by Katie Vack
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed his right arm, splayed out before him. It had been stripped of skin, and it was coated in a thick sheen of blood. His left was in a similar state, and both of his sleeves seemed to have been burned off at the shoulder. He lay there, wavering on the edge of consciousness and barely retaining his grip on reality, until his attention was drawn by a scream which wasn't his own.
He looked around to find the source, and noticed a second figure lying in the centre of the road. He squinted, trying to make out who it might be, and his stinging eyes eventually landed on a shredded and torn leather jerkin, dyed the colour of fresh blood. It was blending in very well with the twin fountains spraying from the man's two stumps, his left arm and leg having been hacked off at the collar and hip respectively.
Through the haze that was his disconnected and wandering mind, only one fact stuck in his head: it was Lyka. It was Lyka that he had attacked. Even through the fog of disarray which assailed him, he knew that he had made a grave error. The madness which had overtaken him, the insanity which had brought him to this- it had all been a lie, and he had fallen for it completely.
He wasn't done here- wasn't even close to being done. That man- that man- was still alive. Still hunting him. Still haunting him. It had all been a lie.
Shaking, sobbing, lying there bleeding out in a puddle of his own blood, spit, and vomit, he allowed his eyes to close one last time.
A Moment of Weakness
Grayson was in a hospital bed- at least, he assumed it was a hospital bed. He'd never really been to a hospital before, but he supposed this is what a budget one must be like. His bed was an uncomfortably thin mattress which sagged in the middle, supported by a rotten and unstable-looking wooden frame, but that didn't bother him overly. The fact that his blanket was patterned with a landscape of stars, shards, and galaxies, like an image of the sky on a particularly clear night, he found a little more bemusing. Just looking at it was making him dizzy.
His room seemed to be scarcely more than a cupboard with a bed in it, and a harsh fluorescent light hanging overhead. The room was garbed in what had once been plain cream wallpaper, but it appeared that someone had attacked it with a marker pen: numbers, equations, and alien looking diagrams coated every available surface, and he had to close his eyes before they gave him a headache. Wherever he was, it was a rather interesting hospital to say the least.
He felt like hell. Every bone and muscle in his body seemed to have been simultaneously fried and bludgeoned, and he was feeling sick already. He decided that, all things considered, it would probably be best for him to stay there for a little while. He certainly didn't want to be walking around right now, and wasn't sure he could even if he tried. It was as though he was sinking back into his mattress, and it was swallowing him up.
What had happened to land him here, he wasn't quite sure. Everything was just too fragmented. He could remember getting shot, then a few flashes of a fight with a leech, then Thief getting shot, and then he had woken up here. There had to be more to it than that, but he had no idea what.
The others, of course, would be angry with him and Karolus; but then he had expected that. It had been a rather dismal plan at best, which was exactly why he'd presented it as a good one- the sooner they stopped trusting his judgement, the sooner they'd stop considering him as a substitute leader candidate. And while he didn't like being hated, it was the kind of thing you just got used to after a while- once you accepted that people loathed you, and that you had no way to change that, it became much easier to live with.
What was more important was the particular way in which their plan had gone wrong. Grayson had been expecting a few minor details to go wrong, and that they would then snowball into a rather large issue that they could only barely cope with. What he had not expected was a high level leech to show up with a small army, ready and waiting for the ambush. This made things far more complicated, and it posed a problem. If Lyka had known about the ambush, then someone must have tipped him off.
Who could it have been? Thief, obviously not, and the same went for Seth. Sora, with her dead eyes and vicious character, was the person he would have immediately suspected; but considering her injuries, there was no way she could have been the traitor. Not unless she had somehow been tricked into believing she wouldn't be targeted, and he knew that she wasn't that naive.
Crayton or Karolus, then? Process of elimination would point towards them, and they did seem a little suspicious. Karolus had been the one to think of their plan, and it was possible that he had created it specifically to tailor for the ambush. Crayton was still under suspicion because of the way he had somehow come across Seth at exactly the right time in a city of millions, but then that didn't seem to be overtly connected to the battle. If only Grayson hadn't been so isolated during the whole thing, he might have known how they had acted and been able to theorise with the support of the additional information. What he did know was that he no longer trusted them.
He would stick with this job for a little longer, however much it went against his better judgement. He didn't really have much of a reason for doing so, except maybe that Lyka still had to pay for ripping his cloak. That crime was one of a select few he could not allow to go unpunished. Of course, the leech was well above his level- he must have been a rank six at least- but he wasn't going to let that put him off. He would simply find a way to gain an advantage.
He became aware of an acrid, chemical, smell and decided that he didn't want to stay in the bed any longer. In all likelihood he was too sick to move, but he decided to give it a try anyway. Sitting around and doing nothing really wasn't his style.
He reached across and dragged the blanket off the edge of his bed, an action which caused him a significant amount of pain. He looked down at his bandaged hand, now remembering how the leech had nonchalantly snapped his fingers. He'd have to avoid using that hand for a while.
He soon realised that he was wearing different clothes; a thin grey shirt and pair of trousers stained most of the colours of the rainbow in what appeared to be an entirely unintentional manner. He should have really expected something like that, but it wasn't like it was going to cause an issue- as much as he disliked his new outfit, once he had found his old clothes to change back into everything would be fine again. He would make that his first task; figuring out where they had put his boots, trousers, shirt, and most importantly his cloak.
He swung himself up into a sitting position, causing his head to spin sickeningly. Gritting his teeth, he resisted the urge to throw up. Once his nausea had faded a little, he noticed another interesting detail- not only were both hands and feet bandaged, but they were bandaged up above the elbows and knees. That seemed a little weird considering that he had only hurt the one hand, but he figured it was just some strange medical thing. He'd remove them once he was feeling a little better. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he propelled himself off the bed and onto his feet.
The second he put his weight onto them, he realised that he had made some kind of error. Pain lanced through the soles of his feet and up through his legs, and they instantly gave way beneath him. He came crashing down onto his knees on the dusty marble floor, crying out involuntarily and catching himself on his hands, which only exacerbated matters. He rolled over his side, grinding down his wounded shoulder and eventually ending up flat on his back. He bit down on his lip, crushing another shriek of agony which was threatening to escape, and simply lay there shivering from both cold and shock.
After what seemed like a lot longer than it probably was, there was the sound of a door opening from further down what he could just make out to be a hallway. A figure rushed into his doorway, stopping and taking in the situation before crying out in horror.
"What are you doing? Why are you on the floor? What's wrong with the bed I gave you?" Grayson didn't reply, but the questions appeared to be rhetorical anyway and the man continued on without pause. "Reptile, put this man back in his bed!"
He was an elderly looking man, appearing pretty human- although that could be said for most races nowadays. He had silver hair which appeared to have been cut off with a knife rather than styled, and a few days stubble around his chin. His face was sharp and defined, with a beaklike nose and a strong jaw line, and he had a lifetime's worth of accumulated wrinkles to accompany them. He was wearing a pair of monocles, each one framing an eye that brimmed with manic energy.
The man pressed his hand against Grayson's forehead, and the lumin cringed away from the contact with the stranger. The man tutted. "Why, you're burning up, you stupid creature. Why didn't you tell me?" Grayson opened his mouth to point out the flaw in the man's logic, but he was cut off before he could reply. "You should sleep. I think you should sleep. Go to sleep." There was a pause of a few seconds, before the man sparked off again. "Why aren't you asleep yet?"
He pulled an object out of his pocket, something which looked a lot like a remote control except that it had no buttons and only a slider along one side. "Your choice." Without further ado he slid the control to about a third of the way up the remote and jabbed it into Grayson's side.
Grayson screamed as every muscle in his body tensed, tearing under the pressure as he was wracked by a thunderbolt of electricity. The tazer was taken away and he fell back into his mattress, physically and mentally destroyed. The man looked at him in a puzzled manner, before appearing to reach some kind of conclusion. "Oops. Sorry about that. Forgot about the whole 'anomaly' thing." He thumbed the slider up to max, pressing it once more into Grayson's side. This time there was no pain; he was unconscious long before it hit.
* * *
Grayson snapped back awake, panicked and confused, clutching at the blankets he had become entangled with and inadvertently setting off the pain in his knuckles once more. He unclenched his fist quickly and waited for the pain to die down to a dull throb. He had no idea who that man had been, but he didn't take kindly to being shocked. This time, though, he knew better. His hands and feet, somehow, had become injured, and he now had to be careful of them too.
He sat up in his bed, looking to the light above him- it was going to be his crutch. Focussing upon his old hatreds, he forced himself into a state of mild, self-imposed anger. It wasn't much- he wasn't particularly good at getting angry without provocation- but there were some things that could still do it. Feeble and haphazard as they were, he felt the shadows begin to gather around his hands.
Even that caused him a little pain- how, he had no idea, considering the incorporeal nature of his shadows, but it was as though he had just plunged his hands into boiling water after leaving them lying in the snow. Ignoring it, he raised his left arm slowly above his head, gritting his teeth as he tried only half-successfully to avoid jolting his injured shoulder. He reached out with his mind towards the harsh light and began to suck the energy from it. After a few seconds the bulb blew, and he let his arm fall. He didn't feel rejuvenated; not even close; but at least he didn't feel quite as sick, and he thought that his legs might actually support him now.
Slowly and painfully, he transferred his weight onto his feet. They still hurt, but not quite as much as they had done before- this time he was in slightly better condition and making sure to take his time. He took a step forwards, biting into his lip. Then he took another and, now using the wall for support, another.
He limped out through his open doorway, taking stock of his new surroundings. He was in a long hallway, closed doors leading off to either side every few metres and a single window down at the far end, perhaps ten metres away. Overhead were more lights, a row of fluorescent tubes spanning the corridor. Good. He could do with more energy.
Gradually, step by step, he made his way down the hallway towards the window at the far end. Every time he arrived at a light, he would reach out and drain the bulb of all its electricity. One by one they all went out. Bit by bit, the corridor fell into darkness.
Eventually, he found his way to the end of the hall. No light shone through the window but that of the moon, and the countless stars and shards in the night sky. He wasn't sure how long he had been unconscious, but at least he had woken for his favourite time of the day. He always felt safer in the dark, and more alive when all he had to judge him were the impossibly distant denizens of blackest space.
The window suddenly swung open of its own accord, opening inwards under the pressure of a freezing breeze- evidently it had been pulled to rather than closed completely. It was a cold night outside, but he saw that as a good thing. It woke and refreshed him. And sure, he might not exactly be in the right attire for a nighttime stroll, but he wasn't going to let that get to him. Looking down, he discovered that he was on the first floor of some archaic looking stone building, with nothing else in sight but an overgrown forest, and a few mountains in the far distance. If he could only get out of here, he would be right at home.
He decided then what he had to do. However much he disliked the prospect, he was going to have to jump. He was in no condition to be doing so of course, but it was better than the idea of wandering lost through the strange building and risking another run-in with that man. And he had no intention of sticking around here any longer than he had to.
He clenched his jaw, preferring the damage it might cause on landing to the risk of biting his tongue or letting out too much noise. There was no way he'd be able to land this properly, not with his injuries, so the few metres between him and the grass below were going to prove a lot more problematic than they really should.
Gripping the frame with his good hand, he clambered up and out onto the ledge, mildly disappointed at how low down he was. Obviously higher up would have resulted in greater injuries, but at least it would have been more exciting. This kind of activity, clambering over buildings, was a lot less foreign to him than most might suspect, but this was a completely different ball game. This time he was too injured to properly move, and forced to rely upon pure luck- there was a big difference between climbing down and dropping. Mentally shrugging off the thoughts, he took a step into nothingness.
He landed on his feet, bringing on another burst of agony, but they gave way beneath him instantly and he fell down onto his back instead, setting off his shoulder and some of his ribs. He couldn't control his mouth completely, letting out a wordless grunt, but all things considered it had been pretty well executed.
"Heh. That looked painful." Grayson froze as an unexpected and unfamiliar voice rang out from the shadows, cursing himself for attempting something so risky when he was in no state to fight off an attacker. He had no idea what kind of person the voice belonged to, but it had been heavily laced with scorn and wicked amusement. Add to that the fact that they sounded to have been breathing smoke and drinking booze for a week, with a husky and slurred voice that seemed barely capable of speaking in human, and Grayson suddenly wasn't feeling so sure of his escape.
"Who is it?" His voice was clear, strong- far stronger than he really felt. His voice was the one thing that would never let him down.
"You don't recognise me? That's pretty harsh. I didn't think I'd changed that much." From the shadows at the edge of the treeline, perhaps a dozen metres away, the figure of a woman emerged. With a start, and after a delay of a few seconds, Grayson realised that he was looking at Sora.
She was absolutely nothing like she had appeared when he first saw her- her brown hair had changed to a snowy white, as though it had somehow been severely bleached, and her skin was pale and unhealthy. She seemed to have lost a lot of weight and her clothes, which were in the same style as his own, hung off her thin frame in a notably morose manner. She was clutching a knife in her left hand, leaning against a tree for support, and putting no weight on her right leg.
"Gods," Grayson struggled to put his thoughts into words, "you look half dead. What did you do?"
"Do?" She tossed her head in a somewhat desultory way. "I got into a fight with that damned bloodsucker, while you left me to die. And you don't look too great yourself."
"Yeah, well, these things happen." Grayson wasn't sure why, but something about her dismissive tone already had him in a poor mood. "It's kind of hard to back you up when I'm lying in the dirt bleeding to death."
She raised an eyebrow. "They actually hit you? Hah. Serves you right."
"Serves me right for what, exactly?"
"Being a prick." She paused for a few seconds, before giving in to some kind of intense mental struggle. "Help me walk."
It was an order, not a request, and somehow Grayson found himself obeying. Struggling to his feet, he limped over to her across the grass, wrapping her arm around his shoulder and taking some of her weight, his feet already burning in protest at the increased pressure. "You know, I'm not exactly in the best shape either."
