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Wyatt Graves

Blood runs down my nose and into my mouth as I lay on the ground. A profound, pulsing weakness spreads from the open wound on my back toward the depths of my innards. Rapturous fights against it, but this is Ether straight from an Angel. It does not go quietly or quickly. The skill I've relied on for all other insidious natures struggles against this one. I've neglected Rapturous for far too long.

Beside me, Virgil grunts as he barely pushes himself to his knees. His right leg is gnarly, a gash running from his calf to the back of his knee, hideously necrotic already. There is a chance he might lose that leg with a cut that bad if something isn't done quickly.

Fuck. Get up!

Screaming at myself, I push my hands to the stone road beneath me, littered with rubble and stray spilled blood. But as I move, the pain only gets worse, and I fall back down. Gasping for air, I am temporarily paralyzed by the pain as the Angelic demon approaches us, her scythe scraping along the street, leaving grooves in her way.

"Admirable. I would consider taking you two as recruits had her Majesty not ordered for no survivors."

Virgil grunts out an answer as my vision weaves with the necrosis delving into me. His voice is ragged and pained, but the man gradually reaches his feet, standing on one leg as the other is limp. From here, I can see that his confidence is wholly false.

"And who would your Majesty be? The one below?"

A high-pitched, nearly squealing laugh echoes across the streets as the other nearby demons spread out further. Various languages from Enlish to Enochian and even the Psarian of the Pgymies ring out around me as they run from this demon and charge forward, leaving us to her.

"Oh, no. I serve Leviathan. She has freed me from the chains of our birth. Only she can free others. But you don't need to worry about that, little one. Soon, you'll see only darkness."

The pain spreads even further as my hands loosen. My Ether saturation is at a limit, and I can't manipulate Painsforge to bear the pain. I can even delve deep for Burdenless to take away the strain. From my bones to my mind to my wound, it all aches so thoroughly enough that my hands won't move.

Virgil kicks me lightly as he steps past me, holding his stomach from where he was struck earlier. The sound of his ribs breaking resounds in my head like an echo as he speaks. He's buying me time.

"May I at least know the name of the one who puts me to rest?"

The demon stretches backward, her scythe curling over her shoulder in an esoteric and arrogant pose as she smiles—the tip of the scythe curves around her shoulder like that of the soon-to-rise moon. The thought reminds me of something as the bone mask that covers the entirety of her face shifts to show her smile and how her nightmarish flesh filled with piercings contorts with a grin.

"Haen. Some call me the Corpse Bride. Others? Leviathan's Scythe."

Virgil's buying himself time, too. Everything about him improves when the sun falls, and night is not all that far away. Yet, Haen sprints at us the second she finishes speaking, and I rail against myself, attempting to get up. Virgil wavers back and forth before stepping forward with a deep limp.

But I can't move. The pain. It's not even agony. It's an internal disruption. I can't focus. I can only lay here, waving back and forth between life and death.

That is until a shout from afar reaches me, shoving a wave of Ether into my body.

"GET UP!"

The command settles in my bones as, for a split second, I regain control of my body. The pain is wholly ignored, like that of a hypnotic order. Tightening my fists, I haul myself to my feet as I delve deeply inside my core. I dive deeper and deeper within the fraction of a second I'm given until my innards, my soul, the only thing that it can possibly be, siphons the Ether lingering within my body outward and inward simultaneously.

Burdenless frees me from the unholy condition of Ether saturation, and a frigid mist rises from my skin. Looking deeper, the fog is composed entirely of Ether, obscuring my senses as I stumble through it. If it obscures my senses while being made from me, I can only imagine it is worse for others. I can use this.

Painsforge meets and momentarily halts the pain as I gather my resolve. Then, without hesitation, as Virgil meets Haen, I jaunt forward with an Arbalest from the fog, forcing Virgil out of the way of Haen's scythe. Her swing leaves behind a dark current in the air that soars ahead, leaving a deep cavity in the stone as we roll away.

I glance at my friend and then to my left hand. He raises an eyebrow and whispers hurriedly as Haen's waving dress begins to flutter.

"I thought you couldn't!"

Biting my lip, I nod.

"I'll have to try."

He replies with only a grunt as several dozen Nightwhips lash out from around him like the tentacles of a Kraken. I acknowledge his agreement by darting forward, delving deeply for Lily's aid. She just ate, not that I know what happened there, so she can't shoot again. She can still communicate, though.

"Make the thoughts for Ballista! And what happened back there!"

Sprinting ahead as Virgil Flickers ahead, performing short teleportations with each step, I see Haen shift her right foot around in a circle, creating some kind of design in the ground with the blood dripping from her scythe. My mind instantly rings of warning, but I have few other options.

"I thought we needed Blodwyn for that! And... I'm not sure! But it was something mental! My mind stuttered, then returned after a split second! I don't remember it all, though! It's like I forgot what was happening!"

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I furrow my brows as Madness forms, each part of the Ballista hardier than ever. Stuttering mind? Forgotten events? Is she... No. She can't be.

Transitioning my right hand to my left, I focus on the pain in my back, allowing Painsforge to dig even deeper into the wound gracing my spine. The Ballista, on my hand, is formed, but the physical strength required to set it up is, frankly, ridiculous. Only the Bloody Palm... er, Blodwyn, who can contort its flesh to better apply force, could prepare it.

Painsforge won't be enough. I take a deep breath while focusing all my Ether with Daydream and Strugglers Defiance upon my right arm. The prosthetic groans from the mountain of Ether bearing down upon it as I force the winch back. It moves slowly only with all my effort, which is ruined by Haen.

Her scythe taps the ground as the blood on the ground lights up with a fiendish glow. My heart skips a beat before I feel a pressure build in my wound. Forcing my Strugglers Gasp into all my bones from my lungs, I scream with all the worry in the world.

"Virgil! STAY IN FLICKER!"

I can only pray my words reach him as that pressure surmounts nearly instantly like that of a volcano. And without even a modicum of preparation, it explodes. I tumble forward as I lose feeling in my legs, rolling along the stones as blood, flesh, and bone lie all across the ground.

Things turn gray as I try to keep my eyes focused, searching for Virgil, but the only thing I find is Haen. She towers over me before raising her scythe.

"Still alive after Corpse Explosion? That's a first. Hmm..."

Then, the scythe lowers, but before it grows any further in my vision, I see a kaleidoscope of colors that worsens my once again developing headache before I roll some more, the pain and blood loss only getting worse. Kneeling over me, Virgil breathes heavily, his chest heaving up and down as sweat drips through his mask and onto the ground.

"Can you get up?"

Virgil asks the question I'm unsure about until my heart beats again. Painsforge, upon my behest, devours the agony flowing from my ruined spine, and delivers a coursing stream of fury. The rumble of my heart shakes the nearby stones as I roll over, using my knuckles to get back up from the ground.

"Yeah. But I ain't got much left."

A shadow forms beside me, a Silhouette nearly identical to Virgil as he groans in pain.

"Same. I escaped that thing, but it still worsened the wound. I think I might need a new leg after this, mechanical or flesh. And at this point, I have to be picky with my Flickers."

I nod at him and ask the only thing I can. I feel awful for it, but it's the only way we win this fight.

"Can you buy some more time? I need to ready it."

Virgil's Silhouette is already gone before I even finish, and he quickly joins it, Flickering around and avoiding death by the skin of his teeth. Greased lightning is the only word to describe him as he more so appears than moves with his speed that is entirely reliant on the teleportation from Flicker due to his ruined leg.

Meanwhile, I work with Lily as she soothes my wounds with a cool stream of rejuvenating Ether. My right hand tightens around the winch as I haul it back, twisting the component with enough force to lift an entire building as my whole body bulges with power.

"It's even more potent than usual! Your new Sigil must be enhancing your mind as that's what's building these figments! Wait... no! Your soul! It's strengthening your soul! That's what Burdenless is! It's your soul finally taking action, even if not entirely physical!"

Lily has a kind of eureka moment in my head as she works on her own end, continuing after a moment as the Ballista gradually hauls into the prepared state. I'm quiet, focused on feeling the pain to allow my Dzil to do as it must.

"Put me in your right hand when you attack next! I've been practicing, remember? I can't shoot right now, but I can still help! Petalshield and Rosethorn can help!"

Grunting as Virgil gets his right arm minorly scratched by Haen as the scythe flies through the air without her control, I finish the Ballista. He reappears beside me as the demon lets the blood all to the ground once more, preparing her skill.

Stepping forward, a distortion in my walk definite from the explosion in my flesh on my back, I draw Lily again. Her petals slide up the revolver and onto my hand, as I realize something.

Is she a Colt? Or an artifact?

I think she might be the latter, only grossly unlearned from isolation. Though... what even is the difference?

The flowery sights flow all over the steel of my hand, leaving behind red discolorations that stay. This is Petalshield. She can activate it whenever, and the petals will turn into a pitch-like substance to catch an attack.

Rosethorn builds upon the edge of the barrel, slight thorn-like segments leaning off it. I surge forward as Virgil Flickers away from a sudden cloud of grayness that attempts to devour him. I take his place in the battle as Haen twists, sending her scythe right as me.

I contort sideways, angling my right arm and Lily at the scythe as my Colt catches the curved edge with an eruption of pitch. The blade sinks into the black substance originating from the Cardinal and freezes in place. But before Haen can follow up with a move she undoubtedly has to solve this predicament, I aim my left hand at her.

The Ballista threatens her, and she instantly seeks an escape from me, releasing her scythe as she moves. Even without seeing it before, her instincts are sharp enough to recognize the threat to escape immediately. But unfortunately for her, my shadow bulges from the sun only inches from setting. Virgil slides from under me, cutting toward her legs with his daggers while his Silhouette does the same.

His blades dig deeply, eliciting a frenzied scream from Haen. And then, the deafening roar of Ballista soars through the air. I didn't aim at her head, even if that would kill her, assuming she would have a way to dodge, and I was right.

It soars toward her chest, where the furnace of a demon lies, and she contorts, her bones cracking as she shifts enough for the Ballista to miss slightly, diving into her abdomen. The moment it touches her, a desk-sized hole is blasted through her body, the bolt continuing onward after and removing innumerable demons from this world.

Haen is more noteworthy in size than the average human but not that big. At most eight feet tall, a desk-sized wound is nearly lethal, even to an Angel. She stumbles backward while Virgil hurriedly follows up with his daggers, stabbing, cutting, and reaving through her flesh. Meanwhile, I swoon back and forth, the effort of using Ballista nearly flooring me.

But the Corpse Bride recovers pretty quickly. While Virgil goes for her neck, she reaches out her arm, and her scythe returns. And the moment it does, blood flows from it toward her abdomen as if hurrying to recover the wound.

Pushing myself to my physical limits, I stride forward. My Ether can only bring me so far. Each step is weighted by a thousand pounds despite the nearly endless skills that bolster me. Painsforge is the only reason I'm even awake.

I raise Lily again as I get close, swinging the Colt at Haen, and she retaliates ruthlessly. We try to finish her off in one go, but the Angel isn't dead yet. In one movement, she strikes Virgil with the butt of her scythe and impales me on the blade. I watch Virgil spin backward before falling onto his ass, a bloody stain on his skull while I'm lifted off the ground.

Haen curses me before tossing me to the floor, screams echoing around me. I'm unsure if they are from myself, Lily, or some other person, but I hear Haen clearly.

"You bastard... What the Devil was that? Nearly killed me. I've made up my mind. I'm taking the shadow, but you... you have to die. I see too much of my Queen within you."

I can't even raise my head as Haen nears me. Her steps are slow, each with a pronounced limp as her one hand holds the rest of her innards within her body. Had she not been an Angel, she'd already be dead. I yearn for that position as I can only imagine how tough we'll be.

We'll?

Right. I forgot about the Bloody Palm. How could I forget about it?

He's been with me for... for so long...

Why is everything so... cold?

Where am I again?

"WYATT! CALL FOR HIM!"

Lily breaks through the building pressure of Haen's wound that went right through my lungs and out my back. The situation comes rushing in as the pain does, too. Lily screams within my mind, the words echoing endlessly.

"Who?"

I sputter out a question from bloody lips, and Haen laughs as she raises her scythe.

"Are you saying a prayer, human? I thought your kind didn't really do that."

"Blodwyn! He'll hear you! I promise! Just try! He has to!"

I close my eyes, expecting darkness to reign forever as I call out to my artifact. In the gloaming, it... he glows like a radiant bloody gem. I clench every muscle in my body, a fragile hope flickering like a broken candle.

"Blodwyn, please."

Still, no response comes after my begging. I give it one final try as that hope dies to an ember. This time, however, I do not beg. I speak to it like a man would to another.

"Blodwyn."

"Wake up."

My begging and commands reach nothing, but I do hear a cry of pain before me. Opening my eyes, I find a falling woman, her arms rolling in a different direction. Her midnight black hair, tainted by blood, dust, and dirt, gradually shifts to blonde hair as my surroundings shift entirely. My heart wrenches, knowing who it is even if I can't accept it. She... did that for me? Screams inundate the bewildering transitions, bits of concern and alarm, bits that I can do nothing about.

A ranch, one with a blonde woman with her arms outstretched to the grasses far away, becomes a reality, instead of the grim reality I currently exist in. She slowly spins around, revealing Cassidy Monroe's wife as she laughs joyfully.

"Cassidy! I'm pregnant!"

Those words make the whole world turn clearer, every hue of nature gaining vibrancy before it transitions abruptly to a bloodied house. The shock of the transition leaves me shaking from the pure disparity in realities. The walls, the floors, and even the ceiling are stained by guts, brains, and bones. The red. It's so surreal that I'm pretty sure it will never leave my sight.

Stumbling backward, I fall, before everything shifts once more.

In a vast desert, sands everywhere, from the nails to the insides of the flesh, a man lies unconscious. From a different perspective, I find myself lying unconscious with a discolored hand.

Time sits still for minutes, the frozen image unmoving and unchanging. The minutes turn to hours as reality stands motionless. Slowly, gradually, I begin to think of myself as already dead, stuck in a never-changing limbo with an immobile hand incapable of anything. I just watch the perspective of me with the discolored hand as nothing shifts for unknown periods of time.

Until it does.

The hand clenches, forming a fist and slightly rising, as I hear a low, grumbling voice move for the first time ever with a real, genuine thought from the darkest depths of my mind.

"Who is Elizabeth?"