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Fatigue enveloped him like a heavy blanket. It was difficult not only to keep his eyes open — breathing itself was a struggle. Each breath brought a burning pain to his lungs.
They all gathered around him. His arm had turned blue, the veins blackened. They were all terrified—just as terrified as he was. They didn’t know where they were, didn’t know how to escape, but there was no other choice.
“Cut,” Omnia Paratus said in a weary voice, biting his lower lip to stifle the pitiful moan that escaped his mouth.
Lignarius stared at him with the same empty gaze. His pupils didn’t move even once, appearing as bottomless voids that consumed everything around them. He lifted his head toward Genesis, as if waiting for a decision, but Genesis was even more frightened than the wounded man.
“There’s no other choice,” Genesis stated, clutching his notebook so tightly his fingers turned white.
The Aviator handed Lignarius an axe. The blade gleamed in the rays of the sun, which had already sunk below the horizon.
“Oh, I can’t watch!” Congregator shrieked, turning away from the men and covering her eyes with her hands.
“Endure it,” Aviator snapped, folding a rag several times and shoving it into Omnia’s mouth to bite down on.
His shirt was torn at the shoulder seam and discarded somewhere. The infection had spread all the way to his collarbones, devouring the arm entirely. It was horrifying to look at, but Lignarius continued to stare at him with his hollow gaze. He gripped Omnia’s forearm tightly, raised the axe, and struck — right up to the shoulder.
A piercing scream echoed, too loud for even the thick cloth in his mouth to muffle. They held his thrashing legs, pinning him to the ground to keep him still. All Omnia Paratus could do was dig his good hand into the ground so hard that dirt lodged under his nails. The pain shot up to his head, making his eyes roll back, his spine arch—he couldn’t bear it.
Each blow to the bone thundered in his ears like a raging storm, sending shivers down his spine. His ears rang, blood flooded everything it could reach. Tentacles protruded from his shoulder, writhing wildly from their host’s pain. Omnia could no longer feel anything, but he knew Lignarius was holding his arm, attaching a new prosthetic. He knew those tentacles were tangled together like exposed nerves.
They stopped restraining him. Genesis stood up on shaking legs, watching Omnia’s fingers twitch as he tried to adjust to the new sensations, and how Lignarius looked at him. Only Genesis could discern emotions on their silent savior’s face. Never before had he looked at anyone like that—anyone except Omnia.
Paratus yanked the rag from his numb jaw. His lips were glossy with saliva, which dripped down his chin. Only now did he notice the tear tracks on his cheeks — the cold wind chilling his face.
“Is he okay?” a high-pitched voice piped up behind Genesis. They all turned simultaneously to look at Omnia, lying there half-conscious.
“I’ll... I’ll live...” Omnia managed to whisper with what little breath he had left before turning his head toward Lignarius. “My savior...”
…
The sun had long since dipped below the horizon. Lignarius didn’t remember when exactly everyone else had left; he had stayed with Omnia since the moment he passed out. Now, he sat by his side, watching each rise and fall of his chest, practically burning a hole through him with that empty gaze.
“My savior...” Those words played over and over in his mind — hundreds of times, if not more. And with every repetition, they grew louder and louder, echoing inside his skull.
Lignarius traced his wooden fingertips along Omnia’s temple, collecting beads of sweat. How he wished he could touch him for real... Feel his warmth, the heat of his cheeks and forehead. What were his lips like? What would he feel like to the touch?
Lignarius had seen him naked more than once, but he never allowed himself to look too long. Yet even so... he remembered every line of his body, every mole and scar, every imperfection.
Lignarius wanted to memorize the beating of his heart. To remember how it sounded, how warm it was, and how it thudded.
He leaned on his hands and bent down, pressing his ear to Paratus’ chest. In that warm chest, a heart was beating, thudding against the ribs and echoing within. Lignarius closed his eyes, listening to that symphony.
A cold wooden hand rested on Omnia’s steadily rising chest, trying to feel the warmth of his soft skin. He wanted to crawl under his skin, beneath the flesh and bones, to feel that heart in his hand. He wanted to replace his dying heart with this... this living, vibrant, courageous one.
“Savior.”
Lignarius would always be a savior for Omni. He would protect him until the day his body began to decay. If needed, he would make him a new wooden body. Or... give him his own. Lignarius didn’t need to breathe, yet he could feel something tighten in his throat, like a lump caught in his windpipe.
He hooked his fingers under the loose laces of Omnia’s shirt, tugging them gently... but dared not go any further.
Suddenly, Paratus’ eyelids fluttered, his eyes moving beneath them, and he hissed from the lingering pain in his arm. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking several times before finally focusing on Lignarius, who was hovering above him. Those black eyes were gazing straight into his soul, so deeply that it was impossible to look away or break free from their grip.
Omnia swallowed, his pupils darting across Lignarius’ wooden face.
“You’re awake...” a muffled voice came from behind the mask. “Good?”
“Yes...” Omnia exhaled hoarsely, not fully back to his senses, and looked around. It was dark all around, only the flickering light of the campfire nearby. He moved his new arm. “You did your best. And you never miss,” Paratus said with his usual flattering tone.
Lignarius seemed to soften.
“Savior,” Lignarius said, “I. Am. Yours.”
He traced his fingers one last time over the center of Omnia’s chest, feeling the wild thumping of his heart, before finally rising from the ground.