As the man's weight bore down on the fragile onyx stones beneath him, they began to shatter with a deafening crack, causing him to fall beneath the surface. In a moment of sheer desperation, he extended his hands, frantically searching for any semblance of support amidst the crumbling remnants of the once-solid structure.
Dashing forward with a lack of self-preservation Zerin closed in on Boris. His veins flooded with adrenaline, just as the stones began to crumble further. Panic surged, but he forced himself to focus. He outstretched his hand to Boris while the hefty man clung to the stones for dear life.
Rushing to aid, the lizard approached the edge, shot its neck forward, securing its powerful jaws tightly around the hefty man’s shoulder. With fierce growling intensity, the creature sank its teeth into the flesh, gathering a tight hold as it struggled with Boris’s weight.
The creature clenched harder around his shoulder, with the aid of Zerin at the peak of his adrenaline high, they began to make way. Boris’s grimace against the jaws tearing at his shoulder mirrored the gut-wrenching sensation of nails scraping against a chalkboard, each moment filled with excruciating torment. Yet, undeterred by his suffering, the lizard persisted in its efforts, as it yanked and jerked Boris away from the brink of disaster.
Zerin stumbled falling to one knee for just a moment, the brief crash of adrenaline hit him unexpectedly. He fought against the overwhelming tide, willing his body to regain its composure once more.
He pushed himself up from the brief descent, managing to endure the crash of adrenaline. Standing up straight, he looked at Boris, who lay sprawled out on his back upon the onyx bridge, his wound dripping with blood.
"Are you alright?"
Now looking back at it, Zerin felt that this was the one of the dumbest questions you could possibly ask.
"Let me take a look..."'
Complying Boris peeled his trembling hand away from his injured shoulder, revealing grim fractures and dislocated bones buried beneath his torn flesh. The visceral assault on Zerin's senses, sent a chill down his spine, compelling him to look away.
"Hold on, I'll find help.
Zerin turned his head from Boris. Facing the gathering crowd on the other side of the gaping hole, his eyes fell upon the figure of the Priest amidst the group, a stoic presence amidst the chaos, reminiscent of driftwood standing firm against the relentless tide. With a sense of otherworldly grace, the Priest ascended into the air, effortlessly defying gravity. By the Priest's side Wisteria panicked at the sudden ascension into the air. She clutched the frill of her white dress, preparing to descend to the other side of the chasm with the Priest.
As the he lowered Wisteria to the other side of the chasm, he spoke calmly while observing Boris, who lay on the ground with his wound bleeding profusely and cursing the onyx stones beneath him.
"I'll handle this from here..."
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From its patchwork flesh emerged the minuscule slug, the embodiment of perverse fascination. With a twisted kind of curiosity, the creature extended its head, its beady eyes aglow with sinister glee at the fresh crimson stains on the floor.
In perverse delight, the slimy slug leaped forth from the Priest, its bulging abdomen filled with feasts from before bouncing awkwardly against the onyx surface. Oblivious to the sheer grotesqueness that was its existence, the slug skittered across the cold stones with unnatural speed, driven by its gluttony for the spilled blood that now tainted the onyx stones.
As it greedily lapped up the glistening pool of blood, the creature's movements filled with sickening voracity, satisfaction amidst the grim aftermath.
Interrupting the little creatures delight, the slug was lifted by its fatty scruff, by none other than the lizard itself, causing the little slug to whine as it was separated by its favorite crimson nectar.
Following behind the lizard as it glided past in a noble fashion, the Priest stood erect like a pillar, looking down at the man’s shoulder.
As the Priest glided past them, their eyes found each other. He could read exactly what she wanted to say, he could see it etched on her very face. She wanted to apologize for keeping things secret, perhaps even apologize for the kiss itself, but that wasn’t really what forged the rift in between them. What caused this rift, was the mask she wore the whole time, he felt uncomfortable, and he wanted to forget it, but his conscious kept addressing it every time his eyes beheld her.
Zerin lifted his gaze from her after a few seconds, her face longed for his as she scampered to speak.
“W–Wait!”
She blurted out, Zerin stopped and turned back to her. He wasn’t entirely prepared to face her at this moment.
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry—I…"
He hit the nail on its head, he realized after several times, she is heavily apologetic, which isn't particularly a bad thing, but it is definitely something that would get under your skin after a while.
"It's fine… Stop apologizing—"
The sound of groans of pain caught Zerin's attention as the Priest loomed over Boris, calmly assessing the pain.
“Remove your hand.”
The Priest’s voice, a calm demand.
Boris obliged; a chilling transformation unfolded. From the depths of the Priest’s flesh, a cluster of sinewy tendrils emerged. With a malevolent grace, the tendrils snaked their way towards Boris.
The moment the tendrils connected with his skin, delving deep into his torn flesh. Anguish erupted; groans of unbearable pain clawed its way from deep within him. The Priest continued its surgical treatment throughout the torment, its tendrils shifting under his flesh, the was a horror to anyone who witnessed it.
A tense silence descended as the Priest's tendrils retreated. Parting a piece of flesh from its own body the Priest then formed a sling for his arm from its flesh, securing it tightly around Boris's shoulder
Raising his gaze with his usual nature, he shifted towards Zerin and Wisteria. In a calm voice he addressed their concerns.
“I have realigned his fractured shoulder, melding the pieces together with bits of flesh. Though, it will demand time to fully mend.”
Fixing his penetrating gaze on Zerin, the Priest’s eyeless face bore into him.
“I shall guide the path for now…”
Acknowledging the Priest’s words, he nodded subtly. In the periphery of his vision, a tender smile bloomed on Wisteria’s lips, a fleeting moment as the Priest’s attention turned to her.
As the Priest drifted away, Zerin turned briefly to glance at Wisteria, her eyes found his also and a period of silence was between them.
-
-
-
Several moments later, the people began their journey once again, the Priest and Zerin switching places, the Priest carefully guiding the people while Zerin trailed behind as Wisteria remained glued to his side.
“How is your mother doing?”
Zerin said as he walked alongside her, ignoring her consistent proximity of her brushing up against him every step she took.
Wisteria’s aquamarine eyes fell upon the onyx stones, before she exhaled heavily.
“She is doing fine physically… But she forgot who I was entirely… She doesn’t even believe I am her daughter.”
Wisteria turned towards Zerin slightly, her face that usually would have been washed with tears had a slight smile instead that made him a bit uncomfortable.
"I look nothing like her anyways...”
‘Why would you say that?’
Even though she wasn't necessarily wrong, the people in these lands looked vastly different. Zerin had yet to see anyone like him or Wisteria, with blonde hair or blue eyes. But the way she framed her words to overcome this obstacle left him feeling disturbed, even sad.
"I will restore everyone's memories, including your mother's. That's the whole point of this journey."
She smiled slightly as she tilted her head leaning forward to search his faltering gaze, her braided blonde pinkish woven pigtails fell forward as her aquamarine eyes bore into his.
“I believe in you…”
Zerin stared at her in utter shock, unable to find his voice. He managed only a strained, insincere smile before turning, and continuing to walk beside her.
Those words alone captivated his soul. What does it truly mean to believe in someone? Where is the limit? Why does he seem more trustworthy than anyone else? He knew he wasn't deserving of such trust—he had kept secrets from her, secrets far graver than she could imagine. He was hiding the truth about her brother's death, a death tainted by the communion of flesh he had partaken in. Such a revelation could never escape his lips... never.