I lied. Well, I lied a little bit.

Catching something often implies some kind of control. It could be substituted for block or followed by a parry or something else.

Maybe it was possible to block lightning flat out, but I certainly couldn’t do that. It was more like I caught a snake in a cup—a very angry, very dangerous noodle of fire and light that was all too eager to slip from the scoop and lash out in primitive violence.

The sky screamed, the land and the crack of lightning, both because, on the one hand, it had not been intended, not for Anna, and not for me, but on the other, the world was not so easily changed.

The land itself acted more like it had accidentally kicked a pet like a wince quickly followed by, ‘Oh no! Are you alright buddy?’ but ten times more anxious, jumpier even. It knew a lightning bolt could kill, and it was worried.

The lightning bolt wasn’t. It was pure elemental nature, set off not in spite but because a storm was compressing directly above us. The lightning did not care, it simply was.

And I had 'Caught' it.

If I were a stronger Saphine, the lightning could have simply shot down the wood of the shovel and through me, no fuss, no problem. I could have just said a pithy one-liner and walked it off.

If I were a more composed and faster fighter, one with skill and knowledge, I could have perhaps spun the shovel, letting the charge seek ground by discharging it into the stone of the veritable castle I stood on.

If I were a greater mage, I would have realized that mana was just energy, and my skills that reinforced my shovel were like a raging river, and the lightning a boat coming upstream. It fought but found no purchase.

If I were versed in lightning, I could have known that it always took the easiest path, not just a path to the ground.

And if I were perceptive or wise enough, I would be able to know that the way it had happened, was a pending disaster.

As it was, I knew it was a disaster, but not what kind, I was too busy staring at it, the light of the thing burning sun spots into my eyes like I was a moth. Confused and bewildered at why it was sitting there like a coiled snake.

My shovel left me insulated, even if I was unaware of it, the lightning uncontrollable and un-contained. I could not simply shrug it off, nor with the panicked motion of my upward thrust was I thinking about how to ground it, and I didn’t know where it would go.

But if I was wise as I should have been, I would know. Of course, I would. It was obvious, if only in hindsight. The moment I had time to think, it would pop into my head.

I was insulated by my magically charged stick and protected by the distance, by how hard it was to ground on me, but Anna wasn’t.

Anna had just pushed the spell out of the staff and now held it up, right below the shovel, the spell stick was empty. Empty and conductive.

Mana was energy—nonphysical energy, but energy all the same. Energy moved without thought, guided only by the laws of nature.

It coiled on the scoop, writhing as it slammed home, spinning in a ball. It sparked there, sending strings off through the air as it discharged a fraction of its energy, and for all that, it was nearly inconsequential; it was a terrifying sight. The smell of rarified air reached me while it blazed, spitting off the end in bright skittering tendrils and inched around the metal.

I could feel a sensation like static, like when your hair stood on end. Then, in a terrible moment I could not stop, it quested out from the back of the shovel, the energy coating the whole of the blade, back and forth, and the tendril of hot death licked up against the staff. And then it rooted.

I pushed against myself; my instinct screaming in the back of my mind, howling all on its lonesome. Trying to lash out at the world but unable, and me frozen like a deer in the light of a lamp.

I hadn’t been fast enough to stop the bolt from reaching Anna, not even close.

But I could still do something to make up for it.

I had seen the lightning move, and I knew what it would do next. It would tease through her body, seeking to ground through her staff, down her arm and down through her chest.

Lightning was a scary thing. When you got electrocuted, you didn't really flinch, you just locked up. I could see it in the flinch of her right arm that it was traveling down the left, down through her breast and lung and heart.

It would stop it as it passed, and she would die.

Or it would. But it wasn’t there yet. It was still questing, and where there was opportunity, there was opportunity to change what would be.

I pushed myself, my mind screaming, my instinct screaming, me screaming, Anna screaming, Anna's mother, who was watching us, let out a shout, and I moved.

I crouched, bringing my shoulder in line with Anna's armpit, and shoved her. I crashed into her as fast as I could, my whole body weight, jostling her with the check as I caught her under the arm and lifted her bodily into the air. Off the roof, away from the material the charge desperately wished for.

The lightning quested, teasing, and then reached her armpit before sneaking its way down and into my shoulder.

I found a better path to ground through, it needed to take a detour. From my shoulder the questing charge found my heart instead.

Much of my body was spontaneously dying or dead from the charging of my reserve I had done in panic; the tissue unreceptive to lightning shepherded it to a far more receptive juncture where my burning veins and tingling nerves connected together.

And burn it did, the serpent grounding through my shovel, through the staff, through Annas arm, through me and into the stone beneath me, and all the while it burned.

It was, as far as pain went, probably the single worst unique kind of pain I had felt, even if the impending death was less so.

It tore its way in a burning line down through me and left me burnt, charred and hollow.

And strangely, at first, I didn’t even notice it.

The lightning grounded with terrible fury and light and shouting from the living, the land and the sky and then, silent.

Well, Silent but for the shouting.

I was stung terribly. Anna fell through the air and, dazed, landed with a cry. Anna's mother was shouting almost immediately, though, to who I couldn’t tell.

I tried to ask something, but I couldn’t quite tell what, considering my tongue seemed to move on its own, my voice coming out like an unintelligible groaning bark. My instinct, perhaps, was tired of being chained in the back of my empty head.

And then my head felt all the more empty as I began to stumble backwards, tipping ass over ear as my body gave way, numb beneath me.

Numb was good, as far as deaths go. It wasn’t as good as in your sleep, but also way better than iron spikes. The pain of the strike was on the level, like burning to death might be inside one's own body, but it was only for a moment as it killed my nerves.

I could see Anna thrashing, holding her arm, her mother trying to presumably either strangle her or hold her steady so she didn’t bite off her own tongue. I could feel and hear my inhuman noises of fear, but they felt blissfully distant.

In a horrible way, in that way that staring into one's death can bring a bright, cheerful upside, I was somewhat relieved that Anna was shouting and in pain.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Her being in pain meant that she was clearly less hurt than I was, and the struggle showed she had plenty of life left in her.

Silver linings.

I felt my body fading to the sound and light of a dozen bolts of lightning sounding off, pounding down on gods only knew what, though with the glee the land had, it had to be monsters.

I regained enough control over my mouth that when Anna looked my way, catching a glimpse I was able to mutter, “Sorry,” a few times to make sure that it got through in the short period between Anna spotting me and her mother placing a hand between us to hid my death from her eyes.

It was probably not the right thing to say, but I was sorry for body-checking her.

I was not sorry for taking the blow, however, and I had a feeling that would be more important because I had broken my promise right in front of her. I had gotten myself killed intentionally.

But no matter how intentionally I had done it, I would have done it again in a heartbeat. I would do it ten thousand times, and I would break ten thousand promises to make sure she lived. I felt no early trepidation nor shame for breaking it, only guilt that she had to see it.

I watched as Anna was helped up and away. I watched until I faded into the depths, the eternal sleep.

I woke a short time later from my eternal sleep because nothing was sacred, not even death, and found rather quickly I was being carried by some of the house staff, who were in for quite a shock that the corpse they were carrying off the roof and down through the twisting corridors was, in fact, a living breathing thing again.

They did, in fact, scream, shout, and panic. One of them wet himself a little while I was dropped, the staff cowering as if I was a grim creature that had come for their souls.

And you know what? I couldn’t exactly fail them on that, considering the state of things tonight, it would be just like Life to cast an ensouled undead onto their shoulders.

I sat up and noticed first my lack of a shovel. It was a dumb thing to notice first, but I did. It had been my constant the whole night.

“What happened to my shovel?” I muttered, blinking as if to clear the non-existent crust from my eye. The people freaking out did not respond in a meaningful way, so I hopped up and raised my voice, hoping to cut through the din.

“Cease your screaming. Gods above, you’re bound to wake the dead,” I told them, my ears lowering to keep the noise out as best as I could.

My words got them to shut their mouths; some part of themselves recognized that I wasn’t an undead as I spoke, though they were still cowering like I was a living nightmare. If I had to guess, it was a mix of nerves, the fear of mortality, and vulnerability, and at least part of that was lifted just by me acting like I was normal and hadn't just been resurrected.

I looked between the frightened people and tried to figure out a way to get them to stop their cowering. With my immaculate people skills and unrivalled Charisma, I turned to the least afraid-looking woman who was shuddering like a leaf in the wind and decided to ask her.

“Hello, Miss,” I started, “My name is Saphine. While I’m sorry for the fright, I need to get back to Anna-ebeth,” I told her, catching myself at the last moment.

She was Anna to me, but here in the heart of her family estate, she was a noblewoman, acting that close might just be taken as an insult.

“I, um, yes,” she started, only to catch herself, “um, no actually.”

I blinked at her, my head tilting slightly as if I didn’t quite hear her, but I realized that if I were in her shoes, I wouldn’t tell someone where Anna was either. I was a random person. No known connection.

“I’m apprenticed to her,” I explained, “I need to make sure she’s ok.”

She nodded, and I sighed in relief until she said, “And I’m sure she is being tended to, but I can’t very well tell you.”

I stared at her, opened my mouth, closed it, opened it, and instead of talking to her, realized that I didn’t have to.

If she wouldn’t tell me where Anna was, I could simply find her. Familiar with her scent, I sniffed, caught what I thought was Anna, and simply started walking.

She called out to me, but I didn’t particularly care. I zipped down the hall and away.

I was a bit shaken, but I knew she was hurt, and both me and my instinct, the we that was me, needed to see her. The whole of me, needed to check on her. I also needed to hold her, and make sure she was ok and make sure she wouldn't roll out of her bed into some kind of vertical head stand. She needed to be held, and comforted, and cared for and I was going to be there for it, even if the staff wasn't going to help.

I stumbled into other servants, but they, too, refused. Some servants, not shocked by my eyes and focused far more on my desire to reach Anna, tried to stop me, and I had to get a little faster, skirting past them. I started avoiding staff and got turned around in the far to large house as I avoided them.

I didn’t know how long I was out for, but it had been a short enough. Less than an hour, but definitely not a few moments. By the time I made it to Annas door, however, there were a few staff who as best as I could tell, were guarding the place.

My own actions probably did not help, though based on just how intrusive the staff had been at keeping me away, it was entirely probable someone above them was trying to stop me. Perhaps Mangal, or her mother.

Unfortunately, they couldn't stop me, because I had a disregard for my own wellbeing that encouraged I ignore them.

The staff by her door were not guards. I was willing to bet they lacked strength skills and were probably not strong enough to stop me with stats alone. Most of them seemed to be more dexterous than anything else. I thought about it for a moment and realized that I only knew that because of Anna. It was a new idea for me, but I was more than willing to bet on Anna being right.

Taking that into account, I didn’t even fight them; I just pushed through. I hurled myself to the door; surprised, some got out of the way; a six-foot woman with flaming eyes hurtling toward you could do that, but not all of them. Those remaining clung to me, shouting me down, trying to keep me out, but I pushed in, grasping the latch, and the door jittered. It was a fancy metal latch for a fancy house. I turned it, just like the one at the merchants guild and pushed the damn thing open.

It swung in, and I was met with the palatial room Anna had thrown away.

I was slightly agog at it, not just the size but also at the furnishing. The bed alone had a storybook quality to it, a four-poster bed coming up unto a kind of top bit with what looked like a curtain that could be pulled around. It had a kind of soft look you just couldn’t get from a normal bed, the kind that was accomplished with feathers or Tuffle fluff for something.

Turning to face me on said bed, Anna, who was clearly still in pain, and her Mother, whose name still eluded me, was doing her best to keep her situated in place. I spotted her arm, wrapped in some kind of poultice, but only for a moment.

I looked at the situation and couldn’t help but be somewhat angry.

They had wasted a fortune on healing Clause when he got hurt, but Anna saved the city and got some herbs? I couldn’t stop a scowl, which only got worse when the lady with no name scowled through her shock and pointed at me before speaking with a voice like a cannon “[Begone from my Sight],” and the door slammed in my face.

The skill's effects were instantaneous and as unyielding as a mountain. The door that I had pushed opened shut before I could even say a word. I tried, in vain, to open it for about five minutes, jiggling the latch, thumping the door about, raging against the immutable wall that the door had become but it was, indeed, an immutable skill. The staff, upon realizing that I could do nothing, dispersed. I was no longer a threat, a scary intruder, or whatever I had been; I was just a madwoman shaking the door handle like it would magically open, just some girl making a fuss.

I didn’t stop, of course; I politely pounded, called out and generally made myself a nuisance. I made myself such a nuisance that the [Steward] Mangal, the Mangler himself, the Man with a Gall for a heart, who had gotten an extra cover, a mantle of fur on his shoulders came to stare tersely at me personally. He, in a way that told me he cared very little for my actions, told me to kindly fuck off and leave the door be before he threw me from the grounds, by force if need be.

I was, on a good day, a fairly reasonable person. I should have accepted this. This was not a good day; it was not even a good time or place; it had been at one point, but it sure as hell wasn’t one now. For all I felt in good health, I was irritable, alarmed, and tense, and my instinct was shouting at me to get in there to take care of her.

I barely even listened. He had found a way to make me actually livid.

Each word he spoke made my instinct want to bear my teeth and do things members of polite society did not do to other members of polite society. It cried to reject law, and return to the rules of nature, to take a big stick and knock him over the head like an ancient ancestor might have. Anna was hurt. I should have been there, but no matter what I said, he would not let me.

Under threat of being escorted off the grounds, and my lack of care, Mangal took a different approach. I was told that I could see Anna tomorrow and that he would even grant me a place to rest in the servants' quarters. Keeping my mouth shut, I followed.

He led me down to a room, I sat myself down, and he left.

I stayed there for another quarter hour before I came back, and this time, one of the guards got there first, dragging me away before confining me to the room.

This is where a normal person, or I suppose just a normal human, someone who did not feel the inexorable pull of a bond, would cut their losses, shut up, and rest. Perhaps, they would have some form of emotional fit that left them tired and cold. I was not tired, I did not need sleep, but I needed to check on Anna.

I was not a normal person. I was built differently. I was built inhumanly.

I snuck out through a tiny window I should not have fit through, its shutter slapping down behind me. Outside I slipped around from the servant quarters and over to the main house wall from the outbuilding and got to climbing. The house wall was old and weathered, its cracks and blemishes giving great places to hold onto, my nails carefully helping to grip. I climbed my way up in the rain and then across the roof before making my way down.

I had assumed I would be spotted, but no one called out, and there were no, ‘Hey, get down from there’s. I scuttled down the wall, and when I reached the right place, I made my way over to a window.

Blissfully, it was unlocked and open to let in some fresh air, and I pulled myself in.

Anna was not alone, which was a bit awkward; I had taken some time to slip back in, so I had imagined she might be.

Her mother was still there; the wrappings were being adjusted, partially still on and she was laying on a bed in some light underwear, with one sleeve cut, what looked like a [Nursemaid] tending to her arm. The unblemished staff lay discarded to the side.

It was not small clothes or undergarments, just light, thin clothes that helped wick sweat and protect the proper clothes on top, but it was a state of undress, nonetheless, even if it was basically just bed clothes.

We all looked at one another before the pointing, and the shouting began.