Judgement Blood: A Celestial's Vendetta

'Agh, my head hurts.'

Again. His head was hurting again.

Why was his head hurting again, Goddammit?!

'Why? Why is my- Agh!'

Something rough mildly grazed the back of his head, then slid away.

It felt like the earth was sliding against his head... or was his head sliding? 

Was he...

Was he being dragged along the ground?!

'What the- Agh!'

Everything was dark again. Gosh, wasn't he in a somewhat similar situation not too long ago? 

Why?!

'Why is life so unfair?!'

It didn't take much for him to open his eyes this time, but even when he did, it was still all too dark. One would assume that the green eyes would come with the perk of night vision, but noooo.

Of course not.

That would be a good thing, and considering how things were going lately, that wasn't possible, it seemed.

The blade wasn't in his liver any longer, thank goodness, but how on earth did he not bleed out? No, wait, something was covering his wound.

But it wouldn't last long. It was growing too moist and soggy around his abdomen 

Ilyas let out a low groan, and an alarmed breath sounded in front of him.

"You're awake?" It was Alexander. His voice was strained, muffled and full of pain. He felt it now. Ilyas was being dragged by his leg by Alexander.

"Just a few minutes, we're almost there... Hang in there, my good friend." 

***

Alexander wasn't lying.

A few minutes later, Ilyas found himself propped against an uncomfortable rocky wall. His back was slightly hunched forward as dictated by the concave cave wall.

That's right. He was in a cave.

How could he tell?

Well, easy. It was pitch black relative to the clearly outlined mouth of the cave to his right, where the moonlight and stars graced.

He could hear movement around him, but saw nothing.

Clack!

Clack! 

Clack!

Particulates of orange sparks spat from the source of the sound to he's left. 

Clack!

Clack!

Clack!

Then, finally, the sparks persisted on a small nest of dry straw surrounded by a bigger nest of twigs.

The embers were soft and gentle until-

Hufffff!

Hufffff!

Hufffff!

Hufffff!

'That... sounds nostalgic.'

The sound of desperate blowing excited the embers until they took root in the straw and ignited into a baby flame.

Then came the fanning. Alexander fanned the baby flame with flattened tree bark until it finally engulfed the nest of twigs, and the sound of soft crackling filled the cave.

Alexander slumped back against the cave wall opposite Ilyas in exhaustion. Lying in the deep, cosy end of the cave, on a bed of leaves and straw, was an unconscious GentlePug.

And sparsely scattered all around them were supplies.

The bag of tomatoes, thank goodness.

'Those are some resilient tomatoes.'

One of the haversacks the Salivitians carried. And the rest were unpacked toiletries and packs of dried meat that seemed to belong to a man who had been residing in the cave for a while. Well, it was obviously Alexander's cave.

Ilyas's eyes flickered from one item to another, partially considering them, and partially considering his situation. 

But before that, he stared at Alexander with tired eyes and contemplated the young man. Alexander couldn't tell when Ilyas was awake because of his mask, so Ilyas kept the comfortable silence a little longer.

Alexander. Alexander the haughty young lord, who was everything but.

'He did all that...'

He carried - no wait... He dragged Ilyas away from the exposed campsite, carried Cenric and the supplies they needed all on his own while harbouring terrible wounds himself. He persevered and pressed on until they were all safe from Salivitian lookouts and the pelting rain outside. 

He didn't have to, but he did. 

He knew him for a mere few hours, but risked his life nonetheless. Like Cenric. 

'Then why? Why did Ray and Kim do that?'

His mouth quivered again at the memory. Those years were entrenched in him; they could not be easily washed away, so the memory was still so bitter. 

Ilyas cocked his head to Cenric lying in the corner, and his heart ached yet again. 

"Ilyas?"

Alexander looked at him with a drained, wet face and smiled softly. 

"I'm glad you're alive. But..." He stood on his knees and tottered to the Salivitian haversack. He procured something and then moved with effort to Ilyas's side. Ilyas tried to straighten, but that was when he realised that he could barely move. He lost too much blood and was in the process of losing more. 

He tilted his head down to the wound on his liver and saw that the patch was oversaturated with blood and held nothing back. Alexander softly peeled the soggy thing off to reveal a horrible puncture in his abdomen. At the edges of the hole, dark red tissue frayed and curled into a crimson, mangled mess of flesh and liver. It slowly heaved along with his breathing, exacerbating the horror of the whole bloody thing. Ilyas hyperventilated at the sight of it, then retched, causing his whole body to spasm with pain.

"Easy, Ilyas. Easy. Just... stay still, uhm... I'm going to hopefully..." Alexander stopped mid-sentence, staring with a wince at the wound. Even he was disturbed by it.

He set a small tin container the size of his fist between them, then removed the cover. Inside was a pink cream. He scooped some up with his index finger, then very softly smothered the hole with it.

It sizzled, and Iyas cried out in agony.

"It's a Sanguiniser," Alexander said. "You may not know it, since southerners aren't very familiar with Coherency, it seems, but... It's quite frankly a rare salve. It requires at least a healing Harmonic to create it. They mix their blood with other medicinal ingredients, and you get this."

Alexander sounded quite anxious as he talked, maybe needing to distract himself from the ghastly wound he was dealing with. Even his regal demeanour was faltering at the moment.

"They're very expensive back home. The Salivitians had one in one of their haversacks, so I nabbed it and a few other supplies before leaving the camp."

Ilyas was breathing hoarsely but still made an effort to ask, "You... You carried all of us here? You really did that?" 

Alexander paused, thought, then continued applying the cream. "Was there another option?"

"Yes. To leave some of us behind. To save yourself. To save Cenric. To-"

"-With all due respect, my good friend, but... that is not an option. That is never an option."

That seemed to agitate Alexander a little, because his finger was a little more aggressive on the wound. 

'Then why? Why was it an option for them?'

Ilyas took a deep, trembling breath. "Yes. You're right."

Alexander finished applying the cream, retrieved a new patch, and covered the wound with it. He then quickly and carefully repeated the same process on the exit wound in Ilyas's back. He was in a miserable state himself, but seemed to have tended to the worst of them. He was in the best shape out of the three. Ilyas was the worst. And considering Cenric's Pug nature, he couldn't handle much; therefore, he was in the critical state he was in.

When Alexander finished, he favoured his injured side until he completely sat back against the wall. Then, he cleared his throat as if remembering something, looked around tentatively until his eyes fixed on a folded pile of clothes in the corner, then turned back to Ilyas, raised his chest with effort and said haughtily, "I'll honour you, my good friend, with one of my spare sets of garments. It's a disgrace for you to be in that hideous, tattered thing in my presence."

'Ah, there it is. It's back. Hooray.'

Ilyas rolled his eyes, but found himself smiling. 

"Thank you." Ilyas bowed his head slightly in gratitude. "Thank you very much, Alexander." 

Alexander shied away by turning to face Cenric. "Don't forget the honorific, my southern friend," he reprimanded half heartedly. 

Ilyas went silent, then said softly and awkwardly, "Sir."

Alexander sighed. "Okay, that sounded too assertive. I'm sorry." 

There was a strange, relieving feeling of kinship when Ilyas finally realised that Alexander was an awkward fella, similar to him.

"No, no, don't be. It's my fault. Ah, you are the son of a lord, right?" Ilyas asked

Alexander stared at him, then nodded without much enthusiasm. "I am, yes. Second son, third child to be precise."

Ilyas leaned forward. "That is quite cool, Alexander, sir." Silence followed that statement.

Not good.

Then, feeling his pounding chest demanding a follow-up, Ilyas added, "I just thought-"

"-No, you are right, dear southerner, it is quite an enviable status, if I do say so myself." 

'Huh.'

The fire's hissing regained the silence. The pelting rain outside created a fleeting, unreliable curtain between them and the outside world. The sounds of the two were contradictory and soothing. They didn't lessen any of the pain that overwhelmed the occupants of the cave, but it did create a much-needed semblance of comfort.

"There are... many things for us to discuss, to say the least, oh friend," Alexander began. "This day was certainly an experience that requires much reflection. But for now, I say we fill our stomachs, gain some rest, and await our companion to awaken from his slumber. We don't want to be discussing things twice, now, do we?"

Ilyas nodded in agreement. Not just to please his friend, but also because he ardently agreed. He hadn't the mental strength to reflect on... anything, at the moment. He couldn't even relay the events or ponder crucial things like the bizarre nature of his mask, Coherency, killing Rye and Ferra, the Twentieth Procession, Alexander, and the morbid state of his body. 

So only two things remained swirling persistently in his head:

Cenric's health.

Ray and Kim's betrayal.

It never left him, and perhaps never will. After meeting Cenric and Alexander, it only haunted him more. Because when he saw and experienced others, he learned more and more that what they did was a choice. Not the only choice, but a choice. So what did he really mean to them after all these years? 

It must be an old and boring thing for an outsider peering into Ilyas's mind. 'Just move on!', they'd say. Or, 'You're still on that?' 

But how could he not? They were his whole life.

But.

But also, it was true. Ilyas had to move on. He had to find it within him to bury them deep down and accept the fact that others exist. That he didn't need them to be his whole life anymore. That he was more. 

Cenric and Alexander showed him that. That he deserved to be considered a life worth fighting for. So it was time for him to smite that past and force himself to accept that he deserved a damn good life like everybody else. 

Like his father wanted it. Like he always wanted, too. Didn't he work hard for Four? 

'Cenric... Please. Don't abandon me, too.'

For some reason, Ilyas had subconsciously associated Cenric with the hope he had in himself. He deserved it. And gosh, was he adorable in everything.

He turned to the three-foot-tall GentlePug, lying motionless in an adorable suit with an equally adorable face, on the makeshift bed.

The more he looked at him, the more he believed that someone like that should never be harmed. They should instead be saying 'good sir' again and again, reminding others of what is proper and what is not.

'Since when was that the standard for Pugs?!'

It was only a day that he'd known him - four for the GentlePug - but still, Ilyas had a yearning void in his heart after his fight with Benjamin, so Cenric, being the first thing he saw, was much more meaningful than it would have been otherwise.

And considering the circumstances and how he was treated by him, Ilyas felt his heartache rise to his throat at the sight of him being so defeated and vulnerable.

"Here." Alexander handed him a piece of dry meat with effort. "Wounds need sustenance to heal. Let's eat well." 

Alexander leaned back, biting on his own slice of meat, then pursed his lips sheepishly and added, "Oh, and I would like to apologise for my transgression. I uh... I tried one of those delectable red fruits... Vegetables? I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with them, but I must ask, where did you acquire those delights? Is it a southern harvest?"

'Huh.'