A tower stood tall amidst the apocalyptic desert. A tower of rock and stone, of metal and gears, of trust and one common goal in mind.

To resolve the devils' never ending case.

To bring peace and prosperity, to rebuild what was continuously taken, over and over again, taken from the righteous inhabitants and spat on by forces far beyond human understanding. Forces that brought nothing but chaos, broke the nation, threw it to its knees and ruled with fists of iron.

Even after the destroyers had left, after the mist had already long gone and dissipated, the devils' freedom remained nothing but a fleeting dream. A memory torn apart by the good neighbors next door - with hounds of iron, crystals of ill death and oceans of steel, they conquered and conquered, leaving nothing but an empty wasteland behind.

And now, that there is nothing but pain and misery coursing through this land of old's veins, what do we do? What could we possibly do other than stand from our knees and deliver one final, mighty blow to the aggressors' throats? With our hands tied, but our fangs bared, we shall rise from the shadows and never again cower in fear. We shall show them what the sarkaz really are - hounds of war, not obedient sheep, gleefully lowering our heads to bare our necks for the guillotine. Never again shall we lose this land we walk upon, the land which born and raised a nation of those who step up against all that try and take it. It is every devil's duty to stand proud and serve the land, as it has served us for centuries and WILL continue doing so for centuries to come. We are NOT swine for the slaughter. We are THE SLAUGHTERERS.

"... It's kinda convincing."

"Right? That's what they teach at some schools these days, y'know? Not that I'd know, I got my diplomas in Kazimierz."

With the twin moons smiling upon the travelers far below, their footsteps echoed through the calm night, slithering amidst the endless forest, a stage play of moving shadows, a cacophony of noises and smells. Three… Or maybe four lost souls moved past the tangled roots, the unmoving green giants, their way led by nothing but the skittish stars above. A jolly butcher, a massive heap of iron, a madwoman and a lost, confused soul, constantly balancing on a fence to the reaper's backyard.

Andy kept dragging the passed out girl, having long abandoned the bag of cash. Upon asking the newly met Newmaker to carry it, he politely refused without a further explanation other than "It's blood money, can't dirty my hands with that" and a wide smile.

"Kazimierz? Never been. How was it?"

"Oh, amazing! Beloved uni years, you know? Uri, remember that Major fiasco? Yeah, when we got banned from ever participating again. Oh, lovely times…"

The set of armor kept dragging behind the three, letting out soft creaks and sounds of metal grinding.

"And Babel?"

He's heard of the name before, sure. It'd be difficult to engage in a conflict without even knowing the two main opposing sides. As far as he was concerned, they were the supposed "good guys."

"Babel? Babel is… It is, that's for sure. A harbor for every lost stray to moor freely and stick around, fight for something they think is right."

The boy frowned.

"And you? You don't think it's right?"

"Of course I do! Wouldn't be here if I didn't. It's just that, I have other reasons as well. Call it… Peer pressure. Right, Uri?"

The swordsman giggled childishly, letting his tail wag behind in a gentle manner. A low, distorted wail arose from the blade.

"You're really strange, Mr Newmaker…"

"... Come on, "Anton" is just fine."

"Uh… Okay, Anton, you're really strange."

"I know, but… How so, specifically?"

"You keep talking to that pile of metal like it's ever going to answer."

"..."

The colossus of a blade on Anton's back shook and buzzed menacingly. Its red, eye-like jewel locked on the boy, piercing him with its gaze.

"It does answer, actually. That "pile of metal" is nothing but a shell."

With a flick of his hand, the massive wendingo blurred into the night, leaving behind no trace of its existence. A few amused hoots from the fowl of night arose all around, gathered into a chorus of mockery.

"The real deal's here. Right here."

Gently and affectionately, the man brushed his slender finger along the blade's jewel, giving it a little tickle. It buzzed with joy and squinted.

"That's Uri's very soul, you know? And he's very talkative. The armor's just extra."

Huffing and puffing, the boy couldn't help but sit down for a moment, letting go of the girl's torso. By herself, W was but a feather compared to the heaps of equipment and gear she had on her, locked away in the tactical rig's endless pockets and pouches. Andy wiped a drop of sweat from his forehead.

"... Can we switch, Anton? I'm really not feeling all that good."

"I know, I know. But you know we can't. We really can't, Andy,"

Somehow, something was telling Andy that this burden was truly his to bear and no one else's. He let out a sight and laid on the forest's soft floor for just a minute, closing his eyes.

His head kept spinning, even after everything had gone dark. Dark blue kaleidoscopes forming on his inner eyelids, teasing his weary, tired eyes, not letting him drift away into the land of crimson corridors and white marbles.

"... I can't even fall asleep, Anton. Not even if I wanted to."

"That's right. You shouldn't y'know? Still got one hell of a walk to… Well, walk."

"I really want to, though…"

"Come on, Drewie…"

"Just five minutes…?"

"Five minutes is death in Kazdel, you know that!"

With a light giggle, the man laid down beside the boy, letting his massive ponytail and the sword rest right next to him. Andy opened his eyes and gazed towards the bright, night sky, finally back in its place, far above the mortal plane.

"... Why can't the sky always look this nice?"

"'Cause it's not programmed that way, dummy."

Obviously. What a dumb question, he thought.

"..."

They gazed and gazed, catching every little twinkle, each wink and flip off the stars sent their way. Playing catch, throwing around asteroids, racing around the endless dark…

Andy felt a strange sensation crawling up his arms. Slimy, sticky and wet, making its way up his wrists, leaving trails of ooze behind. He looked down.

Slithering all around W, narrowly avoiding the sarkaz and making their way towards the boy were hordes of tiny little slugs, standing out in the night with their hides of bright yellow and orange. It felt strange, having so many unwelcome visitors invading his personal space at once, so he gently shook both arms, hoping to let the conquerors know they should evacuate his bodily premises.

Unfortunately, the slugs did not even budge.

Climbing up his elbows, reaching for the shoulders, the slugs continued their lazy onslaught, poking him gently with their rock-like horns. Ill, disease ridden horns that spread nothing but death. Andy squirmed and tried flicking the slugs off his body.

"Ah… Hey… Get off…"

"Hm? What?"

Anton turned to look at the boy's worried face. Each flick, each move of his fingers against their slimy exteriors was utterly futile, yielding no desired results. It was as if his fingers simply passed through them, like some sort of ghost.

"Slugs… Slugs, slugs on me…"

"Slugs? Oh, slugs! Here, lemme help with that..."

A gentle brush of a force as light as a feather graced the boy, delicately removing the slugs off of him. Like the hand of an all powerful god enforcing their reality onto the wriggly mortals, Anton lazily flicked the intruders off, sending them flying into the darkness.

"Ori slugs. They can grow kinda large, you know?"

"I d-didn't know. Thanks"

He sat up straight, feeling all tingly and mushy, not a single slug in sight. As if they weren't even there in the first place.

With a few labored breaths came a sharp, overwhelming pain, biting into his side and filling his windpipe with blood. It was agonizing. Disgustingly overwhelming, vomit inducing and breath stealing - it forced a few glugs of blood to escape Andy's mouth, spilled onto poor W's dirty uniform. Haphazardly, he wiped his mouth and grumbled under his breath, before wrapping those frail little arms around the merc's torso. Like pushing a boulder up an endless hill.

Step after step, in and out went the cracked rib, jostling his lung and acting like it owned the place. Rivers of crimson life giving essence spurting from his insides, pouring like wine from a shot through barrel. He yelped in pain, to Anton's amusement.

"She's heavy, ah?"

"Kinda… But we can't switch."

He kept dragging the passed out meat bag, her arms and legs getting all tangled up in the roots protruding from the shaky ground beneath their feet. It was as if the forest itself wanted W to stay in this very place, sending its tendrils to keep her in place. Andy kicked away a branch reaching for her arm, leaving Anton squinting his eyes at the boy's devotion to the task.

"That, we cannot. But you can always just leave her here, you know?"

"What?"

Andy stopped in his tracks and turned towards the white haired swordsman.

"Leave? Why?"

"Well, is she a relative? I highly doubt that, given you're a sankta. A couple thousand years ago that'd be believable, but nowadays… Not so much."

"She's not…"

"Is she your girlfriend? Best friend? Any friend at all?"

"Not really… Far from it, actually."

"So, a colleague, then? A mercenary colleague?"

"I guess. I think I don't really like her at all, actually."

"You don't? Then why hadn't you said so before!?"

With a bright, warm laugh, the man crouched down by the girl's side.

"... Why don't you just leave her?"

"I can't."

Not again. Not like Droz.

"Why not? You said it yourself, you don't like her."

"I think I don't. I can't trust my own thoughts most of the time."

The man's smile slowly washed right off his face, flattening his mouth into a straight, line shape.

"You can't trust your own thoughts… Why, exactly? Because you're afraid of having to take the initiative? Is it 'cause you need to be led by the hand everywhere you go? Every big decision you've ever made by yourself has proven to be a disaster, has it not? You wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for your own sick desire of accomplishing something far more grand than you're capable of. To Have A Nice Life? Wasn't your life already nice enough for you? You heard her words. You saw her face. You left them both, you didn't even bother listening to the reaper's admonition."

"..."

"Why, Andrew? Why did you leave them? And why is your head spinning so fast, now that you got a taste of hell? Because you want to go back? To live a life that's simple and pleasant? Because being told exactly what to do is what you truly yearn for? Because you want this merc to like you? Because you want everyone to like you? Because you can't possibly live in a reality where it's you against the world with no one by your side? Because you'd shrivel up and die the second you become independent from everyone around you? You've always wanted to find that one perfect, nonexistent paradise, a place where you truly belong, fitting in with everyone else. But that's not the case. You're here, you're acting like someone you're not, living like someone you shouldn't be. Thrown into the real world, into the deep end… You're a parasite, Andy."

The voice kept booming, amplified by the very heart of the planet itself. The world, everything within it and all the forces surrounding it kept screeching at the boy, screaming out his inner turmoil. Scratching, biting, they kept assaulting his consciousness, tearing away at the person he's become, leaving nothing but a pile of bones picked clean - the very essence of the soul. Andrew Reiff, the boy who ran.

"I am."

The words weren't his. It was the lost, tarnished soul speaking for him.

"I am the bane of humanity."

Andrew didn't even notice when the twin moons have shifted locations. Overlooking Terra from high above, they graced the eyes of its inhabitants, lazily making their way towards the horizon. His arms tightened around the merc as he kept dragging. Anton was whistling an upbeat tune, taking small hops every two steps, catching twigs and fallen spruce needles with his overly long ponytail. It was as if he had never even said those nightmarish words at all.

"There's a nice clearing up ahead."

"Uh-huh… Hey, Anton?"

"Mmm?"

"What is it with Uri and you, anyway?"

"Ah… Aha, that's…"

The sword buzzed in protest, shaking threateningly.

"... Right. Uri said "It's Uri'Zen for you," followed by a string of slurs in a language that doesn't even exist anymore. He's a bit old-school when it comes to sankta-sarkaz relations."

Andy kept staring at the fiend's snowy white hair, waving gently with each step he took. It was the only thing he could see in the night's reigning darkness.

"Sorry. What is it with Uri'Zen and you, then?"

"What's with us? I don't know. What is there to be? We crawl around the place, looking for fun stuff to do, that's about it."

"And how's that going?"

"Currently, kinda subpar. We had a fun thing going in Leithanien, actually. Uh-huh, desecrating classical pieces and turning them into fifteen minute long guitar solos makes you a prime pick for the country's number one public enemy. In the musical world, at least."

He gave a shrug, a frown making its way onto his bright, young face. Andy kept dragging and dragging, shooing away the roots and branches reaching for W's unconscious self.

"Also, that whole Witch King thing. I mean, personally, I'd say the guy wasn't even all that bad."

The blade buzzed in confusion.

"... Okay, MAYBE he was. Maybe. But dragging his corpse out for everyone to see in public? Talk about barbarism, am I right…? [...]"

He kept babbling and babbling, losing Andy with each word he spoke. Tales from the far past, the Gaulish expansions, grand battles fought over the most insignificant of reasons. He seemed to have seen it all firsthand.

"... Oh and the way Freddie bossed everyone around the Parliament? Freddie the third, I mean. Hell, I'm all for a good time, but live and let live, you know? Have some fun from time to time, life's not only and exclusively war, after all. I've seen what them dracos can do, throwing diamonds in the joy houses under the ancient Sargonian pyramids, snorting that crushed up originium mess before Kazimierz even became a type one civilization…"

"Uh-huh…"

Andy nodded, not having understood a single word that left the man's mouth these past twenty minutes. They walked and walked, dragging their feet along the uneven ground, catching every little root, rock and tangled up pile of grass. As they entered the clearing, Andy heard the forest enclose around the area, twisting its branches, the timeless arms of old in a circular shape, embracing the clearing in its cold, lifeless grasp. He felt his heart thumping.

"That's the core."

Newmaker spoke up, staring at the pile of warped, tangled roots in the very middle of the clearing, illuminated by the twin moons' gaze.

"..."

The boy left his companion on the ground, making sure to lay her head on the forest litter as gently as he could, handing her weary mind over to the forces of old, entrusting them with her life. Her hair fell onto the soft cushion of moss and grass, ensuring her rest to be as peaceful and comfortable as possible.

"Sure is."

Andrew approached the very middle of the gathering storm, staring down into the eye of Horus. Beating, pumping the pure essence of life, the very oil this land operated on, restless and unending in its task, the black heart kept on working, pushing thousands of liters of muddy tar into the forest's blood vessels. The boy hesitated. It appeared so small and weak in his eyes. A sight he was never meant to discover. A thousand year old shift, hidden far away from those whose veins ran clear, whose blood remained untainted by the deceptive tar. With each beat came a breeze, a gentle howl of the wind, flowing by the boy's earlobe and filling his brain with the soft whisper of the heart's will. A torn, tattered message, devoid of any sense or meaning.

HIDE.

SELF.

HIDE.

SELF.

HIDE.

SELF.

With each move, each twist of the muscle, the words kept resonating through the boy's mind. Each whisper, each gentle nudge to his side, each hemorrhage sprouting from his lung, it all came together in unison, breaking down the boy's mind and oozing words of pain into his tired ears. What was he trying to accomplish? What point was there in dragging along this dead bark of keratin and muscle fiber, towards nothing but unending days of torment? What reason did he have, other than his own fear? The fear of being left alone. Forgotten. Forced to give his life a pace of its own. To bite the hand that leads. To snap the leash and lead.

To drop the training wheels and ride into the sunset. To soar high above. Hide the child deep within and embrace one's true self. Grow a tail. Grow a pair of horns.

Grow a pair, for once.

Andy shook his head and grasped the twisting branches, inching his fingers ever so closer to the treacherous heart. He felt his own blood-pump beating out of his chest, like a fowl of prey trapped inside a cage in some fancy Victorian ballroom.

His hands locked around the core. Black, shadeless mass poured from within, staining his palms forever. He did not mind.

It squirmed and wiggled as his grasp on the creature tightened. The veins popped, the muscles strained.

It squirmed and drew its last breath, letting the tar seep freely from within, cascading down onto the litter, the gentle moss and grass. Down the clearing it went, staining anything it touched. The ground, lush vegetation, down to W's hair, staining the pure strands black. Breathing heavily, the boy averted his gaze from the murdered whisperer, searching for anything familiar. Hurting, oozing with pain and fear, his mind desperately sought anything to grasp onto, a familiar sight to recognize. Newmaker stood next to him, a hue of confusion painted over his face.

"You alright, Andy?"

"Huh?"

"You're looking kinda pale. Sure you can make it back?"

He didn't know the answer. He really, really wanted to, but his mind was clouded, lost in its ignorance.

"I think so. I hope so."

"Good! Good, good."

Anton nodded, a bright smile adorning his face. The clearing was empty. Utterly devoid of anything but grass. Andy was lost.

His arms tightened around the mercenary once again, unwilling to leave the burden behind. Onward they went, into the night's cloak of mystery.

Step.

After step.

The blood kept flowing, filling the boy's lungs.

He coughed, spilling the crimson essence behind, staining the devil's hair. Sorry, W.

"... You never answered me."

"Hm?"

Anton tilted his head.

"You never told me what's the deal with you two. Who are you?"

"Oh, Andy. We're travelers. Nothing less, nothing more."

Travelers. Travelers from where, exactly? The boy couldn't help but laugh, drawing blood.

"Travelers my ass. How old is that sword, huh? Looks ancient."

The blade retaliated by buzzing out a few racial slurs.

"He is a bit old, yeah. Back when the land was still fresh. When no otherworldly threat poured down onto these plains."

"And he ruled?"

"He did! Still does. You rule, Uri."

A pleasant, distorted howl filled the air as the blade's eye closed in glee. He loved catching these little compliments. Andy smiled at the sight.

"Seems nice. Except the hatred for us, angels."

"He can look past that. It's not like he's some mulish sarkaz lover, either. He hates what they've become."

"How so?"

"Royal Courts? Military Commissions? Civil wars? That's not what he fought for. Uri fought for something far more grand. He yaps about his great "Ballad of The Betrayed King" at least once a week, I can practically recite it entirely from memory. Terra ruled by the sarkaz, that's what he wanted. When they all still ran rampant, separated into tribes… He was the one who collected and molded them all into one solid shape. No fights amongst themselves, no exaltations, no unevenness. One nation under one king, led towards rightful control of Terra."

Uri'Zen buzzed with light resentment, maybe even a hint of shame.

"Mmm. See, nowadays he agrees it was a shit idea. But back then? Pfft. Conquered half the land, burned most of it to the ground. And then what? People at home dying from starvation, overworking themselves to the bone, producing blades and machines of war… A riot in the making. Wham-bam, thank you ma'am, a new government formed when he was still playing warmonger somewhere far away in the unyielding west. Welcomed home by heaps of arrows and waves of arts, betrayed and bested by his own. But can you blame them, really? I don't."

Another uncomfortable buzz.

"Yeah, yeah. He took a… What was it? Ah, yeah, a cannonball. A cannonball to the chest, tore the poor guy in two. Took me a full week to mold his armor back together, after we found it, y'know? Anyway, the most loyal of his creeps dragged his corpse away, tore the soul from his carcass and shoved it into a gem. Why? I don't know. But if they hadn't, I probably wouldn't be alive right now. They put that little jewel into the very same sword he used to conquer half of Terra… And left it. Somewhere. I don't know. It's a blur for both of us, trust me. What's important is that I found it, eventually."

Anton gave a shrug and slid his hand against the blade's cold handle.

"And I wouldn't have it any other way."

Andy stopped for just a moment, letting go of his ballast.

"Just how old are you, exactly?"

"How old do I look, to you?"

"Twenty something, but you sound… You sound old. Very old."

The corners of his lips twisted into an amused smile.

"That so? How old, exactly?"

"... A hundred, at least."

The man couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"Hundred?! One hell of an assumption."

"Is it?"

"I don't know? If I sound like a hundred year old, how old would that actually make me?"

Andy took a moment to think, staring into the vigorous man's bright eyes.

"... I have no idea. A hundred does sound kind of believable, though? I've heard of sarkaz vampires, they live quite long. So I've been told."

"Sure do. A hundred's just a light stretch, though. For scale, how does two hundred sound?"

"... Even less believable."

"Five hundred?"

"Absolutely not, right…?"

"... A thousand?"

Andy gave a small chuckle.

"Okay, now you're pushing it."

"Am I? And ten thousand?"

His lung hurt as he fell into a cackling fit, spilling blood all over the ground.

"... Good one."

"Right? Such a huge number, it makes you wonder if you've even ever been alive at all…"

His steps echoed through the night along with the whistling. Andy had to pick up his wobbly pace to keep up. The forest moved with them, chasing with its waves of thorned roots.

"But back on track. You're friends, then?"

"Mmm! Great friends. Amazing, even. The kind of friend you can't live without. You have someone like that, Andy? Someone you always wanna return to? Someone who's there through thick and thin, someone who's never once betrayed or left you all alone when you've most needed it, when…"

As he kept babbling and babbling, the boy felt a block of stacked papers poking his thigh, resting hidden deep within his cargo pants' pockets. He smiled and reached into the cotton depths.

"... I do."

His fingers grasped the corners of the wrinkled piece of cheap, mass produced Lateran paper. Gracing his skin with indescribable warmth, a feeling seeping deep into the very core of his nervous system, spreading all around his body, the photograph emerged from within. A bit dingy, sure, yet still so vibrant and full of emotion.

Andy locked gazes with Lem, feeling the passage of time on his back. Slithering away, sliding through his palms and escaping into the vast darkness, leaving nothing but the empty shell of a person he once was. Anton peeked over the boy's shoulder, looking down upon his fondest memory.

"... You lot look nice. Who are they?"

"Two friends. Memories."

He sighed, brushing his thumb against the red headed angel's cheek, covering the blue haired reaper's entire head with his palm. Too afraid to look into those eyes, too hurt to welcome guilt with open arms, allowing it to feast upon his frail consciousness. Not now.

"... I think I might have a few more."

Newmaker smiled at the words, eager to sit back and listen, for once. The boy hid the prized possession back into his pocket and grasped a bundle of newly appeared photographs. He pulled the first one.

A sight from his deepest dreams. The golden hills of wheat surrounding a peach orchard, two innocent souls laying side by side, staring off into the stars. Holding hands, touching shoulders, enjoying the silence. Their hair mixed in the wind, creating a grayish-red blend of imagined perfection, two rings of light snuggled together above their heads.

Anton smiled, urging the boy to show him another one.

The hallway of crimson, a faint smell of freshly baked pastries arising from within the photograph. Walls filled with frames, both empty and full, happy and sad. At the very end, the door that Andy hid so well. The most intimate of secrets. The very culmination of all his repressed feelings.

Another.

A city of light, bathed in the sun's warmth. Oceans of souls, a cordillera of towers and skyscrapers, reaching towards the wide blue above. Down, among the mortals, laid a shop of dark brown wainscots, smells and sights constantly foreign to the boy, always out of his frail reach. Behind, laid an open backyard, a lively community hub for the dwellers. One door remained locked away behind a thick layer of bright yellow tape.

Andy shuddered and threw the picture away.

The city's gate, leading towards the dreamy orchard. A road lined with graves and still bodies, staring deep into the wicked's soul. Averting his gaze led nowhere, as their piercing eyes dug into the darkest pits of one's mind, filling with nothing but pure guilt. Every face, one he's seen before. Every step, nothing but pain. Blood pouring from his side, the reaper's scythe having taken the broken rib's place. At the very end of the deathly yard stood a figure clad in dark cloaks. A dim halo above their head, deep, blue flocks of hair cascading down their robes. Andy couldn't look into her eyes. He knew he'd break the second he did.

The picture twirled in the air and landed on the floor as Anton's gentle grasp on the boy grew light.

A couch so soft and welcoming. An embrace of someone he's yearned for every single night. Bright, orange eyes. A wide, warm smile. Her crimson hair tickling his face, his body neatly cuddled right next to the artificial source of warmth, her gestures so gentle and loving. A few of his heartstrings were plucked by her slender fingers, playing a symphony of pure longing and love.

He couldn't even begin to fathom the reality of his condition. The bleak thought of this image being false.

The avalanche of pain waiting to be unleashed with a single word she spoke, a single sound ready to shatter his entire world. He did not want to accept such a thought.

It couldn't have been real. It couldn't. His heart kept beating for nothing but a mere illusion he himself had made, an idea of a person so perfect and flawless, a living weighted blanket, ready to soothe and calm the raging nerve storms whenever he closed his eyes.

It wasn't real. It's been almost four years since he's last seen her. She couldn't have possibly known he was still even breathing, yet alone harboring such desperate feelings towards an image of her. A contour he hoped so desolately was real and true. Something he clinged onto. A sight he couldn't live without.

Another person he was utterly dependent on.

As the reaper's scythe tapped against the stuffy room's window, Andy let go of the last photograph and dropped to his knees. The crushed rib crawled even deeper into his lung, sending a wave of blood mixed with vomit onto the soft ground. Out went the black poison ravaging his mind.

His tongue was dry, his throat hurt like hell and his head kept spinning wildly. Up ahead in the near distance he saw a shimmering light of a camp so familiar and dear. They were at the very edge of the treacherous, dead forest.

His mind was a mess. His hands were all dirty, covered in dried up blood. A few coughs arose from behind.

W slowly sat up, clutching onto her head.

"... F-Fuuuh…"

For once, the sarcastic tone was gone. She seemed to be in genuine distress.

"... I just had the worst trip of my life…"

Andy looked upon the ground, seeing nothing but the frozen dirt. In his pockets, a singular piece of cheap paper. He stood up and scanned the area. Not a soul in sight other than the groggy merc.

"... Lawdog? Ricketts? You there?"

She kept rubbing her eyes, getting more and more green in the face.

"... Yeah. Yeah, I'm here."

No sight of Anton.

"You dragged me all the way here…? You're really as dumb as you look, Drew."

She gave a chuckle of genuine amusement before turning to the side and vomiting. Like a sick cat, she kept barfing up the black tar poisoning her veins, holding back her dirty, white hair. There was no mark of the forest heart's blood on her head.

Andy turned in place. Once, twice. No loud, distorted buzzing, no bright white ponytails swishing through the night, no incoherent babbling to be heard. Not even a faint trace of the cunning swordsman.

It was as if he had never even been there in the first place.