(TLO) Chapter 73: Status Effect (Patreon)

Even his minds agreed it was a ludicrous idea. There was a reason the seminary taught different forms of combat in different situations but never how to fight against an armed opponent when unarmed: it was stupid. Even Domitia for all his adeptness had said it.

“If you find yourself without a weapon and your opponent has one, run. There is no better way to say or put it. Just run.”

“Does this apply to a souled?” Borriovani had asked.

“No, it does not.”

Seth was no souled, and he had no weapon. But Domitia hadn’t said it was impossible to win such a fight, merely that it was implausible.

We’re really not going to like this, one of his minds thought. Any way we can talk you out of it?

Seth shook his head. “Nope.”

Then he attacked Salem.

His brother’s sword was a longsword of standard size. It meant it was about three feet long. It kept Salem’s reach superior to his. But if he could get within his brother’s space, then he could eliminate a part of the weapon’s threat.

Every weapon has a flaw.

His attack seemed to take Salem by surprise. The boy’s eyes widened in momentary shock before narrowing in certainty. He took a simple step forward with his front foot and cut downward.

Seth side-stepped the strike and was on his brother’s side almost immediately. Salem moved quickly in response. He turned the sword and cut sideways. Seth stepped away, let the blade cut air and darted back into space only to be forced back by another quick slash.

Strategies flooded his mind as he rushed back in, evading and being pushed back by the threat of the sword. Entering a space properly enough to render the reach of the weapon a disadvantage was significantly more difficult than it had seemed. Not that he had expected it to be easy. But what irked him most was the expression on Salem’s face. Its calmness was insulting. The boy wasn’t even struggling.

He stepped back with basic footing and stepped forward just as easily. Each sword strike was also basic. There was no finesse or flair. No unnecessary display. No fascination or wasted movement. For this fight Salem had gone straight down to the basics of the sword. He fought with the first ever training Igor had taught them. In this moment, he was that scared, little child holding a sword and striking at colors on a defenseless dummy.

And Seth was his dummy.

Seth weaved away from a slice. He ducked his head to the side and the blade came down. It missed his head and his shoulders but took some strands of his hair so that they blew away with the breeze. He attacked with a strike to the wrist and Salem moved his hands away in time, stepped in, and stabbed forward. It nicked Seth in the side and he pivoted away from his brother.

The wound was superficial but represented how unlikely victory would be.

This time, Salem came at him. Seth frowned as he dodged another slash and ducked another. He gritted his teeth as he weaved his way into his brother’s space only to be forced out by an annoying slash. Worse was the fact that he had two swords hanging from his waist his brother would not allow him use. Salem was adopting simple moves right now, but whenever he thought of going for his swords, the techniques would advance.

“Give it up brother,” Salem told him, smug. “Justice will be served. I just have to survive till the end.”

That was true. But as much as Seth did this to protect Timi, there was a small part of him that now did this just to wipe the smug look now creeping into his brother’s face. The boy’s smirk goaded him, taunted him.

He hated it.

He resolved himself to take a few cuts and rushed in again. He avoided a few strikes, got within reach and took a small cut to the side of the arm from a barely avoided thrust. It hurt, but not enough to deter him. He threw three strikes with open palms. Salem evaded two, turned the last away with a rolled shoulder and brought his sword up for another strike.

Seth turned into his turned blow and spun into an elbow strike. Salem was forced to abandon his new attack to defend against it and Seth realized he’d closed the distance considerably.

His brother defended with a raised arm and the force of the attack moved him to the side. Unwilling to be on the receiving end of the sword again, Seth scrambled after his brother. He closed the distance again before Salem could regain his composure and attacked. Salem spun his sword into a reverse grip and a flurry of blows ensued.

Seth struck with every knowledge of close combat blows he knew. This was a chance he was not going to squander.

After a few blocks and misses, he struck a glancing blow against his brother’s cheek, insufficient to take him down. He missed a few more before striking another against his brother’s chest. None of them deterred Salem. Sword still held in a reverse grip, Salem defended to the best of his ability.

The exchange lasted briefly. They weaved from side to side. Their legs disturbed the snow with every step they took. The cold air battered against them and they ignored it to the focus of the moment. One wrong move would put Seth back at the mercy of the blade. One wrong move could leave Salem open for a lethal strike. Focus was the game and they played to the best of their training.

Seth slipped up at a point. A blow came up too short, another went a little too wide. Salem took the advantage. His sword hand blurred in a quick move. Steel met skin, drew blood, and Seth was forced back.

He stepped away from Salem holding the inside of his forearm in a vice grip. He sucked in a sharp breath between teeth clenched in pain.

“You cut me!” he hissed, his anger palpable.

Salem stared at him like he was a fool. “What did you think was going to happen?”

Blood pooled from between Seth’s fingers and dropped to the snow in small rivulets. Seth’s eyes widened as he stared at it. So did Salem’s.

Each hole each drop made raised a whisper of steam. But that wasn’t what held their attention. Seth returned his attention to his arm. The hand that held it was soaked in blood now. It was too much blood. He took his hand away from the cut and stared at it. It wasn’t even deep. Not deep enough to justify all that blood. And yet his blood continued to flow.

He turned a baleful glare on his brother, unwrapping the piece of cassock from his hand hurriedly. “You fucking cut me!”

THAT MOTHERFUCKER! A mind roared. HOW DARE HE?! KILL HIM! GUT HIM LIKE A TROUT!

Salem returned his sword to a normal grip, still staring. “You’re not supposed to bleed that much.” His voice came out uncertain, as if he was trying to convince himself.

“Fuck you!”

Seth hurried with the piece of cassock and began wrapping it around the cut. It was difficult to do with a single hand.

We don’t think that’s healthy, another mind thought.

His response was curt and loud, angry. “SHUT UP!”

Something flickered at the edge of his vision and he gave it the mildest attention.

[You Have Received Cutting Damage].

[You Are Wounded].

[You Have Been afflicted with Status Effect: Bleed.]

“You don’t fucking say!”

We suggest you stop the bleeding, a mind offered, cautious. A status effect doesn’t sound good. Especially this one.

Seth continued to press the injury with the cassock. He felt the cold on the injury the way he couldn’t feel it on his skin and realized the piece of cloth had flakes of ice on it. Those melted quickly at the touch of his injury. His blood warmed the cloth and he feared for his health once more.

The injury didn’t even hurt that much. It hurt just as much as every other cut he’d received in the fight. The real worry was in the blood. There was so much of it.

The notifications continued to float in his periphery and he dismissed them with a thought. Ahead of him Salem continued to look panicked, worried. Seth noted his vengeance was still in his eyes but it was no more than a haze now, a distant thought. Still there, but not presently important. His worry seemed to have most of his attention.

We’re still bleeding, Seth, a mind reminded him.

“Will everyone just shut the fu—”

Seth darted after his brother. He bent low as Salem’s sword came up in startled surprise. His brother swung and missed, and then he was on him.

He weaved past Salem with a deadly efficacy, slid a hand under one of the boy’s arm as he maneuvered his way behind him, slid another around his neck, locked them, and fell back.

He gained leverage with his weight and they both fell back onto the snow. He scrambled with his legs, finding control as Salem struggled in his hold. The scuffle did not last. His legs found purchase and he locked them around his brother. They trapped his sword arm by his side; made it useless.

Then he squeezed.

His blood stained them both as it continued to flow. Salem thrashed in his hold, but with no arms free to help it was futile. Slowly his struggle subsided.

We’re losing him, a mind thought.

Panic flooded the next. Ease up, you’re going to kill him.

BURY THE BASTARD! A third roared.

Salem’s body stiffened.

“He’s still fighting,” Seth forced out, then squeezed harder. His blood spilled faster, and his heart beat like a drum.

He didn’t know how long they laid there, in the snow, in the cold, struggling. He knew his blood continued to flow and his hold continued to tighten. He knew Salem’s weight was digging him deeper into the snow. He knew the boy’s weight was growing heavier and his body was beginning to relax.

They could’ve been there for as short as two seconds or as long as ten minutes. The latter was likely impossible, but the perception of time flies when a person finds themselves in certain situations.

For Seth, this was one.

His hold did not break until he heard a sound. It was a crack like the popping of knuckles or fingers. It filled the air, three staccato sounds so close they seemed to sound as one. Then Salem’s body fell limp.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! A mind panicked as he pushed his brother off him and to the side.

The body rolled off him and he lay there in the snow, breathing heavily and staining it crimson. His bleeding had still not let up. In his vision a notification popped up in black color. Oddly, one word was blood red.

[You Have Been afflicted with Status Effect: Bleed.]

Seth’s minds continued to panic, ignoring the notification.

More followed.

[You Are Poisoned.]

[Blood Trait Hemophilia is in Effect]

[You Are Under Multiple Instances of Blood Trait: Hemophilia.]

[You Have Been afflicted with Status Effect: Bleed.]

[You Are Under Multiple Instances of Hemophilia and Status Effect Bleed.]

[Status Effect Hemophilia and Bleed is Now Blood Loss.]

[You Have Been afflicted with Status Effect: Blood Loss.]

Seth pushed them away with a shrug of will. He remained in the snow, arms stretched out on both sides. Beside him Salem was motionless, buried face down in the snow.

You killed him, a mind accused.

Seth said nothing.

After a while he picked himself up from the snow. He dusted his tattered cassock, shook the snow off it and looked around. Finding Timi nowhere in sight, he walked up to the piece of bloodied cassock discarded in his surprise attack, dripping blood all the way, and wrapped it tight around the cut in his forearm. He used his thigh for support as tying a cloth around an injury with one hand is more complicated than it sounds. He fastened the cloth with the help of his teeth and stared expressionless at his brother’s body.

His minds whispered quietly in his head like kids unable to keep quiet but scared they would be whipped if their words were heard. He ignored them as he moved on to his next task.

First, he picked his lost sword and slid it in its sheath rested against his hip. Then he went to his brother. He took Salem by both legs and pulled. The boy did not budge. Twice more informed him he did not have the strength to do much to the body.

So he gathered up a lump of snow and dropped it on the back of Salem’s head. It shattered as disturbed snow should. He thought for a moment, then looked around him. There was snow as far as the eyes could see.

He went to work again and it was different.

In moments no longer than five minutes but no less than three, he stood staring at a flat-bed of snow where Salem had once lay. The work had been done in silence. His expression had been placid, empty. He did the task like a laborer bored of his work but with no alternate source of income. It was quick. It was mechanical. It was not efficient but it was effective.

Anybody would pass and would not see the body—not even know one was there.

Quietly, with the sobriety of the dying and the silence of the dead he walked up to the cloak he’d abandoned when he’d gotten here. He picked it in one hand, found it weighed more than he remembered and dropped it.

A notification popped up in front of him again.

[You Have Been afflicted with Status Effect: Bleed.]

[You Are Poisoned.]

[Blood trait Hemophilia is in Effect]

[You Are Under Multiple Instances of Blood Trait: Hemophilia.]

[You Have Been afflicted with Status Effect: Bleed.]

[You Are Under Multiple Instances of Hemophilia and Status Effect Bleed.]

[Status Effect Hemophilia and Bleed is Now Blood Loss.]

[You Have Been afflicted with Status Effect: Blood Loss.]

[Status Effect Blood Loss Stacks.]

He rid himself of it with another shrug of will. He stared at the injury wrapped up and saw the cloth was soaked through.

He sighed and turned away.

His heart was heavy and his mind blank as he walked through the forest. He trudged up snow with each step and often left a trail of blood drops that drilled into the snow and left lines of steam in their wake. He passed trees half-recognized and ignored creatures that ignored him.

His mind was vaguely present but he at least knew where he was going. Well, a part of him did. And that part guided him like the reaper guides the dead.

It was long before he reached his destination.

The massive tree with a resting place carved into it stood like an unmoving mountain in a time of turbulent weather. It stared down at him and judged him for the secret of his sin.

He stared back with an empty defiance. It was hollow and broken. It was void.

Rather than crawl into its comfort, take shelter in its crevice, he placed his back against another tree and slid to the floor.

[You Have Been afflicted with Status Effect: Bleed.]

[You Are Poisoned.]

[Blood trait Hemophilia is in Effect]

[You Are Under Multiple Instances of Blood Trait: Hemophilia.]

[You Have Been afflicted with Status Effect: Bleed.]

[You Are Under Multiple Instances of Hemophilia and Status Effect Bleed.]

[Status Effect Hemophilia and Bleed is Now Blood Loss.]

[You Have Been afflicted with Status Effect: Blood Loss.]

[Status Effect Blood Loss Stacks.]

We’ll die at this rate, a mind told him quietly.

“We won’t be the first,” he answered. His voice was as hollow as his defiance of the tree had been. Empty.

We need to treat the wound.

“It’ll stop on its own.”

It’s been more than ten minutes.

We aren’t even supposed to still have any more blood to bleed.

Seth laughed derisorily. “Then I guess it’s a good thing we’re still alive.”

His minds were about to say something else when they were interrupted by a sound. Seth opened his eyes, wondering when he’d closed them and saw Timi standing at the entrance of the tree. Beside him, lying useless in the snow was a poorly fashioned bow and a few crooked arrows. He wondered if the boy had dropped them for a moment.

Timi was quiet and remorseful. He was also worried.

“Your arm,” he began.

Seth cut him off with a word said softly. “Timi.”

“Yes.”

“Please don't talk, right now.”

They stayed in silence after that. Timi stood quietly while he sat, his head tilted back, rested against the tree with closed eyes.

After a while, he tried to think and failed. His mind was a haze of nothing. Thoughts were distant, teetering on the edge of comprehension. It was as if his mind merely refused to comprehend. As if to think was anathema.

So he sat there, ignoring a friend he had always been happy to call brother. Then Timi spoke again. His voice was quiet and sad.

“I’m sorry,” he said, head bowed.

Seth sighed slowly. “Timi.”

“Yes.”

“What did I just say?” he asked.

“Please don't talk?”

“Good.”

Seth looked at his wrapped arm and found it no longer dripped with his blood. The bandage was still wet, however.

He smiled self-deprecatingly. “Told you it’ll be fine.”

His minds said nothing and he was glad for the silence.