The night was cold. It never seemed to expire in its span of life, never even gave the slightest chance of withering, of dwindling into sunrise. The moon's bids of farewell lasted forever, like centuries filled into one time, one set of twelve hours that usually built up in darkness, and sunk down into dawn. But this time, it was as if something had malfunctioned, for the night kept getting farther and farther away from death, darker and darker as the hands of time proceeded with their only eternal task. Trees withheld their hopes of the future, their blossoming dreams, their arsenal of leaves ready to make a wish, ready to be let go. The hearsay of rumored gasps and winds shook trees in their momentary instance, taking them by surprise as the breeze spelled the letters of shock for them.
The dirt remained soft unfelt by the fingers of desperation, untouched by the bare senses of reality. Skies sailed by, hoping, wishing it was soon morning, praying that the light of dawn would soon come upon their eyes, fill them with certainty that was once lost. Prayers of stars set their sights upon the ground below, belittlingly, silently, mindlessly. Kahibi Eric's muscular build shot with pain, throbbing with the hurt the slash of bone had caused by striking right through him. Grass blades surrounded him, leaning away from him, scared to catch drops of blood. Eric, uneasily, brought a hand to the right side of his chest, fingers searching, sifting for comfort, for ease, grasping half mindedly at the bone. Even touching him pushed him towards comfort's edge.
He tried not to groan. He tried not to utter a low cry of severe agony from his braying, defenseless lips, a trait he denied was true. It was one of the ways he got by as he proceeded slowly in removing the bone shard from his chest, feeling the once cold bone slide against his muscles inside, his flesh. It was sickening; it filled the air with nauseating stenches. He winced, his teeth clenched horridly as the bone slid slowly out, his arms shaking in lack of stability, feeling the cool night enter the punctured hole into his body. He took steady breaths; it hurt a bit to do so. He suddenly felt week all over, shuddering at the cool bone he had removed, feeling his own fingers melt the eerie iciness away and warm it to its other side's equal, reddened with blood, warmed from the insides of a boy's body. He threw it down to the floor almost immediately after regaining his strength. As if he weren't hurt badly enough.
He was no longer pinned to the tree, but something in him kept him there, kept him magnetized to the stalk of a tree, thin with coolness, hard with cragged, grayed wood. It was the yearn for comfort, the stark scolding of mind upon body that told him that even if he were to be after the rescue of Teresa and Walter, whose voices and conversations echoed through the trees, amplified by that field trap of theirs, that told him he had to at least take a while to breathe, a moment of rest. A short moment, Eric made it become. His legs stumbled weakly, as if they had lost the power to walk, or had forgotten what walking was.
Now, the cool night began to beg him to move, draw him out towards the forest. And he, being the compliant one for he wanted to do just the same, forced a return of energy, a comeback of legs. Slowly, he began to pace his feet against the cool, dirt ground. No click of slipper made a small crack through the forest. He leaned forward, took a step to ensure his non-falling. He seeped a cold, sharp air as he tried hard to wipe his thoughts of that wound leaking out more blood than was allowed by standards for safety and that pain that could come, the emptiness in his chest that shot right through him. It was like a piece of him was missing; his body didn't feel right. It didn't act right anymore because of the strange abnormality that should have been considered a minor distraction, a small piece of miniscule importance. He took another step outward. This time, his feet's intervals grew somewhat shorter, somewhat quicker. They crunched grass now, a rising of energy input. Then, slowly, with distorted figure of body, he continued on to the forest, and followed the empty, dirt path where he knew Teresa and Walter were waiting for him, whether they wanted to or not. I'm not letting something stupid like a wound get in the way, Eric told himself, assured himself. I won't! It's not an excuse… it's not an excuse. And the moon faraway until the edge of the horizon watched, slowly, taking its time to settle before falling, rooting for him, cheering for him.
PoVS
The false sun blistered upon the sky, baking the soft, fragile dunes of sand into a golden-brown crisp. The cloudless day sizzled with heat, for it had no protection today, no sunscreen of future precipitation to wear. The whirling winds mixed records of gossip, traded mindlessly, too quickly in hype, words being mixed into distorted messages of roars and howls of breeze. This wind of gossip was truly fake, as if this world was not fake as is all ready. It was not natural, in other words, for Jeremy, if you could still call this monstrosity the innocent ten year old boy everyone had used to known as the shyest, quietest of them all. The ground-shaking roars of demonic hell filled the fake-filled savannah of mountain after mountain of sand. No life was anywhere, no signs of weeds, of cacti.
The hot, forked sun toasted the land to an intense summer's crisp, constantly kissing the land with affectionate heat that turned loathsome, the ground currently infatuated in a spellbinding of scarce comfort, the ninety-degree breath of the sun. Perspiration was frequent here; if you didn't have it, you'd be considered inhuman. The whorled winds flurried about the area like a tornado, surrounding Jeremy as if it were his assistance, as if he had used too much power. The wind carried sediment of sand, slivers of it divided amongst the low whirlwinds of it. It got into eyes, distractingly, annoyingly. It was just another obstacle.
Sweat lingered at the side of a redhead's face, one who had lived beyond his years, one who lived off of immortality and immortality only; the contract of gods kept him alive. His face kept away from the sun, a position showing desperation of shade, demise of comfort. Still, even so, rectangular glasses worn by this being glimmered with reflected light in his frontal shade, the perspiration coming down the side of his face and to his chin, soon dangling for life, for it had gone too far beyond risk. He stood over the body, watching it, mindlessly, caring for it as the burden of worrying about Jeremy right behind him and the swirling wind was left behind him, covered by Minoa's skillful techniques.
The looked after this boy's body, watched it lay still and weak, for he had exhausted himself out of power, out of consciousness. He had worked extremely hard; the new technique taught to him by Kakori had been to dangerous; his body had not gotten used to it yet, just like most of the other Minors. A light glow of hands from Shintenmaru's hands scanned over the wounds with a bright glow of yellow energy, glowing luminously with that pale-white glow surrounded in the spherical aura of gold. The healing seemed to take slow effect.
Then, the body coughed, returning slightly to his state of consciousness, regaining just a sliver of it, a bare piece just enough so that he was allowed to cough. The boy's body gave great signs of difficulty while lying on the hot underlying sand that rested his face with heat, brought his face excessive, unnecessary and unwanted warmth. But he didn't know that. He didn't have to, either. The cough was so human, so alive; Shintenmaru seemed assured now. He gave a low sign of relief, but he knew the boy who lay before him wasn't completely safe yet from damage. "Dylan… can you hear me?" Shintenmaru murmured softly to the boy on the ground with his head turned away, weakly, gracefully. His voice seemed to carry away with the swirls of wind.
No sound answered him; nothing but the shouting, drowned voices upon the wind and the wind itself, constantly wheeling around the scene in a circle of danger, a circle of limits. Next, another weak, difficult cough answered him. This time, Shintenmaru seemed displeased. This isn't good, the Council notified seriously, a stern look washing over his face. "Dylan," he called out to the boy once again. No movement. No noise. No breathing. No answer.
Meanwhile, in the background, Minoa stood carefully, watching Jeremy's every move while her eyes grew extremely purple; her hair whisking away at the defiance of gravity she herself created. Her teeth were tightly clenched, ready to help, ready to work. Hanabikai reeled around Jeremy, trailing around him as if in some childish game, blasting various attacks at him just to be sucked up by sudden creations of black holes. A sickening roar cracked from Jeremy's now braying voice. It was as if something had possessed him. The sand continued to whirl dangerously; Hanabikai dodged each one suspiciously in movement. "Protect us from the sand!!" he demanded a bit loudly over the whirling winds.
Minoa followed, bringing herself up to higher standard. We've taken too long fighting, Shintenmaru thought as he cared for Dylan's wounds. He couldn't find anyway to heal him. Also, this one's hurt, he went on. We've at least taken forty times switching; we're getting no where. Jeremy hasn't worn down even in the slightest bit. On top of that, we're all too tired to go on. We'll have to stop this battle now; before anyone else gets hurt, Shintenmaru assured himself. "Stop!" Shintenmaru declared out of nowhere.
"What?" Lance called out to Shintenmaru.
"We're ending it here," Shintenmaru declared as he got back up on his feet to stand straightly, bringing Dylan's body onto his shoulder for support. Surprised looks flashed all around. "People are too injured in this group; we don't have enough people to replace now," Shintenmaru explained. "Come, let's go; we can't waste any more time here."
"What?" Lance rebelled. "No way! You're not seriously thinking about leaving Jeremy all alone about this!" Lance called out.
"We have no choice in the matter for now," Shintenmaru answered gruffly. "We have to take our leave before we endanger ourselves anymore," he began his next few sentences abruptly. "Of course I care for Jeremy; he is someone the Council holds dear to us, something more than you would think," Shintenmaru said swiftly. "However, despite the current circumstances of emotion, Lance, which I'm begging you to understand and be compliant with us about, we must take our leave. We have to go. We will come back another time."
"But -" Lance began again. His voice was carried by the whirlpool of wind and brought to Shintenmaru in the process.
He was cut off. "Let's go!" Shintenmaru turned eager. Lance was taken by surprise. He gulped nervously as he squinted into the air, carefully making sure that no sand entered his eyes. A look of uncertainty washed over his face. The council froze. They seemed indecisive as well. The battle continued.
"No!" Lance resisted with hints of anger. "What about Jeremy?" Lance asked once more. "Shouldn't we focus on saving him?! Wasn't that our one and only goal of choosing Dylan and I for this? Are you really going to make us abandon everything just for our safety?"
"No!" Shintenmaru stopped Lance's burst. "We've worried long enough for Jeremy! If we don't stop now, we'll all die, Lance. Do you hear me? Do you hear my voice?" Shintenmaru demanded.
"Lance," Shihou called to him. "You seem rather concerned for Jeremy despite the short amount of time you had to spend with him. Why?" she asked, voice rather piqued.
Lance scowled. "What if I want to get to know him better, huh?" he growled. "What if I haven't had enough time with him? Doesn't he get a chance to live just like everyone else, huh? What if he dies when we just leave him alone, huh!?" Lance's growls turned to shouts.
"Lance!" Shintenmaru shouted demandingly. "If we don't leave right now, Dylan is the one who's not going to have a chance to live, Dylan is the one that's going to die because you want to continue a mission you have a very well low of a chance of succeeding. Is that what you want!? Consider it, Lance! Think about it!" Shintenmaru shouted. Lance seemed quiet now; his eyes were frozen in indecisiveness now. The Council just stared. "Lance," Shintenmaru began in a more quiet tone now. "I know what you're saying, and I respect your wishes. But, your wishes at the time are not the right thing to do," he told the silver-haired boy. "Take a look at Daniel and consider his condition. His body is fragile to time and damage. There will always be another time to come after Jeremy. He will just remain in this part of Minoa's dimension until we find a more efficient way of doing things." Shintenmaru waited for the answer. There was none; just a scowl of indecisiveness. "Lance?" he asked quietly.
Lance's scowl turned into a growl. He turned to see Jeremy, rotting in personality, spoiling of divinity and grace. His hair, ruffled and whistled and unorganized as they whipped at each other, hatefully, disgustingly, sickened at each other's throats, beings. Mouth was wide open, mouth that hid that once shied smile of an innocent child, now sucking in enormous amounts of endless air in a tremendous shield of black hole emptiness. Eyes were blackened out, darkened into nothingness, guilt; for once they had been innocently white, pale, the true meaning of purity. He wanted to save that kid. He wanted to get to know him; to rescue him.
But then he saw Dylan. He saw him, lying there, motionlessly, uselessly. He was helpless, body over Shintenmaru's hold. He tried to decide between the two. But which one had he all ready been closer to? Dylan. It was inevitable, the answer. But the answer made Lance feel a bit guilty. However, he could not help it at all. He swallowed hard, resisted to say the answer. The Council waited for it. Then, Lance turned back to Jeremy. He shot his last shot of trial; he let his powers decide. The needle shot through the air, and just a foot away from Jeremy did the metallic needle land sharply into the sand. Lance gave a sigh, and turned back to the councils. "Let's go," he said depressively.
PoVS
The night was cold; it remained cold. Teresa sat depressively, darkly in her own gloom as she sat by Walter, both just waiting for their torture of suffocation to end, waiting for the air to run out and dwindle into nothing but exasperated oxygen, and for their death. The night blanked of patience. It soon would end. Walter took a long, exhilarated sigh; he was playing his luck. He looked to the sky, the stars above that danced around each other, sewed each other into the blanket of darkened night of no color, no life. The twinkling star represented one wish, a random wish placed into representation of anyone in the world, whether it is a prayer of an elderly priest, or the selfish wishes of greedy, unknowing child just five years of age. They were all of equality, all of one needle, one syringe. And they sewed around each other, dodging each other in this game of life, wrapping around to create webs of bound fabric; together, they sewed the wishes of life, the hopes and dreams of the young and old, for no one was excluded, not even the dead.
And one of the stars out there was Walter's. His selfish but not so selfish dreams of bringing out his own revenge, spilling the horror he had once been dealt to those who had once dealt to him. This was his wish. And no more did it shine out than any other star, just a bit shinier was it; more noticeable in the sky it was. He searched for it, and found it, right in the first layer of clothing, of the fabric that made his wishes. It was an early wish; it was first priority, an important thread that majored the most sewn. This was his only goal for now. He was confident it would remain that way until the end of his life; or until he had no use in his life anymore, no purpose. He sighed once more. He seemed to be pulling his death closer on the timeline of his life. Did he want to die? Didn't he want revenge? True. But what could he do now? Eric was probably all ready dead, unconscious and spilling blood all over the place somewhere. All Teresa and Walter could do was cry, but they found such things useless. They solved nothing. So they waited, a bit more patiently than others would.
Teresa, on the other hand, when she looked to the sky, found three brightest stars. There had been once before just a single twinkling star in her world, a single guidance, a lonesome path that she knew she had to take because she thought it was the only way. However, as time passed on, new stars met her, brought her their comfort. It was Eric, whose star began to shine more and more on her, next to her, giving her another opportunity. And she had decided to take that path. However, so early in the path did she meet a third shining star, a third needle that majored in the blanket of life itself as well? It was Walter, who made a clear point just before, and now, not knowing which road to take, for it was still early to turn back, she felt like crying, she felt like not choosing any of them at all, and just die herself. Which is exactly why she waited, and exactly why she didn't mind Walter taking long, carefree breaths.
However, what would one really do if they found themselves in any two positions similar to these? The two had gone through so much; Teresa and Walter, not to mention Eric, who Walter doubted was on the way. Teresa didn't care what happened at this point. She didn't know what to believe, what to follow, each opportunity had its benefits, its doubts. Disgustingly, Walter spat at his life. Teresa thought everything until now was a mistake. Eric, he just wouldn't give up. These three were the most lost, the most important in the Minors, seemingly. And their lives were all in danger. What could possibly give them hope now? What could possibly jump start their new day into sunrise of dawn, morning of a new beginning? Death, of course.
However, Eric denied that fact. It wasn't the only way to do it. The dark stars twinkled lightly, innocently in opportunity. Teresa had given up on opportunity. Walter clung on to it; it was the only reason he lived. The night stirred. The cool airs of dawn began to arrive, but it was too late. Teresa waited. Walter waited. Waited forever… forever… forever…
When would their awaited death come? Eric, Teresa thought. You told me that I'd be all right if I was strong enough to help my friends. You proved to me that if I cared about my relations enough, they wouldn't get destroyed; and I wouldn't get hurt. However, Eric, Walter proved you wrong. He said… he said that there are more things in the world that cause pain other than emotional heartbreak. But the old me begs to differ with both. Isn't it always other people who end up harming us? Wouldn't our lives be different if we just stayed out of contact from others and not letting ourselves get hurt? Wouldn't life be so much safer, more enjoyable like that? Or, is it more enjoyable spending it with the ones you love, the ones you grew up with. Because I'll admit one thing, it's nearly impossible to grow up as a loner without meeting or even talking to anyone. What a miserable, boring life, to never hear your voice for you had no one to talk to, never hearing your own footsteps for you did not even recognize your own presence, even though it was the only own beside you.
Teresa contemplated. She found herself leaning more towards Eric's point of view. However, was he right? It's decided, Teresa thought. I'll believe Eric… if he proves his point one more time. We should only have about three minutes left until Walter and I die, and if he keeps breathing heavily like that on purpose, pushing our lucks, then Eric will have even a shorter time. Are you even coming, Eric? Teresa thought. She laughed at herself, thinking that Eric could even hear her thoughts. She looked at the sky as she thought. Eric, are you really going to stand up for what you believe for again, or was all that talk just talk, just words that left their meaning long ago before they had left your mouth themselves? Was it just a bundle of syllables placed together to make-believe its own sense? I don't know, Teresa told herself. Why don't you prove it to me, big guy? Maybe then, I'll start believing in you again. Maybe then, we won't have such a hard time. Me, especially. And she looked to the dark sky. She watched the stars twinkle above, farther and farther away as she felt her lungs lose their air, lose their ease. And she slowly nodded off without noticing it, trying her hardest to keep her eyes on the brightest stars in the sky, the trio of stars that were so close together, so similar but so divided amongst differences, the three lost paths in her life that would soon fade away as the imminence of morning became no more but a presence, and fade away into invisibility, nonexistence, nothing more but a lost memory; along with her.