Rise Of Pandora

Rise Of Pandora: XXVIII. Death's Rain

Despite Gaijin's constant clutching, the man did not falter. With his clear aim at Maddard beginning to diminish, he grew angry and suddenly, he broke out in those same violent and unnaturally quick movements and began forcing his foot down hard on Gaijin, propelling him deep into the snowy floor. He stomped until Gaijin moved no more.

He looked up and saw that Maddard was gone. He sucked his teeth and looked down at Gaijin who lied lifeless.

Watching how his body began to self-heal again, he remarked at how truly novel Gaijin was. He lifted his bow high, and energy began to manifest into the form of an arrow pressed tightly in between the bow and the string.

The man calmed himself while he waited. He settled himself beside Gaijin who was still involuntarily in the process of healing his wounds. He sighed and wiped his mouth. Patient, he watched Gaijin as healed, perhaps forming some kind of dastardly scheme in that dark cavern of a mind.

XI. Poet

Lying like a flower in breezeless wind, the soldier came to. He squinted as his eyes met with the unveiling sun. His several gaping wounds were still closing up with the blood drying around them. He could still feel the pain, the bitter feeling of crisp skin detaching from tender muscle. There were large holes all throughout his dark clothing but he was too pained to take notice to them. He held his stomach and lied there suffering through the stinging cold.

He could feel the frantic beating of his mask pulsating against the surface of his face. It was working the entire time to keep him alive while he fell incapacitated. He rested his head back down and looked up at the sky. Never had he felt such a force of wrath invade him. The pain was beyond indefinable.

He turned his neck so he could glare around the forest. He was too pained to express his surprise. He had expected to witness that vicious sea of arrows which had nearly taken his life. Alas, there was nothing to behold but a ruined forest.

He was utterly shocked he was still of this world. While in a much-needed state of respite, he noticed something very odd. Amongst all of the pain, there was a region of his body where he could feel no sensations. Confused and petrified, he quickly stretched his arms down so he could caress his legs, but he could not feel any sensations reciprocated by the appendages. He wanted to burst out in hysterical laughter. His forehead pounded and his back tingled.

"No! Fuck! No! Shit! No! No! My gods...no...no...no!"

He frantically scrambled his fingers across his legs in search of a feeling, anything at all. His heart could no longer be contained, for it beat with such unruly force. He became quiet as feelings of withdrawal began to settle inside him. He unfurled his fingers from around his swords. They tumbled and rolled off his bloody hands and fell woefully onto the blood-stained snow around him.

His eyes become cold and still. Visions of the man he called Mad Dog invaded his mind. He became flustered just by the thought of him. A thunderous abhorrence swelled up inside of him.

He felt so vulnerable lying there how he did.

He had found his monster and so he was punished for it. Now he may never again walk.

He thought of his swords and felt afraid of what would become of them. They were too important and cherished by him to be left out in the wilderness and so he took his hands and began piling them underneath small mounds of snow. The anger, which had not fully subsided, began to return with a fury the more snow he piled over his swords. He dared not to believe his life was going to end like this: paralyzed in squalid snow and with that monster, that wicked individual, free to spread terror and hell upon the world. Tears left his eyes but they burned with a searing passion.

Trying to work up energy, he crunched down on his bottom lip, which was stained with blood that was still drying, until a slight impression formed. The flavor of blood overwhelmed his taste buds. He wore a mean face underneath his mask and shook his arms rapidly in a vertical motion. He was becoming redder and madder. His mask was still beating wildly, repairing his impaired body. His wounds were nearly recovered.

With little hope remaining in the bottom of his soul, he forced his hand on his right leg, down to the knee. He could not believe it. There was some feeling in his legs. He knew his mask healed wounds but he never knew it could restore his body to such an extent. He never had the opportunity to discover this. He was a skilled fighter and swordsman, that much was true about this mysterious man who let Maddard and Gaijin know little of him. Tears kept rolling down his cheeks but now the sultry fluids were of a joyous nature. 

The sensations of happiness had overwhelmed all of the pain he had been feeling. All he could feel was hope. Now he needed to act on this hope. He forced his body which still trembled badly from off the ground while grabbing his swords from the underneath the pink snow. He was still shaken up, but now he had some reason to fight on. He was going to confront the monster and return the favor. An inexorable resolve enveloped him like an impenetrable armor forged by resolute hands.

"Thank you," he muttered. He was not even quite sure who he was giving thanks to but he truly did not care. He looked up to the sky, a sole beam of light scintillating his face. He smiled wistfully and breathed out tearfully. 

He was bolstered by hearty determination more compelling than before. The snow was scurred and disturbed so he understood there was little point in searching for their footprints. He retraced his steps and once he was familiarized with his surroundings, he understood he was where he was before those arrows had fallen.

He seemed adept with tracking, and so he swept and scoured the region. His heart pumped because he knew he drew closer to the monster. He could hear them the more he ran down the lines of trees. He was afraid of what he would find. But he muscled his way past courts of trees.

He began to think of Maddard, whom he believed to be surely dead now if not before. Gaijin, however. He knew Gaijin was likely alive, or at the least revived. But he was still not fully sure that Gaijin was even immortal as he claimed, but he was going to find out soon enough. His thoughts were endless. He grew more anxious with each stride he took.