Hunted and Haunted (1)

At that moment, the world had gone bright white.

All of his surroundings felt distant, muffled, muted, as if his body were being stuffed away from reality.

His left side began to hurt, and so did his collarbone, tight and numb his skin felt. A drumming sound echoed overhead like someone banging inside a bucket. Thunder was it?

Hope blinked.

Twice more.

The glare soon faded, and Hope finally saw rain falling from the sky and the wisps of clouds and smoke curling like fingers. The drumming sounded again, but his memory's voices were clear in his ears, ringing like a shocked crowd from afar. It seemed that they were more real to his soul than to his flesh. 

Hope blinked again at the sky's mourned light. 

But then, as if someone had switched off the light, his vision went black.

A twitch spasmed in his fingers and knees, at least he knew his hands and feet were still intact. He was still awake. He knew it, although it felt like he was sensing it from afar. 

He could also faintly feel the cool metal of the Pearls of the Moon dangling on his ear, humming its magic hum against the side of his head in which strangely reminded him of his younger self resting his ear against his home's fridge. He would hum along with it also back then. He tried to hum now, or groan, but no sound produced behind his lips.

Up. Up. He had to get up.

Hope blinked once more and the world fogged into view.

His vision swam, and now his pulse drummed clear in his ears. Without a second thought, Hope crawled on all fours. He made only three steps before his knee buckled, his hands scrambling to catch himself on the wet glass.

He noticed he was thrown close to the other side of the fallen building. Ahead of him were the haunting buildings staring back—the vines being the only link tying the space between them like thick webs.

…hskreeei…

Another sound erupted from afar, a sound curdling from a throat, and immediately he recognized it coming from the Fallen Creature, from whatever bottom it fell into.

His plan worked afterall.

The bomb had done its job well. Too well.

His shield had slightly lessened the blast. Slightly…

Huh. But how long before his Flaw takes effect? Would the monster still chase by then–

'Wait…'

Hope paused as he reached his hand out to summon his shield.

!!!

But Hope winced. 

Pain cursed in his limbs as he tilted closer towards the edge. He couldn't glance down at his wounds just yet. Not yet.

Or else the pain would swallow him whole.

Hope knew it would take sometime for the Pearls of the Moon to heal his wounds completely. This was more severe than a demon's bite since it wounded him nearly all over. 

'And I'm using up more of its power already…' Hope thought as he gritted his teeth. 'So much for saving some of it.'

But besides that…

Hope needed to find out the other thing.

Bzzzch…

With a simple thought, Hope summoned the runes of his Memories. Instantly he found the [Ashen Shield] still named next to the [Pearls of the Moon]. Hope blinked and squinted at it. He wasn't sure if its light dimmed or not.

'But not destroyed…' 

With that confirmation, Hope dismissed the runes as he hung his head low. It took too much energy to even look up. 

'Then where the hell is it?'

Was it because it was too far? Was there such a limit to how far one could be separate from their Memories? Hope never heard of that rule before. 

Hope shook his head from the questions.

Even his own thoughts felt distant.

But now was the time to completely escape from the monster, if considering this fallen building was part of its territory. Hope's eyes lazily trailed off the edge, watching the breath of mist veil below, and the increased number of vines.

Down. Down. Down below.

Hope felt numb to some degree, so he would rather get this reluctant process done and over with before his senses fully returned—

!!!

Hope squeezed his eyes shut.

'Ah…and there it comes…'

Hope's hands shakily clenched into fists as a new wave of pain came. It was like his whole being was submerged under boiling water and yet he could breathe in it.

And it hurt like hell to breathe.

'Don't look. Don't look…'

Down. Down. 

Down below it called to him.

Hope had a feeling that he wouldn't die from it. It would be a pathetic way to die. Although that didn't lessen the discomfort in the slightest. 

…hskreeeih…

Hope reached his arm out.

Down.

Down.

Down below.

Then leaned his chest over. 

"..."

And suddenly, Hope couldn't feel the glass supporting him anymore. He was falling, falling, falling to somewhere as the world spun. Maybe this would've been an opportune moment for him to pray to ensure his survival. But what use was that now? He had only to wait.

Wait for something to catch him.

***

Snap!

Hope broke through several vines.

One after the other they snapped from his plummet. 

Vines—thick, twisting tendrils—hidden between the misty depths below—

Snap!

Then, just as suddenly, Hope was caught. 

Suspended.

The vines coiled around him, firm, slowing his fall as he tumbled into their embrace. They tightened around his arms and legs, pulling him down to their tangled web, snaking over each torn wound, over each shrapnel embedded deep within his skin—

!!!

'Fuck fuck fuck fuck–'

Hope choked on a pained groan.

Each damn touch was agony as he'd expected. 

When Hope opened his eyes, his gaze upward, the vines were a natural barrier above like a living wall of the city. Hope's breathing came in ragged breaths as he reassessed the injuries in his mind. For a moment he thought one of his bones had snapped instead. That would've been an inconvenience.

Patter. Patter. Patter.

The rain continued to pour. 

The wind not as wild anymore, not down here. 

And as more of his senses returned, there was an overpowering stench of char and burning flesh. The charred odor undoubtedly coming from him, from his torso and collarbone, clothes. 

"Urk!" Hope grunted as he tried to pull his wrist free.

No need to stop now.

If he could move then he should move. He faintly felt his flesh now slowly stitching itself together, the feeling like an itchy tingle on his skin. 

He didn't know what he looked like, but he thought of those burned, disfigured bodies he'd seen treated in aid stations. One couldn't tell the men from the women because their hair was gone and black flesh trickled with red blood like a cracked river.

Of course, Hope was far from that result. 

Maybe at the end of his First Nightmare it was closer to that—

'No. Nope. Think of something else. Something. Else.'

"Tsk!" Hope clicked his tongue in annoyance as he stopped struggling.

There was another site Hope remembered he'd been to where a building was knocked down by a fire. Where people died from either the flames or the smoke. Or the fallen debris.

And the results were similar. 

"1…2…3…" Hope began counting through his teeth as he waited for the wounds to heal just enough for him to act again.

"33…34…35…"

At the same time, his memory's voices whispered from the memory.

Right.

It was the last home he lived in that was knocked down before any arrival of help.