Chapter 344: A Bucket Of Blood
My eyes tear open suddenly, and I sit up, heaving with agonized breaths. I flip my head back and forth, comprehending my situation after just a few glances around. The sight of Virgil's chest moving calms my bated lungs, but I can't be wholly calm.
A simple look at Virgil tells me that he's not better yet. Not even close. He's just a little bit further from death. It took me weeks to recover entirely from my case of Acute Ether saturation. I don't know if we have weeks.
In the dim, secluded cave, I scoot alongside Virgil, his body tightly wrapped in makeshift bandages and dark clothing torn from my own garments. As I sit beside him and enjoy my few moments before I enter the pain again, I turn my attention to the entrance. Our refuge is still shielded by the pulsating, grotesque, fleshy film that Blodwyn made. I can see it bulge occasionally from the relentless onslaught of the Godly sandstorm that rages outside. It cloaks us in a fragile cocoon, offering some semblance of shelter from the tempestuous maw of crimson dust.
I run my ruined right arm, the metal ripped, bent, and torn, over my left hand, and Blodwyn grunts out a short phrase from the depths of my mind.
"Will break soon."
My lips sink down on my face as I understand his meaning. Blodwyn is gradually gaining more sentience and is actually able to articulate himself at this point. I wish I could be happy about that, but I am a bit distracted by the rest of everything else.
Virgil shivers beside me with a groan, and I look at him. But the moment that noise enters the cave's insides, a cacophony of roars, scratches, and eerie whistling sounds emanates from beyond the cave's maw. Like an alarm, those unsettling noises remind me that the storm outside is not the only danger. When we get out, we have to deal with more than just the flesh-eating dust. The creatures of the storm, born from some connection to Vincent's ascensions or whatever act he did, prowl the periphery of our refuge, their intent as malevolent as the very sands that envelop them.
I listen a while longer as they continue, holding my hand against Virgil's mouth to stop him from making any noise. Sweat runs down my back as deep and guttural roars resonate through the marrow of my bones, vibrating like the death cries of immense, inhuman monstrosities. It does not sound at all like the silent winds of the Angel that attacked me, nor does it sound like those Crimlimes.
How many creatures are there out in the storm? What the fuck did Vincent do!?
Our survival may just depend on whether or not they find us and whether or not I can determine what they are before they do. Closing my eyes and steadying my breathing, I Temper my senses until I reach Echo with a Daydream inside my mind of visualizing these beings.
As I strain my enhanced senses, attempting to form a mental image of these abominations, their shapes begin to materialize within my mind's eye from merely the sounds. Scuttling sand, whirling winds, and grim grunts paint a picture in my mind as the noises burrow deep into me. Twisted, nightmarish silhouettes manifest, cloaked in nightmarish visages that don't fit the idea of any living being I know of.
The scuttling sand, shifting to fit its mover, is caused by a half dozen snake-like humanoids. They have serpentine torsos, their coiling forms covered in a melange of incarnadine scales and barbed backbones, yet they also possess the arms and heads of women. They each wield weapons birthed of the sands, bloody spears, and swords formed of compact dust.
I lower myself as if to reduce my presence as the being of winds comes to my mind's eye. It's that creature made only of sand once more. I can't see its chains through only my hearing, but I know what it is. It's a disastrous monster. So few non-humanoids reach the Angelic realm outside of the deep ocean that it's almost unheard of. The only cases I've ever actually heard of are Letiche that have touched upon the 7th Sigil, and of the Deep Wraith, a ghost that haunted Qune decades ago. Other than that, I can't remember anymore. Rougarou and Urayuli are vaguely humanoid due to their intelligence and, therefore, are counted like any other race, but to see an Angelic monster...
Vincent must have broken open another dimension, letting in creatures that should not be here in the slightest. Now, while that may infuse new Sigils into our world, it births endless new threats. The consequences of his actions can't even be fully calculated by me as I'm not the most knowledgeable in this field.
But I do know that the... Bloodstained Whirlwind is not alone. There is yet another Angel.
My ears twitch as I sense the next one. Once it forms in my mind from the sound of squelching, my cheeks squirm in disgust. It appears to be a hideous, fleshy conglomerate of limbs and appendages, a chaotic assemblage of bodies fused together. All around its body are massive, asymmetrical jaws, brimming with rows of jagged teeth that open and close in a dreadful, rhythmical cadence. From the maws drool a viscous, bloody ichor that turns into dust as it hits the ground.
Paying closer attention, the image in my mind gains granularity. Slowly, those limbs of flesh transform to limbs of sand and dust as I recognize the sound of squelching to simply be that of bloodstained rock.
Is that... a fused Crimlime?
Oh fuck.
My head sinks as I pull back my Ether, removing Echo in a gradual release. Because of how I stop the skill, I still hear more movement and anarchy. So, I restart the skill as I hear a low buzz, the noise confusing me. Focusing deeper, I Release my ears, unwilling to miss something. The many minor monsters are something I can deal with on my own, but to kill those Angels requires that Virgil is awake. I can't afford to miss anything.
And as the sound of shifting rock deep beneath the earth, the sound so amplified that I can hear the ground moving in its usual rhythm, I notice that there is something in the air.
The sand itself. Gradually, I build an image of the sand in my mind and piece it all together with it.
The sand isn't sand.
It's tiny, almost imperceptibly small insects that clump together with jittery eyes that glitter wickedly in even my mind's eye. Their innumerable, twitching appendages, tipped with cruelly serrated claws, writhe constantly as if attempting to cut anything they find. The 'sand' moves through the air with a knowing, coordinated grace, as if driven by a unifying intelligence.
The visceral clarity that I picture these insects with shakes me to the core. Seeing every little aspect of them, from their bloody chitin to their flickering wings that bristle with thorns, I nearly jump out from my seat. The sand beneath me is calm after I dealt with it all with the help of Blodwyn, but it still concerns me.
Tiny, invisible creatures that...
Wait. The Swarming Wastelander, Executioner Of Dust. The name.
It was there all along. None of us just truly understood what it meant.
"The Endless Devours All."
A light whisper leaves my mouth, just loud enough to be told that it ever existed. Nevertheless, I place my hand on my lips to stop any more words from leaking out.
It all makes sense now.
He did not turn the earth into sand.
He did not create a sandstorm that encompasses a desert inhospitable to any life.
He did something far, far worse.
He transformed the earth, the dust, the sands, and all the in-between into these tiny insects—into the Endless. His swarms are filled with such dreadfulness and of such number that he could turn anything into a wasteland.
Vincent Harvey, undefeated since birth, had to have been the worst possible option to become a God—not because he's incapable but the opposite. His Power... it's awful. It borders on the hideousness of the Mother Below's abilities.
Reaching down as I release Echo with a shudder, I grasp hold of the bloody sand that Blodwyn turned into a slush of red liquid. It's wet and bizarre, but as I pay attention to the sand, I can feel slight, almost imperceptible movements in the slush.
I clench my fish as I flood the liquid-like crimson mud with Ether, forcing everything I have to crush it. The squirming stops when my hand fully closes, but my stomach doesn't settle.
All I can do is focus on Virgil.
Pivoting my head back to him, I return to caring for him and expelling his Ether. Before I do so, however, I ask Blodwyn for his aid once more.
"Can you run your Power while I do this? I'm worried that the Swarm or some other creature will sense the Ether."
A low mental grunt is my only reply as I feel the relief of his Power. A subtle, invisible field of sorts extends from the hand, covering my whole body and more. Were I not connected to the palm, I doubt I could notice it even with my highest tier of senses.
Nodding to Virgil, I place my hand onto his chest, delving deeply into Insight once more. Once I enter his mind and his body, I grasp for that Ether to save him from the Pale Lady—and the pain.
Though... I could do without the latter.
***********************
Gasping for air while covering my mouth to avoid creating excess clangor after treating Virgil, I reach for my canteen. As I position it over my mouth, I stop, feeling its almost non-existent weight in my hand.
Fuck. I completely forgot.
The fall put a hole in it. And... I only have one canteen. I've been so focused I haven't thought about food or water for at least a day. I can go a while without either, for Blodwyn can supplement much of my needs. He doesn't like to as it takes from him, but the artifact takes from me in turn. We're almost a closed building, able to live off each other, but it's not perfect. Some energy is wasted during the transfer while Blodwyn siphons Ether from the air.
Virgil, however... has to be dying of thirst right now.
I crawl over to him, meticulously not to bump into a rock or any other object, and gingerly search him for water or food. He's a survivalist, the kind of man to be thrown to the wolves and return with all their pelts. Seconds turn into a full minute as I find only a single half-full canteen and a few strips of jerky.
Sighing, I feed him the jerky with tiny pieces one at a time before giving him some water. I expected him to have more food on him, but I suppose he doesn't need all that much as he has the skills to quickly find animals to kill and water to drink.
I peer down at my left hand, giving the artifact some words in my mind.
"Seems we're going to be hungry for a while. At least we're used to it."
I say that we're used to it, but really, you can't be. Starvation is a brutal thing, and as time has passed, I've had to eat more and more food to fulfill the needs of my companion.
All that means, however, while Blodwyn groans in frustration, is that we have to do this faster. Sitting up, I place another hand onto Virgil and dive into Insight's grasping agony. Slowly, I'm learning to hate this skill, even for all its might. It's versatile and profoundly hidden in its usages as I gain proficiency with Ether, so much so that it should be divided more so, but I can't be bothered.
Instead, I concentrate on saving my friend—the one who nearly killed himself just for a chance at preserving my life.
***********************
I wake from a pain-induced slumber only to return to Virgil's side. Whenever I fall unconscious, I fuck up slightly, making minor errors in my wake. Doing so hurts him, but not more so than it is worth to push that far.
Again, I dive into Insight, rushing as I can almost see the future of Virgil dying of thirst. He's got days until then. Maybe a week or so with his enhanced constitution. At most, I can stretch it to two weeks with this canteen and whatever moisture I can gather from these cave walls.
***********************
Days turn into nights, as I all know is the repetitive motion of grasping tiny strands of Ether and bringing it agonizingly through Virgil's flesh. He twists and turns here or there when I'm not treating him, forcing me to hold him still.
We cannot afford to make noise. And now, we're out of water. I rationed it as best I could, but there is only so much for him. But it's not all bad.
His head is almost entirely clear of the insidious Ether that refuses to leave as it damages his organs. I've been able to keep him alive from it just barely, doing the work on my own to help him, but I worry about how he will be after this is all over. Seven days just to clear his skull?
That has to be way more than what it took me.
At least when he recovers, the limit of Ether that his body can withstand will increase drastically. That's partially why mine is so high, discounting my Sigil's effect. All the times I've been pushed to the brink and beyond, only to crawl back through force of will or drugs.
Yet, Virgil is not wakeful. And there are no drugs. So... I can only take his place and endure the torment for him. I'm sure he's not without pain, though. The man must be in some dream state that is just as worrisome as my current situation.
Nevertheless, I need to rest. I would like to do one last push to clear his whole head of the Ether, but I can't. My hands are shaky and trembling. I need a restful sleep, and so does Blodwyn. His Power isn't Ether intensive like most others; in fact, it scales according to the Ether it suppresses, but the artifact is not an unfeeling thing.
Lying back, I rest my head on a rock with my torn pack on it for cushioning. Then, I close my eyes, entering the realm of dreams.
My eyelids immediately reopen to a sea of spider lilies, with Lily standing among them, her hands behind her back. She doesn't appear as cheerful as usual, but the little girl with red eyes and fangs runs to me, wrapping her arms around me tightly.
"It's been a whole week! Why haven't you slept fully? Knocking yourself out like that isn't rest, and I can't see you like that!?"
I smile slightly at her concern and hug her back before gently pushing her away.
"Sorry. I just had to make sure Virgil wouldn't die."
She bobs her head up and down rapidly before reaching for my hand. Then, while shouting into the endless night sky of her mind, Lily runs away, hauling me with her toward the Cardinal. I don't try to resist her, but her strength is unusual, nearly the same as mine. I can't help but show my surprise.
"Follow me! Come on! I have a surprise for you!"
I do as she says, running behind her nearly inhuman speed as I struggle to keep up without Ether. After a mere few seconds, we reach the edge of the dark, abyssal waters of the Cardinal. At the bank of the depths, she points across, drawing my attention to a figure on the other side.
"Look! It's our father!"
The way she says father is filled with so much joy that I doubt I could ever replicate it for the man she points at. A silhouette on the other side of the bank, hardly visible at all, stares back at us. But... it's different than before.
Black chains wrap around his arms, tying him to the ground and forcing him to kneel, as if readying him for an execution. Killian Graves' head hangs lowly, unable to pivot as his neck is, too, fettered by a number of those abyssal chains.
My eyes widen at the sight. I don't recall seeing his chains before. What does that mean? And they're black? Isn't that the same as the Lords and Vincent?
What does that mean? What is different between those Dominions and ones like Ytern, Tonuyn, and all the other Primes?
A midnight purple and an abyssal black... hmm... I couldn't see the chains of Hurakan, despite knowing that they existed. The restrictions placed upon Gods must be so far beyond my standing that I can't even observe them. It'd be like looking at an Angel as a Base Sigil. Might as well die.
Perhaps the black fetters mean they fulfill some condition required for Godhood. But what could it be? What is different between them?
Wait... I think I know.
Tonuyn, Ytern, and all the Primes didn't have any one grand, inconceivable skill. They had Dzils, incredible things that were amazing to witness, but they weren't Godlike.
They weren't like the endless tide that Vincent conjured.
They weren't like the mountains that Leviathan hauled into the sky.
They weren't like the mountain that Behemoth became.
They weren't like the explosion of electricity birthed by Hurakan that broke segments of the sky itself.
They weren't like Marshall's sky-shattering fist.
The difference is that they don't have the thing beyond a Dzil. They don't have a Sirza.
How many steps are needed to become a God?
There are so many requirements, and even if you personally reach them all, others will strike you down to devour your secrets of how you did it.
The mountain is so tall.
It might as well be insurmountable.
But it isn't.
I saw a man defeat a God.
I felt that very same man reach into the heavens and rip down any who opposed him. It's not impossible. It has been done. The road is just a difficult one. How many have to die for a single person to reach that peak and leap beyond it?
My mind immediately flickers to Edward, his death eating at me. He didn't have to die. He was killed to simply increase the chance that Vincent succeeded in his push for Godhood. I don't think the man needed it. Eli Weiss is an awful man who will do anything if he even believes himself slightly in the right.
Then, I think of Virgil, his near-death form not far from my sleeping body. I can't let him be a victim of this. He has to survive. The man's been through too much. His family has been, too. For Aron, for Nora, and for Victor, I'll save him.
But even then, those faces, the cheery ones that reprimand their older brother while loving him dearly, are turned into lifeless facades in my mind. They may die, too.
Every thought that enters my mind adds weight to my mind until a hand tugs on mine.
"Wyatt? Wyatt? Wyatt?"
Hearing Lily call my name, I turn to her.
"What?"
She stands on her tippy toes, still overshadowed by my height, as she asks me a question.
"You okay?"
Lily usually is more selfish, focusing on her thoughts and feelings, but right now, she's asking for mine. Stepping back until I effortlessly sink into the rising bank of the Cardinall, falling onto a bed of spider lilies, I answer her.
"No. No, I don't think I am."
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