Chapter Text
Highbloods, you have officially decided, are the absolute worst thing.
Worse than hunger, worse than plague, worse than migraines that make you black out.
The. Worst. Thing.
Not only to they deign to attack Signless, trying to put out the fire that's all that keeps the lowbloods alive sometimes, all that keeps you alive, with his crackling passion and soft but intense glow and the heat that melts away the cold fear of the Highbloods.
No, that's not enough for them.
This time, they do not attack, they ambush.
They come from the shadows and the alleyways of this small, peaceful town, striking down anyone and anything in their path.
Already, some brave listeners to His hymns have done their best to stand up, show bravery, but bravery is what gets you killed when you're up against something so terrifying. Kankri had cried when they stomped down innocent trolls whose only folly was to dare to indulge in hope.
You know how deeply he feels for them, and how much it hurts him to have the vile darkness of the world shoved in his face.
You, Meulin and Porrim, you can deal with it. You have seen cruelty, experienced it, and it no longer surprises you.
But you all try to keep him safe from watching the rust run down the streets, try to keep him happy and optimistic and achingly sincere in his belief that things will get better, because if he stops hoping, then who will?
You tear down a Highblood in your way, trying not to make it too gruesome because even in a situation like this, Kankri does not want there to be more death than necessary.
But everything is a flurry.
Kankri is crying, Meulin screams something and you think she is dragging him by the cloak, you're not sure. You lost sight of them in the midst of all the townspeople desperately fleeing their homes, trying to run away down the narrow street, some managing and some falling dead to the ground by the hand of the Highbloods.
Some are trampled to death by their own kind.
Porrim is looking at you, calling you, but you can't leave, not before you're certain you won't be followed, even a small misstep could lead to the death of you or your comrades.
Voices screech in your head, a chill kisses your spine, cold, manic horror blooms in your mind, and you make a misstep.
Something hits you. You'll never find out what, but your head explodes into agony and then nothing, and you fall to the ground.
You are numb.
Everything seems to be moving in slow motion, movement leaving illusionary trails in its wake.
You see feet running past you, a brownblooded woman screams just before an arrow strikes her in the throat.
You do not hear her. You hear nothing.
Nothing you see with your eyes is worth noting. It's all so very, very dull, and blends together in one shapeless blur.
You think you may die, and you do not feel anything in regards to that thought.
And then you see her.
Among the panic, the unfocused bland figures and silent shouts and screams, everything moving so, so slowly, as if it is not moving at all, she is there.
Her horns create nigh impossible spirals, graceful and strange, like her.
Her face is blank, emotionless, and her eyes are colours of which you've never seen in someone before, and she seems to be brighter than anything around her, standing out like a gemstone in a rubble.
Her feet do not touch the ground, and she has no pupils to focus on you, yet you know she is looking, as if she's waiting for you, examining you?
She is terrifying and dark and twisted, and so, so beautiful.
You wonder if it is the death come to take you.
But as you accept the thought, because you cannot really feel anything and therefore feel no fear of death, she turns away.
Slowly, or perhaps it is you who are slow and are taking things in at a different pace, she turns in the air and leaves.
You're not sure how you know, as somehow it's like nothing registers in your mind anymore, but you can feel it; she does not disappear, but she is also no longer here.
You hear something, but cannot take your eyes off her.
She feels important, and you want her to stay, you want to know who and why and so many other things, but it is as if you resurface from being submerged in water.
All at once, the silence is noise and the blur is in sharp contrast, and though you could swear your eyes were never closed, it is as if you open them, and see Porrim standing over you.
She is calling something, and Kankri moves into your field of vision, worry creasing his brow.
You realize that you are lying on the ground. You also realize that your skull may be fractured.
"-ii? Psii!"
Kankri is trying to reach you, and it does nothing for the immense pain in your head. You groan and try to shield your eyes, but your hand is heavy and uncooperative.
You hear Porrim thank the higher powers, sighing deeply, and Kankri smiles uncertainly.
"Are you alright, my friend?"
Your answer is interrupted by someone running by and bumping into Porrim.
The Highbloods must still be at large, or at the very least the destruction they wrought is still at its peak.
Kankri hoists you up, slinging an arm around your waist and your hand around his shoulders, and Porrim frets over you.
It appears that you're not being pursued, so you let your head dangle and your psionics sleep for now.
Kankri babbles, as he tends to do when he's nervous or scared, but you don't listen.
Something important is still echoing in your mind, and be it the head trauma or a simple lapse in sanity, your mouth says what your mind is trying to wrap around.
"I saw death."
Kankri halts and looks at you, concerned and awkward, and Porrim eyes your bleeding head with suspicion.
"You…saw death?"
Kankri repeats, and later you'll feel a little bad for making him worry like this, but you're injured and weak and something strange, coiling and positively giddy is unraveling somewhere inside you, and you grin.
"She was beautiful."