Minor language warning.
I lie in waste, a small pool of murk around my essence as I look up. I look up and cannot turn. I look up and cannot breathe. This murk, it may be blood; my blood, their blood, its blood, maybe everyone who has ever lived has contributed to this pool. The liquid ripples around me in its infinite sea of nothing.
All I can do is exist in this wasteland, looking up at a beast that stares down at me.
A beast. That is all I can say about it. I cannot describe its features, as it has none – no, it's a concept, a piece of existence just like emotions. It bears no physical body, unless you consider the fact that it lives within us all. Ten crowns rest upon it, and that is all I know. It breathes. It feels. It cries out, and is not heard.
No – from its prison in the heavens, in this place between time and space, it remains and serves its sentence to humanity.
what is it that i want
What is it that you want?
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Do you want the truth?
God, for the longest time, I thought I wanted nothing; hell, I thought I wanted to die.
I can almost curl my lifeless fingers into a fist. I wanted to cease, if we're being blunt.
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But right now? God, I'm consumed by a hunger that I can't fathom putting into words. I can't explain this desire, this greed, this clawed hand that extends from me and grapples into the earth.
What is it that I want?
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I want to live.
I'm not too sure if I fell over or not. I'm not too sure I actually lived through it, to be honest. But I can feel something new coil down deep within me, and I can feel it rise through my throat.
The indigo that blinds me fades away, revealing this horrible world. First, I see Caster and his ugly, bloodlust eyes. I look a little to my left, and I see Archer. He has a bow drawn back and pointed in my direction.
Heh. He looks shorter for some reason.
I look down and realize why: I'm in… heels? Fuck that. But it's not even the good part. Iron-clad armor covers me, yet I feel like I'm light as a feather. The metallic gleam covers me all the way up to my neck – its dark, almost a natural, midnight darkness with a hint of purple in it. In hand is a shield, like, the size of a boulder (this doesn't seem all that practical) and before I can consider releasing it, this coiled essence within me takes control.
No.
Instead, my hand tightens around the handle and I sum up Caster once more.
I have a shield.
I have some goddamned pumps.
I'm going to tear this asshole apart.
No.
The shield, on closer inspection, has a cross on the side facing away from me; this side facing me, on the other hand, hums slightly under my curled fingers, and it takes no longer than a heartbeat to understand what this is.
It's Rho Aias – maybe not the Rho Aias I knew, or maybe it has evolved in some way. Nonetheless, it feels a little different than before I muse, rolling the handle around in my palm a little. As large as this shield may be, it is remarkably light. The hum is there, but it is… I don't know, more regulated? More controlled? More rhythmic? No petals extend in their pinkish light, and its stone-cold exterior protects what I can only assume is the delicate yet unchained power within. No, I can't guarantee that this is Rho Aias. Right now, I can't even guarantee that I am myself, but as I look at Caster once more, his face twisted in disgust, all I need to know is how to fight.
Actually, that's a good point – I catch myself hesitating as I take a single step forward, sinking into the soggy soil: how the hell do you fight with a shield? I look at Archer as if he has the answer, and he almost smiles.
Almost.
This skin that has been mine my entire life feels full. I can almost feel another heartbeat pulsating quietly within mine – yes, I am me, and no, I am not alone. The little aches and pains from moments ago have evaporated, and I can feel a new strength filter through my muscles.
I toss my hair over my shoulder – someone had the time to brush it all out, apparently, and to braid it back like a war maiden's updo – and stand firm under the wrathful gaze of Caster. His hands shake uncontrollably, his hunched back arched even more than before. "But… how?" his voice rises and falls. "How is this possible? This was to be my Je'ann de Arc! You! You-"he wags his nasty bag-lady fingernail at me, "You ruined her chance! You destroyed my one opportunity to be reunited with her! This was to be my divine grace, my everything!" Caster's voice fluctuates like a rising tide, his mountainous beast in the water ebbing closer and closer, tentacles wiggling as it grows taller and taller, interfering with the purity of the heavens. "Why would you trial me in such ways? Oh, my God! Oh, my Holy Father!" He lifts one hand as if to grasp the heavens while his book re-materializes in his waiting palm. "My Holy Father! Beseech me with your grace! Grant me your knowledge, breathe the Holy Spirit upon me!"
I keep downplaying how terrified I've been – I won't anymore. I'm ready to cry and pee and sob and let him take my life.
Or, at least, that's what I would have been saying, like, a second ago. Something inside of me won't allow the sadness to rise: in its place is a peace. The best way to describe this peace is that it isn't mine; it's like, oh, I don't know, a set of white hands pulling and prying its way through the darkness. Yeah, that's it. I take another step forward, ignoring the mud that sinks beneath me. Those white hands dig deeper into my soul.
I'm not saying I'm without fear – fear is what drives survival and it drives my next step. But I have the strength to overcome this fear, and I'm going to take it and drive myself forward of my own free will.
Another step. Caster begins preaching again, but I could care less. Archer stands somewhere behind me, and for the first true time, I no longer need him.
Well, so I will say for now.
Each step leads to a full on sprint, and it's a sprint unlike any I have tripped on before – my vision blurs (only a little) and I am moving at the speed of gods.
My shield rises so it's not getting dragged in the mud, my right hand expertly twisting it around. Within a heartbeat – no, half of a heartbeat – I'm close enough to feel Caster's rank breath on my face. My hair sways behind me as I stop my motion, daunting him, playing with him. I tease a smile on my lips as I count the freckles under his eyes. They're kind of green-ish grey, if you're wondering.
I could reach out and grab him. That's all I need to do, right? But I'm not foolish enough to charge in at him and leave my blind side vulnerable. The monster from the water latches out at me, but I knew it was coming.
Again, this isn't me, specifically. It's the Spirit that cradles me in my own skin.
I jump at the last instant, twisting my body away to the left and slicing with my shield on the right. The tentacle falls with a satisfactory "thunk" to the Earth as the next comes at me.
This one is even easier.
The next catches me by the leg, and I snap my body nearly upon itself to slam down on the wriggling mass. I land, count my blessings, and look at Archer. "What happened to my backup?" I shout, dodging the next tentacle-bullet that came for my face. As it reclines back to the massive body, I splice through it, and the tip goes wiggling at Archer's feet.
Did the Spirit in me do that on purpose?
"Cut to the chase girl and do your part!" He snarls, smokey voice are soothing to listen to as ever. He draws back, bow in hand, and sends my cover flying into the creature. But quick question Archer – what am I supposed to do? Is if that thing will let me get close enough, not a second time. An armada of red death snarls itself in the skin of the creature, embedded deep enough for a single, stupid idea.
An idea that, for some reason, this Spirit within me didn't have any objections to.
One step after another, I ascend the creature. I shake a little in these stupid shoes trying to stand upright on each arrow embedded deep in the creature, but I'm not on any of them longer than an instant, so it's not too much of a cause for concern. I launch myself as I near the top, rising who-know-how-many feet in the air. Calm, dark, cold air catches me as I ascend.
It's cool up here. I can see the fire on the bank and I can see the Sphynx clawing at the nightmare nursery rhyme. Some of my stray hairs whip out of control as I near my peak and slowly fall. The shield is weightless in my hand as the tables turn and I begin to descend.
Its calm I breathe out, eyes closed in this instant of pure peace. This power will be difficult to live without; it's hard to imagine a life without this immense control, this seemingly unending potential. How did I live without all of this?
I dip my left shoulder beneath me to roll around, face down towards the impeding earth. The beast grows and grows filling my vision, and I heave the shield back over my head. My body curls in a reverse- fetal position, Rhio Aias firmly grasped in both hands, the prong of the cross ready to spear this creature once and for all. But it didn't take a lot of effort on my part for it to drive through the many layers – my earth beckons me closer, pulling me back to where I came from and where I belong.
It's fascinating, really. My teacher once said that we're made of the same crap as what's in stars across the far reaches of space, and for some odd reason, that is all I can think of right now. Those stars that we will never touch, and yet we have bits and pieces of within us.
I near the Earth, and I can't help but wonder why it refuses to release us to the heavens. This gravity, what purpose does it serve? To keep us on our knees? As I impede too close to the top of the creature, I slam down, releasing my buildup of potential. At the last second, the coil of energy within me extends through my every limb, igniting my fingertips and entering the shield. As the energy of this Spirit in me reaches the shield, its lights up like a fucking Christmas tree, putting the stars to shame. The light surrounds me, offering me a little bit of protection as I slice into Caster's creature. Ok, and believe me when I say the sensation is absolutely revolting: the smell, the slimy surface of blood and tentacles completely encasing me, god it's overwhelming. I were alone in my skin, I would have thrown up (among other things, if you know what I mean), but that doesn't stop me from sinking deeper and deeper into the creature. I pierce pretty deep, but the voice inside of me whispers something, forcing me to give a sideways glance; the hole behind me – my plan for escape in this almost-thought-out-plan – was closing up.
Shit.
I try to curl my shield a little more, forcing the flat side underneath me instead of the prong-end, but the force around me is great. If I were alone, my arms would have been ripped off in the effort. I grit my teeth and heave, entire body straining under the effort. The deeper into this creature, the tighter the small space became. With each passing second the creature closes in around me, the smell of sulfur and piss burning my lungs. My eyes tear up and I wince them shut; I'm likely crying or screaming or something, but I can't hear. The blood in my ears pounds away, driving out any sound, human or otherwise.
And I stop my motion.
The wiggling around me seems endless, the stench, vast. The shield suddenly seems very, very heavy in-hand, and I can't do shit to get oxygen in my lungs. If my lungs would even work.
The Spirit struggles against the weight, forcing my body to move as I hand the reins over. Hands curl into fists and pound away, legs trying furiously to stretch in this cramped spot of hell. A minute passes, maybe two. The Spirit keeps trying, and its power over me increases as my willpower fades away.
I never would have imagined it would end like this.
The Spirit stops struggling, and sound returns to me. I force my eyes open against the slime and grim, trying to inhale desperately. I can almost hear something outside, but I really, really can't tell.
If my lungs weren't filled with so much bile, they'd be on fire. The mortal body can only deal with so much stress for so long, despite having a Heroic Spirit inside of it. Again, it's my body, not their's.
I DO NOT want to die! I rear up, trying to raise my head and bracing my weight on my balled fists. I'm done with this near-death shit. This time, I'm aware of my screaming.
I plop back down, body heaving in deprivation. I'm not about to allow myself to die, not from a stupid idea like this. My teeth grind in frustration – whether I'm willing it or the Spirit, I couldn't tell you.
But what the hell can I do?
I'm aware that my cheeks are wet, and I'm aware that I'm crying; the cause of the tears I couldn't tell you, but I know it's there. The white-hot knives that stab my lungs filter down to my organs, and for some unusual reason, I can feel blisters forming in my body.
Wait.
I fumble around in the near-darkness to grip my shield again.
My shield.
It is Rhio Aias, at least to some extent. I grip the handle with both hands and drag myself sideways so my chest is on it. My body moves slowly, all of my weight being dragged by my hands. Once I'm firmly on the shield I heave, and dip into the energy that isn't mine.
I hope the Spirit won't mind.