"You are not one of us, but more. You are a weapon, the all and the one."
-Heard by master Shi without age.
Green woke up with his right eye open, he closed it quickly, looking up to find Careless beaming uncontrollably. She had forcibly opened his eye. He tried getting up, not wanting to start a conversation, but something stopped him.
He looked down to find a vine tied around him, keeping him attached to what felt like a Borxt shell.
"You're an elf!" She said excitedly.
Green didn't respond, just untied himself, then got up and checked for any wounds. After being doused in Borxt mucus, his body would be completely numb.
"Why didn't you use the arts on the train?" Careless asked. "You could have beaten those hooded guys."
Again, he didn't respond.
Careless put her hands behind her back, "I thought you seemed a little strange though, your aura didn't really seem human." Aura? Green thought. "But it makes sense, your ears are hidden behind your hair but they're pointed. Is that why your hair is so long?
Green grunted.
"Your eyes are so pretty too," she continued. "I'd never seen ruby eyes, and they're such a bright shade. Like a polished gem.
Green turned around to meet her eyes with his right. He kept his left closed—just in case, and held them for a moment. She's so innocent, Green thought. He thought it strange.
She had likely been kidnaped, sold a dozen times. Yet her eyes showed the same curiosity as any child's would. One would think that such experiences would break someone's will, He thought.
"Where are we?" asked Green.
She shrugged, "I don't know. These things started moving and they chased away that monster, so I thought it would be better to stay with them. No matter how much they stink."
"And you tied me to them?"
"Mhm, I used your knife to cut some vines to use as rope." she exclaimed proudly. "Still, why is that big thing afraid of these little things?"
"They're called Borxt," Green replied, "they're the Septaroth's opposite. Their mucus repels the Septaroth's sensitive noses. And their hard shell keeps the Septaroth's teeth from piercing it."
Green looked down at the vine Careless had used. The bonuve trees that made up Septaroth forest typically grew vines that wrapped around the main body from the base up. It was like a protective layer against the Borxt diets.
"Thanks," he said, gesturing to the bandage on his arm she had apparently put on. She smiled. "You did well on the bandage," he said, "have you done this before?"
"Once or twice," she responded, "why are you keeping your left eye closed?"
Green opened his mouth to reply, but paused. Even their mannerisms are the same, Green thought. He shook his head, which caused a straining discomfort in his neck. That pulled his attention to his other wounds.
He was covered head to toe in bruises from his fight on the train. This is going to take weeks to heal, Green thought. A sudden pain crossed his body like ice crawling in his veins. Sharp and dry.
He winced, though it was extremely painful, he was familiar with this type of pain. After it passed he checked his body to find his ribs partly healed.
The arts, of course, he thought, clenching his jaw in anger. After two years. He sighed, what's done is done.
Green looked up to Careless, who had apparently given up on asking him questions, and was now staring inspecting a few flowers she found.
"How long was I out?" Green said, getting her attention.
"Three days I think," she responded. "These things carried you pretty far.
"We need to navigate out of this forest." He wiped off the back of his pants and continued. "Once we're out, we'll meet back up with Mark and Grace. Hopefully the Paipite's don't chase them now that you're gone."
She nodded, then her eyes lit up with another question. "That reminds me, your sister feels like a human, is she disguising herself?"
"I'm her adopted brother, she's human."
Green felt at his back, his rifle was still there, but he'd left his bag on the train.
I have nothing to draw a map on, Green thought, and no food to recover. Healing would have taken energy, more energy than he could spare. He could already feel the light headedness setting in.
"Where's my knife? Green asked.
Careless grabbed it off the ground and gave it to him.
"Sorry," she said.
He shrugged, then took it and started cutting through the vines on a tree trunk.
Careless tilted her head, "what are you doing?"
"Getting us some food," Green replied.
"I'm not very hungry," she replied.
Green looked over, raising an eyebrow. Elven physiology was unique, but three days without food?
Green turned back to his work. "It's best to get as much food as possible while we can." Green grunted, hacking his knife again and again into the bark. "Bonuve tree bark is edible on the inside.
We'll probably be in here for a good while. It normally takes the train several hours to get to the next town. We'll have to do it on foot, and with no idea where to go."
"Couldn't we just follow the tracks?"
"Not likely. If we've been moving in a random direction for three days, we could be way off. So unless you've been tracking our direction?"
He looked back, and she shook her head. He turned back to his work.
"Then it's better to just go west. We'll have to map the forest along the way. Make sure we don't get lost."
"How can we map the forest?"
"Well I might not look it, but I'm a fairly skilled cartographer. I can map just about anything. That said, we could still be in here for months. But so long as we keep west we should get out of the forest eventually."
Green's knife finally cut a triangle shape out of the tree. He offered it to Careless. She took it, and Green cut one out for himself.
Bonuve trees were large, and the inner bark was around a foot thick. Though it was harder to cut through.
Green bit into it. It was bitter and springy, but Green wouldn't complain. Careless however, gaged slightly.
"The texture is weird," she complained.
"You're eating wood, I wouldn't expect anything less." Green replied.
After he finished, Green looked around, seeing if there was something else he could use. He felt the vines that wrapped around the tree.
"Do you know how to weave by any chance," Green asked, turning to Careless who was struggling through her meal.
"Mhm, I used to do it with my mom all the time," she said proudly, "why?"
"Think you can weave these?" Green held up fairly thick vines.
"I don't know if I can make clothes with that?"
"Not clothes, we're going to need a basket, I'm wondering if you'll teach me as well?"
Careless beamed, she walked over and sat next to him, grabbing the vines.
"So weaving a basket is pretty simple, but we're going to need a foundation first." She picked up a few sticks from the ground then put the ends together in the middle.
After an hour or so, as well as several tries, Green finally cut off the ends and held up the basket. He smiled slightly when he looked at it. Feeling a sense of accomplishment.
Strange, he thought, this feels better than hitting a target. Perhaps it was because he created something rather than destroyed it. But he felt proud of his work.
Careless herself was grinning.
"Wow, you learn fast," she said. "It took me a few days to learn how to do that."
"I had a good teacher."
Her smile widened. "What did you need a basket for though?"
Green responded by cupping his hand and scooping a large chunk of Borxt mucus in his hand and dumping it in the basket. Careless both gagged at and looked horrified at the sight.
"What are you doing?" she asked. "And how can you do it?" she gagged again.
"Baskets are made to be used, and I do it with a strong stomach," Green responded. "As well as knowledge that this is going to keep us alive. I'd rather live smelling like an animal, than to die smelling like a flower."
She gagged again, "that smells worse than an animal."
He looked in her direction, she had a hand to her mouth and nose and turned away from seeing the slop drip down in their newly made basket.
He wasn't surprised, Elves typically hated uncleanliness. But he had lived a childhood in the cities where slums were common. That didn't mean he liked being dirty, his Elven heritage had a strong influence on his hygiene. It just meant that compared to others, he could handle more distasteful tasks.
Nevertheless he had to make sure not to cut or scrape himself, if the mucus got inside the skin, the nerves would sting bad enough to kill. He finished filling the basket, then wrapped it around his shoulder. With the straps they had attached to it.
"We need to go. This mucus will keep the Septaroths from catching our scent. But they aren't the only thing we need to worry about."
He started walking, letting Careless follow behind. They walked until Green felt his blood pressure was off in some areas. An after effect of pushing the arts to their limits.
"Can I ask you a question?" She asked, sitting down.
"You're asking permission?" he asked.
"Well you don't answer most of the time so I thought you might not like it."
"Go ahead," he said plainly.
"Why do you use guns when you can fight so well?"
"That's what you're asking, you're not upset with me using the basket to carry mucus?"
"Well yeah I am, but father always told me that I can only be upset about something for five minutes. Anyway, it seems like you do better when you fight without guns, so why do you use them?"
Green didn't respond for a moment—letting the words hang in the air.
"Please answer, I won't ask any more questions if you do," she said.
Green turned to her with a raised eyebrow. "You realize you are trying to reward me with not being annoying in the future, for being annoying now."
"Well uhhh."
Green smiled, "I'm mostly kidding, I don't mind you asking questions, I just don't like to share. As for my answer, I don't like to be up close and personal. If I have to kill, I feel better about doing it at a distance."
Careless quieted, he didn't know if it was because she was keeping her word, or if she was to disturbed to speak. Elven women typically hated violence. And although the males were more adept to it, and were great warriors—killing profoundly disturbed them.
Green knew this for a fact. After his first target had been dealt with he had spent days weeping over the death. He had deliberately kept that memory, despite the pain it brought him.
"So you've killed before?" Careless asked, sounding dejected and scared.
Green didn't respond right away, he wasn't sure how to answer.
"I'm sorry," she continued. "I don't know why I asked, I know it's probably hard out here. But…"
Green glanced over, Careless was hugging herself. Same looks, same mannerisms, and same habits, Green thought.
"I don't recall ever saying I killed," he said finally, she perked up. "I just wouldn't want to be near if I had to."
He glanced over again to find her smiling, then got up to continue.
Mark braced himself in the doorway, gauntlets out as the Paipites stalked closer. He stood in front of the door that led to the other car, and was the only thing keeping them from Grace.
Of course Green bailed. Mark thought bitterly. Though it was a smart decision it still left him with this mess.
One Paipite moved in to attack. Mark swung, but the Paipite just ducked and palmed his gut. Mark manages to grab its arm only for it to slip out before he could tighten his grip.
They were trained for this. Trained to eat force. Every blow he threw siphoned mana from him like blood from a vein, and they knew it. Fifteen strikes in, his chest was already heaving. His head throbbed, vision doubling, heart burning in his ribs.
He shrugged off his pulxed jacket, laying it over Grace. That left him in a black shirt, skin already slick with sweat. He slid the train door open and stepped out into the screaming wind.
Metal rattled under his grip as he tore the doorknob clean off. The Paipites followed. Mark hurled himself at them, kicking hard, using the knob as a weight—but they slipped aside like shadows. He rolled up to his feet in the same heartbeat, facing them again.
The tall one struck first, a hammer blow toward his gut. Mark caught its wrist mid-swing.
"Gotcha," he hissed, yanking it close and locking a hand on its throat. The thing's eyes were pits of ice, unblinking even as he slammed it backward through its companions. They crashed against the far wall—yet the tall one twisted its legs to soften the impact, tore free of his grip, and flipped over him with inhuman grace.
Stones. Always ready.
The three surged forward again, and this time their strikes came fast, relentless, palms battering him like iron mallets. He curled in, protecting his face, body screaming with every hit.
"Boots!" Green's voice snapped in his head.
Boots? What the hell—
Then it clicked. His eyes widened. Green, you genius.
Mark roared, swinging a wild backhand to buy himself space. Ignoring the pain in his ribs, he sat down in a criss-cross position, closing his eyes. He gripped his boots and breathed out.
The world blurred. He sank inward.
Dark mist swallowed him. Mark was a crafter, a special type of pulxer. He had the ability to permanently apply a pulx to an item. Breath, he thought, he let out a long breath, then saw in his mind's eye a flowing river in a dark room filled with black mist.
The river of light towered before him, its currents laced with ribbons of color. Power. Each pulx line shimmered, alive. Mark immediately stopped, sitting down. Now in his own mind, time outside would hardly pass. He could spend an hour here and not even a second would pass there.
Even so, he sat up and looked at the multitude of colors that flowed with one another. He inspected these lines, he was looking for a start, preferably a red one. Though reds were rare, so he wasn't surprised when none showed up.
He selected a purple one, then fiercely grabbed it. He wrapped it around his other arm and tugged with everything he had.
It gave. The line wiggled and swerved around him, like an uncontrolled ribbon in the wind, it was longer than ten feet.
He was prepared to start mixing but his eye flicked to a line in the river, it was a bright red. His jaw dropped slighting, in awe at the most powerful line. If he grabbed this one, he'd be nearly unbeatable.
He stretched out his arms, he would need both for this prey. He grabbed it, but the line seized him like a storm, yanking him off his feet.
"Whoa!" he yeld, but he held on.
He wrapped it around his waist, straining till his muscles tore with fire. For a heartbeat he almost had it—then it ripped free, dragging him downstream. He collapsed, gasping, empty-handed.
"Still not strong enough," he spat.
After a while he stood up and reached for two purple. They tugged, but not nearly as much as the monstrosity he had tried earlier. He pulled them free, then used the ribbens to draw out two glyphs. As he finished, the rest of the line faded back into the mind.
The moment he left, the Paipites were mid-leap. Though he'd been in there for a half an hour, hardly any time had passed.
Mark slammed his heel into the train floor. The entire car lurched upward, metal shrieking, flinging everyone into the air. The Hellador man smacked his head against steel as he went down.
The Paipites landed like cats—but Mark was already moving, slamming his boot into the wall. The car jolted sideways with a thunderclap of force, scattering them.
He straightened, voice low and shaking:
"Terra pulx. Not bad, huh?"
The Paipites froze, their blank stares locked on him.
He didn't wait. Mark gripped a handrail, then grunted, ripping off its welds. He bent the steel to size, and dove back into the river. This time he didn't hunt rare colors. He snatched the first thing he touched—a white line and drew the chaos glyph.
When he returned, the Paipites were almost on him. He swung. The rail cut empty air—yet a shockwave blasted from it, hurling two Paipites into the walls. The larger one however, only staggered back, teeth bared.
Mark slammed the rail into the ground. Fire exploded outward in a roaring wave, flames licking his skin. He screamed through clenched teeth but didn't stop. The Paipites ripped off their burning cloaks, circling him more warily now.
Good.
He kicked the floor again. The car leapt. He struck the wall with the bar. Black vines burst out like tar-made flesh, clutching the rail, spreading fast. When he wrenched to free it, a Paipite's kick smashed into his jaw, dropping him. Another pinned his arms. Rope bit into his wrists.
When he tried using his boots again, the third got his legs. The smallest one's foot grinding his cheek into the floor.
As if to show its flexibility, it leaned its face close while keeping its foot there. A woman? Mark thought. With the cloak gone, he saw the dramatic curves, the flushed face. Her voice was a knife wrapped in honey:
"You are acquainted with Irira."
Mark's laugh was breathless, bitter. "Never heard of her."
The gunman staggered up, shrieking, tearing at his hair. "Why him?! Of all people!" He kicked the wall. "If the Conexe finds out—no, I can't—" He froze when he met Mark's eyes. "Who are you? And why do you know that thing!"
Mark didn't answer. He just smiled.
And a moment later, his shirt rippled into shadow, and he fell below the earth. Not in a traditional sense. His body sank into the shadows. The umbra pulx active through his shirt.
The ropes fell slack.
"What—?!" the gunman barked.
Mark erupted from the darkness right in front of the gunman and his fist caved into his face with a crunch. The man crumpled.
Mark stood swaying, chest heaving, vision tunneling. He looked around to what might be happening, only to spot the rail still pulsed in the wall. The black vines sucking in the surrounding mana. The car groaned as steel warped inward like paper before a giant's fist.
Then silence.
Mark fell back, his mana drained from the vines. The Paipite's were of course not affected. With no mana, they stood above him.
Great, Mark thought.
Before they grabbed him however, the door opened to the next car. Not the one that led to Grace, but the car in front of this one.
A small figure walked through, another Paipite. Mark tried to stand, but his arms wouldn't move anymore.
"You're acquainted with Irrira," the newcomer said, his voice deeper than Marks. His accent mimicked that of the woman's, but felt different. More condescending.
Mark glared at him.
"Give him a massage; "Valt esh matalli corve ne.""
With that, the newcomer left. The other Paipite's surprisingly just sat down. Not attacking, nor helping the gunman.