The spark. (3)

There was a groan, a stifled cry that no one should have heard. It was akin to a low and dull droning, like rusty gears creaking as they struggled to turn. The world was torn by the creaking, by a voiceless scream.

From the spatial array and through the plaza, through the plaza and into the city, the landscape was torn. A gash tore through the tiles, a wound was carved into the noisy city.

The tip of a dull sword touched the earth at the origin of the wound, a matte blade still dripping with ashen oil. Rather than a sword, it was more akin to a crude stick, a blunt tool lacking even a pointy end. But it tore the world. Yin Long had raised his blade, and he had spread his misery.

The ashen oil that seeped out of the weapon had spread along with the wound it carved into the city. The two edges of the gash bled with the liquid, sorrow, lament, wrath, all of it given form and crystallised into tangible drops that stained the earth like a curse.

"Ahhh, Young Master, this is why I said that it wasn't an exhibit for others."

A soft whisper, tender words that crept down his spine, formless hands that tightened around his neck. He saw eyes all around. Citizens who happened to be in the area, travellers just passing through, the guards that had been doing the hunting. They gawked.

Or rather, those who didn't collapse or retch due to the sensation brought about by wound gawked. The desire to feed was innate to all living beings, even the lowliest of beasts craved food. But that cut, that swing of the blade, Esi, it brought with it a hell of starvation. Those who never went hungry, those who never had to just lie there with an empty stomach as they rotted away while still alive, how were they to ever resist such a sensation?

"They are gawking, Young Master. They stare and they stare in fear or wonder, but not one of them understands. All others can ever do is look, they can never understand. Pain isn't an exhibit for others, Young Master. It is something you must bottle up and embrace within. Only you can understand it, only you can handle it, so don't let others gawk at it."

She kept whispering oh-so softly. Her voice was right by his ears, he could feel her breath tickle him as it brushed past him, bringing with it a fragrance engraved in his memories. Yin Long felt them on him, the almost cold sensation of skin pressing against skin. The hands around his neck tightened, clutching at his throat as they sealed his breath.

And yet… And yet he couldn't take his eyes off of that distaant figure. She stood within the depths of the wound he had carved, wastewater pooling at her feet as azure lightning crackled around her. It danced like sparks, each glimmer of light momentarily bouncing around within his empty chest, shedding light on that lump of charcoal, that murky mud that was left of him.

Black hair that hung loosely, blue eyes that flickered with the very same lightning that danced around her. A tall frame covered by a set of simple brown robes, delicate features marred by mud, blood, and ash. Xiao Yin Yu, the last to fall because of him.

She stood within the gash he tore, at the very centre of the cut Esi left on the world. But it hadn't left a scratch on her, passing over her to cut down those behind her.

Ah… It was… good, to see that he was still able to cut things properly, even if he was this useless.

She was here. Down in this hell, caught in the gears of this grinder that reduced all lives to nothing but food.

He was… happy. As cruel as it was to think that, as horrible as he was to feel something like that. She had died because of him, she had breathed her last in his very arms, only moments before he did the same.

And then he fell into this hell. Lan Yun… had also fallen here with him. And now, Yin Yu had done the same. Down into the mire, to the bottom of the pit, to the worst place in the universe.

And yet… He was happy to see her. He was happy that she was here, he was happy that he could see her.

He had failed. He was weak, he was useless, he was lazy, he was carefree. And it had cost him everything. All those he surrounded himself with, they had all perished because of it. Friends, lover, family, everything had crumbled because of his own incompetence.

Looking at her, staring at him so dumbfoundedly where she stood, he felt pain. He wanted to apologise, so it hurt. He wanted to promise that he would do better, so it hurt. He remembered the past days, which now felt ancient, where they trained together, so it hurt. He felt renewed in the hope that… Lan Yun had given him, that they could find the others down here, so it hurt.

The sorrow, the desires, the joy, the duty, the memories. It all hurt. They all hurt. It was all just pain, life was pain, and he was pain.

"But I told you, didn't I, Young Master? That which is lost simply needs to be found again. You doubted, but the proof is right there, isn't it? So you just need to keep looking, Young Master. Keep looking, keep praying for those you find along the way, keep doing better."

The voice cut through the pain, the gentle whisper tied to the hands curling around his throat. The stolen breath hurt as it gathered in his chest. But the voice urged him on, pushed him forward. And he… He felt that he wanted to move forward, to confirm this reality.

His feet moved. The tip of the blade dragged along the ground as he walked, his feet trudging as if he was wading through a mire. He felt as if he was dragging around chains, shackles coiling around him as they tied him down. Still, he walked.

The world was silent, or perhaps he just couldn't hear anything at the moment. But it felt as if there was no sound coming from the surroundings, just a dull groaning that reminded him of rusty gears, tools that had long lost their usefulness yet kept on trying to work.

He could feel the wastewater that splashed around his feet with every step, the ashen oil he had poured onto the world. It was his. Like the pain that she spoke of, like the exhibit she told him to keep hidden. It was his, the tears he unwillingly shed for the souls he curs… prayed for down here.

But he had shared it with the world. Esi had drank deeply and poured it out without him even trying. He'd understood it a while ago now, or at least it felt like a while. What his teacher had been trying to tell him, about what it meant to be a Woehowl Swordsman, what it meant to be a nail that scratched the world with its curses.

But he never used it. It was enough, she kept telling him. It wasn't an art exhibit, she kept telling him. It wasn't something to show others, she kept telling him. And he listened. After all, she was his Lan Yun, was she not?

But in that moment, as he gazed upon the attack that fell towards the realisation of his painful little hope, he could not keep listening. It was instinctual, really. His arm moved, his blade cut. Just as he always used to do.

His feet stopped after some time, a shadow covering him. He had to look up to see her face. She was always a bit taller than him, but right not it felt like he had to raise his head more than usual to look at her.

Blue eyes that still flickered with lightning, replacing the usual gleam that filled them. She was looking at him, and in his eyes he saw his own reflection. Even there he was shattered a thousand times over, even there he was broken practically beyond recognition. But he was there nonetheless.

His arm moved once more, acting on instinct and desire above anything else. He felt the shackles twist as he moved. He couldn't see them, but he could feel them. Formless hands clutching at the hem of his clothing, hands curling around his throat.

His fingers met skin and heat spread out from the point of contact, slowly seeping into his bones. Soft skin, sticky blood, dry dirt, rough scar tissue.

There wasn't a single sensation that could be used to describe what his fingers felt as they brushed against her face. Soft, cold, rough, warm, smooth, sticky. It changed every time he moved his hand. It was inconsistent, uncomfortable at times. It was real.

"Ah…"

A soft voice reached him, one different from the one Lan Yun always used on him. A hand overlapped with his, forcing his palm to cusp Xiao Yin Yu's cheek. She was… warm. Yes, if he had to use a word to describe her then it would be warm.

The Netherworld was cold. Everywhere he went, he just felt cold, as if an icy wind was constantly blowing directly through him. It brushed against his scars, it howled within that gaping void that was his chest.

"Ah, you poor man…"

Xiao Yin Yu whispered softly, Yin Long's spine tingling as her voice reached him. Her breath hit his face, her scent entered his nose. It wasn't the scent he was used to, it wasn't the one he found when he searched his memory. But it was her. She was here. She was speaking to him.

"I beg of you… stop crying."

She held his hand close to her cheek, savouring the sensation of his touch. There were not tears on his face, no moisture gathering in his eyes. But she could tell. He was crying. That strong and proud man, that blade sharper than all others, he was crying. He was screaming, he was tearing his throat hoarse. But he stifled it all, he bottled it up and drowned it down until not even he could see it.

But she looked at him. She wanted to say that she had looked at him more than anyone else, but as long as Lan Yun existed she would not be able to stake that claim. Still, she had looked at him more than most so she understood him. She could read him. And he was crying, he was pushing on while suffering. Parts of him looked as if he just wanted to lay down and just let it all end, but he kept moving on.

Ah, curse this hellhole for breaking him like that. Curse this hellhole for tormenting him like that. Curse the world that allowed him to fall like this. But thank the gods that this hell was the way it was, at least he had a small sliver of light thanks to that. Even if that light was just the lure of an angler fish.

"… You're real…"

His voice reached her ears. Calling it hoarse wouldn't be right, it was twisted. It was as if his vocal cords had been pulled and stretched until only a single strand remained. It felt as if he spoke from the bottom of a swamp, his voice only brought to the surface by the rare errant bubble that hissed with noxious gasses.

Ah… she really wanted to tear into the Lan Yun that stood behind him, wearing a gentle smile that didn't belong to it. Her eyes couldn't help but move away from Yin Long for a moment to rest on that gentle smile, but the hand on her face twitched for a moment before that torn voice spilt out again.

"…She was the first I found. Or rather, the first to find me. You're the second so there's only a few left."

Her attention was pulled downwards again, landing on the miserable smile Yin Long was showing her. It was crude. It was terrible. It was heart-breaking. It was everything but a smile, at least to her. But he put it on for her. He had to.

Ah… He knew. He probably knew all along. But he had to drown it with the rest of the pain, bury it down with all the other sorrow so that he could believe.

"Ah, really? This is the one?"

A voice, calm and confident yet perplexed and even a bit mocking, spoke up from her side as she gazed at Yin Long. A pair of brilliantly black eyes, glittering as if they contained the night sky. Silver hair that shone like the moon, tied together into a neat ponytail.

'Yin Long' just as she remembered him, as sharp as a blade, as calm as the windless ocean. She too, had her own angler fish dangling its lantern.

Perhaps it was only to be expected, but the voice drew the gaze of Yin Long, dark eyes swirling with a twisted assortment of misery meeting that brilliant black. And thus, the broken moon met the lure, the fractured gazed upon the perceived whole.