My duel with Izayoi was a blur, but now every hint of rage I felt has been forced out of my body by a sudden sharp panic. A tug at the threads. New threads, that I haven't seen before. It's a difficult thing to describe… They don't look too different in any way that I can physically describe, yet every single one is inarguably unique. Not just in their quality, which indicates a variety of practical information. I mean on a deeper level. Each one is personalized to each individual bond. …I suppose describing something only I can see has little point.
But the sudden appearance of these new threads is strange. They're new, yet they feel familiar. And they connect directly to me. One is already withering away. My mind jumps back to when I ran away, and realized that I couldn't see the threads on Patchy, Flan, or the little devil. As soon as I realize what these new threads mean, my body knows what to do. I run back to them.
I could've died in that fight. I repeat that thought in my head to drown out those lingering wishes to turn around. That isn't atonement you dammed idiot. I don't know what I can do. I don't know what to say, or how I can apologize, but I no longer care.
I can't just run and hope that Patchy and the others will solve these problems. Not when Flan's in this condition. If I don't at least try then… I don't want to die. I just want to protect Flan. Help her. See her smile, even just one more time. …I can't do any of that if I'm dead. I can't do any of that if she…
I feel a small hint of relief when I come across our base, and that open hole in my heart, now void of mental pain, quickly fills itself with a physical one. The knife wound in my side pangs as if I'd just been stabbed again. I save myself from falling and keep moving forward.
I hesitate when I reach the door. Just apologize. I feel it again. The urge to run. That lump. The stress. The chains of guilt still dragging me further into self-loathing.
Then I hear a loud swear. From Patchy.
The threads are twisting and tangling as I pick up on the movement within the room. One continues to steadily fray.
I grit my teeth and plant my feet. No. More. Running. I throw open the door.
Patchy is standing over Flan, while the little devil carries supplies. As the devil looks between us, frozen still, Patchy and I lock eyes.
I swallow. "Patchy I-"
I don't finish my thought, whatever it was going to be. Flan is breathing hard. I rush over. She's sweating and heaving, crying in between groans of pain. It's like her own wounds are torturing her.
"Remi." My eyes fly back to Patchy. "You're an awful friend and a worse sister." She grabs my wrist. "But if you're back here, then you want to make it right. Right?"
I nod, already feeling the tears well up in my eyes.
"Then listen to what I say. Don't hesitate. She's dying."
"Understood." I reply with a nod.
Her cold tone and blunt words are like a slap in the face. It hurts, but it wakes me up, heightening my senses. The little devil and I rush around the room, gathering herbs and blood, mixing and delivering to Patchy's specifications.
The symbols that denote what's stored where and the sheer volume of supplies we've gathered… I had never noticed just how much we've managed to cram into this tiny space. Just like that library she'd spend so much time in…
Sadly, now is not the time to reminisce, as Flan's coughs and sobs are like needles in my temples.
Patchy works hard, her fingers moving with precision and a lack of hesitation, even as she cuts into Flan's skin, peeling back the muscle tissue. It's akin to a live-surgery. Normally, such viscera would excite me. Coming from my own kin, it makes me cold and nauseous.
I try my best not to look, but the cries only get worse.
And worse.
Louder and more strained.
Still, I fixate myself on Patchy's unwavering, unceasing orders. It'll be over soon. It'll be over soon…
And then it was. And the silence was deafening.
Suddenly I notice that the breathing of us three is louder than Flan. Much louder. The silence is broken by Patchy, practically screaming out what I can only guess is a swear in some dead, magicians tongue. It reverberates off the walls and through my body as shock runs through my system.
"REMI!" She shouts, barking at me, pointing to the drawer next to me, telling me to take the bottle within.
"Koa, prime blood reserve, NOW!" The little devil grabs her vials, and the two of us reach her together.
The look of desperation on the Magician's face shifts back to a laser focus. My heart is beating like a war drum, the pulse of blood filling my ears.
Patchy slows down, as she finishes speaking spells and slathering her sparkling, arcane solution on Flan's back, while dripping a different mixture into her mouth.
The beating in my ears is deafening. I can't hear a thing besides it. I can't hear her cries, or her breaths. I can't even see her through my blurred vision, as salty water stings my cheeks. I wipe my eyes. Only to see Patchy backing away from Flan. Her face, slowly, comes into view.
Her studious eyes are now wide.
Her focused hands are now shaking.
Tears are rolling down her face.
Flan is completely motionless.
My heartbeat, constantly climbing, reaches a high-pitched ring in my ears.
And everything stops. No movement. No breath. No heartbeat. The room feels frozen in time. Stuck, forcing me to look at a nightmare. …No. Nightmare isn't right. This can only be Hell. My Sister, my entire world, is dead, and I'm in Hell.
And she isn't even here.
The bile in my throat burns and chokes me as sound and motion both return to the room, signaled by the creaky slamming open of the door.
I swallow back that burning acid as my head whips around to see what made the world move again.
Izayoi.
As soon as my brain confirms that she's really standing there, a primal part of it takes over. I turn on my heel to walk towards her. Only for every bit of physical and mental pain I'd repressed with adrenaline up until now to come crashing down on me. I fall to my knees, then vomit.
Izayoi walks around me and into the room. I turn myself enough to get the others in my view. The little devil backs away, horrified of this human.
Patchy stands up, only to fall back into her chair, breathing hard. Her situation is barely better than mine. She starts coughing.
Izayoi says nothing for a long moment, instead simply turning her gaze to Flan. She places her fingers on her neck, and on her little finger, I see that familiar, fresh yet strained, red thread. In the chaos of the procedure, I'd shifted my concentration off of them. Now they suddenly return to my vision.
A thread, faded yet strong, connects me to Patchy.
Another, fresh and new, connects me to the little devil.
And a third, the oldest of them, thin and fraying, connects me to Flan. And I reach the same realization as Izayoi, when she inevitably feels a pulse.
"Still alive…" Izayoi mutters under her breath.
"Barely." Patchy says in a raspy voice, between coughs. "But I… We can't…"
"Mistress." She turns towards me. "You said… You said that blood could be a medicine, yes?" She looks over at the vials on Flan's nightstand. Then to her own hand. "And that mine could be valuable?"
Without waiting for a response, she takes a clean and empty bowl, then draws her knife. She cuts her hand, allowing a thin stream of blood to pour down. Patchy limps over, suppressing her coughs. Her tired eyes go wide once again.
"What the hell…?!" She holds the bowl of blood as if it were a delicate flower, while Izayoi covers her wound. "This is absurd… This is more magical energy than our entire supply… Hell, this is more than the whole city should have!" Her eyes narrow as she turns towards Izayoi. "Just who-"
The subtle shifting of bed sheets has never been so loud. All our eyes snap back towards Flan. A single fiber of the red thread connecting me to her snaps. She's still at death's door. But she's fighting. Fighting harder than I ever have in this city.
I force myself to my feet. Patchy and I nod, first to each other, then to Izayoi.
Patchy resumes giving her orders to the now three of us.
She mixes her new concoctions up quickly, whispering spells as the herbs and crystallized magic are all crushed and mixed with the blood. Izayoi helps her. I avert my eyes from their work, focusing on my own. But then I see it.
That freshly broken fiber is one with the thread once again. And amidst the heavy sounds of our own breaths, comes another, smaller one. A return, but now, without the pained screeches.
"Finally a decent anesthetic…" Patchy breathes in relief.
We continue to retrieve and mix ingredients, filling bowls and soaking bandages. The fibers are weaving together before my very eyes, in a way I hadn't yet seen before.
Patchy raises up her hand, stopping us all in our tracks. Flan is moving. Restlessly squirming in her bed. Patchy locks eyes with me and tilts her head, a signal I quickly follow.
We sit Flan's mostly limp self up, wrapping her torso in those medicine soaked bandages. The little devil props up some pillows behind her, which we rest her on. She's moving. I can feel her pulse slowly coming back.
I begin to move away, but grabbing my wrist once again, Patchy stops me. She places into my hand a vial of Izayoi's blood, with naught but a few drops left in it. We lock eyes, but she only nods.
I then turn to look at my other side. Izayoi, her hand and arm now wrapped, stands by me. She looks at Flan in curious anticipation. Her eyes catch sight of my own, then quickly shift towards the ground. We both know that there are more important things at stake right now than following up on our conversation.
I take a deep breath. Slowly, gently, I tilt Flan's head back. Her mouth is open just a crack. I can feel her warm, soft breath as I move the vial to her lips, and trickle in a mere few droplets.
I lay her down against the pillows, but before I can let go of her, she shifts and groans.
And her eyelids lift.
Her scarlet irises slowly blink open. As her dream daze clears, her eyes open fully, awake and, finally, full of life.
"Big sis?"
The tears that had been slowly trickling down my face become a waterfall as I wrap my arms around Flan's shoulders.
"Flan… Flandre…!" I choke out her name, sniffling and sobbing as I repeat it, over and over again.
Flan's own arms move up my back, past my wings, and hug my own shoulders. Firmly. With more strength than she'd mustered up in weeks.
We cry into each others shoulders for Devil knows how long. Finally, once we've had our fill, we let go of each other, and Flan leans back against her pillows. But our eyes remain locked and full of tears. Our smiles are still embarrassingly wide.
"I'm…" I sniff. "I'm so glad you're okay." I manage, barely choking out the words.
Flan's smile only softens, as she's still low on strength. That small ache in my chest reminds me of the other thing I yearn to say: An apology.
But before I can, Flan's eyes move to my side.
Her expression morphs. Her eyes are wide, and her mouth barely agape. A look of shock, confusion, and utter terror.
"…Flan?" I follow her gaze.
Her fearful eyes are focused on Izayoi.
Flan raises up her hand.
Izayoi takes a step back.
"Wait, Flan-!" I call.
She squeezes her hand into a fist.
And a firework display of blood spews from Izayoi.