There's a sickness in my bones. I can feel it seeping into my skin from the putrid air, filling my lungs with ice and glass. My flanks have dulled from golden brown into something closer resembling the murk around me. Shadows still linger in the corners of my vision. They whisper horrible things. Things about death, and damnation. About blood and sacrifice and the end of all things.
These are things I have become familiar with recently. My safe, secure world has grown larger, and darker with it. Blood stains my lips and throat where it was torn by the dark magic that brought me here. If I could wash it away, I would, but the water here is vile. Thick black mats of moss stretch over the widespread pools, choking on the stinking water beneath. I think I've gotten so lost that I found hell.
Sleeping and waking seem to make little difference. It's always dark here. Always caught somewhere between dusk and dawn. And always, the feeling of being watched. I can hear them out there in the dark, stumbling around like animated corpses. Maybe that's all they are, dead bodies walking a dead land. Maybe I'm dead too, and just don't know it yet. Dull lichens keep me alive, filling my belly with brassy dust. I think I want to be dead.
My eyes drip shut again, as they do sometimes. Never for long, or deep, but they do. When the eerie howling quiets and the glinting eyes look away. That's when I can sleep. Tonight, I hear his voice. Not so unusual anymore. I often hear the Voice of Carnage in my dreams, demanding I sacrifice so much more than I can bear. Tonight though, it's different. Not a flashback to the events that brought me here, but a new call. An open invitation to take down a violent murderer. Why not? If my family still lives somewhere, I'll not stand by and let them be killed anyway. A faint voice at the back of my head is trying to get my attention. It wants me to think of something... my eyes open again, and the thought is lost. All that remains is a mission.
He's not hard to find. Like a map in my mind I seem to know the way by instinct. My brain is buzzing in my skull, shadows keeping pace as we near him. He's a simple looking beast, fuss free chestnut and already at the heart of a chaotic band. I watch a moment, seeing a mass of bodies surround him with mixed intentions. I wade in with vacant emotions. If he lives or dies, it doesn't matter much to me. But I will strike my blow, the same as before.
A patchwork of cloaks surrounds me, light filtering from one, blood shining on another. I don't bother to ask who's blood it is. He doesn't look like the answering questions kind of guy anyhow. So intent on each other are they that I pass through untouched. They don't care about me anymore than I care about them. It's all about the wild eyed man in the middle. A handful of the others seek to protect him, shielding him with their bodies. One uses strange magic and blows torrents of water at the incomers. I feel nothing. I am nothing. My face does not betray my intent, and soon I stand beside him. Protecting his flank, maybe. The shadows flicker in the mist. Coal bright eyes wink at me beguilingly. I nod to them, to myself, face still bland as I snake my neck aside, and sink teeth into where a fleshy shoulder should be.
Maybe I'll wake up soon. Home, and safe and I'll tell mother and Santana all about my strange nightmares.