Capítulo 8: Chapter 8 - Mother's Kitchen
I wanted to run—but couldn't.
I wanted to leave—but couldn't.
I wanted to scream—but couldn't.
A white-hot lance of pain erupted in my ribs, each pulse a fresh wave of agony. Andrenaline waned as pain grew. My once-invincible state of mind had been brought to a halt. I had lost.
A steady rhythm of footsteps broke my desperate search for a weapon. I tried to recall a self-defense move, any move, but my mind was a blank canvas.
A cold sweat prickled my skin as the footsteps grew louder, closer. Despite the approaching danger, I couldn't look behind. I couldn't.
Even if I had lost, even if my chances of survival were essentially nonexistent, something within refused to quit—to just blatantly surrender.
I let out a solemn chuckle, simultaneously breaking the tense atmosphere like a knife.
My knees ached as they dug into the wooden planks below. My arms flailed to the side from lack of strength, and I lifted my head toward the damaged ceiling—praying to a god that wouldn't answer.
This feeling—this sensation was familiar. I had been through this—felt this. Death.
Blood pulsed through my veins as a heavy hand lay on my shoulder. The same palm that had sent me hurling across the room with little effort.
"I am not your enemy…"
The voice of the blind assailant had a unique ability to soothe the heart. To ease sorrow with a moment's notice.
"I wish I could believe you," I wanted to say, but my speech failed me once again.
For a moment, I caught a glimpse of his face. Gentle. Like my mother's. A distant yet warm memory elicited a slight smile on my face.
A memory of my mother's cooking. The indescribable joy hidden beneath her expressions, the cadence of her speech, the fluidity of her walk. The memories had all returned. Like a flood.
Down to the smells that had once emanated from the kitchen, the distinct scent of asafoetida—noticeable from a mile away.
I flared my nostrils, in a vain attempt to revive distant memories. But then I smelt it…
A small trail perhaps, but it was still there. Nostrils strained themselves once more—I had to find it. The source.
An otherworldly power pulsed into the nasal cavity; the second I had found the trail, I didn't let go—I wouldn't.
"How can you already…" the man's grip clenched tighter as he spoke, but it wouldn't stop me.
Somehow, a burst of energy seeped into the bloodstream. The grip grew stern. Harsh. Despite his eyes being fused shut, he could notice the difference.
I opened my eyes once more and tilted my head downwards—only to encounter the inconceivable…
A delicate, twirling trail of light brown, translucent mist emanated from my right. It danced and swirled with an almost sentient grace, spiraling upwards in lazy curls.
It moved with an unhurried elegance as though tracing an invisible path through the air and filled the room with a faint, earthy aroma. My mother's kitchen.
The minuscule line of brown revolved around my arm a few times before invading the nostrils.
And then I felt it. Raw, untamed power.
The trail of light invigorated as it flowed through the bloodstream. Within seconds, I knew what to do.
"Stop!"
The clasp upon my shoulder grew even tighter—an audible popping punctured the room. Legs buckled in a struggle against the man. No matter how much power I had obtained, he was still stronger.
I need a way—a miracle.
The grip only increased, and death drew closer. Blood vessels in the eye gushed through, hands trembled with apprehension. Instinct took over.
Crack.
My eyes darted towards the surrounding walls—they were breaking. The ongoing collapse of the walls had not only alerted me but my opponent as well.
Crack.
Splinters were launched into the air from the paper walls with uncanny speed. Tremors shook the ground like an earthquake.
"Sto—" Before the bald man could speak, the wall to the right took flight and slammed into the ceiling before falling below.
There it was. A miracle.
Strength surged to the legs as hope returned. The immeasurable pressure placed upon my shoulder strained my knees as I stood.
Standing was easy…moving would be harder.
The wooden planks below creaked as debris swirled through the room, crashing and striking anything in its path.
Legs jolted once more. The destruction of the room seemed to be quite an effective distraction as my assailant struggled to hold his death grip.
I pushed against my captor, breaking free. The world was a blur of dust and debris, but a single goal consumed me: escape.
One step. Two steps.
The exit was in sight, and a swift glance behind revealed that the barbarian hadn't moved an inch.
He was still standing. Motionless.
Three ste—
Thump.
————
Damn.
It's hot. Really, really hot. Is this sweat?
Moisture trickled down my spine, a cold counterpoint to the furnace-like air. My skin prickled, desperate for relief. The sun beat down, a relentless, fiery hammer on my skull. It's getting worse.
Much worse.
The temperature soared, transforming the air into a tangible, suffocating entity. Each breath was a shallow gasp, and my blood seemed to boil.
What is that smell?
The moment my nostrils returned to full capacity, a pungent wave of aroma hit my senses. A pungent blend of sulfur and something acrid, assaulted my nostrils.
It was as if a field of wild garlic had been scorched by a lightning storm, leaving behind a lingering stench. It was—familar.
My lips puckered as I came to a realization. Asafoetida.
Eyes lit up with fury, only to encounter a monster. The man from the East. My body staggered as I attempted to calm a raging storm within.
A tremor of discomfort ran through the body as the fire burned the tip of the hair, the searing sensation traveling upward.
A glance back revealed a fireplace mere inches away. Only by the grace of Masse had death been narrowly avoided.
I retreaded backwards in a crawl on all fours—surveying the unfammiliar environment in the process. Where was I?
Once again, my surroundings had undergone a drastic change. But this time was different.
It was unreal.
Status de energia semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Pedra de
Poder