JustSumMumbles

Shortform Prompt 2: Otherworldly Betrayal, but Betrayal Nonetheless

The sweet scent of the grass, the cold hardness of the blade, my breaths shaky, the slight tremble of his arms.

From the warped reflections on my jewelry I glimpse mushroom spores sprouting out of the left half of his face framed by rings of rotting flesh. I start hyperventilating. Pierce, my loyal right hand, the one who had guided me through the path of being a king, the one person who was constant in a world that saw me as a crown and nothing more, my only friend, was nearly completely consumed.

The plague had hit our kingdom earlier that year. Rumors of citizens dying of a mysterious sickness turned into reports of entire villages being wiped out, infected people either dying or being turned into puppets that killed the ones they loved, using the host's memories and body to inflict terror.

Whispers arose that this was all due to witch who had sacrificed and consumed a wizard to obtain magic sufficient to wipe out a kingdom whose king had hypnotized her into killing her lover. The spell had gone wrong. We had to find the witch and kill her in order to bring balance to magic and end the spell's endless rampage across the lands.

We were so close.

The army I had brought with me had died one by one, but we were so close.

The mountain on which she lived was in front of us, and yet I was about to perish at the hands of the one person that meant something to me.

A drop of water lands on the nape of my neck, then two. How fitting for it to rain as I breathed my last, for my departure to be washed away like my existence. Behind me, Pierce's breaths became uneven. Steeling myself, I turned around, prepared to see his face one last time before I died.

But when I did turn around, I froze.

Pierce was crying. Tears streaking his face, sword arm locked in place, and I felt ashamed.

Why was I reminiscing about my life when his entire world was literally being stolen, his consciousness manipulated, his person mutilated? What right did I have to be pitying myself when I needed to save him?

Drawing my sword, I hacked off my right arm. Magic was the art of exchange after all, and I wasn't a king for nothing. Gritting my teeth through the pain, aided by Pierce's unwavering willpower and by the fact that he had not in fact sliced me in two yet, I completed a spell that transfered all traces of disease onto my arm.

I stayed conscious long enough to see mushrooms taking hold of the little life that remained in my arm.

At first, he could not understand why you would do such a thing to yourself, and it was especially shocking to the senses to witness as someone who was abruptly becoming present within his own overtaken body.

He'd been damned to see everything his wretched hands had done in the time he'd been overruled by his undesired hitchiker, but it didn't compare to starting to process it all in full and really feeling everything he was feeling, beyond the thin wall the arcane control had put up between himself and his humanity.

Once he realized what you were doing, his eyes went wide, his breaths beginning to shake. He gasped in air like a fish out of water, glancing from you to the abandoned, devoured arm, at once so touched, concerned, and relieved.

He knew the battle was far from over, the witch's mountain looming, the oppressive murder of celebration, but Pierce could not help but to hope and to desperately desire one moment of rest.

"Sire! My lord," Pierce gasped out, staggering to grab you as you faded out, eyes wet— eye wet, as his other had been unfortunately claimed by the spored blight along with the other half of his face, strange unnatural scars, as if the mushrooms had formed uneven, bumpy scales that jutted out of his face, upon their removal, (small bumps of dead mushroom, cut away at the root by the King's intervention) interspersed with rotted, dead, black patches of skin, what eye had been in the opposite socket unseeing and pale.

He wept then, once he'd thought you were fully unconscious and could not see his weakness, the weakness he had been trying to reign in when he'd been sieged by the enemy, that strength which had compelled him to make no sound even while the saltwater dripped down his cheeks earlier.

This time, he sobbed openly, about everything the two of you had had to endure prior, clinging to you tightly as though he feared the moment he released you, he might do harm to you somehow, or something else might, or maybe the blood you'd lost would claim you too suddenly for him to be able to save you.

You heard his weeping, too boyish and small for the man who'd won many a battle for you by the skin of his teeth and intimidated many a foe, as you drifted off into gentle nothingness.

When you awoke, you were in the ruins of a gray-brick building that'd likely housed animals long ago, laid upon hay, while your loyal knight sat close beside you to keep watch. It appeared he'd fallen asleep, though it was a very light sleep. It didn't appear a very peaceful rest, given the way he murmured and choked out breaths, squirming slightly every now and then, his brows furrowed.

Despite the gratifying lack of lasting negative physical impacts (besides the large scar that covered half of his face), it seemed that the spell had left a large gash in Pierce's mental state. His hands remained clenched at his sides, as if still fighting off the the urge to press that sword into raw flesh, breathes labored, shoulders hunched under armor that wasn't there to weigh him down anymore.

Gently, I shook Pierce awake.

With a gasp, his eyes snapped open, pupils contracting so much they nearly disappeared.

Grabbing his hand and placing it above my chest, I whispered, "Feel that?"

My loyal right hand nodded.

I patted his hand gently, "It means I'm alive, and I still trust you with my life."

He had turned his head away after that.

But by the faint tremor in his breathing, I could tell that a heavy weight had been shifted off of him.

He had to be sure you were awake first, of course, before he uttered a word, as he hardly wanted to interrupt the slumbering of a wounded man who'd been through just as much stress and terror as Pierce himself had the other day.

If you'd awoken, it was likely you could feel eyes burning through you, fixed upon you intently in observance.

Rolling onto my back, I tilted my head towards Pierce,

"How far away are we from the witch?"

Pierce shifted slightly in his armor,

"About half a day's journey Sire."

Dusting stray stalks from my tunic, I sprung up onto my feet shakily, balance skewed by my lost limb.

"Great! That means we can put an end to that blasted curse by sunset!"

I was nearly halfway out the door when I realized that my loyal knight wasn't behind me.

"Pierce, come on! We can't afford to dillydally. The fate of the kingdom lies in our hands!"

And yet, he remained rooted to the ground. His eyes flickered to the stump that used to be my right arm, gauntleted hands clenching so hard steel creaked.

"My lord."

"Yes Pierce?"

"I would do anything to protect you."

His eyes lifted, locking onto me.

The determination in them could have melted steel.

"And if by going near that witch, I risk hurting you again..."

His shoulders tensed,

He'd always been sort of mouthy when under stress, the way some might choose to have him executed or demoted for, fiercely protective, with a gleam in his eye that was only hindered on the one side by the wicked mushroom caps that'd sprouted from him prior. The other eye was just as bright and intense as it typically was.

"I don't intend to stop you, if you have a set path in mind you feel obligated to complete and cannot be swayed free of, but I will fight you on it the whole way, or at least see to it that you are well-taken-care-of. I am your shield, and if you'd have asked me to relinquish myself to the witch's foul spell-work to spare you or to prove my loyalty, I would have without question."

Pierce shifted to sit himself upright with a soft grunt. The battle had not been kind to his joints, or much of anything on his person, really.

A steely eye remained fixedly set upon you beneath a fatigue-lowered lid and thick eyelashes that'd long since dried of the tears that'd wet them hours ago. It was hard to think about how, just moments prior, he'd been a sniffling mess over the thought of losing you to the blood that'd doused the ground beneath you out there.

"I hadn't asked you to expend yourself to save my life, your grace, but I will never forget it. I will do anything and everything I can to give that back to you. Anything you ask of me, it is yours."

Pierce clinked a gauntleted fist to his chest as a show of promise and sincerity.

"That's the Pierce I know."

Then, with a glance at his armored body, I sighed,

"How long have you had your armor on?"

Pierce shifted awkwardly,

"...Sire, I hardly think that is of importance right now."

facepalming, I gripe,

"You know wearing your armor for too long is bad for you right?"

Under my watchful gaze, Pierce gently shed his steel outer garments, placing them on the ground with muted clanks, leaving him in a light tunic and leather pants.

The absence of his armor only accentuated his sturdy frame, though his exhaustion was evident in the slight slump of his shoulders and the darkness under his healthy eye.

Before he could volunteer to go hunting for game to eat, I was already out the door, motioning for him to stay and rest.

The autumn wind nipped at my bare face. Pressing one hand onto the cool bark of a tree, I sensed the magic that ran deep through the roots of the forest, dancing it's way through the wind, painting every color of the forest around just a shade brighter. And in that glittery lattice, I found the whisper of another life. The cloven hooves of a doe crunching through brittle orange leaves.

Inhaling deeply, I filled my lungs with the crisp, cool air. The potent mana of the surrounding forest fueling my every movement, feet barely skimming the forest floor, the cold doing nothing to dampen the energy that pulsed in my core.

So elated was I, magic coursing through my veins, that I didn't detect the slight souring inside of the mana network.

So focused on the kill that I didn't notice the mushrooms that had grown on a bare rock face, barren of life and moisture, their texture remiscent of rotting flesh.

I had dragged the body of the dead doe back into the barn. Rising from his spot on a haybale, Pierce had gently used his greatsword to cut away the outer skin to attempt to clean it's intestines. What we found inside shook us to our core.

It's stomach was empty. As if washed by water. Pristine.

And when we took a closer look at the doe's face, we discovered that its eyes were rotting.

"Your Grace, from the looks of it, the poor beast's eyes have been decaying for the better part of a week"

Pierce observed gravely.

And all I could think about, was how this spell, meant for humans, meant for the most selfish of all beings, had poisoned something as pure and beautiful as the doe. How was that possible? Magic was simple. It would kill those you wanted to kill, it would destroy those you wanted to destroy. No human could have possibly cast a spell that could damage nature in any way.

A heavy sigh, rolling shoulders, before he got that familiar stiffness in his stance that suggested he was steeling himself for your needed journey.

"What say you? Shall we find that condemnable fiend and try and save the kingdom, despite how much of a risk and a pain that'll be,... Or do you intend to travel elsewhere and try to find someplace untouched by her contaminations?"

"...On one hand, it could be risking delaying something inevitably doomed to spread, if you think it might, and we can only run so far,... On the other hand, I wouldn't mind too terribly, to meet my end at your side. Though, perhaps you'd rather just get her over with, so we can settle without worrying this'll carry over to whatever regions we'd try and run to... If we survive the battle."

He once again found himself not too much worrying about his own death. It was your death he feared more than any brutal torture an enemy might inflict upon his person.

He could be tortured for ages, kept alive to bear it all, but it would be something he'd deem liveable. Your passing would destroy him nearly irreparably. He'd be a different man.

Pierce wrinkled his nose, deeply off-put by the creature's unnatural state, bending down to hesitantly scrape whatever was left of its skin free with his blade, separating it from the fur. Seemed you two were having jerky today.

"I can't do much with this, save for tiding us over so our stomachs won't ache. We'll have to go to the market, or see if we can find any fresh fruit growing,..."

Any form of summoning magic had always come harder to me, I lacked the strength to have their runes carved into my body. On the other hand, my ability to utilize ambient mana to reinforce myself physically along with those who had the rune of the Knight (think of it as being able to open the lid to fuel a fuel tank. I can pour my magic into their bodies) was extremely competent if not unmatched, a large factor in being chosen as King over my brother Archibald.

Clearing a spot in the barn of hay, I carried over rocks to create the shape of a crude fire pit. With dried leaves and branches already being in plentiful supply, my task became much easier. Instead of expending much physical energy to create a full blown fire, just a tiny spark had been enough. In a short span of time, those dark gray walls were blushing with oranges and reds.

As the strips of meat roasted themselves on a flat stone placed above the bonfire, Pierce returned from the journey to the bottom of his pack (a much more substantial search than one may think, the size of his pack is not to be joked with.). He had procured not only a salt and pepper shaker, but also a jar of surprisingly edible pickles.

In between bites of jerky and pickle, I laid my plan out for Pierce. My brother had been born without a soul large enough to channel mana, but through a contract made with a slumbering god, had become capable of wielding destructive magic of supernatural scale. Of course, creating a contract with the divine was a different process for every person (and it was rare that a contract was approved to begin with), but I believed there was a way I could manage it. There was an abandoned shrine on our path to the witch, and I wanted to at least try to win the favor of those slumbering beings. If I succeeded, our chances of winning would increase exponentially.

It's just a pity that Archibald wouldn't come on this journey no matter how I pleaded. I suppose he was needed to keep the kingdom safe, but having him at our side would have made these trying times so much easier.

I could practically hear his laughter as he ran around the palace. Coaxing smiles out of even Pierce. His magic combined with my ability to amplify physical strength could have been unstoppable.

As if sensing my melancholy, Pierce draped an arm around my shoulder, his warmth grounding even through the layers of his clothing. I leaned into his touch slightly, finishing off the last of my jerky.

The memory of your closeness while you'd finished your makeshift— yet hearty— meal lingered in Pierce, and he found himself fearing the loss of it as your steps aligned at one another's side. He feared that, if this night went sour, he might no longer hear your footsteps punctuate his own. That could not be. He'd make sure his story would end first, if either of you had to meet Fate itself, see it looming beneath its shadowed shroud, observing with its cold, neutral eyes.

It was Pierce's purpose. His reason. He'd lived most of his life to follow you, to dig his hands through muck just to fish you out stones to step upon so you'd never dirty your boots the way he did for you. To bleed for you, in hopes you wouldn't have to. It would be deeply wrong and sickening, corrupted, foul ruination, to have to walk this Earth without you. It would be an absence he'd feel like cold knives digging into the slot between every rib, like hot coals in his throat and chest.

If you weren't there, there was no life to be had at all, Pierce felt, though he did not say it, as he did not want to sully your hopeful, confident mood as you ventured forth and thought you might win this for your kingdom.

All he said was, in a hushed voice, as you made your way to the shrine, and though the witch was far off past it,...

"Your majesty," somewhat choked. A throat clearing grunt, steely eyes set on the path ahead, not you. Brows knitted to save face. "I have the utmost faith in your ability to conquer the witch. I must trust in you."

clop clop clop clop

Cutting through the dead air.

The closer we got to the shrine, the more magical dissonance was present. A corrosive force swirled and rotted, mildewy and sickly sweet. Underneath it, something deep and strong persisted.

"My liege, is something amiss?" Pierce asked, noticing my faraway gaze,

"It should be nothing" I mused, "In fact, it is probably a good sign." Catching Pierce's confused glance, I continued, "The mana signature of the shrine is getting weaker, and that usually happens when a near sentient or sentient magical objects detect someone with high mana. I guess that would be me. It's kind of like a camouflage against those who may manipulate it for magic."

The shrine. You were at last here, and this signified some sort of progress. Fear's dark omen-cloak pulled back as if frightened away by the birds' shared lullaby-babble. This place felt sacred, despite everything that could go wrong, and, though Pierce had been on edge off and on as of late due to the circumstances, some of the weight evaporated from him in the evening mist.

"We could certainly use some good signs."

Then, softer, breathier, words that were between statement and relieved, exasperated sigh...

"There've been nights aplenty when we'd thought it'd all fall apart, and yet, tomorrow still rose with the sun come morning."

A clap on your shoulder, the man's good eye trying to match his tired, stoic half-smile.

"To many more tomorrows after right devilish bastards of days."

Solid ground beneath my feet.

Air in my lungs, in and out, in and out.

Sword clenched in teeth.

Absence of arm irrelevant.

Cold steel on palm.

Lines taking flight on skin.

Red blooming on pale marble.

Offer the body.

Armor glinting beside me, a face set in determination.

Hand trembling on my shoulder, eyes filled with fear and love.

Words spilling out of my lips.

What meaning do they have?

Does it matter?

Offer the mind.

Darkness swirling.

So tired, so heavy.

Ground under my body pulsing.

Sinking, Drowning, Breathing, Bleeding.

Tethered to the mortal plane by a hand and a heart.

However, in case this is over, or in case something is going wrong, he can hardly sit still, feeling the urge to check and make sure of things, to engage you in some way to know that everything is fine and whatever this is that's alight in you is safe for you, and if it isn't, to give you company while the worst parts pass over.

He calls out not due to distance from you, as he's still standing near you as he often is (inseparable, you two), but because the sounds of your... becoming? Was that what it was? He did not fully know,... were quite loud to try and speak through at a normal volume, and it almost felt strange to try, his throat wanting to close around him as he fought to use his voice regardless. Something impressive and awe-inspiring and frightening at the same time, but fright had never stopped the spore-marked man. No, not he, who'd have let a torturer steal away every last finger if it'd guarantee your happiness and wellbeing and your secrets' til-death protection.

"Edward, is it done?"

Are you well? Has anything gone terribly wrong?

Pierce sat at my side, a silent sentinel, hope burning stronger than fear. Clouds gathered outside, whipping the autumn air into something sharp and electric.

A bolt of lightning cracked against the blighted earth, illuminating my blood, long dried on the marble steps. Brown and rotten, copper smell tinged with decay. Red mushrooms were growing in it, small and sweet smelling. Pierce smiled, how delectable they looked, how different from the rot outside. Perhaps he should cook some when Edward woke up.

Rain smashed against the roof with a hunger. The wind knocking at his armor before curling itself deep within the safety of the rafters.

Wrongness sat heavy in his stomach.

Exhaustion sat heavier in his bones.

Gradually, his eyelids closed, falling into a deep, dreamless slumber.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

I found myself in a field of porcelain flowers.

The mana I had sensed in the forest was long gone, replaced by an eerie stillness.

But I had completed the ritual. I had opened the door to the divine. Where was ██████?

My footsteps crunched through the petals. Shards digging into my skin.

"Oi! Edward! You're finally here!"

Archibald's voice. Breaking through the heavy silence. It did make sense that I would find him in this strange dimension, after all, he had come here before. Perhaps I could talk to him after attempting to win the gods favor. Hope blossomed in my chest. I couldn't be far.

I forged onwards, careful not to crush any more flowers. Scratches stinging in the stagnant air.

Occasionally, I would stop to listen for him, the sound my only way of navigating the infinite whiteness.

The air grew heavy with static, my mind felt numb. My brother's voice became more and more agitated as time passed.

"Edward, Hurry! We don't have much time!"

Walking faster, I winced as those petals cracked beneath my feet, painfully sharp.

"Where are you? Something's coming for me."

My breathes came heavy in my ears, lungs burning, legs on fire from exhaustion and injury.

"wait, waitwaitwait! no. No. NOO! STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME????" My brother's voice suddenly pitched up an octave, breaking with panic. Words giving way to screams, heartwrenching in familiarity, terrifying in the pure undiluted pain.

I ran.

The flower petals may as well have been knives.

Lacerations traced up and down my legs like tattoos, dripping blood in rivulets. In the god's dimension, I didn't weaken nor slow, mortal things like injuries didn't take their toll, but the pain increased exponentially. White stars burst across my vision, limbs like lead.

I traced a path of blood through the pristine white, as skin gave way to muscle and muscle gave way to bone. Bone that watered the soil with blood.

My humanity stripped and cleaned.

Burning on an altar of red.

Through the haze of blood and flowers, I saw my brother. Relief flooded through my body, only to curdle as his face ripped apart down the middle, something dark flowing out of the split.

With a puff, my brother's body disintegrated into mushroom spores.

What remained, was impossible to comprehend, tearing my mind to shreds like cheap parchment paper.

I didn't even remember screaming.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The light swoosh of wings on air woke Pierce up.

It was a messenger pigeon, straight from the capitol city.

A pit grew in his stomach. That color, that emblem, these were only used during emergencies.

Lightly, he alleviated the bird of it's burden, allowing it to rest as he read the contents of the message.

Pierce,

Urgent. Prince Archibald passed away last night. He wanted you to know that everything has gone wrong. The plague has won.

So please. Keep the King close in your final moments.

He deserves happiness.

Pierce's world spun.

How was this possible?

Archibald was blessed by a god for heaven's sake. He should have been untouchable by the plague, untouchable by the mushrooms.

Unless...

The thought crawled up his spine, making his body go cold. He turned to the puddle of blood, head buzzing with fear. Why were mushrooms growing so audaciously in a place of god?

And with horror threatening to consume him alive, he looked down at my prone form.

My skin was a blood red.

If Archibald was lost, that meant you had to get out of there, that whatever hollow place you were trapped within at this moment was wretched and hazardous. Whatever you'd sought, Pierce wasn't so sure you'd find it. At least, not in the way you thought you might.

"My liege! Edward,..." He choked out breathlessly, near-hyperventilating. "You've got to wake up right now, Edward,... Eddie!"

All pretenses of politeness and adherence to societal expectations were briefly stripped away, the crown of even less importance to Pierce in this situation than it usually was. It'd never mattered to him, especially not right now, when all he could think about was the person he held in such high regard flushed and frigid on the ground.

Please don't die. Please don't you die on me. Don't you dare die on me. I will level everything in my path if you're taken from me by this world before I'm ready.

Iron.

Bitter.

Drowning.

Blood.

Cold.

Too cold.

Mind full.

Can't think.

Can't feel.

Where am I?

Fetus in a burning womb.

Skin of broken glass.

Pain.

Blinding pain.

Tearing at my skin.

Tearing at my bones.

Too much.

Far too much.

Let me sleep.

Let me rest.

"....Ed....wak....now!"

Who?

"Eddie!"

Someone's name.

Someone's voice.

Images flying in my mind's eye.

I see a sky. Blue. Clear. A boy, not much older than me, teaching me to ride a horse. I see the bottom of a pan, stolen in mischief, reflection showing the face of a bright eyed teen. Guarding the shadow of a throne. At the edge of my sight. Placing a crown above my head. Fighting side by side.

Wake me up.

I cannot rest yet.

The name is mine.

His eyes are closed. He thinks only of you, his king, thinks of wherever you might be in your head, whatever could have you captive within.

This will be an immense risk. He knows not what he's dealing with, what will come of him should he befall a similar fate. He knows not if he will return from your consciousness unscathed, or alone and unsuccessful, or at all. Maybe he'll be stolen away with you, both your essences lost eternally.

It'd all be worth it. As frightening as it is, it'd be more frightening to have to live unaware, without trying at all, knowing he could've done something.

You were worth it.

He'd rather perish in his attempts to free you than helplessly watch you rot in your cage.

Magic, the universal conversion factor.

Magic, the one attribute he had not been gifted at birth.

Ironic really, his strength allowed him to resist the pull of what he now desperately needed to use.

But what if...

His eyes strayed to the mushrooms once more.

They wouldn't destroy his body, he was sure of that. Besides surface scarring that would soon fade, they wouldn't kill him.

They were the first instance of magic powerful enough to hurt him.

They were the weakness he needed if he wanted magic to bless him.

He grabbed them, swallowing without a second thought.

And as his stomach rolled, his mind left his body.

There's something so painful in that line to me.

Because, Derek is essentially saying "How can you die for someone you don't even know? How can you die for a stranger?"

And while it may seem like Derek is being a bit of a hypocrite---considering he only met Avery a few hours ago, he really isn't.

Because Avery isn't a stranger to him.

He knows Avery. Infinite knowledge let him showed him who Avery was. He knew Avery's name. He probably knew Avery's favorite color and his favorite food. He could literally identify a fake (seemingly identical) Avery.

Derek knew everything about Avery.

Avery wasn't a stranger to Derek.

Shortform Prompt 2: Otherworldly Betrayal, but Betrayal Nonetheless

The sweet scent of the grass, the cold hardness of the blade, my breaths shaky, the slight tremble of his arms.

From the warped reflections on my jewelry I glimpse mushroom spores sprouting out of the left half of his face framed by rings of rotting flesh. I start hyperventilating. Pierce, my loyal right hand, the one who had guided me through the path of being a king, the one person who was constant in a world that saw me as a crown and nothing more, my only friend, was nearly completely consumed.

The plague had hit our kingdom earlier that year. Rumors of citizens dying of a mysterious sickness turned into reports of entire villages being wiped out, infected people either dying or being turned into puppets that killed the ones they loved, using the host's memories and body to inflict terror.

Whispers arose that this was all due to witch who had sacrificed and consumed a wizard to obtain magic sufficient to wipe out a kingdom whose king had hypnotized her into killing her lover. The spell had gone wrong. We had to find the witch and kill her in order to bring balance to magic and end the spell's endless rampage across the lands.

We were so close.

The army I had brought with me had died one by one, but we were so close.

The mountain on which she lived was in front of us, and yet I was about to perish at the hands of the one person that meant something to me.

A drop of water lands on the nape of my neck, then two. How fitting for it to rain as I breathed my last, for my departure to be washed away like my existence. Behind me, Pierce's breaths became uneven. Steeling myself, I turned around, prepared to see his face one last time before I died.

But when I did turn around, I froze.

Pierce was crying. Tears streaking his face, sword arm locked in place, and I felt ashamed.

Why was I reminiscing about my life when his entire world was literally being stolen, his consciousness manipulated, his person mutilated? What right did I have to be pitying myself when I needed to save him?

Drawing my sword, I hacked off my right arm. Magic was the art of exchange after all, and I wasn't a king for nothing. Gritting my teeth through the pain, aided by Pierce's unwavering willpower and by the fact that he had not in fact sliced me in two yet, I completed a spell that transfered all traces of disease onto my arm.

I stayed conscious long enough to see mushrooms taking hold of the little life that remained in my arm.

At first, he could not understand why you would do such a thing to yourself, and it was especially shocking to the senses to witness as someone who was abruptly becoming present within his own overtaken body.

He'd been damned to see everything his wretched hands had done in the time he'd been overruled by his undesired hitchiker, but it didn't compare to starting to process it all in full and really feeling everything he was feeling, beyond the thin wall the arcane control had put up between himself and his humanity.

Once he realized what you were doing, his eyes went wide, his breaths beginning to shake. He gasped in air like a fish out of water, glancing from you to the abandoned, devoured arm, at once so touched, concerned, and relieved.

He knew the battle was far from over, the witch's mountain looming, the oppressive murder of celebration, but Pierce could not help but to hope and to desperately desire one moment of rest.

"Sire! My lord," Pierce gasped out, staggering to grab you as you faded out, eyes wet— eye wet, as his other had been unfortunately claimed by the spored blight along with the other half of his face, strange unnatural scars, as if the mushrooms had formed uneven, bumpy scales that jutted out of his face, upon their removal, (small bumps of dead mushroom, cut away at the root by the King's intervention) interspersed with rotted, dead, black patches of skin, what eye had been in the opposite socket unseeing and pale.

He wept then, once he'd thought you were fully unconscious and could not see his weakness, the weakness he had been trying to reign in when he'd been sieged by the enemy, that strength which had compelled him to make no sound even while the saltwater dripped down his cheeks earlier.

This time, he sobbed openly, about everything the two of you had had to endure prior, clinging to you tightly as though he feared the moment he released you, he might do harm to you somehow, or something else might, or maybe the blood you'd lost would claim you too suddenly for him to be able to save you.

You heard his weeping, too boyish and small for the man who'd won many a battle for you by the skin of his teeth and intimidated many a foe, as you drifted off into gentle nothingness.

When you awoke, you were in the ruins of a gray-brick building that'd likely housed animals long ago, laid upon hay, while your loyal knight sat close beside you to keep watch. It appeared he'd fallen asleep, though it was a very light sleep. It didn't appear a very peaceful rest, given the way he murmured and choked out breaths, squirming slightly every now and then, his brows furrowed.

Despite the gratifying lack of lasting negative physical impacts (besides the large scar that covered half of his face), it seemed that the spell had left a large gash in Pierce's mental state. His hands remained clenched at his sides, as if still fighting off the the urge to press that sword into raw flesh, breathes labored, shoulders hunched under armor that wasn't there to weigh him down anymore.

Gently, I shook Pierce awake.

With a gasp, his eyes snapped open, pupils contracting so much they nearly disappeared.

Grabbing his hand and placing it above my chest, I whispered, "Feel that?"

My loyal right hand nodded.

I patted his hand gently, "It means I'm alive, and I still trust you with my life."

He had turned his head away after that.

But by the faint tremor in his breathing, I could tell that a heavy weight had been shifted off of him.

He had to be sure you were awake first, of course, before he uttered a word, as he hardly wanted to interrupt the slumbering of a wounded man who'd been through just as much stress and terror as Pierce himself had the other day.

If you'd awoken, it was likely you could feel eyes burning through you, fixed upon you intently in observance.

Rolling onto my back, I tilted my head towards Pierce,

"How far away are we from the witch?"

Pierce shifted slightly in his armor,

"About half a day's journey Sire."

Dusting stray stalks from my tunic, I sprung up onto my feet shakily, balance skewed by my lost limb.

"Great! That means we can put an end to that blasted curse by sunset!"

I was nearly halfway out the door when I realized that my loyal knight wasn't behind me.

"Pierce, come on! We can't afford to dillydally. The fate of the kingdom lies in our hands!"

And yet, he remained rooted to the ground. His eyes flickered to the stump that used to be my right arm, gauntleted hands clenching so hard steel creaked.

"My lord."

"Yes Pierce?"

"I would do anything to protect you."

His eyes lifted, locking onto me.

The determination in them could have melted steel.

"And if by going near that witch, I risk hurting you again..."

His shoulders tensed,

He'd always been sort of mouthy when under stress, the way some might choose to have him executed or demoted for, fiercely protective, with a gleam in his eye that was only hindered on the one side by the wicked mushroom caps that'd sprouted from him prior. The other eye was just as bright and intense as it typically was.

"I don't intend to stop you, if you have a set path in mind you feel obligated to complete and cannot be swayed free of, but I will fight you on it the whole way, or at least see to it that you are well-taken-care-of. I am your shield, and if you'd have asked me to relinquish myself to the witch's foul spell-work to spare you or to prove my loyalty, I would have without question."

Pierce shifted to sit himself upright with a soft grunt. The battle had not been kind to his joints, or much of anything on his person, really.

A steely eye remained fixedly set upon you beneath a fatigue-lowered lid and thick eyelashes that'd long since dried of the tears that'd wet them hours ago. It was hard to think about how, just moments prior, he'd been a sniffling mess over the thought of losing you to the blood that'd doused the ground beneath you out there.

"I hadn't asked you to expend yourself to save my life, your grace, but I will never forget it. I will do anything and everything I can to give that back to you. Anything you ask of me, it is yours."

Pierce clinked a gauntleted fist to his chest as a show of promise and sincerity.

"That's the Pierce I know."

Then, with a glance at his armored body, I sighed,

"How long have you had your armor on?"

Pierce shifted awkwardly,

"...Sire, I hardly think that is of importance right now."

facepalming, I gripe,

"You know wearing your armor for too long is bad for you right?"

Under my watchful gaze, Pierce gently shed his steel outer garments, placing them on the ground with muted clanks, leaving him in a light tunic and leather pants.

The absence of his armor only accentuated his sturdy frame, though his exhaustion was evident in the slight slump of his shoulders and the darkness under his healthy eye.

Before he could volunteer to go hunting for game to eat, I was already out the door, motioning for him to stay and rest.

The autumn wind nipped at my bare face. Pressing one hand onto the cool bark of a tree, I sensed the magic that ran deep through the roots of the forest, dancing it's way through the wind, painting every color of the forest around just a shade brighter. And in that glittery lattice, I found the whisper of another life. The cloven hooves of a doe crunching through brittle orange leaves.

Inhaling deeply, I filled my lungs with the crisp, cool air. The potent mana of the surrounding forest fueling my every movement, feet barely skimming the forest floor, the cold doing nothing to dampen the energy that pulsed in my core.

So elated was I, magic coursing through my veins, that I didn't detect the slight souring inside of the mana network.

So focused on the kill that I didn't notice the mushrooms that had grown on a bare rock face, barren of life and moisture, their texture remiscent of rotting flesh.

I had dragged the body of the dead doe back into the barn. Rising from his spot on a haybale, Pierce had gently used his greatsword to cut away the outer skin to attempt to clean it's intestines. What we found inside shook us to our core.

It's stomach was empty. As if washed by water. Pristine.

And when we took a closer look at the doe's face, we discovered that its eyes were rotting.

"Your Grace, from the looks of it, the poor beast's eyes have been decaying for the better part of a week"

Pierce observed gravely.

And all I could think about, was how this spell, meant for humans, meant for the most selfish of all beings, had poisoned something as pure and beautiful as the doe. How was that possible? Magic was simple. It would kill those you wanted to kill, it would destroy those you wanted to destroy. No human could have possibly cast a spell that could damage nature in any way.

A heavy sigh, rolling shoulders, before he got that familiar stiffness in his stance that suggested he was steeling himself for your needed journey.

"What say you? Shall we find that condemnable fiend and try and save the kingdom, despite how much of a risk and a pain that'll be,... Or do you intend to travel elsewhere and try to find someplace untouched by her contaminations?"

"...On one hand, it could be risking delaying something inevitably doomed to spread, if you think it might, and we can only run so far,... On the other hand, I wouldn't mind too terribly, to meet my end at your side. Though, perhaps you'd rather just get her over with, so we can settle without worrying this'll carry over to whatever regions we'd try and run to... If we survive the battle."

He once again found himself not too much worrying about his own death. It was your death he feared more than any brutal torture an enemy might inflict upon his person.

He could be tortured for ages, kept alive to bear it all, but it would be something he'd deem liveable. Your passing would destroy him nearly irreparably. He'd be a different man.

Pierce wrinkled his nose, deeply off-put by the creature's unnatural state, bending down to hesitantly scrape whatever was left of its skin free with his blade, separating it from the fur. Seemed you two were having jerky today.

"I can't do much with this, save for tiding us over so our stomachs won't ache. We'll have to go to the market, or see if we can find any fresh fruit growing,..."

Any form of summoning magic had always come harder to me, I lacked the strength to have their runes carved into my body. On the other hand, my ability to utilize ambient mana to reinforce myself physically along with those who had the rune of the Knight (think of it as being able to open the lid to fuel a fuel tank. I can pour my magic into their bodies) was extremely competent if not unmatched, a large factor in being chosen as King over my brother Archibald.

Clearing a spot in the barn of hay, I carried over rocks to create the shape of a crude fire pit. With dried leaves and branches already being in plentiful supply, my task became much easier. Instead of expending much physical energy to create a full blown fire, just a tiny spark had been enough. In a short span of time, those dark gray walls were blushing with oranges and reds.

As the strips of meat roasted themselves on a flat stone placed above the bonfire, Pierce returned from the journey to the bottom of his pack (a much more substantial search than one may think, the size of his pack is not to be joked with.). He had procured not only a salt and pepper shaker, but also a jar of surprisingly edible pickles.

In between bites of jerky and pickle, I laid my plan out for Pierce. My brother had been born without a soul large enough to channel mana, but through a contract made with a slumbering god, had become capable of wielding destructive magic of supernatural scale. Of course, creating a contract with the divine was a different process for every person (and it was rare that a contract was approved to begin with), but I believed there was a way I could manage it. There was an abandoned shrine on our path to the witch, and I wanted to at least try to win the favor of those slumbering beings. If I succeeded, our chances of winning would increase exponentially.

It's just a pity that Archibald wouldn't come on this journey no matter how I pleaded. I suppose he was needed to keep the kingdom safe, but having him at our side would have made these trying times so much easier.

I could practically hear his laughter as he ran around the palace. Coaxing smiles out of even Pierce. His magic combined with my ability to amplify physical strength could have been unstoppable.

As if sensing my melancholy, Pierce draped an arm around my shoulder, his warmth grounding even through the layers of his clothing. I leaned into his touch slightly, finishing off the last of my jerky.

The memory of your closeness while you'd finished your makeshift— yet hearty— meal lingered in Pierce, and he found himself fearing the loss of it as your steps aligned at one another's side. He feared that, if this night went sour, he might no longer hear your footsteps punctuate his own. That could not be. He'd make sure his story would end first, if either of you had to meet Fate itself, see it looming beneath its shadowed shroud, observing with its cold, neutral eyes.

It was Pierce's purpose. His reason. He'd lived most of his life to follow you, to dig his hands through muck just to fish you out stones to step upon so you'd never dirty your boots the way he did for you. To bleed for you, in hopes you wouldn't have to. It would be deeply wrong and sickening, corrupted, foul ruination, to have to walk this Earth without you. It would be an absence he'd feel like cold knives digging into the slot between every rib, like hot coals in his throat and chest.

If you weren't there, there was no life to be had at all, Pierce felt, though he did not say it, as he did not want to sully your hopeful, confident mood as you ventured forth and thought you might win this for your kingdom.

All he said was, in a hushed voice, as you made your way to the shrine, and though the witch was far off past it,...

"Your majesty," somewhat choked. A throat clearing grunt, steely eyes set on the path ahead, not you. Brows knitted to save face. "I have the utmost faith in your ability to conquer the witch. I must trust in you."

clop clop clop clop

Cutting through the dead air.

The closer we got to the shrine, the more magical dissonance was present. A corrosive force swirled and rotted, mildewy and sickly sweet. Underneath it, something deep and strong persisted.

"My liege, is something amiss?" Pierce asked, noticing my faraway gaze,

"It should be nothing" I mused, "In fact, it is probably a good sign." Catching Pierce's confused glance, I continued, "The mana signature of the shrine is getting weaker, and that usually happens when a near sentient or sentient magical objects detect someone with high mana. I guess that would be me. It's kind of like a camouflage against those who may manipulate it for magic."

The shrine. You were at last here, and this signified some sort of progress. Fear's dark omen-cloak pulled back as if frightened away by the birds' shared lullaby-babble. This place felt sacred, despite everything that could go wrong, and, though Pierce had been on edge off and on as of late due to the circumstances, some of the weight evaporated from him in the evening mist.

"We could certainly use some good signs."

Then, softer, breathier, words that were between statement and relieved, exasperated sigh...

"There've been nights aplenty when we'd thought it'd all fall apart, and yet, tomorrow still rose with the sun come morning."

A clap on your shoulder, the man's good eye trying to match his tired, stoic half-smile.

"To many more tomorrows after right devilish bastards of days."

Solid ground beneath my feet.

Air in my lungs, in and out, in and out.

Sword clenched in teeth.

Absence of arm irrelevant.

Cold steel on palm.

Lines taking flight on skin.

Red blooming on pale marble.

Offer the body.

Armor glinting beside me, a face set in determination.

Hand trembling on my shoulder, eyes filled with fear and love.

Words spilling out of my lips.

What meaning do they have?

Does it matter?

Offer the mind.

Darkness swirling.

So tired, so heavy.

Ground under my body pulsing.

Sinking, Drowning, Breathing, Bleeding.

Tethered to the mortal plane by a hand and a heart.

However, in case this is over, or in case something is going wrong, he can hardly sit still, feeling the urge to check and make sure of things, to engage you in some way to know that everything is fine and whatever this is that's alight in you is safe for you, and if it isn't, to give you company while the worst parts pass over.

He calls out not due to distance from you, as he's still standing near you as he often is (inseparable, you two), but because the sounds of your... becoming? Was that what it was? He did not fully know,... were quite loud to try and speak through at a normal volume, and it almost felt strange to try, his throat wanting to close around him as he fought to use his voice regardless. Something impressive and awe-inspiring and frightening at the same time, but fright had never stopped the spore-marked man. No, not he, who'd have let a torturer steal away every last finger if it'd guarantee your happiness and wellbeing and your secrets' til-death protection.

"Edward, is it done?"

Are you well? Has anything gone terribly wrong?

Pierce sat at my side, a silent sentinel, hope burning stronger than fear. Clouds gathered outside, whipping the autumn air into something sharp and electric.

A bolt of lightning cracked against the blighted earth, illuminating my blood, long dried on the marble steps. Brown and rotten, copper smell tinged with decay. Red mushrooms were growing in it, small and sweet smelling. Pierce smiled, how delectable they looked, how different from the rot outside. Perhaps he should cook some when Edward woke up.

Rain smashed against the roof with a hunger. The wind knocking at his armor before curling itself deep within the safety of the rafters.

Wrongness sat heavy in his stomach.

Exhaustion sat heavier in his bones.

Gradually, his eyelids closed, falling into a deep, dreamless slumber.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

I found myself in a field of porcelain flowers.

The mana I had sensed in the forest was long gone, replaced by an eerie stillness.

But I had completed the ritual. I had opened the door to the divine. Where was ██████?

My footsteps crunched through the petals. Shards digging into my skin.

"Oi! Edward! You're finally here!"

Archibald's voice. Breaking through the heavy silence. It did make sense that I would find him in this strange dimension, after all, he had come here before. Perhaps I could talk to him after attempting to win the gods favor. Hope blossomed in my chest. I couldn't be far.

I forged onwards, careful not to crush any more flowers. Scratches stinging in the stagnant air.

Occasionally, I would stop to listen for him, the sound my only way of navigating the infinite whiteness.

The air grew heavy with static, my mind felt numb. My brother's voice became more and more agitated as time passed.

"Edward, Hurry! We don't have much time!"

Walking faster, I winced as those petals cracked beneath my feet, painfully sharp.

"Where are you? Something's coming for me."

My breathes came heavy in my ears, lungs burning, legs on fire from exhaustion and injury.

"wait, waitwaitwait! no. No. NOO! STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME????" My brother's voice suddenly pitched up an octave, breaking with panic. Words giving way to screams, heartwrenching in familiarity, terrifying in the pure undiluted pain.

I ran.

The flower petals may as well have been knives.

Lacerations traced up and down my legs like tattoos, dripping blood in rivulets. In the god's dimension, I didn't weaken nor slow, mortal things like injuries didn't take their toll, but the pain increased exponentially. White stars burst across my vision, limbs like lead.

I traced a path of blood through the pristine white, as skin gave way to muscle and muscle gave way to bone. Bone that watered the soil with blood.

My humanity stripped and cleaned.

Burning on an altar of red.

Through the haze of blood and flowers, I saw my brother. Relief flooded through my body, only to curdle as his face ripped apart down the middle, something dark flowing out of the split.

With a puff, my brother's body disintegrated into mushroom spores.

What remained, was impossible to comprehend, tearing my mind to shreds like cheap parchment paper.

I didn't even remember screaming.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The light swoosh of wings on air woke Pierce up.

It was a messenger pigeon, straight from the capitol city.

A pit grew in his stomach. That color, that emblem, these were only used during emergencies.

Lightly, he alleviated the bird of it's burden, allowing it to rest as he read the contents of the message.

Pierce,

Urgent. Prince Archibald passed away last night. He wanted you to know that everything has gone wrong. The plague has won.

So please. Keep the King close in your final moments.

He deserves happiness.

Pierce's world spun.

How was this possible?

Archibald was blessed by a god for heaven's sake. He should have been untouchable by the plague, untouchable by the mushrooms.

Unless...

The thought crawled up his spine, making his body go cold. He turned to the puddle of blood, head buzzing with fear. Why were mushrooms growing so audaciously in a place of god?

And with horror threatening to consume him alive, he looked down at my prone form.

My skin was a blood red.

If Archibald was lost, that meant you had to get out of there, that whatever hollow place you were trapped within at this moment was wretched and hazardous. Whatever you'd sought, Pierce wasn't so sure you'd find it. At least, not in the way you thought you might.

"My liege! Edward,..." He choked out breathlessly, near-hyperventilating. "You've got to wake up right now, Edward,... Eddie!"

All pretenses of politeness and adherence to societal expectations were briefly stripped away, the crown of even less importance to Pierce in this situation than it usually was. It'd never mattered to him, especially not right now, when all he could think about was the person he held in such high regard flushed and frigid on the ground.

Please don't die. Please don't you die on me. Don't you dare die on me. I will level everything in my path if you're taken from me by this world before I'm ready.

Iron.

Bitter.

Drowning.

Blood.

Cold.

Too cold.

Mind full.

Can't think.

Can't feel.

Where am I?

Fetus in a burning womb.

Skin of broken glass.

Pain.

Blinding pain.

Tearing at my skin.

Tearing at my bones.

Too much.

Far too much.

Let me sleep.

Let me rest.

"....Ed....wak....now!"

Who?

"Eddie!"

Someone's name.

Someone's voice.

Images flying in my mind's eye.

I see a sky. Blue. Clear. A boy, not much older than me, teaching me to ride a horse. I see the bottom of a pan, stolen in mischief, reflection showing the face of a bright eyed teen. Guarding the shadow of a throne. At the edge of my sight. Placing a crown above my head. Fighting side by side.

Wake me up.

I cannot rest yet.

The name is mine.

Shortform Prompt 2: Otherworldly Betrayal, but Betrayal Nonetheless

The sweet scent of the grass, the cold hardness of the blade, my breaths shaky, the slight tremble of his arms.

From the warped reflections on my jewelry I glimpse mushroom spores sprouting out of the left half of his face framed by rings of rotting flesh. I start hyperventilating. Pierce, my loyal right hand, the one who had guided me through the path of being a king, the one person who was constant in a world that saw me as a crown and nothing more, my only friend, was nearly completely consumed.

The plague had hit our kingdom earlier that year. Rumors of citizens dying of a mysterious sickness turned into reports of entire villages being wiped out, infected people either dying or being turned into puppets that killed the ones they loved, using the host's memories and body to inflict terror.

Whispers arose that this was all due to witch who had sacrificed and consumed a wizard to obtain magic sufficient to wipe out a kingdom whose king had hypnotized her into killing her lover. The spell had gone wrong. We had to find the witch and kill her in order to bring balance to magic and end the spell's endless rampage across the lands.

We were so close.

The army I had brought with me had died one by one, but we were so close.

The mountain on which she lived was in front of us, and yet I was about to perish at the hands of the one person that meant something to me.

A drop of water lands on the nape of my neck, then two. How fitting for it to rain as I breathed my last, for my departure to be washed away like my existence. Behind me, Pierce's breaths became uneven. Steeling myself, I turned around, prepared to see his face one last time before I died.

But when I did turn around, I froze.

Pierce was crying. Tears streaking his face, sword arm locked in place, and I felt ashamed.

Why was I reminiscing about my life when his entire world was literally being stolen, his consciousness manipulated, his person mutilated? What right did I have to be pitying myself when I needed to save him?

Drawing my sword, I hacked off my right arm. Magic was the art of exchange after all, and I wasn't a king for nothing. Gritting my teeth through the pain, aided by Pierce's unwavering willpower and by the fact that he had not in fact sliced me in two yet, I completed a spell that transfered all traces of disease onto my arm.

I stayed conscious long enough to see mushrooms taking hold of the little life that remained in my arm.

At first, he could not understand why you would do such a thing to yourself, and it was especially shocking to the senses to witness as someone who was abruptly becoming present within his own overtaken body.

He'd been damned to see everything his wretched hands had done in the time he'd been overruled by his undesired hitchiker, but it didn't compare to starting to process it all in full and really feeling everything he was feeling, beyond the thin wall the arcane control had put up between himself and his humanity.

Once he realized what you were doing, his eyes went wide, his breaths beginning to shake. He gasped in air like a fish out of water, glancing from you to the abandoned, devoured arm, at once so touched, concerned, and relieved.

He knew the battle was far from over, the witch's mountain looming, the oppressive murder of celebration, but Pierce could not help but to hope and to desperately desire one moment of rest.

"Sire! My lord," Pierce gasped out, staggering to grab you as you faded out, eyes wet— eye wet, as his other had been unfortunately claimed by the spored blight along with the other half of his face, strange unnatural scars, as if the mushrooms had formed uneven, bumpy scales that jutted out of his face, upon their removal, (small bumps of dead mushroom, cut away at the root by the King's intervention) interspersed with rotted, dead, black patches of skin, what eye had been in the opposite socket unseeing and pale.

He wept then, once he'd thought you were fully unconscious and could not see his weakness, the weakness he had been trying to reign in when he'd been sieged by the enemy, that strength which had compelled him to make no sound even while the saltwater dripped down his cheeks earlier.

This time, he sobbed openly, about everything the two of you had had to endure prior, clinging to you tightly as though he feared the moment he released you, he might do harm to you somehow, or something else might, or maybe the blood you'd lost would claim you too suddenly for him to be able to save you.

You heard his weeping, too boyish and small for the man who'd won many a battle for you by the skin of his teeth and intimidated many a foe, as you drifted off into gentle nothingness.

When you awoke, you were in the ruins of a gray-brick building that'd likely housed animals long ago, laid upon hay, while your loyal knight sat close beside you to keep watch. It appeared he'd fallen asleep, though it was a very light sleep. It didn't appear a very peaceful rest, given the way he murmured and choked out breaths, squirming slightly every now and then, his brows furrowed.

Despite the gratifying lack of lasting negative physical impacts (besides the large scar that covered half of his face), it seemed that the spell had left a large gash in Pierce's mental state. His hands remained clenched at his sides, as if still fighting off the the urge to press that sword into raw flesh, breathes labored, shoulders hunched under armor that wasn't there to weigh him down anymore.

Gently, I shook Pierce awake.

With a gasp, his eyes snapped open, pupils contracting so much they nearly disappeared.

Grabbing his hand and placing it above my chest, I whispered, "Feel that?"

My loyal right hand nodded.

I patted his hand gently, "It means I'm alive, and I still trust you with my life."

He had turned his head away after that.

But by the faint tremor in his breathing, I could tell that a heavy weight had been shifted off of him.

He had to be sure you were awake first, of course, before he uttered a word, as he hardly wanted to interrupt the slumbering of a wounded man who'd been through just as much stress and terror as Pierce himself had the other day.

If you'd awoken, it was likely you could feel eyes burning through you, fixed upon you intently in observance.

Rolling onto my back, I tilted my head towards Pierce,

"How far away are we from the witch?"

Pierce shifted slightly in his armor,

"About half a day's journey Sire."

Dusting stray stalks from my tunic, I sprung up onto my feet shakily, balance skewed by my lost limb.

"Great! That means we can put an end to that blasted curse by sunset!"

I was nearly halfway out the door when I realized that my loyal knight wasn't behind me.

"Pierce, come on! We can't afford to dillydally. The fate of the kingdom lies in our hands!"

And yet, he remained rooted to the ground. His eyes flickered to the stump that used to be my right arm, gauntleted hands clenching so hard steel creaked.

"My lord."

"Yes Pierce?"

"I would do anything to protect you."

His eyes lifted, locking onto me.

The determination in them could have melted steel.

"And if by going near that witch, I risk hurting you again..."

His shoulders tensed,

He'd always been sort of mouthy when under stress, the way some might choose to have him executed or demoted for, fiercely protective, with a gleam in his eye that was only hindered on the one side by the wicked mushroom caps that'd sprouted from him prior. The other eye was just as bright and intense as it typically was.

"I don't intend to stop you, if you have a set path in mind you feel obligated to complete and cannot be swayed free of, but I will fight you on it the whole way, or at least see to it that you are well-taken-care-of. I am your shield, and if you'd have asked me to relinquish myself to the witch's foul spell-work to spare you or to prove my loyalty, I would have without question."

Pierce shifted to sit himself upright with a soft grunt. The battle had not been kind to his joints, or much of anything on his person, really.

A steely eye remained fixedly set upon you beneath a fatigue-lowered lid and thick eyelashes that'd long since dried of the tears that'd wet them hours ago. It was hard to think about how, just moments prior, he'd been a sniffling mess over the thought of losing you to the blood that'd doused the ground beneath you out there.

"I hadn't asked you to expend yourself to save my life, your grace, but I will never forget it. I will do anything and everything I can to give that back to you. Anything you ask of me, it is yours."

Pierce clinked a gauntleted fist to his chest as a show of promise and sincerity.

"That's the Pierce I know."

Then, with a glance at his armored body, I sighed,

"How long have you had your armor on?"

Pierce shifted awkwardly,

"...Sire, I hardly think that is of importance right now."

facepalming, I gripe,

"You know wearing your armor for too long is bad for you right?"

Under my watchful gaze, Pierce gently shed his steel outer garments, placing them on the ground with muted clanks, leaving him in a light tunic and leather pants.

The absence of his armor only accentuated his sturdy frame, though his exhaustion was evident in the slight slump of his shoulders and the darkness under his healthy eye.

Before he could volunteer to go hunting for game to eat, I was already out the door, motioning for him to stay and rest.

The autumn wind nipped at my bare face. Pressing one hand onto the cool bark of a tree, I sensed the magic that ran deep through the roots of the forest, dancing it's way through the wind, painting every color of the forest around just a shade brighter. And in that glittery lattice, I found the whisper of another life. The cloven hooves of a doe crunching through brittle orange leaves.

Inhaling deeply, I filled my lungs with the crisp, cool air. The potent mana of the surrounding forest fueling my every movement, feet barely skimming the forest floor, the cold doing nothing to dampen the energy that pulsed in my core.

So elated was I, magic coursing through my veins, that I didn't detect the slight souring inside of the mana network.

So focused on the kill that I didn't notice the mushrooms that had grown on a bare rock face, barren of life and moisture, their texture remiscent of rotting flesh.

I had dragged the body of the dead doe back into the barn. Rising from his spot on a haybale, Pierce had gently used his greatsword to cut away the outer skin to attempt to clean it's intestines. What we found inside shook us to our core.

It's stomach was empty. As if washed by water. Pristine.

And when we took a closer look at the doe's face, we discovered that its eyes were rotting.

"Your Grace, from the looks of it, the poor beast's eyes have been decaying for the better part of a week"

Pierce observed gravely.

And all I could think about, was how this spell, meant for humans, meant for the most selfish of all beings, had poisoned something as pure and beautiful as the doe. How was that possible? Magic was simple. It would kill those you wanted to kill, it would destroy those you wanted to destroy. No human could have possibly cast a spell that could damage nature in any way.

A heavy sigh, rolling shoulders, before he got that familiar stiffness in his stance that suggested he was steeling himself for your needed journey.

"What say you? Shall we find that condemnable fiend and try and save the kingdom, despite how much of a risk and a pain that'll be,... Or do you intend to travel elsewhere and try to find someplace untouched by her contaminations?"

"...On one hand, it could be risking delaying something inevitably doomed to spread, if you think it might, and we can only run so far,... On the other hand, I wouldn't mind too terribly, to meet my end at your side. Though, perhaps you'd rather just get her over with, so we can settle without worrying this'll carry over to whatever regions we'd try and run to... If we survive the battle."

He once again found himself not too much worrying about his own death. It was your death he feared more than any brutal torture an enemy might inflict upon his person.

He could be tortured for ages, kept alive to bear it all, but it would be something he'd deem liveable. Your passing would destroy him nearly irreparably. He'd be a different man.

Pierce wrinkled his nose, deeply off-put by the creature's unnatural state, bending down to hesitantly scrape whatever was left of its skin free with his blade, separating it from the fur. Seemed you two were having jerky today.

"I can't do much with this, save for tiding us over so our stomachs won't ache. We'll have to go to the market, or see if we can find any fresh fruit growing,..."

Any form of summoning magic had always come harder to me, I lacked the strength to have their runes carved into my body. On the other hand, my ability to utilize ambient mana to reinforce myself physically along with those who had the rune of the Knight (think of it as being able to open the lid to fuel a fuel tank. I can pour my magic into their bodies) was extremely competent if not unmatched, a large factor in being chosen as King over my brother Archibald.

Clearing a spot in the barn of hay, I carried over rocks to create the shape of a crude fire pit. With dried leaves and branches already being in plentiful supply, my task became much easier. Instead of expending much physical energy to create a full blown fire, just a tiny spark had been enough. In a short span of time, those dark gray walls were blushing with oranges and reds.

As the strips of meat roasted themselves on a flat stone placed above the bonfire, Pierce returned from the journey to the bottom of his pack (a much more substantial search than one may think, the size of his pack is not to be joked with.). He had procured not only a salt and pepper shaker, but also a jar of surprisingly edible pickles.

In between bites of jerky and pickle, I laid my plan out for Pierce. My brother had been born without a soul large enough to channel mana, but through a contract made with a slumbering god, had become capable of wielding destructive magic of supernatural scale. Of course, creating a contract with the divine was a different process for every person (and it was rare that a contract was approved to begin with), but I believed there was a way I could manage it. There was an abandoned shrine on our path to the witch, and I wanted to at least try to win the favor of those slumbering beings. If I succeeded, our chances of winning would increase exponentially.

It's just a pity that Archibald wouldn't come on this journey no matter how I pleaded. I suppose he was needed to keep the kingdom safe, but having him at our side would have made these trying times so much easier.

I could practically hear his laughter as he ran around the palace. Coaxing smiles out of even Pierce. His magic combined with my ability to amplify physical strength could have been unstoppable.

As if sensing my melancholy, Pierce draped an arm around my shoulder, his warmth grounding even through the layers of his clothing. I leaned into his touch slightly, finishing off the last of my jerky.

The memory of your closeness while you'd finished your makeshift— yet hearty— meal lingered in Pierce, and he found himself fearing the loss of it as your steps aligned at one another's side. He feared that, if this night went sour, he might no longer hear your footsteps punctuate his own. That could not be. He'd make sure his story would end first, if either of you had to meet Fate itself, see it looming beneath its shadowed shroud, observing with its cold, neutral eyes.

It was Pierce's purpose. His reason. He'd lived most of his life to follow you, to dig his hands through muck just to fish you out stones to step upon so you'd never dirty your boots the way he did for you. To bleed for you, in hopes you wouldn't have to. It would be deeply wrong and sickening, corrupted, foul ruination, to have to walk this Earth without you. It would be an absence he'd feel like cold knives digging into the slot between every rib, like hot coals in his throat and chest.

If you weren't there, there was no life to be had at all, Pierce felt, though he did not say it, as he did not want to sully your hopeful, confident mood as you ventured forth and thought you might win this for your kingdom.

All he said was, in a hushed voice, as you made your way to the shrine, and though the witch was far off past it,...

"Your majesty," somewhat choked. A throat clearing grunt, steely eyes set on the path ahead, not you. Brows knitted to save face. "I have the utmost faith in your ability to conquer the witch. I must trust in you."

clop clop clop clop

Cutting through the dead air.

The closer we got to the shrine, the more magical dissonance was present. A corrosive force swirled and rotted, mildewy and sickly sweet. Underneath it, something deep and strong persisted.

"My liege, is something amiss?" Pierce asked, noticing my faraway gaze,

"It should be nothing" I mused, "In fact, it is probably a good sign." Catching Pierce's confused glance, I continued, "The mana signature of the shrine is getting weaker, and that usually happens when a near sentient or sentient magical objects detect someone with high mana. I guess that would be me. It's kind of like a camouflage against those who may manipulate it for magic."

The shrine. You were at last here, and this signified some sort of progress. Fear's dark omen-cloak pulled back as if frightened away by the birds' shared lullaby-babble. This place felt sacred, despite everything that could go wrong, and, though Pierce had been on edge off and on as of late due to the circumstances, some of the weight evaporated from him in the evening mist.

"We could certainly use some good signs."

Then, softer, breathier, words that were between statement and relieved, exasperated sigh...

"There've been nights aplenty when we'd thought it'd all fall apart, and yet, tomorrow still rose with the sun come morning."

A clap on your shoulder, the man's good eye trying to match his tired, stoic half-smile.

"To many more tomorrows after right devilish bastards of days."

Solid ground beneath my feet.

Air in my lungs, in and out, in and out.

Sword clenched in teeth.

Absence of arm irrelevant.

Cold steel on palm.

Lines taking flight on skin.

Red blooming on pale marble.

Offer the body.

Armor glinting beside me, a face set in determination.

Hand trembling on my shoulder, eyes filled with fear and love.

Words spilling out of my lips.

What meaning do they have?

Does it matter?

Offer the mind.

Darkness swirling.

So tired, so heavy.

Ground under my body pulsing.

Sinking, Drowning, Breathing, Bleeding.

Tethered to the mortal plane by a hand and a heart.

However, in case this is over, or in case something is going wrong, he can hardly sit still, feeling the urge to check and make sure of things, to engage you in some way to know that everything is fine and whatever this is that's alight in you is safe for you, and if it isn't, to give you company while the worst parts pass over.

He calls out not due to distance from you, as he's still standing near you as he often is (inseparable, you two), but because the sounds of your... becoming? Was that what it was? He did not fully know,... were quite loud to try and speak through at a normal volume, and it almost felt strange to try, his throat wanting to close around him as he fought to use his voice regardless. Something impressive and awe-inspiring and frightening at the same time, but fright had never stopped the spore-marked man. No, not he, who'd have let a torturer steal away every last finger if it'd guarantee your happiness and wellbeing and your secrets' til-death protection.

"Edward, is it done?"

Are you well? Has anything gone terribly wrong?

Pierce sat at my side, a silent sentinel, hope burning stronger than fear. Clouds gathered outside, whipping the autumn air into something sharp and electric.

A bolt of lightning cracked against the blighted earth, illuminating my blood, long dried on the marble steps. Brown and rotten, copper smell tinged with decay. Red mushrooms were growing in it, small and sweet smelling. Pierce smiled, how delectable they looked, how different from the rot outside. Perhaps he should cook some when Edward woke up.

Rain smashed against the roof with a hunger. The wind knocking at his armor before curling itself deep within the safety of the rafters.

Wrongness sat heavy in his stomach.

Exhaustion sat heavier in his bones.

Gradually, his eyelids closed, falling into a deep, dreamless slumber.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

I found myself in a field of porcelain flowers.

The mana I had sensed in the forest was long gone, replaced by an eerie stillness.

But I had completed the ritual. I had opened the door to the divine. Where was ██████?

My footsteps crunched through the petals. Shards digging into my skin.

"Oi! Edward! You're finally here!"

Archibald's voice. Breaking through the heavy silence. It did make sense that I would find him in this strange dimension, after all, he had come here before. Perhaps I could talk to him after attempting to win the gods favor. Hope blossomed in my chest. I couldn't be far.

I forged onwards, careful not to crush any more flowers. Scratches stinging in the stagnant air.

Occasionally, I would stop to listen for him, the sound my only way of navigating the infinite whiteness.

The air grew heavy with static, my mind felt numb. My brother's voice became more and more agitated as time passed.

"Edward, Hurry! We don't have much time!"

Walking faster, I winced as those petals cracked beneath my feet, painfully sharp.

"Where are you? Something's coming for me."

My breathes came heavy in my ears, lungs burning, legs on fire from exhaustion and injury.

"wait, waitwaitwait! no. No. NOO! STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME????" My brother's voice suddenly pitched up an octave, breaking with panic. Words giving way to screams, heartwrenching in familiarity, terrifying in the pure undiluted pain.

I ran.

The flower petals may as well have been knives.

Lacerations traced up and down my legs like tattoos, dripping blood in rivulets. In the god's dimension, I didn't weaken nor slow, mortal things like injuries didn't take their toll, but the pain increased exponentially. White stars burst across my vision, limbs like lead.

I traced a path of blood through the pristine white, as skin gave way to muscle and muscle gave way to bone. Bone that watered the soil with blood.

My humanity stripped and cleaned.

Burning on an altar of red.

Through the haze of blood and flowers, I saw my brother. Relief flooded through my body, only to curdle as his face ripped apart down the middle, something dark flowing out of the split.

With a puff, my brother's body disintegrated into mushroom spores.

What remained, was impossible to comprehend, tearing my mind to shreds like cheap parchment paper.

I didn't even remember screaming.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The light swoosh of wings on air woke Pierce up.

It was a messenger pigeon, straight from the capitol city.

A pit grew in his stomach. That color, that emblem, these were only used during emergencies.

Lightly, he alleviated the bird of it's burden, allowing it to rest as he read the contents of the message.

Pierce,

Urgent. Prince Archibald passed away last night. He wanted you to know that everything has gone wrong. The plague has won.

So please. Keep the King close in your final moments.

He deserves happiness.

Pierce's world spun.

How was this possible?

Archibald was blessed by a god for heaven's sake. He should have been untouchable by the plague, untouchable by the mushrooms.

Unless...

The thought crawled up his spine, making his body go cold. He turned to the puddle of blood, head buzzing with fear. Why were mushrooms growing so audaciously in a place of god?

And with horror threatening to consume him alive, he looked down at my prone form.

My skin was a blood red.

Shortform Prompt 2: Otherworldly Betrayal, but Betrayal Nonetheless

The sweet scent of the grass, the cold hardness of the blade, my breaths shaky, the slight tremble of his arms.

From the warped reflections on my jewelry I glimpse mushroom spores sprouting out of the left half of his face framed by rings of rotting flesh. I start hyperventilating. Pierce, my loyal right hand, the one who had guided me through the path of being a king, the one person who was constant in a world that saw me as a crown and nothing more, my only friend, was nearly completely consumed.

The plague had hit our kingdom earlier that year. Rumors of citizens dying of a mysterious sickness turned into reports of entire villages being wiped out, infected people either dying or being turned into puppets that killed the ones they loved, using the host's memories and body to inflict terror.

Whispers arose that this was all due to witch who had sacrificed and consumed a wizard to obtain magic sufficient to wipe out a kingdom whose king had hypnotized her into killing her lover. The spell had gone wrong. We had to find the witch and kill her in order to bring balance to magic and end the spell's endless rampage across the lands.

We were so close.

The army I had brought with me had died one by one, but we were so close.

The mountain on which she lived was in front of us, and yet I was about to perish at the hands of the one person that meant something to me.

A drop of water lands on the nape of my neck, then two. How fitting for it to rain as I breathed my last, for my departure to be washed away like my existence. Behind me, Pierce's breaths became uneven. Steeling myself, I turned around, prepared to see his face one last time before I died.

But when I did turn around, I froze.

Pierce was crying. Tears streaking his face, sword arm locked in place, and I felt ashamed.

Why was I reminiscing about my life when his entire world was literally being stolen, his consciousness manipulated, his person mutilated? What right did I have to be pitying myself when I needed to save him?

Drawing my sword, I hacked off my right arm. Magic was the art of exchange after all, and I wasn't a king for nothing. Gritting my teeth through the pain, aided by Pierce's unwavering willpower and by the fact that he had not in fact sliced me in two yet, I completed a spell that transfered all traces of disease onto my arm.

I stayed conscious long enough to see mushrooms taking hold of the little life that remained in my arm.

At first, he could not understand why you would do such a thing to yourself, and it was especially shocking to the senses to witness as someone who was abruptly becoming present within his own overtaken body.

He'd been damned to see everything his wretched hands had done in the time he'd been overruled by his undesired hitchiker, but it didn't compare to starting to process it all in full and really feeling everything he was feeling, beyond the thin wall the arcane control had put up between himself and his humanity.

Once he realized what you were doing, his eyes went wide, his breaths beginning to shake. He gasped in air like a fish out of water, glancing from you to the abandoned, devoured arm, at once so touched, concerned, and relieved.

He knew the battle was far from over, the witch's mountain looming, the oppressive murder of celebration, but Pierce could not help but to hope and to desperately desire one moment of rest.

"Sire! My lord," Pierce gasped out, staggering to grab you as you faded out, eyes wet— eye wet, as his other had been unfortunately claimed by the spored blight along with the other half of his face, strange unnatural scars, as if the mushrooms had formed uneven, bumpy scales that jutted out of his face, upon their removal, (small bumps of dead mushroom, cut away at the root by the King's intervention) interspersed with rotted, dead, black patches of skin, what eye had been in the opposite socket unseeing and pale.

He wept then, once he'd thought you were fully unconscious and could not see his weakness, the weakness he had been trying to reign in when he'd been sieged by the enemy, that strength which had compelled him to make no sound even while the saltwater dripped down his cheeks earlier.

This time, he sobbed openly, about everything the two of you had had to endure prior, clinging to you tightly as though he feared the moment he released you, he might do harm to you somehow, or something else might, or maybe the blood you'd lost would claim you too suddenly for him to be able to save you.

You heard his weeping, too boyish and small for the man who'd won many a battle for you by the skin of his teeth and intimidated many a foe, as you drifted off into gentle nothingness.

When you awoke, you were in the ruins of a gray-brick building that'd likely housed animals long ago, laid upon hay, while your loyal knight sat close beside you to keep watch. It appeared he'd fallen asleep, though it was a very light sleep. It didn't appear a very peaceful rest, given the way he murmured and choked out breaths, squirming slightly every now and then, his brows furrowed.

Despite the gratifying lack of lasting negative physical impacts (besides the large scar that covered half of his face), it seemed that the spell had left a large gash in Pierce's mental state. His hands remained clenched at his sides, as if still fighting off the the urge to press that sword into raw flesh, breathes labored, shoulders hunched under armor that wasn't there to weigh him down anymore.

Gently, I shook Pierce awake.

With a gasp, his eyes snapped open, pupils contracting so much they nearly disappeared.

Grabbing his hand and placing it above my chest, I whispered, "Feel that?"

My loyal right hand nodded.

I patted his hand gently, "It means I'm alive, and I still trust you with my life."

He had turned his head away after that.

But by the faint tremor in his breathing, I could tell that a heavy weight had been shifted off of him.

He had to be sure you were awake first, of course, before he uttered a word, as he hardly wanted to interrupt the slumbering of a wounded man who'd been through just as much stress and terror as Pierce himself had the other day.

If you'd awoken, it was likely you could feel eyes burning through you, fixed upon you intently in observance.

Rolling onto my back, I tilted my head towards Pierce,

"How far away are we from the witch?"

Pierce shifted slightly in his armor,

"About half a day's journey Sire."

Dusting stray stalks from my tunic, I sprung up onto my feet shakily, balance skewed by my lost limb.

"Great! That means we can put an end to that blasted curse by sunset!"

I was nearly halfway out the door when I realized that my loyal knight wasn't behind me.

"Pierce, come on! We can't afford to dillydally. The fate of the kingdom lies in our hands!"

And yet, he remained rooted to the ground. His eyes flickered to the stump that used to be my right arm, gauntleted hands clenching so hard steel creaked.

"My lord."

"Yes Pierce?"

"I would do anything to protect you."

His eyes lifted, locking onto me.

The determination in them could have melted steel.

"And if by going near that witch, I risk hurting you again..."

His shoulders tensed,

He'd always been sort of mouthy when under stress, the way some might choose to have him executed or demoted for, fiercely protective, with a gleam in his eye that was only hindered on the one side by the wicked mushroom caps that'd sprouted from him prior. The other eye was just as bright and intense as it typically was.

"I don't intend to stop you, if you have a set path in mind you feel obligated to complete and cannot be swayed free of, but I will fight you on it the whole way, or at least see to it that you are well-taken-care-of. I am your shield, and if you'd have asked me to relinquish myself to the witch's foul spell-work to spare you or to prove my loyalty, I would have without question."

Pierce shifted to sit himself upright with a soft grunt. The battle had not been kind to his joints, or much of anything on his person, really.

A steely eye remained fixedly set upon you beneath a fatigue-lowered lid and thick eyelashes that'd long since dried of the tears that'd wet them hours ago. It was hard to think about how, just moments prior, he'd been a sniffling mess over the thought of losing you to the blood that'd doused the ground beneath you out there.

"I hadn't asked you to expend yourself to save my life, your grace, but I will never forget it. I will do anything and everything I can to give that back to you. Anything you ask of me, it is yours."

Pierce clinked a gauntleted fist to his chest as a show of promise and sincerity.

"That's the Pierce I know."

Then, with a glance at his armored body, I sighed,

"How long have you had your armor on?"

Pierce shifted awkwardly,

"...Sire, I hardly think that is of importance right now."

facepalming, I gripe,

"You know wearing your armor for too long is bad for you right?"

Under my watchful gaze, Pierce gently shed his steel outer garments, placing them on the ground with muted clanks, leaving him in a light tunic and leather pants.

The absence of his armor only accentuated his sturdy frame, though his exhaustion was evident in the slight slump of his shoulders and the darkness under his healthy eye.

Before he could volunteer to go hunting for game to eat, I was already out the door, motioning for him to stay and rest.

The autumn wind nipped at my bare face. Pressing one hand onto the cool bark of a tree, I sensed the magic that ran deep through the roots of the forest, dancing it's way through the wind, painting every color of the forest around just a shade brighter. And in that glittery lattice, I found the whisper of another life. The cloven hooves of a doe crunching through brittle orange leaves.

Inhaling deeply, I filled my lungs with the crisp, cool air. The potent mana of the surrounding forest fueling my every movement, feet barely skimming the forest floor, the cold doing nothing to dampen the energy that pulsed in my core.

So elated was I, magic coursing through my veins, that I didn't detect the slight souring inside of the mana network.

So focused on the kill that I didn't notice the mushrooms that had grown on a bare rock face, barren of life and moisture, their texture remiscent of rotting flesh.

I had dragged the body of the dead doe back into the barn. Rising from his spot on a haybale, Pierce had gently used his greatsword to cut away the outer skin to attempt to clean it's intestines. What we found inside shook us to our core.

It's stomach was empty. As if washed by water. Pristine.

And when we took a closer look at the doe's face, we discovered that its eyes were rotting.

"Your Grace, from the looks of it, the poor beast's eyes have been decaying for the better part of a week"

Pierce observed gravely.

And all I could think about, was how this spell, meant for humans, meant for the most selfish of all beings, had poisoned something as pure and beautiful as the doe. How was that possible? Magic was simple. It would kill those you wanted to kill, it would destroy those you wanted to destroy. No human could have possibly cast a spell that could damage nature in any way.

A heavy sigh, rolling shoulders, before he got that familiar stiffness in his stance that suggested he was steeling himself for your needed journey.

"What say you? Shall we find that condemnable fiend and try and save the kingdom, despite how much of a risk and a pain that'll be,... Or do you intend to travel elsewhere and try to find someplace untouched by her contaminations?"

"...On one hand, it could be risking delaying something inevitably doomed to spread, if you think it might, and we can only run so far,... On the other hand, I wouldn't mind too terribly, to meet my end at your side. Though, perhaps you'd rather just get her over with, so we can settle without worrying this'll carry over to whatever regions we'd try and run to... If we survive the battle."

He once again found himself not too much worrying about his own death. It was your death he feared more than any brutal torture an enemy might inflict upon his person.

He could be tortured for ages, kept alive to bear it all, but it would be something he'd deem liveable. Your passing would destroy him nearly irreparably. He'd be a different man.

Pierce wrinkled his nose, deeply off-put by the creature's unnatural state, bending down to hesitantly scrape whatever was left of its skin free with his blade, separating it from the fur. Seemed you two were having jerky today.

"I can't do much with this, save for tiding us over so our stomachs won't ache. We'll have to go to the market, or see if we can find any fresh fruit growing,..."

Any form of summoning magic had always come harder to me, I lacked the strength to have their runes carved into my body. On the other hand, my ability to utilize ambient mana to reinforce myself physically along with those who had the rune of the Knight (think of it as being able to open the lid to fuel a fuel tank. I can pour my magic into their bodies) was extremely competent if not unmatched, a large factor in being chosen as King over my brother Archibald.

Clearing a spot in the barn of hay, I carried over rocks to create the shape of a crude fire pit. With dried leaves and branches already being in plentiful supply, my task became much easier. Instead of expending much physical energy to create a full blown fire, just a tiny spark had been enough. In a short span of time, those dark gray walls were blushing with oranges and reds.

As the strips of meat roasted themselves on a flat stone placed above the bonfire, Pierce returned from the journey to the bottom of his pack (a much more substantial search than one may think, the size of his pack is not to be joked with.). He had procured not only a salt and pepper shaker, but also a jar of surprisingly edible pickles.

In between bites of jerky and pickle, I laid my plan out for Pierce. My brother had been born without a soul large enough to channel mana, but through a contract made with a slumbering god, had become capable of wielding destructive magic of supernatural scale. Of course, creating a contract with the divine was a different process for every person (and it was rare that a contract was approved to begin with), but I believed there was a way I could manage it. There was an abandoned shrine on our path to the witch, and I wanted to at least try to win the favor of those slumbering beings. If I succeeded, our chances of winning would increase exponentially.

It's just a pity that Archibald wouldn't come on this journey no matter how I pleaded. I suppose he was needed to keep the kingdom safe, but having him at our side would have made these trying times so much easier.

I could practically hear his laughter as he ran around the palace. Coaxing smiles out of even Pierce. His magic combined with my ability to amplify physical strength could have been unstoppable.

As if sensing my melancholy, Pierce draped an arm around my shoulder, his warmth grounding even through the layers of his clothing. I leaned into his touch slightly, finishing off the last of my jerky.

The memory of your closeness while you'd finished your makeshift— yet hearty— meal lingered in Pierce, and he found himself fearing the loss of it as your steps aligned at one another's side. He feared that, if this night went sour, he might no longer hear your footsteps punctuate his own. That could not be. He'd make sure his story would end first, if either of you had to meet Fate itself, see it looming beneath its shadowed shroud, observing with its cold, neutral eyes.

It was Pierce's purpose. His reason. He'd lived most of his life to follow you, to dig his hands through muck just to fish you out stones to step upon so you'd never dirty your boots the way he did for you. To bleed for you, in hopes you wouldn't have to. It would be deeply wrong and sickening, corrupted, foul ruination, to have to walk this Earth without you. It would be an absence he'd feel like cold knives digging into the slot between every rib, like hot coals in his throat and chest.

If you weren't there, there was no life to be had at all, Pierce felt, though he did not say it, as he did not want to sully your hopeful, confident mood as you ventured forth and thought you might win this for your kingdom.

All he said was, in a hushed voice, as you made your way to the shrine, and though the witch was far off past it,...

"Your majesty," somewhat choked. A throat clearing grunt, steely eyes set on the path ahead, not you. Brows knitted to save face. "I have the utmost faith in your ability to conquer the witch. I must trust in you."

clop clop clop clop

Cutting through the dead air.

The closer we got to the shrine, the more magical dissonance was present. A corrosive force swirled and rotted, mildewy and sickly sweet. Underneath it, something deep and strong persisted.

"My liege, is something amiss?" Pierce asked, noticing my faraway gaze,

"It should be nothing" I mused, "In fact, it is probably a good sign." Catching Pierce's confused glance, I continued, "The mana signature of the shrine is getting weaker, and that usually happens when a near sentient or sentient magical objects detect someone with high mana. I guess that would be me. It's kind of like a camouflage against those who may manipulate it for magic."

The shrine. You were at last here, and this signified some sort of progress. Fear's dark omen-cloak pulled back as if frightened away by the birds' shared lullaby-babble. This place felt sacred, despite everything that could go wrong, and, though Pierce had been on edge off and on as of late due to the circumstances, some of the weight evaporated from him in the evening mist.

"We could certainly use some good signs."

Then, softer, breathier, words that were between statement and relieved, exasperated sigh...

"There've been nights aplenty when we'd thought it'd all fall apart, and yet, tomorrow still rose with the sun come morning."

A clap on your shoulder, the man's good eye trying to match his tired, stoic half-smile.

"To many more tomorrows after right devilish bastards of days."

Solid ground beneath my feet.

Air in my lungs, in and out, in and out.

Sword clenched in teeth.

Absence of arm irrelevant.

Cold steel on palm.

Lines taking flight on skin.

Red blooming on pale marble.

Offer the body.

Armor glinting beside me, a face set in determination.

Hand trembling on my shoulder, eyes filled with fear and love.

Words spilling out of my lips.

What meaning do they have?

Does it matter?

Offer the mind.

Darkness swirling.

So tired, so heavy.

Ground under my body pulsing.

Sinking, Drowning, Breathing, Bleeding.

Tethered to the mortal plane by a hand and a heart.