Understood. You want me
No wind brushed the canopy. No crickets sang. No branches groaned under the weight of the night. Even the fog that clung low to the earth seemed afraid to move. All was still—except for the ruin of Bullteik's body.
His form crouched on the damp soil, twitching, breaking further with every moment. Skin peeled from bone in curling strips, sliding to the ground with a wet slap. His fingers spasmed, snapping and twisting in grotesque angles. A sour reek bled into the air, thick enough to sting Darr's eyes and claw at the back of his throat.
And through all of it, El Como said nothing.
The necromancer, whose mocking laughter had filled every breath of the last days, had withdrawn into a silence more cruel than any words.
Darr stood with his sword in hand, boots planted in muck that sizzled faintly where the black ichor fell. His heart hammered against his ribs, though no enemy rushed him, no voice taunted him.
"El Como!" he spat, his voice cracking in the oppressive stillness. "You think silence makes me weaker? Speak, damn you!"
Nothing.
Bullteik's head drooped, his hair falling in greasy strands over his ruined face. His jaw sagged loose on one side, as though it had forgotten the art of holding shape. Only a groan, faint and rattling, broke from his throat.
Darr lowered his sword slightly, torn between terror and desperate hope. Was this Bullteik—his friend, his brother-in-arms—speaking again at last? Or was it El Como pulling strings behind the rotting veil?
"Bullteik?" Darr's voice softened. "Is that you?"
The groan twisted into words, broken but his own. "It's me… what's left."
A shiver ran down Darr's spine. He stumbled closer, kneeling, clutching the hilt of his sword as if it could anchor him against despair. "What has he done to you?"
Bullteik coughed, and a stream of thick black liquid gushed from his lips, hissing as it struck the ground. His chest heaved like a bellows too long cracked.
"He's quiet… now. But not gone." His words scraped out between wheezes. "Like a crow… perched above, watching. Waiting."
"Waiting for what?" Darr demanded. His throat felt raw from shouting, though he hadn't realized his voice had risen.
Bullteik's good eye rolled weakly toward him. "For me… to end."
Darr clenched his teeth, fury burning his chest. He wanted to scream again, to curse the silent necromancer for hiding in shadow. But when he looked down at Bullteik—this broken thing, this man who had once split armies with the swing of a blade—his anger twisted into something heavier.
Confusion. Fear. Helplessness.
The silence was a prison.
The moon slipped westward, dragging shadows across the clearing. Darr did not move from Bullteik's side. His cloak soaked up the filth of the earth, but he did not care. He only watched. Watched as the man he had marched with, bled with, and laughed with—fragmented before his eyes.
Bullteik's skin tore further, hanging in strips that revealed sinew beneath, sinew that sagged and melted away. His bones jutted sharp through holes in his flesh. His breath came in wet gurgles, each one sounding like the last note of a song unfinished.
Darr's mind reeled. Should he plunge his sword through Bullteik's heart to end the torment? Should he hold him closer, to remind him he was not alone? Should he run, to escape the foul miasma before it ate into his own lungs?
He did nothing. He couldn't. His confusion pinned him in place.
"El Como!" he shouted again, though his voice cracked. "Why stay silent now? You mocked me when he was strong, when he still walked. Why hide now, when all that's left is scraps of him? Speak, coward!"
But the silence endured.
Bullteik twitched. His eye slid open, pale and fogged. "He hears you," he whispered. "He just… enjoys the quiet. He enjoys… watching you unravel."
Darr's hand shook on the hilt of his blade. He wanted the necromancer's laugh, the taunt, the sneer. Anything but this quiet. Anything but watching his friend rot without even the dignity of words to mark it.
"I swear," he whispered, his throat tightening, "if he wants me broken, he'll have to tear me apart with his own hands. Not with silence."
Bullteik groaned softly, his lips curling faintly into what might have been a smile. "Still stubborn."
"Always," Darr muttered, though his eyes burned.
The night pressed on. The silence did not break. And in that silence, Darr's confusion festered into grief.
By dawn, Bullteik was nearly dead.
The sky bled pale grey above the trees, and the world seemed to hold its breath. Bullteik lay cradled against Darr's knees, his body no longer whole but a patchwork of bone, ruin, and dripping filth. His breaths came shallow, rattling, each one sounding like it might be his last.
Darr pressed a hand against his chest, though the flesh caved beneath his palm. "Stay with me. Just a little longer. Please."
Bullteik's lips cracked open. His voice was no louder than the sigh of wind. "Don't… look at me. Not like this."
Darr's tears finally fell, streaking his dirt-stained face. "I'll look at you however I damn well please. You're mine to look at. My brother. My shield. You don't get to tell me to turn away."
Bullteik's chest shuddered. His ruined face softened into something like gratitude. "That's why… I followed you. Stubborn fool."
A fit seized him then, his limbs jerking violently. Black liquid poured from his mouth, his eyes rolling back. Darr clutched him tightly, shouting his name, begging, cursing. The spasm passed, leaving Bullteik limp in his arms.
His breath rattled faintly. "Tell me… did I fight well?"
The question broke Darr. His voice shook as he pressed his forehead against Bullteik's. "You fought like no man ever has. You were thunder on the field. A storm with a sword. You were my right hand. My brother."
A broken smile tugged at Bullteik's lips. "Good… then I can… rest."
His chest rose once more, shallow and strained. Then it did not rise again.
The crimson ember in his eye sputtered, then faded to nothing.
Silence fell heavier than ever before.
Darr sat in that silence, clutching the ruin of his friend, his tears mixing with the foulness that stained them both. He wanted to scream, but his voice was gone. He wanted to strike the earth, but his strength had left him. All he could do was rock gently, holding Bullteik's corpse as if the motion might trick the body into remembering life.
"El Como," he whispered at last, his voice ragged. "You think this silence wins you victory? No. You've only fed the fire in me. I will find you. I will rip you from whatever shadow you hide in. And when I do—you'll answer for this."
The silence remained.
But in that silence, Darr swore he felt a presence pressing against his mind. Not words, not laughter—just the weight of a shadow, patient and cruel.
And he knew El Como was not gone. He was waiting...