Found in Hidden Darkness

Two Steps Back

The Destroyer

My anxiety made my run faster than any thoughts of doing a heroic duty. There is a person out here. And that person could be dead. I clench my jaw, and pump my fists faster as I try to gain more speed.

Even though they have to be around a couple dozen meters away, I can't help but to think if I slow down now...I'll be too late. I shove my worries behind me as I run ahead. I have left my breath behind me as I barrel forward. The snow crunches beneath my feet, ash starts to sweep into my face. The flames that was in the distance before, encloses us in a cage of heat. A frozen sweat breaks on my forehead, by body stretching as I push myself forward. Every moment I slow down is another second waisted.

I am almost to the figure, disguised in the snow and ash. Rather than slowing down to see who the person may be, I go faster. That was my first mistake. With a burnt forearm and crushed shoulder, it takes me a few seconds to get back up. Cause I fell down, again. Rocky land is covered by the snow. Trying not to think of how extensive the injuries could become with a second fall, I crawl over to the figure. I sit next to them in the melting snow, one arm holding the opposing injured one.

It seems to be a skeleton.

Must be one of Ink's creations. If it's another Sans... I get up on my knees and attempt to roll them over with one arm. Face first in the snow, they appear to be unconscious. "Come on." I struggle out loud. I was able to roll them over, but not with out an extreme loss of energy.

My vision swims and I have to close my eyes afford immediately rolling them over. I can't pass out now. The smell of burning would creating a pungent awareness of the situation I am in. The smell of smoke has always seemed too bitter for me. The scent hangs around days after the initial fire. A consistent reminder of all the destruction...

I get up off the snow, opening my eyes to the dying fire. I look down at the figure and almost choke, not on smoke inhalation...but surprise. I start to shake the figure. A pitiful attempt to get them up. The wet snow and the dying daylight is the only thing keeping me from total stressed induced terror.

Panic clutches a firm grasp on my soul, refusing to let go. And laughing at my attempts to get out of its hold. I don't know if I can get us out of here. Even if I can, I don't know where we can go. They certainly can't come with me. There are too many risks when it comes to me.

I try waking them again. My soul beat quickens and I start gasping for breath. The smoke is becoming too thick, even for me to handle. The consequences of staying here any longer are all negative. I place a bony hand on their shoulder. Hoping that any contact will get them moving, possibly waking them up. I can tell they're in critical condition. Black stains the snow where they were laying. Eye sockets void of all consciousness. Death seems to be clawing at the edges of their being.

"Ink, get up."