Judgement Blood: A Celestial's Vendetta

"What do you think this is, child?!" His father bellowed dramatically. He was talking like one of those pompous regal characters from The Wasteland Crusader. Deepening his voice and accentuating the word 'Child', Ilyas couldn't help but giggle.

He flew into the air, feeling his insides twist strangely. Then, when he fell and his stomach wriggled with excitement, he felt his father's slim hands envelop his chest and slow his descent so that he could softly touch the ground with his tiptoes.

"I am the man who has shaken the world! Do you think you can defeat me?!" He called out again. 

Eight-year-old Ilyas raised his pudgy, small hands in an adorable fighting position and said in a high voice, pretending to be Alexander, "The wastes sharpened me, you're dull in my presence!"

'Yes, yes, yes! That's exactly right!'

His father's bronze eyes twinkled at his son's voice, and he lunged forth for another pretend attack. This time, he made sure to give little Ilyas enough time to spin away and throw his whole tiny frame on his back.

"Agghh! You little gremlin, who do you think you are?!"

"I'm Alex- I mean, I'm the Wasteland Crusader, you know my name!" Ilyas cried out in trembling excitement and wide-eyed wonder. 

His stutter rarely kicked in when playing with his father. Even the strange repulsion the Dwellers held toward him ceased to exist in his head.

After wrestling with his father for a few more seconds, his father went still and silent, pretending to be dead. 

Ilyas shuffled and wriggled from his father's body to the floor, thrust up a small triumphant fist and proclaimed, "And you should fear me!"

A small chuckle leaked out of his father's pretend corpse, but was quickly suppressed, lest it ruin the theatrical effect. 

But after staying still for a little too long...

"Dad! Dad! Daddy! Dad!" 

Little Ilyas approached his father's still body with concern, poking his cheek with his tiny index finger.

"Wake up, Dad! Dad, wake up, please!" 

Then, his father clutched his son's hand in a split second, startling the poor child and causing him to fall flat on his behind.

"Raghhhhhh!"

After a bout of silence, little Ilyas fell to the ground giggling with a hand clutching his stomach and his feet kicking above him.

His father frowned. "Hey, you should be crying! I put so much effort into that!"

"You're... too... funny, Dad!" Ilyas managed amidst his hysteria. 

His father then smiled and lunged forward, but this time to give his son the warmest embrace he could muster. "I'm not supposed to be, you silly child," he muttered to his son. 

Ilyas hugged him back, sweating from playing with him for a whole hour. But even Ilyas knew what would come next. 

His father, suddenly weak and despondent, pulled back, did his best to keep that faltering smile for as long as possible, then slid under his blanket and curled with his knees to his chest.

Ilyas sighed and sat back on his own cot. Ever since his father's illness began, this had been a regular occurrence. He would go silent now for a few hours, shivering under that blanket.

But today, something strange happened; his father said something. "I'm sorry, son," He muttered in a trembling voice. "Don't hate me for this, I cannot... explain now, but I promise you'll know. You'll come to know one day. Just..."

"It's okay, Dad! Just get better, okay!"

But his father continued, "Just... don't let them get to you. Don't let them stop you from smiling like that, okay, Ilyas?"

Ilyas couldn't see his father, but he most definitely heard his voice quiver a little more intensely towards the end.

Ilyas nodded and said wholeheartedly, "Okay, Dad!" 

But unbeknownst to Ilyas, his father muttered one more thing while squeezing his eyes shut in unbearable torment, "You... you would've loved him... You would've loved him so Goddamn much, dear." 

***

'Dad... Dad, I miss you.'

Ilyas blinked his eyes open to the grey, rotting ceiling, and everything ugly about the world returned. 

The gnawing pain in his liver, the faint persistence in his temple, the stinging gashes from Rum's sword, and even his smashed fist he used to bash Benjamin's head.

He sat up with effort and wrinkled his nose at his unpleasant stench. He was due for another wash. 

He looked at his companions, still asleep, splayed around him, and realised his slowly growing affection towards them. The more he understood them, the more they meant to him. 

Alexander's layers were many, and no doubt they would be, considering his upbringing as a noble, but the more he peeled back, the more childish and familiar he became. 

Cenric, meanwhile, was... was Cenric. He was a gentleman who acted as nothing other than a gentleman. But he was also a tiny, adorable GentlePug who should be anywhere but on a battlefield.

Ilyas could still remember Cenric's true emotions slipping out as he faced those Salivitians. He saw him look up at them in fear, but composed himself nonetheless. 

Alexander shifted, then woke up in the most undignified fashion. He blinked like a lost child, then shook his confusion off under Ilyas's gaze, cleared his chest, and said in a craggy voice, "Well, good morning, my dear southern friend."

'Bless him, he even forgot the fake haughty tone.'

Cenric was the last to wake up. The poor GentlePug proclaimed his hate of waking up in front of others, claiming that it's 'unbecoming' and such. 

Alexander shared in his opinion ardently, while Ilyas chuckled at them. 

After eating a humble breakfast and adding more seeds to Ilyas's collection, the three decided that they all needed a wash, in fact.

And considering that the sun was gracing today, their clothes could use a wash too. 

***

Standing on the edge of the bank, staring down at the crystal clear water rushing north, Ilyas, quite frankly, felt a little... excited.

The last time he had gone for a wash in the river, it was an entirely new experience, and he, despite the pain, found the cold water's embrace and how it submerged him in its own tranquil world to be most refreshing. 

Thankfully, Alexander explained that swimming would not affect the Sanguiniser on his wounds, unless they were unfortunate enough to be 'overwhelmed by the stream and led to a waterfall.'

'I guess I'll stay close to the bank.'

Alexander stood abreast of him, clothes off but for his underwear, stretching his stiff joints. Ilyas was quite surprised to see Alexander slimmer than he expected. Truly, the body of a youngster. Cenric meanwhile insisted on keeping watch while he and Alexander washed, then he'd go after them.

"May I propose a piece of advice?" Alexander said jovially. It appeared even he was excited.

Ilyas shrugged. "Sure."

"Stretching before swimming prevents muscle cramps. And let me tell you, those aren't an experience you'd wish to have."

Ilyas held his eyes for a second too long, then went about mimicking Alexander's movements without a word. His wounds protested, but that 'muscle cramp' thingy really didn't sound particularly pleasant.

A few minutes later, they both slowly and carefully descended into the cold water and-

'Oh dear god, that's the stuff!'

River bathing was... phenomenal.