I'm not going to mince words here people, this chapter gets downright gratuitous with the violence. It's really fucking gory. This is your warning if you have issues with that sort of thing.
Chapter 16: Wrath
A single torch sits outside the front door of the entrance to the slaver hideout. Two men shiver in the cold below it, squinting out into the dark. The one on the left leans on a spear, while the one on the right sits on the ground, a sword lying just within reach.
"I swear I heard something just now." The spearman says nervously, squinting into the night.
"You're hearing things." The other replies dismissively. "All that screaming next door has you paranoid."
"Ugh. Don't remind me." The first man winces. "I hate cleaning up after all the damn messes whenever this happens."
"Don't see what you're fussed about. Wolves do most of the cleaning this time of year anyways."
It's at this point that I emerge into the torchlight and swing my club into the swordsman's head, cracking it against the wall behind him. He slumps over, stunned, as I continue to his friend. The man turns to look at me in surprise, but doesn't even have time to ready his spear before I've thrown myself on him. I direct as much of my weight as I can into the nail, and lodge it deep in his chest as we fall to the ground. For good measure I finish by elbowing him in the throat, to make sure he can't call out before he dies.
"Ow, shit. What the hell was-" The swordsman sits up groggily, and stops abruptly as I rise from his dying friend. "Wait, you're out? How the fuck?"
He scrambles for his sword, but the prick is still dizzy, so he's not moving as fast as he wants to. Plenty of time for me to pick up the spear and drive it in. The swordsman is still on his hands and knees, so I stab him just above the collarbone, and pretty much decimate everything in his ribcage. It's bad enough that he stops breathing well before the first guy does.
"Heh." I smirk as I pick up the sword. "My spear form's improving. Frederick will be so proud."
Three down, fuck knows how many to go. These last two were painfully easy. Honestly, how the fuck are you going to keep a proper lookout with a torch lit? Do these fuckers not know how fucking eyes work? If you want to see in the dark you have to be in the dark. Even in a world without light pollution there's plenty to see by at night. The moon's waning gibbous, and there are stars aplenty.
It's a beautiful night for a massacre.
Ezra's gang has clearly grown complacent. Their griffons let them see incoming soldiers or travellers long before they can even get close, and their prison guard is more ogre than human.
All signs indicate they've been here for a couple of years at least with no trouble. I imagine with the dreaded bandits Victor and Vincent raising hell not far north of here they've managed to slip under the radar. Otherwise a gang like this wouldn't be able to hold up so close to the Longfort without getting routed. If the games are any indication, they'll continue to hold out here for years to come without intervention, until the slavers become a fully mounted cavalry/air force combo that ride over the opposition without trouble.
A part of me wonders if I'm tampering with history by doing what I'm doing now. It's at least a couple years too early for the Shepherds to stop this operation.
The other part of me continues carving open the guts of the bandit in front of me and very aggressively chooses to not give a fuck.
Fate can kiss my ass. I want these people dead. I honestly don't care about the supply situation, or the rescued prisoners (Noire and Donnel excluded), or justice. That is rapidly taking a backseat to revenge.
My current victims are a couple of morons passed out drunk in a bedroom. I thought the last two were easy to deal with, but here I just have to cut them open and let them bleed out. They're so fucking hammered they don't even react. Their hearts may weep bitter tears, but their livers will thank me.
I poke around the room a little bit and find one of these guys seems to have a throwing axe that, if not mine, is at least very similar. My throwing axes weren't nearly as distinct as my battle axe was, so it's hard to be sure. Either way it's a familiar weight, one I'm happy to have. My skill with a sword is passable, but I'll still take a good axe any day.
Most of this building is connected by one long, narrow hallway, with a staircase leading to a small upstairs area where Ezra's room is, along with a couple other rooms I assume are reserved for his most important men. I never saw inside them so I'm not sure on that point.
This hallway screams 'back entrance' to me, and I imagine the main doors were probably wrecked by either the bandits or the river, but that suits me fine. There was only one way in to this place, and that gives me free reign to be methodical.
The next room has four men instead of two, though they're still drunk enough that I finish them off easily. The last one wakes up in the middle of my work, but he only seems to be capable of staring blankly as I stab a sword into his friend's ribs. Something approaching realization crosses his face as I approach him, but I embed my axe in his head before anything comes of it.
Nine down.
The next room gives me brief pause, as its inhabitants are presently drinking, as opposed to already being drunk. I consider playing it safe, but… not for very long.
Five men are sat drinking and talking at a table by a large fireplace. The room looks to be fashioned into a mess hall of sorts, with several long tables and a roasting spit set over the fire. Quite the comfortable life they live here. This room could hold the slaves pretty easily.
One of the men is telling a joke to the others, waving his arms around as he talks animatedly. The others roar with laughter, pounding the table with their fists. One of them raises a mug of beer to his face and topples over backwards with my axe sticking out of his head. My best throw yet. The two sitting on his left look down in horror, even as the men across the table roar with laughter, unable to see my axe from where they're sitting.
The ones still laughing are, naturally, the ones I hit next. The sword sticks halfway through a man's spine, being too poorly maintained to finish the job. The guy next to him screams in shock, and the last two leap back, out of their seats.
I plant a foot on the back of the man in front of me and tear my sword free, splattering myself with blood. Without missing a beat I descend on the next closest target, who can only raise his hands in feeble defense. I pay no mind to technique at this point, simply stabbing him repeatedly until he stops moving.
I look up and see the other two are beating a hasty retreat out of the room. Oh right, they were just drinking; they didn't have their weapons with them. I vault the table and tear my axe loose, spilling brain across my foot. This would be really gross if I hadn't been unable to bathe for the past month. As it stands this is just filth on top of filth. I pay it no real mind and throw the axe again.
It sticks in the thigh of one of them, who screams in pain, tears it out and tosses it without thinking, and hobbles out the door after his friend. I walk over to retrieve it and sigh as I hear the men shouting as they run down the hall. I could only keep up the stealthy approach for so long, I suppose.
Ah well, it's much more satisfying killing them when they know I'm coming. I look back at the man I stabbed and smirk. Hopefully he realized it was a prisoner that was stabbing him. I want these people to know exactly why they're dying.
Weapons clatter as men rush down the hall.
I remove my ratty mess of a shirt and wipe the blood from my face as best as I can.
Slavers roar in outrage at the death of their companions.
My arms are still dripping with blood as well, but I don't really feel the need to clean that up.
Several men burst into the dining hall, looking about for me.
I take a long swig of beer, retrieved from the men I just killed. Never cared for alcohol, but these are trying times.
One of the men finally thinks to check behind them. I bounce the mug off their forehead.
These worthless fuckers just ran in like maniacs without taking a proper look around, while I just leaned against the wall by the door and watched them rush past me.
I am rapidly growing disgusted by how much misery I've been put through by such worthless people. It's fucking insulting, and I make my feelings clear by slashing a man's stomach open and running out into the hall. He falls to the ground screaming as he tries to hold his guts in, and the others rush after me.
I stand just around the corner and swing as they rush through the door. My sword sticks between the ribs of the man I hit and snaps. I toss the hilt aside and shake my head in disbelief.
They fell for it twice in less than a minute.
"People like you?" I hiss in disbelief as I kick the man into his companions, grabbing his sword as I do so. One of them falls on his ass, not expecting to be hit by a corpse. The other manages to catch himself and shoves the body aside. My throwing axe hits him between the eyes. I then attack the one sitting on his ass. He manages to deflect a couple of hits before I can finally disarm him. "PEOPLE LIKE YOU?" I scream as I stab him, taking care not to break my sword this time. "ALL THESE LIVES RUINED, ALL THESE DEATHS, ALL THE MISERY I WENT THROUGH, AND IT WAS AT THE HANDS OF PEOPLE LIKE YOU!?"
Another slaver comes rushing at me through the door and I meet him easily, sidestepping his spear and slamming my sword into his eye. "You're fucking nobodies!" I snap as the next one rushes in, blocking my axe with a kite shield. "The fucking dregs of society! Braindead insects scurrying around and hiding under rocks!" I dodge a clumsy stab and shake my sword free of all the corpse on it, swinging my axe with my other hand so he stays on the defensive. "As soon as somebody comes to stamp you out all you can do is buzz around impotently like fucking flies!" I bat the shield aside and drive my sword into the man's chest as he screams.
"WHAT THE FUCK MADE PEOPLE AS LOW AS YOU THINK YOU COULD GET AWAY WITH ALL THIS?" I bellow in his face. "HOW COULD THE PEOPLE WHO DID ALL THIS BE SO FUCKING WORTHLESS?" He dies looking up at me in horror.
I click my tongue and grab another spear. The next man in line files in, looks at all the bodies, and makes eye contact with me. He screams. I roll my eyes and stab him in the throat.
"It really is more like swatting flies than fighting." I snarl to myself, twisting the spear once in the man's neck and pulling back to watch him paw at it. "I thought this would feel more cathartic, but it's just… boring."
A sudden burning pain across my shoulder snaps me out of my musing. "AHH, WHAT THE FUCK!" I whirl around in confusion and see the man I disemboweled standing behind me, intestines trailing around his ankles. He's holding a dripping battle axe in his hands. His whole body shakes with the effort of hitting me.
I stare at the axe for a minute. "Huh. That's mine." I grab the axe and tug it out of his hands. "That was... ugh." I wince as my fresh injury protests. "That was real sweet of you to return it to me." The man stares blankly past me for another moment before he falls over dead.
Pretty ridiculous willpower on this guy. If he'd been in better shape that would have been fatal, instead of a minor inconvenience. I roll my shoulder just to check, and while it sure as fuck hurts, my movement is unimpaired. I smirk derisively at his body. All that effort for nothing.
Nineteen down.
Things are starting to blur together now. I'm starting to lose track of how far down the hallway I've come, and how long I've been fighting for.
I wonder if Donnel's found Severa yet. I could use some backup.
I grimace as I misstep and a spear cuts a line across my leg. The owner grins triumphantly at the blow.
What do they have to be pleased with? What do they have to be proud about? I close in before he can regain his weapon, bellowing at the top of my lungs. His smile fades into horror as I bring my battleaxe into his face. I spend a few seconds hacking at him further until there's no real discernible features left, and look up just in time to see a war hammer swinging at my head.
My guard goes up just in time; the blow that would have crushed my skull is stopped by my axe. The two of us struggle for a brief moment before my foot slips in the blood. My guard shifts enough to ease the pressure against the war hammer. My opponent capitalizes on this and swings again, with less power. This time my guard fails and I take the hit right on the nose. I tumble backwards down the hall and barely manage to slide to a stop on all fours.
The man with the hammer stumbles as he tries to close the distance, having to step over his companions. Where did I leave my throwing axe again?
I look down and see that I rolled over it a moment ago; it's half lodged in my side. "Yandere piece of shit." I snarl, tugging it free and throwing it. "I'm allowed to see other weapons without your permission!" The man barely manages to avoid a lethal hit, taking the blow on his shoulder. I rush him while he's staggering and cut off his right arm. His left isn't enough to hold the weight of his hammer alone, and his whole body seems to twist as it drags him to the floor. For a brief moment I'm reminded of the Christmas tree from that old Charlie Brown cartoon.
The man lets go of the hammer and screams as he takes in his stump of an arm. "You've got other problems." I say, ripping the throwing axe from his shoulder. He staggers forward as I tug on the weapon, then backwards as I kick him in the gut. He coughs as he lands, but doesn't stop screaming.
"Why act so surprised?" I ask, staggering over to him. "You had to know this was what you were in for. After all the things you did, did you think you wouldn't pay?"
The man looks up to me, screaming giving way to sobbing. "Please!" He cries. "I'm sorry, jus-"
I swing my axe into his groin and he starts screaming again. "Take your punishment with some dignity you piece of shit." I sigh. "I wish I could think of a word that really reflects what you people are to me. Piece of shit isn't remotely strong enough." I toss the axe aside and pick up the man's hammer. The crunching sound it makes when it collapses his ribcage isn't nearly as satisfying as I'd like.
That's… what? Thirty? Thirty one? It's like a fucking ant hill, as soon as I started poking it they just swarmed. And killing them was about as cathartic. It's not like there was much challenge in it. These weren't trained fighters, just a pack of drunk bullies. If it weren't for their Griffons and their leader they'd have been wiped out years ago.
I look down at the man I just killed again. He put up a fight at least. The first proper fight I've had since killing Chungus. Congratulations Fish, you're a cut above the rest.
I blink as the thought crosses my mind. Huh. Yeah, I guess I know this guy.
Weird to kill somebody who I actually know, even if I know him in such a fucked up way. I stare blankly down into Fish's horrified face, with its tear-stained eyes.
I…
A twanging sound catches my ears and shatters whatever revelation I was about to come to. I throw myself to the side, and feel an arrow strike me in the shoulder. The force of the shot combined with my reckless motion sends me into a spiral, blood spraying from beneath my feet as I spin. I'm barely able to get my hand on a nearby doorframe and scrabble into a side room, a second arrow clattering across the stone floor at my heels.
"YOU CRAZY SON OF A BITCH! YOU THINK I'LL LET YOU WIN THIS FIGHT? I'M EZRA, THE WOLF OF REGNA FEROX! YOU'RE NOTHING, YOU HEAR ME? NOTHING! A SHEEP WHO DOESN'T KNOW THEIR PLACE! I'LL FEAST ON YOUR CORPSE BEFORE THE NIGHT IS OVER!"
Oh good, he's still here. Though he might have jumped out a window or something.
Other good news: I just thought of a bitching one liner for when I kill this guy.
"Oh man, this is gonna be good." I giggle, crawling back to my feet and pulling the arrow free. "I think I'm starting to enjoy this again."
"No, please! Just leave me alone, he's the one you want!" A voice shrieks in fear.
I blink in confusion, and look up to see the same man whose leg I hit earlier backed into the corner across from me. I guess he thought I was talking to him?
"Do I know you?" I stare at him in bewilderment. "Wait, is that you, Clyde?" The man squeaks in response. "Oh holy shit, it is you!" I burst out laughing. "I totally didn't recognize you earlier!"
Clyde looks up at me, and starts laughing along nervously. My smile fades immediately. "The fuck are you laughing at?" I snarl. How fucking dare he? After everything he's done he thinks he can laugh it away?
I wipe my hands off on my pants. The blood is mostly dried, but I want to make sure my grip remains strong. Clyde screams again and tries to hobble past me. I punch him in the face before he can get much progress. He crashes to the ground and lies there babbling.
"Oh gods, I'm sorry! Please, I'm sorry, I've learned my lesson!" Clyde screams as I approach. "I won't do it again, I swear! I'll change, I'll be a better person!"
"Scream all you want, Clyde." I kick him in the ribs. "Ezra's not coming for you. He's not stupid enough to risk his biggest advantage for the sake of a worm."
"No! Please! Spare me, I'll do anything!" Clyde holds his arms up, a feeble defense.
I go down on one knee and look him in the eyes. "Anything?"
Clyde nods frantically. "Anything! Whatever you want, just name it, I'll do it!" His arms lower and he looks up at me frantically.
A grin creeps its way across my face. "I need a meat shield."
My hands snap to his throat. His eyes widen in sudden understanding. "Ez-" His voice cuts off as pressure increases.
"Hey Ezra! I'm wide open right now! Want to come get me?" I yell over my shoulder, before turning back to Clyde. "He won't come, of course. Too clever to fall for something like that, even if it's the truth." Clyde's face is already a bright pink, and he grasps at my wrists desperately.
"Sucks, doesn't it?" I nod in sympathy. "Yeah, I feel you. Was grabbed by the throat like this the day you found me. Some big motherfucker in a suit of armor. Of course he got kicked by a horse before he could finish the job." I look around frantically, as if expecting a horse to appear, then look back at Clyde with a chuckle. "No such luck, huh? Too bad I left my weapons back in the hall, or else I'd have killed you quicker."
I stop talking after that, and put all my focus into squeezing as hard as possible. Clyde holds on for a shockingly long time, but he stops pawing at my face and wrists eventually. Ezra gives me all the time I need, too cautious to risk approaching.
Once it's done I grab a pillow from one of the beds nearby and toss it into the hall. Ezra doesn't audibly react in any way shape or form. Next thing I do is position Clyde's head right by the edge of the door. An arrow whizzes by close enough to cut the skin and stick in the doorframe. I eye Clyde's now bloody face in distaste. Desecrating a corpse, poor form.
… Does give me an opening though, as expected.
I repeat the process with Clyde's body and once again the arrow tears skin from the body. This time I dart into the hall and pull the torch off the wall. It falls to the ground and sputters in the blood, which is still pooling up everywhere. My section of the hall falls into darkness, and I duck back into the hall just as he fires again.
And with the hard part of the plan complete I grab Clyde's corpse and rush into the hall, holding it in front of me like a shield. With my torch out, the most he can see is a man's silhouette, and he fills it with arrows immediately. Clyde's body is an adequate enough buffer that the arrows don't exhibit nearly the same stopping power as before. I stumble, reach down, grab my axe from beside Fish's corpse, and push on.
Of course, propping a corpse up with an axe is much less stable than keeping your actual fucking hands on it, so the next arrow to make a direct hit knocks poor Clyde out of my hands completely. With the body out of my way, I finally get the chance to look down the hallway properly to where Ezra is waiting.
He has two other archers crouched in front of him on the stairs.
Huh. That's the problem with keeping your head down, I suppose. I've been playing it so safe I never took the time to properly figure out what I was dealing with.
I'm about fifteen meters away from these guys. It feels like fifteen miles.
"NOWHERE TO RUN, SHEEP!" Ezra cackles, nocking another arrow.
I can think of one place to run. "I'M NOT THE ONE BACKED INTO A CORNER, EZRA!"
I vault over the last of the bodies lying in the hallway and start running, my left arm raised in front of me like a shield.
Ezra and his remaining men start shooting wildly.
The first arrow plunges straight through my forearm and snaps my left arm back. The next I narrowly manage to twist away from before it can sink into my stomach. Another tears a chunk of my ear away.
I manage to get my arm up again in time to block two more arrows that probably would have hit me in the head. The next one lodges in my shoulder and I feel my left arm finally give, dangling uselessly at my side. I'm forced to pump my remaining arm to keep my balance.
Ezra's next arrow bounces off the axe in my hand and clips my temple, and from the way he clicks his tongue I know it would have been fatal if I hadn't happened to block it. The perceived failure gets his flunkies nervous though, and they start firing faster. This proves to be better for me, since their arrows lose much of their stopping power, being no longer drawn properly or aimed as precisely.
It reminds me of something Virion said to me once: "The longer an archer takes to fire, the more dangerous they must be. For a proper archer success is all in the preparation!"
My cheek is sliced open. An arrow bounces off my shin, having been drawn so poorly that it barely has any force behind it. Many more fly past me. Ezra nocks another arrow and begins to draw. The archers in front of him scream in panic. I laugh in elation.
I'm on top of them now. Ezra's men frantically try to ready their bows again, but they don't have the time. I cleave through them both in one swing, and rush past them to where Ezra is waiting. The man snarls as I approach, bringing his bow up.
I raise my axe for another blow.
Ezra steps back and aims point blank.
My arm comes down.
He releases his arrow.
I land a crushing blow against his chest.
His arrow shatters my rib and doesn't stop.
I'm flung away by the force of the hit.
My axe is torn away with me, tearing a bloody hole in his torso.
I land on my back between the two archers I just killed.
Ezra screams in agony, and falls back as well.
The ceiling is spattered with blood. I can see it dimly in the flickering torchlight.
I think I passed out for a second there. Surprised it didn't take. I can't really breathe properly right now.
I think his arrow went through my lung. I can still breathe, but it feels… wet. And difficult. So fucking difficult. My breathing exercises can only do so much.
Is this it? For real this time?
I'm going to die like this? Choking to death on my own blood? Alone in a hallway full of corpses?
I don't want to die.
What the fuck was I thinking? Why did I do this? Just to kill Ezra? All I had to do was sit back and wait for Severa and this would have been easy. She could manage this so much better than me, with two of us…
What's she gonna think when she finds me? That kid doesn't like to admit it but I know she's been relying on me. Feels kinda like what I imagine being a father would be like.
It's a nice thought. If I'm going to die here it's good to know I can cross one of my bigger life goals off the list, even if it's a technicality.
It'd be good, to talk to her about this. She gets all tsundere when I try to have a serious conversation with her, but maybe I can work around it if I live through this.
I hear a shuffling sound and smirk. Maybe that's her now…
No, wait.
That's coming from the stairs.
Lifting my head is an excruciating process, but somehow I'm able to prop myself up on my arm despite my chest screaming at me so much that I nearly black out again. Did Ezra have a friend left or something? Are there really more slavers?
I spot movement, and squint, trying to see despite the dim light and blood pounding in my head.
I just manage to make out Ezra as he flees up the stairs. Then my strength gives out and I collapse again. The motion jostles my body and I start coughing up blood.
He's alive. My hit didn't kill him.
How? Did he blow me away before I could hit anything vital?
Am… am I about to die for nothing? I put my life on the line like that and I couldn't even…
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
He has to die.
He will die.
I need to finish what I started.
Why can't I just let this go?
My body doesn't have the strength to move, but it moves regardless.
I rise to my feet like a puppet on strings. My axe has yet to leave my hand.
I move for the stairs.
Why am I so fixated on killing these people?
I reach the top of the stairs and see a door slightly ajar in front of me. Ezra's left a trail of blood to follow. The trail behind me is enough to drown it out. My blood pours out of me with every step.
I burst through the door and find Ezra with another person, the doctor who took my measurements when I arrived here. The doctor is in the middle of a hasty bandage job on Ezra's wound, and the two look up at me in horror.
"It's not possible!" Ezra screams as he sees me. "How are you still alive?"
I start laughing.
What have I become, to do all of this?
Ezra runs for his bow, which was tossed aside on the bed. I start to move for him, then notice the doctor trying to sneak past him. I hit him with the back of the axe, slamming him into the wall so hard his head splits open. Blood pours from his head, and he begins to crawl.
It's already too late for him though, his brains are oozing from his skull. His motions are like those of a chicken with its head cut off. He simply doesn't know he's dead yet.
I move on to Ezra, who desperately tries to nock an arrow.
When did I turn into the kind of person to do these things?
Ezra raises his bow but his arrow hasn't even been drawn yet. I cleave through the weapon easily, and shear his hand in half while doing so. He staggers back, screaming, and I bring the axe down on his other arm. I chop halfway through it, and it dangles loosely at the elbow. He grabs at it with his remaining fingers and falls back on the bed.
I advance further and he throws a haphazard kick at the arrow in my chest, forcing me to retreat for a moment. He takes the opportunity to start scrambling away. My left arm reaches out and catches his ankle, and I swing along the length of his leg, stripping his flesh down to the bone.
The doctor finally stops twitching behind me. I haven't stopped laughing.
How did I fall so far?
Ezra has two fingers on his right hand, and a usable right leg. He uses them to flop ungainly towards the door. He's lost all illusions about killing me.
I step on his thigh, stopping him in place, then start hacking at the back of his knee. It takes me several blows before his leg is severed. He screams in agony.
I grab his useless, flopping left arm and turn him on his back. He looks up at me, stunned. He's lost all illusions about escaping me.
Have I truly fallen?
I laugh in Ezra's face, my lungs spraying blood as they convulse with the strain of it. Ezra stares up at me, not comprehending. "You can't do this to me. I'm the Wolf of Ferox."
I stop laughing. Lean down until we're almost nose to nose. And rasp out with what little voice I have left.
"There is only one wolf in this place, Ezra. And he wears sheep's clothing."
I stand up straight again and bring down my axe.
I bring down my axe.
I bring down my axe.
I bring down my axe.
I bring down my axe.
IbringdownmyaxeIbringdownmyaxeibringdownmyaxeibringdownmyaxeibringdownmyaxeibringdownmyaxeibringdownmyaxeibringdownmyaxeibringdownmyaxeibringdownmyaxeibringdownmyaxeibring-
I stop. Ezra is scattered. What little remains beneath me has been driven into the stone by my blows. The floor has been cracked, and the dust I kick up mixes into red mud.
Or has this always been there?
The axe slips from my hands, and splashes on the floor. My left arm falls limp again, whatever mockery of biology I used to move it seemingly over.
No doubt the rest of my body will soon follow.
I look around the room. It reminds me of the butcher shop I used to work at, coated with blood and flecks of meat, ready for me to hose it clean.
This was the room where I spent my first night in this place. Curled up there, by the fire. Thankful to be alive but fearing that what would come would be so much worse.
I take a staggering step towards the fire, but movement catches my attention. Is something here still alive?
Oh. No. Ezra has a mirror. It's standing against the wall, next to the door.
Something in my head screams to smash it. To pick up my axe and throw it before I can see.
Instead I walk closer.
I come face to face with something inhuman.
Arms and legs drip red with blood, and more yet covers the rest of my body. My skin is visible, but only as patches, small islands of too-pale skin beneath the blood. Bits of flesh cling to my body, sticking to my tattered pants and bare torso. And my left arm looks bloated purple, with wooden shafts jutting throughout it at odd angles.
My face is barely recognisable, nose twisted, face covered with small lacerations from arrows and blades barely avoided. The right side of my head is swollen around a cut, the result of Ezra's near miss in the hallway. My hair is matted, clumped with blood, and dangling limply around my shoulders. My jaw has the makings of a patchy beard that is coated with grime. My eyes are sunken, with heavy bags that stretch well past my glasses.
My chest is the worst of it though. My ribs are showing through my skin, including the shards of bone that splintered around that point blank shot I took, jutting out almost through the skin like small mountains. The shaft of the arrow sticks out of my chest, still slowly oozing blood.
This is not the body of a living man. I collapse to my knees and heave, the motions agonizing despite there being nothing in my stomach to begin with.
Deep down, has this monster always been there?
I hear a scream, and look up blearily. Severa stands in the doorway, staring down at me in horror. Her sword is wet with blood, and becomes even more so as she drops it to the ground.
"Oh no. Oh nononononononononono. Oh Naga, this can't be happening." Severa drops to her knees in front of me, arms stretching out, but she's afraid to touch me. Afraid she'll break me further. "Ben, please, you can't do this, you can't!" Her voice slips into a piteous whine as she says that last part.
Huh. I expected something more along the lines of: 'don't you dare die on me, jerk!' I knew I was bad… but if Severa's not even trying to hide her feelings about it then… I look even worse than I thought.
"Help!" Severa screams over her shoulder, tears streaming down her face. Then, a moment later, "Damnit will you people GET UP HERE ALREADY?"
They won't be able to… yeah. I'm… beyond help, probably.
My body slumps forward, and Severa forgets her fear. She catches me, bringing my head to rest against her chest. "No. Noooooo! You can't do this to me, I'm sorry I'm late, please don't die!"
I try to move my arm, so I can reassure her. Not so much as a twitch. Damnit kiddo, it's not your fault, it's mine. Me and my stupid pride, and my stupid lack of self-worth, and my stupid anger.
I want to tell her. Somehow. Just tell her something, anything damn it!
I open my mouth, and cough up some more blood.
"Ben?"
"…luvya…" It comes out as a gasp, so faint I'm not even sure I hear it.
Severa sobs. She says something, but I don't hear it. Everything's going black…
I hope she heard me…
I… want…
Apparently I can't write self-indulgent absurdity without punishing myself for it afterwards.
Which goes to show that I clearly don't know what 'self-indulgent' means to begin with.
Next chapter won't be one big fight scene, so it'll take me way longer to write, but I've got a vacation coming up soon, so I'm hopeful you guys won't be kept dangling on this cliff for too long.
