Struggling against blood loss, mental insanity, mind splitting pain, and a parched throat, Ezekiel took a step foward. His promise wasn't finished yet, he still had more left to do, they're isn't a world where Ezekiel could possibly go against his own word. Above all else, he trusted himself more than anything in the world, if Ezekiel says he'll do it, then he will make it happen. But even with that righteousness in mind he was about to lose his way from the start. He clenched the dagger with strong pressure, attempting to suck out any more of that power which was surging before, delighting in his own body. The dagger submitted, with the last drops of power, Ezekiel sprinted towards his own village. He can move in peak condition for five minutes max, he'll only need four to make it back home.

After treading carefully as to make sure he didn't agitate any other foe lying in wait for Ezekiel's exit or death, he made sure to tune into everything. His senses were muddied but still able to stay on alert in search of any potential danger or tragedy. Which is why he was able to notice through glimpses of the vines and leaves, he saw black rather than blue or yellow specs at times, towards the south where his village was. Chills ran their course throughout Ezekiel's blood, there was something wrong, something he couldn't yet imagine let alone understand.

Ezekiel was mighty proud of his ability to pick up on keen situations or predicaments surrounding him through his senses. Like a wild animal that focused on its gut rather than it's head, Ezekiel's body had a mind of it's own which filtered in the world providing a grander insight to Ezekiel. Thus whenever his body sent signals, the message behind those signals were always something to take into consideration. This was an unspoken rule to Ezekiel since he was born, he wasn't like the rest, he was different by nature, what the the shape or form of that nature is, was not known to him.

Ezekiel: "No, keep going, it's not time yet."

Conflicting with the urge to knock out and recover through sleep, Ezekiel strode foward while blood continued to pour less and less. His wounds were healing at an abnormal rate, it wasn't a special ability Ezekiel was conscious of, it was a hidden snake of a trick the dagger he was gripping ferociously imprinted on him over time. A slight nudge, a bit of a helping hand, a final gift to the one it recognized.

Albeit the flesh regeneration was impressive, the blood and pain didn't miracuosly disappear. The limit to what one can mentally and physically endure as a child was drawing near for Ezekiel. But he won't accept it, not until he squares not just his promise, but the queezy sensation he felt in his abdomen.

Ezekiel: "What!"

The jungle itself was a vastly covered and sheltered location, seeing the sky or outside of the jungle was rather difficult from the inside. There were unique locations inside, but overall, if one wanted to see the outside of the jungle, you would have to either climb to the peak, or arrive at the border. At the south end border, the trees, vines, and leafs were at their densest. Which appeared to be a sort of rear guard, installing it's backside as the strongest corner. So Ezekiel couldn't see a thing before he arrived at the final obstacle standing in his view of his home, he pushed the shrubs aside and peaked through.

Ezekiel: "No..."

He swayed back and forth before his knees wobbled and gave out, buckling down, felling Ezekiel to his knees. He dropped his jaw, his eyes watered, his nose began oozing snot ever so slightly like a slimy rain drop swimming onto his upper lip. The white strip of hair drooped, while the black hair attempted to cover his alluring carmine eyes. Ezekiel merely stared, in disbelief of what he was suppoused to take in, the reality that seemed more like a dream, or rather a heinous never ending nightmare.

His brain wouldn't last much longer, the fact that Ezekiel made it as far as he did was not his own will, but a foreign will which won't ever allow true failure. It was beginning to crack again, the crevices which were once filled with violence and carnage, had been melting like faulty adesive, sludging and slurring everything Ezekiel witnessed and experienced throughout his life. Being able to tell things lke happiness or anger apart was impossible at this very moment for Ezekiel. His own identity was beginning to wane and waver with each passing second. He didn't want to live anymore, that thought flashed in his head just once, but once was all that was needed to breakdown.

Ezekiel: "Haaah haaaaah. I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I"

Malfunctioning with no confidence to ascertain his stuttering, Ezekiel eventually muttered off. Silently clattering his teeth with indignace towards the route which his life had taken. Right before his very eyes, his village which he loved so dearly, which he enjoyed to run through and chaos in, was covered in searing flames. The ashy smoke airing towards the sky over shadowed the rising sun with an impure darkness, as a testament to Ezekiel: 'Never doubt your gut'.

The chattering of Ezekiel's teeth never simmered, rather, it grew tremendously and coverted into clenching and grinding of his molars. He asked himself what he was still looking down at his home being destroyed while pissing his own pants. Now wasn't the time, Ezekiel needed to keep going. If by any chance Ezekiel could save even one person, just one of his friends or family, he'll cherish the unfairness of life. Complete anihilation wasn't something Ezekiel could tolerate. So he stood straight, once again viewing from above with heightend confidence oozing from his being, he glimpsed at a narrow entrance between the flames to the left, he leapt down with aid of some vines.

Ezekiel: "Tch, I can't... Let this go."

After clearing the distance between himself and the stray entrance to the village in between a hordes of flames, Ezekiel proclaimed with sheer callousness. He wouldn't just allow his home to suffer without recompense. So with the remainder of his time, which was but a minute, Ezekiel ventured forth into the new jungle of soaring heat. He was choking back coughs at the uncomfortable, over bearingly raspy air, his danger sense was already waning but with the new found problem, lack of oxygen further dirtied Ezekiels notions. Although, the scariest part to Ezekiel wasn't the fact that he might die in this cage of hell.

Ezekiel: "Why can't I sense anyone?"

Tersley enough, Ezekiel couldn't help but dwell on the fact that his sixth sense wasn't activating. Meaning that there is a lack of a presence of his friends within the vilage. That was all Ezekiel needed to know, his friends were safe. Now the only doubt left to ascertain was the condition of Ezekiel's parents, kind, gentle, kindred souls.

People who would give their lives for Ezekiel's well being, for his smile, truly beloved people for Ezekiel. Thoughts of his mother's famous beef stew which brought the whole village together on days when arguements would spur on. His father's teachings about what it is that makes a man, how one truly grows greater as family, neighbor, and person. Those two individuals, they were something Ezekiel admired from a far, bright enough to bring shame on his own persona.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He didn't have much longer to go before he collapsed, around thirty seconds had past since he leapt into action. Along with the 10 seconds spent morbidly in shame, forty seconds was what the timer pointed too. He arrived at the center plaza of his village wich was abnormally clear of any flames or destruction. The fountain in the middle which illuminates the former peace of the village was running normally with any obstructions. Surrounded by roaring flames on all sides, for some odd reason the smoke never intruded upon the plaza, seemingly keeping it clean and pure.

Ezekiel paused in befuddlement, he was suddenly able to breathe without being impeded by a soar throat, his eyes were clear from the veil of black. Ezekiel rubbed both of his eyes, he glared intensly at the fountain which was decorated with cherry blossoms all aross its form, a well crafted design of jewls surrounding the exterior, golden lavish drapped across the arrow of the fountain which spewed water. There was a silloute, a figure behind the fountain, seemingly sitting on bare water like it was solid as rock.

Ezekiel: "What..."

???: "What? Hah. You ask some funny questions, I take it you're the last?

Ezekiel: "..."

It wasn't that he was reluctant to speak or that he hesitated to do so, merely Ezekiel couldn't even think to speak a word. Reason being, was the visciously spiked air tendrils of sharp blue which shot off the unknown figure's sitting body. Waving across the plaza inciting terror in the sitting duck on the opposite side. They were a sight such as the deep blue, underneath the vast expanse of water which covers the majority of the world, where heinous creatures beyond ones imagination lie. With jagged ends portruding, they were like a sea of sharp edged dimutive tornadoes.

If they were for intimidation alone, that much was easily accomplished. Ezekiel couldn't move a muscle no matter how badly he needed to move foward. The figure stood, water below his feet solid as ice, covered in a full set of obsidian armor with amethyst jewls sparkling all across it in a lunar esk way. The torso from behind was scaled with what seemed like a dragon skin type of pattern which was lined in rows. The legs were refined with small blades portruding off the calves in a smooth manner which were assassin esk. The heels and feet were shaped thinly with an arrow point. The figure had long ebony hair which swayed past his shoulders onto the middle point of his back, nothing more could be seen besides that and the vast amount of tendrils.

???: "Yeah, the last, the one we simply couldn't leave without. The carmine eyed wolf, you're the reason this happened to the village. That man got mad when we couldn't locate you and burnt it all to a crisp, not leaving a single survivor, rather impatient if you ask me. But here you are, well done."

Ezekiel: "Hah Hah Hah Hah Hah Hah Hah Hah Hah."

If Ezekiel were to compare what he was currenty feeling as opposed to that of his conflict with the Wither, it's an immeasurable difference in deficent. All he could do was string along raspy exhales which were suppoused to be a gesture for laughter, brutally insane laughter. The type of laughter one can't stop, no matter how much they want to or will themselves to.

Ezekiel had no choice on the matter of what will be done with him. The freedom he thought he had, was stolen in the blink on an eye. Like a rabbit that's been cornered by a starving alpha, gc shaking in a corner with no way of escape. Simply waiting for it's unfair fate to unravel itself, when he collapsed on the spot.

Ezekiel: "Kah, guah."

???: "Looks like you had some fun before you got here, that's to be expected of you, but what's that in your hands. Wait... That couldn't be, right?"

Speaking with continous familiarity and comfort as if speaking to ones own family was the figure. He tilted his head to look at the fallen Ezekiel. The figure began approaching Ezekiel, stepping out of the fountain without a drop of wetness, the tendrils stayed in place.

Ezekiel wanted to see the person's face. The one who was friends with the person who caused this horrendous night to insue further than what should have been. The walking tragedy whom didn't give an ounce of care to family and friends Ezekiel grew up with and cherished. The villain whom will stay in Ezekiel's heart until that fated day, where Ezekiel ends his life. But before that.

???: "Tsk! Him of all people! No choice. I failed, if I take a step in his direction he'll be on me instantly. Fine. Some other day...boy."

Just as fast as he came, the figure wisked away, practically disappearing before Ezekiel's eyes, like a shadow thats been shone light upon. In the next instant, Ezekiel heard a voice, a firm ray of hope which over took the entire atmoshphere in one fell swoop. Unlike anything Ezekiel has ever felt, the eptitamy of safety and care. His mind was beginning to blank out with ease, submitting to drowsiness at his assured saftey, he drifted off...

Ezekiel: "AGHHHH!"

Flailing himself upward into an upright position was Ezekiel, startled with a truly curse worthy headache. He stared down not knowing where to start thinking or accepting as reality. He then noticed that his entire torso was covered in bandages tightly wrapped with a well timed technique. The next realisation was the lack of grip, the dagger he was holding onto for dear life wasn't in his vicinity.

Ezekiel took time to get his head on straight before uplifiting his sight upon the grassy hill he was camped upon. His eyes widened in accordance, adjusting to the sunlight and the easy going wind splaying about. The extravagent silver armor, the lack of helmets, the badge of two wings with a sword patterned in the middle. It was the royal brigade of Lugnica, directly under King Arthur Wick, the lord of the kingdom Ezekiel was from.

Rows of soldiers coversing and moving about could be seen. Some where hauling boxes or objects around, others seemed to be giving orders, while the rest we're at ease. There was plenty of wagons all around in order to carry along such a large task force. Which sole purpose lied in keeping King Arthur Wick company.

After witnessing such a scene, Ezekiel dove into what exactly happened to him. Everything was a blur and not much was right for him. Burst of flames, blood spurting about, pain, brutal pain. Ezekiel shivered at his thoughts he was trying to sort. Once all the pieces flew into place, Ezekiel's stomache dropped drastically.

The emptiness, the deep, dark lonliness of Ezekiel's nature, scraped all across Ezekiel's skin. Reminding him that's how it's always been. That now was just a comfirmation of it all. His family, his friends, his neighbors, the juniors he looked out for and the seniors he praised, were all gone, just like that.

Ezekiel was left behind like nothing more than an abandoned orphan. With no compass or direction to go, stumped before his journey can even begin. The lump in his throat grew, it was painful. Like an enormous apple was lodged inside, the feeling, was the worst for Ezekiel.

???: "Hey."

Ezekiel: "!!!"

With an instaneous movement, Ezekiel shifted his entire body to face the person behind himself. Not sparing a single second into trivial questions such as 'Who is that?" For someone to ask that, they would have to come from an entirely different dimesion.

There isn't a single person in the world who doesn't know this legendary voice and demeanor of the man standing before Ezekiel. The man whom Ezekiel idolized his entire childhood. The hero who could never be vanquished, one of the greatest men in known history, King Arthur Wick.

Arthur: "No need to be so uptight, no one will scream at you for being impolite. Rather, it's you who should be screaming at me..."

Ezekiel: "..."

Arthur: "I see, you want to be strong don't you?"

The silence grew long, Ezekiel had no answer to the question his king had issued. He didn't know a thing about himself. He knew nothing of the world or the feelings of hate and fear itching his heart. He knew nothing about the location of the corpses which belonged to the people most prescious to him if there were any. No clue about who or why everything had to be taken from him after he won his fight to the death, such an unfair, cruel joke. Thus, Ezekiel had no idea.

Ezekiel: "I-I-I..."

Arthur: "Don't hold it it in."

Ezekiel: "But..."

Arthur: "There isn't a single person here who would laugh. Not one that would smile, not one that would smirk or chuckle, everyone here, is here because they experienced their own trials. So by all means, shed what needs to be shed."

King Arthur extended a hand upon Ezekiel's head and ruffled it, his features were as clear as day. He had long auburn hair with a clean stubble which gave him a classy ruffian look with an air of majesty. His eyes were bright light orange spheres which were clearer than that of an orange. Making him seem even more majestic than a human should be able to look. His jawline was sharp and his frame was muscular to a handsome degree rather than a built degree. This of course didn't speak of actual strength.

He was wearing a fashionable white attire which had black buttons along the right side. A red cape spread onto his back with a hint of justice. A presence like pure light, being up close and personal with a star even, truly a magnificient site. Which is why, under no circumstance, can Ezekiel cry in front of such a symbol of strength etched deep into his heart.

Arthur: "You won't cry?"

Ezekiel: "..."

Arthur: "I guess not. Then, your name?"

Ezekiel: "Ezekiel Malin."

With his eyes completely lifeless, Ezekiel's shoulders drooped. His confidence wavering in the face of his greatest aspiration. King Arthur sighed and stared with a bit of depression at the boy whom lost everything. He was merely passing by when one of his foot soldiers reported the destruction of a village nearby via flames. He had no idea everything would be settled before he even arrived, with only a single survivor being found.

Arthur: "Well then Ezekiel, we can talk further later, for now someone wants to speak to you. I'll also be taking my leave since you can't seem to be honest when i'm around, so please speak your truth, even if things are hard right now, i'm with you, remember that."

Ezekiel: "Yes King Wick."

Arthur Wick: "Right."