Windy Bricks

My heart paces up, shifting from two beats a second to three. Then it accelerates further, the Ether intertwining with the organ as it approaches four. The sound of my heart flowing blood through my body outpaces the beating rain as it becomes all I can hear.

The rush of blood and the pounding of my most vital organ transforms into a near-constant series of detonations as it beasts so severely. And with every burst of pain, with every ounce of agony, with every speck of weakness, with every signal from my nerves, my heart beats again with a forged fury—blood zooms to every organ, muscle, and tissue, delivering power.

Even still, the volume is paltry compared to Marshall's, who could be heard all across the land in his final moments. That heartbeat... it was more than simple pain. It was death turned into strength.

And as my limbs are ripped apart, and the Bloody Palm transmits its pain to me, my whole body fills with strength from every avenue, from raw power to durability. Slowly, gradually, my flesh is stripped less and less. The bone is shattered fewer times—blood leaks with slighter volumes.

Those gradual enhancements happen to me as slowly as eternity, but to the rest of the world, including the train, they are nigh instant. And with the bulging muscles filled with tears that are pulled along by a budding Painsforge, the chains of my Virtue, Enchained, rip me back together.

Together, the worse I get hurt, the further my Ether saturation annihilates me, along with the tension of the train, the more power I gain, just as Marshall did in his final moments. And gradually, slowly, yet as the most painful act of my life between Ether saturation and how my body is rending itself apart, the train returns to the tracks.

First, it starts with the car further from me that was lifted into the air, the one four ahead. Through bloody yet clear eyes, I see Tomas using a series of ropes around nearby trees to help tow the train on the railroad as well. The ropes nearly instantly tear apart, but they help. Next is the third, this one happening even faster as another Nightmare of Abraham joins, along with Tomas and other people. It seems they've had enough time to recover and react to help.

Then, the second car begins to right itself, but as it does, I hear a groan from the Bloody Palm, one of utmost exhaustion. It is similar to how it felt after fighting Marshall. Not good. It's almost out of fuel to spare, too.

"Come on! Just a bit more!"

The artifact growls as if warning me, but it holds anyway as a shout from Lily enters my mind and carries over to the Bloody Palm. The coldness revitalizing me provokes sadness as I know I can't save everyone. But it's better than nothing.

Thanks, Lily. With her help, more flesh still appears beneath us, connecting my body to the ground, yet it is less than the previous few seconds of struggle. I suppose the artifact must be getting really tired, and it's less unwillingness and more exhaustion. Gritting my teeth, I can only draw with more outlandish determination and haul the train back on track with the help of those inside.

Yet, as the last car, the one directly in front of me, is about to return to the road, the Bloody Palm gives up, either running out of Ether entirely or unwilling to go any further.

My heart sinks into an abyss as my Leashes break without its aid, and at the same time, the train car starts to tip back over. I can hear shouts from those inside, the fear and panic palpable even over the rain. Still, I cannot help them any longer as I detach from the train, my tethers gone, both to the train and the ground. Even Abraham's Nightmare relinquishes its hold and falls backward from the lost force.

Pain wracks my body as I attempt to conjure another Leash, but I can't. The Bloody Palm refuses to allow Ether to flow through it as it curls up, risking this chance to recover. Cursing, I throw forward my prosthesis as I remember one of the functions. Flexing with my mind, the arm attached to me having its own Sigils that react to my mental inputs, and a rope dart hurtles out from the left side of my arm.

The steel tip of the dart sinks inside a broken window of the train, wrapping around the frame of the opening before becoming taut. Then, the wind picks me up and shoots me into the air like a kite as I watch Tomas race to the edge of the train with all his speed and slide off the broken back.

With one arm, he grabs the train tracks, and with the other, he hangs onto the steel behemoth that is the Steam Train, fastening them back together. I see his muscles bulge and his eyes redden as fur covers his body, the Angel using his Power to gain the strength for the act. A silent beat focuses my mind as he uses the skill bestowed to both of us by the General.

Meanwhile, the wind whips and drags me around loosely as the sensation of the rope losing its tautness comes. Again, my heart sinks as, through the wind and rain, I see the rope unfurl from the pressure. Yet before I fly away like Bonfire into the wind just without the blaze, a hand clamps around the cord and refuses to yield.

Then, as the train returns to its track with Tomas' surge of effort, Virgil drags me back toward the train. Two dozen tendrils of shadow join this endeavor to fight against the wind, and I'm hauled back inside.

Sputtering, I fall onto the ground inside the rearmost cabin of the train. Virgil crouches and holds my shoulders as blood dribbles off me in equal parts to the rain. My friend checks on me while Tomas forces his way back into the train, twisting pipes together to close the door behind him.

"You okay, Wyatt?"

I try to speak, to say anything, but all that leaves my throat is garbled blood, and I begin to spasm as the Ether sustaining me runs dry, leaving only the bits left in my flesh to rip me apart. Virgil knows what's wrong instantly.

"Tomas! Serum! Now!"

I hardly hear the sighing curse from Tomas as he kneels beside me, an unfelt prick stabbing into my chest.

"I heard he likes to use these a whole lot. Does he know they shorten lifespan?"

The man is nonchalant despite the catastrophic crash that was inches from occurring, even as he is beside a dying man. A second passes of Virgil defending me before the magma of a Serum enters my veins.

"Probably. But even if he doesn't, it's better than dying."

Spikes of pain emerge from every single pore of my body as Virgil props my head up with his knee, holding me carefully. Meanwhile, I get to see the origin of the agony with my eyes for a few moments. The Serum does more than simply boil the Ether inside me. So far, I've only imbibed Concoction for my oversaturation, but the Serum goes far beyond its predecessor.

My gaseous and liquid states of Ether together are burnt and boiled as they both turn to plasma, sporadic and many colored flames emerging from my body all over. And just as the heat to turn something to gas is different from the heat of a plasma like fire, the magma in my veins burns so scorching that even the Bloody Palm howls in pain. Though, it, too, could probably use the cleansing.

Still, it is excruciatingly painful, like a molten rock in my skin, a burning sun, and an exploding stick of dynamite all at once. I scream in agony, but no sound comes out. I feel myself fading in and out of consciousness.

I am aware of my body, but it feels like it is not my own. It is as if I am watching myself from a distance, vision contorting into darkness. Yet, even through closed eyelids, I can see the Serum coursing through my veins, turning the Ether into plasma. From the piercing light of the plasmic Ether, I can see the ethereal flames flickering out of my skin, like tiny explosions. The pain is unbearable, but I know that I must endure it. This is the only way to get rid of the Ether.

Sound emerges for a second as I feel something slide into my mouth. It is damp and coarse like a piece of cloth, and I bite down readily to endure the fire inside.

"Perhaps. Don't let him fade away. Some go braindead from whatever is inside those things."

Almost as if in response to Tomas' words, I feel myself slipping away. The pain is too much. It's so much worse than a Concoction. I get why so many try not to push themselves too far, even if they have the resources to fix it.

It's just... too much.

But then, as I feel my teeth dig into and tear the rag in my mouth, I feel something. It is a warmth, a spreading sensation of relief. The pain is starting to subside. Peering through tightly closed eyes and looking down at my skin, I catch that the plasma is still flickering, but it is not as intense. I can feel the Ether leaving my body, just as I have the whole time, and I know I am recovering.

But the relief is short-lived. The pain comes back, even worse than before. I scream again, but this time, I can hear my own voice. It is a hoarse, agonized cry. I feel myself thrashing on the ground, my body writhing in pain. Strong hands hold me down, along with a dozen cold tendrils, as I'm disallowed from breaking anything on the treacherous train.

I even feel a mighty shake of the train that slams my head into the wall, probably denting both, but the sensation is soon overshadowed by that which is inside my veins. Cant... I can't lose consciousness. I need to focus. Fuck. Fucking hell! Even the Bloody Palm is screaming into my ear. The artifact is fighting against Tomas' grip as it tries to expel any bit of the agony it is in.

"Don't hurt his artifact! Just hold it! He'll pull through!"

Virgil simultaneously encourages Tomas and me, providing me a semblance of confidence. I can do this. I can. If I can pull the Steam Train back on track after it derails in a hurricane, then I can do this. Gritting my teeth, I find my resolve even as my front teeth tap each other through the rag.

What would I do if Ironheart didn't exist?

The thought lingers for only a moment, but it sinks deep. My very will is enhanced, permanently suffused of Ether. How do the Angels who imbibe the higher forms handle it? A Solution... the one made for Angels. What does it do? Solidify Ether and push it out in chunks?

Attempting to hold on, I think of other things while the Serum tears me a new one. The pain is still there, but it is not as bad as it was before. I can breathe again. I can think again. I am alive. Air enters my lungs for the first time since my Strugglers Gasp, and I feel instant relief. The cool, wet air caresses my innards as my heart beats with oxygen.

Slowly, the agony fades entirely, and with my still-closed eyes, I drift off to sleep. All the while, my hearing is still out and the Bloody Palm is struggling, but it is dying down, slowly relaxing.

The only sound I hear before I fade away into the darkness is Tomas' voice.

"He made it. Take him to Earl and Prix; they should handle him together. We need to make sure that doesn't happen again."

*************

I open my eyes to calm darkness, a moonless sky above, and serene winds. Taking a deep, filling breath, I fall backward onto the soft grass of Lily's mindscape.

"Shit."

Cursing aloud to relieve some stress as well, I breathe out my inhale. That was too close. After all my training with Marshall, I thought I'd be fine. And I suppose I was against enemies, only defying nature almost cost my life. Kind of funny if I think about it that way.

"Hey!"

A cheerful voice to my side hauls my attention away from relaxation. And so, I peer at Lily, the spirit of my Colt kicking her legs as she dangles over a nearby part of the Cardinal River.

"How'd I do? Did I do well?!"

Laughing, I push myself to my feet from the grassy knoll and move over to her. When I get close, I slide beside her, careful not to touch the waters at all.

"Yeah. Yeah, you did great. Thanks for the backup with the Bloody Palm, too."

She grins almost maniacally, the lips twisting near her ears. Zero concern emerges, however. This is just how she is. A bit odd and primarily too expressive, but that's alright.

A second passes of silence before Lily wraps her arms around me in thanks, her skin freezing to the touch, just like the waters of the Cardinal.

"Oh! Thanks for the bullet! Only four more, right? A Nahullo... demon... human... and something else, right?"

Lily then slides back as she counts using her fingers while referencing the method to evolve her. But confusion arises from me. I thought she had to kill them? I didn't know that it counted. I ask about something else first, however.

"Is that time between bullets always been there?"

The tiny girl, at most reaching my sternum in height, shakes her head, shifting her dark clothes as she does so. Then, she explains.

"You know, you know so little. Haha, that's a funny way to put it. Anyway, it's because I can only siphon so much life before I need to rest. If they are weak, I could shoot a dozen shots and be fine, but most Angels, young or unharmed ones at least, will probably take up my whole appetite."

Nodding, I see her point. Everyone and everything has limits, even the Blooming Spider Lily. Yet, I ask my other question second as I also seek the answer.

"Also, how did that shot count for your five? It didn't kill the Pygmy."

Lily giggles and kicks out her legs while giving me the reason, hanging them perpendicularly off the edge.

"I only need to siphon their life and then take their soul. So, if they die shortly after we hit them and we're nearby, it works just fine. I need only their life and soul, nothing else."

I nod to her as it makes plenty of sense. Then, I fall backward again to relax while Lily continues to sweep her legs over the flowing abyssal water. Minutes pass in silence as we simply spend them without speaking.

Over these past few months, it's been common for me to spend time here while sleeping. Lily hates being alone, so I haven't had a dreamless, noiseless, and peaceful sleep in a while, but this comes close.

Lily prefers silence, even while I'm here. She just wants the company. So, the hours pass in this exact way, tranquil.

******************

Again my eyes open, but this time light covers my surroundings and not darkness. Groaning, I raise my left arm instinctively before shifting to my right as I notice slight scratches and distortions in the bronze steel of my arm. It's nothing major, but it is discernable.

Yet... I'm impressed. The arm held up better than the rest of my entire body. I'm sure Earl can fix these tiny warps and damages in the steel. However, I get a bit frustrated as I see that the rope I used is ruined, the cord cut, likely during my Serum-induced struggle.

Shaking my head, I look around to see a miniature medical building that is positioned within one of the train's carriages. Then, I swing my legs out from the tiny cot pushed to the side of the train car. The moment my feet touch the floor, I get a bit woozy, but with a grip on my cot, I stay standing.

Another few steps bring me to the train car's door, and I glance at all the other injured soldiers in the car. Stopping for a second at the door, I gaze at a sleeping medic, recognizing the woman as Scott's second, Prix.

Damn. She must be exhausted. She's only a 5th Sigil, after all. And she's running this all solo without Scott or Heath and probably many other medics that died. Though it's doubtless that Earl is helping, but the man has a thousand other jobs to do as well. Earl isn't just a doctor. Hell, he isn't even a doctor. He just picks things up real fast.

Sighing, I push my way through the door, entering the in-between sections of the train cars as I see something to my left, southward.

In the distance, a dark and ominous storm cloud hovers with a disastrous omen. I watch in awe as the hurricane engulfs miles in diameter. The winds are so powerful that they are visible from where I stand, likely tens of miles away, and getting further every second. The clouds are so thick and dark that they obscure anything past them, making it impossible to see what's beyond. The sky near me darkens, simply from the effect of the distant storm with black clouds above it.

It's like a whole region is transformed into a cyclone miles wide. The noise from here is light, barely audible, as the wind howls and whistles. But even that slight noise is telling due to the distance. No one is making it through that without severe toil and preparation. A glance at the dents, scratches, and damage to the train tells me that even without my recent experience.

Damn, Marshall. In the end, I guess your wall didn't fall.

All that happened is its looks have changed.