Chapter Text
She's having the same dream again.
"Two drafts?" Sienna reaches across the table and grabs a manuscript in each hand, eyeing the cover pages.
"I was able to get a lead on my other story and was able to finish up a first draft last night."
Sienna’s eyes fly over the transcripts, hungry eyes absorbing the mess that Blake can barely make tangible for her manager to read. And like clockwork, she smiles.
“Eloquent as always, Belladonna.”
Blake smiles, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You don’t have to flatter me.”
“I don’t have to do that. Your work speaks for itself.”
Blake’s ear flickers, but the two remain silent as Sienna gives another glance over before setting the papers down. “I can practically hear you thinking up a storm over there. Like I said, I don’t give out empty praises and you know that.”
“Still… it just sometimes feels—”
“Like I hired you because I used to work with your father? Blake, y̶͙̚ö̶̗́u̷̹͝ ̷̹̉k̷̟̔ṋ̶̕o̷̡̊w̴̳̐ ̶̖̄ḅ̵̈ę̸̚t̵̝́t̶̪̂é̴̖r̸̩͘ ̶̞͊t̵͙̍h̵̦͋a̸̱̋n̵̰̿ ̸̝͒t̸͌͜h̵͖̚ä̶͕ẗ̴͇́.̷̤̿“
Blake blinks at her, ears flickering again at the static that just left her mouth.
“Say that again?”
Sienna looks up, and Blake sees the light leave her eyes in real time, sees the blood blooming across her blouse and the way a bead falls from the corner of her mouth.
“Can’t do anything without daddy, huh? Always need somebody to get you things.”
That's not what happened.
Sienna’s warm office bleeds away and Blake finds herself in her apartment, swallowed by oversized sweats and her mother’s love.
“You don’t look well.” Kali reaches over the table and lays her hand atop of Blake’s. “Have you been eating well? You look thinner since I last saw you.”
Worry bleeds from her every word and Blake can't help but revel in her mother's love, no matter how much she doesn't deserve it.
"It's—" The words get stuck in her throat and everything that she's so desperately held down fights to get out. But Blake has always been good at pushing away what she wanted. "Works just been a lot lately."
Kali looks at her and the two of them know Blake isn't sharing what's actually bothering her. The fact that her apartment is empty sans a certain man spoke volumes alone.
“You know if you need something—anything.”
Blake swallows the lump down her throat, almost chokes at the way it tightens and leaves her grasping for breath.
She opens her mouth but no sound comes out.
“Take your time, I’m here for you. A̷͙͗l̷̤̋w̵̤̑a̶̝͠y̷͈͌s̷̝͆.̷͈͆”
Blake’s hand curls into fists instinctively and waits for the familiar dull voice.
“Always liked being the center of attention. No matter how much it made others worry?”
That's not what happened.
Blake bites down on her tongue, anything to distract her from the fact that her eyes are burning dangerously and her vision swims with unspoilt tears.
And now she’s in the corner booth of a restaurant, Ilia beside her and Sun across from them.
"Blake, you okay?" Sun asks, his tail curling in anxiety.
Gods, she fucking wishes. But when was the last time she could honestly say she was okay?
"Yeah, just works been a lot lately."
Sun eyes Ilia from across the table and Blake wants to yell at them. If she truly was that unwell, she would've said something already.
If anything, this salad was making her sick. The sound of the lettuce squishing with every twist of her fork alone was making her nauseous. And it certainly wasn't agreeing with her stomach, despite it being the most bland thing on the menu.
"It's just, you look really sick."
Blake has to fight down the urge to throw her plate at him and hates how much the action is something that he would do.
"Blake, you haven't been eating much. We're just worried," Ilia cuts in, quick to cut to the chase.
Blake opens her mouth and feels like she's been caught red-handed. She hasn't been eating well and honestly, it's one of her biggest non-issues right now that she hates how everyone keeps bringing it up. But she knows it's pointless to try and hide anything from her friends.
So instead, she gawks like a fish stuck on land. Her lungs slowly suffocating, uselessly flopping around and helplessly waiting for the darkness to sink in. Which is exactly how she's feeling in this moment and her stomach finally decides it's had enough of this messed up day.
The next thing Blake knows, she's heaving over a toilet bowl.
Ilia’s holding her hair back and rubbing circles onto her back. Sun stands behind, guarding the bathroom from anyone entering.
The two of them are talking, but it’s swallowed up by so much static that she can’t figure out a word either of them are saying.
“Always dragging others into our problems. Airing your dirty laundry for others to see?”
That's not what happened.
And for the finale, everything seems like things are better. Her face is fuller, the scar in her torso no longer aches with every movement, and she’s finally gotten the haircut that she’d been denied for so long.
He was gone. So why couldn’t things work for her, just this once?
Blake sits at her office desk, stares at the empty word document as the cursor blinks, waiting for its master to will it. But no matter how much Blake writes, the document never seems to grow. Whenever she glances at her notes, the words scramble and float away, throwing her word count back to zero.
The sun rises and falls behind her, swapping spots with the moon before returning. Sunlight and moonlight soon swap with each other at such an alarming speed that she forces her eyes shut to try and shut the flickering lights, no matter how vain.
The trees outside her window die and come to life with alarming speed, trees falling and returning in a cascade of colours before returning to their death fall all within a blink of an eye.
Blake feels the mouser under hand, the hard plastic clammy against her sweaty hands and the computer monitor swims as she tries and fails to focus.
“Blake, were you here all night?”
The hyperspeed of chaotic weather finally comes to a halt, settling on an early morning fall morning.
Sienna’s staring at her with wide eyes, but not with anger, but worry from an elder looking out for their family.
Blake stands up, and immediately winces at the piercing pain in her lower abdomen. Her hand flies to the location and when she looks down, blood seeps through, staining her hand and running down in torrents to the carpeted floor.
Sienna isn’t the only person there now. The sun is higher now, during regular work hours, and all her colleagues look at her, desperate for any speck of attention from their dull meticulous lives.
Blake takes a step forward, and another one, before she promptly falls to the floor.
She’s lucky she didn’t crack her skull open on the side of her desk, but she barely discerns the sound of somebody calling for an ambulance before the annoying chime of her phone shoots her to lucidity.
But no matter how much of that dream was twisted and perverted of what actually happened, Blake passing out at work was unfortunately the only accurate part.
Her phone's alarm has been blaring for the past minute and she could only tolerate some generic pop tune for so long.
Blake slams her hand over the screen and sighs in relief when silence returns to her room.
Blake peels herself from desk, papers shoved aside and in disarray. Hand on her neck, Blake turns her head side to side, listening to cracks as she stretches her limbs and hears her joints pop, groaning in relief.
Her research of the Eternal Tree is her only respite during her sick leave. With the itch to research anything practically boiling under her skin, she falls back on guiltily pleasures and chooses a topic her tween self would be ecstatic over.
When the Goddess of Fire lost her love, a tree was planted in her honour in the middle of Beacon Park. Said tree still exists to this day, the flora practically a landmark with its towering frame. And though mythology wasn't her strong suit, going over archival records surrounding the tree kept her otherwise dull days occupied.
Said research was starting to look more like a scrapbook than an article, but Blake tried to keep this guilty pleasure of hers purely hobby related.
Reaching over for her cell phone, Blake squints at the blinding light as she looks over her notifications.
Or, the lack thereof.
Sitting up, Blake pulls down her menu and looks through her settings.
Her WiFi and data were on—why was nothing coming through?
"Stupid modem," Blake grumbles, finally getting out of her bed and preparing for the day.
Blake messes with the stingy device—pulling out and replugging the wires a couple of times—before grunting in defeat.
Standing in her kitchen, Blake makes a note to call her landlord as she prepares her breakfast. Two slices of toast, warmed with jam spread atop. Biting into one, Blake walks to the back of her couch and moves for her TV remote and clicks on the device.
The cable she so rarely used blinks to life and Blake switches through her small collection of channels before landing on a news channel.
“Reports from all major telecommunication companies have confirmed that mass service outages are being reported all over the city of Vale. From internet, phone, and NTC communication, companies are working to find a solution as quickly as possible. Jacques Schnee, CEO of Schnee Industries, has advised his company's willingness to lend any aid. Though some have worried that the CEO was trying to save face after the fatal skyscraper incident that killed a dozen workers last week. Professor Oobleck from Beacon University is here to—”
Blake tunes out the rest of the broadcast as she finally sits at her kitchen table.
With her brow furrowed, Blake chews as she stares out her balcony and sees the dark clouds brewing over the city skyline. Blake looks at her phone again and, yup, still no service.
Blake lets her phone drop onto the table as she finishes her breakfast. She’s supposed to meet Weiss for lunch today, and though they have a confirmed time and spot, would she still be able to come? Weiss’ work often changed her hours with little notice, and with no communication feared that their lunch date would end with no fruition. Though Blake didn’t mind her solitude, the thought of sitting at a fancy cafe with no company didn’t sit well with her.
Blake still prepares for the day anyway, throwing on some pants and a decent-enough blouse with a blazer for the somewhat high society company she’ll be having. And though she never considered herself addicted to her phone, Blake still finds herself checking the screen an embarrassing amount of time in hopes that communications had gone back up.
Even trying her laptop and Kindle, but nothing goes through. Texts from her carrier or through apps bounce back, and Blake stares at her door. Looking down at her phone, it reads back 10:30. More than enough time to leisurely make her way downtown, but the idea of things possibly being closed with no way to check was another irritant to worry about.
Blake stares at her door, as if the old oak will gift her with some wisdom before Blake finally decides to get this day started. Sliding on some flats, Blake makes her way out her door and hopes that today won’t be as painful as the headache brewing in her head.
Blake's not sure how to word it. Besides telecommunications being down, people were going along with their lives. But an underlying tension was in the air.
Blake finds herself approaching the plaza much earlier than she expected. Weighing her options of awkwardly holding her table until Weiss arrived, Blake weighs her option and decides otherwise.
Taking an earlier turn, Blake makes her way to Beacon Park and decides to kill some time before making her way back.
Autumn had just started, but the weather was still pleasantly warm. People seemed to be enjoying themselves, talking amongst themselves and walking along the many paths.
Blake still couldn't get rid of that nagging feeling. Sitting on a bench, Blake couldn't find herself relaxing soon and found her foot tapping away at an erratic speed.
The Eternal Tree is in view, its leaves still holding despite the many other trees deciduous. Blake looks at, and lets herself gaze as it branches as the wind lightly rocks them. Pulling her phone out, Blake takes a picture of the tree, entertaining the thought of adding it to her scrapbook later.
Looking at the picture, she frowns at the funnel cloud starting to form. Looking back up, said cloud forms frighteningly fast over the Eternal Tree, enough to draw the attention of the other park goers.
Hairs on end, Blake finds her ear perking up, waiting.
She doesn't have to wait long. The pressure in her ear pops as if she was on a plane and the sky decides to collapse on itself.
A beam of kaleidoscopic light shoots down into Beacon Park, a pillar of fire flying behind it. The two make impact with the ground and the boom leaves her holding her ears as they ring. The growls of something emerge from deeper into the park and Blake doesn't wait to see what's coming.
People scream as they run from the impact and the sweltering heat that comes after feels like the sun in the middle of summer.
A woman, covered in flames, descends from the skies on the back of a dragon. Its long, slender body reflects the sun from its golden scales and its deafening roar drowns out any thoughts she has.
The woman and dragon descend into the park and the sound of roars is enough for Blake to join the rush of people fleeing.
The apocalypse decided to crashland in downtown Vale, and Blake was not going to die from the battle that the inflamed woman was in, seeing the black abominations rushing towards the woman. Said dragon seemingly disappears into thin air, and the woman’s shout as she charges towards those demons has goosebumps growing on her arm.
The issue was, the sentiment was shared with the thousands of people around her, and Blake found herself in the middle of a mob surging down the street.
Today was not supposed to go like this. She was going to have a little lunch with Weiss, and reminisce over their college days. Then she was going to read her book in the park and worry about dinner like a normal person.
Instead, she was fighting her way parallel through the mob to try and get to the side. Crowd crush was not how she was going to die, and when she finally elbowed her way to an alley front, she only contemplated a fraction of a normal amount before rushing in.
After a day of silence, Blake's phone vibrates with the fury of the demons descending on her city. The shock almost makes her stumble and she fumbles as she brings her phone out of her pocket, slowly just enough to take it out.
Countless notifications from her apps flood her screen, flying down too fast to read any of them. But the notifications of missed calls and texts from her Ilia and Weiss make her heart ache with worry. They knew she would be near the explosion and must be fretting with worry.
With the notifications finally slowing, a call from Ilia finally breaks through.
Blake tries to answer it, but the call drops as soon as she confirms it in the first place.
She knew her way around, from her days as a teenager with misaimed anger, and Blake makes her way through the maze of alleyways as she watches Ilia's face take up her screen. And when a deafening boom followed by a streak of fire through the sky, Blake only hoped that the buildings around her wouldn't collapse.
Passing another turn, Blake hears a person yell out. She wasn't a linguist, but she was sure the person was cursing up a storm.
By the time she finally made her way around the last corner, Blake stilled at the slumped figure at the end of the alley. The alley was only a few feet across—definitely not enough room without jostling the stranger—and Blake tried to swallow the dread building up in her throat as she approached the figure.
Bouts of blood caked her golden robes, the fabric that looked regal full of claw marks that showed her abdomen below. The woman clenches her shoulder, hissing under her breath and Blake can see the immense pain she was in.
The strange attire instantly alerted her to this stranger's identity, and Blake couldn't find enough deities to curse her luck.
The extinguished woman was slumped on the ground, grunting in pain. The shallow breaths at least let her know that the woman was alive but considering how this same woman blew up the city park with the flames from hell itself, Blake wasn't sure of her odds.
Her apartment building was just past her, and going back now would double the time to get home.
The woman curses again and rips the mask (a dragon-like frame, made of bone and only covering her upper face) off her face, red eyes squinted at the wall in front of her.
And just her luck, the woman finally notices her. Blake backs away the same time the woman jolts up. Pained fury melts away into genuine shock, furrowed brows lifting past her bangs.
Blake can't name the emotion in those eyes, watches the red bleed away into soft lilac. And she's sure the woman must have a concussion of some sort when she hesitantly lifts her hand towards her.
"ᚱᛖᚾÉᛖ?"
Blake isn't sure what she said, but it sounded like a name.
“Uh, sorry. I don't understand.”
The woman squints at her and Blake quickly assesses her surroundings. What could she use to defend herself?
The woman lets out a light chuckle and leans back against the wall, “ᚩᚠ ᚳᚩᚢᚱᛋᛖ, ᛁᚩᚢ ᚪᚱᛖᚾ×ᛏ ᚻᛖᚱ.”
The woman lets out a huff of air through her noses but otherwise makes no other movement. The silence quickly becomes awkward, and though the woman doesn’t seem to pose any immediate threat, Blake doesn’t feel like testing her chances.
The woman plops her head back against the brick wall and Blake winces as the thud that vertebrates in the small space. “ᛋᛏᚢᛈᛁᛞ. ᚹᚻᚪᛏ ᚹᚪᛋ ᛁ ᚦᛁᚾᚳᛁᛝ? ᚩᚠ ᚳᚩᚢᚱᛋᛖ ᚦᛖᛁ’ᛞ ᛏᚱᛁ ᚪᚾᛞ ᛚᛠᚠᛖ ᚦᛖ ᚩᚠᛖᚱᚹᚩᚱᛚᛞ. ᛞᚩᛖᛋᚾ’ᛏ ᛘᛠᚾ ᛁ ᚻᚪᚠᛖ ᛏᚩ ᛄᚢᛘᛈ ᚱᛁᚷᚻᛏ ᚪᚠᛏᛖᚱ ᚦᛖᛘ.”
The woman’s language is still a mystery to her, but the way she keeps squinting and chuckling at herself makes the awkwardness slowly melt away to pity.
Swallowing, Blake takes a step closer and doesn’t miss the way the woman’s eyes snap towards her immediately, “Do you need help? That wound on your head looks pretty nasty.”
The woman stares at her with such a practiced neutral face that Blake feels like she’s back to being a fresh graduate and doing interviews to wary industry veterans, eyes tearing her apart but looking for something.
Blake doesn’t feel nearly as small when the woman breaks into a smile and chuckles to herself. Confused, yeah, but the fear is slowly ebbing away, despite any safety measures she should be keeping up.
“ᛁ ᚻᚪᚠᛖ ᚾᚩ ᛁᛞᛠ ᚹᚻᚪᛏ ᛁᚩᚢ’ᚱᛖ ᛋᚪᛁᛁᛝ.” the woman shrugs and lifts her hands up in defeat and Blake finally notices the prosthetic on her right arm. Slim gold makes it way up her bicep and fine, intricate runes cover the metal, looking more like designed grooves than any language she recognizes.
Pointing to herself, Blake hopes to get the idea across, “Blake.”
The woman stares at her for a moment before slowly pointing her golden finger at her, “Blake?”
The smile naturally comes to her but a spark of recognition seems to spark in the other woman’s eyes, “Yeah, Blake.”
The woman points to herself, and what others would easily call obnoxious, Blake sees an honest and endearing smile, “Yang.”
Blake doesn’t know why she finds this woman amusing, but the fiery woman seems to make her forget that she’s standing in a dingy alley with a dangerous cosplayer.
Pointing to her temple, Blake is able to mime her intentions with this small game of charades to get the point across.
You’re bleeding, and I can help. Will you accept?
The woman looks like she’s about the same age as her, but for a moment, her eyes look old as she contemplates Blake’s words. She chuckles but it’s weak—borderline a wheeze—before she finally nods and Blake offers her a hand.
The woman eyes her prosthetic briefly before reaching out and accepting the offered hand. Blake grunts as she helps lift her, and though the woman definitely puts effort, the mass of muscle is on full display as she stares down at her.
Forgoing her usual heels, Blake finds that the woman stands a few inches taller than herself, and despite all that strength hidden behind that figure, Blake doesn’t feel any warning bells going off.
But she’s been wrong before, hasn’t she?
“Here.” Blake brings Yang’s arm along her shoulder and tests the extra weight leaning on her. Finding her footing good, Blake and Yang slowly shuffle their way towards her apartment.
It’s midday, and despite the chaos happening around them, Blake finds the area around her apartment surprisingly clear of people.
Eyeing the buildings back, Blake drags Yang along as they disappear into another alley.
Finding herself winded, Blake leans back against the wall and feels equal parts relief and worried when Yang catches this, lifting some of the dead weight she had been giving her.
Worried lilacs stare into her and Blake breaks the small staring contest to look towards the fire escape, rows and rows of metal railing and ladders lining the side of her building.
Yang looks up along with her and raises an eyebrow at her when she stares back.
“ᚹᛖ’ᚱᛖ ᚷᚩᛁᛝ ᚢᛈ ᚦᚪᛏ?” Pointing upwards for emphasis.
The disbelief comes through despite the language difference.
“Don’t worry, only a couple floors,” Blake moves to bring Yang’s weight back when a sharp rattle shakes the fire escape; all 20 floors of metal rattling as something descends on them.
Blake’s ear raise but she barely has time to lift her head before Yang violently tugs her back.
Rolling head over heels backwards, Blake hisses as she scrapes to an end. Looking up, Blake sees Yang standing in front of her; legs bent in exhaustion but still standing; as one of those things from downtown rolls its tongue.
Seeing those demons descend on the city from afar had been scary enough, but the smell of rotting flesh and putrid panting makes the threat so very real.
“ᛋᛏᚪᛁ ᛒᚪᚳᚳ."
Yang flies forward and grabs the beast by its jowls, twisting its sharp teeth away from her.
The way Yang tosses the beast around shows she's more than capable of ending it, but the slippery thing keeps loosening itself from her grip and bouncing off the walls in the tight alleyway.
One gasp of pain has Blake looking up to see Yang falter, her grasp loosening for just a second. Which is all the demon needs to slip out of her grip and run towards her.
Yang yells something but all Blake can see is a tonne of demonic flesh charging at her.
Blake needs something—anything—and reaches for something metallic at her side. Not even registering, she swings the object downward-up and smiles when it makes purchase with the demon's jaw.
The pipe reverberates in her hand, and Blake winces at the way her hand shakes. But adrenaline drives her forward and she swings the pipe back down from her earlier swing.
The demon growls again but like a woman possessed, Blake keeps swinging. The demon lets out an enraged snarl and swings its paw at her.
Jumping back, she skids and falls. Lifting herself up, Blake watches as the demon bounds at her and sees her own terrified face reflected in its glaring eyes.
A wave of heat crashes into her as a pillar of flame passes through the demon. Its upper body is incinerated instantly as it stumbles around, its topless body disintegrating before nothing was left but the putrid smell of death and its dusty remains.
Yang stands in front of her, hands placed together and trembling as she pants heavily. Getting up, Blake rushes over.
"Are you okay?" She grabs Yang as she stumbles, her heavy frame leaning against her as she tries to catch her.
Blake watches as the final wisps of the demons remain disintegrate in front of her. The metal pipe in her grip shows no sign of the battery it unleashed besides the small dents lining the side of it.
Yang, finally seeing that there was no immediate threat, plops onto the ground, resting against the heels of her hands outstretched behind her. Blake's surprised the goddess hasn't keeled over, considering the amount of blood spilt.
"ᚷᚩᛞᛋ, ᛁ×ᛘ ᛏᛁᚱᛖᛞ." Turning her head back, Yang smiles up at her. "ᛁ×ᚳᚾᚩᚹ, ᛁᚩᚢ×ᚱᛖ ᚾᚩᛏ ᚻᚪᛚᚠ ᛒᚪᛞ ᛁᚩᚢᚱᛋᛖᛚᚠ ᚹᛁᚦ ᚪ ᚹᛠᛈᚩᚾ. ᛁᚩᚢ×ᚠᛖ ᛏᚱᚪᛁᚾᛖᛞ ᛒᛖᚠᚩᚱᛖ?"
Blake stares down at her, contemplating what Yang could've said and gives a thumbs up, hoping for the best.
Yang chuckles and stands up, brushing herself off.
"ᚱᛁᚷᚻᛏ, ᚱᛁᚷᚻᛏ, ᛞᛁᚠᚠᛖᚱᛖᚾᛏ ᛚᚪᛝᚢᚪᚷᛖ."
The silence is surprisingly not awkward and the two look at each other, catching their breaths.
Yang walks toward her, the space between them is much smaller than Blake would usually tolerate from a stranger.
But the comradery they share from killing ghoulish creatures forms a bond between them. Blake's not sure what it is exactly, but the feeling seems mutual.
Yang leans down towards her, and for a moment, Blake is expecting Yang's lips to press against her own.
Before her delusions go awry, Yang's forehead presses against her own and her little fantasies come crashing down.
Yang's eyes are closed, but she can almost count the countless freckles that decorate her tanned cheeks.
Blake is about to lean back when a splitting headache causes her to whiteout.
A man, face obscured in shadows, stands over her, his bloodthirsty eye peering out. He wields his sword up, and Blake opens her mouth to yell before the sword comes flying down.
Yang's in the back—younger somehow and in more casual attire—but she's holding the stump of her right arm as gold bleeds in spades from her wound. She's running towards her, but she's not fast enough.
Blake feels herself falling to the floor, her life spilling from her in scarlet drops. Blood pools around her and sees the man turning towards Yang, sword to fist, as her vision fails her.
What was that?
Her vision comes back to her slowly, and Yang is standing in front of her, snapping her fingers and worry creasing her eyes.
“Blake? Hey, are you okay?”
Blake nods her head, not trusting herself to speak yet lest she topple over with the nausea that’s making her head swim.
“Yeah. Just… tired.”
Yang blinks at her before bringing her fist to her chin in thought. “You sure you’re fine? That fight was pretty nasty.”
“Yeah, just need to lie down.” Blake rubs her face, grimacing at the sweat and grime covering her face
“If you say so.”
Blake shakes her head a bit to try and clear her head before stopping, eyes going wide.
“Wait, you speak Valesian?”
Yang grins, and it’s a sight for sore eyes.
In a roguish way, Yang swipes her nose, looking pleased with herself. “Guess it worked.”
This woman was so intriguing and infuriatingly confusing at the same time. But now that the adrenaline from battle had long disappeared, Blake felt ready to hide in her bed for the next couple of days.
And looking over Yang, even without considering her wounds, look like she shared that sediment, if the dark creases under her eyes were any sign.
“Well, thank you. For protecting me against those monsters.”
“Nah, you were doing pretty good with that pipe. You could’ve held them off.”
The comment was properly meant to be teasing, but Blake felt none of the annoyance she was expecting to feel.
“Where are you going to go?”
Considering whatever mess that just fell on Vale was probably going to stick to Yang, Blake couldn’t figure out why she even asked. Monsters and mythological figures was the complete opposite of what her doctor ordered, but the urge to take notes of everything she’s seen keeps her going.
Yang’s bravado was impressive, but Blake notices the way that she sways on her feet.
“Hm, I hadn’t thought that far yet,” Yang’s voice trails, looking back at the city.
“Maybe I can help you?”
Yang turns back, and despite the surprise on her face, relief easily bleeds through. “Really?”
Stupid. What was she doing?
“Sure, it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
“I wouldn’t want to impose.”
But when would she ever get a scoop like this again?
“I insist.” Blake holds her hand out and waits.
Yang stares at her outstretched hand before clasping it with her own. It was rough and covered with callouses, but it was undeniably warm.
“Well, I’ll be in your care then.”
Yang gives her one shake before the light slowly seeps from her eyes. Knees crumpling, Yang topples forward where Blake clumsily grabs her before she topples to the ground like deadweight.
“Yang?”
Said goddess gives no response, but by the way her chest was still rising and falling, at least told her she was still alive.
Blake looks back to her apartment and weighs her options. With almost 160 pounds of muscle and dead weight, Blake wondered how she’d drag her back into her apartment.
Yang’s weight shift and she starts slipping where Blake rushes to readjust her grip. And just as quickly, a small jaw clamps down onto her finger.
Yelling an expletive, Blake almost drops Yang and almost drops her again when a small lizard crawls it way onto Yang’s head. Looking down, Yang’s prosthetic had somehow disappeared into thin air and this small reptile was trying to scare her off, its high-pitched hiss doing little to dissuade Blake.
Blake stares at the lizard, unsure of what to do. It came from Yang, so it couldn’t be bad. Right?
The lizard hisses again, and Blake huffs, unimpressed.
“If you’re not going to help, move,” Blake hesitates before adding. “Please.”
The lizard still squints at her, but scuttles aside, signaling its approval, no matter how temporary.
The climb to her apartment is excruciating, and by the time Blake kicks her down open and lays Yang down on her couch, she’s ready to pass out herself.
Peeling the blood-stained tunic, Blake is prepared for a nauseating amount of injuries. But with a swipe from an antiseptic, Blake is surprised to find her skin smooth, the only blemishes being old scars that had long healed over. The bruises blotting her skin still made the lump in Blake’s throat go down uneasy, knowing her haphazard first aid kit was inadequate to do any kind of help. But like magic, Yang had seemingly started healing herself before her very eyes.
Wiping off as much blood as she could, Blake peels off the ruined robes—gold fabrics interwoven with yellow embroidery now sullied with blood and torn to shreds, skin visible underneath—and tunic Yang adorned and changes her into old sweats. It would’ve been almost comical, the clothes clearly ill fitting on Yang’s much larger frame, but Blake couldn’t find anything else to alleviate her discomfort without some sort of miracle.
The lizard climbs onto Yang’s chest, rumbling from its perch but seemingly giving Blake their approval before closing their eyes.
Blake shuffles over to her room, plopping down and letting the exhaustion from the day wash over her. It must have only been early evening, but the exhaustion lulls her to sleep as she tries to wrap her head around what happened this day.
What had she gotten herself into?