Everything Was Cold

The darkness of the night, warmed a little by the waning fire some distance to their left, only exacerbated the horror of these moments.

His wrist and forearm strained themselves with all their might to lift the Twinblade a mere inch, then, sensing the pointlessness of his attempt, he let it fall back to the ground.

'Ah Goddamit! Oh dear! Oh dear god! I've done it now!'

The chokehold on his neck was getting tighter and tighter, and Ilyas could barely even snarl anymore. His face was as red as a ripe tomato, and his bulging eyes screamed blood.

The familiar alarm and fear returned, overshadowing the cold induced by the mask. Something akin to despair began to take root

But for his legs below the knees, and his hands and fingers, Ilyas was completely immobilised.

It appeared he could not employ the same trick twice. Benjamin was no Imitator, nor was he a fighter. He fought like an unintelligent beast, and probably thought like one. Rye was calm and knew how to let his murderous feelings charge him rather than blind him.

The Twinblade was still in Ilyas's grasp, but there was nothing practical he could do with it-

"Aagh!"

A pained squeal reached him from where the others fought, followed by Alexander crying out Cenric's name in panic.

'Wha-'

With all his might, Ilyas forced his head to catch a glimpse of the campfire fight. The mask slid and scraped against Rye's arms, and his eyes, bloodshot as they were, turned as far left as they could. 

Something cracked.

But everything within him dictated that he needed to see.

He needed to know that Cenric was alive and well.

He needed to know that the adorable GentlePug who saved his life was holding his ground against those beasts.

No matter how unlikely his victory was, he needed...

Cenric-

...was alive, but grievously wounded. 

The concern dissipated and was finally replaced by that desperate, horrible fuel. That familiar fuel. It combined with the cold, indignant feeling induced by the mask, and augmented it.

Then, Ilyas's mind blanked, and his life, his wounds, and Marianne no longer mattered; all that mattered was that the world kept trying to take things away from him, and he felt wronged.

Rye was just there to constrain him. To make him cede to it all, and allow everyone and everything to humiliate, batter and kill him while he just watched and smiled like a good obedient sacrifice.

They had already taken everything, and he showed Benjamin for it, and now they wanted to take his only companion? His only chance at forming something real again?

Damn that!

Ilyas rolled the shaft of the Twinblade into a firm grasp once again, but instead of the impossible task of lifting it, he spun it on the ground so that the blade faced him and Rye, who was restraining him from behind.

The tip of the blade grazed him as it swivelled, until it pressed against his abdomen. The shaft was a bit far for him to keep a firm hold while the blade pointed in their direction, but that was fine. All he needed to do was align the bloody thing the way he wanted.

Oh, right, it was his blood that smeared it. The blood from his arm earlier, then the mud and straw from the ground after the blade missed. It smelled of iron.

He used the little mobility in his leg to tilt the blade upward. It was heavy, but not so much, since one end of it still rested on the ground.

His consciousness was fading, and his jaw wasn't going to prolong his death any longer.

But that was fine too, because Ilyas was committed to more. He needed to reach them, to help them, to die with them. Here, he felt alone. Away in the darkness with the aloof Salivitian, it terrified him. He wanted to be with those who knew nothing about him but treated him nicely regardless. Who could've abandoned him for their lives, but chose not to without question. Without even a tinge of consideration. Unlike certain people.

The blade was aligned, as if a spear was pointing at them at an angle from the ground, and from the sudden twitch in Rye's body, he felt that they both knew what was about to happen. 

The tip pinched the skin where the lower part of his liver was.

'What was it... that father said? 'Don't let anyone treat you like that again'?' 

Through saliva and bestial snarling, Ilyas managed a slight grin.

'What's another life?'

Ilyas brought forth his hand that grasped the shaft, and the sharp blade pierced his liver, smoothly slid upward to mangle the whole bloody organ, then left his body and pierced Rye through the heart.

A sharp, cold, serrated pain invaded his body in what felt like a...

There was nothing like it. It was maddeningly painful!

Air escaped his lungs in an instant, and Ilyas gasped with wide, shocked eyes. He felt something draining from his body, debilitating him and forcing him to curl and writhe.

The blade was there, unnaturally a part of him, skewering and sucking him dry. Forcing him to see how fragile, soft and weak a human body was.

Something wheezed, loosened and flopped behind him with a thud. But that didn't matter. 

The blade remained, and Ilyas fell forward. He hunched over and groaned out what little air remained.

What was he thinking?!

This was unimaginably, unbearably bad. Nothing could've prepared him for how terrible it felt. If he went back in time, he would definitely not have done this again. 

With every movement he made, the blade inside moved, and shit, it hurt in spasms!

'Be... still.'

Even his thoughts were groaning. Oh, how merciful death would be right now.

Something intense was happening a bit further away in the campfire fight. Someone was kneeling on the ground, head and arms limp and floppy, but still alive. Another much smaller figure was sprawled absolutely still near the fire, and two figures were clashing desperately with sounds of muffled steel reaching him. 

It seemed like a one-sided fight. 

It was going to end soon. 

A few moments passed, and Ilyas was growing slightly accustomed to the pain colonising his whole body. Then, when his mind reoriented itself a little, he remembered exactly why he did it and rose to his knees.

He regarded Rye's quivering corpse behind him with displeasure and turned his attention back to the fight before him. Rye was bleeding profusely from the stab in his heart, while Ilyas, having only been stabbed in the liver, bled very little in comparison by keeping the blade in.

Mechanical breathing chilled, wheezed, and steadied. Blood dripped from his wounded arm, coating it like a crimson gauntlet. A heavy Twinblade protruded from both sides of his body, with the shorter jutting from his back and staring bloodily and indifferently at the corpse of Rye, lifeless behind him. 

A part of the seven-foot-long thing was bloody, while the other was clean.

He was a morbid sight.

Ilyas felt heavier too, because now he had to carry it in addition to his weakened and battered state.

The pain slowly took a backseat in his mind, and Ilyas struggled for a step. Then another.

He gritted his teeth with every move.

Khhrrhhh - Hsssshhhhh

His mechanical breathing rasped and struggled along with his steps. The cracked mask and eerie green eyes yearned for the fight in the fire, and his necrotic body marched for it with drawling steps. Blood marked a nightmarish trail. 

Khhrrhhh - Hsssshhhhh

Darkness shrouded his march. The fire was still too far for its light to honour him. But his loud breathing was certainly a ghastly omen.

Khhrrhhh - Hsssshhhhh

He hobbled within sight now, and Ferra was the first to notice him. 

The lanky figure that had unsettled her earlier returned, this time, his approach more strained, his alien attire more tattered and blood-smeared, his disturbing mask cracked and guilt-ridden, and a long, heavy Twinblade protruded from his abdomen. 

Rye went to hunt him, but didn't return. Instead, their query did, and with their friend's weapon lodged in their abdomen, nonetheless. A walking dead.

Ferra froze as she gaped at him in her already powerless state. Petrified, she struggled to find the words to warn her companion. Her mouth mumbled something unintelligible, but before she could voice anything, Ilyas urgently knew to stop her. He tightly grabbed the shaft near his abdomen and lunged forward.

'No. Don't warn him, yet.'

She raised her hands in a futile attempt to defend herself and was about to scream, but the long, menacing blade didn't care for its victim's pleading and skewered her throat in a messy manner.

Ferra froze and weakened. Warm blood sprayed Ilyas with great pressure in rhythmic pulses from her neck. Her mouth grugled and choked with blood until she slumped lifelessly on the ground, wide eyes staring into nothing. Thankfully, Ilyas kept a tight enough grip on the shaft, so her neck only slid sloppily from the blade without further mangling his liver.

Now, both blades were crimson. How fitting.

There were no feelings in Ilyas's heart right now, at least not at the moment. He knew that he would come to despise his actions in a more conscious and sober state. His disgusting behaviour was most certainly revolting. But that 'later' could only be bought by what he did now.

He was skewered, bleeding, and dying. His friends were in peril, his enemies were cannibals, and his only hope was to commit and go all the way.

With trembling effort, Ilyas turned to Cenric, sprawled still on the ground near Ferra. It wasn't clear how the fight unfolded, but it was obvious that Cenric and Alexander tried their best to fight together as one, rather than taking on each opponent separately. Ferra's axe was somehow near Alexander and Rum instead of by her side.

Cenric was alive, thank god. His chest was heaving ever so slightly. Barely noticeable with Ilyas so close.

Ilyas's lips quivered at the sight, and his eyes glistened behind the mask.

'Cenric...'

***

The fight was sad, to put it mildly.

Alexander was barely holding his ground, with Rum delivering him countless mild gashes all over his body. 

The searing rage in Rum's eyes and the need to torture him with all these gashes were probably from when Alexander slashed Ferra across the back after she almost killed Cenric.

His supposed lover, it seemed.

Oh well.

Ilyas stared at the longsword wound on Ferra's back for a little longer before finally mustering enough strength to approach the last miserable fight.

He was tired. Everything hurt. Everything was cold.

He left Cenric to his right, Ferra to his left and stood up once again. 

Khhrrhhh - Hsssshhhhh

One forced step, then another.

The Twinblade was calling for more. Ilyas marched a little more.

Khhrrhhh - Hsssshhhhh

The two still didn't notice him, and Ilyas needed that fact to remain as long as possible. He was one blow away from death. That lunge on Ferra was only possible because of Cenric and Alexander, gravity, and the dark night. 

If he were discovered by Rum, that maniac, then he would stop playing with his food, end Alexander, then... probably play with Ilyas much more since he did end up killing her.

Rum's Imitation wasn't clear, and it didn't seem like he was doing anything out of the ordinary in their fight at the moment. That was no good. Surprises were never good in these situations.

Unless Silversun was to magically appear out of the forest, Ilyas wasn't hoping for any.

Khhrrhhh - Hsssshhhhh

His last step crunched something under his foot, and Alexander noticed him with a startled flash in his eyes. Of course, he couldn't be much more expressive than he already was being munched on by Rum's sword. But bless that fella's royal brain for not making his approach obvious to the bastard, because Alexander pretended to ignore his presence as quickly as he noticed it. He understood.

Khhrrhhh - Hsssshhhhh

Something was wrong. 

Khhrrhhh - Hsssshhhhh

Rum paused his assault.

Khhrrhhh - Hsssshhhhh

Then, he kicked Alexander to the ground, his shoulders sagging, and turned to face Ilyas.

'Oh... dear.'

His sneak attack failed, but Ilyas foolishly attempted it nonetheless. He lunged forward with the Twinblade, but Rum easily swatted away and grinned.

He turned to Alexander's defeated body, brought down his sword vertically and stabbed his side. Then, he turned back to Ilyas and said with a hoarse, vengeful voice:

"You... I'm gonna make you all hurt. Death won't be easy."