Gah I seem to have lost a huge part of my fan base due to my hiatus, or something… Whatever it is, nothing's gonna stop me from finishing this story now. Unless I'm dead, that is. Having said that, I WOULD appreciate reviews, not only because I'm a review whore, but also because I'd really want to know what works and what doesn't, so I can write better stuff for you all out there to read, y'know.
About all that blood in the last chapter, I'd just like to say that it was mainly all spontaneous. I have to thank all the external stimuli for that. Also, there's a companion drawing for the last chapter. You can see it if you visit my DeviantArt account.
This is another half-chapter, bypassing some fight details. I thought too many fight scenes would just be overwhelming, not to mention exhausting. Also, I just HAD to slip in this character's PoV… and this was the only spot where I can do it. I hope it isn't too hard to know who the speaker is.
Disclaimer: I only own Diablo in my dreams.
Chapter 28.5
Sound of Silence
The jade green of Celadon feels warm and silky as usual, but there is a kind of flare to it today, absurd compared to the usual well-rounded sensation of steam that it emits. Though it is a great improvement from when she came back from the Sewers two days ago; her aura was murky, and when I got close to it I could taste hot bitterness on my tongue.
I suppose it is good that Oread and Nyhl had made her stay here today. She does not like it, but as Oread puts it, she needs some time off to recover. She had injured her leg at the Sewers pretty badly, but it is her mind that needs the time for recovery.
I bet Nyhl had made the decision. He was wary when he returned. His eyes were focused whenever he looked at Celadon, and his aura formed a kind of subconscious shield. It felt very solid, but very transient at the same time.
Perhaps Oread knew, too. Of course, she had always known that Celadon has the potential. She herself possesses something similar, after all; it would be easy for her to recognise that aspect of Celadon. Like Celadon's, her aura feels irregular on a deep level, a sign that it has had to develop and compensate for external change and trauma extremely rapidly at some stage in her past.
This irregularity is on the surface of Celadon's aura; this journey has been hard on her psyche. Oread, on the other hand… her irregularity is deep down, not far from the core, perhaps when she was only a small child. There is a badly-fragmented layer in the purely-crimson part of her life force.
… Part of me states that it is not nice to read into people's auras; it feels… voyeuristic. Another part of me thinks that I should keep doing this, because it is just so very interesting… to look deep down into someone helps a lot when it comes to understanding their actions – It helps me stay out of trouble. Back in that dark chamber that always smelt of sweat and tasted of terror, it lets me know if I should forcefully resist the ones that molested me so that they would be disinterested, or whether I should just force myself to be numb to their actions in order to preserve my life.
It was my very own survival mechanism.
And then, there were those times when it told me to kill them. It, along with pain, told me to let it all out and just unleash the killing light. Like… when they ripped that small vibrating object – what I now know as a voice box – out of my throat. Those were the only times when I saw without having to superimpose my vision with the world of auras. Everything was alight, and it was red.
I knew what peace was, of course. It was the utter darkness without auras… or rather, without – no, before my ability to read auras. It was warm and smooth. It was another person; a human who gave her own warmth to me.
I had not visited that peace since my mind's eye opened. I faintly registered a colour so very opposite to red, before it faded away. In exchange for my awakening, that person died.
That was what kept me from unleashing the killing light when Oread, Celadon and the late Falcon found me. I saw Oread's chaotic, impure aura of crimson, disguised as indigo by a seal of icy-blue, Falcon's golden-orange sura with the even and unrestricted shine of pride, and Celadon's jade-green, connoting loyalty and fidelity and utmost devotion. It struck something deep inside my head, and the opposite of red – not quite as bright as Celadon's but much more constant and calm – flooded my being.
Master Cain had taught me the notion of "mother". So the darker green must have been my mother, and Celadon… she is like her, and not only in aura. Even in person, she is a mother to me, if I understand Master Cain correctly. Those troubled nights back in Lut Gholein… she gave me that warmth that resembles the warmth of peace.
It makes me uneasy to see her distressed, to note the absence of peace in her warmth. She is sitting with me in our room, me doing some work that Master Cain had set for me during the morning lessons – some runes to decipher and a logic puzzle. I know, of course, that they are actually excerpts from Lam Esen's Tome that Natalya had brought back yesterday.
Celadon's aura reaches out to me as she calls my name, drawing my attention before the vibration from her voice was felt through the walls and floor. I look up, and she asks me for my opinion as to why she was left out of action today.
Celadon is not very good with my hand signals, so I take out a parchment from the back of my book. Master Cain had scratched out some writing on one side, but the other side is blank.
You are injured. I hold up the parchment with these words.
Celadon sighs and shakes her head. Her lips form the words "It's not just that, is it". After a pause, she adds "I've misbehaved back there. Nyhl said I needed to control" – a long pause – "my bloodlust".
Shame and doubt precipitate from her aura then. I am really not surprised that Nyhl would have said such a thing to Celadon. He, of all people, would know about this. He has seen quite a few faces of death, it seems. I could smell blood on him sometimes, but his aura tells me more than what he would like me to know, probably.
His aura is not easy to decipher, but I had thought about this a few times and I think I got it. His true aura seems to be of a lighter, more greyish blue, but from the outside it appears a brilliant blue that is much darker. This is the result of being stained by souls of the undead. Only two are actually tied to him by his mind – these give his aura the brightness; but the souls responsible for darkening his aura are the mind-boggling ones…
To me, those dark souls seem to have been forced into the constituent parts of his life force, probably having broken through his defence barrier. This dark part consumed a large part of his core.
Master Cain had taught me about curses; they are aura-based attacks that sap their victim's life force and change certain properties temporarily, before the host's body fights back and overpower the foreign energy.
The reason why the body can fight back is because of the natural defence barrier that every living thing possesses; a foreign aura can only deal damage when it reaches that barrier. If an attack is too weak, it will be all dissipated by the host's own magical energy before it can reach the barrier. If the attack is strong enough, once it reaches the barrier, the impact is felt by the physical components of the body. This is a reflexive mechanism that diverts the damage to the parts that have greater chance of recovery. Inside the barrier is the very core of a being's life force, and damage done there is irreversible.
Nyhl has probably been such a case. Somehow his defence was dropped, and a curse – or something of the sort – had penetrated to the core. This, in turn, probably limits the amount of spiritual and physical energy he can derive, as well as his control over the former. I knew about his lack of control when he was first brought to Kurast. I could sense it without seeing it with my eyes.
He hides it well now, by restraining his entire aura. I think he knows that I am trying to read him, somehow. The way he looks at me sometimes, a little doubtful but nonetheless accusing…
Back in Lut Gholein they said that my mother was probably a mage, while the one who violated and impregnated her was probably an evolving human-turned-demon. I wonder which part of me he sees when he looks at me like that…
I know that Celadon sees me as a human, a young human girl. Oread, however… she is not as carefree as Celadon. I have sensed it several times from her – killing intent. Other times, though, she is very kind to me. If Celadon serves Oread as her master, so she is my master, also. I do not blame her for the occasional prejudice; I would be cautious of me, too. In fact, I am.
I have always been afraid that my demon blood would consume me, but… I have not for a split second in my life had the feeling that I was losing my sanity.
My mother… what she gave me was a blessing, not a curse. She sacrificed herself so that I can protect, not avenge. Never shall I kill for selfish satisfaction or fulfilment. I have been made for killing – to live, not to feed.
Perhaps that is what Celadon is having trouble with.
Do you kill for a living, or for a feeding?
"I wished it was the former." Her lips form these words. "I thought it was, but now it seems I'm –" a great pause as she considers. "I'm feeding off my enemies. The euphoria of battles, the exhilaration of shedding blood." She holds her face in her hands, as if embarrassed, or trying to hide even though she has already been caught. Her lips remain uncovered and I can still read them; she is desperate to get this out of her. "Gods, when did I… how did I become like this?"
You are fractured.
"What?"
Strained, overloaded by experiences.
"You think that's it, then…"
A fracture takes quite some time to heal.
Celadon pulls herself into a tight bundle and rubs her eyes on her knees. Her aura grows a little frenzied and pulses irregularly. Her reddish-brown bangs spill down and all of a sudden there is just so much red, so much noise of panicked hearts beating and the red the red is all around flooding washing away the peace of green just red red red –
Cold air rushes through my lungs as I am held tight. The red is fading and there is just Celadon and me, one whom I know as my mother, one who gives me warmth.
She releases her hold and looks me in the eyes. She looks blurry and I realise that my face is wet with tears. "I'm sorry." She says. "I'll be all right again, I promise. For you, for everyone, I won't ever lose myself. I'll heal, I promise."
She may stumble, but she will not fall. She can be hurt a thousand times, but she will still recover and live. The jade of Celadon's fidelity shall never fade.
It is four hours or so after our dinner; Celadon, Asheara and I are chatting absent-mindedly as we wait for Oread and Nyhl's return. I can just pick up their presence as I lift the cup of tea to my lips. They are close, but it feels so faint… this is bad.
I take off, running towards the route into the jungles from where the two are approaching. I feel the sharp scrape of chair legs on the floor under my feet, then Celadon and Asheara's hasty footsteps behind me.
My part-demon body apparently means enhancement of my speed, agility and endurance, and proves its worth as I arrive first.
The sight of the two's entrance is unsettling – Nyhl covered in blood, some has congealed but fresh streams flowing over much of the large dark patches. In his arms is Oread, delirious and equally bloody, looking pale as she shivers and moans softly.
For her to allow Nyhl to carry her like that, she must be seriously hurt. She has been badly chilled – the strong magic has infiltrated through to her organs like poison. Her own body is putting up a desperate fight as her aura concentrated in her torso.
"Council members of the Travincal." Nyhl manages to speak between his heavy breathing. "We didn't mean to venture that far, but they came and forced us in."
Asheara says something - I cannot read her lips from where I was standing; she shifts Oread from Nyhl into her own arms, and then hurries off. Celadon steals a quick glance at Nyhl, who makes a waving gesture with one hand. Celadon looks grateful and runs off after Asheara.
Once Celadon is out of sight, Nyhl sighs. Then comes a rapid jolt in his aura; he staggers, almost losing his balance, and coughs. Great droplets of blood splatter onto the ground. I get to his side.
"It's all right." He motions for me to stop. "Let them take care of her, first."
I look into his body by the faint illumination of his life force; there is no magical damage, but there are several joints under stress, a few broken ribs and bruised organs. There are also some streams of blood that keep flowing from hidden wounds. Then there is the weapon at his belt, gleaming with a strong, white aura that felt otherworldly. I stare at it, then at him questioningly.
He forces a smile and takes the weapon from his side – a small flail, its original colour indistinguishable beneath the thick coat of clotted blood. He throws it onto the ground, and then falls to his knees. "This better be all of Khalim that we need." He is barely registering the pain, I realise. His eyes are shifting out of focus.
"Oread…" He loses consciousness. I run to catch him before he hits the ground – he would have fallen right onto the flail otherwise. His blood is warm as it soaks into my clothes.
I understand now, that whether one kills to live or to feed, it is all about survival in the end.
