Bishop surrenders himself to the tug of gravity drawing him inexorably downwards as he falls forward into the gaping chasm. But just as his feet leave solid ground, he feels something clamping onto his arm and jerking him sharply backwards, pulling him away from the edge of the abyss.
No…
He staggers backwards and lands in a heap on top of Alya, whose hands are still gripping his arm tightly, her cat's eyes large and shining and filled with concern. She seems unaware of his body weight on her as she gently helps him up to a sitting position before kneeling beside him, her face inches from his, her intoxicating scent assailing his senses.
She smells of rosewater and cinnamon…
"You okay?" she asks him, speaking her first words since he had started attacking her.
He could only stare back at her dumbly.
Of course I'm not okay! His mind rages, the constant crippling pain assaulting his body pushing him to the brink of insanity.
Why did you do that? Why didn't you just let me be? Why didn't you just let me fall and die? Why are you prolonging my suffering?
His amber eyes burn with a wild fire as his tortured brain starts to think illogically.
You are the reason I'm still suffering…
His vision still blurred by the red-tinged haze of pain, he lets out a feral, anguish-fuelled roar as he lashes out at her. Their close proximity gives her little time to react to his sudden aggression, and as she tumbles backwards to try and avoid him, he feels the dagger clipping her, slicing into her flesh, and he hears her gasp as she falls awkwardly, clutching her upper arm. Thick crimson liquid starts to seep out through her fingers, and a dark maroon stain begins to spread out on the sleeve of her robe, as her blood soaks into the material.
Her blood…
For a moment, as if fascinated by the grim sight, he could only gape wordlessly at the scarlet trails running down her arm, trickling off her elbow and dripping onto the dirt, turning the rusty earth an even darker shade of red.
Just a few weeks earlier, her blood had done the same thing, on the same soil.
When the githyanki had torn the shard out of her.
But this time her wound is not caused by a gith.
I did this to her…
The dreadful realisation makes his breath catch, as he continues to be hypnotised by the blood oozing from her gash. He feels an irrational twinge of guilt for having hurt her, despite how hells-bent he had been to kill her just minutes earlier.
"The first cut is the hardest, isn't it, mortal?" Mephasm's cool, calm voice snaps him out of his daze. The devil is smiling cruelly. "Don't worry, it'll only get easier now." He regards Bishop with his infernal glowing eyes. "And, I am sure you are already feeling the benefits."
It takes a while for Bishop to understand the pit fiend's last sentence. He hadn't noticed it earlier, but now that Mephasm has mentioned it, the red mist that had clouded his vision has cleared a little, and the gut-wrenching pain that had been surging through his body, although still unbearable, seems to have been dulled somewhat. The twitching in his muscles appears to have subsided, and he is also breathing relatively easier, as if the white-hot chains binding his lungs have been loosened slightly.
He casts a quick glance in the direction of the portal. The shimmering circle is now shining brighter, the image of his village in its depths more tangible than before.
More importantly, the apparitions of his parents and Calyx are now more solid and opaque, as if his deed had turned them from a mere dream into reality. Their outlines are much clearer now, the fear in their eyes now replaced by hope and longing.
Above all else, when he had made the cut, he had felt a great load shift slightly off his shoulders, as if the bonds chaining him to his wretched existence are being washed away by Alya's flowing blood.
From somewhere within his mind, a voice urges, Finish the job…you're so close now…
But…I can't hurt her…
She doesn't love you…why should you care?
Hesitantly, he looks back at the blue devil, and Mephasm raises his eyebrows expectantly.
"Are you a little torn, mortal? I sense a war raging within you." He eyes the ranger almost sympathetically. "As with all wars, the ultimate prize is freedom. I'm afraid that one must always make sacrifices in battles. That has always been the way."
The pit fiend's gaze shifts towards Alya, still nursing the gash in her arm.
"Blood must be shed for freedom."
Bishop stares blankly at the dagger in his hand. Its curved blade is coated in a crimson liquid, and he sees a drop of claret forming at the tip, before breaking off and splashing softly onto the earth.
Again, he feels a pang of remorse for what he had done.
I can't do this…
But I must…
"Almost there, runt…"
He lifts his head towards his Pa. The older man's eyes are soft and hopeful, filled with an unspoken love. He sees the same expression on his Ma's face, and Calyx's, as they urge him on:
"You are so close, son…"
"You can do it, love…"
Bishop shuts his eyes and covers his ears with his hands, trying to drown out their voices as he struggles to think. The pain coursing through him seems to have concentrated in his temples now. His pulse pounds loudly in his skull, and his head hurts as he wrestles with indecision.
Need to think…
There's nothing to think about…the decision is obvious…
No…
Opening his eyes, he gazes again at Alya. She is still sitting where she fell, a hand clutching her bleeding arm.
He looks towards his parents and Calyx. He sees them smile encouragingly, lovingly, at him.
Finally, his eyes fall on the incandescent portal, the inviting scene of his home village waving at him from its centre, as if beckoning him towards it, towards his gateway to a new life.
All at once, he reaches a decision. When he does look back at Alya, his eyes are steely with determination, his jaw set in resolve.
Closing the short distance between them in a sudden leap, he throws his arms around her, pinning her own arms to her sides. She makes a tiny noise of surprise, but otherwise puts up little else by way of resistance.
Good, it'll be easier if she doesn't struggle.
Kneeling on the ground, his arms still holding her in a vice-like grip, he pulls her body so close to his that they are almost fused together, until he can feel her heart thudding against his chest. He gazes into her luminous green eyes.
This will be the last time he sees them so big and bright. He may as well make the most of it.
"Alya…" he murmurs, almost apologetically, before leaning in for a hungry, bruising kiss. He can feel her body tensing up at the unexpected gesture, but she doesn't recoil from him. His arms slowly encircle around her waist, pressing into her back and bringing her even closer to him. She may not be returning his affection, but that doesn't deter him from going on, from drinking thirstily from her sweet lips as he makes their final kiss last.
Once he is sure that she isn't going to try and struggle, he slowly slides the hand that still holds Calyx's dagger from behind her back, slipping it discreetly between his body and hers, his remaining hand still pressing her body against his. All the while, their lips remain locked together, even as he grips the handle of the blade tighter in preparation.
When his lips finally leave hers, his golden eyes are dark with a desire he knows will never be fulfilled. His hand on the small of her back pulls her towards him further before snaking around her shoulders, holding her in a strong embrace.
"I'm sorry," he whispers softly in her ear.
And then he drives the dagger home.
The sound of the blade sinking into soft flesh is accompanied by a shocked gasp, as her eyes grow wide with horrified realisation. He feels her entire body going rigid, but still he hangs on to her, hugging her tightly to him. Gazing into her stunned eyes, he smiles as he twists the blade deeper, feeling the long-awaited release from the clutches of the poison. With her exhaled breath, he could feel the red haze of pain lifting, and he imagines the chains around him finally breaking.
When he finally lets her go, he looks down at the dagger sticking out from his own chest, watching with morbid fascination as his lifeblood starts to pool around the blade and splatter onto the dirt at his knees. He imagines the poison, his pain, his troubles, all being carried out of his body by the crimson current.
"Blood must be shed for freedom."
Slumping slowly to the ground, he catches a glimpse of his Pa and Ma, and Calyx. Their expressions betray their disappointment in him, as they gradually fade into the air around them. The swirling portal collapses in on itself, as it, too, disappears.
Somehow, that doesn't upset him as much as it should.
Now that the pain is over, nothing else seems to matter anymore.
His eyes start to glaze over as he stares up at the angry red sky. A weak smile plays across his lips when he sees Alya's worried face looking down at him.
"Could this one person really mean more to you than…a second chance in life…?" Bits of the devil's earlier question echo in his mind, even as dark spots begin to fill his failing vision.
Yes…
But why?
Flashes from the past replay themselves in his head: he sees her in her beloved old robe, the soft green bringing out the dazzling colour of her exotic eyes. He sees the jagged hem of the same garment, as she tore the magical healing runes off it to wrap around his injured arm. He hears snatches of their conversation the night before her trial by combat, when she had called him her friend…why did that stick in his mind so?
Because no one had ever seen me as a friend before…
And because I have never seen anyone as a friend…
He sees himself cradling her head gently in his lap, as he waited for her to break out of her coma after their sojourn into the Nine Hells. He sees himself stroking her hair gently, murmuring soothing nonsense into her slightly pointed ear, praying to all the gods that she would be all right. He hears himself whispering things to her as she lay unconscious that he would never say if he knew she was actually listening:
"It's all over…you're safe now…please come back…"
"I love you…"
He recalls how distraught he had felt when she lay so close to death. Now, in the fading light, she is kneeling over him, a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with worry and shock. Her arm is still bleeding where he cut her, but otherwise she is relatively healthy and alive, and he feels his heart lifting in relief.
He knows that he has made the right decision.
As darkness falls, his body relaxes, and he feels the heavy burdens finally falling off his shoulders, leaving his soul light and carefree. If he could, he would have chuckled at his last delirious thought, that in a way, he was a true hunter until the end.
His final quarry: peace and freedom.
THE END
Author's note:
If you managed to reach this point, congratulations are in order for putting up with my long rambling thoughts! If you're feeling up for more punishment, I have started to write a sequel to the story, "The Path of the Heart".
Thank you for spending time to read this!
