718 Vhalar 55, continued from here...
For the briefest of moments, everything was still. Like Silence before it, Stillness seemed to linger, as if it had always been there. Bright stared into dark – large to small, strong to weak, life to death. Whether it was indeed born of twisting vines and creeping roots or something darker, even more menacing, there was no doubt, as Stillness released a single, breathy sigh, the child was dangerous.
It lurched forward, tripping over Edite’s body – corpse, meat, whatever it was now that the fire had been extinguished from her blind, empty gaze. Rather than truly fall, the scruffy head of mousy hair bounced from the impact of palms against stone, momentum maintained, as it dashed on all fours toward him, clumsy but entirely disturbing in the way the neck bent, allowing the child’s somewhat stretched face to remain forward – almost upward toward the sky – dark eyes fixated upon him.
His spark pressed against his soul; a cool, cold chill spread throughout him, little bits of his ether subconsciously exchanged for calm, for clarity.
The creature was not particularly fast. Yet, without knowing if it would tire – or even if there were more of its kind lying in wait somewhere within the deep shadows and faded, crimson glow that managed to weakly eek its way out from a nearby alley and illuminate detail in contour and glint and motion, Mads opted to remove the immediate threat.
He had no weapons – nothing but his own fists – and there was no time to fabricate his personal wards. Instead, as the creature pounced, square stained teeth gnashing, he allowed himself a single step forwards as he thrust forward with an open palm. His spark quivered, ether coursed through it, winding down through his arms, swirling out of his fingertips – a swarm of minuscule spheres that buzzed and whirred and settled into their places as dictated by will, memory, and reflex.
The air directly in front of him shivered for a trill, soundlessly groaning as the etheric barrier withstood the force of the creature’s lunge. Had there been any humanity in the thing’s eyes, there might have been confusion, the sharp click clack of the teeth sounded off in rapid succession; the short-lived bulwark began to dissipate, but, without hesitation, Mads pulled his extended hand back as his other form a fist and smashed into the side of the creature’s face.
There was a wet, tearing noise – not one of flesh, but similar to that of shucking corn. Only, where the removal of green revealed a golden yellow in the later, the prior left much to be desired. The skin – or rather “covering” – hung loosely, clinging to the middle of what should have been the thing’s nose. Obscured by the relative darkness, he couldn’t make out the exact details of the sluggish fibrous cords that writhed beneath its outmost layer; there was motion, the slick sound of something moist, and a low, throaty gurgle.
Laughter, perhaps?
Another calming chill sloughed off of his spark as he retreated back a step, uncertain as to how he should proceed. It wasn’t dazed, merely inconvenienced, as it turned back to face him. Only, this time, it remained where it was, staring at him with its now singular eye – studying him. He shifted to his left, and it mirrored with its right. He took a step back, and it retreated as well, knocking into the corpse behind it. Out of curiosity, he raised a hand. It lifted a leg.
The thing was copying him.
A ruddy glint caught his attention; the corpse had fallen forward, knife still jutting out of the back her neck. It was too far a distance to reach before the creature would be upon him, and though he wanted to take the time to properly don his etheric defences, he’d already wasted so much time. Barriers would have to do.
With a sharp inhale through his nose, the notable scent of grass and sap in the air, he dashed forward. As expected, the creature did as well, teeth gnashing once again, filling the alley with the crass, clattering collision of tooth against tooth. Again, his ether surged forth. Forty-five degrees, five points, fourteen million minuscule beads all snapped into place just before the thing was upon him once more.
It slid along the smooth surface of the pyramidal obstruction but where before it had been taken by surprise, now it pushed along until it found the invisible edge, all four limbs pumping as it rounded on him once more. More ether, another barrier, this one wide but thin-
Too thin.
He felt the ether shatter under the force of the tackle; the air snapped. Goal in sight, heartbeat rapidly forcing his blood through his veins, sweat just beginning to bead along his hairline, Mads reached out, his thin, delicate fingers – far better suited for writing with quills and turning thin, delicate pages with a light and gentle touch – scraped alongside Edite’s cheeks. His nails bit into her empty skin, small trails of red left behind to ooze small beads of crimson blood she no longer had any need for.
Then, then smooth sensation of stone as his fingers wrapped around the knife’s handle.
Then, the heavy weight of the creature crashing into him from behind.
Then, the surge of ether.
He wanted the Creepborne off of him – more than that, he wanted it gone. It was a cold and rational desire. It caused him discomfort; it dirtied his clothes; it had, its own frustrating way, bested him. He wasn’t about to have that.
Four points, six thousand tiny beads of ether. That was all that separated those unrelenting, gnashing teeth from the smooth skin of his neck, hand raised just in time. Without hesitation and with clear, calm intention, Mads wrenched the knife out of its fleshy sheath and, in the same movement, slashed diagonally through the thing’s wide, open mouth.
There was a sharp, shrill screech as a thick, feldgrau substance oozed out from where the inner, snaking vines overlapped one another. Immediately, Mads quickly shuffled himself backwards. His body was numbed by the now constant chill of his spark’s influence, but he didn’t need fear to tell him that water it was the creature was now spewing was best kept off of his own skin.
It flailed, back and forth, its strident shrieks pathetic, wounded, pained.
He rose to his feet, flicking the dark-coloured ooze from the knife’s blade as best he could, careful gaze never once leaving the now writhing thing in front of him. The moment he took a step forward, however, it stopped and stared at him.
The face was in a sorry state. Its lower jaw, little more than intertwining vines, hung like a flap from the bottom of the “skull”, the pale white teeth catching the dull bloodlight’s glow as the whole wretched limb swung uselessly back and forth. Most of the “skin” had sloughed off, leaving only a small patch were the eye remained – wide and empty. The mop of hair sat at an awkward angle atop the round venous mound of cerulean flesh. Its elbows had torn, revealing the squirming, worm-like threads beneath.
“Soh-“ it started, “Soh-ree. Soh-ree! Soh-REE.”
As it spoke, his ether seeped out of his skin, coating him in layer after layer of hardening air and ether, reinforcing him, preparing him. He took a step forward, but this time, when the creature abandoned its false appeal to his more sensitive sensibilities, he made no move to avoid it. It smashed into his outer wards, the air shivering around him but holding steady. It clawed at him, even as he began to calmly carve into its body, no longer taking care to avoid its viscous ichor, protected as he was.
He carved and carved and carved.
It shrieked
and screamed
and sputtered.
Then... it died.
Hands unsullied beneath the protective layers of his shielding, yet still dripping with the greenish ooze of the Creepborne’s lifeblood, Mads stared down at the mess of vines and hair and teeth. He didn’t understand what it was, what it had wanted, why it was there – why a boy? What he did know was the creature was dead – whether that would stop the Creep from spreading outward from the corpse, he didn’t know. He had no flint to set it aflame, and not a soul nor anything darker had broken their private exchange.
He was alone.
Though it took some time, he removed Edite’s coat and blouse and methodically and carefully cleaned his hands and arms – through the shields kept the substance from touching him directly, the moment he stopped feeding them ether, anything that remained would no longer be denied the contact it undoubtedly longed for.
Staring down the two corpses – human and Creep – Mads let out a slow, contemplative sigh as he finally released his wards, allowing his ether to dissipate into the air around him. He had quite the report to deliver to Graciana upon his return.
For the briefest of moments, everything was still. Like Silence before it, Stillness seemed to linger, as if it had always been there. Bright stared into dark – large to small, strong to weak, life to death. Whether it was indeed born of twisting vines and creeping roots or something darker, even more menacing, there was no doubt, as Stillness released a single, breathy sigh, the child was dangerous.
It lurched forward, tripping over Edite’s body – corpse, meat, whatever it was now that the fire had been extinguished from her blind, empty gaze. Rather than truly fall, the scruffy head of mousy hair bounced from the impact of palms against stone, momentum maintained, as it dashed on all fours toward him, clumsy but entirely disturbing in the way the neck bent, allowing the child’s somewhat stretched face to remain forward – almost upward toward the sky – dark eyes fixated upon him.
His spark pressed against his soul; a cool, cold chill spread throughout him, little bits of his ether subconsciously exchanged for calm, for clarity.
The creature was not particularly fast. Yet, without knowing if it would tire – or even if there were more of its kind lying in wait somewhere within the deep shadows and faded, crimson glow that managed to weakly eek its way out from a nearby alley and illuminate detail in contour and glint and motion, Mads opted to remove the immediate threat.
He had no weapons – nothing but his own fists – and there was no time to fabricate his personal wards. Instead, as the creature pounced, square stained teeth gnashing, he allowed himself a single step forwards as he thrust forward with an open palm. His spark quivered, ether coursed through it, winding down through his arms, swirling out of his fingertips – a swarm of minuscule spheres that buzzed and whirred and settled into their places as dictated by will, memory, and reflex.
The air directly in front of him shivered for a trill, soundlessly groaning as the etheric barrier withstood the force of the creature’s lunge. Had there been any humanity in the thing’s eyes, there might have been confusion, the sharp click clack of the teeth sounded off in rapid succession; the short-lived bulwark began to dissipate, but, without hesitation, Mads pulled his extended hand back as his other form a fist and smashed into the side of the creature’s face.
There was a wet, tearing noise – not one of flesh, but similar to that of shucking corn. Only, where the removal of green revealed a golden yellow in the later, the prior left much to be desired. The skin – or rather “covering” – hung loosely, clinging to the middle of what should have been the thing’s nose. Obscured by the relative darkness, he couldn’t make out the exact details of the sluggish fibrous cords that writhed beneath its outmost layer; there was motion, the slick sound of something moist, and a low, throaty gurgle.
Laughter, perhaps?
Another calming chill sloughed off of his spark as he retreated back a step, uncertain as to how he should proceed. It wasn’t dazed, merely inconvenienced, as it turned back to face him. Only, this time, it remained where it was, staring at him with its now singular eye – studying him. He shifted to his left, and it mirrored with its right. He took a step back, and it retreated as well, knocking into the corpse behind it. Out of curiosity, he raised a hand. It lifted a leg.
The thing was copying him.
A ruddy glint caught his attention; the corpse had fallen forward, knife still jutting out of the back her neck. It was too far a distance to reach before the creature would be upon him, and though he wanted to take the time to properly don his etheric defences, he’d already wasted so much time. Barriers would have to do.
With a sharp inhale through his nose, the notable scent of grass and sap in the air, he dashed forward. As expected, the creature did as well, teeth gnashing once again, filling the alley with the crass, clattering collision of tooth against tooth. Again, his ether surged forth. Forty-five degrees, five points, fourteen million minuscule beads all snapped into place just before the thing was upon him once more.
It slid along the smooth surface of the pyramidal obstruction but where before it had been taken by surprise, now it pushed along until it found the invisible edge, all four limbs pumping as it rounded on him once more. More ether, another barrier, this one wide but thin-
Too thin.
He felt the ether shatter under the force of the tackle; the air snapped. Goal in sight, heartbeat rapidly forcing his blood through his veins, sweat just beginning to bead along his hairline, Mads reached out, his thin, delicate fingers – far better suited for writing with quills and turning thin, delicate pages with a light and gentle touch – scraped alongside Edite’s cheeks. His nails bit into her empty skin, small trails of red left behind to ooze small beads of crimson blood she no longer had any need for.
Then, then smooth sensation of stone as his fingers wrapped around the knife’s handle.
Then, the heavy weight of the creature crashing into him from behind.
Then, the surge of ether.
He wanted the Creepborne off of him – more than that, he wanted it gone. It was a cold and rational desire. It caused him discomfort; it dirtied his clothes; it had, its own frustrating way, bested him. He wasn’t about to have that.
Four points, six thousand tiny beads of ether. That was all that separated those unrelenting, gnashing teeth from the smooth skin of his neck, hand raised just in time. Without hesitation and with clear, calm intention, Mads wrenched the knife out of its fleshy sheath and, in the same movement, slashed diagonally through the thing’s wide, open mouth.
There was a sharp, shrill screech as a thick, feldgrau substance oozed out from where the inner, snaking vines overlapped one another. Immediately, Mads quickly shuffled himself backwards. His body was numbed by the now constant chill of his spark’s influence, but he didn’t need fear to tell him that water it was the creature was now spewing was best kept off of his own skin.
It flailed, back and forth, its strident shrieks pathetic, wounded, pained.
He rose to his feet, flicking the dark-coloured ooze from the knife’s blade as best he could, careful gaze never once leaving the now writhing thing in front of him. The moment he took a step forward, however, it stopped and stared at him.
The face was in a sorry state. Its lower jaw, little more than intertwining vines, hung like a flap from the bottom of the “skull”, the pale white teeth catching the dull bloodlight’s glow as the whole wretched limb swung uselessly back and forth. Most of the “skin” had sloughed off, leaving only a small patch were the eye remained – wide and empty. The mop of hair sat at an awkward angle atop the round venous mound of cerulean flesh. Its elbows had torn, revealing the squirming, worm-like threads beneath.
“Soh-“ it started, “Soh-ree. Soh-ree! Soh-REE.”
As it spoke, his ether seeped out of his skin, coating him in layer after layer of hardening air and ether, reinforcing him, preparing him. He took a step forward, but this time, when the creature abandoned its false appeal to his more sensitive sensibilities, he made no move to avoid it. It smashed into his outer wards, the air shivering around him but holding steady. It clawed at him, even as he began to calmly carve into its body, no longer taking care to avoid its viscous ichor, protected as he was.
He carved and carved and carved.
It shrieked
and screamed
and sputtered.
Then... it died.
Hands unsullied beneath the protective layers of his shielding, yet still dripping with the greenish ooze of the Creepborne’s lifeblood, Mads stared down at the mess of vines and hair and teeth. He didn’t understand what it was, what it had wanted, why it was there – why a boy? What he did know was the creature was dead – whether that would stop the Creep from spreading outward from the corpse, he didn’t know. He had no flint to set it aflame, and not a soul nor anything darker had broken their private exchange.
He was alone.
Though it took some time, he removed Edite’s coat and blouse and methodically and carefully cleaned his hands and arms – through the shields kept the substance from touching him directly, the moment he stopped feeding them ether, anything that remained would no longer be denied the contact it undoubtedly longed for.
Staring down the two corpses – human and Creep – Mads let out a slow, contemplative sigh as he finally released his wards, allowing his ether to dissipate into the air around him. He had quite the report to deliver to Graciana upon his return.
