His cursed blood spewed from his mouth and onto the blade of shadow which had pierced his heart. Adrenaline surged through his veins as pain unlike any other erupted through his body.
Scwip!
Not a moment later, the blade slipped from its fresh wound—retreating into the embrace of its lightless abyss.
Ah, he should have known better.
He really should have listened to his gut. It wasn't warning him about the golem, after all; it was warning him about the one who had been watching him this whole time.
His gut never lied.
Blood spewed as his gravely injured heart struggled to beat its rhythm of life.
'F-flow, sanguine…'
With an already exhausted mind and barely enough time to recuperate after having all of his ether expended, Quies summoned the will of his mantra. He wasn't sure how long he could hold his mantra for, given his current physical and mental state.
And when that mantra dissipated, he would die-
'Shut.'
He pushed his doubts to the back of his mind.
It didn't matter how long he could hold the mantra, nor did he care about the repercussions he would receive when using it in such a sorry state.
It would be the only thing keeping him alive during this treacherous encounter.
The blood on the swaying grass beneath him crept upwards across his body and towards his hand with the intent on forming a sword. Meanwhile, the blood within his body adapted and began to flow past the wounds of his injured heart—following its usual path of familiarity.
From now on, the only thing keeping his blood flowing would be his mind—subconcious and conscious. He couldn't rely on his heart anymore.
As the stagnant rivers of blood flowed once more, the hues and values of the world around him began to return to his sight. The frigid stillness of his mind broke—the gears of his mental brilliance turning once more.
"You want my life?"
Now that the sun had nearly set, he was surrounded in near-complete darkness. He could not rely on his vision—especially since the ambusher also has an affinity to shadows.
"I'll give you my blade."
He wiped the remnants of crimson off of his bleeding mouth as he closed his eyes.
He could hear the soft hum of the Song around him like background noise. Its eternal drone rang quietly behind the chaos of the world which it had come to birth.
Quies listened intently with a further focus.
Clang.
The clamor of bells…
It had always been like this since the first time he had done this sort of thing. The same process. The same process he had done plenty of times: With Valerie, with Evengarde… especially with Evengarde, though mostly-
The tones around him began to change.
A warm, dark, yet veiled tone. A controlled dissonance waiting for its resolution. If he opened his eyes, he would see the shadows around him begin to deepen—their void of lightless contents engraving itself into the very surface of the earth around him.
'Is that, no… wait, wait he's covering the trace… I can't get past it.'
The swelling shadows surrounding Quies deafened him to the actual presence of the attacker's song. It was like a shield—the thing behind not gone completely, just covered up and hidden.
In the end, it wasn't the resonant resolution of the Song that Quies paid attention to.
Ba-
It was a heartbeat.
Dump!
Quies snapped to the side—sword nearly fully formed. A cold piercing pain reminded him of the open wound in his chest as he barely suppressed a scream. His foot nearly slipped on the blood-stained grass as-
Clang!
-the swords of midnight and crimson clashed. With utmost determination, Quies' sword broke upon impact with the…
'Wait, what?'
His sword… broke?
His…
Did it just…
No.
No…
No way…
Please…
Please.
Please.
Please.
But nobody heard his pleas. His prayers fell upon nobody but himself.
The blade of midnight swept through crumbling fragments of crimson in a downwards swing. Quies' eyes were wide open—unable to process what had truly happened.
He would-
Slice.
No, he would…
The sword bit into the burned skin of his right shoulder, then it parted the fibers of muscle underneath. The bone fractured—fragmenting into pieces near the joint.
He…
His arm tumbled on the ground.
An unimaginably great pressure pressed down on his mind with the weight of the world. Blood spewed out mercilessly from both wounds as his focus disappeared.
Quies staggered back and caught himself with his right leg.
Ah, he would…
He barely even perceived being kicked in the chest and falling back. His hearing was growing weak. His vision faded as the grays and blacks of the world lulled him to an eternal unconsciousness.
Clang… Clang…
The clamor of deep-ringing bells resonated within his enclosure of thought—whatever figment of it he had left.
No, now surely he would…
Surely?
The last thing he saw was a hooded-man. The world had grown too dark for Quies to see his face, but Quies… Quies could tell.
There was no mercy inlaid on the face that hid from the light.
The pain… it was gone.
All of it.
Every single part of it.
Everything.
Everything…
Gone.
Just like that.
'Surely…'
He looked upon the moon and met its eye. There would be no salvation from him as it was for… for them.
No.
A blade of shadow pierced his heart for the final time. The curtains of death shut his eyes from the spectacle of life.
Yes, he should have known.
He would die…
He would drown…
He would.
He
He.
He.
…
…
The cold fingers of hell grasped the edges of his soul.
A thousand of them.
End of Volume 1, Crimson Birth