Jorel finally caught up to Marichi, their synchronized footsteps pounding the fractured ground as they ran side by side, fleeing the pursuing Lezschill.
"Look, Jorel, there might be a way of beating Lezschill," Marichi huffed, his words ragged, legs pumping.
Jorel glanced at him, his expression a mixture of bewilderment and disbelief of whether he had gone mad, or was this pure desperation?
"You might not believe me," Marichi continued, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I myself don't even believe in it right now." He looked down as he ran, as if the answer lay buried in the churning dust.
"But if we cut his head completely from his body----"
"That's just nonsense!" Jorel roared back, frustration straining his voice.
"After everything I did, he didn't fall. He just seemed to go on." He waved his free hand in the air, the sword without a hilt clutched in the other.
"What exactly can severing his head do? Such a backward plan from the likes of you." He scoffed.
"But we have Burtu now, you saw how it worked," Marichi countered, a feverish glint in his eyes.
After everything you did?
Marichi's expression hardened, a silent judgment forming.
Don't you think we've been up too long?
A chittering voice emanated from Lezschill, fractured and unsettling.
Where?
Another voice asked.
Up here!
A faint, answering whisper echoed from within Lezschill's form, some of his grotesque hands contorting into a weak expression of bewilderment.
"You should just let it go and accept that shirtless man as the seedling." Another voice, childlike and strangely innocent, spoke. Other hands on Lezschill's body formed a confused gesture.
"I know! I know! Shut up!" Lezschill's normal, deeper voice surged forward, reclaiming control. His hands swayed freely as he ran an unsettling dance.
"But you are right about us being up here too long." He chuckled, a sound like grinding stone, and came to a complete halt, straining his lean, contorted muscles.
He then unleashed a roar, his black teeth bared in a cavernous maw, his body hunched like a preternatural beast. His gaze locked onto Jorel and Marichi as they tried to flee. He lowered all his hands, then lifted them high into the air, their tips seeming to brush against something solid, unseen.
Then a shiver was felt and everyone's feet gradually lost purchase with the ground. Slowly, inexorably, they began to fall upwards, or perhaps, more accurately, downwards into the abyss of this inverted space. Lezschill let out a cold, guttural cackle as he propelled himself effortlessly through the air, Burtu's corpse plummeting along with them.
Lezschill's hands, elongated and dark, reached out for Jorel and Marichi. Marichi, quick as thought, stabbed his dagger into one, then grabbed it mid-air, a sickening squelch.
He twisted, using it as a grotesque foothold, then stabbed the other encroaching hands, each severed limb becoming a fleeting perch. He ran across the detached hands, a desperate sprint across decaying flesh, even as with each passing step, they healed and regenerated behind him.
Marichi then launched himself, a desperate lunge straight for Lezschill's head, plunging his dagger deep. Immediately, Lezschill's hands erupted, stabbing their razor-sharp fingertips into Marichi's flesh. Marichi roared, tearing his dagger across Lezschill's face, leaving a trail of black, shimmering ichor. Lezschill screamed, a sound that grated against the very air.
Jorel, witnessing Marichi's audacious act, gripped his hilt tighter. He sliced clean through the hands reaching for him, then seized one of the freshly severed arms. Using it as a leverage point, he propelled himself downwards as if swinging from a monstrous vine, detaching himself from Lezschill's body entirely. Jorel flew through the falling void, hands extended, arcing towards Burtu's descending body.
Can't believe I'm putting my faith in a commoner's concoction of a plan.
He thought, the rushing air ruffling his hair, as he finally clamped onto Burtu.
"What do you---" Lezschill reached his remaining hands for Marichi, who was now on his back. But Marichi, a blur of motion, plunged his dagger into Lezschill's eyes once more, then ripped it free and slashed through the hands that converged on him.
They both plummeted towards the hard, unforgiving granite ground below. Lezschill's body hit first with a sickening splat, his flesh cushioning Marichi's impact. Marichi immediately sprang off him, putting distance between himself and the groveling Lezschill.
As for Jorel, he rode Burtu's falling body, which then drifted towards a wall. Burtu's regenerating flesh grounded against the rough stone, leaving a trail of gruesome red.
This can also serve as punishment for stealing my sword---for leaving me to die!
Because a thief always gets what they deserve---those that go against the right order get repercussions.
Jorel thought, then brutally redirected Burtu's body back towards the ground, where it splattered once more, a crimson explosion.
Lezschill picked himself up, a low groan rumbling in his chest. He then unleashed a chilling, inhuman shout. His body, almost completely coated in shifting black ichor, resembled something more akin to a primordial beast than a man.
Use Oku!
A faint voice, reedy and desperate, grated from within him.
No! No!
I don't even know how!
Lezschill let out a bone-chilling scream, a cacophony of detaching bone sounds accompanying the emergence of his hands. They stretched, extending like tendrils of shadow, reaching for both Marichi and Jorel.
Jorel looked surprised as one of the unnaturally elongated hands neared him. He dodged it with a last burst of energy, severing a hand from its length, then dodging countless more, cutting them all down with blurring strikes. His vision swam, his body staggering from exertion.
I-I'm nearing… my limit.
Jorel's mind dragged, heavy with fatigue, as he continued to dodge and slash the now far-reaching hands.
"Hey! Whatever your plan is, now's the best time!" Jorel huffed, his voice strained. He faltered, and a hand grazed his shoulder, leaving a thin, bleeding line.
Lezschill's gaze fixed on Jorel, his bleeding mouth stretching into a grim smile. He leaned his head, then slowly, deliberately, turned it towards Marichi. His smile vanished, twisting into pure, unadulterated hatred as he poured more effort and hands into attacking Marichi.
He's right.
Marichi thought, his body dancing and weaving with desperate grace against the renewed onslaught of hands.
I don't know how long my body can last.
He huffed, bending low. One of Lezschill's hands grazed his forehead, a sharp sting, tearing a small slit in the cloth on his face.
He then dashed towards Lezschill, who twisted his hands, reforming them with the intent of clawing both of them to ribbons.
---The end of chapter 36---