--City's Escape--
Draxuropolis
Ella’s hand trembled. It wasn’t just a little shake, like when she got nervous before speaking in front of a crowd. This was more like a full-on earthquake, and her hand was the epicenter. Blood—bright red and definitely not hers—covered her fingers, staining her skin as she looked down at the old man lying on the ground. She wasn’t even sure how she ended up here. She’d been lost, wandering around, and somehow kept ending up in the same place. But this? Unexpected.
"911 -" Fear roared within her. Her mind scrambled for emergency hotlines that didn’t exist in this world. She took off her jacket and bundled it up, then, she pressed it over the wound.
"Help! Anybody?!”
The sullied dagger on the ground must be the thing used to the man's abdomen. But who was the freak person did this to a poor man? She started to feel dizziness because of the never ending blood flow from the wound. She smelled it...coppery. A-Am I doing it right? He gonna be ok...right? I don't know...I don't know... The thoughts noised around her head like a swarm of confused bees. She wasn’t a doctor. She didn’t know the first thing about treating a wound like this. What if she made it worse? Her hands were already slick with blood—his blood—and she couldn’t stop them from shaking.
The crimson stains were all over her hands, and the man—this poor, collapsing soul—was far from fine. The jacket she used was already drenched in blood. She needed to bring this man to the hospital immediately.
"Sir, just stay awake, ok?" she murmured. "I'll call for help." She tried to rush away, but the old man, blood soaking his clothes, grabbed the edge of her shirt, stopping her to stand.
She knelt back beside the old man, her hands trembling as they remain over his fragile form. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do in a situation like this—was she supposed to hold his hand, say something comforting? All she could think was that he shouldn’t be dying here, not like this, not in front of her.
His eyes were glazed, lost in some other time, some other place. He was muttering something, almost too faint to hear while still holding her shirt.
“Katrina…” The name escaped his lips like a prayer.
Who was Katrina? The name sounded like a plea, a desperate cry.
“K-Katrina? Do you want me to call her? Where's she? Is she here?” she stammered. But as soon as the words left her mouth, she realized how ridiculous they sounded. She had no idea who this Katrina was, let alone where to find her.
He opened his mouth to respond, but was overtaken by another fit of coughing. The sound was wet, rattling, like something was breaking inside him. She reached out, as if she could catch the life slipping away from him.
“I’ll find her. I’ll be right back, Sir,” she promised, though she didn’t even know where to begin.
The old man was lost in some kind of illusion. He spoke again, his voice weak, the words barely a whisper.
“Katrina… f..find him… destroy the Skull...Sylus…danger…” the man’s eyes struggle to stay open, each blink was heavier. He coughed again - with blood this time.
This wasn’t the kind of thing that happened in real life-a dying man supposed asked something different to save his life. The skull?
“Who? W-What? Skull?” she shakily demanded. “You need to stay awake, okay? Don’t close your eyes!” She was grasping at straws, trying to keep him tied up to reality, to something she could understand. But she was way out of her depth, lost in whatever dark world the old man was trapped in.
In a world with proper medical care, someone would already be working to save him. But here… she knew deep down that he wouldn’t survive without immediate aid. And in this place, there was no doctor to call, no hospital to rush him to.
“Please, stay with me!” she pleaded. His eyes were growing heavy, each blink became slower. She could feel his life slipping away.
Suddenly, a voice from other edge of the alley shattered the moment. “Sir! The spy is here!”
The shout pierced through the air, jarring her out of her frantic thoughts. The sound of footsteps followed—heavy, armored, and getting closer. Her head snapped up, and she saw them: a group of knights.
“There—on the ground!” one of them barked.
“It’s a spy… indeed a spy!” another confirmed with conviction.
Disbelief and fear intertwined within her. A spy? How could they think that? She was just trying to help! The blood on her hands, the old man’s blood, now felt like a damning mark, staining her with guilt she didn’t deserve.
“Wait! No, I’m not—” she started to protest, but the words died in her throat as the knights began to close in, their swords drawn.
“Run… you have to… run…” The old man’s voice rasped beside her. He coughed violently, the sound wet and agonizing, and blood sprayed from his mouth, staining his lips and chin a dark, foreboding red.
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“No, I can’t leave you! You need help—you need a hospital!” she said desperately.
How could she abandon him now? He was dying, and if she ran, he’d be gone before she could even think of coming back.
For a moment, it seemed as though the old man understood, as though he had heard that word before, maybe from this Katrina he kept mentioning. But the recognition was brief, and his face contorted with pain once more.
He tried to speak again, but his voice was now too low, too weak to be heard. His lips moved soundlessly, his message lost to the world, yet his eyes, desperate and pleading, told her everything. Stay away from the knights. Run.
“No, no, no… stay awake…” she willed him to fight. “Please, you need—” But his eyes slowly closing, his breathing growing fainter. He kept whispering, urging her to run, until his voice faded to nothing. Then, with a final, shuddering breath, his eyes shut, and he went still.
Her breath caught in her throat. The old man was gone.
Her hands still pressing against his wound, she hesitated, her thoughts a chaotic jumble. But when she saw the knights running in her direction, swords ready, something clicked. She had to go.
“I’m sorry…” she whispered, her brow furrowed with guilt as she reluctantly pulled her hands away from the wound. Blood smeared across her palms, but she forced herself to stand, knowing she couldn’t stay.
One of the knights called out, “Halt!”
Instinctively, she raised her hands, palms open and smeared with blood, the universal gesture of surrender. She must have looked like a criminal, caught red-handed in some heinous act.
Thump, Thump, Thump...
Torn between wanting to stay and the undeniable instinct to flee. She couldn’t just leave him here. Every part of her screamed to fight, to resist the urge to abandon him. But they're calling me a spy. Why are they calling me a spy? Her thoughts twisted into knots, the old man’s words conflicting with everything she knew, everything she believed was right. She had to run. Now.
"Damn it!"
She grabbed her baseball bat, giving off one last, pained glance at the old man. The knights were closing in, only about fifteen steps away now. Her eyes were frantically scanned her surroundings for an escape route.
Which way?
The pathway where the knights were charging? To the left, where a figure in a dark cloak, approaching? Or the alley to the right, barely wide enough to squeeze through?
There was no time to think. Instinct took over. She ran toward the latter choice of course.
The rough stone walls pressing in on either side. The walls were so close that they almost brush against her shoulders.
The air was cooler here, and as she moved deeper into the passage, the light from behind faded quickly. Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps as she slid her feet forward, careful not to trip on the uneven ground beneath.
After a moment, she stumbled out of the path and found herself in a street where people moving in every direction. There was a smell of food and animals, and the noise of the marketplace surrounded her. But there was no time to think. The knights were close behind.
Her eyes scanned the street quickly. She spotted a stall piled high with baskets of grapes. Running toward it, she grabed the edge and pull hard. The baskets toppled over, grapes spilling everywhere and rolling across the ground.
"By the gods! What madness is this?" The vendor yelled angrily.
"Sorry!" she yelled back, not daring to stop. She glanced back and saw the knights slipping on the grapes, slowing them down.
She pushed through the crowd, knocking people aside in her rush. A woman dropped what she was carrying, but Ella kept going. Her legs were burning, her chest tightened, but she couldn't stop now. Up ahead, chickens flapped wildly as she knock over a crate, sending them flying. Feathers in the air as people shouted in surprise.
Then, she heard a voice from same person again. It was the resident who accused her moment ago, running beside the knights, pointing and shouting to the crowd, "There! She’s the one! Stop her!"
More eyes turned toward her.
As she realized the crowd was noticing her, and some might try to help the knights. She forced herself to keep running, even faster now. Her eyes locked onto a narrow pathway again between two stone buildings. It was small than the other one before, but it was her best shot. She took a sharp turn and ran into the alley.
While running for her life, she absentmindedly scratched her palm violently. It burned and felt swollen where the spider’s fur stuck earlier, but her mind was too foggy to focus on it.
Her head felt heavier with each step, and the world started to blur. The walls seemed to close in, and her legs tremble. She stumble, catching herself against the stone. A wave of dizziness hit, making everything spin.
Thirst gripped her throat, dry and scratchy. She swallow, but it didn't help. Leaning against the wall, she try to catch her breath, but her body felt like it was burning up.
She knew she needed to keep going, but her legs were weak. Pushing off the wall, she forced herself forward, even though she was barely holding on. Her hand kept scratching at the swollen skin, but all she wanted was to find a place to rest.
"Ugh..."
The walls, damp with condensation, glisten faintly in the feeble light. She reached out spontaneously, her fingers grazing the rough stone for balance as she kept forward. The path narrowed, and soon she was forced to shuffle sideways, the walls pressing against her chest and back. Every step felt like a battle with the very earth itself, as if it was trying to trap her.
The darkness increased around her, swallowing the feeble light from earlier. The sound of dripping water echoed through the passage, and the musty scent of earth filled her nose. She quickened her pace. The tightness of the passage made it hard to breathe, but she focused on moving, on escaping.
Not too long, a glint of light appeared ahead, faint but enough to ignite hope. She squeezed through the last narrow gap, the cold stone scraping her shoulders. The light brightened, and with one final push, she bursted into the open air.
She found herself in a slim channel where the city’s drainage route flowed. There was no choice but to follow it, each step an effort as she waded through shallow water. The air smelled of mildew and decay, and her breathing grew heavier, her body trembling with exhaustion. The heat in her body build, her skin clammy and slicked with sweat. The swelling in her hand throbbed with pain.
Finally, the channel widened, and she stumbled into the open wilderness. The cool air felt like a stark difference to the fever burning inside her. Dizzy and weak, the world around her was spinning, the trees and sky blurring together. She dragged herself to the nearest grove and collapse against a tree, its rough bark digging into her back as she gasped for air. Chills ran through her fevered body, and her hand burned like fire.
She glanced up at the sky, visible through the branches. In her dazed state, anger flares. "Damn you, Haken," she cursed. "When this is over, I’ll swat you like a bug with my baseball bat. Just wait until you fill your fuckin' battery bar, you piece of—"
Her voice trailed off as the dizziness worsened. The voices from nearby - maybe from knights were faint now. She was too weak to run, too tired to fight. Part of her wondered if she would let them find her, let them drag her back. But she knew the blood on her hands wasn't hers to bear—someone deserved it.
The eyelids grew heavy. The cold ground beneath her felt distant as sleep pulled her under. And the last thing she felt was the world slipping away.