Elegy of a Scumbag

A drop of blood trickles down my mouth. I tighten my crimson teeth. I feel his fingers, his blade, tremble in my grip. They fight the instinctive move I made when I felt his dagger slicing the side of my neck.

“You have an obsession with necks, you bastard…” I choke out.

    I can feel a warm liquid rolling down my arm, my fingers partly cut by the blade grabbed in haste.

“You have one with staying alive.” The mercenary replies.

    With a surge of energy, I turn around and pull on his wrist in the same move. Away from my throat. A muffled groan escapes his mouth as I push him against the opposite wall. Pinning his wrist with all my strength.

“Maybe this body remembers what I don’t.”

    I press harder until the mercenary’s fingers release their restraint over the dagger, the latter falling with a clatter of metal.

“Is in flesh inscribed one’s will to survive? If so, Seveg’s is sure potent…”

    I can’t forget how the guy didn’t move an inch when I tried to attack him back in Gryffin’s house.

    Cough, cough.

    Specks of blood bloom on the mercenary’s collar.

“Is this your way to tell me not to die in a dumb way?”

“Kusere!” The mercenary exclaims.

    Echoes of broken glass.

    All the lamps lighting the corridor explode one after the other, immersing us in complete darkness. Startled, I lose focus long enough for the mercenary to drive his knee deep into my stomach. The pain reminds me of a rare monster cutlet indigestion.

“Ugghhff…”

    A thud follows.

    The moment my grip on him had loosened, his fingers grabbed the fabric of my jacket to spin and smash me against the wall. His fingers, slick against my wound, find their new position. No death. My hands find his, over my neck, trying to force him to let me go. I don't want to die. Is what hurts more the air unable to fill my lungs or his nails pressing into my open wound? I can't. I can't die.

    With a grunt, I struggle to choke out a command spell.

“Du..sffel handel..!”

    Before the mercenary has time to understand what happens, his fingertips ensnaring my throat turn into dust. Fragments of crystal hit the ground like hail would. Much needed air fills my lungs as the mercenary's grip is no more. Taking a step back, the latter stares with shock at his hands crumbling before his eyes.

    Not feeling like begging for his attention, I scan my surroundings. At last, my eyes got used to the feeble light of the moon.

“The dagger.”

    In a heartbeat, I hurl myself at it. Rolling, I jump to my feet while the crimson-haired man glances at me with gritted teeth. His lips begin shaping words in an unknown language, but I leave him no possibility to finish as I throw all my weight against him. Crushing him against a window. Glass cracks. Crushing his neck beneath my arm.

    With my free hand, I bring the blade to his neck.

“How does it feel to be about to get killed the way you killed many others, huhh?”

    A mere grunt replies to me.

“Ohh, right, You can’t speak.” I smirk.

“I have to kill him now, before he has the time to react.”

    Fingers curl more tightly around the handle. The blade, already glistening with my own blood, is thrown towards his exposed skin.

“If I kill him, it’ll be for the best.”

    Until I freeze, the dagger hovering inches away from its target.

“For the best?”

    The memory of my last moments as Gryffin flickers before my eyes. Of the last moments of Seveg being himself. Of the gaze we exchanged.

    Loosening ever so slightly the pressure against his throat, I remain ready to make the mercenary regret any unfortunate behaviour.

“What is your name?”

“Isn’t that a bit late for introductions?” He jests. “Caljun’s the name.”

“I just realised that I know nothing about you.”

    Caljun snorts.

“So? The great Stray Dog being sentimental? When do you pull the rubies’ bouquet out from under your hat?”

“Caljun. Get ready for the fall.”

“Huhh?”

    With all my strength, I push him through the window. Already weakened, the glass cracks and shatters, splinters falling along with Caljun. A yell of surprise follows, growing distant by the second.

    The dagger, unused, remains in my dangling grasp.

“He didn’t even poison his blades, this amateur.”

“An amateur, compared to Seveg. And yet, I struggled so much to defeat him. How am I supposed to handle all of those still outside?”

    A glance is all it takes to realise how screwed we are. Using the shackles as some sort of stairs, part of the mercenaries are making their way towards us.

“They’ll end up managing to intrude into the Shelter as well. What if they cut one of this house’s legs? What then? We won’t even be able to escape even if we get rid of them…”

    As the obvious finally strikes me, I grip the sides of the window and lift a foot against the railing.

“Seveg, what are you doing, for the first King’s sake?” A voice screams from above me. Ferrick’s.

    A glance up and I catch sight of him and a bunch of occupants glancing outside. Crowding around him like a bird’s offspring. Among them, Pompom and Appercot, who seem in a better state.

“Making sure your butts are safe and free to leave Felbalia.”

“But you’re joining us then, right?” Appercot chimes in.

“Don’t do anything reckless!” Ferrick continues. “Look at yourself, you’re hurt. Join us, I’ll heal your wounds and then we can think of a way to make it together.”

    I shake my head, despite how alluring the proposition is. Anything to avoid facing danger like I’m about to.

“There’s no time for it.” I bring up. “Sorry not sorry Appercot, looks like I won’t be able to keep my word.”

    Despite their worried expressions, I give them no other occasion to protest. Jumping down from the window.

“Seveg!!” Multiple voices call.

    If they asked me again, I don’t know if I would have it in me to say no. To fight instead of fleeing and have a good meal somewhere, anywhere but here.

    Royal blue locks beating to the wind, I realise then that I have to quickly cast a spell if I don’t want my bold display to turn into a fruitful suicide attempt.

“Wait…” I gasp. “But which kind of spell should I even use?”

    I’m a fool. I’m the most foolish among the fools. Just because I managed to cast spells earlier, I thought it would become obvious to me what to do in the right moment.

    But no command comes to my mind.

“I haaaaate my stupid life!!” I yell to the night sky as I fall, gaining more and more speed.

“Fwiiih!” Fufu reminds me of his existence as the scarf extends, higher and higher.

    When Fufu unwraps fully, I manage to catch his cottony end. With his other edge, he wraps around the shackles trapping the Shelter. In no time, I’m sent upwards. Towards the house’s walls. But, instead of crushing against them like a pancake thrown at the ceiling, I begin running on the round wall.

“Thanks, Fufu!”

“Fwih!” The little cloud echoes me, his free edge stretching again to hook around the highest window.

    As I race over the incurved surface, I take a better look at the many mercenaries around. Just as I feared, two of them paused at the top of the chain, more focused on the Shelter’s leg than they should be. I could’ve understood were it a woman’s thigh, but here…

“I have to free this house before it’s too late.”

    But before I can think about anything, a figure appears in my field of view.

“Another mercenary… He’s about to enter the Shelter.”

    Guided towards the man’s position, I show no hesitation as I throw a kick into his cheek.

“Ohh, no. You won’t step in!”

    Down, down he goes as I can’t help but cast him a side glance, making sure he’s out of the game.

“One less.”

    But I soon lose my smirk.

“I can’t hope to undo them all this way. I have to do something. I have to… I have to, or it’ll be too late.”

    A way to protect them all, to let them flee…

    What if…

    With a jump, I let Fufu guide me so that I land on the huge shackles.

“Fumeld copere taol omel refugere,” I chant. “omel dat meo.”

    What if mist could cover their escape? I want to protect them.

    Grey wreaths of mist appear all around the Shelter, multiplying, thickening. It replaces what, a moment ago, was still pristine air.

“Fumeld serea secul epex.”

    But if I want to rid them of the mercenaries already perched on the Shelter, I need to still be able to see. I really really want to protect them.

    A couple of groans. Thuds. Many whimpers. Thuds.

    A grand metallic clatter. The shackles fall in an iron rain over the ground.

    For each of these mercenaries, it just becomes nearly impossible to see what happens. The Shelter covered in a protective mist, only I can see through. And I sure take advantage of the situation.

    More blood.

    With a Fufu stretch, I land on a nearby roof. Soon, the mist covers it, the Shelter just bypassing it. Unseen.

“Seveg!” In the distance, voices screaming that name echo one after the other. “Seveg!!”

    More blood drips from my injured neck.

    Using the handle of my dagger, the side of my deadly hand, weaponising Fufu to move around, I get rid of the mercenaries before they can even understand what is happening.

    The Shelter, wrapped in mist, moves further away.

    Left behind, breathless, I pause to observe it.

    Did I succeed? Did I really succeed? This sounds almost too positive of an outcome to be the fruit of my actions.

“At least, they could make it.”

    Part of me feels relieved. I won’t have to stay any longer in the Shelter. A life by their side isn’t for me. Not as Seveg.

    As my vision blurs intermittently, I’m reminded that I can’t keep standing here if I want to avoid death.

𖢻 𖢻 𖢻

    A makeshift bandage around my neck, I somehow managed to stop the bleeding. As temporary as it is, it’s enough to prevent this body from becoming rats’ food for as long as I don’t find a doctor.

    Which, the moment I hear music echoing through the streets, becomes the last of my priorities. After hours spent roaming through Felbalia, I realise that dawn did arrive. That, now, it gives way to early morning.

    And thus I stop.

    My gaze distant, I stare at the newly-formed crowd.

“It’s been a while since the last time we saw the King Od Mithril.” A man whispers.

“Don’t be slanderous like that.” A woman replies. “There’s someone among them whom we haven’t seen for a few decades already.”

    The streets are perfectly ordered, it’s almost as if each grain of crystal sand had its place. From an adjacent street appears a parade float adorned with gold and black, too richly decorated for the occasion.

“This must be that procession I heard about the other day…” I say to myself. “That one organised to supposedly allow the populace to share their grief regarding Razzel Od Mithril’s (Hi) death with the royal family.

    Familiar voices.

    I stare at the stage. There, sitting on a throne, my father himself. Serrafel — or the first prince — is standing at his side. His expression grim, he fulfils his role better than the king. Behind them, another figure is sitting.

    But…

    The sight is already enough to make my blood boil hard. Curling my fingers, I make my way through the crowd. Before I can think about it, I step beyond the lines where the crowd is gathered.