The body is limp, with small pools of stained blood leaking from several gashes all over it. The hair on the body is at once gleaming white in the sunlight and darkly stained from blood, as is the jacket covering the body. The body rises and falls slowly, rhythmically, as it breathes in and out, still not dead. A pack of hungry vollicks stalk slowly around the body as they draw ever closer, the whiff of fresh blood too enticing to let pass up. As they draw nearer, the body stirs, its arms shifting slightly, its head lifting with great strain.
“Get up,” Elyas mutters to himself weakly, pressing down on the burning hot stone of the distant plateau he had crashed on a while before. He is surrounded by a shallow but noticeable dent in the stone, the painful reminder of the void field that had saved his life, but only just.
The vollicks, knowing that their prey is about to escape, pounce, all of them striking at once to kill Elyas before he can do anything. “Get up!” Elyas howls to himself, releasing a swirling vortex of razor-sharp energy all around him as he forces his body and mind to respond. The entire pack of vollicks drop dead around him, sliced to ribbons and leaking black blood from their many wounds, their blood almost as dark as the energy enveloping Elyas as he expels a telekinetic burst, sending the scraps of vollick flying far away in every direction.
If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
“Good. Now move,” he orders himself, clutching his right arm in pain and shuffling forward, not knowing where he’s going, not even knowing where he is, but simply knowing that if he keeps on moving, keeps pushing himself to take that one extra step further, he will eventually find salvation.
He wanders ever forward, ever downward as he trudges down the plateau, the blinding light of the sun mercifully dipping behind him as he goes ever deeper into the rocky outcropping, bathing him in soothing darkness. As he makes his way down the plateau, a singular, obsessive goal forms fresh in his mind: survive. Survive, and grow stronger. His senses are still weak from pain and exhaustion, but he can still make out that Vega’s energy is no longer on this planet, and rapidly leaving at that. He doesn’t know what that means, but he does know that if Vega is still alive, then he could return at any moment.
And Elyas refuses to be caught so weak ever again. He was denied his vengeance on the Harbinger, he was denied a proper battle with Vega, and he was denied loyal allies to rely on. He will not be denied his own strength, too. He will grow stronger, cultivate his power so that if anyone ever dares challenge him again, he will win.
Elyas continues down the sprawling, spiraling way down the plateau until he is fully enclosed in shadow, only the light from his ruined jacket revealing his form before it, too, is swallowed up by darkness, and Elyas disappears from sight.