Channelknight Fadran

"I don't think it would have spread far," Ayia replied. She watched as the wounds cleared themselves, leaving only what little traces of blood she'd neglected to clean. "Huh. Are you sure you're not a Lifegiver?"

"I've done what I can with the worst ones," Elya explained, gesturing to the bandages along her arms. "How much of that would you need? Does it combat infection?"

Elya waved weakly. "Hello."

I drew upon the Amulet's power, fueling my actions with the blade. It cleaved through the corpses, breaking through the dark force holding them together. There was something else here, too. Not an entity, nor a thing--a memory. Something from this world: an outside place.

Elya took it gratefully. "Thank you."

She glanced at it. "Well, if you trust her, then so do I."

B O W T I E

"Oh." Elya shook her head. "Can we test it at all first?"

"Trust her for what?"

She let out a badly-timed cough. "Fever. Probably infection."

Thoughts intruded in her mind. Little fears, little doubts--the things she'd trained herself to let go of. Precaution, not timidness, made for the most efficient mind. But when she was only half in control of it all, they managed to grow: like a tumor--a cancer. A cold, dark chamber at the end of a long passageway. The alleyway closed in on itself, growing small, dank, and claustrophobic. Shackles hung from the ceiling, and blood stained the walls. Old wounds, long since healed. You say that you were taught that weakness is your enemy--and yet you're the one who pushed yourself so far to defeat it. Corpses covered the alleyway. Ji, Lyanor, Verim, Saaphir. Pacis bullets had pierced them clean through. Doubt. Fear, that she'd fall short and lose them all. You've come so far, Elya. Look how you've survived, escaped, and fled... The scar on her shoulder reopened, bled, pained--it burned like fire, screaming like a lost child. She sucked in a breath, pressing a fist to the wound. ...to think that it cost you everything. Black bled to sapphire. Elya cried out in pain as the Angel of Death tore her dagger back out, trailing droplets of blood. "Why?" NO. Elya grit her teeth, drawing on her powers. She grunted--shouted, even--but bound the dream to her will. Fear, doubt, pain--they were not in control. They did not define her. She grappled them; crushing them down and locking them away. No good thing ever came from giving in to their influence. Strength meant action. It meant initiative, commitment, control. Perhaps in battle, balance was a means to power; a means to an end. But to end it and hide it away otherwise was to split oneself between two worlds. She'd commanded her fear into cowering, pain into bowing, doubt into shrinking away. If weakness couldn't be destroyed, then she'd beat it into submission, and harness what little strength it might have left. The alleyway crumbled in on itself, fading to obscurity. Colors and perspectives melted away, textures smoothed, lights snuffed themselves out, and shadow creeped about. Commanding the wretched visions, Elya crushed it all into an oblivion. Darkness in every direction--not a single mote of light to be seen. Her breaths were deep, but even. "Am I strong enough?" She hadn't even specified. No. Her eyes flung open as Elya shot awake, gasping loudly for air. The hammock creaked and swayed unnaturally, but she kept her balance well enough--that wasn't her worry. Tank top pressed up against her and hair matted in a cold sweat, she suddenly started shivering. She reached for jacket, pulling it back on without any regard for the myriad of bloodstains inside and out. She collapsed back into the hammock, trying to steady her breahting. Placing a cold, clammy hand against her forehead, she confirmed her suspicions: fever--and a bad one at that. No wonder her dreams had been so vivid. The rest of her less-than-immediately-important senses returned to her. Her throat and mouth was dry--when was it that she had last taken a drink of water? There wasn't any left in her jacket. Voices chatted quietly down below--they seemed like a safe bet. "...Hello?"

Albert Einstein is often credited with saying “the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.” Clearly he's never rolled a pair of dice.

Something that Ji had said. A person in a dream, when he'd been that close to death. The Inbetween. What are you good for, if not to destroy? Nothing, of course. She'd been created to do so. You're more accepting than most. I'll give you that. There was no use resisting what was. Only to go with the motions and fight with the tide. And yet here you are. She thought of all the companions she'd made over the last few days: Ji, Verim, Lyanor, Saaphir--maybe even Ne'ik, though it was too early to tell. You're a killer, not a savior. Death follows you. It'll follow you here. It'll follow you anywhere.

Elya sat down, slumped against the wall. Dreams were in her mind--a place she could command and control. She could close the gaping wound in her shoulder, end the shooting in the distance, fade the alleyways into darkness. Quiet it all, shut it down, and rest easy. "Do you see their faces, even after you've done the job?" Her eyes shot open. She glanced around, but couldn't see anyone. “The faces of those whose lives you ended, reminding you of who you really are.” Sucking in a breath, Elya closed her eyes again. It was just a dream; they were made from memories. But memories were just the past showing itself again. She couldn't change the past. It could only change her. Just forget.

Elya's breath shook as she stumbled down the alleyways. Clutching her shoulder and holding in grunts of pain, she searched desperately for a place to hide. Blood coated her hands, dripping down onto the streets. The Pacis would be here any second. She could already hear gunshots off in the distance. Were they just shooting anyone that got in their way? To think that they were that desperate to find her. Wait. No. She squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn't real. It was just a dream. Nothing could harm her here.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....

Elya wrapped bandages around herself, tightly binding each of the wounds. She had to pick and choose, as she didn't quite have enough to cover all of them. With small grunts and shaky breaths through grit teeth, Elya eventually managed to get the worst of the wounds bandaged. Blood still soaked through several of them, staining the bandages red--but for the time being, it was the best she could do. It was tedious, and hurt like hell--but all that was just physical pain. With everyone in to safety and a moment to rest at hand, she could make herself deal with that. What hurt a thousand times more, though, was listening to Ji cry.

“I—“ Another throb of pain shot through her. “…Alright.” Elya slowly broke contact with Ji, drawing her arm away. Unclasping her jacket and drawing out a few medical supplies, she reached for the first sleeve—then hesitated, taking in a deep breath. With a weak grunt of pain, she pulled off her jacket. Her arms shook. Elya’s breath caught, her eyes unbelieving and terrified at the dozens of bloody gauges crisscrossing her arms. A violent mixture of blood, dried or dripping, coated her in red. Verim had healed a lot of them—enough so, she imagined, to have kept her alive this long. With shaking but steady breaths, Elya took the last of her antiseptic and spare bandages, gritting her teeth as she pressed them to the still-open wounds.