My face twinges in pain as I speak, the open gash hurting even more with my adrenaline draining. “This—hrg—this isn’t what I thought you meant by prosthesis.”
I’ve got Duff once again tied to my torso, though this time the positioning feels… demeaning. His leg is wrapped around my abdomen, and the medals on his jacket jingle together as he leans his chest against my beret. He isn’t heavy; if anything, it’s his unwieldiness that I’d be bothered by, but even then, it’s not my issue. I just…
I feel like a horse?
The building rumbles, the fighting not over in the other room yet. “Pocket yer shame, lass. You’ve got tha shudders, and I’m down a leg. Only way tae get through this is together.” He says, though his pleased tone gives me the impression he’s far less bothered by this situation than I am.
Not willing to put myself through speaking again if I don't have to, I grunt at him dismissively, hoping my irritation gets across. From my peripherals I can see the knives held in his left hand and my tactigon in his right—I did my best to morph it into a blade, but the closest I got was a really long and warped cleaver shape.
The fathom's creaking walk is audible at this point, and some of its longer branches are swaying past the hallway's entrance. “Look alive, lass. Repeat tha plan back tae me.”
I suppress my building fear, trying to focus on the fact that I hurt it once already. “Leave the attacking to you, and just focus on strafing him. If you say to do something, do it without hesitation.”
“Good. Move out.”
I sprint out from behind cover before the words finish leaving his lips, the sounds of crashing timber echoing behind me as the Fathom’s attacks hit the walls and floors I run past. My entire body tilts as I run, the curve I’m making combined with my speed leaving the world diagonal. I hear the sound of wood splintering as Duff knocks an incredibly well-aimed one off course, bits of shrapnel hitting the unblemished side of my face.
“Take tha turn closer; you’ve nae got tha steam tae reach it at this rate.” He says, shouting over the wind rushing past our ears.
My feet tangle as I try to pivot closer while running, and I barely catch myself from sprawling across the floor as I stumble. The sound of two thumps and a growl of pain reach my ears and it takes all I have to keep running and not try and look up at him. He trusted me with this, I need to trust him.
The puddle of blood from its previous victims wets the floor up ahead, and I know trying to run through it at this speed will be a death sentence. “Ya got it?” Duff asks, grunting as he ducks away from an attack. I answer by veering towards the wall and leaping up against it.
My shoes grip the sheer surface of the wall well enough that I’m able to continue running along it with support from my tendrils. Passing the crimson pool, I crouch my legs and launch back off the wall, my trajectory true as I land near the creature, sliding slightly. Duff takes the chance to swing, the blade digging deeply into the knee of its human leg, leaving it stuck inside.
“Watch yer feet.” He barks, leaving the weapon in its leg.
I jump, bringing my legs to my chest at his command, trusting that he knows what he’s doing. One of the limbs shoots out beneath me a moment later, my airborn feet stomping down on it and toppling the creature. I’m about to run back and stomp it when Duff throws his weight to the right, leaning us both out of the way of its surprise attack.
“Tha plan, lass!” he yells, rebalancing himself. A healthy dose of guilt gathers in my throat at almost getting us killed in my haste. “I need ya tae start doin whatever ya did tae him tha first time. When I reveal its guts, turn im’ ta paste.”
Not willing to risk messing up again, I immediately course Chthonic energy through my palms as I run. After charging around half as much as last time, a sense of hunger begins to gnaw at my mind, transitioning into pain when I don’t stop.
“I’ve only got so much juice, I think.” I say, fighting off lightheadedness.
“Shite. We’ll hafta make due.”
He’s panting at this point; the constant strain of defending me having worn him down, not that my burning lungs are doing much better. The ground shakes again, the sound of a broken pipe hissing fraying my nerves further.
“Nae point in exhaustin ourselves further if yer already on fumes.” He pauses, considering. “Run at im’ straight on; I’ll keep us safe if you can watch yer legs.”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Thankful for a chance to rest my lungs, one way or another, I pivot my body left and move my aching legs, their every motion as if under water. Crash after crash, Duff shatters and deflects the wood-like attacks as they come at us, though their splinters stab and itch like fiberglass. I’m forced to jump over one before it pierces my calf, though the action clearly fouled whatever action he was doing, judging by the sound of ripping cloth and curses.
My vision blurs, my body shutting down from all the abuse I’m putting it through. “Slide!” Duff shouts, and my legs go limp, more than happy to stop moving for any reason at all. I watch the fuzzy shape of his blade chop into the creature's middle, cracking it open like old, dry wood. “Now!” he shouts, and the little bit of consciousness holding on raises my hands, releasing the pent-up energy as a pair of large black crystalline spikes, taking said consciousness with them.
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Unbelievable pain wracks my entire body, though I feel like I’m almost getting used to it. I try to open my eyes, only to find them held shut by something. …Did I not finish it off? Am I wrapped up or eaten by another Fathom? I start to struggle despite the tearing of flesh I feel across my wounds.
“Woah, woah! It’s okay; you’re okay! You’re somewhere safe right now, Vanguard. The gunk covering your face is to help get any bits of Fathom contaminate stuck in you out.” A female voice says, trying to calm me.
I feel her fussing over the bandages wrapping around my face, upset that I reopened my wounds. I try to apologize, but find my entire face—especially my mouth—numb, like a dentist jabbed me with a lidocaine needle all over. “Auhburreh,” I manage, and it’s still somehow not the least coherent thing I’ve ever said.
“Shh shh shh, it’s alright, darlin. Please try not to move your mouth if you can help it. I’ll come back by in a few minutes to take the gauze off your face, but until then, sit tight. There’s a great many injured folk who need tendin’ too.”
I find myself unwilling to argue with her, both compelled by gentle words and the pain that comes with tearing every muscle in your body. “Hey Roosevelt?” I try, remembering worriedly how he sounded the last time we spoke.
“...Are you well, Brooke?” I hear in my head, meekly. I release the muscles I had been painfully tensing in worry, relief flooding through me at his response.
“Actually, I feel like someone shoved me into a human-sized waffle iron. I am glad to see that you’re okay, though. I was worried when you disappeared… whenever that was.” I think back.
“You’ve been unconscious for around two hours, and I have been present for just under half of it. Whomever that Fathom was, he was powerful enough to both fight Vanguard Asclepius to a near standstill and keep us contractors suppressed simultaneously.”
That can happen? Someone strong enough can just... block us from communicating? I shudder, uncomfortable at the thought. “I can tell you feel guilty, Roce. I promise it's fine, though. Neither of us could really do anything in that situation.”
“Roce?”
“Oh, uh, short for R'oceveilt. Don’t like it?”
“On the contrary, I’m rather surprised and pleased you learned to pronounce my true name. It means a great deal.”
Before I can tease him about the bubbly feelings coming across our link, a set of light footsteps interrupts me. “I’m back, dearie. Let's get those bandages replaced.”
There's a slight tugging at my forehead as she peels back the gauze material like a sticker. Light pierces my eyelids before I even open them; its brightness somehow blindingly bright despite having something in the way. “Hrng” I groan, squinting harder to stop the headache before it begins.
“Aaaand, there! Goodness, that’s quite a bit, isn't it? Oh! Here, let me stand in the way of the light while you adjust.” This angel in human skin says, blocking the heinous light with her body.
I peek my eyes open, gunk coating them from my involuntary nap. I can’t move my arms yet to wipe my eyes, so I blink rapidly, doing a good enough job to kind of see. I roll my head to the right, trying to make out the features of the lovely woman taking care of me. Her hair is a bright blonde, held up in a bun that very much suits her plump cheeks. I blink again, trying to clear out the remaining dark spots in my vision, when I notice the people staring.
Behind her large frame I can make out over a dozen people in various kinds of bandages peeking around and whispering to each other. A couple look... impressed? But the rest look decidedly scared. I tune everything around me out, thinking to Roosevelt.
“Why would they be scared? Aren’t things over by now? Didn’t we fight to protect them?”
His response is delayed, and I’m almost irritated at how careful he’s trying to be with his words. “Things have been resolved, yes. I do not know all the details, so I will wait until Catherine is feeling better to say anything for sure, but my impression so far is a victory with some... sacrifices.”
My heart drops at that, and my immediate thought is, “Was it anyone I knew?” which is a terrible thing to think about, but I can’t help it. I start to ask exactly that when I notice that it feels like he has more to say.
“In regards to the fearful unascended... I’d like to ask you to examine the state of your medical cot.”
Looking at myself in the dim reflection of the shuttered window, I can’t help but shiver.