Chapter Text
The warmth of the campfire failed to wash away the apparitions of a broken world.
Shaking and shivering, Asael had managed to claw their way to a rocky shoreline once they broke free from the vision holding them captive. Their boat hadn't crashed too far from a safe spot, and Asael only had to turn their head (and duck under their hanging cape) now to see the splintered wood bobbing above the waves.
They shuffled closer to the flames, clutching their shoulders as a violent breeze nipped at their bare skin. One would think the blue hues and patterns were foreign, or simply from the cold, yet Asael's skin was naturally blue— something that they felt would be detrimental. If their research before traveling to this cursed land taught them anything, it was that Asael's kin weren't common. Earthier colors were more abundant within this continent.
Careful, quiet steps approached, and Asael flinched when they saw two fuchsia eyes locking onto theirs.
It was the Jackal; nothing to be wary of, they supposed. It approached confidently, noting the flinch from its mortal of interest, and sat beside them, continuing to stare. A single question weaved its way through Asael's mind as it did so.
Do you understand?
More images flashed; all the same, all the same: of a confusing, far-fetched reality. If bashing their head against a wall wouldn't work to relieve them of the images, they didn't know what could. They wanted rest— sweet bliss; not some hellish nightmare fuel nearly an hour into their sanctified mission.
"No."
Their voice was hoarse from the ocean brine, queasy from the presence of the earlier figure. Who— or what— was it? It certainly had the authority of a god, and Asael could discern that quite well. There was so much more to process, so much more to focus and to understand wholly...
Asael's leg began to bounce absentmindedly, their breath growing a little ragged now. It felt as though they were still being tossed by the waves: lungs weighted, limbs quaking and weak.
"No, I— I don't understand any of it. None of it."
The air grew silent and heavy, save for the occasional crack of distant thunder.
Then you must receive more. Context will help.
The Jackal rose, and Asael seemed to snap, stiffening and scooting their form farther away. "I don't need more," they spat defensively, "I don't need any of this. I don't need to be here, I don't need to do this, I don't—"
Before they could protest any further, stone melted away to a blissful peach horizon, boots dampened once more by a thin veil of water.
There was no figure, no marred beast of flesh and steel, no carnage.
Perhaps this may better suit you.
Asael snapped their head towards the presence, dropping their shoulders with a rough sigh as the familiar Jackal stood next to them. Unwavering, unchanging, and... relieving, they had to admit. The itch at their throat seemed to calm when it grew closer, the patience in the canid's eyes foreign yet not unwelcome.
"Where exactly are we?" Asael questioned, their voice quiet.
Nevermind where we are or what we will do— it is what we will see that matters.
The ground began to shake, nearly knocking Asael over as a rumble seeped through the silence. Something was coming from below them— and fast.
They didn't have much time to process what that "something" could be. A tall, tower-like structure shot out nearby (with four others revealing themselves in a similar manner a few miles away), raising itself for what seemed like forever before it finally slammed to a stop. Two reliefs, much like that of the Jackal, guarded each side of the entrance. Ruby eyes shone softly, yet the stone did not move.
Come. You have a revelation to receive.
With that, the Jackal sauntered forward, a familiar stride in its steps. Asael had no other choice but to follow it, and they did.
This is the root.
Paws scratched at tangled masses of tendrils, and the blackened masses soon cleared the way. A dim light at the end of the hall was all that remained.
The same hall that the tribes converged in; the same hall in which prayers were heard and answered.
Asael was beginning to understand it now— that prism, that Cell, they were drawn to it. It pulsated a sort of divine energy, the same exact signature as the Jackal's, and yet there was a trace of a colder presence on it. That made Asael stop walking where they were.
"And what is the purpose of showing me this? It is fascinating, but I see no benefit."
The Jackal sat on its haunches in front of the prism, its eyes closed in what Asael could only make out to be contentment. It seemed delighted to be near it.
This is the Immortal Cell. I believe you may remember previous visions— those before your expedition.
"I..." They drew a blank, wracking their brain for answers. Then it began to click. This healed others, healed the tribes. It could heal them, and yet the idea grew even more confusing. "I don't understand. Why do you tempt me with immortality?" Asael began to pace, settling a clawed hand onto their hip. "I have nothing to reduce my lifespan, so for what purpose do you bring me to something that..."
There was sorrow seeping through the apathy of the Jackal now. It appeared that even the Cell could not hide it.
"No."
You have been afflicted, the Jackal stated, its thought ringing loud and clear within the confines of Asael's brain. That presence has claimed you.
"No, no, I haven't— I am in sound condition. Sound condition." They raised a fist as if to form a point, their eyes narrowed and their fangs bared in a scowl. "I am in perfect condition, and nothing could have changed that. I have no need for a cure. I have no need for this mission. My test of faith is over, and I believe I have passed. Guide me home."
Their tone was clipped and curt, a repressed hiss threatening to slip over their tongue and into their voice.
The Jackal remained as patient as it could.
You have been afflicted, it repeated, turning away from the Cell and approaching them with soft steps. The Cell in front of you, it is your cure.
"Guide me home," Asael spat, their voice quivering, "Guide me home."
There will be no home for me to guide you to if this Cell is not returned to the right hands.
Asael stopped then, sinking the tip of a fang into their bottom lip to ground themselves. They attempted to right their breathing. It didn't work the way they wanted it to. Tears stung the corners of their eyes, and their legs threatened to buckle under the weight of the newfound curse.
That presence is dangerous. That manifestation of the gods' toil, blood and sorrows— it is dangerous, and it has claimed you. Take caution. It will do many things to persuade you.
The moment that Asael's eyes flitted away from the canid's form, it had disappeared once more. Perhaps it had other matters to attend to. Weaving their way through the overgrowth of tendrils, they themselves came face-to-face with the Cell, its glow radiating a steady warmth. That warmth wiped away the tears, wiped away the anxieties...
They knelt in front of it, slumping on the steps that led up to its pedestal with a quiet, choked cough. The Jackal was right. They needed that cure, and they were gracious enough to provide one. It was here. It was all here. The only thing that they needed to do was take it; reach it.
They could never do so.
The presence, the figure grasped onto them as they reached; they knew it, they could feel it, they could hear it— and when something between a tendril and a hand slid over their mouth, they resisted the urge to bite it. It felt toxic, rancid, whatever it was, and the itch at Asael's throat grew stronger. They weren't going to go out like this, not like this, not by this and not for the sadistic satisfaction of a fallen deity. Their stomach was going to cave again, they were going to taste copper again, and they knew it—
Darkness warped into a bright flame, the echoes of a guttural, angered screech still ringing in Asael's ears. Thankfully, it was soon replaced by the sound of the sea throwing itself against rock.
They could have sworn their heart was going a mile a minute, and they felt like they were going to regurgitate half of their organs into the ocean.
After grabbing their cape— assuming that it had dried enough from the crash— they dropped to their knees on the cliffside, claws digging into raw stone and body slumping in defeat.
The curse tasted like blood and bile.