For what IS music?
Music is the moment.
The moment in which everything gets unscrewed a little loose and falls off its designated rest - rumbles around the floor, clatters at one's feet, forcing them to bend down and pick it back up. Pieces of skull and brain, the headless puppets grasping at their thinly veiled veins that spilled whatever red life-wine was left, for the music dictated their every move. Can't dance without a brain, right?
She tugged at their strings - left, right, center - all over. Clouds of orange, red and dark-ish gray erupted all around, like some fairly forgotten Lateran funeral procession, where colors led the way onward for the departed to join their new home upstairs. Here, however, they were just the byproduct of a few ori-implosions that left the ground shaking in their wake.
Everywhere, in a carefully dictated circle, the marionettes obeyed and flew high up into the air, catching the notes of her dreamed up symphony. Guts sprung alike springs, or snakes hunting their elusive dinner, painting the nightly forest a salmon pink. W stood in the middle of it all, her ears catching each sound with an immense sense of glee - for it was all hers. All hers, no one else's.
"..." The ones in front watched, yet refused to dance. A few broody dolls stood still, some dropped to the floor in an attempt to outrun the deathly shrapnel, some dropped to the floor after a failed attempt at doing just that, their faces and lungs pierced by flurries of tiny ori-shards. Blood flew, guts puked out whatever they held inside. Vic jumped at the occasion and stuck his flame-spewing moron-sword into the ground.
"Just you… you… just you wait… just you…" He kept mumbling, yet no one heard. W kept cackling like a choking hyena, spinning in place with her arms wide open, inviting death to come and hug her tight. Smoldering rubble fell all around in a fiery rain of burnt meat and rags, all completing her perfect visualization of the big night that never came to be. Andy blinked.
"Oh, Law." His meek voice articulated deep, deep inside his head. The gray of his irises had somewhat mixed and blended with the overbearing red of the surroundings, pooling into one bleak, indescribable mixture of shock and fear - quickly thrown out the window to make space for a growing impulse of violent rage.
Sparks flew. Thunderbolts pierced the sky.
Andy stood tall, towering over any pile of burnt bodies left to stain the night's serenity. Knife outstretched, he aimed the tip at Vic's absently unfocused face.
"YOU!"
Eyes turned at once, as if a freezing cold gale swept across the flame riddled field, dimming the fires and gathering, then aiming the attention of the few that were still left alive towards the boy's shaky voice. Andy took a few wobbly steps towards Vic, his mind dead set on completely ignoring the maniacal chortlings of W spinning around like a dreidel somewhere behind his back.
"Me? What? What "ME?" Vic pulled back hard on the rubber pipe attached to his sword, bending and stretching the material sideways. Some substance hissed, some sparks flew, but eventually the blade shot from the ground, as a fiery plume of blue and white followed along. "What about ME? WHAT AB-..."
A splatter of red shut his mouth right up. The synthetic blend of bones, meat, skin, plastic, steel and rubber crashed against Vic's jaw in a bloody display of pure violence, once unbound, twice followed up on, as Andy cocked his fist back and slammed the merc's head into the ground. From afar, W howled in excitement, swaying in place from all the spinning and giggling.
"THAT'S THE SPIRIT! HAVE AT IT! GIVE 'EM HELL, LAWDOG! GIVE 'EM… Huh?"
A gust of wind swished past her ankles, sliding its many chilly tongues along the rubber of her shoes and the sturdy fabric that stitched her cargos together. Equally as cold and lifeless was the low, grumbly gurgling that the wind carried into her ears. She turned to the source, eyes meeting the disfigured, mangled corpse of a caster.
Mittens lay spread out on the ground - some of her managed to spill to the side, some of her flew off somewhere else, some of her had already burnt to a crisp… She's seen better days, the poor girl. Her mouth couldn't really articulate much of a sentence, as her vocal cords were currently filled and peppered thoroughly with tiny fragments of bone shards and metal, courtesy of a loosely bounced grenade. Given her poor state, the girl could only crawl onward, her guts trailing along behind, where one of her astrally projected ghost-hands dutifully collected and tried its best to deposit them back into place, just like stuffing a fowl for a celebratory feast. It all led an incredibly meaty, wet chorus of agony dragging behind her, assisting each fallen piece of her intestines with a sound nearly disgusting enough to make even the most hardened of mercenaries drop to the ground with green painted all over their face.
W, being W, however, burst out laughing at the sight.
"AAA- AHAHA-... AH, LOOK AT YOU! L-... Oh, gods, just let go, girl. No point in holding on, trust me. Hell, I'd switch places with you anyday. Anyday, if not for the fact I still have some stuff here that needs being taken care of, but… Ah, whatever." With a flick of her hand, she plucked a grenade from the belt slung over her shoulder and ripped the pin. "I'll spare you the pain, mm? C'mon, open wide. Open wide? For me? Tch. I'm trying to help y-... Hey?"
The chilling breeze soon turned solid - a tight grasp slithered around her ankles, then slid upwards, until it clutched tightly onto both her legs, crushing them together like a pair of twigs. W's eyes shot open, a display of pure surprise and befuddlement riddling her usually confident grin - she clearly hadn't anticipated a gigantic hand made of pure nothing suddenly enclosing her lower half in a death grip.
"Wh-...?"
They locked eyes. Or, rather, W locked eyes with the one singular eyeball that just barely dangled from its socket, and spilled whatever black-ishly red juices Mittens still had left in her body all over the rest of her mangled face. Desperation grew over her lips, bits and pieces of shattered teeth clenched tightly in one last grinning attempt at regaining control. Out the corner of her eye, W noticed a little sleeve of five, six empty syringes poking from the carcass' arm - now outstretched, gripping the air around her.
The blackened hand tightened its grasp. W felt all her insides being squeezed and rearranged together in a messy, chaotic dance of guts chasing guts and bones bending under the caster's will. A little vomit mixed with blood slid up her windpipe, as her hands gave away and dropped the grenade.
Metal softly hugged the ground. Needles flew about the place, gently ruffled by the sudden intruder, but otherwise remained unharmed. A second or so later, incineration came without warning as the grenade tore apart the nightly silence, (but for the constant sounds of steel clashing against steel and flames erupting in Andy's own battlefield) with an explosion far grander than Mittens' juiced up arts creations. The hand whined in pure pain and slithered into the bleak nothingness, leaving W on the ground - panting, snot, blood and vomit running down her face, but otherwise mostly unharmed. Still feeling the deathly grasp around her stomach, she jumped to her feet without much grace and readied another grenade.
"Some bite, no bark." She twirled the explosive around her palm, before chucking it full force at the casting corpse. As the projectile closed in on its target, another ghastly hand materialized from the dull void surrounding the smoldering ring and threw itself onward, narrowly engulfing the grenade whole. A bright flash of white followed, the expected "boom" coming in a little muffled, dampened by the hand's translucent insides.
Poof. Hand disappeared.
W noticed a pattern. Throw grenade, let hand catch, watch hand disappear.
Throw enough grenades, watch the caster bitch disappear as well.
A quick flick, her grenadier's belt came off, palms filled with explosives. With a wide grin painted over her face, she watched the caster's upper half being lifted into the air by a few ghastly hands - her body just barely swayed with the wind, arms outstretched like a martyrish prophet being hanged atop a cross. She cried tears of blood and puked strings of her own guts, forming little piles of pink and red far beneath her torn off legs - now replaced by an unbreakable shell of blackened crystals that somewhat engulfed her missing lower half.
"... Sturdy, ain't ya?" W muttered to herself, grenade in hand. A loose thumb slipped into the ring hanging freely off its tip and tore the pin off. The explosive flew, met by an army of ghostly hands, all chasing after both the deathly projectiles and the girl herself, dropping by her feet like flies, then dissipating into thin nothingness with each explosion that followed. Three, six, seven, twelve - all like hounds of war stampeding onward, following the unsaid orders of their undead master. And amidst the barrage of explosions dulled and muffled by the hands, W danced around each and every one, narrowly avoiding their grabby fingers and palms, now reduced to nothing but a smudge of black, white and red - her hair, like a rapid cloud, her body, an ever spinning carousel that chucked grenade after grenade towards the floating martyr.
An overbearing stench of burnt ori-powder enveloped the battlefield whole, as a tiny war of its own brewed at its other end. Steel clashed against steel, fires rose high up into the air, as Andy desperately threw himself to the floor and barely avoided having his face burnt smooth off.
"Can't even have… ONE normal day on the job." Vic rattled through gritted teeth, aiming his flame-spewing contraption in the angel's general direction. Flames flew, licking along his shattered halo and taking it into their warm embrace - no mental pain came, however, as Andy pushed himself up and jabbed his knife forward, aiming at the merc's face. He promptly blocked the advance, directing the flame-spewing tube upwards and massacring a few innocent branches that hung above. Their faces met a good few inches from one another, in a tight blade-lock, the weight of Vic's sword crashing against the meek knife and crushing Andy's little arms. He yelped in pain, promptly throwing his other hand forward to give the blade a little help against the unrelenting assault, gripping it tight and accidentally sliding his palm along. It cut wide open. Blood flew, seemingly to Vic's disgusting content. "... But this'll do, too. This'll DO!"
He pushed hard on the handguard, and sent the boy tumbling down. Lying on his back, bare - a knight without armor - no gray carapace to serve him in the hour of most sickish need, Andy clutched his bleeding hand and watched the towering mass of snowy locks and hatred raise his blade. Before the righteous hammer of justice could be brought down to finish off whatever still kicked beneath the surface of his rotten skin, a tiny few swift footsteps danced towards the two, followed by a wave of head-splitting explosions that somehow sounded a little quieter than they should. A hand tightened around his collar, using the moment of Vic's muddled surprise to pull the boy to his feet.
"HEY! I'll borrow him for a moment, mmm? You, have fun with this in the meantime." W chirped past Andy's ear, gripping his sweater tight. Before Vic could muster an answer, a few unpinned grenades landed at his feet.
Tink, tink, tink.
They bounced off one another, then rolled right up to his rubber-clad kicks. He gulped.
"Alright, Lawdog, lend a girl a hand, would you?"
W carried him off in a blink, crossing the pulsing field with just a few hops. Andy couldn't drop her tempo, knowing she'd just drag his face through the dirt anyway. "A hand? What d'you need my hand f-..."
And before the question could even fully leave his lips, his gaze fell upon the disgustingly disfigured horror floating high up in the air, the corpse that was once Mittens, now turned to a brainless organism for the blackened, spiky crystals to feast on. Gray eyes shot wide open, leaving his mouth equally ajar in a constant, never ending gasp. The knife fell from his hand.
"Lawdog, c'cmon."
W promptly patted him down and shoved the blade back into his trembling palm with her tail.
"Just a floating bitch with her guts all over the place. Never seen anything like this? Seriously?"
"No…?"
"Me neither." She shrugged. "... Duck."
"What?"
"Duck, moron."
A flock of stampeding hands crossed the sky, just barely reaching for their hair and horns, as W pulled them both to the ground. One tangled its finger inside the boy's halo and dragged it along, only for the ring to come apart and reassemble itself lazily above his head. He stood on legs made of cotton-candy, watching the night sky being overrun by hands without arms spiraling around the floating corpse, like bees guarding a hive.
"How-... What do we do, what even IS that?!"
"I dunno. Target practice, hopefully."
"Target pr-... Target practice? What, are you gonna-"
Words cut off in an instant, as the steely grasp of a hand flying past nearly took his head. W was his saving grace again, having pulled him towards and pressed tight against her chest. "Watch it, would you? I need your pretty curls for a distraction here, so don't go dying on me just YET."
Swoosh,
Her arms swung him to the other side, just barely snatching him away from another hand's hungry grasp. A chorus of weepy wailing arose from the blackened creations, quickly cut by a flurry of explosions erupting from behind. W let out a whistle, tapping her feet to some unheard rhythm.
"... That's your moron-buddy taken care of. Now, throw me some ideas!"
"Ideas?" Andy stepped along, nearly falling from her carefully constructed choreography of dancing over the rampaging hands. Their palms met, as the two assumed a somewhat similar stance to that of two tango performers locked in their chaotically perfect symphony of moves and gestures, spins and hops. "F-... Blast her with a grenade?! Fuck, I don't know!"
"That all? That's all your…" W paused to cut Andy's feet with her tail, bending him in half to avoid having his brain squeezed dry by a pair of eager arts-hands. Their dark carcasses crashed together with an empty thud, sending a wave of cold chills down the dancers spines, then slithered back into nothingness. "... That's all your pea-sized brain could come up with? Tch…"
"I'm not the one who got us in this situation, am I though?!"
The two separated, feet carrying them both in contradicting directions to make way for a rushing bullet of six hands joined together - molded into one ghostly battering ram, that tore through the forest floor, sending spikes, dirt and whatever fleshy remains of both the caster and her dead comrades high up into the air.
"Yeah? So what!?" She managed to outyell the sound of the deathly troupe grinding against the ground.
"So WHAT?! So that it's your job to get us out of it!"
Plap!
Their survival instinct pushed them back together, fingers interlocked tight.
"Lawdog, my job's to survive! Yours is to follow suit, yeah? So think something up, AND quick."
Carrying through the wasteland of death and blood, the two hopped on, swaying subconsciously to the rhythm of W's silent symphony. Bodies bent under the weight of sweat, adrenaline and something far more primal in W's case, just narrowly avoiding each and every finger, palm, or cut wrist that flew their way, letting them crash somewhere behind, adding a steady beating of arts against dirt to their little dance. Andy gulped and aimed his eyes at the girl's.
She was all smiles. Grinning, with a sprinkling of crimson staining nearly each part of her face, yet nonetheless elated. The world came to a halt, with each little droplet of blood freezing mid air, then erupted into a wild, spinning flurry. W flung her arms out, and sent him flying far on forward. Tangled in her fingers, tails tightly clutching to one another, lost in the smudges of apricot orange, Andy spun and spun, watching a horde of hands passing by his eyes at the speed of light, all flying off in circles, swooping down, stretching their grabby little fingers, missing by a hair, then retracting back towards the core of their hive.
A light bulb lit the night up in stride.
"Got ya, moron." W huffed, as Andy spun right back into her arms. They bumped apart with a soft thud and wobbled back into their dancing position, hand in hand.
"... I need one of those hands to catch me." He muttered between steps, before slinging an arm around her waist and bending her body in half. She gasped, before a surprised grin slithered onto her face, watching a pair of slimy digits grazing the very tip of her chin. The morons stabilized just a moment later, faces close, breaths mingling.
"You wanna get caught? Living's too tough for you?"
"Just trust me for once. I need that thing to catch me, and…"
W clicked her tongue. A rogue flock of hands came in like a storming wave, the gathering counting about ten to twelve ghosts - all beelining it for the prize. A few grenade pins came loose, clinking away on the soft ground, as she sent them flying towards a head-on collision with the incoming horde.
A flash of red ripped the creation apart, leaving smoldering smudges of what appeared to be a liquid-like smoke twirling around the air, as a few of the hands fell to the floor like grounded aeroplanes. W jumped at the occasion and bit her heel into the open palm of one of the quivering ghosts.
"... You wanted to get caught? Here. got one. On three, I'm letting go." She threw behind her back, eyes locked on the wriggling creature. Her heel twisted, digging deeper into its translucent flesh. "... You ready?"
"Uh-huh! Just keep the rest occupied!" Andy jumped to her side and plucked a few grenades off her belt. Not many remained, anyway.
"Occupied? How-"
"Keep chucking 'nades! Yell! Whatever! Just keep throwing them off 'til I jump that bitch."
"O-... Oooh? That's your plan?" She turned to face him with an expression of genuinely impressed amusement. "... Messed up enough, that it might just work."
Without missing a beat, she stepped off the hand and offered him an over the top, theatrical bow.
"Mighty steed awaits, Lawdog! Saddle up."
Tip-top.
Andy opened his arms wide.
"C'mere."
As if on cue, the hand gladly accepted his invitation. It rushed right into his embrace, tightly wrapping all its fingers around his waist, shoulders, and anywhere else it could reach, before pulling him high up into the air, as if he were some meek rag doll, nothing more. The violent motion stirred up a freezing gale that assaulted his face fiercely, sending his hair and tail flying in amok all over the place - He figured he'd spare a moment to brush the curls from his eyes, before the hand itself registered its current disposition.
The fingers curled, hard.
Andy went red. The feeling of all his insides being squished together like spice beneath a mortar was way too much to bear. A little vomit stirred in his throat, yet the gullet prevailed, somehow pushing it back down. With a last-ditch effort, he swung W's knife somewhere to the front, aiming for nothing in particular - mostly his own chest. The blade bit hard into the hand's slithery skin, drawing a long, blood-curdling wail from within its very core - A plume of that same, liquidy smoke squirted from the wound, coating his face with a thick layer of soot, or goo, or whatever else this vile substance might've been. All in all, he felt it was well worth it in the end, as the fingers loosened, allowing him to take a few rapid breaths.
He could finally look up at the sky.
Dozens, if not hundreds of ghostly hands roamed the vast, empty void of the night, circling around and orbiting their unmoving "leader". Mittens, or rather what was still left of her, remained absolutely still, her body held up by a team of dutiful ghosts - half of the worker-bees were put on guts-shoveling duty, stuffing any and all organs that fell from the gaping, open wound in her stomach back inside, meanwhile the rest kept her arms outstretched wide, some even taking the liberty to lift her head every moment or two, allowing her a few seconds of rest before forcing to gaze at her monstrous creation again. Flocks of hands prowled free, unbound by any mortal's mind, yet still connected to their hive, feeding off the fleeting life energy that resonated within the deepest confinements of her soul, now covered by layers, upon layers of black, hardened crystals.
Andy gasped at the sight, drawing the attention of a nearby group. Ten, or so hands changed their trajectory, dive bombing from above to tear the boy apart. The ghost that held him must've sensed the impending danger, and shifted into fifth gear - it barely, just barely avoided the grabby assault. With the wind on their backs, Andy and the hand scooted past a massive horde of digits aimed at a tiny devil far below - her yells and whistles drew the attention of the massive leviathan of combined wrists and palms, as it dove onto the ground with a monstrous growl. She was right there, jumping and waving her arms - no matter the girly screams and unhinged giggles, the shaking of her voice belied the genuine fear that rushed past each neuron in her brain and struck directly into the core.
W was shaking. Her gaze, unmoved by the rampant sea-terror, fell flat, searching salvation within the metal prisons of ori-powder attached to her belt. An unheard sigh left her lips, eyes fell closed.
The gaping mouth created of many, many rapidly curling fingers like teeth closed in on the girl, as Andy could only watch the creature devour her whole. It dug hard into the ground, akin to a gigantic sandworm feasting on Terra's crust - swallowed not only W, but a few dozen limbless corpses scattered all around. His eyes widened, allowing for the unspoken scream to take form of a prickling electric shock sent down his spine - from the brain all the way to the heart. As if he suddenly fell, everything went blank, yet the hand kept carrying him onward, towards the hive's center.
A muffled explosion or two erupted from within the bellowing beast's belly, yet quickly dimmed - muffled hard by its bottomless stomach.
W was gone.
Nothing, absolutely nothing remained, but a mound of smoldering hands thrown on top, like a sick joke of a grave. Nothing to bury, nothing to cry over.
Andy kept staring at the pile. It was in itself, a living organism. Each hand, each little finger that made up the giant's skin and insides remained free, yet connected by some invisible web that coordinated each and every delicate move of the flesh creation. A form of life this tightly connected would put even the biggest Seaborn colonies to shame. An entire ocean of these hands could wipe Terra in a week, maybe two. His thoughts wandered, then wrapped around back to the matter at hand.
W was gone.
Not a word to say, not a single goodbye. He was getting too emotional. Too bleary eyed, too forgetful to notice the hungry horde of fingers, like fowlbeasts of prey, closing in on the back of his head. The hand that carried him onward ducked, threw a somersault to the left and clutched onto him even more tightly, which squeezed a tear or two from his eyes. Andy reached into his pocket and grabbed onto a grenade.
Explosions soon filled the night sky again, as he chucked the buzzing ori-weapons behind his back, doing his damn best to down the pursuing creatures. Shrieks of pain, the smell of burning ori-dust, combine it all with the shaky journey and a pair of fingers crushing his stomach beneath their weight, you get a recipe for disaster. Andy dropped one of his last grenades onto the ground and swung himself over the side to vomit past the hand's upper layer of skin. It reacted in kind, squeezing him even further with a disapproving buzz.
Blood flew from his mouth, eyes nearly popped from their crevices.
With red staining his vision, he gripped the handle of his knife tightly and slammed it as hard as he could into the finger crushing his ribcage. His "steed" wailed in pain, nearly dropping the culprit entirely, yet he clinged onto the blade tight, unwilling to let go.
More and more fowl of prey started gathering by his sides, extending their sticky fingers to gnaw at his feet, trying to grab onto his shoes and pull him away from the rampaging hand that held him close. Eyes filled with red, crimson running down his sweater, Andy kept holding and stabbing, stabbing and holding, beating the daylights out of his hand with anything he could - the knife, his own fists - at some point, he bit down hard into the finger, causing a deluge of warm, black liquid to pour right down his throat. The metallic taste stained his gullet and sprawled itself all over his body, as a new wave of violent tremors overtook him whole - bucking and kicking, for there were no grenades left, but just one. Wriggling and fighting, doing anything to push the grabby hands away, to keep floating towards the dreamed up destination, the very heart of this hive, the heart that needed to slam its last beat to the sound of his tune.
She was right there. Right in front. Floating not so far away, protectively embraced by a pack of hungry hands - they bit their non-existent mouths down on her skin, feasted on the corrupted remains of Mittens, the poor caster girl who overestimated her own abilities. At that point, there wasn't much to even call Mittens at all. Arms were nothing but black sticks, her caster's tunic torn and replaced by a visage of black crystals that erupted from deep within her body. Andy got close.
Close enough to see her pain - tears of blood struck her cheeks, staining the once empty fields of pale white. He wanted to gaze into her eyes, but she had none, the meek eyeball long torn from its socket. She tried to gaze back, oh how she tried. Nothing could she have done. Nothing could she have said, but a low, rumbling gurgle of blood, her vocal cords all ripped to shreds by Originium crystals. Andy noticed his only opportunity and stabbed his steed's hide hard, pulling down on the knife to rip the leathery skin wide open. Blackened blood poured all over him, as the ever so encapsulating embrace let go, releasing him into the wild.
Andy fell, but his body instantly came to a halt.
A hand caught him mid air, latched onto the back of his neck like a cat onto their newborns. With hell raging all around, the buzzing hordes of nightmarish creations born of a sick and dying mind, the hand held him gently. Carefully. As if Andy was a precious, little porcelain doll it wanted to play with for a moment. Just a moment, before the mind grows dark.
His face soon met hers. Held up by the dimming light of her uncorrupted mind, Andy was lifted to eye level, allowed to gaze at her withering head. No words left his lips, as his rapidly beating heart simply did not allow any. There was absolutely nothing he could do, as his body was left paralyzed in cold, overarching fear.
Fingers wouldn't move. Eyes wouldn't close, locked on the poor girl's bleeding crown. The breaths came in on their own, cold and unfeeling - lips already anticipating the kiss of death itself.
And then she raised her head.
Slowly, it surely must've been a herculean effort for her. As if a tree had lifted its own branches up, her neck just barely managed to uphold the image of utter pity on its crystal-pierced muscles. Mittens gazed back at the boy with both her empty eye sockets, a river of red pouring from each.
There he was.
Her only savior.
Andy felt the hand above him shift. It lifted him up, then flew below, allowing him to stand freely on top. Amidst the raging ocean of ghostly creations soaring through the night, it was only a matter of time before his body would be caught and torn apart, so he had to act quick. He knew that.
Without thinking much, he pounced on forward, knife in hand. The blade struck the very middle of the girl's forehead and dug a tiny hole into her skin, maybe just the slightest bit of meat. Something hard and tough rattled beneath and refused to bend or be crushed in any way, so he stabbed again.
And again.
And again.
And again…
And again, until one of the rogue hands had finally noticed his doings.
The ghost beneath his feet shuffled, as if anxious. As if it had a mind of its own. Or maybe as if it was still connected to its owner's healthy part of the brain, the only part that wanted nothing else but for Andy to break through her own skull and finally end her endless suffering.
A projectile swished past, nearly knocking the boy off his feet. Fingers grazed his sweater, but just barely missed. Andy felt a flurry of emotions raging within him, an overbearing sense of absolute dread and hopelessness, as he gathered himself back up and continued his stabbing.
Then came another. Without warning, a tyrannical grasp encircled him tight - fingers that burned, fingers that bit and tore away at his sweater, bending the supple fabric under their weight with nothing but pure, killing intent in mind. For endangering the hive, for threatening the integrity of their commonwealth, for plotting against the joined goal, it needed to rip this rag doll into nothing but a pile of shredded meat. Helplessly swooped off his feet, Andy retaliated by shoving his knife somewhere behind, aiming for anything at all. The blade cut deep, sending waves of black-ish blood all across his back, coating him thoroughly in the warm ooze. The hand let go, but along came another.
And another.
And another.
And another.
Four hands gripped each of his lips, their digits crushing his ankles and wrists to a pulp. He couldn't help but yelp in agonizing pain, as each and every creature began pulling in its own designated direction, aiming to RIP the sticks from this pathetic doll, this absolutely disgusting past-step of evolution that had no right to infringe their new order, their new way of life. The worm wriggled pathetically in their mighty grasps, unable to do anything but yell inaudibly for help. Help from who, doll? No one remained in the entire forest, no one was left to intervene.
Tears rapidly fell down his cheeks, as the sleeves of his sweater began coming apart. First, the carefully stitched string-knots of immaculate Lateran engineering gave out, creating windows of torn fabric that gazed past the gray fuzz and showcased his pale, scar-riddled skin. Burn marks, purple marks of heavy beatings, even stab wounds - all for their non-existent eyes to see. Andy yelped.
Bit down hard on his tongue, as his bare shoulders and thighs started to burn.
Meat threatened to slip from the bone, separate and say goodbye forever. Veins were already reaching their maximum bending capacity, twisting unbearably beneath his skin - some lesser circulatory tuber had already given out, causing pools of internal bleeding to riddle his body, envelop it whole.
Soon, it'd all go away. His thoughts were a mess, absolutely burning with pain and nothing else. No dreams of Laterano, no grand reunions with those he's lost, nothing.
Just pure, unending pain.
A hand slipped one of its ghostly fingers into his pocket - it dug around, grasping onto piles of loose ammunition, slid past the photograph of him, Lem and Mostima, then finally latched onto something it sought. Along with it came a sudden burst of pain so unbearably striking, that Andy thought it must've been the final call. The one that ends it all.
But then the pain softened.
The hands all froze, returning his stretched limbs back into their joints.
"...?"
Andy gazed upwards, just barely lifting his head, much like Mittens. She was staring right at him, the overwhelming void that filled her eye-holes seemed a little warmer than it ever did. A bit more friendly.
She was smiling.
Andy caught the faint glimmer of her smile through his tear-stricken eyes. It was tiny - miniscule, even, yet it was there. No doubt about it. Not a single hand dared move, as the only palm still within the girl's control nestled a little something deep into the stomach-hole that housed all her dead guts and insides. Mittens gave a tiny nod, sending the hand away.
Past the horde of other ghost-creatures watching, the hand floated lazily through the air, until it reached the very tip of Andy's nose. With a finger, it poked him in the ribs, very gently so, then flicked him on the nose.
"...?"
His eyes searched for any reason, yet remained unable to do so. The very tip of Mittens' finger curled outwards, gracefully extending towards the boy's face.
There, laid a tiny, metallic ring.
The pulled pin of his very last grenade.
In complete and utter silence, the ocean of fingers refused to move. Not even one dared to buzz, curl or twitch.
It felt as if Terra had stopped spinning for just this, and only this moment. No movement exuded from anywhere, not a single animal - beast, prey, human, god - not a single one had the right to break the moment.
The planet mourned in silence. And the hellish creations that embedded the loss of one's free will mourned along, feeling and watching the originium charge buzzing softly within their core's scarred womb.
A soft whisper cut the silence - a sharp knife through the thin veil of muffled nothing.
"Thank you."
Mittens spoke. Not with the shattered, damaged cords, but with her wide, toothless smile. Her empty eyes, the contours of her face twitching in a display of pure and genuine gratitude. There were no tears of crimson dripping down her cheeks or sliding past the crystals that peppered her neck. No pain on her forehead, not a single wrinkle.
She was free.
So, so unbelievably free.
Andy blinked. Blood gathered in his throat, yet his body refused to swallow. Something clutched tightly onto his wrists and ankles, yet he didn't even know what. He's already forgotten the pain, the excruciating punishments his meek, rag self has just gone through.
A mighty wave of red shot out into the sky, followed close by an eruption of stained, dirty fire that chased each escaping froplet of blood. Flames of hatred, flames of elation engulfed the night sky whole, as the blackened shell of Originium came apart, with bits and needles shooting off in each direction.
Guts, skin, limbs, brains, bones - all long dead before, flew in every imaginable way, ridding the heart of its eternal pain, setting the soul free.
Setting the hands free.
Each bit of leathery skin pressed against his limbs faltered. Their grips grew weak.
Before he knew it, he fell to the ground, landing softly atop a pile of smoldering hand-carcasses, each one oozing its blackened blood like a pure system of tightly interconnected fountains - some had already started slipping away into the cover of the night, letting it engulf them with its dull cloak.
Andy lay on the ground, eyes wide open. From head to toe, he was covered in black. Tar, blood, whatever you may call it, it stuck to him like glue. The twinkling of the stars high above made its return, as the hordes of nightmarish hellspawns fell from the sky, aeroplanes shot down during a mighty battle where the righteous triumphed victorious.
Thud.
Corpse after corpse, the hands slammed heavily against the ground all around. This unending rain of leather and blood persisted for far too long, for minutes, hours, entire days, before going completely silent.
They all oozed. They all bled, bled until there was nothing left of their sick bodies and the void had its tight grasp envelop them whole in pure darkness, taking back to whatever circle of hell they had all crawled out of.
Bliss.
Finally, bliss.
"..."
He closed his eyes.
A moment to rest. His bones still hurt like hell, unwilling to forget the agonizing stretching session that had been forced upon them. Neither would they ever forgive their owner for letting a bunch of mindless hand-freaks get the drop on him like that. Not like he could do much.
What could he even do?
The twin moons peeked from behind a long, dark river of nightly clouds. With a little wave and a twinkling wink, they welcomed him back into the land of the living. Andy smiled.
What couldn't he do? He was alive. Alive and mostly well. Horns intact, tail softly wagging in the wind… Hell, even his halo. The Law allowed it to shine a little brighter than its usual dim state, letting some faint, gray-ish gleams to be cast down upon his face.
Bliss.
Truly bliss.
…
…
A thought crossed his mind. Before his brain could react, his body shot up at once, face filling with an overbearing amount of heat. Blood sounded aloud in his ears, sending all his senses ringing.
"W!" He yelled without a word.
…
…
…
…
Amidst a large, unmoving pile of melted meat and dark ooze, a few weary fingers poked through. Like a whale void of blood, a fallen giant, the mountain of black skin shifted and moved, tugged to the beat of a restless devil's heart.
The fingers curled, then stretched. Like a broody, hangover-ridden detective after a night of heavy drinking.
Fuck. - She thought. - Can't move.
Tap, tap, tap. Each tip poked at its surroundings, trying its damned best to grasp onto anything that wasn't a ball of slippery meat coated in an even oilier residue.
… Come on.
Tap, tap, tap. Scrub, scrub.
They scrubbed at the surface, yet refused to latch onto anything. Each and every part of her body remained completely paralyzed by the molten mound of flesh that caked her from all sides.
… Piece of shit… Come on…
Grope around as she may, nothing came of the fruitless effort. No vine to catch onto, no tree to reach.
She sighed.
So this is how I die? In a hand-corpse pile? Tch.
… Would've imagined something a little more enticing. A nice ballroom, all torn to shit with explosives. Some battlefield, maybe. Surrounded by the most elite of the elite… Hell, even a whorehouse's bathroom with my wrists wide open, but not this.
… Not this.
She closed her eyes. How does one even pray? Pray to whom? One of Kazdel's pagan deities? The Law? Don't make me laugh, c'mon.
… Could use a little more Law in my life just about now.
…
…
… Oh, there we go.
A pair of diligent hands tightly enclosed around her palm, before tugging up. Out, sliding from beneath the disgustingly stale pile of rotten hand-corpses came none other than W, clad from horn to toe in nightmare-guts and blood. Andy helped her to her feet, then stabilized the moron in place.
"..." For a moment or two, he had to just take her in. No words, no thinking, just mindlessly staring at her face, now all caked with whatever the hands had inside of them. He tried hard to keep his expressions as stoic and neutral as humanly possible, yet there was nothing that could mask his pure and genuine joy that came with the sight of her pouting face.
"... Took you long enough." W muttered without much enthusiasm, before making an attempt at shaking off the hand-residue. Whatever dried up remains that stained her cheeks and hair lazily slid down to her shirt, then fell off and landed at her feet. A sigh of exasperation came, as she took to inspecting her dirty nails one by one. "... Seriously, Lawdog, the hell happened up there? I mean, I thought I bought you enough damn time to get that bitch sorted out in a moment, no? Wham-bam, thank you ma'am sorta thing."
Rub, rub. Dried up blood, like sand, fell from her nails, disappeared into the melting pile of bodies beneath. Andy took a step forward, completely wordless.
He couldn't stop staring into her eyes.
"I mean… I get that you're a bit slow when it comes to fighting and all, but it couldn't have been THAT hard, right?" She scoffed, before returning to her cleaning duties. "... This… Fuuuuh… And now I got this shit all over my fingers. All over myself. And you, too! Look at you, you're…"
…
"... Why're you staring at me like that?"
Andy blinked. Why was he staring at her?
He didn't really know, himself. No particular reason, other than that her eyes exuded familiarity. The sort of warm, homely feeling of knowing, of being completely and utterly sure of something.
Of knowing fully that she was right there. Alive and well. A total bitch, like usual.
Without a single word, a single worry ran through his voice, Andy took another step and hugged her tight.
Feeling a pair of albeit familiar, yet still unwelcome arms slithering around her waist, W froze in place. Unwillingly, entirely on their own, their tails clinged to each other like a pair of sticky flytraps, slithering into a tight, snug helix. A sudden warmth forced itself close against her chest, as the moron in front sent her mind soaring, searching for an answer to a question she couldn't quite conceive. Was he suicidal? Did he have a deathwish? Suicide by W, is that what he wanted from life? A swift end? Knife to the gut? Grenade down the throat?
"..." W remained utterly motionless. Nowhere could she find her explosive-riddled belt, nor the blade. Right.
"..." Andy refused to break the silence just as much as she did. Many thoughts rampaged across the empty, blank plains of his weary mind, all dying down and dispersing at the overbearing feelings that arose deep within.
It felt nice, having a warm, soft piece of blood-encrusted fluff to hold onto, even if just for a moment. Something to rest against, to let the heavy lids fall shut and bury one's head against the other's shoulder.
A tiny sigh bubbled from his lips, much to W's growing uncertainty.
He was there, yeah. Holding her, uh-huh. Should be enough of a reason to gut him, scalp him, hang his hide out to dry, and yet… Something deep down passed a whisper up to her brain, a plea for her to stop and wait, reconsider whatever murderous intent grew within and let the warmth brush past her, maybe even catch some and relish in it whole. Something wanted her to just let him hold onto her shoulders, keep his arms wrapped tight around her, as if she was some straw-doll, and he, a poor, lost child in the middle of a lonely field with nothing else to pour his insecurities and worries into.
"... There, there." She mumbled, omitting her gaze anywhere else but him. An awkward pat on the back followed, before she finally collected her inner bearings and gently pushed his shoulders away from hers. "You done, yet?"
"..." Andy blinked. Waves of warmth slipped onto his cheeks and colored them a little red, as her hands drew some distance between the two. "... Yeah. Yeah, yeah. Sorry." He cleared his throat.
An awkward moment passed by with the traveling gale, and warm thoughts of innocent worries and unspoken questions washed away with the chilly breeze. Bathed in blood of the unspeakable, Andy and W took a moment to celebrate their silent victory, simply standing around the mountain of hands that laid beneath.
"So…" She began, clearly a little thrown off.
"So…" Andy chimed in.
"... You got her."
"Yup."
"Yup." She confirmed, again. "Sure did."
A few seconds of silence fell from the clock, broken only by the fleshy hissing and sizzling of melting bodies.
"... We should, uh… we should get that sled sorted out."
"Yeah. Yeah, definitely." With a nod, she hopped off the pile, landing softly on her feet. A bit wobbly, she managed to barely stabilize herself, before Andy joined her side, eager to hold her up. "... Lawdog, I'm fine. Touch me again, and I'm ripping your limbs off."
With the hellish pain still fresh in his mind, he shuddered a little at the empty threat, letting go almost immediately. W promptly fell flat on her face and ate a mouthful of dirt.
"... Nevermind." She mumbled.
…
Hobbling past the mounds of leathery skin, rivers of blackened blood and whatever else flowed from the hands' empty innards, W, having reluctantly glued herself to the boy's side, clutched tightly onto his shoulders, as they went onward, tearing through the dead-quiet battlefield with just one goal in mind. Unscathed, completely unmoved and undamaged, on a little hill bathed in the moonlight, stood their primary target - a sled loaded to the brim with whatever merch and goods a mercenary could ever need. Rolls of expensive, saffron red silks flew from the top, enveloping the many crates and blade-racks that rested beneath. Mountains of salted foods and barrels bursting with fresh produce ruled over the lower layers of this utopian dream of a loot mound, leaving the ranged weaponry and bundles of freshly crafted arrows glimmering in the moons' glow on top. Kilograms of meat, juices glistening in the soft gleam, hundreds of tiny packs of ammunition, spices, herbs, rags, teeth, dust, sweat and blood - all of it piled up under a mighty, yet makeshift tent made of some cheap linen.
Their very own promised land. A token of gratitude for the troubles.
"... Damn." She muttered. Her eyes went a little wider at the sight of such riches ripe for the taking, with nothing or no one to stop the two from digging right in. Andy let out an impressed whistle and stopped in place.
"Looks pretty good to me." He offered his own, optimistic assessment.
"Uh-huh. Certainly worth a whole belt of grenades and a near death experience." Her sarcastic voice decided to contradict his words. Andy sighed in exasperation.
"Can you stop being a buzzkill for even a moment?"
"Oh, what-? I'M a buzzkill? Since when?" Her brows furrowed, mind mulling the revelation over and over, unable to accept the statement. "Excuse me, I'M the buzzkill?"
"Yeah? You're being a bit of a buzzkill right now. Not saying that you're ALWAYS a buzzkill, but…"
"But what? I'm just saying, for what it's worth, the prize doesn't exactly meet my expectations after having gone through all that shit back there."
"We wouldn't HAVE TO go through all that if you hadn't missed your shot in the first place, would we?"
"Tch." W scoffed. "... Should've been a better spotter. It's not like I'm fully to blame here, after all."
"Excuse me?"
"Excused. I said, you should've spotted better. I mean, really put those wide grays of yours to use and-"
"It was a still target?" Befuddled, Andy shot her a look. "You just had to- to press the trigger, I even set it all up for you, it-..."
"Lalalalala, can't hear you." W covered her ears. "I'm deaf to bullshit explanations. Bullshit in general, now that I think of it…"
"..." He blinked. "... I honestly should've left you to rot back there."
"Yeah. Leave me and what? Who'd you cling onto then?" She let out a snortle at the faint splatters of red twirling around his cheeks. "Ines? Maybe Hedley? Just imagine his BIG, strong arms around you, hugging you tight… Coddling you to sleep like some dumb, spoiled brat with a doll. Kinda cute, now that I put it together into a mental image…"
Andy smacked her over the head.
"Ow? Hell, I get it. Fuck, don't do that again."
"Stop imagining, then."
"I'm not!... Besides, not like Missy Know-It-All would let you, anyway."
"Who- , Ines?"
"Yeah?"
"Oh, yeah." He let out a snort. "There's not much she lets slip, anyway."Advantages are taken, not handed out, so you better keep a heavy foot on the ground, Andy. Never forget I'll gladly rip one from you, anyday." Squeaking away, he tried his best to replicate the Caprinae's broody voice.
"Mmm… I kinda agree with that one, gotta hand it to her." W shrugged. "But, like, when they're mumbling around a campfire late at night? When they think we're sleeping? That's when the real show starts."
"Yeah! Like, when they start talking all hushed…"
"UH-HUH...!" W perked up in excitement, her eyes gleaming with genuine glee. If there was one thing she loved doing, it was talking shit about her coworkers.
"When Ines gets all huffy..."
"UH-HUH!..."
"And goes, like... Oh, Hoederer, we're on thin ice, yet you cling to the passing gales." He continued chirpingly mimicking her worried babbles. "We're at our wit's end, and you keep dragging us in circles. If you've got a DEATH WISH, just say so."
W snickered about, before clearing her throat with a soft cough and getting into character herself. Blood flew and stained the ground black, but she had a show to put on. "Ines, trust me." She boomed with a voice far deeper than her vocal cords should allow for. "My headspace steers clear of any unseen cliffs you might have an insight into. It's reserved mostly for you anyway, okay?"
"Oh, but you're such a mystery…" Andy warbled right back.
"A mystery for everyone, BUT my one and only." She tapped her chest with pride, before possessively pulling him close.
"Oh, Hoederer…" Andy fell into her embrace like a love-struck schoolgirl, with the back of his hand resting over his forehead.
"My queen, my light, my wind that blows towards salvation…" She did her best to mimic the merc's low baritone.
"Oh…" Gasp...
"My home, my only place to call my very own..."
"O-Oh..."
"My life, my past AND my future, forevermore and ever..."
"Oh, dear..."
"My everything... and then some more." W summed up with a drawn out sigh. Her knees bent, as she fell to the ground onto one. Andy gasped theatrically and glued both hands to his cheeks. "Allow me, 'o dearest and closest to my icy heart, a clear passage straight into yours..."
"... Oh, just PLEASE kiss me already…" He squirmed under her-... HIS words.
"As you wish, my queen…" W hopped back up, a solemn expression left unbroken on her face.
"Mmm…"
"Mmmph…"
What followed was a series of loud, meaty and very WET slurping sounds, as both morons dug their lips into their hands, pretending well vocally to thoroughly explore the other's mouth with their tongues. Andy didn't quite know how to feel about making out with his own, blood stained hand, but seeing W do the same with a passion he's never seen exude from her, erased those doubts in a moment's notice.
The ground seemed to shift, bothered by their childish displays. Broken by the sudden tremor, both their facades and the mock kissing session came to a screeching halt.
"The hell?" He wiped the back of his hand of any remaining spit. Upon their eyes fell a sight to truly behold.
Amidst the sea of molten skin, guts and fingers, a mighty fire erupted from beneath, tearing the undisturbed surface to shreds. Burnt ends coated the sky, like a fire of smoldering meteors and falling stars - they all fell to the ground and gave way for a shining blade to break through the avid darkness.
The putrid stench of burnt meat and bristling sweat soaked the air through, as a shadowy presence revealed itself in the sword's wake, rising above the molten bodies. Like a phoenix reborn from its ashes, clutching to the blade's handle tight was a man covered from head to toe in soot, bathed in black and burnt all over - large chunks of meat remained missing from his bare waist, with ribs poking past the remaining strands of his ember-riddled hair. Once so pale and clean, now turned to nothing but a mess of tangled wires as black as the night itself. Vic stood tall - reborn, remolded into someone... some THING entirely different by the fires of a mighty explosion that once engulfed him whole - sword aimed at the twin moons gazing from above.
Andy and W exchanged a look.
"YOU!" His booming tirade began.
"Me?" W quirked a brow. "Or Lawdog?"
"THE PAIN!" Completely ignoring her remarks, Vic shouted out towards the heavens, blade tight in hand and spilling his symphony of everlasting flames high up into the sky."OH, THE PAIN!"
"MY ARMS! MY LEGS, EACH LIES A BLOODY RUIN!"
A step forward, he took alas his poor bones let him - barely, but barely, the meat listened and obeyed.
"THE PAIN!... THE EXQUISITE PAIN! MERCS! VILE MERCS!"
"O TERROR INCARNATE! MARK MY WORDS, FOUL SOULS! CURSE YOU DAMNED, FOR THERE IS LIFE IN ME YET!"
The crackling of fire grew closer with each step, as the corpse barreled on forward. Andy and W exchanged another look, seemingly impressed by the unending word-vomit deluge.
"I WILL SOON FEAST UPON YOUR HEARTS! MARK MY WORDS, FOR YOU TOO SHALL KNOW FEAR, FELL BASTARDS!"
"MERCS! MERCS, TERROR INCARNATE! YOUR REIGN OF BRUTAL JUSTICE ENDS WITH THE LAST BREATH YOU DRAW! FOR IT IS I!"
The pipe that spewed his flaming chorus nearly burst at that very moment, erupting into an untamed inferno that lit the night sky ablaze.
"CURSE YOU, MERCS!"
"I HEREBY VOW! YOU WILL RUE THIS DAY!"
"BEHOLD… A TRUE SARKAZ WARRIOR! I, THE VICTOR! VIC, THE VICTORIOUS!"
"YOUR FEARS MADE FLESH!"
"CLAD IN STEEL YOU MIGHT BE, FOUL DEVILS…"
"BUT I WILL RIDDLE WITH FLAMES YOUR ROTTEN HIDES!"
The sky split apart, sending a flurry of thundering lightning to strike the blade at once. Sparks flew, the flaming deluge only grew stronger and stronger.
"WITH A HAIL OF RULING INFERNOS!"
"WITH EVERY LAST DROP OF MY BEING!"The final shout moved even the thickest of surrounding sequoia branches, ridding them of every single needle that still sat on top. Falling to the ground, enveloped in a cloud of hungry flames, they had no chance of survival.
Vic lowered the sword,
"... Your time, foul creatures."
An earth-shattering roar slithered from the flame-pipe's nozzle - like a draconic beast eager to coat anything that stood in front with a rain of its destructive breath.
"... Has come."
W put a finger up for just a moment, before lowering it back down. Andy blinked.
Vic whipped the blade onward, mind focused on ridding the world of these two nobodies that dared step out of line and stain his pristine life black. Flames of rage enveloped his brain whole, climbing up from the vast, empty depths of his warrior's heart. Something creaked, something hissed, something shot onward.
The pipe spat out a tiny cloud of fire, followed by a few warm coughs. Andy and W remained completely unscathed and watched the machine gurgling on its own guts, then dying altogether.
"..." Vic stared. Eyes bloodshot, face burnt to a crisp, a picture of red on black. He could do nothing else but stare.
And so, he stared.
"... Out of fuel?" W perked up, and stepped on forward.
"... Outta gas." Andy clicked his tongue and soon followed.
Vic fell to his knees, blade dropped. In its untainted reflection, he saw the monstrosity he's become, hastily joined by the two smirking faces of his would-be executioners. Eyes glinted with malice, as they placed their hands over his shoulders to offer some most heartfelt sympathy.
"... Fuck." He whispered.
…
…
The thunderstorm dimmed, bringing along with it a new symphony of sounds. Sounds of joy, the explosions of genuine laughter chased after by rampant, girly and boyish giggles, all fell short in the face of the chorus of meaty, heavy slaps and thuds that followed diligently. Each came quick after the last, sparing no pain for the wicked, as they yelled in agony, gushing about the forest floor with their crimson rivers of blood. Sprawled by the utopian sled's skids, Vic laid bare, his chest torn wide open. The wind played across his ribs like cymbals, omitting a sound every few notes, as the rubbery sole of a shoe crashed hard against his face.
"HA!"
W squealed in glee, before another kick came to effectively break the poor man's jaw. Andy giggled along and followed, sending his shoes dancing across Vic's internal organs. Blood flowed, washing away the needles and leaves scattered around, as more and more, pieces of bone, bile and meat went loose, making Vic less and less of a man with each passing second.
"F-... Fuh…" His pathetic whimper was promptly cut short, courtesy of W's boot slithering right past his lips and through his teeth, kicking apart any attempts at protest. He fell back, until his shoulder blades crashed against the skids.
"You know what?" W perked right up, with a wide grin of genuine joy adorning her lips. Much less grim and cold than the usual smirks, it did make her look strangely pretty, despite the absolute deplorable condition both her and Andy were in. "... This might've actually been worth it in the end. No complaints here."
Thud. Splurt.
Ribs flew, and W swung her leg back, before throwing an arm over Andy's shoulders. He joined her side without the slightest hint of protest, kicking away a few loose guts and parts of Vic's intestines, smiling equally as wide. "Right? It's like they say, the journey itself matters more than the prize? Something like that."
"What?" She stopped dead in her tracks. "That's what WHO says?"
"... They? Just they." Andy tilted his head, much alike a beffudled puppy.
"Who's they?"
"I dunno. It's just what they say."
"Yeah, I got that. But who ARE they?"
"..." Andy took a moment to think. "... You know what? I actually have no idea."
"Oh, you don't?" She seemed more surprised than anything.
"Nope. No idea, honest to Law."
"Huh. So why'd you mention these "they", then?"
"I thought it was a saying?"
"Oh. Oh, that makes a little more sense."
"PLEASE!" Vic shouted with the few last breaths he had left. "PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL GODS HIGH ABOVE, PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
"... Tch." W clicked her tongue, seemingly unphased by the sudden outburst. Her arm fell from Andy's shoulder, as her tail slithered around his waist, allowing itself to retrieve her own knife from behind the belt. "That's no way to speak to someone who can prolong your life as a miserable vegetable by about a day or two."
"... Prolong?" Blood poured from his mouth, as he gazed up at her half-lidded eyes. "Just kill me. Please, just end-..."
"Hey, no, don't do that." Andy joined in, before kicking the merc's side as hard as he could. Vic coughed out some blood, grasping the wound tight. "... That one's for my jacket, asshole. And there's many more to come, we can still get some fun out of him! Like a... a used packet of tomato sauce."
W quirked a brow.
"Tomato sauce?"
"Yeah?"
"Seriously?"
"Yeah."
"Pfft..."
She blew a raspberry and fell to her knees by Vic's side, knife in hand. "Now, let's see how much you REALLY want us to kill you. They all say that, you know? Oh, W, please kill me! Please, just end it and let me drift off to nothingland." She parroted with a growing smirk, closing the distance between his eyes and the tip of her blade. "... But when I DO actually begin the process, they all suddenly change their minds."
Vic's eyes went wide, precisely reflecting the knife's tip. The reaper's scythe came far closer than he had anticipated.
"... So what's it gonna be, Mr Mercenary, mm? You feeling scared yet?"
"..."
"..."
Both of them froze.
W dropped the grin in its entirety, Vic was left speechless. Andy's eyes jumped from one to the other, lightly confused by the sudden shift in mood and their demeanor.
"You gonna stab him, or…?"
"Shhh." W shushed him down, eyes aimed somewhere behind Vic's shoulder - where the sled's skids separated, creating a little crawl space beneath the towering giant. "... Shut it."
"... Just get on with it." Vic accepted his foul fate. He leaned back, allowing his head to rest against the wooden skid, eyes closed shut. "... Do what you must, merc. Whatever it is, I'll carry the burden and drop it only after my soul leaves this mortal p-... AGH…?"
W shoved the knife up his chin, aiming for the brain. "Shush. Shut up, I said shut up."
Vic's eyes went wide, then rolled to the back of his head, as a beard of crimson life-wine spilled down his neck. Andy was left grasping at strings, surprised by the outcome. "... W?"
"Lawdog, c'mere." She whispered back.
Andy crawled over to her side, shoving the merc's carcass away. Following her gaze, he glanced around the empty crawl space and stopped searching for anything interesting only when his eyes locked with a foreign pair of rosewood brown irises.
A lush carpet of dark hair.
A bark-like set of Caprinae horns.
Before them, curled on the forest floor in fear, lay a child just a few years younger than Andy - three, four, give or take. Wrapped up in a fitted cardigan, the critter looked absolutely scared out of his mind, with his arms protectively hugging his own sides.
Neither of the three said anything, with W and Andy exchanging a quick look of scrambled shock at the revelation. Slowly, she slid the blood-stained knife back into her ankle holster.
"... The hell do we do?"
"What do you mean, what do we do? Do we just… You know?"
"I dunno…" She whispered back, boring her apricot irises deep into the stranger's. He seemed to squirm under the grasp her eyes put over him, fighting the weight of her gaze. "... I mean… We really… kinda shouldn't. Right?"
"..." Andy glanced back. It wasn't the first time he was met with a child somewhere in Kazdel, somewhere where that child definitely shouldn't be. Given his own history, he's been in that exact position many times before, but to finally find himself on the other end of the confrontation… It made his brain melt. "... Yeah, no. We shouldn't. We're not killing him."
"We're not." W confirmed, as if to add some conviction into the mix of her scattered thoughts. "... We're above that, yeah?"
"..." Just as he was about to throw back a confirming remark, something thudded hard behind the two of them.
Heavy boots against the ground. Two pairs.
A little click followed. Andy recognized it almost instantly as the safety switch of a firearm being flicked off. Something deeply cold and unnaturally sharp slithered all the way up his spine, as he caught the glimpse of W's face going pale.
A low, shaky voice followed.
"D-Don't move, Narr. don't move a damn muscle."