06
Reese

Reese didn’t have the strength to move. He knew his fight with the creature was a losing one, but he did not want to have it end by his own sword.

He didn't know if Vincent and the others made it out of the domain. When the monster had finished with him, it made haste toward the foyer— Reese could only hope that he provided a long enough distraction.

Vincent…

He tried to hang onto the thought as his breathing became slow and labored. Regret caught up to those that death approached, and he had many regrets when it came to his tutelage. He did all that he could to teach him, to protect him… but he should have been kinder. He should have let Vincent grow. Yet even now, he wasn’t ready to leave his liege on his own… He hoped Regis Damascus would forgive him.

As consciousness waned, Reese saw a figure approach him, cloaked in the shadows that draped the chapel and staring back at him with its white, diamond-shaped eyes.

It’s come to finish the job.

But the creature did not move to strike him. It merely regarded him.

“So you’re still alive,” it spoke, though its voice was distorted and coming from every direction. “I’m surprised— I thought you would have keeled over by now.”

So it talks, and intelligently as well. He opened his mouth to retort back, but all that came from him was a strangled noise.

“What’s that? Speak up when you address me,” the creature mocked, its eyes narrowing like it was trying to grin. “Oh, but I suppose you can’t. You can’t even move, can you?”

It approached him, no longer having the unsteadiness it once did. Its every step savored an unspoken victory.

“Perhaps even in your pathetic state, you can still be of some use to me.”

With one final step, it began to melt, falling back into the miasma that bore it. And in its place, thin black threads emerged. They latched onto Reese’s legs, slowly crawling up his body and entering his wounds. He felt the threads pierce his insides, crawling up his nerves until they reached his head and extremities. He could feel the parasite tangle around his eyes and wanted nothing more than to rip them from his skull, but there was little he could do resist. He was being restrained from the inside.

Like a puppet, he was forced onto his feet. His arm moved on its own, grasping the hilt of the sword still impaling him. Slowly— painfully— he pulled it out of his stomach, and once removed, the miasma swarmed the wound and wrapped around his torso. It began to melt into him, binding with his flesh until it was fully part of him. Feeling began to return to him.

He needed to get out of here. He need to get help— get this parasite out of him, he—

He needed…

Vincent…

.

.

.

He couldn’t remember what happened. His clothes were ripped and stained, and his sword was covered in blood. And yet, there was not a sign of injury on his person.

He needed to get out of here. He needed to find Vincent.

With unsteady steps, Reese emerged from the gloomy chapel halls, unaware that his footsteps left behind a trail of black blood.