06: DEAL BREAKER II

Working was made considerably more difficult by the frigid night. It wasn't the throbbing headaches or the enigmatic ebony night sky that bothered him. His flesh was being eaten away by the cold. He struggled to get his feet off the ground. It seemed like you were walking about with enormous weights shackled to your ankles. Nelanian did not return the stare; in fact, he did not bother. From the minute he smelled the blazing smoke, he knew and understood that the folks were gone. His chivalrous spirit was convincing him to return and save Sam. But he knew better; his physique wasn't in good enough shape to battle the arsonists. The night sky was dark and ominous, with no stars or a brilliant moon to shine light on the party or the path they were going on. He took one step after another, relying solely on his faith. He could call it whatever he wanted: faith, luck, intuition, or whatever other phrase came to mind. He was exhausted, hungry, and in excruciating agony. not only from the headaches, but also from the open wounds he received when passing through the burning houses He knew the assailants weren't finished with him; they were on his tail. He wasn't hiding his tracks very well, and his half-blind eyes couldn't even see where he was going in the first place. In any case, he knew he needed to escape to safety as soon as possible, which meant getting as far away from the burning Village as possible.

He dipped his fingers into the dripping earth. He then took them out, sniffed them, and covered his nails with them. "They were just manufactured a few days ago, and he's not far away." now he's on his way east,” the man added, wiping the muck from his shirt.

"Well, this is a sluggish target." “Makes things way too easy for me,” remarked the towering man leading the pack.

"Are you certain this is the person we've been looking for?"

I don't believe the unavoidable evil would be so slow? “Either he's too fat to escape, or he's disabled in some way that prevents him from moving quickly, or he just wants to be caught,” one of the henchman speculated. "We can rule out the prospect of his being overweight because the Footprints aren't that big," the man who dipped his finger in the mud stated. "Do you believe he's setting us up for a fall?"

“It's quite unlikely.

Nobody had any idea we were coming, so there was no time to prepare. This individual is simply a desperate man attempting to flee as quickly as possible. “People on the run make unpredictably bad decisions,” the tall man explained. The tall man stood in front of them all, muck on his boots, ashes on his jacket, and blood on his hands. He dangled a half-smoked cigar from his lips. His right brow had been shaved partially, and the hair around his ears had become grey. Despite the fact that he was the only one wearing perfume, the henchman stank of sweat and smoke. It wasn't a high-end perfume; rather, it was a copycat of a popular item. As he rose upright, his fingertips almost touched his knees, indicating his enormous wingspan. He was dressed in an appropriately weathered leather jacket, one that matched his personality. "We're not leaving until you get what you're looking for," the tall man explained.

With a deafening stare, he addresses his henchman. None of them bothered to turn around. He isn't able to enjoy his intimidation. They were soon back on the road, tracking whatever it was they were tracking, after a few moments of nervous consideration. They had only been on the adventure for a few minutes when one of them decided to turn back. "Hey, buddy, where do you think you're going?" He yelled at him, "The boss says we're going this way." "I'm not going in there; it's in the far east." “We all know what lies east,” he explained. "Are you disregarding the boss's direct orders?" One of the henchman approaches him with an axe, attempting to scare him. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, It's evident that he doesn't want to follow us, therefore there's no point in pushing a coward to do so; he'll only lead us to death. “You may proceed now, sir; you are unrestricted,” the tall man said. The individual who wished to flee was apprehensive. He then lowered his head and began running backwards. The other henchman did not object, and they proceeded to trail the tall man for a few minutes until he came to a halt. “If that man gets too far away from us that I can't hear his cry when you chop off his limbs, I expect to not return back,” he remarked as he drew one final long drag off his cigar and tapped off on one of the henchman's shoulder who was close to him. The henchman nodded cheerfully as he drew his own axe and dashed towards the spot where the previous had left him. “Is there anyone else who would like to not continue with this expedition?” the tall man asked the other henchman. He inquired, knowing what the response would be from them. He was glad that none of them responded. "Fine, then we'll all head east." The Trerth haven't been spotted in ten years, so we won't be the first to run into them,” the phrase within said as it moved ahead and followed the other henchman who was following Nelanian.

Nelanian got to the point where he wouldn't speak anything in front of him, only absolute darkness. He'd never had enough for the watches to summon him, yet there was no other way for him to go away without his body. His mind was degrading from the inside out, and he was aware of it at all times. It was only a matter of time until he succumbed to his injuries.

I decided a little prayer wouldn't harm, even though he wasn't religious. He addressed the founding figures of Alchemy, Cythis and Bevana, the original Alchemists, with a final scream of hope.