Melfice flew for a moment before colliding with a soft, feathered surface—confused, he screamed.
“Quiet down,” from somewhere, it was familiar. His eyes closed; he chanced a peek. Edward was sitting further up, Sebastian at his side, and he quickly noticed they were far above the ground, atop some creature. He screamed again.
“Alright now—easy, easy!” from Edward, and as Melfice heard wings clap rapidly and cease, the movement stopped. Edward grabbed him by the neck and tossed him onto the ground, which prompted him to open his arms and embrace the grass and dirt beneath him. “Didn’t know you were afraid of heights, man.”
Sebastian hopped down from the beast’s back, stumbled a bit, and kissed the ground.
“I-I’m also afraid of h-heights,” he said between smooches, mouth full of grass.
“Can’t help that now,” from Edward, who raised a hand to the beast’s head and placed it on its forehead, which caused azure lines to spread out from his hand onto the beast’s body. The lines twisted and expanded, and the white body of the beast turned to black, and it became smaller and smaller until it disappeared inside of Edward’s hand. A faint light flashed on the top of his hand, then faded to leave a light blue tattoo which resembled an hourglass with six wings, the same number the beast had. He looked back at Sebastian and Melfice, who were both still embracing the ground.
“What the hell are you two doing,” and he reached into his pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes. He put one into his mouth and reached for something else. A confused expression developed, and he searched the other pocket and retrieved nothing. His back pockets also had nothing. Nothing. He fell to the ground and frantically searched around, making the three of them to be a sight to behold.
“What was that…that…” Melfice lost his train of thought while he watched Edward crawl around in circles on the ground. “What the hell are YOU doing, Edward?”
“I’m looking for my damn matches! What does it look like I’m doing,” without looking away from his search, focused on the task at hand. Several minutes passed before he sat upon his knees and gave a heavy sigh. He stood up. “They must have fallen out of my pocket when I jumped,” and as he removed the cigarette from his mouth to return it to its pack, he noticed something a few yards away—some of the debris from the explosion were scattered about and, to his delight, on fire.
He hopped to his feet and ran to the flaming rubble, lowered himself just above the flame, and puffed on his now lit cigarette. You’re a hopeless man, Edward. Do you know that? I know, I know, he thought, but there’s nothing quite like the feeling of a nice, long drag after escaping certain death. Absolutely hopeless.
After satiating that terrible addiction, Edward wore a bright smile as he walked to where Melfice and Sebastian were, both now over their brief trauma.
“We’ve landed smack-dab in the middle of the Kingdom of Levalon,” Edward said as he gazed around. “We’re not far from Thyme, where our friend should be coming from.”
Sebastian looked to the sky, not able to see the flying fortress they had escaped from anywhere in sight. “We flew for quite a while, and I can’t sense Seymour or the magic emitting from the floatation stones that keep the fortress airborne. We no doubt destroyed some in the explosion—well, you—so I think it’s safe to say that they’ll be out of the sky before too long for repairs.”
“If Seymour has retained his connections, I’m willing to bet he’ll take it to the Tinkering Town of Bottrolo, deep in the Kingdom of Phoucia. The magical engineers there won’t take much time restoring the stones and the eastern tower,” from Edward, exhaling smoke.
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“All the more reason to get out of here and find some sort of sanctuary.”
Melfice butted in: “That thing we rode on…was that one of those…Aeliameemaws?”
“Aeliama,” Edward corrected. “And yes. I used to raise them on my parent’s farm when I was young. Wonderful pets. They’re from this region, actually; although I once heard that they originally migrated here from one of the other five kingdoms.”
Melfice grimaced. “So, what you’re telling me that there are more of them flying around here?” He shuddered at the thought and looked to the sky, expecting a band of them to be circling him, an army of feathered, devil-winged monsters.
“No, they’re just about extinct now. I’m afraid the one we rode on may be the last—certain of it now that I think of it.”
Melfice’s grimace was washed away by relief. “Good,” he said. “I wouldn’t know how to handle a flock of those giant, furry rats flying across the sky.”
“You’re happy that an entire species of majestic creatures from an era of the ancient world are nearly extinct?”
“Right.”
I hate him, Edward.
☆
A door flung open, and the man with bandaged arms ran inside. This was his home, secluded in the forest on the outskirts of Lucrea. It was as messy as one would expect a child’s room to be. Books, clothes, rags, dishes, cutlery, and bottles of booze were scattered here and there, giving one the feeling that no one had lived there in years, except for the fact that he had lived here every day, in disarray and contempt. In the center of the mess was a single line of cleanliness that trailed from the front door and branched off into every room, created by him to allow easier passage throughout the home.
From the front door, he grabbed a bag that hung from a coatrack and darted into the back of his house. Noises of things falling, breaking, shattering, and shaking boomed from room to room; and he emerged from the dust and, now full to its capacity, threw the bag over his shoulder. He stopped in front of a mirror and looked upon his reflection, his bandaged arms. They were tight, but he didn’t notice them all too much, they were like a second skin. He tightened his headband and stumbled through the door and ran out into the morning sun, headed toward the neighboring town of Thyme, opposite of Lucrea, or what was left of it, that is.
He navigated through the city, which proved more difficult than he had imagined. Crowds of people were blundering around the town square, some aimless, others violent. They were under the influence of the orange blob that still lingered somewhere, growing in power; they were tormented by its madness. A group of cultists was gathered in the center, quietly moving amongst the crowd in a circle, while one hardy cultist stood atop a box. He shouted of the End Times, of a coming storm of orange death, claimed that every sinner (and he meant every person) in Thyme would pay for their hubris, would pay with their soul. He fell silent, however, when an angry butcher’s assistant tossed a brick at him, just barely missing his head. He then fell when the butcher’s mentor—whose aim was far superior to that of his novice friend—tossed another brick, which collided with the cultist’s face, sent him flying a few yards backward, and killed him on the spot. Witnessing this, the other cultists threw themselves at the two butchers—arms flailing, feet kicking, and heads butting. A group of teenagers who were itching for a fight joined in, not on any side, just throwing lame punches at whoever was closest.
A bakery not too far from the brawl was covered in flames, the people inside trapped and burning alive. Several blocks down from the flaming bakery, a man dressed in all black leaped from the window of a tall home, owned by one of the well-to-do families and ran into the crowd. He carried necklaces, gemstones, several pouches of gold, and under his arm—a precious work on art created by an artist that had met his hand by his blade. The artist had scrawled something underneath the painting’s border before being burglarized—a message to his wife, a love sonnet never to be read.
Felix ran through, witnessing all the terrible acts of Man without making time to stop, without offering any sort of assistance. He kept his head to the ground and steadied his pace. When he reached the gate, he didn’t turn back to look at the doomed town, he instead picked up speed. He ran for so long; he hadn’t even realized that the sun had been up for several hours. Thyme was soon far behind him, and he entered a small forest, hopped over fallen trees, tripped over vines, and crossed a rickety wooden bridge that allowed passage across a small river. The forest spat him out into a vast field, and he brushed off the leaves and twigs that hopped along for a ride. He ran to the top of a hill that overlooked another field and, seeing three men seemingly fighting amongst themselves, he ran for them in high spirits.