2.7.4

Content warnings: descriptions of being stabbed, self-possession (detail below; skip if you prefer surprises)

• A character gets stabbed.

• A character is briefly possessed. It is implied that she is possessed by an alternate version of herself. This is not mean to be an accurate depiction of DID (see disclaimer here).

~.~

Humans were not meant to survive being stabbed in the heart.

The pain was unlike any Ilia had ever felt before—a sharp, agonizing, overwhelming sensation that started in her chest and radiated throughout her whole body, her whole being. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. It would’ve been better if she’d died outright so she wouldn’t have had to experience such agony.

Remove the blade, a voice instructed. Before the pain makes you pass out.

Ilia’s hands moved before she knew what was happening, and the sword came out of her chest with a sickening squelch. Blood gushed from the wound, soaking Ilia’s shirt, soaking into her lungs. The taste of copper filled her mouth. Ilia fell to her knees, gasping in pain, clutching her chest to try and stop the bleeding—which was unnecessary, because her skin started to stitch together even as she writhed in agony. Black and royal blue flames flickered erratically around her form.

The pain was still too much.

Ilia’s vision went dark. She was vaguely aware of the ongoing sounds of battle around her—the screech of goblins, the clang of metal on metal, the crackle of flames. She knew she needed to stand and find cover. But her legs felt like jelly, and her body was fully drained of energy from the healing process, and her brain could barely piece together rational thoughts.

As the ring in Ilia’s ears crescendoed and her control slipped away, she could still hear the voice loud and clear in her head.

Fine, then, her soul splinter hissed. I’ll do this myself.

~.~

Something about the atmosphere changed. It wasn’t a drop in air pressure, or a fall in temperature. Morgan would have noticed those things—they could control weather, after all. No, this was something much less tangible, something Morgan couldn’t really put their finger on.

Morgan didn’t have time to dwell on it for too long. A goblin brought its sword down inches from Morgan’s face, and they were forced to jump back, then to the side as another goblin tried to swipe her with poisonous claws. Seconds later, both goblins went up in flames. Morgan gratefully nodded at Minerva, but the immortal wasn’t even looking this way; her attention was on the six goblins before her.

Morgan grimaced. She was almost out of ammo, and she didn’t want to waste it on these small fry on the off chance that something terrifying was waiting for them at the rendezvous point. She could use her powers, but…

For a second, Morgan was back in the arena, crying and shaking as the scent of ozone and burnt feathers filled the air.

Morgan shuddered. No, she wouldn’t use her powers unless she absolutely had to. No matter what Jinal said, the truth of the matter was that Morgan couldn’t guarantee that they wouldn’t hit an ally. They didn’t belong on a battlefield—not yet.

Begrudgingly, Morgan withdrew into the cover of some particularly tall grass to watch the battle unfold. As it was, the two immortals seemed to have the situation under control. They fought in perfect sync. Mateen would stop attacks with xis bare hands, then toss the enemies Minerva’s way so she could burn them to a crisp. Occasionally, Mateen would use xis powers to toss Minerva into the air, spinning her so that her flames spiraled into a fiery tornado. If the goblins hadn’t had such overwhelming numbers, the fight would have long since been over.

Morgan glanced over at Ilia to see how the young immortal was doing. Her heart stopped.

Oh god, oh god, there’s so much blood—

Morgan started running over to help, but then royal blue and black flames spiraled outwards from Ilia’s dying form, and the force of the attack was enough to throw Morgan halfway across the meadow. Whether by luck or skill, Morgan landed on their feet, skidding to a stop in the dirt. They turned to Ilia once again, ready to help—and then froze in horror.

It was like watching an explosion in slow motion. Waves of royal blue light pulsed outward from Ilia’s form as she began to levitate, her kinked black hair blowing in the wind. When she opened her eyes, they were masked over by royal blue light.

The immortals finally seemed to catch onto the fact that something was wrong.

“Minerva, hold off the goblins! I’m going to go shield Morgan!” Mateen yelled. Minerva did a fake salute, and the flames around her grew even more intense—Morgan could feel the heat from several feet away. Goblins started to disintegrate before they even got close to the immortal. Meanwhile, Mateen started sprinting towards Morgan, hands glowing red. A translucent red barrier sprang to life at xis fingertips.

“Morgan, you need to get behind my shield! It’s dangerous!” Mateen warned. Morgan wanted to run to meet Mateen—they really did—but their legs were frozen in place. They couldn’t look away from the glowing royal blue beacon that Ilia had become. Her entire form was wreathed in blue, and energy was gathering at her core in preparation for an explosive attack. It was strangely beautiful, in the way that the deadliest parts of nature often were.

“Morgan, you need to get away,” Mateen growled. “Ilia doesn’t have control right now!”

Too late, Morgan started to run towards the biokinetic immortal. A horde of goblins tackled Mateen, clinging to xis legs and arms, and in a burst of red light, xe shook them off as if it were nothing. Still, as Morgan watched, they realized he wasn’t going to reach her in time, which meant—

Morgan braced herself for impact.

~.~

Fog.

Ilia’s mind was swimming in dark, soupy fog. They couldn’t feel, couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. Their senses were lost to them, but it wasn’t an unwelcome feeling. It was calm here.

Safe.

Ilia was vaguely aware of yelling in the distance, but everything was muted by the fog. She couldn’t really make out the words, and she didn’t want to. She was too exhausted to care—especially if caring meant the return of that horrid, awful pain.

Just as Ilia started to drift off to sleep, a few words pierced her awareness.

“Minerva—hold—off! Shield—”

Ilia frowned. Shield…? Did that mean someone was getting attacked?

“Morgan—it’s dangerous—”

Ilia’s heart stopped. Morgan was in danger? Ilia didn’t know Morgan very well—not personally, at least—but she’d been dreaming of Morgan’s life for the past ten years. She had seen the torture, the neglect, the abuse. She had seen the way these events had twisted Morgan into a shell of her former self—a fearful, timid, hesitant version of the fiery warrior inside. Of all people, Morgan did not deserve to be in danger.

Some of the fog cleared away.

“Away—Ilia—control—”

Oh. The voices weren’t speaking to Ilia. They were speaking about her. Ilia suddenly felt cold. Morgan wasn’t just in danger—she was in danger because of Ilia.

As the pieces fell together in Ilia’s mind, she forced herself to fight back against the fog—to swim through the thick, syrupy haze that clouded her mind. She needed to wake up. As she struggled to regain awareness, more voices floated in from the periphery.

“Morgan!”

An image flashed through Ilia’s mind—an image of royal blue flames rushing towards Morgan, singing the edges of her long, red braid, wrapping around her lithe form like a python closing around its prey. For a second, Ilia could see the flames consuming Morgan’s soul.

It took everything Ilia had, but she willed the flames to stop.

I’m doing this for you! the soul splinter screeched. Without energy, you’ll die!

I know, Ilia said firmly. But not like this.

It was like trying to push back against an accelerating truck. Ilia could feel the strain on her soul as she reeled her power back, focusing every last bit of energy on resetting the balance within. It would have been easier to give up, but every time the thought crossed her mind, she remembered the image of Morgan being turned to dust. That nightmarish vision gave her the strength to keep going.

Only when the flames had been fully reigned in did Ilia let herself drift to sleep.

~.~

“What the hell…?” Morgan breathed. They gaped at the absolute devastation around them. For as far around as Morgan could see, what had once been a lively meadow was now a rocky wasteland. The flowers had been turned to dust, and the air reeked of burnt grass. The goblins were gone, too–not even bones were left in the wake of the attack.

And somehow Morgan hadn’t been hit at all.

“Morgan!” Minerva ran over, hands still aflame. “Are you okay?”

“I’m—I’m fine,” Morgan stammered. “But… what was that?”

“It’s a defense mechanism.” Mateen let the shield at xis hands flicker out as he walked over. “As immortals, we can’t die—but when we’re regenerating, we’re still in danger. So, when we take a deadly hit, our souls eradicate everything around us to keep us safe.”

“That’s efficient,” Morgan muttered.

“No kidding, chica,” Minerva sighed. “It majorly sucks.”

Morgan glanced at Ilia’s unconscious form. The ground around her was still steaming, and royal blue flames still flickered at her fingertips. Blood stained her shirt red, and her breaths were almost too shallow to see. If Morgan hadn’t known better, she would’ve pronounced Ilia dead on the spot.

“We should make camp for the night,” Mateen decided. “The sun’s setting, anyway.” Morgan shaded her eyes with her hand as she looked out over the meadow. Mateen was right—at some point during the fight, the sun had started its descent, and the sky was now a mix of pinks and purples.

Morgan swallowed. Now that the adrenaline had left their system, they were exhausted. Hunger still gnawed at their insides, making it hard to focus. Morgan suddenly felt too tired to even stand. Minerva must have noticed, because she placed a gentle hand on Morgan’s back and guided them into a sitting position next to Ilia.

“Rest here, okay?” Minerva said softly. “Mateen and I will take first watch.”

“And you’ll wake us this time?” Morgan pressed. Mateen and Minerva exchanged glances.

“If that is what you would like,” Minerva murmured. “Then yes, we will.”

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