Rise Of Pandora

Rise Of Pandora: LXIX. The Aura

"I did not wish to, he added sadly."

"It will kill him! Only Baccus has survived it, all the rest never made it!"

"But, Amos...look at him...our king. He is dying now," one soldier empathized. The other soldiers carried on in support, seeing how there was no other way and the I'm time their king had left was running thin.

Amos held in her tears, wiping the ones that had already escaped.

"Save your tears for after we have won the war," a faint voice said.

Everyone in the room was shocked to see it was Brais who spoke. He was clinging on to his fading life, each breath symbolizing the fight to live on.

Amos was stunned to see him alive but was deeply relieved.

He tried to speak more but he began coughing up blood. Amos rushed towards him, crashing down onto her knees, caring little for the pain that came along. She gently rubbed his maimed countenance. Seeing him in pain was troubling, but seeing him feel anything at all was better than falling into that long, eternal slumber. She cried in his arms as she saw him trying to rub her face with his trembly hand. "Stop. Please. Save your strength!" She cried aloud.

He gasped heavily, his chest and stomach undulating rapidly like crashing waves. "Do-do not count me out, yet! I have some more fight in me..." He coughed out more blood. Seeing out of his only good eye, he smiled at Amos and then turned to Mors.

"What makes Baccus so cool, huh? I can survive the anointing just like he did," he laughed morbidly, fighting desperately to remain conscious. "Do it...do it," he told Mors somberly.

"I am not yet done with this world," he said, his eyes shut tight.

Mors looked at Amos, she looked back. Understanding there were no more words to be said, she lowered her head and stood up and walked behind Mors.

"Do it," Brais repeated. "We Bessarians do not die so easily," he smiled.

Mors sighed glumly. He gently propped his scythe against the nearest wall and walked back to where Brais lied.

"I will kill you if you die..." Mors said. He was nearly in tears.

"I will be fine," he huffed under his breath. He looked white like a beast of the undead. His hair was frizzy and his good eye was losing its luster. His heart was beating far slower than before.

"Everybody, stand behind me and take four steps back!" Mors instructed. He turned back around after he saw they were at a distance he was comfortable enough with. "One more," he added. They proceeded to trample over the scattered piles of furniture.

"But before we can begin...I'm going to have to pull that arrow out of your chest."

The room was silent.

"Do you want you must, brother. I will not disappoint you." His words were choppy and pained but still rang powerfully.

Brais shut his eyes as Mors took steps closer. He sighed. "You can never disappoint me, brother. Someone, find me a container, a cup, something that can hold liquids in."

The soldiers, including Amos, searched the cluttered floor for a container of sorts.

The clatter from outside was still intense, but it did not break the soldiers' determination. The pounding and reverberating of the walls were incessant and constantly growing but still they remained calm, calm as they could be.

"Mors, should we go outside and see how—"

Mors raised his hand. "I need silence. If you wish to stay you can." Mors, his eyes never leaving the slowly dying Brais, concentrated his energy, causing it to metamorphose into a silvery-purple.

"Brother, I found a chalice!" A solider yelled with relief, holding and waving the chalice in the air. "Whoever lived here must have been wealthy," he said analyzing the golden chalice. "This is pure gold from the looks of it."

"Hand me the cup, Harden!"

The soldier trampled across the clutter, holding his free hand against his ear to cancel out some of the chaos from beyond the walls of the home. He placed the chalice in Mors's hand.

"This estate belongs to Maurice and Miles Wright. Belonged..." Mors added.

He took the chalice and placed it in front of his face. He eyed it, ensuring that it was good. "This will do. Thank you, everyone."

Mors placed his left hand above the cup and down dripped with black fluids from the tips of his fingers. He looked at Brais and then back at the chalice. He knew he needed to hurry. The fluid coming from his hand was something completely lost to the natural world . It is otherworldly, almost like it was cosmic. It manifested like the void of space, stars and universal properties shone within the fluid and dripped in the cup. It was like seeing the Never-ending void of space right before their eyes. The room became darker the more that ominous fluid left Mors's body. His purple glow was fading too. The only source of light now came from the cup and, even the sunlight was blotted by this cosmic light. It was dark but simultaneously bright. It did not make sense, especially to the four onlookers.

The cup was filled to the brim and Mors stopped the flow of liquid and pulled his hand away. He prayed over the cup before placing it upon the floor but seeing how shaky and unstable the ground was at the moment, he entrusted it in the care of the soldiers.

"Brais, I'm going to sit you up now. I need to remove the arrow," Mors forewarned. Brais, far too weak to nod, simply breathed some noise past his chapped lips.

Mors gently sat the wounded king up, holding him up by placing his hand on his back just near where the arrow pierced through. He grabbed the fletching piece of the and broke it into little scraps. He used the other other which was placed on his chest and pulled the arrow cleanly from his chest, very careful to not puncture any organ. He used his aura to hold back some of the bleeding.

Brais grunted at the top of his lungs, thick trails of blood spilling down to his neck through his bush of a beard.

"Don't sleep," Mors said. "Fight through the pain."

"Quickly bring the cup!"

The solider holding the cup carefully rushed and handed him the chalice.

"I know it hurts but, Brais, I'm going to need you to hold yourself up. I'm going to let go of your back now."

Brais, bearing the excruciating pain, followed Mors's instructions as best as he physically could.

Mors stood up. He lifted the chalice high above Brais's head and turned it over. The glimmering black fluids falling upon his head moved slowly like a kind of gel. Mors did so until there was nothing left in the cup and until Brais was fully drenched.

Mors shut his eyes, as did the rest, and said a prayer for their brother.

"No matter what happens, you fight through it."

Brais nodded sadly as the party left the room.

Mors, noticing and sympathizing with the sheer weight of emotions on Amos's face, said to her "The aura has him now."