There were few things as frustrating as not having his legs respond to his attempts to stand, let alone walk or run. Llyr, familiar with scaling buildings taller than some small mountains, sought anything that would bring him the control over his limbs he was used to. Not only for himself but for Hazel and his companion - regardless of the questionable mortality of Kiwi or not.
His roused Becomer spark provided the answer. He fed from the life force of the little buggers who’d caused the very overlaid muscle spasms that had set such desperation within the young mage. Their essence soaked through him, drawn into his spark, and refined into ether itself despite his disconnect from Emea. Transform, his spark suggested in every way it could. Transform and everything will be right again.
But transformation took time. It took too long for how bold the spiders had gotten. They sensed his vulnerability. His clothes vanished from sight while his body twisted, melted, and reformed. He’d heard Kiwi’s shout to hurry, and so… he had.
He underwent a transformation so quick that afterward, he barely understood what had happened. It’d hurt a great deal, almost more than his Transmutation initiation had, but his legs weren’t cramping, and his muscles weren’t seizing with venom anymore. He didn’t waste any more time with gasps of pain or lingering in his confusion as to what he’d just done.
His Becomer spark had gone dormant again, drained of the ether it had accumulated through the spiders’ life force. He wasn’t a he anymore either. Something in the transformation jarred his mind enough that his perception was no longer a he at all…
…but a she.
Lucretia - unmutated with how the biqaj woman had appeared before she ever accepted a spark into her soul - grabbed the basket in refusal to lose the tinctures and herbs despite the loss of his entire outfit and dagger. She sprinted to the front doors. With a grunt, she pushed one of the heavy things open and went outside. She held the door and waited for Kiwi to follow before the pair slammed the doors shut behind them.
The three were back outside now. It’d greyed into midtrial, storm clouds thinning across the expanse above the city to allow for a hint of sun. A faint chill, however, had gathered in the air with an acute scent of rain on its way to Westguard.
Lucretia went to Hazel. Between her illness and the spiders, now that Lucretia was there, the girl sobbed loudly. She pointed at the naked woman and said, “Y-your clo-clothes… You’re...” It wasn’t the first time she’d seen the Becomer transform, but it was the first time he hadn’t had anything nearby to quickly throw on before she saw him.
“It’s okay,” assured the biqaj. She ran her hands over Hazel’s coat near where the spider ichor had gotten on. It felt warm still and she didn’t want it seeping through the fabric. She said, “We’re going to take this off and find you a new one. And me one as well.”
Hazel nodded, holding still. Lucretia removed the coat with some struggle then tossed it aside. The girl’s sobs subsided, before starting up again.
“Quiet,” said Lucretia with a glance toward Kiwi who was already unblinkingly staring towards the distance.
In a decent world, the three of them would have scrambled to find some clothes for Lucretia and hurried back to the estate. Hazel would have gotten a bath, given some tea with the mint herbs, and been tucked in bed to rest and recover. Lucretia - Llyr - would have talked with Kiwi about what had happened in the abandoned market building; about the flaying of life force and what it meant for the state of the Becomer’s magic. Llyr would have shown gratitude for the Abrogant’s use of a barrier, for coming back to rescue him, and a one-sided conversation would have ended in him holding Kiwi close with the glimmer of attachment for his doll-like Quacian mentor.
In a decent world.
“Who-who’s tha-” began Hazel before she descended into a fit of coughs. Wet and sticky, phlegm coated her lower lip. Lucretia raised a hand, unthinking, and patted Hazel’s back. The girl spat on the cobblestones between them, a lump of fleshy blood lying in a puddle of frothed spit. Hazel started to cry again, frightened by the sight of something like that departing her internal body.
“Breathe,” reminded the Becomer. The green-eyed woman looked at Kiwi and then past him, when she realized what Hazel had been saying. “We’re being watched.”
Not only by the various eyes that peeked past curtains from the windows in the surrounding buildings, but by a silhouetted individual who stood a great many paces away. So far away, whoever it was, all that could be discerned was that they were a hulking figure, and they were standing there… watching them.
“She’s sick.” It was a declaration. An accusation.
“Get away from her,” the voice continued, thick and heavy and low, more of a growl than anything else. “Now.”
Kiwi didn’t take a step, though he did glance back towards her, waiting to see what it was she would do.
Lucretia moved Hazel closer to her petite nude body. She frowned, then slowly stood. “Mind yourself,” she spoke plainly to the stranger.
The sky crackled with the threat of an uncanny storm. In the lighted heat, the figure held still in bundles of clothing. Layers upon layers of cloth and leathers and armor pieces, some bloodied, others clean as if they were swiped from the tailor’s workshop itself.
“Let’s go,” said Lucretia to Kiwi as she met his glance. Though exposed and drained of ether, dagger long dissolved from her unleashed transformation, she held her posture with confidence. Her heart raced, however, adrenaline pumped through her silver veins. Fear, she felt acutely, though she tried to ignore it enough so they could start walking.
The way to the estate was in the same direction as the figure, however. She looked to a nearby alley and inclined her head so as to communicate to Kiwi that they’d be going around rather than the direct path. With a nod, he wordlessly followed her unspoken directions, though at no point did he turn his back to the stranger.
“You deaf?” The man called again, voice rising threateningly, then said something in that same, foreign language she’d heard Kiwi speaking earlier that morning.
Though the Becomer tried to escort Hazel to the alley, the girl fell into a coughing fit to the point that she couldn’t walk. Wheezes strangled in her throat and another lump of bloody flesh that resembled a small organ landed on Lucretia’s bare foot. She stared at it, concern brimmed in her tear-lined eyes. Lucretia looked at Kiwi and asked, “What did he say?”
“He asked if you - or we - are deaf.” Kiwi blinked. “Again.”
She turned her attention swiftly back to Hazel. She ran a hand over the girl’s forehead, then whispered, “It’ll be okay, your body is trying to get rid of all that nasty gunk. That’s all. Just let it out.”
“Little bitch is gonna die,” the stranger continued, a cold sneer in his voice that continued to rise in volume, almost theatrical. “And if you don’t move the fuck away, you’re gonna join her.”
An undeniable sense that what had been said wasn’t mere warning, Lucretia turned and asked in a strained voice, “Is that a threat?”
“Deaf and stupid,” the stranger growled, followed by something slender that shot through the air between them. The layers of clothing had been swept aside to reveal a crossbow underneath. Swiftly traveling the distance, a bolt aimed for Kiwi’s torso.
Before either of them could move, there was the sharp sound of shattering glass as the bolt lodged itself into Kiwi’s stomach. The force of the blow knocked him off balance, and he tumbled to the ground, bright green eyes staring wide at nothing in particular as he fell.
Lucretia swore. Instinctively, she moved in front of Hazel and pushed the girl to go to the nearest large object – a pile of shattered wood, broken barrels and the like. She hissed, “Hide. I’ll find you.”
Though it seemed pointless as Hazel still coughed and choked on attempts to breathe. Why now? Why did the fit have to worsen? The biqaj looked at Kiwi who still remained on the ground, but couldn’t look for long. She heard the reloading of the crossbow as the weapon was drawn tight.
“Fuck off,” snapped the Becomer. What else could she do but shout? She had no weapons, she had no ether, she didn’t even have any clothes. She had nothing but a sick child succumbing to plague and a companion who’d already fallen. Lucretia went to the dreamwalker, grabbed hold of him around the shoulders and dragged him toward the nearest alley for cover. She glanced at the bolt in his stomach, then asked, “Kiwi? What should I do?”
“Let go of me,” he answered, brushing away her hands and hopping back up onto his feet. The second bolt whistled towards them, but this time it simply tore through the empty air, embedding itself in a decrepit barrel with a heavy thunk. Kiwi didn’t even look at it as he pulled a knife from his back pocket and… ran towards the stranger.
The stranger let out a string of curses as he fumbled with the crossbow. Each trill, Kiwi rushed in closer until the man decided to just drop the weapon altogether.
Meanwhile, Lucretia searched for anything of use. All she’d had was the basket of tinctures and herbs. She looked to the abandoned market and considered… if she flayed more spiders, she could reclaim her magic. It could take too long though. The Becomer glanced to see Hazel nestled, curled up behind the pile of splintered wood, with her face buried against her knees. At least she wasn’t coughing anymore.
Lucretia turned her attention back to the fight and tried to figure out whether to take Hazel and retreat to the estate or to help Kiwi. Though the bolt in his stomach hadn’t slowed the abrogant down, the heavy handed stranger had managed to knock Kiwi to the ground a second time. He was already pushing himself back up to his feet, but a swift kick to the man’s already injured stomach saw shards of dark glass clattering to the ground.
He wasn’t faring well.
The biqaj couldn’t simply watch, nor could she bring herself to run away. She felt an intense rush of adrenaline invigorate her senses. Her exposed skin prickled, as if to gather the latent heat gathered in the storm above. Her crystalline legs shimmered in a flash of lightning. The tattoo on her back winded and warped, as if desperate to find a way to recover ether for the power that could end the entire conflict within trills.
Lucretia sprinted towards the two men. She slid her petite body between them, just as the stranger’s fist came for Kiwi’s face. It landed, instead, on her shoulder. Knuckles thudded against the bone, her body bruising from the furious momentum behind what proved to be an immense amount of musculature that hid underneath the layers of piecemeal clothing.
She gave a wordless shout and pushed the assailant. It was no use. In the female totem, the Becomer was frail without the muscles cultivated through his arcs of climbing. Lucretia, though an adventurer with a pioneer’s heart, was a mere traveler and scholar in build. Her hands rested on the stranger’s chest. He didn’t budge a single inch from her shove.
The foe grabbed onto her wrists. He lifted her with ease, off the ground, then tossed her aside. His attention returned to Kiwi, as if he wanted to be certain to get rid of the abrogant first and wasn’t all that concerned with the naked woman who had crystalline-like legs.
