Favourite Attendant

"If I ever crawl out of this wretched hell alive… that beast and I won't share a sky."

Growled Murphy through his teeth, face contorted in a similar visage of hate. The hatred sizzled like acid in his chest. He gritted his teeth so hard that they might shatter. His leg throbbed mercilessly, unrelentingly. But pain was good. It honed the moment, burned it into his soul.

George, with a bleeding, open wound on the back of his shoulder, made his way to May on the ground just a few feet away. He went to one knee, pulling crimson stones from a leather pouch. Their dim light pulsed as a current of energy laced through her chest.

Immediately, May's cursed mutation stirred; black, bark-like textures unfurling over her arms, those eerie hands twitching with unnatural life. The healing began, slow but steady, her blood seeping backward like time reversing.

George sat back as the process took hold. His hand twitched over her shoulder, then withdrew, uncertain.

 "You've talent, young lady…"

He muttered, almost to himself.

"Why do you never look after yourself?

His voice was hollow, emptied by regret. Then he groaned, sat up, and looked at Murphy.

Murphy had caught it all. Even in his pain-clouded thoughts, his hyper-clear senses managed to catch onto parts of the mending, the ripple of crimson magic, and the odd shadow of his sister's cursed limbs.

George sat down next to him, staring at Murphy for a moment before looking away.

"How's your leg?"

He asked.

Murphy winced as though the question itself had turned the bones once more. He didn't have to respond; his grimace was the answer.

George nodded.

"Good."

The cave, which a moment before had reeked with horror, sank now into an awful calm. Survival allowed for no room for comfort, except that the stillness was something. The two Chimera were there, by the jagged opening, guardians of hell. Watching. Always watching.

Behind a ragged pile of thrown-off clothes and stone, the mother cautiously moved out of the way to allow her daughter a peep at the world again.

Pearl lay, tears filled, gaze fixed on the monstrous shapes by the entrance.

"Mommy…"

She breathed, voice little more than air.

"Is it over?"

Her mother wiped her wet cheek with her still-working hand.

"Pearl, no matter what… Mommy's going to get you out of here."

But the girl couldn't quit shaking. And with the silence, the floodgates opened.

"I miss Daddy…"

She sobbed.

"I miss bedtime stories. I miss our swing. I want the blue blanket, not this filthy cave! Pearl doesn't wanna be here. I hate it here. I wanna go home…"

Her tiny chest rose and fell, sorrow bubbling out like a volcano blasting the earth.

Her mother held her tightly, as her broken arm allowed, whispering whatever solace she could offer, words that couldn't fix the world, but still tried.

George looked at them with eyes that were carved out of a silent grief.

"This…"

He said quietly.

"Is the harsh truth of war."

He looked back at Murphy.

"Feeling pain is good. It means you're still alive."

Murphy nodded silently. Having previously been a surgical student, blood was not something new. Its smell had never bothered him until now. He didn't even have to touch George's wound to know the man was seeping life with his enhanced senses.

"You're also injured."

He added softly.

"I smell it. Back of your shoulder."

George raised a brow.

"You've got a sharp nose."

Murphy hesitated and motioned to May.

"Thanks for helping her."

George sighed.

"It's my duty. Or at least… it was. I failed young Miss May."

Murphy blinked.

"You failed her?"

"And why are you calling her that?"

His brow furrowed in thought.

"You must be at least thirty, from your tone and your posture."

George chuckled faintly, surprised.

"You really are what May once said…"

 And then a short silence fell between them.

"Yes. I'm wounded."

George said.

"Not just me. You. Everyone here. Every soul in this cave's got wounded, except the young girl. And your sister… well, until what happened between you and death itself."

Murphy focused again. The breaths. The heartbeats. The stench of spilled blood. His monochrome senses penciled the wounds. He affirmed it grimly.

Pearl may be the only one unmarred physically, but her crying spoke otherwise. And it stabbed deep.

Murphy exhaled, jaw tight.

"Was it that newborn bastard, then?"

Across the cave, Pearl's mother whipped her head around.

"Mind your language!"

She snarled, a warm, crackling heat in her voice.

"There's a child here!"

Murphy startled.

"I—sorry. I didn't mean..."

She didn't yell again. But her glare said enough. George gave Murphy a look.

"You're still mortal. Forgive yourself, but be more careful."

"That creature… Chimera."

He said.

"I don't need you to tell me. I've seen enough with smell and sound."

George nodded.

"Good. However, you need at least a few more things to understand it truly."

"Why does it seem to relish pain?"

Murphy nodded again.

"Newborn beasts lack a soul core. They're dumb, instinct-driven. But Chimeras?"

George exhaled.

"They're different. Smarter than infant wretches sometimes. Not the strongest. But they are the ones in charge of crowd control."

Murphy blinked.

"Crowd control?"

"Exactly. They're like commanders. When the Newborns attack human cities, the Chimera are sent to organize the chaos. Keep the humans manageable. Suppress uprisings. Suppress hope."

George paused, scanning the room.

"They wounded all of us. Not enough to kill. Just enough to break the spirit."

Murphy narrowed his eyes.

"Except the girl."

"Right. Too young. Hurting her might kill her. And they don't want that... at least not yet."

Murphy frowned.

"But you also said May wasn't injured. At first."

 George nodded.

"She's a caretaker. A healer. They use her."

"Because her healing could fix their mess if accidents occurred."

Murphy murmured.

"Exactly."

Murphy's thoughts spiraled. He imagined the Chimera weighing May's value, how it hesitated when she threatened to kill herself. It wasn't mercy...it was math.

"She's valuable."

Murphy whispered.

"That's why she used herself as leverage." 

George nodded.

"But do not confuse intelligence with compassion. Chimeras think three steps ahead. May's threat might have worked on infant wretches. But it only stalled the Chimera."

"We have been prisoners for at least three days."

George said.

"During that time, they check on us every three hours. When you were taken, you were nearly dead from the effects of corrosion. And still… it remembered. You became a variable as soon as you woke up. It had to test you."

There ensued a moment's silence, and George glanced at May.

"I don't comprehend this love between you two."

He murmured.

"Maybe because I grew up alone. But watching May fight so hard to save you … You don't see that bond often."

He paused.

"I knew her from before the promotion. She was relentless. Obsessed with becoming a caretaker, and made discoveries that no one had seen in decades. She was the miracle the higher-ups scored. And to protect that miracle…"

He looked at Murphy.

"…She was assigned two cursed hunters."

Murphy's breath caught.

"You're one of them."

George nodded.

"The other was…"

He hesitated.

Murphy's eye twitched.

"Don't tell me..."

George looked deadpan.

"…Derrion."

Murphy snarled softly.

"That bast—"

Then froze.

Pearl's mother shot him another glare, tightening her hug around her daughter.

Murphy cleared his throat.

"Right. That… person."

His tone strained with fake civility.

George chuckled.

"Smart choice. Wouldn't want a mom with a broken arm to beat you with her good one."