Despond

Two

Throughout the confusion of what would be later dubbed as "The Great Slaying of the Despond Demigod" by the very creative historians of Vasteam, the Rider and his bat managed to escape through the city streets.

Everywhere they went, however, the eyes of hundreds watched over them. They could not land within the city, so they flew high over the cliff-side gate and continued until they were alone. Solitude didn't find them until the edge of the world drew the jagged line between the dried grass the the cloudless sky.

"Easy now, girl," the Rider said, feeling the erratic breathing of the bat beneath his saddle.

He pulled on the reigns with his one good arm, attempting to coax her into a landing. The creature didn't respond, it continued to beat its torn and shaking wings until they passed over the edge far below.

"Turn around..." he urged through gritted teeth, pulling the mouth piece in his desired direction and digging a heel into its flank.

The bat slowed, its panting ceased, and the wings folded up and enveloped the Rider as they plummeted into The Great Nothing.

The wind tore at the lifeless skin of the wings creating a deafening nightmare within. The Rider screamed at his unresponsive mount and thrashed on the useless reigns, wasting precious seconds. Inspiration hit him like all those tree branches of the forest and he winced against the pain in his arm as he grabbed the skeletal ribs of both wings. With all his strength, he stretched and pushed against the wind until the translucent skin caught the air and he fractionally slowed his descent.

He leaned to the right and allowed his tortured arm to drop, guiding the lifeless creature in a haphazard roll which pointed him back towards the cliff. He was losing altitude fast, and when he fought against the agony and straightened out both wings he quickly realized he wasn't going to make the surface.

He rose out of the saddle and moved into a crouch whilst still holding down the wings. He nearly fell forward and tumbled over the limp head, ending it then and there. He tested his footing, stepping on the bones of the wings and gingerly removing his hands, ready to slam them back into place at the first sign of this not working.

Then he stood atop his defunct mount trying to ignore his hearts ricocheting within his rib cage. The edge grew closer, the cliff grew taller, and the Rider took the satchel hanging from his shoulder, gripped in his hand and leapt forward for the cliff.

It was at that moment, he first saw the dishevelled individual stepping out towards him.

The two figures collided, sending the human sprawling backwards onto the ground as the blue-skinned Despian tumbled over the edge. The satchel he was holding, fell onto the grass between them.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," the voice of the Rider came from beyond the world.

He was hanging just below the grass-line with his remaining good arm as the other flopped by his side, stained a dark green with blood. His feet scrabbled to find purchase of the chalky rock-face whilst he looked up in desperation and called out for help.

A head, silhouetted by the sunlight, popped into view.

"Pull me up!" the Rider shouted.

"Pull you up? You just knocked me on my arse," the silhouette replied.

"What? Please just pull me up! I'm slipping."

"And what's in it for me?" He asked after a dangerous pause.

"What?" the Rider spat as his fingers lost an inch on their hold. "I have gold! Lots of gold!"

"Where?" he asked." In your pockets? Maybe that's what's weighing you down."

"No," the Rider said desperately. "In my bag."

"Oh?" the silhouette disappeared for a second as the Rider's eyes widened in disbelief. "This bag?"

A white hot flash clouded the Rider's vision.

"You put that down you sack of shit before I slit that cock-scabbard you call a throat!"

The man grinned.

"Well that's not very nice," he said with a tone not unfamiliar of a childhood bully.

"Just help me up, you-"

"Nope. You've hurt my feelings. I think I'll leave you exactly where you are," he said, and vanished once more.

A string of profanities in both the common tongue of the Rim, and the whistle-filled language of the Despian, exploded from the world's edge as the man turned his back and opened the satchel. His pupils grew to twice their size as the sunlight hit the shimmering gold object within the leather.

The man clutched it to his chest, hiding the priceless treasure from non existent prying-eyes. Without a second thought of the poor, blue-skinned figure hanging from the precipice of existence, the man hurried back towards the city, hunched over the bag within his needle-like fingers.