Chapter 343: Pining Away For Blood
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Wyatt Graves
As my eyes flicker open, I'm greeted by a world of agony. Every breath feels like daggers in my chest, and the red sand grinds mercilessly at my battered flesh, both inside and outside. I can feel it burrowing in my chest even as my physical wounds are mostly healed, besides my prosthetic, of course. I struggle to push myself up, disoriented and bewildered by my surroundings. The cave's darkness envelopes me, but my unique vision allows me to make out most of the details from the hanging stone spikes to the tiny room I have to move as I attempt to rationalize how I got here.
Looking ahead, I find a crimson film that stretches over the cave's entrance. It's a gruesome barrier that is e connected to my left hand by a stringy pice of meat. Nodding to Blodwyn as thanks, I stare at my flesh that has transformed into a protective shield against the raging sandstorm beyond. I can't recall how I ended up in this cave, only that I am here now. I can, however, guess.
Blodwyn. The artifact is unresponsive, likely exhausted beyond understanding, so I leave it be after a subtle nudge. He must have taken over while I was unconscious from the fall. Fuck. My head is absolutely screaming. Definitely from the fall.
But I'm not alone even then.
My groans of pain reverberate through the chamber as I stand carefully in a crouch due to the low ceiling, but my attention is drawn to my companion. Virgil lies nearby, shivering uncontrollably, his body seemingly at war with itself, battling the conflicting extremes of hypothermia and hyperthermia simultaneously. Sweat drips from every pore in his body, drenching his clothes. I spike with worry as I hobble over to him.
Crouching beside him as I exhale, bits of crimson dust gliding like blades out my lungs, I cough out a palmful of blood. My eyes return to the membrane of flesh shielding us from the outside.
If the bits of sand in here are making me bleed from the inside... Virgil can't be much better, especially with his condition. I need to get him somewhere with a Serum to save him, but outside has to be a hundred times worse. Those winds have only become more lethal.
From annoying dust granules to deadly blades of blood red, more minor than you can see. Vincent... Devil be damned. He might have just condemned us to death.
I examine Virgil once more, looking over my friend as his clothes are torn all over, exposing raw or opened flesh. At least his tight glasses protected his eyes, but none of what I can see is the real issue. Nonetheless, I bandage him up with the strips of hanging clothing. He can live through all the external wounds, with no problem. Like me, he has significant regenerative abilities, only he has to be asleep for them to work. I think it might be that very nature of a Nightowl that has kept him alive so far.
Creating fire and cauterizing his injuries would be best, but I have no ability to make a fire here. None of my matches are with me from the fall, and I'm lucky Lily is even here with me. She probably did something to stay in my holster, as she's not bolted to my belt like Death's Lantern is. I quickly scan Virgil before my head sinks. He's missing all his weapons.
My mind briefly flickers to all the Angels we have killed recently and all the artifacts that will likely come from them in time, but we can't enjoy them if we don't get out of here.
If we don't get out of here.
I focus back on Virgil as he shivers and groans incessantly. My heart yearns to save him, but I can't think of anything. I find my pocket watch in the dirt not far away, yet the glass is shattered and unreadable. It's no longer clicking, stuck on 2:23, likely A.M. I sigh in forlorn nostalgia at the broken glass. I've had this watch for so long... I need to focus, though. Tossing aside my emotions, I examine my friend.
Virgil has been under Acute Ether saturation for at least several hours. I don't think he pushed himself as far as I often do because he didn't immediately turn into a puddle of goo. The man likely passed out as his brother once did when he went beyond his physical and Ether limits, only he went a bit further beyond.
Speaking of, I tie his ankle tightly, creating a rudimentary splint for the time being. I'm no doctor, but I've seen Earl treat enough people I can help.
Still, after I finish tending to his ankle with all that I can do, I fall to my ass, unsure of what's next. I can only stare at him as his condition slowly worsens.
What can I do?
Run out and make it to someone with a Serum to run back with?
No. He'll be long dead before that.
He needs to wake up. I can walk him through the self-treatment for Acute Ether saturation, but he must be conscious. Scooting closer while trying to ignore the biting sands, I lightly shake him. Then, I shake him again—and again.
"Virgil. Virgil. Virrrrgil. Virgil. Virgil. Virgil. Virgil. Virgil! Virgil! Virgil?"
I attempt again and again, doing everything to rouse him, barring hurting him. But none of my actions hold any effect. Sighing, I rest a closed fist on his motionless chest.
He won't wake up.
Why?
Is he too hurt? Too exhausted?
I remember the notes back then stating something along the lines of few even getting the chance to attempt the treatment due to the side effects of the condition. Most are forced unconscious from the wounds that brought them to push past their limits.
A heavy breath leaves my chest as I lean forward, pressing my ear against his chest. Badump. Badump. Virgil's heart still beats, even if erratic. But it beats.
I pause and listen for several minutes, thinking of anything I can do to help him. Yet his heart only worsens, the erraticness increasing as his breathing starts to halt with hiccups and coughs. My own breath picks up at the thought of losing him as well.
If only I could do it for him while he's asleep. I could save him like that.
Wait.
I can.
With Aniwye, I compelled her body to move against her will. I even managed to use my own skills within her body. Perhaps... perhaps I could save him? Or maybe just extend his life long enough so that I can learn to use Burdenless?
A plan rapidly forms as I sit as comfortably as possible within this sand beside Virgil. Then, I stare at him as I urge the Ether in my body to move. The Ether shifts, turns, and contorts as it blooms in my eyes, Insight coming to life.
A second later, I'm blind with closed eyes. Pain, a familiar but forgotten agony, wracks my entire form. But no mental resistance at all from Virgil meets my attempts to move or open his eyes. Slowly, as blades of chill and heat slice through his flesh, he sits up against the wall, and I open his eyes fully.
Seeing myself sitting still as I focus fully on aiding him is odd. It's like I'm a sleeping puppet—like a Vessel.
It's always so odd how skills progress. Sometimes, there are these grand improvements made with new forms of Ether manipulation, and then other times, your improved way of controlling Ether gradually shifts the skills into new forms.
Just as when I was fighting Edward to learn Instinctive Ether, I managed a new way of siphoning Ether with Strugglers Gasp that I only continued to expand upon later. I think a combination of Willful Strand and Instinctive Ether naturally infecting Insight is what allows me to do this: to extend a hand into another and puppet them.
It's less mind control or puppetry, though, and more similar to what Blodwyn used to do to me. The act is more akin to a forceful injection of action into the muscles. The Ether, however, is the most fascinating part.
Somehow, I managed to push my Ether to Aniwye, who was miles and miles away. Or... at least, I think I did. Was I using her Ether but manipulating it with my Sigil and soul? I... I'm not sure.
But it's time to find out.
Now or never. If I wait any longer, Virgil might not return from the edge. I need to pull him back up.
My first instinct is to reach for Burdenless, but as I expected, it won't come. Either my soul isn't fully connected with it to use it in Virgil's body, or some other piece I'm unaware of is stopping me.
So, I push through the pain and begin to follow the directions lodged deeply within my mind. They've saved my life before. Surely, they can save Virgil's, too. First, though, I have to find Virgil's Sigil. Turning my attention inwardly, I follow along Virgil's veins and paths of Ether with my mind, wincing at the state of them. Torn, bruised, and beaten are the only descriptors I could formulate. It's awful and makes me wonder how mine often look at a fight.
Ignoring the damages for now, I move to find his core as I have to pull Ether from it carefully. And after just a few moments, I locate it, the heart of his Sigil hidden within a corner of his body. It's a bizarre thing that I find as I gaze closely at it. Because of his Absolutions, his core holds an actual shape, but I don't know how to describe it other than a pulsating shadowed light. The eminence of the Mother Below's Darklight is not lost on me. The God must have a similar combination of Sigils as Virgil. I can only hope that holds little against him. Both sides of his Metamorphosized Sigil possess the same unorthodox glow; I can tell from it that he is a 6th Sigiled.
After viewing the shape of his Sigil, I attempt to sense what it feels like. Slowly, I let my mind drift around the darkness that simmers in his flesh. And over the course of just a few seconds, emotions and sensations invade my mind. I feel hate, hope, and a worrying sense of heat covered by a chilling cold.
I mentally nod to the sensations as I continue to the next step. I'm unsure if this detail is needed, but I want to be as close to his Sigil as possible before I begin pulling at it. Aniwye is tough, and I hold no qualms about yanking at her Sigil. Virgil, however, is deeply wounded, so I must be precise.
Virgil's Sigil seems to be an ocean of darkness, cradling something hidden deep within its depths. I know what is kept at the bottomless pit, though. It is light. Virgil holds one Priest to contest his many Nightowls.
Then, after acclimating to his Sigil, I begin step three from the list I read nearly an entire year ago. Meticulously, so much more intricately than I did for myself long ago, I create a tiny strand of Ether with my mind. And as I thought, it comes from his core, not mine. A thousand burgeoning thoughts fight to bloom, but I stop them all and focus wholly. Even just that infinitesimally small pinch of Ether, however, nearly rends me unconscious.
I try to continue to the next step. Bringing the bit of Ether out from the area that surrounds my Sigil. The second the piece exits the threshold of where the bubble used to be that has now shrunk to become the Sigil in my mind, well, pain erupts just as the document said it would so long ago.
The pain is so great I begin foaming at the mouth, forcing me to spit or I'll choke on my own saliva. It truly is all-encompassing. Despite the Ether still being in my skull, it hasn't even entered my neck yet; I can feel a sensation similar to every toe getting cut off at once, a snipping like bone on steel. This pain is far too much to bear, and I am forced to quickly release the Ether I created into my body.
This only worsens it as the Ether begins to sink into my body, further increasing the misery. I can resist pain. But I'm by no means immune to it. Yet... every time I shrink back, the pale face of my friend makes me stand back up to it.
Ether, the supernatural substance coursing through Virgil's veins, has infiltrated every part of his being—bones, blood, flesh, and even the marrow—like an insidious intruder who refuses to be evicted. He's unconscious, unable to feel the pain that comes with it, but I feel every square inch and even more.
The punishing parade of agony and affliction clenches my mind's eye around a single sentence that I glossed over when I first read the page about Acute Ether saturation.
"And those of ranks higher than 3rd Sigil who experience AES must immediately seek medical attention at the nearest forward base or headquarters."
"Fuck!"
A curse leaves both Virgil's teeth and mine as I hold our mouth in a tightly gritted embrace. Pain, a merciless sentinel, has taken up residence even in my bones, forcing both our bodies to shake like that of a seizure. My head throbs with a searing migraine, a vice of torment that squeezes my consciousness to the brink. Every other second, it blinds me in one or both eyes, plunging my world into obscurity. Deafness descends like a shroud, severing me from the world just as Temper would. Even Virgil's hands lose the ability to tighten as we both fall utterly defenseless.
All of his ailments transfer to me in a moment as I try to save him, and I quickly realize they are far worse than when I was in his position. A savage dance of temperature extremes racks my body, spiraling from hyperthermia to hypothermia and back. I feel just as useless now as I did within that storm while Dominions were fighting. Like a man before a Demigod, I shiver for mercy. Our hearts beat in sync, but not in a good way. Insight does not come without backlash. The threat of organ failure looms, the Pale Lady peering down right at us with insidious interest.
I feel it. That chill. The one Edward spoke of fondly. It's there. And not just for Virgil. Trying to help him has looped me in. If his mind shuts down from death, I think mine might as well.
Quickly, my memory unravels like delicate threads in the wind. Thinking hard, I attempt to remember the next step past grabbing the strand of Ether, but the specter of Death lurks in the shadows, a constant menace. She lingers on the periphery, waiting for a single mess-up.
The difference between going beyond one's limit as a higher Sigil and a lower is massive. To break a steel door and replace it is a thousand times more complex than that of a wooden one.
With each agonizing breath, I gather my resolve. The room spins as I find the future. With trembling hands against the rocks around me with sand that bites into my flesh, I delve into Virgil's body, fast losing the sense of which is which.
Again, I grasp that first strand, a shard of agony born from its mere essence. As I pull it through the veins, it draws more Ether along its path, only adding to the torment. Finally, after who knows how long, it reaches the end of my hand. At the precipice of the fingertip, I gather all the strength I can muster and expel it from the flesh and bone.
A hammer cracks open my skull, chest, and hands as I fall to the ground from my seat, unable to breathe. Gasping for air that eludes me, I teeter on the precipice of unconsciousness. The room spins, my senses reel, and despair tugs at the edges of my resolve.
But I can't give up. If I back down now, Virgil dies. He has done far too much for me, including pulling me back from the same abyss he is lodged in right this instant. Virgil might have expended the Concoction for my life, but it was his only one, not to mention he spent a fortune for it. He might not be in such dire straits if he had it right now.
After a few seconds, I regain my breath, wanting to just fall back asleep. But I don't. I can't. If I simply repeat what I did back then, Virgil will die.
He's a far higher Sigil than I was, and the man of darkness is already teetering on Death's doorstep. So, I bite my thumb, my actual thumb, as I split my focus and dive back in to cleanse him of his saturation.
I can't let him die.
If there is one thing I do, even if it's my last, it will be to save this man's life.
Weekly Power Status
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Ranking 
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