"Y-You! Y-You?!" The man stuttered, as if chilled to the bone, slowly dragging his legs towards Marichi.
"A-A fellow me?!" He pointed at himself, his feet scraping against the ground, his guts, dry and withered, threatening to spill from his body, which was enveloped in a fluctuating black dust.
"Hey… Step back!" Marichi shouted, his dagger poised.
Why am I still talking?
That's definitely not a human being…
At least anymore.
He shifted backward, an instinctual recoil.
"Step back? No! No! No!" The man charged straight at Marichi, his bony hands flailing wildly in the air.
"Hmph." Marichi took a short, sharp breath, then lunged straight at the man, his dagger leading the charge. The man widened his jaw, revealing a fully black tongue and black particles that rained from it like ash. Marichi's hand shuddered, but still gripped his dagger tightly.
I can't die here!
he told himself, slashing against the man's neck as he surged past. Black blood sprayed, some even landing on Marichi.
Black blood?
He swiped some off his face.
What actually is this place?
He watched as the man fell to the ground, clutching his throat, more black blood gushing from the wound.
Have to keep moving on… To wherever.
At least far from this!
He looked at the man's lifeless corpse before turning forward, about to run.
"No! No! Come back!" A voice from behind Marichi erupted.
"What?" Marichi gasped, whipping around to face the man's direction. There he was, the man slowly standing, blood still flowing from his throat, some of his dried guts spilled on the ground.
What the… I just slit his throat?
How is he still alive?!
Marichi's legs felt like broomsticks, sweat pouring from his forehead and onto his shaken lips.
"It's been so long… So long!" The man turned his body, a gruesome smile twisting his deformed face. From his guts, three long, grotesque hands protruded, and his eyes turned a milky white.
He ran towards Marichi, this time with terrifying speed, closing the distance in an instant. Marichi blocked the man with his dagger, but the extra hands tugged at his body.
They didn't tear or wound him, but they simply pulled, an unsettling, insistent force. Marichi faltered for a moment, then snapped back, stabbing the man straight through the head. Black blood sprayed onto his face once more.
The man's head recoiled, the wound on his head covered in blackness, but the hands from his gut still writhed, each one attempting to rip his clothes apart.
"What the----" Marichi's skin crawled. He stabbed the three hands, and they released him. Without wasting another moment, he merely glanced at the grotesque corpse below, then bolted.
Who or what was that?
What kind of contract did he make?
Is he even a man?!
Marichi hyperventilated as he ran, but he didn't stop, pushing past the bubbles and the stalagmites, which seemed to grow taller with each passing second.
Already some distance lay between him and the corpse. The man then stood up again, the wound on his head still bleeding, letting out a loud shriek. Marichi momentarily heard the sound before it abruptly ceased. He ignored it and continued to run.
He eventually stopped to take a breather, resting his hand against the wall.
Where am I going?
I've asked myself this so many times, but where's the actual answer?
He panted, wiping the sweat from his face.
I've just been running and running as if I had a destination in mind. Do I?
I don't even know anymore after being here. He moved slightly forward, stretching his arms, cleaning his dagger on the cloth tied to his lap.
And I need to get back to them!
He clenched his fist against the wall as he continued to move.
...
Meanwhile, in the same perplexing area, but a different space, Jorel laid on the ground within a wrecked carriage. His hand slowly twitched, then rose, his head lifting to reveal a bleeding injury.
"Ahhh…" He groaned, attempting to get up, but his back was hindered by the carriage wreckage, with something heavy pressing down. His vision still blurred, he nodded, then crawled his way out through a small opening in front of him.
He fully emerged, his head still hazy, then collapsed onto the ground, trying to collect himself.
"What… happened?" he asked, his eyes barely open, memories of the crash slowly filtering back.
Damn… could those people in the air be the reason we crashed? He groaned.
They didn't come close to us, did they?
But they were already flying, so perhaps a god contract?
He forced himself to stand up, stretching his body, a groan escaping him.
He turned around and saw pieces of the carriage scattered everywhere, the corpses of the horses, blood staining the ground, and the lifeless body of the right stagecoach, red shards protruding from his face like gruesome splinters.
That stagecoach…
Hmph!
But the red shards though…
Jorel walked closer, squinting.
Definitely a god contract!
But who exactly attacked me?
A rival clan?
The bandits?! He then moved to the side, his foot lightly kicking his sword on the ground. His eyebrows slightly raised, he nodded, bending down to retrieve it, dusting off the wood chips and dirt.
"Ahhhh!" An all-too-familiar voice shouted, followed by the sound of howls and grunts. Jorel unsheathed his sword, his shoulders slanted, swallowing hard.
And who could that be?
Jorel slowly walked towards the source of the sound, already in his stance, guard up.
As he got closer, the sound of rusted metal clanking and an older man's grunts grew louder, while the snarls of a creature vibrated through Jorel's bones. Jorel paused for a moment to think.
Why am I going towards that direction?
There should be other paths?
But that voice, that snarl…
I can't help myself but to go towards it!
He resumed walking.
Then he turned the corner, and what he saw made him shudder, almost letting out a slight shriek.
---The end of chapter 24---