[ti]private[/ti]Pulling The Wings

Saint chuckled. “Some pokemon tend to wander. Gumball—I mean, uh, my popplio is always running off to play. It’s nothing against you, just how they are.” He glanced down at the cute little thing being petted. “At least your espurr’s energetic. Mine only sleeps.”

Cinnamon squinted at the kitten, meeting its wide eyes as if attempting telepathy. She had not met many espurrs in her time, but something about this one’s stiff posture made its naturally unending gaze both existential and fearful.

Saint paused at the question that followed. It was a simple one, delivered so politely, with a tilt of the head and soft tones; yet the edges of his mouth tightened in a flash of distress.

“I… No. Not yet. I’m still a student.” He was not lying, and yet it felt like he was. Shame flushed hot on his neck and in his head. “I’ve heard some ailments can’t be healed by the shrine, and I’d like to study them.” He shrugged. “And some players just can’t be bothered to heal up before they run around the most dangerous areas in the game, so—” he gestured to the camp.

Cinnamon had walked over as her trainer rambled. <May I check on your pokemon?> She asked Lacrimosa, before smiling at the espurr. <If that is alright with you, dear. You seem a little tense.>

“She says she’d like to check on your pokemon,” Saint clarified, in case this player didn’t have speech enabled. “I’m not going to pester you if you’re in a hurry, but I wouldn’t recommend wandering around if you’re not in perfect condition.” He eyed the arm held tight to Lacrimosa’s body with open concern. “It isn't safe.”

AUDINO || 100/100

Cinnamon took the little paw gently, smiling with maternal warmth as she noted the espurr’s grip. <There, there…> she soothed, her free paw unfurling one of her ears, the feeler acting as a stethoscope that she used to check the little one’s pulse.

Saint continued listening to Lacrimosa, his concern only growing as the man informed him of his purpose here—of his intention to enter Mistra. “Hardly? You’ve been there more than once?” And he was still going back in? Saint couldn’t help looking at him as if he’d gone mad.

But Lacrimosa continued, answering his next question. The mention of a dear friend being injured by corruption made him tense. His mind dug up images of Silvermoon’s wound, a flash of panic that subsided as he failed to recall any unusual behaviors. From how Lacrimosa described it, what their friend was experiencing almost sounded like possession.

If it was him in Lacrimosa’s shoes, would he do the same?

"is that not why we're here? to heal?"

Saint chewed the inside of his cheek, before sighing. “How… how long do you plan on staying there? If it’s for only a brief visit, then you should be able to escape before you white out.”

Cinnamon paused. <What’s wrong?> she asked the espurr quietly. Their physical signs were fine, but emotionally—

“And I could accompany you. Should anything happen, I can pull you out.”

AUDINO || 100/100

Cinnamon frowned at the sight of tears. <Oh, no, no, honey… it’s okay…> She wiped her thumbs under Espurr’s eyes, her heart tightening with protective instinct. The kitten turned their head in her hands, and she couldn’t help follow, staring with knitted brows at the strange trainer. <Just what did he do to you…?>

Saint chewed the inside of his cheek. A few minutes... he could deal with a few minutes. The smile Lacrimosa gave him was trusting, and sealed his fate. He watched the espurr run back to Lacrimosa’s side, glancing over to Cinnamon, who followed suit, looking uncertain as she settled beside him, her gaze still fixed between the espurr and Lacrimosa.

The horizon beyond looked so innocent. Peaceful. As if they were about to step into a painting.

Saint nodded, listening to Lacrimosa as the man led them forwards. “As long as we stick together,” he echoed as Cinnamon slipped her paw in his hand. He gave it a little squeeze.

<I don’t know about this, Saint,> Cinnamon whispered, watching Espurr glance back at them, the way their steps stuttered as the two breached the border.

“It’s only for a few minutes. We can do this.” They had promised this. Saint to Lacrimosa, Cinnamon to the Espurr.

They stepped in, words lost between them – and sight soon after.

______

When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a pool. The realization lasted for all of a second before the burning registered.

“Argh!” he hissed and shot up, nearly stumbling back down in his haste. Pain shot down his arms and legs, his clothes stained with what looked to be ink, yet it couldn’t be– it was devouring the fabric off his back. It was eating through his shoes.

He leapt as far away as he could. The pile itself was shallow, a puddle, but as he turned around, he could see it for what it was: the flesh of a creature sloughing off its form. The thick tar dribbled down a hunched back, its surface rugged with all manner of viscera. Saint gagged.

He’s pulled from nausea by the sound of his name.

“I’m here!” he hurried, doing his best to avoid the puddles of tar. His fear spiked at the sight of white hair peeking out from between two pillars of gruel; Lacrimosa pinned underneath the abomination, and even worse, as he drew closer: the man had been staked in the stomach by a reeking animal horn.

“How did– how is any of this–” None of his words were coming out. No words could possibly contain this situation. The only thing that kept him from spiraling entirely was the strange calm of Lacrimosa’s voice, its dainty edges sanded down to fine tips that took control of him as a violinist with a bow.

His hands twitched, still searing with pain from the brief exposure of his awakening. They hovered over where Lacrimosa lay buried, an x-ray image of their skeletal frame flashing ever briefly behind his eyes, his fear narrated by a voice sewn from his nightmares.

<Saint.> A hand came upon his leg, and he flinched, looking down. Cinnamon stared up at him, her fear apparent, coat stained with tar as well. <We need to move.>

He’s glad, at least, that his Pokémon was here, but that still left the monumental task at hand. Moving a hulking pile of acid.

<Maybe… maybe I could heal him? Give us more time.> Cinnamon fidgeted. <We could find something around here to push the acid.>

But there was nothing. It was a barren wasteland, as good as a desert. Nothing was alive in Mistra, except the three of them right here— soon to be two.

“The shepherd seeks the stray lamb, and finds naught but bone.” Another echo. Hallucination. “Does it comfort you, child? To disturb the dead.”

“No.” Saint clenched his hands to make them stop shaking. “Try… try healing me instead. And don’t stop.”

Lacrimosa had said he wouldn’t want to use his hands, and he’s right– but what else was there?

He stepped into the pool, the soles of his feet burning as if hot coals. A dim glow of healing aura washed over him as Cinnamon cast her healing from the edge of the pit. He approached the carcass, and met with seven lifeless eyes, seven gaping maws, and six horns melting down its face.

“Lacrimosa, just hang on. I’ll– I’ll get this thing off you,” he said, unable to look it in the eyes. Unable to even look at Lacrimosa, who looked even more mangled up close.

He raised his hands, and began to push.

A groan of pain rose to a strained scream. The cloying stench of rot was potent enough to kill, and the repulsion of touching it– of letting his hands sink into its ruined carcass, feeling every thing that stirs inside it; rib, sinew, eyeball, tongues— it was unspeakable. It was something that never should have been made.

And he was letting it eat him alive.

Through excruciating pain and tears, he managed to wrench the hollowed cadaver off. It groaned and tilted, clinging to him, to Lacrimosa, as it is torn from the foundations and disposed.

Saint gasped, withdrawing his hands immediately, gritting his teeth hard enough to crack molar as he clenched and unclenched his fingers, desperate to know they still worked but unable to look at them.

He was barely able to stand by the time he could actually get a look at Lacrimosa’s body. Could he even touch it at this rate?

“L-Lacrimosa, are you– what do I do–”

AUDINO || 50/100

Something was wrong. He had ripped the obstacle from its roots with his own hands, yet it didn’t feel as if he’d freed the captive. It felt like he had torn something. Something important.

Saint blinked hard. It was just Mistra. He opened his eyes and watched as Lacrimosa regurgitated his words, the syllables distorted far beyond the gentle hum he recognized; it scraped the back of his throat, made his hairs stand on ends.

But he did not pull away. He sank his heels into the hungry acid because despite the mutilation, it was still Lacrimosa in the end.

The tether. His eyes latched onto the animal horn. A reminder: Do not do anything to worsen the victim’s condition outside the operating room. Do not remove the embedded object. Apply pressure, monitor, and call for emergency services.

He fell to his knees, deaf to the cry of his Pokémon by the sidelines, numb to the acid eating through his clothes and into his legs.

There was nothing he could do to worsen Lacrimosa’s condition. The man was dying.

There was no one to call either.

It was as if the world had gone very, very still.

His fingers brushed the horn as he thought, what was an incompetent doctor to do, when left without tools and a patient on their deathbed?

He held his breath, wary of hurting Lacrimosa further— his palm shook anyways, as it wrapped over the jagged end. Warmth accumulated in his eyes and poured down his face, tapping a melody on Lacrimosa's skin. He could feel himself dying; the pain catching up to the healing the longer he stayed in the poison.

He tried to move, and his partially-melted hand slipped off the bone, pushing it deeper.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorryI’msorryI’msosorry—”

He steadied his hand with the other this time, both now poised over the stake that pinned his patient to earth. He couldn’t see their face behind the tears, and it helped. He couldn’t hear someone calling his name over the sound of his apologies.

Becoming a doctor had been an ambition sown by his family, but he had watered it and nourished it and ruined it on his own. He had wanted to help people.

What happens if helping someone means killing them?

He pulled the horn with both hands, and it was as easy as sinking a knife through someone’s heart.

AUDINO || 0/100

S82UwOcP1-20