Timwood

Subject: Terilynn Veranos | Classif.: Barzakh

Immortals were, by nature, cowards.

Undying beings who prioritized self-preservation above all else. Centuries of life and comfort have dulled the instincts of countless Surface-Dwellers. Pain. Danger. Death. All of these have to be avoided. To put the immortality bestowed upon them to the test was a treasonous line of thought. Life was sacred. That was what Lynn believed for most of her life. Most.

Her vision blurred in and out. Back and forth. As if shaky, invisible hands adjusted the aperture of the lenses in her eyes like a camera, bokeh magnified by the movement of the car. The mangled mess of meat on her hand resembled raw skewers. The bones that formed her fingers were like sticks, flesh unevenly wrapped around. Juicy. Oozing blood. Just waiting to be grilled. Was this her mind’s way of coping with the gruesome sight? Or was it punishment for needlessly throwing herself into danger?

There was no answer to be found. The tiny nerves sticking out of her wrist were dead ends. Neurons connecting to her brain fought desperately to keep her awake. To keep her consciousness from sinking into black as it took on water. Blood. Blood everywhere. On her clothes. Seeping through her fingers. Shot in her eyes.

Her gaze shifted to her belt. The last remaining syringe of Blackblood. All she needed to do was let the accursed fluid flow in her veins. The mind-numbing pain of air brushing against her exposed tissue would be gone. The irregular rhythm of her heart would return to normal. Just one swift jab. Everything would be fixed.

But she refused.

To waste it on this injury would be foolish. Restoring her body was not worth the cost. It was the only means of countering Mortis’s poison. Using it on this self-inflicted wound was taking the cowardly way out.

And no way in hell would she listen to that craven, Immortal voice in her head.

Darkness dribbled through her sight like blotches of spilled ink. Between the forming shadows and labored breaths, reality faded, ebbing and flowing between past and present. The moment when she swore fealty to the king during the Rite of Immortality. The years of grueling training in the academy. The faces of traitorous Immortals she captured and Exiled. Then it all stopped.

The car was brought to a halt. Lynn jerked forward, the memories vanishing before her very eyes. Seeing Tim get up and shut the door behind him, she followed suit.

She warned, “Stay back!” Her feet stumbled back, trying to put distance between her and the approaching man. “I told you not to put your hands on me!”

“You’re bleeding all over the backseat!

“That’s not your problem!”

“That’s my car!”

With her left hand, she drew her Regalia, the tip of the blade aimed at Tim’s heart. Mia leaned out the window, pistol pointing at the Immortal, only for her father to raise his hand, signalling her to stand down.

“We can’t go on like this,” Tim stated the obvious.

“Yeah…” Lynn smiled. “Not like this.”

Tim stepped closer, reaching his hand out to heal her, but it was too late. She slit her own neck. Blood splattered across his face.

Lynn gurgled, drowning in her own blood. Her brain shut down, starved of oxygen. Senses and sanity slipped. She dropped to the ground. Dead.

He shook his head, appalled by her stubbornness. Taking out his handkerchief, Tim was about to wipe the blood off his face, only to pause. His eyes landed on the part of the cloth that she had used to wipe her vomit earlier. Frowning, he turned the handkerchief around, using the non-vomit part to clean his face.

And by then, Lynn got back up. The two flaps of flesh on her neck reattached themselves. The carotid artery within reconnected once more. Her deformed right hand weaved the dangling bits of flesh back into shape, ligaments laced under the tightened skin.

Regeneration by death.

By swearing fealty to the king, all subjects were granted eternal life through the Rite of Immortality when they turned 18. This held true for as long as their feet were on kingdom grounds. But with the Noble Crest of her family in possession, immortality followed Lynn even outside the kingdom. Only a select few had this privilege, and among them, she was the only one who would abuse it.

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Subject: Mortimer | Classif.: Sirath

Even on The Surface, regeneration by death was frowned upon. Blasphemous to some, even. But it wasn’t the fact that Lynn would rather kill herself than accept his healing that irked him. It was how she so blatantly did it in front of him. The creator.

He didn’t pioneer this technique just to see it used for showing off.

“Now then,” she said, dusting the dirt off her clothes. “I heard you wished to talk. So talk.”

He stared at her, eyebrows raised like question marks. He questioned the choices he made. To take this reckless, self-righteous, impatient prick of an Immortal with him. He could’ve avoided all this by just siding with the General. The wrinkles on his forehead and his blood pressure seemed to agree.

“I’m happy to talk. Just not here.”

“Why not?”

Spreading her arms, Lynn drew attention to the obvious fact that they were alone in the middle of nowhere. Trees and bushes were their only witnesses. The hum of insects from a distance was in a language they could not understand. So, what excuse did this old man have left?

Tim lifted a finger, pointing upward. There was nothing there. At first.

The sound of buzzing grew louder. Faster. It was like the sound was trying to imitate the calls of the insects, only to scare them into silence. But all it spoke was white noise.

As if on cue, a drone hovered overhead. It stayed in that position, seemingly suspended in midair. Mia switched to her shotgun, certain that the stationary target would be an easy mark.

“Don’t,” Tim told his daughter, gesturing for her to lower her weapon. “There’s a good chance it doesn’t know we’re here.”

“A chance?” Mia asked, confused.

“If you shoot it, then it becomes ‘definitely.’”

The drone lingered over them for a fair bit longer. Seconds felt like minutes. Then, it just left, flying deeper into the woods, lending weight to the gambler’s prediction.

“Look,” Tim said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It’s been a long day. There’s a tunnel further down where we can rest.”

“I don’t need rest,” Lynn scoffed at the idea.

“Fu—” Tim caught his tongue before he finished that word. “Gosh, I need a drink…”

“Daaad!”

“I know! I know! I didn’t bring any alcohol except your cleaning stuff! That’s just an expression.” He cupped his face, fingers almost digging into his eyeballs. The thought of plucking them out was there. “Can we all just… listen to me? Please?”

His bloodshot eyes begged Lynn for just some semblance of cooperation. Even an ounce would be okay. Every second of her standing there glaring at him caused his body to gain weight in the form of regret. He regretted turning her sober. Vomiting and bleeding in the backseat were ultimately just messes of a different color. At least she was more cooperative when drunk.

“Hmph.”

Lynn reentered the backseat of the car unwillingly, the soil feeling her anger with each step.

“THANK YOU.”

Like a zombie, Tim got back in as well, the past few minutes aging him up by years. He restarted the engine as he adjusted the rearview mirror, the reflection shifting from a sulking Lynn to his tired face. He hated what he saw.

Exhausted. Old. He felt so incredibly ugly, the impulse to just stick his revolver into his throat and pull the trigger was there. But that wouldn’t work. He already tried that dozens of times.

Dealing with Lynn while trying to be a good parent to Mia was killing him far more than the bombs and rockets. He had everything planned out. He knew what to do. But it was just so, so draining. Just the thought of working with Lynn for the foreseeable future was making him sick. He simply didn’t have the energy and mental capacity like before.

Even though he felt like he was standing on the edge of a meltdown, the voices were silent. They weren’t whispering to him, even though he expected them to. He realized why a few seconds later.

His daughter was patting him on the back.

A simple gesture. Her tiny hand reached out to brush his tired shoulder. He felt so incredibly pathetic, but he stopped himself from crying. Because Mia wasn’t looking down on him. Her eyes told him she didn’t know what or why he was doing all this. She only knew he was doing his best.

And that was enough for him to keep going.

The car answered his resolution, pushing further despite the uneven terrain. Its tires weren’t meant for this unfamiliar biome, but it would have to make do. The shrubs and vegetation were dense, but there was always enough space for it to move forward. As if the forest knew its creator was here, and that it tried its best to accommodate him in its own way.

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Subject: N/A | Classif.: N/A

As the car approached a comfortable speed, the path became smoother. Lynn could feel the soil shifting below. Magic was more condensed in The Depths compared to anywhere else in the Spire, but for the environment to behave this way was unheard of. The essence underground. The energy in the air. Tiny, almost imperceptible traces of Mortis’s darkness were present all around. But it did not exude death. Only life.

Just like how plants turned carbon dioxide into oxygen, this entire forest absorbed the rampant death in Pitstop and the surroundings, transforming it into life. But to bypass the need for sunlight entirely, she was unsure if this was all done with his Gift or through Ancient Magic. Maybe it was formed out of pure spite for Vita, she thought to herself. This was more of her domain, after all.

Mia, however, could not be bothered about the lore of the forest. She was drawn to a herd of Demonelk prancing together in the distance. It was as if they were escorting her, heading in the same direction as the car. Even though they had a skull for a head, these supposed monsters were living freely. Happily. No one to judge them as a family.

She wanted to be like that. The skin that she wore was all just a front in the end. If she could abandon it in exchange for happiness, she would. If it meant being ugly, she would wear that as a mark of pride. She only wished her father would feel the same way.

And to see that through, she would gladly dirty her hands. No matter what stood in their way.

The thoughts simmering on the surface of her mind began to sparkle like her eyes. The forest started glowing. Even though their old house was by the edge of the woods, this was the first time she had seen such a thing. Orbs of all colors danced in the air, guiding the way in the absence of the town’s artificial lights.

Tears streamed down her face. But she wasn’t crying out of sadness. It was relief. A massive weight on her shoulders, one that she didn’t even realize was there, suddenly vanished. She had been fighting and killing for so long, she had forgotten what it felt like to be a child. She remembered that there was once a time on The Surface when she felt this way. When she didn’t need to worry about anything.

As her mind played back those memories, the tears stopped. Stopped before it arrived at the moment when it was all thrown away. When she was thrown away. Her heart hardened immediately in response. Emotions turned to stone.

Lynn couldn’t help but notice the girl’s shift in mood. Desensitization. She knew that feeling all too well. But she would be receiving no empathy from her.

Only envy.