12-15-2016, 09:11 PM
Trigger Warning: Worms, Gore (hallucinatory), Hallucinations
Seirye took a slow, steadying breath of cool, night air as she carefully felt her way around the deck of the ship with her staff. The constant sound of the round base scraping against the wood or lightly tapping against an obstacle was almost therapeutic.
It was safe. Familiar.
Scraape. Scraape. Tap.
At one point she felt her staff dip into one of the new pitfalls that dotted the damaged deck of the Weight of Conviction and she precariously skirted around it as she slid her staff in wider arcs on the ground - feeling for the dip as it left solid wood.
Scraaaaaape. Scraaaaaape.
It was a brief walk. Just enough to calm what remained of her panic after the nightmare that had plagued what little sleep she had managed to fall into - though the same nightmare was still fresh in her memory.
Something thick and wet wriggled over her exposed foot. It began to inch around her ankle, and she felt her blood run cold.
S͘͠h͠҉é ҉͟͏c̕͏̡ơ̴̡ul͜d͘ n̴ǫ͜t͞͏͏ ͟m̸o̡͞v̸̢e̕.̡͞
̛́
̀̕͞H͢͜e҉̴á̸v̶̡͘y̢͝, ̷s͟͏t̸i̴̕cky̴҉ ̛ẃ̵o̶̧͜rḿ̢s̷̛͘ w͘eŕe̢ ̶̛͝wr͘i̶̡͟t́̀h̨̡i̧̕ng͜ ͝͞o̧͢͡ve̴r ̡͞h͝͠e̵ŗ́ ̴͠f̢͞e͞͞ȩt̸. T̵͜͜h̨͝e̴̡͘i͜r̢ ͘w̧͜͞e̶͝t̸̨ ͝b̨o̷͝d̀i҉e̷s ̕s̵̸t҉uc̨̕͜ķ͝ ͜t͡ò ́͢he͜r͘͜ ̸ań̡ķ͞l̛͘e͡s a̵̕͞n҉ḑ ҉̛w̸r͘ą̴̴p͟ṕ͢e̸͞d̴ ́th̀́͠ic̴kly̴̷ ͘͜ar̶ou͏n̡d͟ ̧͜͠h҉ę͟͟r̵̷̕ ͝ļ̴̴e͜͠g̵̵̀ş̶͠ ̡a̸̡s͘҉͢ ̸͘͟t͡he̵͏y i̡n̡ch̵e͘d̷ ͏̶t́h̷͝e̡i͝͞͏r̡͠ ҉̷w͘ay͜͢ ̧͜u̴̢p҉͝͏ ͟a͜l͠o̵͡ng ḩ͠e̕r͠҉͟ ̡s͘͜m̶̡͟ó͞ơt̨h̡ s͏̡͟k҉i̶͢n̷͘.̢͢ ̵̨N͞o ҉̧m̀͝a͡t͞͏t̸e͏̡r̀͠ ͜hơw҉ ͢͢h҉a͏r͘͟d́͢ ͏͟s̷͠h̛͞e͞͏ ́w̷͝i̷̶l̢l̸͢e͜d͟ ̴̴̢h̴̡͜e̸̢r̡ ͝b̧̕o̸͡d̸y̸ ̡t҉o̴̕ ̛m͞͡͏o̡v́́e̷͞,͡ h͜e͞r ̀m̴̛u͘͜s͘̕͢c̡̀͢l͘͘͠ȩ͜s̷͠ ̛w̴̵̛o̵͝u͏l̷̕d͜҉ ͡no͞t̴ ̵͞r̶è̸s̷͟p̕o͏̢͏n̴̨̛ḑ.́͢͡ ́̕Sh͞e̵ ̀͠w͞a̴͟͜s͞ f̛̛ŕ̵ò̷͢z͝e͢͡n,̷ ͝y̨͘͜et̢ ̷͢͞s̨͘͜h̷e҉ ͘c҉̴o̕͜uld͏̶͟ ͏f́e̡̢͟e͘l͘͢ ͏th̴͏em͞ ̛͟s̷t̀̕͝r͜e̶̵tc̴̨h̷̢͟ ͘͟͞th͠è͟i͟҉̴r̵̵ bǫ̷͢d҉i̢͘è̢s̸ u͠p͝҉͜ ţ̵́owa̢r͜ds̵̢ ̡h̡͝ȩ́͝r̸̷̡ ͘ònl̛y̵̧͏ ́͡t͠͏o̶̶ ̷̧҉f̴̢a͏l̷̛͟l҉ ̨͢͝b͝͠a͡c͘k̨̛ ̸͝w͜͞i̛͡t́h̴͢ ̵̡t҉̢h͠e s̡͠͝i͞c͞k̢é̵ǹ̶̸ì̀n̛͞͞g ̛so͏un̢̕̕d͝ ͏͝o͞f͟ ̢̢squ҉̢͡ȩļ̶̶c̛͢͜hing̡͘ ̨҉a̶s̷ ̴̡t̵́h͏eỳ ͡ẃ̨é͟re͜ ̢̧ábs̡̨o̵̴rb́͞ed҉ by ҉th̴͜ȩ̵̡ ͞g̕͞r͟o̵͢w̡͟i͢ng ͟p̢il͘͘͠è̴ ó̡f̵ t͠h͢e̴͝i͏̨̛r̵ ̨́s̶q̨͘͞u̸i̶̧̢r̕m͠͡͝i͏̢ń͟g̛ ̡br̕͠éth͡r̸̡͞é̀ń̸̡ that́͡ ̕͝ą́m͜a͝s͘͝s͘ed ͝a͝ro̧u͝͡n̕d ̢h͡e̡r̨ ̀f̛͏è̷͢e̶͜͠t̶͝.̸
A startled gasp caught in the young woman’s throat as she instinctively kicked her foot and dislodged whatever had latched onto it. It landed with a wet thud, but she could hear no other noise. She remained frozen for a long moment before she took a hesitant step forward and bent down to reach out with a tentative hand.
It was not real. It was something else. Anything else.
She felt along the rough wood. Her fingertips slid ever so slowly along the deck, but she immediately recoiled as they came in contact with something soft and slimy. As she pulled away, she could feel the goo stick to her fingers, and she frantically threw her staff into the crook of her arm and attempted to brush it off with her other hand as she took a quick step back.
The sticky residue clung to her. She could feel it start to tug on her skin as whatever had stuck to her foot began to dry.
And then nothing.
Seirye blinked as the uncomfortable sensation was suddenly gone. She tentatively closed her hand to rub her fingers against her palm, but she felt nothing but soft skin.
Her sightless eyes flickered back in the direction of the wet mass, and she reached out again. This time, she felt the familiar, cold, coarse texture of heavy, wet rope.
The sorceress exhaled a calming breath as she straightened back into a standing position and shifted her staff back into her hand. Despite herself, she allowed a small, nervous laugh to materialize.
“‘Twas… surely. I must be more on edge than I had anticipated. How… silly of me.”
She turned back in the direction from which she had come and slid her staff in a wide arc again. She heard the distinctive tap as it caught on an obstacle directly before her. Seirye paused as she brushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes, and her lips twitched into a tiny frown.
There had not been anything there a moment ago. Even in her shock she was sure of it.
The staff slid across the path again, but this time it passed unimpeded.
The blood fled from her face as she stared blindly into the darkness before her. Angelo was still below deck. She could not sense anyone near. Unless… Joel? Red?
Would they not have said something?
He͞͏r̡̕͡ ́s̨̨ig̢͜͏ht ́͡҉w͏͡a̕s ̛͞͡loc̷k̀͞èd̴̢͘ ́o͡n ͜͡t̨͢h҉e̶ ̷̨ ̸̵͘g̡̨͟lį̨st͝e̡҉͏ni̕n̡̛g͠ ͏m̶͜͡o̸̸͠n͢҉st̴̀ŕ̕̕osįt̷͞y ͏͘ţh̀à̶͟ţ ẁ̵̨a҉s̴ ̵̵͞s̨ţ̨̛a̴̧l̨k̨̛͜i̧͠ń͘g̢ ̸̧͟t͜o̵͡w͏̕ar̛͏̵d͏͜s͏̢͢ h̴e̕͟ŕ͢.̵ ̨I͝t̢s ͠g͜rȩ͞at̴̢͘ ̵͟bulk ͝͏̸w̴͜a͞s̷͜ ̸u͝n̶̡̕i̢n҉̸h̵́i͘͞b͢i͞t̴͘e̛d͟͝ b̵y̸͝ t͏̵̛ḩ͘ę̴ t҉͝h҉ic͏k̕͝, ̸̀s͝͏t̕͡͏i͢c̶̨̧k̵͝y̸̨,̡͢ ͠w͜͞r̨͡i͠t̛͜h҉͞i̸̢̕ǹ̛g͠ ̴̕m̨͏ą̧̕s҉̵s̢̀͏ t̴͡ḩ̵̀á̢t̡̡ c̡o̡v̸́͡er̛è͘͝d͡ ́͞t͢͠h͢e͠ ҉́è̶͞n͟͢͜ti͢͠r̵͢e̴t̷̶y̧̛ ́̕ò̶f̢ ̨́t̷͘̕he g͝ŕ͜o̷u̴̡͘n͘d͏ ̶̢͝f̴o͏r̨ ̸a̡͟s̵͠ ̛f̵͟a̶̧r̷ a̡s͠ ̡̨͝shè ͏c͟o̸u҉͞l̶͟͢d̛ ́͘͜s҉́e̕͟e̷.̕͠
̶̴
͏̡“W̵̧͠h̢̀͝a҉͞͠t͟e͏v̸e̵̡͡r͡ y̶͘où̵̢r̴͘ ͝҉f̴̛u͏c͟k͝i̧n̵̕g̕ ̨p̡͘͝e̸t̵̡ ͠҉̷m͏͜o̴n҉̸s͘t͢e̴͘r̨̢̕ ̨s҉̨á̀ys,̢͟ ҉I̡͢’҉m̵͡ ͘go҉͘͝íng̷ ̸t̕͝o ̸be̸̢ ́҉̴y̷̡͏ou͘r̢ ̸̀ḑ͘e͢at͟ḩ ̧̧y̡̕͜ou ͢w̡͢h̶̀͘i̵̢̡m̵͟͡p̢̕͠e̛r̷͝i̛͞n̡͟g̸͢ c̡̛͟u̷҉͢n̛t̕͞.҉̴̕”̛͘
͝
G̸ų̛͡t̶t͢͠úr̢͘͜a̡͞l̵̢҉ ̛͘͝g̢r҉͞͡ò̧w̡͜l̷̛͜s̡͡ ̕a̢͜nd́͝ ̵sn͘͟a͟͝҉r̨͢l̵s̡҉̧ ̕͞e̸̷s͞c̸ap̡͟ed͝ t̵̡he̶҉ ̕͢c̵̨r̀è̷́a͏͟t̴҉u͏̀r͘è’̧͢͡s͏̷ f̡a͏͞n͞g҉ę̨̀d̴̕͘,̛͞ ̢sh͏ąr̴͘͝k͟-́l̨i҉͏k̴é ̛m͏͏a͏w, ̴͞b̡͝u̵̕͢t̷̀ ̶͘͝a ̛f̧a̢͠m̵͝i̴͟l̨͟i͏a̴҉r̸ ̷͝vo͝͠í͞c̡̀͢è҉ ̢sę̷҉é̷͡m̴e̴͞҉d̸ ̡́to f̡̕il҉l ͞t̵̛͝h̸̀e͞ ͜͡ȩmp̸̨t̛i̛̕͞n҉́e̸ss̸̀͡ ͘͠t̷h̸̴͢a҉̧́t̨͢ ͢s̸̕u͡r̷̨͏r̷̛͢óư̢̛n̡͟de̸͏d҉ ́̀t̷̷͢ḩe̷m͜.̕ S̸̕ḩ͘͟e̕ ̵s̷̡͠u͝͡d҉͝d̀e̢n͝͏́l͡y̸҉͢ ̛͏̢b̨͠e̛͡c̛ame͡ ̛͝͝h̛͘o̸͠r͜͞rib̕l͘y͡͝ ̛͘a͜w̧̨͞a̢͠r͏̵e ̕ǫ̶͢f ̛͜t̀h͏e͠ ̶͜҉f̸re͡͞n͢z̴i͢҉ȩd̢͝ p̧̕͜o͘un̷͏d͟͏҉i̢̕n͘g͏ ̨į̷n͢ ̵͠h͡͠è͏ŕ c͢͠h̶̛e͜s͜t̀̀ ̷a̸s͡ ̸͘ţhe͝ m̡͟oń́҉st̶̵er͝ l͞o͘͡ò̶͡m̶e̶d͝ óv̸e̛͞r̨ ̧h͜e̕͟r̸̸.̧
A̵̷̧n̵̴̕ǵ͜el̛͝o͏ ̴͠w̨͟͞a̛s̶͏ n͡ot͞҉͏ ̶͘͠t̡́h́͘è̵͞rȩ͞.̀̀
̛͟͢
̸̢̕No̵̸̧ ̷͢o͘͞n͝e҉̵͜ ̀w̨a͠s ҉t͜h̷̸̢ere͏.̕
͏́
̸̀͡S̀h̶͢e̢ ̡w͠a̷͢s̵̶̨ ҉a̢l̛͝o͝n̛e͝.̷͠
̛S͟͠hȩ̴ c͝ò͏u͟͝l̵̶d ͜no͞͏͏t͡ ̷̸m̢o̷̴v͟e.̴
̷
“Who is-?”
The young woman cut herself off as her senses were suddenly assaulted by the rancid scent of decay. Her shoulders heaved and she gagged. Her weight was thrown against her staff as she instinctively began to raise a hand to shield her nose from the overwhelming smell.
It was halted by the icy grasp of strong fingers closing around her wrist.
“Your pet Centri isn’t here, bitch.”
Her eyes widened as the sound of steel sliding from a sheath mixed with the icy hiss in the night air, and she desperately attempted to wrench her hand away. The grip tightened and held her arm immobile before her wrist was jerked painfully to the side and she was nearly thrown off-balance.
She opened her mouth to cry out the beginning of an incantation, but the shout turned into a gurgle of agony as something sharp was driven repeatedly through her abdomen - each thrust punctuated with the sound of gleeful laughter.
S̢҉̸h̡͝ę ́w͜a̡̛n͘t͟͢͠e͠d҉ ̴҉d́é́ş̕p͜͞e̢̢ŗ̴̕á͞te̡҉l͢y ̧̀͞t̸̶̷o̷͏ ̴̀s҉̛ç̛҉ŕ̢ea͘m̡̀͜ ̸ás̶̷͝ ͏̧͠t͜h̴e̷͜ ̨b̷̨͠ȩ̛a̢̢s̴͟ţ͏’̵͘s̀ ͜çl̸҉̵a̛w͘s ̸̀dug̛͜ ̷d̴e̕e͢p̀͠ ̧in̶̢t͘͏o̡͏ ҉̧h͢͏e͢͜r̡̧ ͡͡t̨͜ơ͠r̴͏s̕̕͜o̧͘̕,͡҉ ̶̧͢b͜͠ut̸ n̶̛͠o ̡͜s̛o̶͠u͏̨ńd ̴e̵͝s̷̕c̛̛a̢̕pe̵҉d̕͜ ͜͢he̵͝r ́́͝f̸̕r̡͞o̡͟͢z͠͝en̵̴ ̷lips͘.̸̀͢ ̷T̴͟h̕̕͜i̛̛c̛ḱ̡,̸̧͟ b̶l̸͝aḉ̵k͝ ̕͢b͜͠l̸̀̕o̶̢͜ó̷̢d̴ ҉̛b́ȩ̶͟g̴à̷n̸̢͟ ̡̡͜ţo̷ ͜o̶͞o̢͝z̴̢̢e͢ f̨̧ro͜͡m̴͜ ́҉t̀͢͞h̡̀e̷̢҉ ̕c̶̨̕o̴̧̧r͠n͠ȩ͡rs̛ ̧͝of́ h̕e҉r̵͠͠ ̧͘͢m̧o҉̨͡ú̸̧t́h͏ ̕͝a̵̛s̵̛̀ ̶̨ḩ͏͏ér̷ ́e̢̕͢y̷̵e̸̴s͘ ́re͏͠m̧͏ą̡í́͘n͢e̢͏d ̶l͟͝o͟c̸̛k̨͟e̷͜d̸̕̕ ̷o͡͠ǹ͢ ̷̛́t͏̸hé͝ ͏̴͢m̕͟o҉̨ńs̸̡te̶̢̢r’̶̀͜s͢ ̵̷f̢ąc͠ę.́ ̷̨I͟t ̀͘c̴͢o̢͟n̷͞t͘͢͟i̧͘͞n̷͠͝u͏e͝d ̶t͝ò̶ ͢͡r̷i̸̕ṕ̕ ͏͝ì̡҉n͟t̕o҉̀ ̶҉h͟e̵̕͘r̵͢ ̴s͘͡t͟o̵m̢͡a̢҉c͡҉̛h̴,͏ à̕͠ǹ̨̧d̵͜ ̢e҉͢҉v͏é͞r̢͡ý̴̡t̸hi̡͠n̡͏̸g͝ ͞͏vi̷ta͘͝l̸̕ ̴̧͝w̨as̶̢ ҉̧t̷o҉̢͏r̵҉n̶̨̡ ͡ąn͘͜d̀̕͜ ͘th̶ro̡̕w̢ņ́ ̀̕w̧͢i̷͠͏t҉h̡ ͘͘hè͜a̸v͏y͢,̸͘͠ ̨w͡͞e͞t́ ̨͜sq̕u̷̧ȩ͘l̀ç͟͠h̴͜e̷s̵̷̡ ̴̷̕in̷̨t͏o҉͜͝ ̴͘t̨h͘͟e͘͡ ̴śęà͞ ҉҉o̸f̕҉͘ ͡w̢̕o̢r͏m̕s͟.
̨͟
͏͡T̛h̡e̵ ͝m̴͠ơ̷̧ń̨s̛͞t́͡͞r͢o͟si̡͘ţ̀͝y̶̶̴’̡͘s̨҉ ̡̛h̨͝è̛ád ̀̕͝c̸r҉u̵͢m̛҉b̕͠l͡ed̸̸͠ ̸̡a̴̡w͢a̵y͘ ͠e͠v̸en̸̨̧ ̡͢a͠͡s͏ ̶̢i҉͝t̴͜ ̨c̶̕o̷n̶͘t͘i͞ǹ̡u̶̕ę̶̕d͟ ͟͡t͟͢o͏͞ ̸t̸͝ę̵̧a̵r̶͠ a͞͠t͝ ҉̵̴h́͠e̡r͝ ͘m͞a͝n͞g̛l̡̕͢è̢ḑ͘ ̵b́od҉͠y̸̵.̷͡ ̧S̛͟h͢͞e̡͘ ̨҉̕wa̵̴͝s̨͝ ͜c͘͝͡h͡ó͏̴k̀i̛̛͝n̶̕g̶ ̀on҉ ҉̵t̸́͝ḩ̷̡e ̸͠͞m̷̢͟e̛t̶̴ą̨͝l͏l̴ic ̴͢͝t͞҉a̶ś̢t̴̴̛e͞ ͏͏o̵̢͡f̴̡͡ ̶͘h̶e̸͜r̴̀̀ ̧̨own̡̧ ̶͞bl̸oơ̡͝d́ ̀́͠á͡s̛҉ ̛̀s̶h̛e ̷s͟͝͞t́͞a̶r҉̨e̡͢d́͏ ͟͟i̵̢ń͜͠to҉̶ ҉̀͟L͠ú̵c͏̵͠í̕a̧n͠͏̀o’҉̷s̛ ̛͜m̷̴͜į̡ĺ̵ky,̷͝ d҉e̸͘̕a̡͡ḑ̶ ̵͟e̶͡y̴͜es̶͞,͢͜ ̨a͠nd̕͏ ̕h̨͡i̛s ̢͢ro̸t͝ţ̛i͘҉n҉g͝͡ ̕l̷ip̕s̵̕ ͟p͟͠a̢͘r̴̢͜t̨̕e̢̛d̶͢͡ ҉i͟n̢to̸̴ ͢a ̨t͠w̛͡i͘st̷ę̡d̡ ̧̢gr̛͞i̸̡n ̡͠a̸͠s͝ ̵͟͏sḩe̶͞ ͘f͠i̶̶͜n̛͘a̴͞l͜l͟y̵ ͞cr̵͜u̵̢͟mp̷̕҉l͠è̵d̵ t͜͞o̡ ͘͡t̵he̵̸͠ ̵̸̢ģ̛͢r̡͡o͞u͏̕n̡͘͝d҉͜.̢
Seirye coughed as she dropped heavily to her knees and her staff clattered against the wooden deck. She desperately grabbed at her stomach as she attempted to force another incantation past the blood that was bubbling up from her throat.
All she managed was to cough up more of the warm, suffocating ichor.
The sorceress frantically reached for the mental link she knew was somewhere in her rapidly failing mind. She forced a rapid string of thoughts toward it: Begging. Pleading. Desperately hoping something would reach where her voice failed.
She felt the cold, hard deck slam against her cheek as what little strength she had left fled through the gaping wounds in her stomach and rapidly pooled around her butchered body.
There was nothing but laughter, decay, à̧nd͜͡ ̧̨t̀͟h̷̸̕e ͘͠é̛̕a̢͢g̵e͝r̷͡l͏̧́y ͏͠͏w̵̶r͞i҉g̴͟gl͢͡in͘g̡͞ b̢̨od̶̴i̴̢͢e͜s̀ ̴͏o̢͝͝f̷̧͞ ̷͡ḿ̴i̢̛͘ĺ̛l̢̀͟i̸̧͘o̢n̡s ̢̛̛of̛͜ ҉̛w͠͏o͏͜rm̨̀͜s̴.̨
T̸͘͏h̵̀e̕͏͘ w͜o͘͝ŕ̛͞m̵͏ś͠ ̡wa̴͜s̶͞҉h͘͢eḑ ͞ơ̴v͘͟e͏̶́r̷͏ ̢̀̕h̶̢e̸͏r̡̛͞ ̶̡li̢҉k̶͘e͝ ́a҉̢ ́͢se͞a͟͝.́ ̴͏T̢̛͘he̷͜iŕ s̢͘͢l҉̸҉i͟͏́m̧̛̕ý̶͘ ͝f͠or̷̕͢m̶҉̀s̶ ̛͢s̸̕l̨̧͢i͞ţ̀h͞e҉̨̧r̴͠é͠d́ ̶͘o̡͢v̡ę̨ŗ͞ ̸͘h͟e̸͟r ̸̡l̴͠i̧͡͝m̢bs̛̛͜ ̴͘͟a̸n̵̢d̷͝͡ ̵f̀̕o҉҉u̢͠n̴͜d͠ ̧t̨͘h̸͠e͝įr wa͠y̸̡ ̴́͢i̶n̶t̸͡o͏̶̧ ̡͟h̴͠e̡̕r̢ ͏͢o̕p̵͞͠e͠͏ń͠͡e̵͟d̶͠ ̴́̕b̡o̴͘͞d̷y͝ ̶͟a͡s̡̡ ̶͢t҉h̨̛e̴̵y r͏ąv̧ȩ̴ņ͟ou̸s͏̢l̶҉y̵ ͜҉s̡͜w͏a͜͟rm҉̧͏e͢d̛͢ ̨͞ò̶͞v͘e̶ŗ͞ ͘th̴҉e ̧͜ȩ́́x͜͟͝p͘͞o͟s̵̴e͜d̷̀ ̷g͟o̴r͘͝͞e͟.̸̨͢ ̧͠
͞
͟͡Y͡e̴͢͞t͏́͟ s̨͡͝t̀̕i̕̕ll̛ ş̡͡h̶e ́w̸͘͝as͟ ̶a͢͜w̶͞͡a҉̸re̕͏.̸͘ ̡͠
͘͡͡
͢H҉͘e̷͡r͢ ̨èỳ͞es̡͏ ͢wè̡͝r͟e ͏f̀̕ró͟ze҉n҉ ̵̨͜w̸͘i͏d̨̀e͏̧ ̧̧àn͘d̸͡ ͘͠l̸̷o̡ck͏҉ed́ ̷̴̢o͝n̶ ̵t̸h̛͘é͏̶ ̀̕rot̨́͞ti͟͝ǹg͜͢͝ f̕a҉͢ce͟͝ ̀͜͠o̴͜f́ ̕͢͡L͏҉u̵c̶̢͟i̴̛͘á̛͟n̶͜ơ̸ ̸a͜͟s͏̴ ̵͝th҉̴e͢ ̨shar̶̢k̀͠-͢͞l͘҉i̕͢ke ̀̀h̛͘ea͘d̛̕ ̀r̷̛̀eǵr̵ȩẃ̸ ̵͞a̷̡͏r̕͡ou̶n͡͡d̶͢ ̢͡͝i͞t.͡ ͞Ţ̶̛h̨̡e҉̨́ m͜o̕͏n҉s̴t͟er͜͞’̡͢s̴͜ ͜b̕͟o̵̶̵d̷̢y̛ ҉be̴g̨̧a̧҉n͜ ͟t̶̢o̸ ̶̶͠c̷ón̸̷͘t͠o̡̕͠r͟͟͝t̨̡͢ ̨̕͠a͞҉ń̢͟d̷ ̶̧w͘ą̶r̴̨͟p̧͢͠ ̸͢͝i̷͝n͡ţo͡ ̡a͠n̢͡y̴͠ ̢͡͝ņ͢u͠m͡b̡͘e̷̸r of t̴e̷҉r̵̴rífy̶in̵͡g f͞orm̸͡s͏,̧ ͝ỳ̵e̶t with͠ ̡̀e͜v͡e̶̷r͡y̷̡ ̨̢sḩ̸i̧f̕t̀,̡͢͡ ̨͠h̢̢́e͘͞͡r͏̶ ̀v̶͏҉í̷śi̢̛on҉͠ ҉͏b͘ęc͡҉a̷̶̛m̀͟͞e̛͢ ҉̶̀mo̸͝re ̧f͟i͘l̴͏l͏e͘ḑ ̶wi̶̡҉t̡h͞ ̢tḩ́e ̀͟l̵͢i͟v̨į͠n̴g̶͟ ̶́͝te҉n̸d͘͞ŗį͡l̨̨s̨̕ ̧̨a̢ś ̸̛t҉̕͞h͞e̴y̢ be͏g̸̀͘a͏͘n̶͜ t͏̀̕o͏̨̕ ̨͡c̡͢r̴̀͝e̢ep ̷up̧͠ o̷͟vȩ̕͟r͠ ̸̢h́̕͜e̴̸r ͘f̢̛͏a̸̢͡c̛e̸.̴͜
̸̀
̀S̶̢ḩ҉ę c̀ơ̷̸ứ͠l̨d̀ ̴̡͞n͜͢ót̵̀͠ ҉m̴͝o̶v̧͜e.̶͜͠
͜Sh͟͜͝e̵̴ ̵c̨͝ò҉̷u̷l̶̸͞d͠͠ ͝no̢̕t̕͘ ̵sc̵r͡ȩam̀̀.̷
̡
̵Al̸҉̢l̢ ̷sḩe̶͟ ͠ć͠͝ǫ̕͡ù̴l͏d̴ ͝͞do͢ ̢́w̸as̶͡ wa̧͡tc̶͠h̛…̶̨ a͢n͘d̴̡ ͘f̕̕è͜e̶l̢͠…͠ ̵̧͞ás̀ ̢̛the̴ ́l̵i̡͢v͞ing͠ ҉́͞e҉a̧r͟͢҉t҉̴h̶̡ ̧́d͜ra҉͡g̴g͜͜͝e̷̴d́ ͘h͏̷e̵̢͟r̀ ͜͏͝i̵ńt̀҉o̸͏͞ ́͞t̶̛͟h̴͜ȩ ͢b̶l͟͏a̡ć̸k ͜͜d͏̴̨è͘pt̶h̛s̶͘͘ ͞o̧f͞ ̵̴i̡͠t̶͘s̷̢ b͝e҉̴͠l͘͜l͜y̨͞͞.͠҉
“You need to trust me, my dear.”
Luciano’s laughter faded into a smooth, feminine whisper. The breath was still warm in her ear as a delicate finger moved a strand of her hair away from her eyes.
“Every move I make has its purpose.”
None of this is real....
“I need you to ensure I can do what I need to.”
Please… ‘tis not real….
Seirye’s mind faded in and out of a misty haze as she desperately tried to cling to consciousness.
“Trust me, Seirye...”
Phantasms cannot…
“̸̵͟S͢e̡̧͘i̵r͟͠ý҉e҉͠……̀?͝”̢
The voice shifted from cool affection to worried concern.
"̛S͝҉͡ei͏͘r̷͡͝ý̶e̶̸͝?͞҉ ̢A̸̧re̡̛ ͡y͝òu ̛́͡a̷̡l̷r̴ig̴̨h̵t̵̡̛?"̀
The sorceress jerked her head in the direction of the voice and her hands immediately shot to her belly as she frantically felt for the gaping wounds and thick streams of hot blood. Her fingertips met the thin fabric of her dress and the familiar, knotted texture of the scars that lay hidden beneath.
It took her a moment to realize she was still on her feet.
“Dove, they cannot hurt you.”
Another to realize the voice was no longer female. It had an underlying tone of urgency that accompanied the sound of footfalls upon wood before her shaking hands were suddenly enveloped in comforting warmth.
Her eyes flickered down to darkness that veiled what she quickly realized were Angelo’s hands. She moved as if to draw closer, but suddenly froze as panic began to work its way through her body again.
It was too convenient.
Why was he suddenly here?
She had not truly called for him, had she? Or was that the one aspect that had been real?
Her eyes shot up to where she thought was the young man’s face and a shadow of fear took hold of her expression.
“Are you real?”
The question left her lips before she had a chance to realize how silly it may have sounded. There was a sound as if the dancer started to respond and then caught himself to fully consider his answer.
His hands tightened reassuringly.
“As real as I can be. Or, of course.”
Angelo paused.
“Or, perhaps, of course. As real as I can be.”
Seirye kept her sightless gaze locked on the darkness for a moment before a relieved sigh suddenly fled past her lips. She pulled her hands free before allowing herself to fall against his chest and tightly wrap her arms around him.
“Thank the…”
She could not bring herself to form the word “gods” as she felt herself become securely wrapped in an embrace.
“....something.”
Seirye took a slow, steadying breath of cool, night air as she carefully felt her way around the deck of the ship with her staff. The constant sound of the round base scraping against the wood or lightly tapping against an obstacle was almost therapeutic.
It was safe. Familiar.
Scraape. Scraape. Tap.
At one point she felt her staff dip into one of the new pitfalls that dotted the damaged deck of the Weight of Conviction and she precariously skirted around it as she slid her staff in wider arcs on the ground - feeling for the dip as it left solid wood.
Scraaaaaape. Scraaaaaape.
It was a brief walk. Just enough to calm what remained of her panic after the nightmare that had plagued what little sleep she had managed to fall into - though the same nightmare was still fresh in her memory.
Something thick and wet wriggled over her exposed foot. It began to inch around her ankle, and she felt her blood run cold.
S͘͠h͠҉é ҉͟͏c̕͏̡ơ̴̡ul͜d͘ n̴ǫ͜t͞͏͏ ͟m̸o̡͞v̸̢e̕.̡͞
̛́
̀̕͞H͢͜e҉̴á̸v̶̡͘y̢͝, ̷s͟͏t̸i̴̕cky̴҉ ̛ẃ̵o̶̧͜rḿ̢s̷̛͘ w͘eŕe̢ ̶̛͝wr͘i̶̡͟t́̀h̨̡i̧̕ng͜ ͝͞o̧͢͡ve̴r ̡͞h͝͠e̵ŗ́ ̴͠f̢͞e͞͞ȩt̸. T̵͜͜h̨͝e̴̡͘i͜r̢ ͘w̧͜͞e̶͝t̸̨ ͝b̨o̷͝d̀i҉e̷s ̕s̵̸t҉uc̨̕͜ķ͝ ͜t͡ò ́͢he͜r͘͜ ̸ań̡ķ͞l̛͘e͡s a̵̕͞n҉ḑ ҉̛w̸r͘ą̴̴p͟ṕ͢e̸͞d̴ ́th̀́͠ic̴kly̴̷ ͘͜ar̶ou͏n̡d͟ ̧͜͠h҉ę͟͟r̵̷̕ ͝ļ̴̴e͜͠g̵̵̀ş̶͠ ̡a̸̡s͘҉͢ ̸͘͟t͡he̵͏y i̡n̡ch̵e͘d̷ ͏̶t́h̷͝e̡i͝͞͏r̡͠ ҉̷w͘ay͜͢ ̧͜u̴̢p҉͝͏ ͟a͜l͠o̵͡ng ḩ͠e̕r͠҉͟ ̡s͘͜m̶̡͟ó͞ơt̨h̡ s͏̡͟k҉i̶͢n̷͘.̢͢ ̵̨N͞o ҉̧m̀͝a͡t͞͏t̸e͏̡r̀͠ ͜hơw҉ ͢͢h҉a͏r͘͟d́͢ ͏͟s̷͠h̛͞e͞͏ ́w̷͝i̷̶l̢l̸͢e͜d͟ ̴̴̢h̴̡͜e̸̢r̡ ͝b̧̕o̸͡d̸y̸ ̡t҉o̴̕ ̛m͞͡͏o̡v́́e̷͞,͡ h͜e͞r ̀m̴̛u͘͜s͘̕͢c̡̀͢l͘͘͠ȩ͜s̷͠ ̛w̴̵̛o̵͝u͏l̷̕d͜҉ ͡no͞t̴ ̵͞r̶è̸s̷͟p̕o͏̢͏n̴̨̛ḑ.́͢͡ ́̕Sh͞e̵ ̀͠w͞a̴͟͜s͞ f̛̛ŕ̵ò̷͢z͝e͢͡n,̷ ͝y̨͘͜et̢ ̷͢͞s̨͘͜h̷e҉ ͘c҉̴o̕͜uld͏̶͟ ͏f́e̡̢͟e͘l͘͢ ͏th̴͏em͞ ̛͟s̷t̀̕͝r͜e̶̵tc̴̨h̷̢͟ ͘͟͞th͠è͟i͟҉̴r̵̵ bǫ̷͢d҉i̢͘è̢s̸ u͠p͝҉͜ ţ̵́owa̢r͜ds̵̢ ̡h̡͝ȩ́͝r̸̷̡ ͘ònl̛y̵̧͏ ́͡t͠͏o̶̶ ̷̧҉f̴̢a͏l̷̛͟l҉ ̨͢͝b͝͠a͡c͘k̨̛ ̸͝w͜͞i̛͡t́h̴͢ ̵̡t҉̢h͠e s̡͠͝i͞c͞k̢é̵ǹ̶̸ì̀n̛͞͞g ̛so͏un̢̕̕d͝ ͏͝o͞f͟ ̢̢squ҉̢͡ȩļ̶̶c̛͢͜hing̡͘ ̨҉a̶s̷ ̴̡t̵́h͏eỳ ͡ẃ̨é͟re͜ ̢̧ábs̡̨o̵̴rb́͞ed҉ by ҉th̴͜ȩ̵̡ ͞g̕͞r͟o̵͢w̡͟i͢ng ͟p̢il͘͘͠è̴ ó̡f̵ t͠h͢e̴͝i͏̨̛r̵ ̨́s̶q̨͘͞u̸i̶̧̢r̕m͠͡͝i͏̢ń͟g̛ ̡br̕͠éth͡r̸̡͞é̀ń̸̡ that́͡ ̕͝ą́m͜a͝s͘͝s͘ed ͝a͝ro̧u͝͡n̕d ̢h͡e̡r̨ ̀f̛͏è̷͢e̶͜͠t̶͝.̸
A startled gasp caught in the young woman’s throat as she instinctively kicked her foot and dislodged whatever had latched onto it. It landed with a wet thud, but she could hear no other noise. She remained frozen for a long moment before she took a hesitant step forward and bent down to reach out with a tentative hand.
It was not real. It was something else. Anything else.
She felt along the rough wood. Her fingertips slid ever so slowly along the deck, but she immediately recoiled as they came in contact with something soft and slimy. As she pulled away, she could feel the goo stick to her fingers, and she frantically threw her staff into the crook of her arm and attempted to brush it off with her other hand as she took a quick step back.
The sticky residue clung to her. She could feel it start to tug on her skin as whatever had stuck to her foot began to dry.
And then nothing.
Seirye blinked as the uncomfortable sensation was suddenly gone. She tentatively closed her hand to rub her fingers against her palm, but she felt nothing but soft skin.
Her sightless eyes flickered back in the direction of the wet mass, and she reached out again. This time, she felt the familiar, cold, coarse texture of heavy, wet rope.
The sorceress exhaled a calming breath as she straightened back into a standing position and shifted her staff back into her hand. Despite herself, she allowed a small, nervous laugh to materialize.
“‘Twas… surely. I must be more on edge than I had anticipated. How… silly of me.”
She turned back in the direction from which she had come and slid her staff in a wide arc again. She heard the distinctive tap as it caught on an obstacle directly before her. Seirye paused as she brushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes, and her lips twitched into a tiny frown.
There had not been anything there a moment ago. Even in her shock she was sure of it.
The staff slid across the path again, but this time it passed unimpeded.
The blood fled from her face as she stared blindly into the darkness before her. Angelo was still below deck. She could not sense anyone near. Unless… Joel? Red?
Would they not have said something?
He͞͏r̡̕͡ ́s̨̨ig̢͜͏ht ́͡҉w͏͡a̕s ̛͞͡loc̷k̀͞èd̴̢͘ ́o͡n ͜͡t̨͢h҉e̶ ̷̨ ̸̵͘g̡̨͟lį̨st͝e̡҉͏ni̕n̡̛g͠ ͏m̶͜͡o̸̸͠n͢҉st̴̀ŕ̕̕osįt̷͞y ͏͘ţh̀à̶͟ţ ẁ̵̨a҉s̴ ̵̵͞s̨ţ̨̛a̴̧l̨k̨̛͜i̧͠ń͘g̢ ̸̧͟t͜o̵͡w͏̕ar̛͏̵d͏͜s͏̢͢ h̴e̕͟ŕ͢.̵ ̨I͝t̢s ͠g͜rȩ͞at̴̢͘ ̵͟bulk ͝͏̸w̴͜a͞s̷͜ ̸u͝n̶̡̕i̢n҉̸h̵́i͘͞b͢i͞t̴͘e̛d͟͝ b̵y̸͝ t͏̵̛ḩ͘ę̴ t҉͝h҉ic͏k̕͝, ̸̀s͝͏t̕͡͏i͢c̶̨̧k̵͝y̸̨,̡͢ ͠w͜͞r̨͡i͠t̛͜h҉͞i̸̢̕ǹ̛g͠ ̴̕m̨͏ą̧̕s҉̵s̢̀͏ t̴͡ḩ̵̀á̢t̡̡ c̡o̡v̸́͡er̛è͘͝d͡ ́͞t͢͠h͢e͠ ҉́è̶͞n͟͢͜ti͢͠r̵͢e̴t̷̶y̧̛ ́̕ò̶f̢ ̨́t̷͘̕he g͝ŕ͜o̷u̴̡͘n͘d͏ ̶̢͝f̴o͏r̨ ̸a̡͟s̵͠ ̛f̵͟a̶̧r̷ a̡s͠ ̡̨͝shè ͏c͟o̸u҉͞l̶͟͢d̛ ́͘͜s҉́e̕͟e̷.̕͠
̶̴
͏̡“W̵̧͠h̢̀͝a҉͞͠t͟e͏v̸e̵̡͡r͡ y̶͘où̵̢r̴͘ ͝҉f̴̛u͏c͟k͝i̧n̵̕g̕ ̨p̡͘͝e̸t̵̡ ͠҉̷m͏͜o̴n҉̸s͘t͢e̴͘r̨̢̕ ̨s҉̨á̀ys,̢͟ ҉I̡͢’҉m̵͡ ͘go҉͘͝íng̷ ̸t̕͝o ̸be̸̢ ́҉̴y̷̡͏ou͘r̢ ̸̀ḑ͘e͢at͟ḩ ̧̧y̡̕͜ou ͢w̡͢h̶̀͘i̵̢̡m̵͟͡p̢̕͠e̛r̷͝i̛͞n̡͟g̸͢ c̡̛͟u̷҉͢n̛t̕͞.҉̴̕”̛͘
͝
G̸ų̛͡t̶t͢͠úr̢͘͜a̡͞l̵̢҉ ̛͘͝g̢r҉͞͡ò̧w̡͜l̷̛͜s̡͡ ̕a̢͜nd́͝ ̵sn͘͟a͟͝҉r̨͢l̵s̡҉̧ ̕͞e̸̷s͞c̸ap̡͟ed͝ t̵̡he̶҉ ̕͢c̵̨r̀è̷́a͏͟t̴҉u͏̀r͘è’̧͢͡s͏̷ f̡a͏͞n͞g҉ę̨̀d̴̕͘,̛͞ ̢sh͏ąr̴͘͝k͟-́l̨i҉͏k̴é ̛m͏͏a͏w, ̴͞b̡͝u̵̕͢t̷̀ ̶͘͝a ̛f̧a̢͠m̵͝i̴͟l̨͟i͏a̴҉r̸ ̷͝vo͝͠í͞c̡̀͢è҉ ̢sę̷҉é̷͡m̴e̴͞҉d̸ ̡́to f̡̕il҉l ͞t̵̛͝h̸̀e͞ ͜͡ȩmp̸̨t̛i̛̕͞n҉́e̸ss̸̀͡ ͘͠t̷h̸̴͢a҉̧́t̨͢ ͢s̸̕u͡r̷̨͏r̷̛͢óư̢̛n̡͟de̸͏d҉ ́̀t̷̷͢ḩe̷m͜.̕ S̸̕ḩ͘͟e̕ ̵s̷̡͠u͝͡d҉͝d̀e̢n͝͏́l͡y̸҉͢ ̛͏̢b̨͠e̛͡c̛ame͡ ̛͝͝h̛͘o̸͠r͜͞rib̕l͘y͡͝ ̛͘a͜w̧̨͞a̢͠r͏̵e ̕ǫ̶͢f ̛͜t̀h͏e͠ ̶͜҉f̸re͡͞n͢z̴i͢҉ȩd̢͝ p̧̕͜o͘un̷͏d͟͏҉i̢̕n͘g͏ ̨į̷n͢ ̵͠h͡͠è͏ŕ c͢͠h̶̛e͜s͜t̀̀ ̷a̸s͡ ̸͘ţhe͝ m̡͟oń́҉st̶̵er͝ l͞o͘͡ò̶͡m̶e̶d͝ óv̸e̛͞r̨ ̧h͜e̕͟r̸̸.̧
A̵̷̧n̵̴̕ǵ͜el̛͝o͏ ̴͠w̨͟͞a̛s̶͏ n͡ot͞҉͏ ̶͘͠t̡́h́͘è̵͞rȩ͞.̀̀
̛͟͢
̸̢̕No̵̸̧ ̷͢o͘͞n͝e҉̵͜ ̀w̨a͠s ҉t͜h̷̸̢ere͏.̕
͏́
̸̀͡S̀h̶͢e̢ ̡w͠a̷͢s̵̶̨ ҉a̢l̛͝o͝n̛e͝.̷͠
̛S͟͠hȩ̴ c͝ò͏u͟͝l̵̶d ͜no͞͏͏t͡ ̷̸m̢o̷̴v͟e.̴
̷
“Who is-?”
The young woman cut herself off as her senses were suddenly assaulted by the rancid scent of decay. Her shoulders heaved and she gagged. Her weight was thrown against her staff as she instinctively began to raise a hand to shield her nose from the overwhelming smell.
It was halted by the icy grasp of strong fingers closing around her wrist.
“Your pet Centri isn’t here, bitch.”
Her eyes widened as the sound of steel sliding from a sheath mixed with the icy hiss in the night air, and she desperately attempted to wrench her hand away. The grip tightened and held her arm immobile before her wrist was jerked painfully to the side and she was nearly thrown off-balance.
She opened her mouth to cry out the beginning of an incantation, but the shout turned into a gurgle of agony as something sharp was driven repeatedly through her abdomen - each thrust punctuated with the sound of gleeful laughter.
S̢҉̸h̡͝ę ́w͜a̡̛n͘t͟͢͠e͠d҉ ̴҉d́é́ş̕p͜͞e̢̢ŗ̴̕á͞te̡҉l͢y ̧̀͞t̸̶̷o̷͏ ̴̀s҉̛ç̛҉ŕ̢ea͘m̡̀͜ ̸ás̶̷͝ ͏̧͠t͜h̴e̷͜ ̨b̷̨͠ȩ̛a̢̢s̴͟ţ͏’̵͘s̀ ͜çl̸҉̵a̛w͘s ̸̀dug̛͜ ̷d̴e̕e͢p̀͠ ̧in̶̢t͘͏o̡͏ ҉̧h͢͏e͢͜r̡̧ ͡͡t̨͜ơ͠r̴͏s̕̕͜o̧͘̕,͡҉ ̶̧͢b͜͠ut̸ n̶̛͠o ̡͜s̛o̶͠u͏̨ńd ̴e̵͝s̷̕c̛̛a̢̕pe̵҉d̕͜ ͜͢he̵͝r ́́͝f̸̕r̡͞o̡͟͢z͠͝en̵̴ ̷lips͘.̸̀͢ ̷T̴͟h̕̕͜i̛̛c̛ḱ̡,̸̧͟ b̶l̸͝aḉ̵k͝ ̕͢b͜͠l̸̀̕o̶̢͜ó̷̢d̴ ҉̛b́ȩ̶͟g̴à̷n̸̢͟ ̡̡͜ţo̷ ͜o̶͞o̢͝z̴̢̢e͢ f̨̧ro͜͡m̴͜ ́҉t̀͢͞h̡̀e̷̢҉ ̕c̶̨̕o̴̧̧r͠n͠ȩ͡rs̛ ̧͝of́ h̕e҉r̵͠͠ ̧͘͢m̧o҉̨͡ú̸̧t́h͏ ̕͝a̵̛s̵̛̀ ̶̨ḩ͏͏ér̷ ́e̢̕͢y̷̵e̸̴s͘ ́re͏͠m̧͏ą̡í́͘n͢e̢͏d ̶l͟͝o͟c̸̛k̨͟e̷͜d̸̕̕ ̷o͡͠ǹ͢ ̷̛́t͏̸hé͝ ͏̴͢m̕͟o҉̨ńs̸̡te̶̢̢r’̶̀͜s͢ ̵̷f̢ąc͠ę.́ ̷̨I͟t ̀͘c̴͢o̢͟n̷͞t͘͢͟i̧͘͞n̷͠͝u͏e͝d ̶t͝ò̶ ͢͡r̷i̸̕ṕ̕ ͏͝ì̡҉n͟t̕o҉̀ ̶҉h͟e̵̕͘r̵͢ ̴s͘͡t͟o̵m̢͡a̢҉c͡҉̛h̴,͏ à̕͠ǹ̨̧d̵͜ ̢e҉͢҉v͏é͞r̢͡ý̴̡t̸hi̡͠n̡͏̸g͝ ͞͏vi̷ta͘͝l̸̕ ̴̧͝w̨as̶̢ ҉̧t̷o҉̢͏r̵҉n̶̨̡ ͡ąn͘͜d̀̕͜ ͘th̶ro̡̕w̢ņ́ ̀̕w̧͢i̷͠͏t҉h̡ ͘͘hè͜a̸v͏y͢,̸͘͠ ̨w͡͞e͞t́ ̨͜sq̕u̷̧ȩ͘l̀ç͟͠h̴͜e̷s̵̷̡ ̴̷̕in̷̨t͏o҉͜͝ ̴͘t̨h͘͟e͘͡ ̴śęà͞ ҉҉o̸f̕҉͘ ͡w̢̕o̢r͏m̕s͟.
̨͟
͏͡T̛h̡e̵ ͝m̴͠ơ̷̧ń̨s̛͞t́͡͞r͢o͟si̡͘ţ̀͝y̶̶̴’̡͘s̨҉ ̡̛h̨͝è̛ád ̀̕͝c̸r҉u̵͢m̛҉b̕͠l͡ed̸̸͠ ̸̡a̴̡w͢a̵y͘ ͠e͠v̸en̸̨̧ ̡͢a͠͡s͏ ̶̢i҉͝t̴͜ ̨c̶̕o̷n̶͘t͘i͞ǹ̡u̶̕ę̶̕d͟ ͟͡t͟͢o͏͞ ̸t̸͝ę̵̧a̵r̶͠ a͞͠t͝ ҉̵̴h́͠e̡r͝ ͘m͞a͝n͞g̛l̡̕͢è̢ḑ͘ ̵b́od҉͠y̸̵.̷͡ ̧S̛͟h͢͞e̡͘ ̨҉̕wa̵̴͝s̨͝ ͜c͘͝͡h͡ó͏̴k̀i̛̛͝n̶̕g̶ ̀on҉ ҉̵t̸́͝ḩ̷̡e ̸͠͞m̷̢͟e̛t̶̴ą̨͝l͏l̴ic ̴͢͝t͞҉a̶ś̢t̴̴̛e͞ ͏͏o̵̢͡f̴̡͡ ̶͘h̶e̸͜r̴̀̀ ̧̨own̡̧ ̶͞bl̸oơ̡͝d́ ̀́͠á͡s̛҉ ̛̀s̶h̛e ̷s͟͝͞t́͞a̶r҉̨e̡͢d́͏ ͟͟i̵̢ń͜͠to҉̶ ҉̀͟L͠ú̵c͏̵͠í̕a̧n͠͏̀o’҉̷s̛ ̛͜m̷̴͜į̡ĺ̵ky,̷͝ d҉e̸͘̕a̡͡ḑ̶ ̵͟e̶͡y̴͜es̶͞,͢͜ ̨a͠nd̕͏ ̕h̨͡i̛s ̢͢ro̸t͝ţ̛i͘҉n҉g͝͡ ̕l̷ip̕s̵̕ ͟p͟͠a̢͘r̴̢͜t̨̕e̢̛d̶͢͡ ҉i͟n̢to̸̴ ͢a ̨t͠w̛͡i͘st̷ę̡d̡ ̧̢gr̛͞i̸̡n ̡͠a̸͠s͝ ̵͟͏sḩe̶͞ ͘f͠i̶̶͜n̛͘a̴͞l͜l͟y̵ ͞cr̵͜u̵̢͟mp̷̕҉l͠è̵d̵ t͜͞o̡ ͘͡t̵he̵̸͠ ̵̸̢ģ̛͢r̡͡o͞u͏̕n̡͘͝d҉͜.̢
Seirye coughed as she dropped heavily to her knees and her staff clattered against the wooden deck. She desperately grabbed at her stomach as she attempted to force another incantation past the blood that was bubbling up from her throat.
All she managed was to cough up more of the warm, suffocating ichor.
The sorceress frantically reached for the mental link she knew was somewhere in her rapidly failing mind. She forced a rapid string of thoughts toward it: Begging. Pleading. Desperately hoping something would reach where her voice failed.
She felt the cold, hard deck slam against her cheek as what little strength she had left fled through the gaping wounds in her stomach and rapidly pooled around her butchered body.
There was nothing but laughter, decay, à̧nd͜͡ ̧̨t̀͟h̷̸̕e ͘͠é̛̕a̢͢g̵e͝r̷͡l͏̧́y ͏͠͏w̵̶r͞i҉g̴͟gl͢͡in͘g̡͞ b̢̨od̶̴i̴̢͢e͜s̀ ̴͏o̢͝͝f̷̧͞ ̷͡ḿ̴i̢̛͘ĺ̛l̢̀͟i̸̧͘o̢n̡s ̢̛̛of̛͜ ҉̛w͠͏o͏͜rm̨̀͜s̴.̨
T̸͘͏h̵̀e̕͏͘ w͜o͘͝ŕ̛͞m̵͏ś͠ ̡wa̴͜s̶͞҉h͘͢eḑ ͞ơ̴v͘͟e͏̶́r̷͏ ̢̀̕h̶̢e̸͏r̡̛͞ ̶̡li̢҉k̶͘e͝ ́a҉̢ ́͢se͞a͟͝.́ ̴͏T̢̛͘he̷͜iŕ s̢͘͢l҉̸҉i͟͏́m̧̛̕ý̶͘ ͝f͠or̷̕͢m̶҉̀s̶ ̛͢s̸̕l̨̧͢i͞ţ̀h͞e҉̨̧r̴͠é͠d́ ̶͘o̡͢v̡ę̨ŗ͞ ̸͘h͟e̸͟r ̸̡l̴͠i̧͡͝m̢bs̛̛͜ ̴͘͟a̸n̵̢d̷͝͡ ̵f̀̕o҉҉u̢͠n̴͜d͠ ̧t̨͘h̸͠e͝įr wa͠y̸̡ ̴́͢i̶n̶t̸͡o͏̶̧ ̡͟h̴͠e̡̕r̢ ͏͢o̕p̵͞͠e͠͏ń͠͡e̵͟d̶͠ ̴́̕b̡o̴͘͞d̷y͝ ̶͟a͡s̡̡ ̶͢t҉h̨̛e̴̵y r͏ąv̧ȩ̴ņ͟ou̸s͏̢l̶҉y̵ ͜҉s̡͜w͏a͜͟rm҉̧͏e͢d̛͢ ̨͞ò̶͞v͘e̶ŗ͞ ͘th̴҉e ̧͜ȩ́́x͜͟͝p͘͞o͟s̵̴e͜d̷̀ ̷g͟o̴r͘͝͞e͟.̸̨͢ ̧͠
͞
͟͡Y͡e̴͢͞t͏́͟ s̨͡͝t̀̕i̕̕ll̛ ş̡͡h̶e ́w̸͘͝as͟ ̶a͢͜w̶͞͡a҉̸re̕͏.̸͘ ̡͠
͘͡͡
͢H҉͘e̷͡r͢ ̨èỳ͞es̡͏ ͢wè̡͝r͟e ͏f̀̕ró͟ze҉n҉ ̵̨͜w̸͘i͏d̨̀e͏̧ ̧̧àn͘d̸͡ ͘͠l̸̷o̡ck͏҉ed́ ̷̴̢o͝n̶ ̵t̸h̛͘é͏̶ ̀̕rot̨́͞ti͟͝ǹg͜͢͝ f̕a҉͢ce͟͝ ̀͜͠o̴͜f́ ̕͢͡L͏҉u̵c̶̢͟i̴̛͘á̛͟n̶͜ơ̸ ̸a͜͟s͏̴ ̵͝th҉̴e͢ ̨shar̶̢k̀͠-͢͞l͘҉i̕͢ke ̀̀h̛͘ea͘d̛̕ ̀r̷̛̀eǵr̵ȩẃ̸ ̵͞a̷̡͏r̕͡ou̶n͡͡d̶͢ ̢͡͝i͞t.͡ ͞Ţ̶̛h̨̡e҉̨́ m͜o̕͏n҉s̴t͟er͜͞’̡͢s̴͜ ͜b̕͟o̵̶̵d̷̢y̛ ҉be̴g̨̧a̧҉n͜ ͟t̶̢o̸ ̶̶͠c̷ón̸̷͘t͠o̡̕͠r͟͟͝t̨̡͢ ̨̕͠a͞҉ń̢͟d̷ ̶̧w͘ą̶r̴̨͟p̧͢͠ ̸͢͝i̷͝n͡ţo͡ ̡a͠n̢͡y̴͠ ̢͡͝ņ͢u͠m͡b̡͘e̷̸r of t̴e̷҉r̵̴rífy̶in̵͡g f͞orm̸͡s͏,̧ ͝ỳ̵e̶t with͠ ̡̀e͜v͡e̶̷r͡y̷̡ ̨̢sḩ̸i̧f̕t̀,̡͢͡ ̨͠h̢̢́e͘͞͡r͏̶ ̀v̶͏҉í̷śi̢̛on҉͠ ҉͏b͘ęc͡҉a̷̶̛m̀͟͞e̛͢ ҉̶̀mo̸͝re ̧f͟i͘l̴͏l͏e͘ḑ ̶wi̶̡҉t̡h͞ ̢tḩ́e ̀͟l̵͢i͟v̨į͠n̴g̶͟ ̶́͝te҉n̸d͘͞ŗį͡l̨̨s̨̕ ̧̨a̢ś ̸̛t҉̕͞h͞e̴y̢ be͏g̸̀͘a͏͘n̶͜ t͏̀̕o͏̨̕ ̨͡c̡͢r̴̀͝e̢ep ̷up̧͠ o̷͟vȩ̕͟r͠ ̸̢h́̕͜e̴̸r ͘f̢̛͏a̸̢͡c̛e̸.̴͜
̸̀
̀S̶̢ḩ҉ę c̀ơ̷̸ứ͠l̨d̀ ̴̡͞n͜͢ót̵̀͠ ҉m̴͝o̶v̧͜e.̶͜͠
͜Sh͟͜͝e̵̴ ̵c̨͝ò҉̷u̷l̶̸͞d͠͠ ͝no̢̕t̕͘ ̵sc̵r͡ȩam̀̀.̷
̡
̵Al̸҉̢l̢ ̷sḩe̶͟ ͠ć͠͝ǫ̕͡ù̴l͏d̴ ͝͞do͢ ̢́w̸as̶͡ wa̧͡tc̶͠h̛…̶̨ a͢n͘d̴̡ ͘f̕̕è͜e̶l̢͠…͠ ̵̧͞ás̀ ̢̛the̴ ́l̵i̡͢v͞ing͠ ҉́͞e҉a̧r͟͢҉t҉̴h̶̡ ̧́d͜ra҉͡g̴g͜͜͝e̷̴d́ ͘h͏̷e̵̢͟r̀ ͜͏͝i̵ńt̀҉o̸͏͞ ́͞t̶̛͟h̴͜ȩ ͢b̶l͟͏a̡ć̸k ͜͜d͏̴̨è͘pt̶h̛s̶͘͘ ͞o̧f͞ ̵̴i̡͠t̶͘s̷̢ b͝e҉̴͠l͘͜l͜y̨͞͞.͠҉
“You need to trust me, my dear.”
Luciano’s laughter faded into a smooth, feminine whisper. The breath was still warm in her ear as a delicate finger moved a strand of her hair away from her eyes.
“Every move I make has its purpose.”
None of this is real....
“I need you to ensure I can do what I need to.”
Please… ‘tis not real….
Seirye’s mind faded in and out of a misty haze as she desperately tried to cling to consciousness.
“Trust me, Seirye...”
Phantasms cannot…
“̸̵͟S͢e̡̧͘i̵r͟͠ý҉e҉͠……̀?͝”̢
The voice shifted from cool affection to worried concern.
"̛S͝҉͡ei͏͘r̷͡͝ý̶e̶̸͝?͞҉ ̢A̸̧re̡̛ ͡y͝òu ̛́͡a̷̡l̷r̴ig̴̨h̵t̵̡̛?"̀
The sorceress jerked her head in the direction of the voice and her hands immediately shot to her belly as she frantically felt for the gaping wounds and thick streams of hot blood. Her fingertips met the thin fabric of her dress and the familiar, knotted texture of the scars that lay hidden beneath.
It took her a moment to realize she was still on her feet.
“Dove, they cannot hurt you.”
Another to realize the voice was no longer female. It had an underlying tone of urgency that accompanied the sound of footfalls upon wood before her shaking hands were suddenly enveloped in comforting warmth.
Her eyes flickered down to darkness that veiled what she quickly realized were Angelo’s hands. She moved as if to draw closer, but suddenly froze as panic began to work its way through her body again.
It was too convenient.
Why was he suddenly here?
She had not truly called for him, had she? Or was that the one aspect that had been real?
Her eyes shot up to where she thought was the young man’s face and a shadow of fear took hold of her expression.
“Are you real?”
The question left her lips before she had a chance to realize how silly it may have sounded. There was a sound as if the dancer started to respond and then caught himself to fully consider his answer.
His hands tightened reassuringly.
“As real as I can be. Or, of course.”
Angelo paused.
“Or, perhaps, of course. As real as I can be.”
Seirye kept her sightless gaze locked on the darkness for a moment before a relieved sigh suddenly fled past her lips. She pulled her hands free before allowing herself to fall against his chest and tightly wrap her arms around him.
“Thank the…”
She could not bring herself to form the word “gods” as she felt herself become securely wrapped in an embrace.
“....something.”