Judgement Blood: A Celestial's Vendetta

It would be two days before they'd leave the forest if their pace wasn't disrupted. 

Cenric had to rush his turn bathing because apparently that loathsome GranOrangutan was slowly approaching the region.

Surprisingly, Alexander was right. It did, in fact, face an adversary. The good news was, it was wounded with gigantic bloody claw marks on its chest. The more disconcerting news was that it won.

'Maybe it's like me. Maybe it's weak, but it... No, never mind, I doubt even a big monkey is stupid enough to stab itself in the liver.'

With damp but clean clothes, the trio continued trudging north, utilising the same strategy as before. 

And also as before, when in unknown terrain, they kept chatter to a minimum. 

It was during one of their respites that it finally became apparent their supplies won't last them much longer. The dried meat would last them only until tomorrow afternoon at best, and the beautiful succulent tomatoes, which, quite frankly, weren't as succulent as they were before-

'Even their resiliency has a limit, huh? It's fine, you did well, my precious jewels.'

Oh yes, and the wrinkled tomatoes would probably see their end tonight. 

Ilyas sighed dejectedly as he eyed the tomatoes hefted on his shoulder. Not as heavy as they were, thankfully... but also sadly.

By now, their procession was less nerve-wrecking than it was bland and gruelling. The rotation between Alexander and Cenric was wordless; the unusual, and sporadic noises produced by the forest spooked them less frequently and even Ilyas attained a nascent sense of stealth. 

At one point, Ilyas stared down at his feet in pride once he realised that he subconsciously pursued the most discreet path.

Or... really, he just avoided a few twigs. But that was still a massive improvement! Even Alexander and Cenric seemed to think so!

The menial effort left more space to process the two most pressing matters in his mind:

The dance, of course.

And those absolutely not ominous papers they found in the cabin.

'Please let them in, huh?'

'Yes, yes, not ominous at all!'

They were clearly outdated, thus belonging to a time long passed. And since Alexander and Cenric, both knowledgeable gentlemen, of course, had no clue what they meant, then accessible history and knowledge wouldn't provide him with much. But still, if he wanted to uncover their meaning at all, he had nothing other than to rely on history.

'Keeping stuff to themselves... just as those bastards from the Vault.' 

Of course, Ilyas was not foolish enough to believe that whatever historical knowledge concerning those papers was entirely nonexistent. He knew they were most likely hoarded.

'It's none of my business anyway.'

"Let us in, oh Marianne...

Take us home, oh Marianne."

Alexander suddenly began humming a little song very softly and quietly. It was almost as if he unknowingly drifted into it. 

Then, catching Ilyas by surprise, Cenric joined in, perfectly familiar with the song.

"Your graceful preach into the sea,"

Then Alexander continued,

"Calls out to me, oh Marianne."

Ilyas furrowed his brows, hastened his pace until he was beside Alexander, and whispered, "Hey. Hey, what was that?"

Alexander turned to him with a graceful smile and whispered, "Oh, well, it's merely a popular hymn amongst the Retreat."

Cenric cocked his head over his shoulder and added, "It's uh, to keep spirits up. It's important to our success that morale does not vanish, good sir."

"Oh," Ilyas whispered. He would really want to join in eventually, but singing in front of others was still too much of a drastic step for his steadily evolving social skills.

"You would join us in no time, I'm sure. Although you cannot expect to be as beautifully sounding as I, I'm sure you'd sound much better than that cretin."

What followed was a very strange whispered quarrel that Ilyas found too amusing to diffuse too soon. 

But he never had to...

Because something else did - or more precisely, someone else did.

"Arghh..."

A suppressed groaning reached them from somewhere...

Somewhere within the thicket of the jungle. Somewhere they couldn't immediately place. Alexander and Cenric fell quiet as they assumed stern expressions and instinctively scoured the area.

Ilyas was left standing still, crouching behind an unusually and inconveniently thin tree, waiting as the professionals did what they did best. 

Minutes passed excruciatingly slowly, with Ilyas remaining still and sweating. He felt the humidity seep into every part of his body, irritating and provoking him. Thorns poked at his skin, intending for a reaction, but Ilyas wasn't so easy anymore.

Perhaps he couldn't defeat a GranOrangutan or scour the area in absolute stealth, but hiding?

Oh, he would master hiding alright! As long as it meant not having to deal with the messy business of combat.

Eventually, Alexander and Cenric appeared from the thicket, both hefting a body, one from the legs, the other from the arms.

The body was of a wounded, bloody man, drowning in agony. 

"Quick, good sir, put a gag on him," Cenric whispered. 

Ilyas was prompt! He retrieved a sash from the sack, ripped off a strip, and gagged the stranger.

Cenric and Alexander laid him down without a hiss, and quickly went about inspecting his wounds. 

A slash from shoulder to waist. Gosh, how terrible!

Blood gurgled from the wound, dribbling down his frail body and wetting the earth. 

Alexander inspected his clothing. "He's from the Retreat," he whispered.

Cenric, meanwhile, was stunned. "... from... from the Nineteenth. He's from the Nineteenth," he whispered in awe. "A survivor." 

The wounded man was staring up at them with hopeful, pleading eyes, teeth gnawing and grinding on the gag. He was quite young with short, coarse hair, black eyes, pale skin and a soft face.

But...

But why was he here?

Why was...

Something clicked in Ilyas's mind then, something quite foreboding. He stared at Alexander, who stared back. Then, at Cenric, who stared at Alexander then stared back.

So... they all shared the same horrifying suspicion. 

Alexander and Cenric left the body and moved discreetly back into the thicket.

Ilyas gulped and followed Alexander and Cenric with his heart battering his chest with untamed trepidation. 

If their suspicion was right, then the wounded man had to have escaped from somewhere...

And just as they thought, beyond the green undergrowth and intense shrubbery, a Salivitian encampment lay in a vast clearing in the forest.

The three took steady, trembling breaths as they glared at the horrible den filled with their worst nightmare.