Death Denied

The moment the last word left his lips—"that truth is why I'm still standing"—his feet exploded into motion, his sword howling through the air.

Ren closed the distance, just inches away from her, swinging his blade at her throat.

At the last second, a tendril spiraled up between them, catching the blade mid-swing. 

The force sent a jolt through Ren's arm, rattling the bones in his shoulder. He clenched his jaw and shoved forward, pressing his full weight against it, trying to split the coil in two.

"Ah, yes..." Nocstella tilted her head. "There it is."

This time he came proceeded low—only for a sharp black tendril to intercept him again, slamming into his shin, fracturing the bone. He dropped to one knee and stabbed forward, impaling the tendril through the middle and dragging his sword down through its form.

"What is this?" Ren questioned.

His legs trembled beneath him—more than they should've. He'd taken worse hits than this.

Come back from worse.

Regenerated from less.

"Why...why do I feel so weak?"

A single tendril peeled into his path.

Ren swung his sword in an upward slash.

Clang

The impact shook his body. He stumbled to the side, losing his footing.

"No...no, not now."

Another tendril attacked, and Ren had ducked too slowly—its tip grazing his ribs, carving open a fresh gash. He hissed through his teeth, dropping low and slashing at its base.

"Why am I...slowing down?"

Nocsetlla smiled faintly as she watched him stand.

"Do you feel it, Hollow?" She asked softly, stepping forward as her bare feet whispered across the grass. "The weight pressing down on you..."

Ren staggered forward, trying to will himself upright.

"You wonder what it is, don't you?" Nocstella said softly, continuing toward him. "Why does each step feel heavier than the last? Why is it that your hands will not grasp your weapon? Why your thoughts feel like they're wading through water…"

"I…"

His thoughts wouldn't form clearly anymore.

"Here, time doesn't move the same as it does on the outside. The longer you stay here...the more your body forgets what it means to exist."

He hadn't imagined it.

His depth perception had faltered, his vision blurred at the edges. His breath was cold and slow when it shouldn't have been. It was like his body was shutting itself down.

"Do you know what the darkened forest above was made for, Hollow?" Nocstella asked, her gaze up to the false, gloomy, cold-lit sky above. "Wounded minds and fractured souls...Those too tired to carry themselves. That place welcomes them. I...welcome them."

Above them was no longer the black abyss Ren fell from, but a false sky that looked like it could let rain fall at any second.

"But you..." She lowered her gaze back to him. "You've rejected my offer. Even when your body begged for an end. Even when your soul cried to be unburdened."

She stepped closer again.

"This is the first time a wandering soul has rejected me enough…to be brought here," Nocstella said, extending her arms out slowly. "To this place. To my true domain."

Ren's eyes narrowed, and Nocstella was closing the distance between them. Breath trembled out of his mouth in short, shallow bursts of air.

"I'm not done…" He whispered.

He lifted the sword again—barely. It trembled in his grip, sluggish and resistant.

Nocstella stepped into range, unafraid.

"Still reaching…?" She whispered.

Ren brought the sword up, forcing it toward her chest with the last of his strength.

She didn't flinch.

Instead, she reached out slowly—two pale fingers rising like a benediction—and pressed them gently against the flat of the blade.

With that single touch, the weight of the sword crashed down.

Ren's knees gave out, catching himself on one trembling hand as he fell. Nocstella lowered herself to him—kneeling with impossible grace—and placed her palm against his chest.

Then—

Splitch

Her hand passed through his ribcage like mist meeting water, and clutched something inside. Ren opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Noctstella stabbed into him, yet it didn't hurt.

"You remember the warmth of your 'loving' mother's voice well...The nights she would caress you, tell you it was okay to be afraid." Nocstella said quietly, looking deep into his eyes. "But...she didn't, did she? She told you to grow up. That you were too old to cry over imaginary monsters. That she regretted having a child who needed so much."

"No..."

"She pushed you away."

"She didn't..."

"I can show you, Hollow."

And she did.

The memory unfolded in his mind, twisted and vivid. His mother sat beside his bed, but her eyes were now cold. Her voice, once soft and motherly, was sharp and bitter.

"You're still crying?" The memory-mother sneered. "I should've let your father deal with you. I'm done coddling such a useless child."

The illusion twisted, contorting her face further—his mother's lips stretching wide into something cruel and jagged, eyes flickering with a hate they never should've held.

"A waste of time! A waste of space! A waste of effort!" The memory-mother continued. "You were a mistake—"

Snap

Ren's hand shot up and caught Nocstella's wrist.

The false memory froze.

His fingers trembled on her skin, not just from his weakened body, but from effort—from clawing his way out of the mire of her lies.

"…It won't work," Ren rasped.

The words came out cracked and breathless, but not uncertain.

"I know what this is."

He squeezed tighter, anchoring himself in the present.

"You can twist what she said. You can corrupt her voice. But that's not her..."

With a growl, Ren ripped her hand from his chest. Black ichor dripped from her fingers, trailing between them like strands of oil before vanishing into the air.

Ren staggered back, one hand clutching his chest where her hand had passed cleanly, the other dragging his sword behind him. Through the struggle, he began to stagger to his feet.

Nocstella watched him rise in curiosity, still kneeling in the same position she once was.

He looked at her with shaking grey eyes.

"She was broken, too..." Ren said, low and hoarse. "But she never...never said anything like that. Her voice was always so gentle for me. No matter what..."

He leaned his weight on his sword, taking a deep breath in.

"She was broken, too. Y'know, she carried wounds she never spoke about. Some nights, I could hear her crying outside on the porch through my window...But even then, she never made me feel like I was the problem. Like I was the reason. And I can say for certain...she didn't want me to find her that night."

Nocstella blinked slowly, her expression unreadable.

He leaned harder on the sword, the steel biting into the earth beneath him as he pushed.

"You think seeping into the cracks of something broken, it'll become yours." His breath hitched—then steadied. "But it doesn't replace what was there."

Nocstella's expression didn't change, but her gaze sharpened ever so slightly

It was then that Ren closed his eyes, only for a second.

"Heal..."

The word was a whisper at first, and then a plea.

"Please...I know who I am."

The muscles in his chest began to constrict.

"I know where I come from."

The broken ribs began to reform.

"I know what I've lost."

His body convulsed as blood pushed through newly formed veins.

"I remember everything."

Crack

Shards of bone clicked fully back into place.

Squelch

Skin sealed off the wound.

Ren hunched forward with a gasp and looked up to her with his tired grey eyes.