Before Death (30)

The grip of the shade sapped the last of his essence. Beaten and bruised, he no longer had the strength to stand; even his knees fell weak, leaving him flat on the floor.

Adrian was a haze, gone in a fleeting moment. Though he had urged the boy to escape, to ensure his own survival, Adrian now stood before him, arms outstretched, blocking its path. Then he was on the ground.

Summoning his last ounce of resolve, he propelled himself forward. With a desperate impulse, he seized the opportune moment to strike while the darkness feasted. Enveloping it with his remaining energy, he ignited it over and over. The flames engulfed it in a bloody light, intensifying as his anger broiled. It writhed, screeching as if something human was burning within.

When not even ash remained, he fell to the ground, dragging his weary body to Adrian’s side. The boy’s breaths grew slower with each passing moment, tainted by the corruption that spread like a creeping vine across his body.

In the dim hollow beneath the town, they were alone.

Pulling himself to his feet, he hoisted Adrian onto his shoulders. One foot after another, he strained, trembling as exhaustion fought to claim him.

Emerging from the depths, a warming afternoon assaulted his senses. The town wasn’t far, but as he crossed the threshold, a crowd gathered – whispers escalating into a tumultuous chatter.

With each step towards the tavern, the venom in their words grew more potent; something all too familiar, but they were not his concern. He let them revel in their assumptions, and instead tended to Adrian, returning him to the room they had rented within the tavern. Only then did he allow himself to collapse against the bar top in the main hall.

She stood behind the bar; her eyes, scarred from the turmoil he trailed into the tavern, tracing over his injuries.

“He’s alive. He needs to go to the Western Wood. Here,” he declared, the urgency in his voice a stark contrast to the hostility that brewed around him. The coins spilled from the pouch as he set it on the counter. “And anything I was to be paid—”

“You won’t be paid a copper after what you did,” the tavern’s proprietor retorted, a gruff bark followed by a murmur of agreement, rising through the crowd like a gathering storm.

“I did what you asked, nothing more,” he sighed, exhaustion mingling with frustration. “But if that’s what you think then very well, there should still be enough to send him westward.”

He gave a nod to the woman and turned to leave, an eerie silence blanketing the crowd like the calm before a storm. The proprietor, barrel-chested with fists clenched, blocked his exit. “We ain’t letting you hurt anyone else. You ain’t going nowhere.”