literature

TBOS Finale, Part 2

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Scenery blurred past them, shelves congealing into the trunks of trees, dust twisting in the air like ash from a fire. In the distance, Anna could hear the baying of hounds and the rumble of hoofs, mixed with human voices. The heavy scent of smoke stung her nostrils and made her eyes water as they ran.

The creature let out another howl, and a sensation like hundreds of red-hot needles charged up Anna’s arm. The infection, deceptively quiet ever since they’d reached the library, leaped to life and began surging through her blood once again. She gritted her teeth and held it back, even as it strained against its mental leash.

Through the veil of adrenaline, she could see the other two Champions running beside her. Todorov could see what was happening to her but lacked the breath to say or do anything about it. Right beside her was McMillin, who despite looking like he’d just woken from the dead, was very good at running. Even more impressive when considering how he looked like he was about to shit his pants.

Between the trunks, other worlds bled through; a rusting city, a snow-covered mountain, a swirl of galaxy, a medieval castle. The sounds in the distance grew louder, approaching at an unnatural speed. Dark shapes past them--people with their mounts, their dogs, and their weapons--heading towards the beast. A hunt, she thought distantly, noting how the hunters flickered from one story to another; their clothing shifting from medieval raiment to hanfu to science fiction-esque body armor, their horses melting and re-forming as mechanical stags and gryphons and motorbikes and back to horses.

The thing in her mind bucked and charged again, and Anna finally understood. It wanted to turn and fight. “No fucking way,” she ground out, even as it redoubled its efforts to take control.

Shouts came from behind them, and the hiss of arrows and bullets splitting the air. A pained roar. The thing in Anna’s blood forced her to a stop. It took a step toward the fighting.

“Are you crazy?” McMillin screeched in a manner that suggested he’d already decided on the answer.

His words fell on deaf ears. The infection seized control, muscle by muscle. Todorov’s attempts to reason with her--with it--became mere background noise, while the sounds of battle closed in--

The beast burst through the foliage, baring claws and teeth, ink writhing along its body in wild illegible script. It locked its disturbingly familiar eyes with her, and she could feel the infection inside her racing up her spine and seeping into her head, and her muscles tensing for the first hit. She didn’t even have enough control left to summon her gun out of the whitezone.

The inky creature charged. Though the infection had all but taken over, Anna faintly registered the sight of the gun in Todorov’s hands, though they both knew full well how useless it would be. An inappropriately-timed voice in the back of her mind pointed out through the haze that, well, at least he wasn’t running away this time…

A massive shape barreled into the creature, sending it tumbling. For a moment, they were nothing more than a twisting tangle of brush-strokes and spilled ink, antlers and a lion’s mane and red silk tied around a horn. Through the mayhem, Anna barely caught a glimpse of a rider bent low over the nian’s back.

A powerful swipe of the nian’s paw, accompanied by a sound like tearing pages, sent the ink creature careening into a tree. The approaching sounds of the hunting parties shook it to its senses. With a final, defiant snarl, it loped off, leaving dark splatters in its wake. Anna relaxed as the ink’s influence receded. After a few moments, Todorov put away the gun with a twist of his fingers.

“Don’t tell me you were planning to fight that thing by yourself,” the rider said dryly, and the three found themselves staring up at Dmitri Ellisand.

Sitting atop the nian.

“Ellisand. Looks like you’ve started to develop a sense of humor since we last met,” she returned. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“You know each other?” McMillin said, carefully edging around the nian. It followed him lazily with its central eye. “I can’t believe you’re riding that thing! I mean, there was the time I rodeoed on the back of a giant demonic clown, but I suppose that was a little different since we were both trying to kill one another.”

Ellisand inclined his head, unfazed by the mention of mutant clown-monsters. “They were the first Champions I met in the Book.” He swung his legs around and slid off the nian’s back. “Dmitri Ellisand.”

“Campren McMillin.”

Now that the mage was more or less at eye level, Anna could see that his features looked drawn and haggard, as if he hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in weeks. He gestured for them to start walking. As they moved away from the worst of the tears in the story, they quickly filled each other in on what had transpired since they’d last met.

“I take it you ended up here by way of the Library. Care to share any theories?” Todorov asked.

Ellisand nodded. “Perhaps this is a test--a set of trials, like in old legends. To what end, I don’t know. This appears to be my third. Other Champions have been given tasks as well; I was with Sir Kelheim and Lord Serevi before I came to find you.”

“Oh,” said Anna, with no real malice. “Them.

Dmitri rubbed his temple wearily. “I believe the source of the unwriting is in the Library, but I haven’t yet been able to find my way back. For all I know, we could be trapped in here forever.”

“And the Library crumbles while we sit around dealing with rogue monsters. Fantastic.”

“Be careful. From what I can tell, that monster used to be a Champion.” Dmitri’s eyes focused on Anna’s when he spoke, and she wondered how much he knew about her condition that he wasn’t letting on. Magic was pretty fucking inconvenient sometimes.
 
A wind kicked up without warning. The world warped as the gale tore off shreds of the narrative; the earth buckled beneath their feet. Ellisand was trying to say something, but the wind snatched the words from his mouth. A force wrenched them apart, sending everyone scrambling for purchase on ground that was no longer solid.

One last glimpse of the mage’s silver-white hair, and they were flung their separate ways.
 
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For :icontbos-oct:
Anna belongs to ~FlamebloodQuickblade, Campren to *TG-Garfieldo.
Dmitri belongs to ~Khyansaria; James belongs to ~BagnaTheSupervillain; Garner and Jerek belong to *kingspikearcher.


It's really weird for me to refer to Campren by his last name, haha, but then again this was written from Anna's point of view.
© 2012 - 2024 hisiheyah
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