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The manna was terrifying. It was horrible. Nothing was safe. Oliver was lucky enough to escape sentient. He was lucky to escape with his humanity in tact.
No one else was so lucky. Oliver went home to Motorville to think of a plan away from the terrible ash. Pea was there. She would help.
They went to Ding Dong Dell first. Esther was barely recognizable, if not for her distinct Al Mamooni clothing. Swaine was harder to find, with his unruly hair and tattered coat blending in with all of the other victims. Drippy was easiest. But he was the hardest to hide from, with his still keen eyes and small figure and fast feet.
Oliver couldn't fight them. He was crying too hard. He could only run. He was hurting before he got to the castle. His once close friends had unwittingly hurt him, scratched him up and tore him apart. He was scared for himself, but he couldn't risk hurting them. He could barely fight the king. But the kind wasn't family. Not like them.
Pea fixed it. Pea fixed it. His friends were ok. They asked how he got hurt. He told them it was because he had to fight the king. He couldn't let them feel the guilt of hurting him.
They got to Al Mamoon. Swaine led them through a back alley, away from the babana stand. It wasn't hard. They didn't see him.
And then came Hamelin. Oliver offered to let Swaine stay behind. He didn't have to see Marcissan if he didn't want to. But he wouldn't let them fight alone. And everyone before was fine. Marcissan would be fine.
(Swaine wouldn't. But it doesn't matter. His brother means more than him.)
Marcissan looked bad. His skin was clear, letting muscles and bone and veins shine through. His eyes were grey and dead, his pupils standing out by their white glow. His hair swirled around his head like a windy crown, marking his stance as emperor. His clothes were torn and darkened. He screamed. It sounded like he'd been shot.
Swaine didn't look at anything except his brother. If he looked at anyone else they would see the tears on his face. The fight was brutal. Marcissan did not bleed. He simply tore, like wet paper.
They won the fight.
Marcissan had no injuries. He didn't even remember the whole thing.
Swaine wouldn't be sleeping that night.
Nobody would.