Chapter 18: Kick in the gut
Oswin's mind raced as he tried to process the situation. The woman before him looked ready to strike—her body tense, eyes sharp, muscles coiled like a spring. Her presence was a stark contrast to the helplessness he'd felt under Caro's thumb just moments ago.
What could he say? Would lying help? Would she even believe him if he tried?
His heartbeat pounded in his ears, the thick scent of blood hanging heavily in the air. There was no time to craft a flawless deception.
Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself and answered, his voice wavering slightly.
"I... I'm Fray Nightshade, a 20-year-old civilian."
The woman's eyes narrowed, skepticism sharpening her gaze. The tension in the air grew thicker, and Oswin wondered if she'd lash out at him for such a simple answer. Would she buy it, or would she see through the facade of the name he no longer felt was his own?
The woman's eyes narrowed, suspicion hardening her features. Without warning, she lunged at Oswin with inhuman speed—her movement a blur of muscle and intent.
Oswin's eyes widened. She couldn't see in the dark, but he could. Instinct took over, and he narrowly dodged her incoming kick, the rush of air grazing his cheek. The blood splashed violently around them, clinging to their bodies like a second skin.
The woman steadied herself, wiping the blood from her face and pushing the wet strands of hair from her eyes. Her expression sharpened, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"As I thought," she muttered, her voice laced with challenge. "You're no civilian. No ordinary person could have seen that coming in this darkness."
Oswin's heart hammered against his chest.
Oswin raised his hands, his voice rushed but steady. "Wait, just listen—I'm not your enemy!"
But the woman wasn't interested. Her body coiled like a spring, and she lunged at him again—faster, more precise. Her fist cut through the air, a blur of force aimed right at his head.
Oswin saw it coming. The darkness that blinded her was nothing to him now. He sidestepped just in time, the punch whistling past his ear. Before he could catch his breath, a swift kick followed—aimed at the torso.
Instinctively, Oswin blocked it with his forearm. Pain jolted through his body, a sharp, bone-rattling shock. Her strength was unreal. Even with the dark vision, her movements were almost too fast to track.
"Will you just listen?!" Oswin tried again, his voice strained from the impact.
The woman didn't answer—her narrowed eyes and relentless attacks made it clear. She wasn't here to talk.
Her attacks were relentless—a flurry of punches and kicks that left Oswin scrambling, his breaths ragged and muscles straining.
Oswin tried to maintain distance, dodging and weaving as best he could, but exhaustion was catching up. His limbs felt heavy, his reactions sluggish. She wasn't slowing down. She couldn't afford to.
Then it happened—her right leg erupted in flames. The blood coating her skin sizzled and dried away in an instant. The air crackled with heat as she launched a furious kick straight into Oswin's stomach.
The impact sent him hurtling through the thick, viscous blood, his body crashing several meters away. Even submerged in the liquid, the fire clung to him, relentless and unforgiving. Flames surged over his body, searing and scorching, biting into his skin with unyielding intensity.
The pain was blinding. It was unlike anything he'd felt before—sharp, suffocating, consuming. His vision blurred, the world around him twisting and distorting through the haze of agony. For a fleeting moment, a grim thought pierced through his mind: Was this it? Was this how it would all end, burned alive in a pool of blood?
But as the fire flickered, its furious dance slowing, the woman's gaze locked onto him. The flames continued to burn, their light illuminating his scorched face and body. The blood around him bubbled and hissed, yet the fire stubbornly refused to die.
In the bright, unnatural light of the fire, she saw his face and figure. The realization flickered across her expression.
He was a civilian, just as he'd claimed.
Her stance faltered, the flames on her leg gradually dying down. The relentless storm of her attacks came to an abrupt halt.
"You're... you're a civilian," she muttered, disbelief and regret tangled in her voice. "I... I'm sorry. Truly sorry. I thought you were... something else. I didn't think any civilians would be here."
Without a second thought, she clasped her hands together and whispered a prayer. The flames that had been consuming Oswin's body flickered, then snuffed out, leaving behind the searing sting of heat but sparing him from further harm.
Oswin gasped, relief flooding through him even as the ache of his injuries throbbed. His scorched skin burned, his breath ragged. The woman stood still, guilt etched into her face, caught in the space between remorse and caution.
Oswin's knees buckled, and his body crumpled into the pool of blood. The searing pain from the burns was unbearable—his skin raw and blistered, his abdomen aching fiercely from the impact of the flaming kick. He tried to breathe, but the air tasted like smoke and iron. His stomach churned, and he doubled over, vomiting blood into the already thick, crimson liquid.
The woman—still nameless to him—stood nearby, her hand burning like a torch with fire that seemed to obey her will, flickering but never harming her skin. Her expression was a conflicted blend of guilt and caution. She made no move to help, yet she didn't walk away either. Her eyes lingered on the raw, scorched patches of Oswin's skin, the places where her flames had left their mark.
Oswin's mind spun with pain. The blood surrounding him had healing properties—Caro had said as much—but it did nothing to dull the agony. Each heartbeat sent fresh waves of pain through his nerves, a reminder that while his wounds might slowly mend, they would not heal gently.
Time felt distorted as he lay there, half-submerged in the thick, metallic liquid. The blood clung to his charred skin, its heat mingling with the sting of his injuries. The woman remained silent, a wary sentinel in this nightmarish cavern. She did not apologize again, nor did she speak—just stood there, waiting for the weight of her mistake to settle.
Eventually, the worst of the pain began to fade. Oswin's breathing steadied, and his body, though far from fully healed, felt a measure of relief. The burns still stung, and the ache in his gut lingered, but it was no longer unbearable.
He slowly pushed himself upright, the blood streaming from his hair and face. The woman's eyes tracked his movements, wary yet hesitant. A tense silence hung between them until she finally spoke.
"I am Ignis of the Spirit King's Church, Special Combat and Investigation Branch, Fourth Team." Her voice was steady but guarded, as if still weighing whether he was a threat.
Oswin's breath was still ragged, the burns on his skin throbbing painfully. He took in her appearance again—blood-soaked, tense, a flicker of flame still dancing on her hand.
Oswin had already suspected her affiliation with the church, and her introduction confirmed it. He took a steadying breath and introduced himself, his voice still strained from the pain.
"I am Fray Nightshade, a 20-year-old citizen of Artia. I belonged to Thonus City before it was destroyed. I have a 17-year-old sister who... can't speak."
Ignis's expression faltered for a moment. The destruction of Thonus City weighed heavily on the Spirit King's Church and especially on her. If they had been more vigilant, more prepared, perhaps tens of thousands wouldn't have perished. Guilt flickered across her face.
"I'm... sorry," she managed, her voice low.
"Don't be," Oswin cut in before she could say more. The exhaustion in his eyes made it clear—he didn't want her pity. "My sister is alone in the dark. I need to go to her now."
Without waiting for a response, he began moving in the direction where Aria rested. The liquid blood rippled with each step, its metallic scent clinging to the air. Ignis hesitated for a moment before following, her still-burning hand providing a flickering, warm light.
For the first time, Oswin could see the cavern's details in more than just shades of black and gray. The red sheen of the blood, the jagged edges of the stalagmites—they all came into view, sharpening his senses. Ignis's presence behind him was a constant reminder of the power she wielded, yet the light she provided was the only thing keeping the oppressive darkness at bay.
As they walked through the shallow, rippling pool of blood, Ignis's gaze occasionally drifted to Oswin, the weight of guilt still lingering in her eyes. The silence between them was heavy until, finally, she spoke—her voice uncertain but curious.
"How... how could you dodge my attacks earlier?" she asked hesitantly. "I was sure you wouldn't be able to see me in the dark."
Oswin glanced at her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he considered keeping the truth to himself, but there was no real reason to hide it.
"Caro did something to me," he admitted. "She changed my eyes. I can see details in the dark—shapes, movements, outlines—but no colors. Just black and gray."