In Fits and Spurts

December 31, 13,013 – Midday

There was blood.

So… very much.

He was unable to stymie it, and while he felt pride at their tenacity…

Well, even if they hadn't pulled out the blade, they'd have died. Possibly more agonizingly as the silver ate away at their flesh.

Throughout it all, the Countenanced Carbuncle was eerily quiet. Finally muttering a terse, "God dammit."

Silently, he agreed. His brow creased, slim lips tugging down. Beast surprisingly absent and quiet amidst the copious amounts of blood.

"The only thing you'll help her see is an early grave!"

The Sheriff had been correct.

Beneath his palm, their heart lied still. Crimson-painted skin chilling.

No amount of chest compressions or prayers could change that fact.

Yet, his hand remained pressed to their bare sternum. The wound beneath continued to belch smoke, albeit weakly.

But his hand remained.

The cliffs were quiet for the first time in hours as thralls and beasts fled. Without directive. Without purpose. Terrified.

But his hand remained.

Erembour, small and quiet, whimpered. In pain.

Physically. Mentally.

But he remained.

Try as they might, they'd failed.

Sorrow.

Anger.

Pride.

Guilt.

It culminated into something ugly that no one had the energy to dissect.

Slowly, D extended his hand to Erembour. A silent command for the Demon to rest. Something he resisted for a moment. Unwilling to leave and put more of a drain upon the man. But eventually, he did. Slithering through his veins to settle uncomfortably.

The Hunter, however, had no time to contemplate or grieve. Mind already on the hunt ahead of him. Planning his next course of action.

They would no longer head for the tribe. There was… no need. It seemed needlessly cruel to deliver a decayed body to a family that might not even know their living status.

"Here is your Grandchildren! They were alive, but now they aren't! Byeeeeeee!"

Or perhaps it would grant closure…

No… It was best to let them rest.

Fingers tore through salted earth until a them-sized hole yawned before him. Deep enough to keep them from washing up (almost a proper depth of six feet). And carefully, he lowered them into their grave with the ashes of their child in their arms.

There were no clothes to dress them, and he would not leave their body for the scavengers to pick at while he searched the bloody remains of the horse. Perhaps he could carry them with him, but…

Despite the carnage, it was a very beautiful area. Far enough to avoid landslides. Wooded. The breeze of the sea rustling the leaves scattered upon the ground.

The best he could do was bury them with their child.

With a handful of dirt, he said his goodbyes.

The grave was filled and topped with bricks from the neighboring ruins, two crossed boards tied with rope firmly wedged into the ground. A ward against those that might wish to lift the stones.

It was the best he could do under the circumstances.

Perhaps the best he was willing to do.

Could bear to do.

D finally released his hold on the string.

It'd long since gone lax, limp and lifeless in his hold. And while some part of him, deep in the recesses of his Soul, hoped it would suddenly throb with renewed life, it simply was not reasonable to cling to such an unfeasible possibility. Not when it'd been well over an hour.

Slowly, it withered and crumbled. Disintegrating into the aether.

The trek to the horse's remains seemed to take an inordinate amount of time. But arrive they did. Gazing upon the gory crater of shrapnel. No equipment to salvage.

Only a bloody trail that stood testament to what the girls endured.

It was a shame. They'd endured so much. Only for it to end so terribly.

His hand grasped a sheet of metal left over from the horse and wrenched it free of the nearby tree. Slinging it to the ground. No real rhyme or reason. But it was admittedly satisfying.

Cathartic as it crumpled atop the headless corpse.

His longest-lived horse was gone.

His charge was gone.

It felt like he'd failed.

He had a lead. A purpose.

Yet…

Well, it didn't matter.

He would see this job to its end because its completion did not hinge upon whether or not they breathed.

Dark eyes scanned the area. Whatever he searched for, he did not find.

Would not find.

And eventually, he turned North. Eyes hardened and determined.

The day seemed to drag.

Erembour rolled and shifted. Uncomfortable. Aching.

A body he did not currently possess begged for movement, but he knew it wasn't worth it. Not when his physical form was in desperate need of repair.

Something he was unable to spare the energy to accomplish.

It was just nerves.

An ingrained instinct.

Fear.

A want to run.

To escape from the reality that'd been born.

Instead, he watched through eyes not his own and hoped for better days.

Fingers wound through his fur.

When had he manifested?

He wasn't certain, but he was thankful for the hand currently grounding him.

It'd been so long, it would be a death sentence to return. Whether he'd meant to or not. Most presumed him dead, as it was, and those he'd passed as he collected Souls had been… hollow. Any care they might've once had for his existence was long gone.

It was a fate he was glad to have evaded.

It'd be terrible if he just waltzed into an even worse fate after a year away.

Over a year.

Even if it hurt, he had to stay.

So, slowly and with a long-suffering groan, he curled into the Hunter. Forcing himself to rest in the Burdened Soul.

Shadows stretched across the land like wandering fingers, sun cresting the distant ridges.

The countenanced carbuncle was already done with the Hunter.

Despite the battle they'd fought and his advice to rest, the man in black continued to move. Ignoring the pleas to seek sustenance.

He felt no need. As such, he would not stop. He would continue to traverse the mountainous terrain until they reached a town where he could restock. And if he felt a need, he would feed before then.

Until that time, he brushed off Hand's worries and pressed on.

Another dawn came as he stared over the trees towards a village nestled in a valley. Something he wasn't sure would have what he desired.

Another scan.

Signs of a larger town.

He dropped from the tree, now headed towards the possibly larger town.

Erembour decided to hunt.

His form was… not complete. Yet, he felt well enough to fill his belly. Already tracking the smell of aged grazers that would be an easy catch.

Perhaps he could bring one back for D?

Sure, it might not be preferred. However, something was better than nothing.

He felt useful. Not like a piece of shit as he toted along a creature twice his size. Something that was certain to provide quite a bit of sustenance.

Satisfying? Unlikely.

But it would be a fuel source. One the man needed.

He followed his nose, thinking it odd that D had not moved much farther from the last point he'd seen him. If at all.

If he was being honest, D felt like shit.

He expected to feel lethargic, running on fumes from the fight. Traveling without pause in the few days after. But how he presently felt was… bothersome.

Like a band stretched too tight, on the verge of snapping. Chest constricting almost painfully.

So, instead of pressing on, he waited. Not sure he'd be satisfied (or rather, fixed) by the blood of the animal he knew Erembour would bring back. And dry swallowing one of his few remaining supplements to chase down with the last bit of water did very little to abate the feeling in the interim.

There was no thirst to quench. What point was there in reconstituting it, really?

Another pain drew his hand up to his heart, knuckles digging into and rolling against his sternum.

"You're gonna have to rest, D," his hand finally spoke. "You can't finish the job if you crap out along the way."

Highly unlikely. Nothing had managed to put him out of his misery thus far. A lack of rest surely wouldn't be his end.

But, the advice was sound. Something he was loathe to admit.

Something he could not ignore. Not after the Demon had dropped the large grazer into his lap and there was no change. Belly heavy with blood that churned unhappily.

Slowly, as shadows fled before the rising sun and Erembour devoured the drained carcass, D settled at the base of an old pine. Eyes blocking out the world around him.

His heart constricted.

And he dreamed.

No air to fill his lungs.

Darkness.

Heavy.

Crushing the life from him.

Hating him.

Loving him.

Comforting him.

Abandoning him.

Was he all there?

He wasn't sure.

But eventually, his consciousness was thrust back into the waking world. A nigh unfathomable panic pulsing through his veins, urging him to his feet to face the eastern horizon.

Reaching for an ethereal thread that could not exist.

It didn't.

Yet, even as he began feeling the slightest bit foolish, he kept his limb outstretched.

Watching.

Waiting.

The countenanced carbuncle dared not speak. Afraid to break whatever spell had come over the man.

Nestled within his Soul, Erembour dared not move as it fluttered anxiously.

Hopeful.

Panicked when everything painfully constricted, not having been a part of the earlier attacks.

But it was exactly what the Hunter waited for.

Together, they all watched with bated breath as the thread reformed. Writhing in agitation.

Flaring with life as the Hunter took off at a dead sprint.

Going taut as he threw himself down the rocky incline.

And eventually, disintegrating.

Five days had already passed.

He'd not make them wait another.