The Red Dark was thick, swallowing everything but the immediate radius of the camp.
For a moment, Ryckel allowed himself a breath of cold, calculated victory. Thanks to the [Mist Walker] mark, the heavy atmosphere felt like a silken veil he could glide through.
He felt weightless, his senses sharpened to a predatory edge as his body felt the flow of the energy within.
Ryckel didn't hesitate. He flexed his shoulders, the shadow-chains that had bound him feeling brittle and thin as he tore through them.
He reached down and snatched Vega's serrated dagger from the mud. It felt balanced, perfect for what came next.
He dashed. Through the red haze, he saw Hood slumped over, his body racked by the poison. Blood was already soaking through the filters of Hood's mask, dripping to his fingertips.
Good riddance.
Ryckel lunged, driving the dagger deep into Hood's side, feeling the resistance of leather and flesh give way. He twisted the blade and pulled it out, immediately plunging it back into the man's torso.
Hood let out a sharp, choked gasp, his fingers twitching as they tried to find Ryckel's throat, but there was no strength left in them.
Ryckel shoved the dying captain aside with a dismissive grunt. Hood hit the dirt, his gaze drifting toward the barely visible corpses of his 'Brothers.'
A single, lonely tear tracked through the blood on his cheek before his eyes glazed over.
Ryckel didn't linger. The satisfaction was a cold, steady hum in his chest.
You shouldn't have done all this to me. You deserve it. I don't.
Finally, Ryckel got his revenge. It felt sweet. But he was also tired. He could finally now rest.
He dragged a discarded sleeping mat toward the dying embers of the fire and sat, the dagger resting against his thigh.
He enjoyed the warmth for a few moments, letting the adrenaline subside, before he buried the fire under a mound of dirt. In the Bleeding Hour, light was a beacon for things far worse than men.
The only sounds were the crackle of cooling wood and the click-hiss of his gas mask.
"This little boy..."
The voice was a low, dry rasp.
Ryckel's blood turned to ice. He snapped up, dagger raised, eyes darting through the red mist. "Who's there?"
Silence.
It can't be…?!
He bolted back to the spot where Hood had fallen. The corpse was gone. Only a few dark spatters of blood remained in the mud.
"Fuck you, you know?"
It came from behind him!
Ryckel tried to spin, but a heavy boot connected with his temple, sending him tumbling through the dirt.
He rolled, his vision swimming, and firmed his footing just as the shadow emerged from the mist.
Shit! Wasn't the [Thread of Intent] supposed to show me that?
Or is it… that the person has to be in his sight?
He looked on. It was Hood. His mask was shattered, but it wasn't enough that the mists would leak in and transform him.
"I stabbed you. Multiple times. So how?" Ryckel said, his body tensing up.
Ryckel looked at the stab wounds in Hood.
They weren't bleeding. They were filled with a pulsing, oily darkness that seemed to be stitching his leather armor and skin back together.
"Do you know what they do to a recruit if they can't gain an immunity to common poisons?" Hood wheezed, his body swaying slightly, blood still dripping from his mask.
He lunged, his hand transforming into a blade of solid shadow.
Ryckel saw the thread extending from ur and ducked, the shadow-blade whistling over his head and slicing a nearby pillar in half.
Ryckel used the momentum to sweep Hood's leg, but the captain dodged, reappearing not to far off.
"What's the point of an assassin," Hood spat, "if they're not immune to some easy-to-find weeds?"
Assassin?
Ryckel's mind flashed back. He wasn't a freedom fighter.
He was a Confessor. A killer.
"You said you weren't one of them!" Ryckel shouted.
"Didn't you hear me earlier?" Hood coughed, a spray of gore hitting the inside of his visor. "I once was. I wanted to live a life away from the shadows, away from the orders. But you... you've made me embrace it again."
Hood lowered his center of gravity. The shadows around him rose like a tide, forming three spears of darkness that hovered behind him.
Ryckel saw now four threads of intent.
"I gave you a choice, kid. You could have lived. You threw it all away for a family that's probably already ash in the wind!" Hood shouted.
"What's the point of living if not for them?" Ryckel countered, his voice cracking with unhinged fury.
He dashed forward, weaving through the first shadow-spear. "To be your slave? To be sold to some castle? I'd rather we all die and end the suffering!"
Ryckel closed the distance, his fists wreathed in energy. He feinted a high strike, then dropped low, driving a punch into Hood's stomach.
He felt the impact but Hood didn't move. The shadows absorbed the blow, cushioning the organs.
"You could always fight like this?" Hood asked, getting himself back. "Just let the suffering end here you know."He grabbed Ryckel's fist.
He slammed his forehead into Ryckel's, the metallic clang of their masks echoing.
Ryckel reeled back, but as he did, he noticed Hood's legs trembling. The man was wheezing, his breaths sounding like a broken bellows.
The poison hadn't killed him, but it was slowing him down. The shadows were the only thing holding him together.
Ryckel smirked behind his mask. "You're dying anyway, aren't you?"
"I'll last long enough to see your eyes go dark," Hood growled.
He swung his hand, and a whip of shadow lashed out. Ryckel saw the thread slightly before. He leapt over it, using a fallen wagon wheel to propel himself into the air.
Hood raised a shield of darkness, but Ryckel didn't hit the shield. He kicked off the side of a stone archway, changing his trajectory. He landed behind Hood and slashed at the man's neck.
The dagger bit deep. Shadows bled out instead of blood.
Hood roared, a sound of pure agony and frustration. He turned, his hand gripping Ryckel's throat, lifting him off the ground.
The shadows began to crawl up Ryckel's chest, cold and suffocating.
"You should only blame yourself," Hood whispered, his reddened eye staring into Ryckel's.
Ryckel felt the darkness squeezing his lungs, but he didn't panic. He felt the [Mist Walker] mark pulse on his skin. The red mist around them suddenly swirled, drawn to Ryckel's rage.
He didn't use his hands. He used his head. Slamming into Hood's already broken face. With a desperate surge of energy, Ryckel channeled every spark he had into a single point, his teeth.
He bit down on the shadow-construct at his throat, tearing through the darkness like acid.
---The End of Chapter 16---