Judgement Blood: A Celestial's Vendetta

Three eyes sparkled at Cenric's remark. 

Ilyas never considered himself a power-hungry fella, but given the circumstances... oh, how sweet power would be! Especially if he could wield a weapon like that Twinblade!

'I'd look so cool.'

And yes, he was imagining himself in a panel in the Wasteland Crusader.

Immediately after that thought, however, the memory of it lodged in his body resurfaced, and his spine shivered, putting an end to his gawking at the prospect in a very sobering manner. 

'Oh, never mind! Never mind!'

In fact, memories of both his fight-to-the-death situations made his skin crawl at the idea of combat in general.

'But we are the most wanted fellas in this forest, so it would be nice to not have to stab myself to win.'

Of course, he wasn't going to learn combat in a few days, but Ilyas had a feeling that until he was in Marianne's embrace, he would constantly be smothered in blood. 

'Gosh, I'll say it again, I miss Aluminium.'

"So, do you guys have any ideas how I can become an Imitator?"

They both shrugged. "I'm afraid to say, even my mind lacks omniscience," Alexander said.

"That's a process unique to everyone," Cenric added. "I became an Imitator when I finally stumbled upon my affinity in a dire circumstance."

Alexander nodded, "Mine was back home. I studied until I finally understood the affinity of my blood. It was... quite a chore."

"I do not mean to be rude," Ilyas said hesitantly, "But can I ask how old you are?"

"Not rude at all, I will be nineteen in a few months."

'Ah, I figured. He isn't much older than I am. But then why did father wait until I was eighteen to inject me?'

He thought about it briefly, then decided to shrug it off for another time. 

Alexander took a few anxious breaths before asking unexpectedly, "May I... May I ask for your age as well, Ilyas?"

'Huh... funny.'

It was in these moments that Ilyas remembered how young Alexander really was behind that concerningly pompous facade of his. "Sure, I'm eighteen as of one week ago."

Alexander smiled, probably failing to conceal his excitement at the fact that his newfound companion was of the same age.

'It is nice, yes. But seriously, what is he doing here?'

Cenric tsked in regret. "Quite a tough birthday week, I must say. I understand your frustration a little more now, good sir."

The three chuckled at the, quite honestly, sad joke. 

"So, before I become an Imitator, are there any perks to having Congruent blood?" 

The two shook their heads. "Unfortunately not, good sir. But I have no doubt that with our current plight..."

"Your blood will compel you," Alexander finished. 

'Dear god, that doesn't sound very pleasant.'

Ilyas and Alexander continued packing in determined silence until Ilyas, for no particular reason whatsoever, asked, "Do you guys know about the epic known as 'The Wasteland Crusader'?"

Yes. 

If he was going to be spending time with two surface dwellers he had nothing in common with, and could not share anything about the Vault with, and... lacked all knowledge to discuss anything they knew of or found interesting...

He might as well strike up his own interests and instil them within them.

'I mean, Alexander is young, and Cenric... is Cenric. How can he not like the Judicial Arc?!'

Alexander immediately shook his head and proclaimed, "Us nobles only ever indulge-"

"-The main character's name is Alexander," Ilyas swiftly asserted.

Alexander went silent.

Ha! Just as expected.

Cenric chuckled and mumbled some mild jibe at the Young Lord.

Ilyas looked over his shoulder at Alexander, who was still and thoughtful, frozen halfway through stashing some toothpaste in his sack. He had a very conflicting look on his face, as if his current expression was trying really hard to suppress another, much more passionate and raw expression. 

Eventually, he pressed his lips together, cleared his throat and said, sheepishly, "Us nobles only ever indulge in epics that are worthy of our time, and my regal instincts compel me to indulge in what you have recommended, my good southern friend."

***

A while later, they finally left the cave.

And saying that Ilyas felt nervous was an understatement.

Not only were their wounds completely debilitating and their deaths the most desired thing in the forest, but they also ran out of whatever serum Cenric had that would let them avoid being devoured by the beasts that roamed the forest. 

Typically, one would consume the serum, which would keep them safe for a few days. But with all the vomiting and blood, the serum faded out of their system.

Cenric explained that it was quite costly to provide scouts with a number of them, and considering that Cenric and Alexander had to share with the unaccounted-for Ilyas, things were...

'I will live.'

'I will live.'

'I will live.'

'I will not be eaten by big beasts or humans.'

'I will not be eaten by big beasts or humans.'

'I will not be eaten by big beasts or humans.'

Ilyas coped by repeating that mantra under his breath. Even Alexander gave him a few peculiar stares before getting used to it. 

Cenric had gone ahead to scout North.

Their haggard movements would require extra caution, and though Cenric only awoke a few hours ago, none of them had the luxury to lax off. 

Their imminent goal was to leave this damned forest and reach Peyton Valley, where Salivitian presence wasn't so threatening. Then they would keep to the mountainside until they reached the Argian Plain. 

'It's so much fun reading about this kind of stuff, but I never asked to live it, Goddammit! Is this the cost of loving that damned comic too much?'

A soft, bird-like whistle came from the trees ahead. 

A signal from Cenric.

Alexander and Ilyas nodded to each other, then began moving.

They decided to minimise chatter when on the move until they reached spots safe enough to camp.

But they would still have to keep an adequate pace, regardless of their injuries, to reach the Procession before the Salivitian platoon. 

While on the move, Ilyas finally began to ponder the surreal experience when the mask wept. 

Time stopped, Goddamit!

Time actually stopped!

And to illustrate how mind-bending that experience was, time-stopping wasn't what rattled Ilyas the most!

No!

It was the dancing couple.

That cold feeling of abandonment and indignation still whispered ever so softly in his chest every now and then.

It prompted him to do something he was completely oblivious to. So now, he was just left grasping at intangible feelings he didn't understand.

What was he supposed to do? 

Just... deal with it?

Thankfully, it seemed that occupying his mind with their tragic dance and recalling that beautiful, melancholic melody was the only remedy that grasped and soothed those feelings.

So, ever since, he had subconsciously kept them dancing in the back of his mind, floating like ethereal dark angels, making him desperate for more.

Desperate for them to stay with him and not abandon him in the dark.

In the cold.

But that was when Ilyas began to notice something very strange and curious.

'It was too deliberate, as if it was saying more. The footwork was too final, too assertive, it was... inevitable.'