Starting Life From Zero: Far From Home

Chapter Forty-Five

Daggers of ice pierced through him, punching their way clean through his person and out the other side. He could feel the heat of the pain intermingled with the icy voids in the spots where the ice jutted out of his body, feeling that even if he had the strength left to struggle free there would be no hope. An invisible force clutched him tight, pinning his arms at his sides and brandishing him up over Petelgeuse like a cudgel.

For a brief moment, Peter had figured that whatever had taken hold of him meant to make use of him as a weapon to fend Emilia off. At the time it had seemed a cruel way to strike out at her, but compared to what actually happened it was nothing.

The chill spread through his veins as his blood leaked free. Peter had died enough times to know this feeling and though he had come back in the past, first from the snap by Thanos and then from the events with the White Whale, there was no way to be sure that he would be granted another chance.

Flashes of May crying were hazy, even through his mind's eye. There was no recovery from this; there was no way he survived being this thoroughly punctured by the large spikes of ice. He could see the horror in Emilia's eyes as she stared down at his soon-to-be corpse. Just as a precaution, in the very likely case that he'd used up the last of his continues, Peter had to say something to Emilia.

Peter needed to find a way to tell her that everything was going to be alright, but more importantly to protect her.

Some of the ice shards had hit his head, but they didn't seem to have gone through his skull or damaged his throat. He could count that as somewhat of a blessing. Peter stretched his arm toward Emilia, feeling the ice slide against tendon and bone as he reached for her. The pain covered so much of him that it had turned into a dull scream racking his body.

Fatigue overtook him. There was even less time than he had previously thought. Peter had to let Emilia know he didn't blame her, he didn't hate her.

"Emilia, run-please save..." His words choked under the weight of the blood filling his throat and cascading from his lips. Peter went limp and a moment later the dark embrace of the Witch of Envy surrounded him. Black clouds with purple lining spilled forth from the ceiling of the cave, engulfing Emilia and everything that he could see until he was in a murky sea of oily mist.

No, I have to tell her it's nothing she did. I have to apologize for letting her down and tell her to get out of here.

Emilia emerged through the thick cloud above him, her hair billowing out behind her as she floated toward him. In a confusion, he thought that she had been grabbed by the invisible force too, but somehow her clothes were absent. She descended toward him, arms outstretched and he understood.

You're not Emilia.

Satella, the Witch of Envy, reached for his face. Her hands almost seemed to glow in the darkness. He felt the warmth of her skin as she caressed his chin and lifted his head so that Peter was staring directly into her. Large purple and light blue eyes. She said something that Peter couldn't hear, but her lips moved.

Then she pulled him into her embrace; even in this state Peter felt the heat of her breasts pressed to his chest and knew that if she could see him, if anyone could see him, he would be blushing furiously. Satella's hair swept past his face and neck as she moved her mouth close to Peter's ear. He could feel the supple skin of her lips brushing at his ear lobe, but could make out nothing she attempted to whisper.

The world changed in a humming bird's wing flutter.

Peter stood in the tile hall right outside of the door to one of Roswaal's sitting rooms, they had ended up here right after Emilia went to bathe and change when they first reached the manor. Something clutched Peter around the waist still, not the invisible appendage of the madman Petelgeuse, but the wiry arms of a young girl. He remembered Petra hugging him as he tousled her hair.