Screw the no-more-talking rule: If any enemies showed up now we'd see them.
"Aela?!" I repeated a bit louder as she hadn't answered.
"Watch your steps," she answered between gritted teeth without turning.
Watch my steps?
I stopped just behind her and looked down at the floor by my feet—wish to Ysmir I hadn't: stiff meager limbs with ashen-pale skin and abdomens full of those very things that dangled from the top of the food chain. They almost seemed to be reaching for me with their bony fingers and gaping eyes—expressions frozen in horror. But except for the bodies, I didn't see anything out of the ordinary.
I lifted my head, watched Aela's rust-red hair lift over her neck as she turned her face down. Her leg.
A beartrap hidden amongst the corpses, clenched shut halfway up her shin
"Some help here," she whispered, still with gritted teeth, biting through the pain.
Carefully I moved forward and kneeled down beside her, all the while watching for more traps. I found none.
"Just get it open," Aela continued impatiently. But I didn't want to rush it.
Aela's an archer, true and pure, and other than her torso and the side of her hips, she didn't wear metal—she wore hardened-leather—and this thing had bitten straight through it.
I grabbed the toothed-iron with both my hands as high as I could, felt the spikes bite through my gloves as I forced them open. Aela quickly removed her foot as soon as they parted, and I let them go with a sharp clank as they again shut, biting air.
She put her hand on my shoulder for balance as she put down her foot, but quickly removed her hand as she forced herself to stand on her own. I could smell her blood. This time, I recognized its scent.
I stood back up and reached out my elbow to offer support, but bitingly she ignored me and walked through the pain as she stepped forward with a slight, but well hidden, limp. Her face didn't show, but I could see the side of her clenched jaw.
An open wound caused amongst rotting corpses? Could the wolf blood hold off such an infection risk? Hopefully, it could. But more than worrying about that, I got the feeling the bear trap had wounded her pride more so than her leg. ¨I don't trust you to notice a tripwire in the dark,¨ yet she had been the one to fall for one. But I didn't blame her. Noticing a pressure-plate while walking on already loose body parts? No one could be skilled enough to pay attention to something like that, not even Aela.
But now, I was more certain than ever: Krev was here. Waiting for us. The thought was angering enough that I forgot all about the stench. I'll have my Vengeance!
"Aela, are you—"
"I'm fine," she interrupted, "Don't need a leg to use my bow… Let's just get this door open."
"Let's." I took the lead—Aela had already refused my help. And now, she moved slower than me.
I kept my eyes on the ground, watching past the beetles and worms as I searched for any and all traps—again, I found none. And before I had counted past eight steps the door was in front of us: heavy and strong; solid and shut. But it wouldn't be for long.
Just like last time, I pressed my side against the heavy frame: my shoulder against metal-framed hardwood. And like last time, Aela lifted her bow and gave me a nod. I pushed.
My foot lost its balance as the forearm I happened to be standing on began to roll. But quickly I regained myself, pressed my left palm against the door, and found new footing. And again, I pushed with an arrow tip in front of my eyes as Aela aimed through the growing trap.
"You came!" A glad—joyful yet slightly surprised—voice greeted before the door had fully opened. That voice: soft, vibrating sensually from behind a layer of metal. The voice awakened a primal heartbeat in my chest, didn't feel like my own. Still, I pushed. I could already see the torch-lit bending cobblestone-wall: the circular room I so strongly remember.
It was all deja vu. I almost expected to see Skjor's half skinned bestial form atop that ¨stage¨ of hers.
But more than so, I recognized that clearly, overly-joyful, and childish voice. And in an instant, it made my blood boil, a sudden pounding in my ears. Warm hatred flaring up like a sudden gush of wind, I could feel it in my neck! My wolf had awakened: Howling for Krev!
"You're alive!" Her voice lit even further, as Aela slunk through the growing crack before me.
Again, another heart-pound in my chest—the door opened fully before I realized my body had pushed it harder. And she came into view. Standing tall in the same spot as she had been last time, surrounded by wall-mounted torchlight.
That emotionless mask of plated steel—a smooth face, void of a mouth, and deep hollow slits for eyes—pressed toward us as she greeted us with outheld arms. That same 'Dibellian' chest plate—shimmering as it reflected the yellow-golden light—gently holding her torso as she stood with one leg in front of the other, squeezing her thighs together. She stood with confidence teasingly verging on pride, but it wasn't the stance of a warrior—it was far too carefree and relaxed.
It was her, no doubt about it… and my inner darkness only grew as I saw her: anger growing so sharp I could taste the copper; the bones in my fingers hurting for their grip on my axe.
'You,' I was about to say through gritted teeth as I entered the room, but she beat me to it.
"Look at you! With makeup and everything!" she exclaimed in glee, pointing her faced-up hands toward us before turning them to herself, "For little me? You shouldn't have."
"Aela…" I said in a low, but deeper than intended, voice—her attention was the only attention I wanted—as I walked up to her side, never taking my eyes off of Krev.
"But don't mind me, you're Beautiful! Both of you! Soo scary-looking too—eyes and all."
"…take the right. Don't let her get to that opening." I focused to remain rational: against her, planning was necessary lest it'd end the same as last. But truth be told, my mind was fleeting toward rampancy!
"And you…" she said, setting her expressionless face on me as she crossed her arms. She slightly tilted her head—lifting one hand as she placed her cheek on her finger—and even though I couldn't see it, like last time, I knew she had to be smiling. And it angered me—more than me. That familiar feeling of my wolf gnawing at the back of my mind as he growled from behind my eyes; that 'tingle' crawling underneath my skin.
How dare she look at me!
"…You're different. Not at all the expression you had last time—but so much better. Are you angry? Is he there?" she continued, slowly rubbing her fingertip against her plated cheek: as if to remove a water spot. "I always wondered: can you feel it? But he is, isn't he? Of course he is!" she giggled, suddenly and joyfully leaning forward as she slapped her hands against her thighs, "Because I can see him! I'm soo glad to see it worked. I saw him last time too. But not like now."
¨It worked?¨
"Careful," Aela said, slowly moving as to follow along with the plan, readying her arrow on the bow, "She's a lot faster than she looks."
I remember: last time, she had been faster than Vilkas. But this time, I won't allow unconscious fear to hold me back.
"I like what you did with your eyes," Krev continued, mimicking my facepaint with her hand, seemingly uncaring of Aela's movement. "I actually didn't think she'd bring you, but here you are! I'm just so…"—she clenched her elbows together against her chest and held her shut fists against her ¨lips¨—"glad." Sounded like she spoke through clenched teeth as she opened her hands in excitement.
Enough with this! I'm not to be subject to her emotional enjoyment: provocations disguised as childish tease. It only served to fuel our anger! Aela's already in position, time to move.
The leather creaked as my hands gripped hard around the smooth handle, the tingle in my skin had turned to a burn and I readied my axe as I made my move, clenched teeth, and began walking forward.
"Oh wait wait wait!" she began, waving her hands at me to stop as she took a wider stance. But I was done listening! Remember why I'm here: Revenge! "Don't you wanna know why I did it?!" Still, she spoke with glee! "Don't you wanna know why I brought you here?" As if it mattered!? "Don't you wanna know Why I killed her?!"
"Don't you Dare speak of her!" I roared, stopping in my tracks. I couldn't help it, those enraged words left without my thinking—my wolf biting at her sentence! He was more present than ever. So close to the surface he was practically standing beside me: there was no ¨wall¨ this time—that thing fell the moment I found Ysolda!
"I did it for You, you idiot!" she exclaimed in reborn excitement, eagerly awaiting my reaction with clear anticipation—shining from inside.
"Shut up," I said—my forearms burned for the strength I unknowingly put into them—what part of her twisted mind could possibly make her believe she had done anything ¨For¨ me?!
And again her body language became eccentric: all excitement and childish joy. "I tamed him for you! And it worked, didn't it? Like I said, you're different now—I can see it, I can feel it. And you can too! Can't you?…"
"Shut up," I repeated between her giggling words.
"…I know how it works! I've done it before, soo many times. But not like you—oh no—you were different. And Soo much more fun than the others. You must think I'm so mean—that I killed her to punish you? To break you? But noo. You see, I love you werewolves! I really, really, do…"
"Shut up." I couldn't tell if I was breathing anymore: every muscle was so tense my body felt as if on fire.
"…Don't you see? I killed her for you! I killed her to wake you up! I killed her… to set. you. free. Don't you feel it? Don't you see?…"
Again I wished to yell ¨Shut up!¨" But my mouth no longer obeyed me. It was clenched shut, bitten, so hard my teeth hurt! My entire body hurt! And it wouldn't move. Only shake with anger as my armor felt too tight to wear. As my skin… felt too tight to wear. ¨I killed her for you.¨ And other than the burning pain, I felt hatred: Yellow burning Rage; fingers twisting in my skull; claws down my spine—tap-tap-tap-tap-up-and-down!
"…It was me! I! tore down the wall between you two! And now you can come out—full moon or not—I know you can. And we can finally play! Just like I wanted to!"
"Shut up!" I screamed as my tongue loosened. Something broke, something in between my minds. But she only laughed that girlish laughter of hers.
And she continued speaking, but I wasn't listening anymore. My ears were pounding: my head, roaring. And my neck felt as if it was about to break. Everything looked blurred: like watching the world through tainted glass. The taste of blood in my mouth… burning gums… my teeth? My fingertips stung as if they were pressed against red-hot iron, sharp pain in my palms as they clenched the handle. My hands. Shacking. Protruding through my gloves? Claws? When?
"Oooh! You didn't know?!" Krev exclaimed excitedly, loudly enough to grab that one part of my split-sided attention that still obeyed, or paid attention.
She wasn't looking at me anymore. She was looking right—at Aela—and Aela was looking at me.
Why did she look so… uneasy? Concerned? Almost— I wonder. What did she see? What did she see but a burning expression? Yes. Burning. For right now: Watching the world through these double-layered eyes felt… strangely exhilarating. Flickering. Between two worlds. Who's?
"You didn't tell her?!" Krev continued, excitedly looking over at me in seeming ecstasy. "Oh, this is only getting better—How sick aren't you?! Why didn't you tell her?"
Tell her? Why… didn't I tell her? Tell her… what? Why? It's all… twitching. No. it's… not.
"Oh, you should have been there!" Krev said back to Aela. "It was beautiful—all of it! The way she screamed his name! It made me so… envious. She was soo sure he'd come to save her. But you didn't…"—back at me—"…did you?"
My name? Save… name? Did I?
"I liked her skin—but you know that already—I kept some. And she was soo pretty. Like, really pretty. I wanted to touch her all over, but I didn't! I never touched her face—I didn't want to get blood in her hair. I wanted her to still be pretty when you found her!"
Found… her? Hair… like fire. She's? I saved… her?
"Don't listen to her—She's a monster!" I heard Aela say, or shout? She sounded so distant. As if she was underwater. Behind a wall. In a storm.
"Oh, I'm the ¨monster?!¨" Krev laughed… such joyful laughter: Like… grass between my toes. "You do realize you eat humans? Right? Their hearts, is it? And liver."
Humans… eat… hearts? Monster?
"Don't listen to her!"
Listen… Who? ¨I did it for you.¨
"And when that thing popped out of her?! Oh, I've never been so happy! Did you know? I didn't! And best of all—her skin was already off by then! Moaning and groaning and crying and weeping… Aaah, please! I couldn't withhold myself—it was so beautiful I cried! Don't you just love it—I Wanted It All!"
Skin… off… thing… popped? Smells… wet? Smells… aroused, moist. What's… moist? Blood's wet. Flesh's… moist. She… cried? Aroused… smells… sweet. I hate sweets!
"I said don't listen to her! Remember why we're here!"
Who? She sounded… afraid? Why? Who's… afraid? Remember?… Why am I'm here? Remember… what? I… did it for you. It… worked. I… tamed him. I…tore down that wall. And now… we can play—full-moon-or-not—we can play—full-moon-or-not—we can play?
"Was she alive when you found her?!…"
Remember? Play… players… price? Don't—what?—seek… to gain that power. Villllkas? It's rarely worth the price-price-price. Because there's… a price? I wasn't… a price. Blood? The price. Displayed… her. Blooded. If I play? I can have it? Can I… eat it? I want… price!
"Please tell me she was! Or was she?—"
She. Remember… Her? Alive? No. No, she was-yes-no-yes-no-yes-no-yes! I… remember: Monsters… eat hearts. The price. Claws… through skin. Teeth… through flesh. Open. Taste. Blood on my tongue. Laughter… behind… the pounding in my ears? Rushing blood. Jerking flesh—dancing? And now… we can play.
"Noo… Don't tell me she was dead?! That's just—"
She was dead? Who? Remember. She's… dead. They're— They! Are dead. Who? Someone's—who's—Shouting? Aela's… shouting? I don't understand. Her words are all blurred, but then… so are my hands. Hands? Hands.
"Well, that's too bad. I really wanted you to get to say goodbye…"
Only one voice? But… there's… two? The other one's… Aela? Shouting… remember—who?—why I'm here. I'm here… because… I killed her! I'm here because… revenge? Revenge. And I… don't care…the slightest… if I die!
"At least I wanted to give you that. Hm!—no can do."
Die. No can do? Kill! No can do. Die!… Aela's Shouting. Snapp… out of it? No-can-do-no-can-do-no-can-do… Aela's?
"Well… at leastI had fun."
Who's…
"And, we've only gotten started!"
…Aela?
Blind rage took over, a mind of blight torn through burning vax. My body moved, muscles stiffening with every motion: painfully toughened and contracting. Still, forward it went: carrying my teeth like an animal. A pace of fast or slow, I couldn't tell. Everything felt so… wrong… distant and distorted. But at the same time; so right, complete, and clear. Like sitting in a burnt garden grown out of crystal glass—scorched, yet unshattered.
Which one of us is in control? Felt like both of us, or none of us. I saw only one thing that which my tunnel vision so sharply had sett to focus on—¨eyes on the prey, not the horizon¨—Vengence! One part screamed to kill, the other to die—don't know which part screamed louder. But it didn't matter. I didn't care. Nothing mattered but the axe in my hands which now demanded blood! Prey! I could smell the blood beneath her skin! I want it! I wanted it so so hard my insides cried out, craving to grind her bones beneath my teeth 'till there was nothing left but dust! Dust and Crisp Fresh Flesh! I could hear her heartbeats Pound in her chest! Pounding just for ME! Like a beacon guiding me in the dark, begging for my bite! Yes—her heart—the price! My price!
I'm in, let's ¨play!¨
"Oh! we're starting already?…" I heard her voice, her voice alone—none other's voice existed. It was buzzing with perverse excitement: elated heartbeats: the smell of hormonal secretion. Smelled like ¨childhood memories¨ and ¨naughty, wet, dreams.¨ It tasted good on my tongue and I wanted more. "…But you're not out yet! Almost though."
Oh, my wolf was out! He was out alright, gnawing fiercely at that last tiny piece of control that still split our joined awareness: the fragment from which I still could see. Tearing at it as he howled for her blood. And I'd let him have it. In a second, I'd let him have it! Without question, I'd let him tear through my skin and rip her apart! I'd let loose his razor claws upon her! Take his teeth to her neck! In a second, I'd let him do all of that and more. Had I not wanted vengeance myself! That, and that alone, was the single and sole reason I could still tell our merging minds apart. The lone reason that I was still human!
So close now, overwhelming senses—the stage's set before me! I heard it before I saw it but I ingnored it, but so did she yet she did not—the twang of a bow—her body instantly switched to alert and her feet left the ground as she jumped into the air: a pivoting somersault, arms flowing gracefully around her axis as she evaded the sudden arrow—all the while, laughing!
Time to bite!—she'd land within my range—fierce instinct, enraged intent, swung the axe behind me! Up to go down!
Her feet landed, her body bent—arms: a noble bow—and she lifted her emotionless steel-expression to face me: slits hiding merry eyes and glee, and my axe swung Down to End her wretched existence! My heartbeat pounded in my ears!
Heartfelt laughter through a pirouette! Broken stone turned gravel! It smattered all around like hail as my axe smashed rock in place of her feet! And just as suddenly, my axe went heavy and pulled down my arms: her foot on my handle pressing it down as she went up—another whistling sound flew past where she'd been but she was already above me—her hands on my shoulders and her feet straight up: tap-tap, her hands went as she twirled for them to change places!
Fast, but foreseeable: she'd land behind me! Left-arm pull, right-arm swing—torso tore through the work—"behind me!" Still, everything inside felt belated, even her laughter sounded slower: Perception increased by drenaline and guile!
So sharp the swing my teeth hurt from grinding, a dull pain flared up inside my already burning shoulder: ignore it! Strike true! But gone she was: down under. Moving beneath my swing, a swift shadow turning: bending away like grass avoiding the touch of wind—fluent and with grace. Another swing, another twang, and again she evaded both my axe and the arrow—rolling off to my right as they bit through the air whereas she had been.
Infuriating. Enraging! Such an unorthodox fighting style: like swatting at a fly! Keep still!
Her roll, as fluid as a stream and she was up on her feet to face me just as quick and gracefully. Hands reaching behind her back, she took up a stance and drew two thin, curved, daggers. That glimmer, silver. For the first time, she looked serious—but I doubt she was behind that mask of hers.
"You're getting a bit annoying…" she said, there was not a trace of hostility in her words: a parent's brief annoyance towards a child would hold a darker bite. The moment of distance forced an aggravating moment for a breather of rancid taste, one we had no intention to prolong as every muscle ached to kill and, again, my legs moved on their own—and they did carry hostility. "…let's fix that."
She shot towards me, posture low and daggers in front. Reflex kicked in, tearing at my shoulder as my swing took form to split her rapid path! Breasts reflecting torch-colored gold, I'd bite right through them! The moment of bloodthirsty contact! Vengence fullfilled!
She suddenly went lower, sliding on her knees as her torso and head fell back. My axe nipped at her plated chin as she slid under my swing and disappeared behind me out of my field of view. Anticlimactic, furious rage at my miss, my mind demanding the imposible; to turn and find her: screames of all hatereds and all curses behind the roaring wolf in my ears!
A burning heartbeat pounded hard in my chest. A heartbeat that didn't feel like my own, rebbelling inside of my body: for again I had missed! Still, my swing continued, it's weight tearing me through the motion as I turned with its movement, continuing into a second assault! But again my axe swung through empty air behind me, and my insides roared at her absence! Bloodshot vision and foaming teeth, my eyes set on her running back! Was she fleeing? Not this time!
Insides split—one part infuriated, one part excited—craving her demise: the call of the hunt! It's what we do! And frantically we set off after her.
She jumped forward, away from me,, sideways summersault as she twisted through the air: evading what was now shooting straight for me. Barely had I seen it before it hit point-blank in my chest: splintering against my chest plate as it pushed me aside and a sharp pain above my neck forced me to a knee and the stone floor suddenly became my view as it deprived me of my balance. A sharp scream and delighted laughter filled my ears, I could taste warm blood filling up in my mouth: a shard of wood piercing my chin, stabbing painfully at the bottom of my tongue through the floor of my mouth.
My claws scraped at the floor as I fought to push myself up, axe still clenched in the other. My vision flickered between blurry and black and my body felt shaking, tearing—the taste was overwhelming—heartbeats going rampant: my wolf raging with a thirst for more, lapping ferociously at the dark taste in my mouth as he fought to escape his prison of flesh—howling for blood not mine.
"Not so quick on you're feet this time, are you?" I heard her speak in the distance. That enraging giggle in her voice only rattled my wolf even further. ¨Side still hurts?…¨
No! I pushed him back with rage, still feeling the skin on my back stretching; joints seconds from popping. Stay put… just a little while longer. She's mine, not yours! Mine!
"…and how's that leg? I didn't kick that hard."
"Fuck you."
Back!The tremors in my muscles soothed from damn near tearingto a hardened pounding, my vision reclaimed some shaking piece of focus as his howling slowly went to growling: vibrating within my bones. As good as it gets, I got on my feet and tore the splinter out of my jaw: ignoring the sharp sting as the jagged piece ripped through flesh.
¨Fuck you?¨ Who?…
She was standing above something with her back against me, carelessly tossing something aside. Sounded to be made of wood as it landed on stone, echoing. A bow? The string was cut.
A vague picture in my mind, flickering behind yellow rage and pain. It came back to me, faintly: she wasn't standing above something, she was standing above someone: Aela. Aela was here. How had it slipped my mind? How had I forgotten?! No… how had I allowed Him to repress it? Him… Had I let him loose, he would have devoured her as well in his blind rage. Our blind rage.
"Ha! ¨fuck me?¨ Well, go ahead! You can. You know you can! After all, that leg'll heal awfully quick if you turn…"
¨You're a bit annoying.¨ Shooting for me. Dodging to go past… suddenly, my head didn't feel as simpleminded as before: A bit more like my own. How she so effortlessly had placed me between Alea and herself. Used Alea against me. She never aimed for me, did she? She aimed for Aela.
"…and I'd like it soo much if you did."
Did she really think so little of me?! To save me for last?!
"KREV!" I roared from anger my own!
"And 'lo and behold,' you can speak again," she responded, looking over her shoulder with that 'lack of a smile' faceplate of hers, looking at me with emotionless slits for eyes, "How disappointing. I liked the snarling part of you so much more—all ferocious, and excitingly angry. Yes… "a dismissive jerk of her shoulders, "I liked that part of you more." the words leaving her lips, they ended with a sigh. A sigh! It… made me mad! Again the tearing flared and I became aware of the dog-teeth poking at the insides of my lips! A Sigh!?
"Now!" Aela shouted from the floor.
"Ohou!" Krev let out, turning her head and jumping away as Aela made her move for the brief distraction Krev's dialogue had given. Yet she had instinctively dodged the dagger that Aela so sharply had aimed to split and bite her calf!
Adrenaline kicked open my eyelids—I took the opportunity—yet, again, my body moved before thought did! She was still in the air as I leaped forward and my grip clenched my axe like never before as muscles made it swing: her feet wouldn't touch the ground before it'd strike! Don't get up, Aela! Or you'll die!
Axe tore violently trough air, aiming for her decent. Yet she dodged… in midair, she dodged. I saw it, she was fast but I saw it: like a cat turning through a fall: a clear turn of her head, a twist of her shoulders, and her arms and body followed, swayed, after her movements—if my axe was wind, her body was snow. Her back arched as she bent over my axe and her legs followed through with the motion—and again she eluded eternal steel with grace: slipping through like white weaseling shun—upsidedown, her arm swung for my head, her dagger aimed to cut my throat. Mid-swing, my body moved on its own: head shooting back, bending aside, to evade her attack, still, I felt it nip the side of my neck as she fell out of my view. The floor felt slippery under my feet and I almost lost my balance as my body worked against the swing of my axe, pulling me in the opposite direction. But with effort, I quickly regained myself as I heard her land to the floor, shifted my axe upward and turned: I'd end her before she got up!
She lied flat on her back, lifting her hands to her ears, as I aimed my axe—I'd split her by her waist!—and swung down! Instantly, she lifted her legs, knees to her chest, and shifted—rolled—her bodyweight onto her shoulders just as my axe smashed stone beneath her, not an inch from her tailbone. Unaffected for the gravel smattering her backplate she jumped up—over my axe—with a kick up and landed on her feet. She spun on her feet, a dancer's pirouette, with her curved daggers coming for me like the sharp claws of a feline.
I'm too tall to duck so backward I bent, ripping the double-edged axe upward from the floor—aiming to cut at her armpit—as I dodged. Yet again, she evaded, jumping aside into a roll away from both Aela and me.
Hair in my eyes and blood in my mouth I, once again, watched her roll up on her feet. Didn't think I'd appreciate some distance, but other than the burning stiffness of my muscles; the wound in my chin pulsated painfully with every heartbeat and there was a sharp pounding pain in my shoulder. My shoulder? I hadn't imagined it earlier, but it wasn't ¨rust.¨ How long since I took that axe to it? Not even two months: the tendon still hadn't healed, not completely. Screw it, I spat a mouth of blood and steadied the gip on my axe—setting my mind to ignore it for the fraction of time she'd allow.
Allow? Why had she taken up distance? Retreated, if only for a moment? Now that I thought of it: she wasn't laughing anymore. Don't tell me—the trace of a bloody grin taking shape on my lips—I almost got her? Then don't let her breathe, that inside voice said, don't give her time to regain the upper hand!
Insides reflaring with strenght, singleminded with a yellow thirst for blood, I charged: axe prepared by my side as it took swing the instant she fell within its deadly reach. She dipped, and my axe tasted nothing but the unsatisfying air above her head. But I wasn't about to let her recover: I turned my swing for its second charge to bite, yet again it bit naught as she hopped away. She may be small but she was vicious like a viper as her curved daggers stung and bit for me between openings: reflex and armor alone kept her at bay.
"You're getting slower," she teased as she evaded another attack, her laughter returning through a small growing giggle as enjoyment again began resonating through her body language.
It was beyond infuriating, but she was right. I couldn' even get close to her anymore, and my shoulder only grew worse with every swing: felt like shewing through a bad toothache, systematically sapping away my strength with numbing pain. Soon, I won't even be able to ignore the sharp pain, before it'll completely render me useless.
She jumped back again as my axe brutally kissed the floor: sliding briefly on her feet as one hand anchored to the stone. I felt out of breath, enough that it forced me to allow the axe-head to rest on the floor—if only for the fraction of a second. I had forgotten what it felt like when one's body decided to fail you: brutally annoying! Enraging!
She lifted her head and looked straight at me through those slits, "My turn," she said in a self-satisfied, high pitched, voice. Again, hiding a smile behind flat mouthless steel; I could hear it. And every inch of me had had enough!
She shot toward me, coming in sharp. Laughing. Somehow, she seemed taller than before. Confident.
No time for my axe to keep kissing the ground, I needed to defend myself! But just as I was about to lift it, my shoulder gave away: muscle cramping up like broken rubber—scorching heat burning painfully up to my neck. My axe wouldn't move!
Screw this! Screw it for its uselessness: an anticlimactic attempt of action! She was closing the distance to fast for me to act: axe too heavy, shoulder rebelling in ripping defiance! She was in the air now, jumped, dagger ready to plunge at me. I saw no other choice but to let go! I don't need it!
Laughter of joy ringing sharp as she imperatively penetrated personal space. Eternal steel jouncing as it fell to the cobblestone floor: its echo hidden behind the pressuring sound of adrenaline forcing blood through my ears. I see it! A sharp pain, stinging before it burned, as silver broke skin: bone and all!
It pained. Her dagger through my hand, and my hand clenched shut. She was Mine! Caught in my bleeding grip! And before her laughter ceased, my right hand had already risen—ignore the bloody shoulder!—and clenched for the strike! A hard punch in my side: right waist muscles clamping at the sting—ignore that too! Bite through it!
She laughed as my fist shot for her face: rage alone nearly breaking the teeth in my mouth for my intent! Her head shot back, body violently following by the collision, laughter instantly turning silent at the second of impact! Punching steel in rage: my hand inevitably took more damage han her face.
But she didn't fall over, stumbling on her heels for balance. Because shooting back or not, her dagger was still pierced through my palm, and her hand was still clenched within my clawed grip! Unless I allowed it, she was going nowhere! And so I pulled her back up before her knees decided to fold! Righ hand ready for seconds—bite through the pain—as her face once again aligned with my fist!
I felt my hand break against her plated smile as I poured every ounce of hatred, every inch of rage, Every Single Drip of Lustful Vengence into my punch! Every fiber in my body that hungered for her demise existed within the force of that single punch! And again she shot back with force enough that I lost my grip, and she of mine, as she fell heavily yet silently to the floor. She wasn't laughing anymore, and that's the way it should be!
I lifted my hand before she even had time to squirm, her dagger through it like a fisherman's hook. I ripped it out as I set to end her! Tossed it aside as I stepped forward! The smell of my blood. Overwhelmed by the sudden recurring sting in my side: red burning razor prodding, no, stabbing the side of my abdomen, I looked down. Her second dagger stabbed right in between the gap of my chest plate and backplate: just like Aela's wound. That punch from earlier.
But screw that too, I thought as I ripped it out! I don't care if I so bleed to death: she's mine! Served before me like dead fish on a stone plater!
Again, the sound of metal hitting the floor echoed through the room, almost hidden behind the sound of torches, as I set for her, dropping down as I mounted her lying body. She was before me, and my wolf howled loudly, ferociously, as he begged me to rip her apart. And, ironically enough, me and myself wanted the exact same thing! Vibrated for it as my shacking hands searched for her throat! Fingers slithering around her soft tiny neck. And clenched shut! Nails digging into her skin! Foaming blood dripping from my mouth, a thin stream from the wound in my jaw flowing onto her chest plate! Streakes of dark blood rippling on her golden breasts.
I felt it. Craved it. Wanted it! My knuckles were white for the greed they held over her death! And I heard it! The soft gasps and gags for air behind her metal plate, choking on air! there was ringing in my ears! Eyes almost popping out of my skull for the desperate madness growing within!
This is it! I'd laugh, but truth be told the only sound I know could hear was the blood shacking in my skull, my own teeth grinding. Only a moment more and it'd be over! Finally! I'd avenge them! I'd...
But then, my knuckles got their color back… and my grip slowly loosened. They even left her neck and her gagged choking turned into metallic coughing as her hands briefly slapped my sides before they found room to comfort her throat. My heated insides soothed.
I didn't let go because of regret, because of sympathy, empathy, pity, kindness, or any other kindhearted reason. Not at all—not at all! Quite the opposite! I let go for one reason alone: I wanted to see the moment life left her eyes! And so my fingers reached for her chin, dug beneath the edge of her plate, and found grip.
Why would someone so prone to emotion, wear an emotionless helmet? Why would someone who so often laughs, hide her smile? What does a true monster look like?!
And so I ripped it off, revealing her face!
She gasped as it went off, a sound of relief more than displeasure: her lungs desperately pulling in air through a freshly strangled throat. But as she drew that one life regaining breath, she turned her eyes on me. Blue eyes above a bleeding nose.
She stunned me. For a second, her appearance pushed me back as I sat on her stomach. Surprise and shock as my pulse calmed: a sudden decrease in mouth-bleeding.
She… was beautiful.
Long silk-blond hair flowing out in all directions over the stone floor, like lush branches from a tree made out of a spring river. Smooth pale skin that would make snow envy the sky for having stars. Pouty narrow lips, small yet rich, as if they could whisper the world to sleep. A small button nose that begged to be kissed even though it bled. And a strong yet feminime jawline. But most of all, her eyes defined her beauty. Her eyes, for they held the clear blue color of a midday winter sky, and at the same time, the deep green of getting lost in a lonesome well. Eyes that effortlessly held the glitter of spring dew in morning grass in tandem with the blameless innocence of a happy child.
"Hi," she said softly, looking at me as if she was speaking to her lover.
¨Hi?¨ she said. ¨Hi?!¨
It… angered me. Infuriated me! And again he flared up inside—how could he not?! For how could someone so evil… so Cruel! Be so beautiful?!
And again the blood began to flow as again my finger wandered over her chest plate, mind dulling anger growing from wrath as they again sought out her throat, and they found it. Again, slowly, firmly clenching shut around her slender throat. And as I again squeezed, the enjoyable sound of her gasping for air returned. Prey: gagging and choking and wriggeling in my hands!
Everything was shaking but my broken hands, for, broken or not, they alone had a purpose. Every sensation of pain in my body soothed, for my hands gripped the sole thing that brought comfort. For some reason, my eyes watered up. But these were tears of joyous rage! For now, I'll get to see life leave her. The comfort I've been seeking: I'll get to see life leave her! I'll get to see life leave her! I'll get to see life leave her!
Fingers and bloody palms pressing onto her windpipe as claws dug into her skin! Piercing as small streams of blood begun to sipper! Her deviously blue eyes rolling up her skull as she gasped for the air I'll Never allow her again! Her hands desperately wrestling with my forearms to get free, but she had the strength of a woman. Sure, she was strong: but speed and agility alone was her overwhelming strength. The only real trick she had. And the moment I had caught her in my hand—or she caught me—she had lost: for she was a woman! And she only had the strength of one!
Bones through my fingers and knuckles gone white, I knew I could crush her throat the second I decided to, breake her neck with a single twitch: but I wanted to take my time. Yet inside, things took a turn for the worse; working to tear out from within, howling to bite through!
My wolf demanded her flesh! Raged for the wet touch of her flesh! Demanding is taste! And suddenly, my hands clench harder! Against my will, they pressed down, hard enough to rid her of breath—but I fought it, I fought it enough not to permanently steal it!
I felt it. I felt him from within! Clawing! Tearing! I felt everything she deserved and how easy it'd be! How easy it'd be to push down and finnish her off! How easy it'd be to slit open her throat with my bare claws and feel the blood flow between my fingers as she gargled the melody of death! How easy it'd be to turn my teeth upon her windpipe and rip it out of her throat! Tear it open! I could grab her head and squeeze it 'till her eyes shot out of their sockets! All as easily as I could rise up and lift my foot to stomp in her skull with my heel!
It'd all be so easy! So easy, but still I fought it as my fingers continuesly clenched around her nacked neck and lips took on the color of deep blue! The whites of her eyes broke open with red! All of that! And more! Would be so easy! For she deserved it!
No… my true mind said, wresteling aside the primal beast. She didn't deserve it… for it'd be easy. After everything she's done, she didn't deserve 'easy.'
And again, my fingers slowly loosened. For it'd be too easy. All of that. All that imagined and all that conjured by my bloodthirsty within: I could still push him back. And so my fingers loosened their grip. And with certainty, I slowly rose up on my feet.
For She did't deserve 'Easy'
"Aeal," I commanded, eyes set on the semi-conscious Demon on the floor, I didn't care if Aela lied crippled behind me or not, but she better get over her when I tell her—and I did hear movement, so I continued my words: "Hold her down… And strip her."
"¨Strip her?¨" A sudden hoarse giggle rose. She could still speake? "So this is where the fun beg!—"
A swift kick to her head forced silence upon her! At least so I thought, before her gleeful laughter refilled the room. At least her nosebleed had taken on a grander flow, I could find some distant comfort in that. In preparation for what I had in mind…
"Aela!" I repeated, still with my eyes burned onto the creature, seemingly clinging to life with laughter alone! And sure enough, Aela limped into view, grabbing Krev by her wrists as she kneeled down by her head.
"I said ¨strip her!¨" I stated as I turned to look over the floor. For this, I needed my axe. Where was it?
For she didn't deserve easy, after all, I recently had some practice… And the prep work's easy:
Off with the feet!
I know I promised this to be the final chapter,
I'm afraid I had to break that promise.
Because:
1. This chapter's already way longer than intended.
2. I've kept you waiting long enough as is.
3. When I wrote that final line, I knew it was the perfect ending to the chapter.
I don't know when the next chapter will be complete, but it won't take as long as this one did. For it'll be a lot shorter.