Ryckel felt the cold, lingering weight of the wings and beak as if there was still there.
But he was still human again. The Half shades still clutched in his hand.
How much of this stuff do they need?
Ryckel thought, feeling the taste of something sweet and at the same time bitter.
As he crested the rise toward the camp, the air wasn't filled with the tension of him being missing for a while, like he had worried.
It was filled with song.
"He climbed the stairs of a glass-made sky,"
"To pluck the stars and spit in God's eye."
"He stole the breath of the never-dead,"
"Now he wears a crown of a rotting head."
"Oh, J, he waits where the shadows thin,
With a god's own heart and a madman's grin."
"He cannot die, he cannot sleep,
He's the secret that the mountains keep."
They're singing… isn't this song supposed to be sang a bit more slower?
The Stained Brothers were wailing, singing it with the energy of a tavern brawl. Empty bottles of Wistnan rice wine littered the mud.
"Look who's back!" Hood called out. He was the only one who didn't look like he was seeing double, though he was tapping his feet with a loose, rhythmic joy that felt entirely out of place.
The Cook stumbled toward Ryckel, his eyes bloodshot. "Finally! Took you long enough to pick a few weeds, brat."
Vega, leaning against a broken pillar, slurred a laugh. "Do... corrupted ones take a piss longer than we humans? Or were you just practice-begging the trees for your life?"
"I wonder how bedding a monster feels," Brandy hiccuped, leaning in too close. "Does the skin feel like... velvet?"
"Quiet, you lot," Hood said, his eyes sharp despite the relaxed atmosphere. "It's for the best. Whoever buys him will want a quiet dog they can shape. If he's broken, he's worth more."
Cook grabbed the bundle of Half-shades from Ryckel's hands. He paused, his drunken brow furrowing as he looked at the stems and leaves.
Ryckel kept quiet, maintaining eye contact.
Cook swayed on his feet, looking at the herbs with a momentary, haunting before he shook it off with a grunt. He carried them to a flat stone and began chopping them with a dull knife.
It sounded like a countdown to Ryckel.
He sat in the corner, pulling his knees to his chest. He didn't speak. He didn't look up. He wiped the dried blood of the Knight onto his tunic, blending it with the mud.
"Grub's up!" Cook hollered, tossing his stirring stick into the dirt.
The aroma was a physical assault. It was rich, savory, and warm, a far cry from the cold, salted scraps Ryckel had been chewing for days. His stomach cramped with hunger, but his mind remained cold.
Hood walked over, holding a wooden bowl filled with the steaming soup. "Here. Take it."
Ryckel froze. He looked at the bowl, then up at Hood's mask.
"Go on," Hood smiled. "You guys don't dig in yet. Let our little friend try it first."
The silence was absolute. The drunken laughter died.
It then clicked.
Upon everything, they still didn't trust Ryckel…
Now using him as bait to check if anything's wrong.
They were testing the bait. Even though Cook had boasted about how harmless the herb was, they weren't taking chances with a boy who had every right to kill them.
Ryckel didn't hesitate. Only gulping, the heavy feeling going down his throat. He took the bowl and drank.
The heat scalded his throat, but the flavor was so good despite the hotness mildly burning his throat.
"Thank you," Ryckel muttered, bowing his head.
Hood watched him for some time.
When Ryckel didn't keel over, Hood ruffled the boy's hair with a rough, patronizing hand. "Well... that counts as your dinner. Honestly, I was planning on giving you scraps from it just to save the hassle, but you're a smart one, aren't you?"
The men cheered and descended on the pot like vultures. They ate greedily, passing around masks as the sky began to bleed red.
"Welcome to my beloved exorcism show!" Vega roared suddenly, stumbling over to Ryckel.
He launched a heavy, drunken kick into Ryckel's ribs. Then a punch. Then another.
Wait.
Ryckel told himself, curling into a ball.
Just a little longer. Don't ruin it now.
The Cook watched, a flicker of guilt crossing his face before he took another long swig of wine. "Isn't it... isn't it a bit much, Vega?"
"He's a monster!" Vega screamed, throwing his fists.
But this time, when his fist connected with Ryckel's shoulder, he instinctively surrounded it with his energy.
The beatings were getting too much.
Vega grunted in pain. He shook his hand, looking confused. Ryckel's skin felt... denser.
The sun touched the horizon. The Bleeding Hour was not too far off.
Vega went to punch again, but his arm suddenly went limp. He decided to leave Ryckel alone and reached for his gas mask, his fingers fumbling with the straps.
Beside the fire, Brandy let out a wet, bubbling sound. He wiped his nose, looking at his hand.
It was coated in thick, black-red gore.
"Hey," Hood said, his voice dropping as his shadows began to coil. "What's wrong with you?"
Brandy didn't answer. He couldn't. Blood suddenly erupted from his eyes, his ears, and his mouth in a violent spray. He hit the ground, his body convulsing as he choked on his own blood.
Cook's drunken haze vanished instantly. He fell backward, staring at the dying man.
"What the Opaque is happening?!" Hood roared, his shadows leaping out and grabbing the Cook by the throat, hoisting him into the air. "What did you do?!"
The shadows flickered as the firelight died down. Vega stood motionless, his hand frozen halfway to his face.
"It's..."Cook wheezed, his eyes wide with a realization that transcended terror. "It's... Half-shade poisoning."
The Stained Brothers froze. They looked at the pot. They looked at their hands.
And then, they looked at Ryckel.
Ryckel didn't look broken anymore. He stood up slowly. He wiped a stray drop of soup from his lip, his mouth curling into a predatory smirk.
---The End of Chapter 14---