“Can you do the sound thing?”
She rolls her eyes, smirks, and signs back, ‘I can’t hear you.‘
Ah, fuck. My ears have started ringing. The static hisses at me with indifferent hatred. My hand is stained with the lingering touch of Hanna, just the smallest trace of the Ring emanating from it.
Inhale. Bring it close to my chest. “Tirit lavdexi.”
The activation phrase for necromancy spells, like in the books—I don’t know why I said that.
Lucia frantically loads her rifle while signing in one hand, ‘ghouls!‘
I twitch, placing my back against the both of them. The area is quite… 150 meters? And then it would be something more than twenty thousand times—Fucking, whatever. I’m not doing this math right now! There’s a lot of ghouls!
And three of us.
Everything’s still wildly stacked in our favor at least, even though I can see the distant shadows between the trees start to move toward us.
I’m pushed forward by Hanna falling into my back. I turn around to see what it was for, realizing that she took the recoil from a shot I couldn’t hear—I won’t be able to so much as scream for help if something happens.
Deep breath. One ghoul’s nearest. I take the shot slowly, not to wastemy limited ammunition.
Death feels nice. Better, when it’s organic.
I break from the circle so I don’t feel them. I only need to feel the rifle. I only need to feel the ritual of killing something.
But these don’t count.
My muscles lose the strength to pull back the bolt. My breath shudders. I just wanted to feel happy for these few moments. Distracted. But my mind wants me to know that the two women I’m bonding with will die.
It won’t be fun.
I, a near stranger to one and an impoverished nobody to the other, wouldn’t see the ceremonies that commemorate them. I would cry for a few nights, then years would pass, and their memory would come only to interrupt my sleep once every season.
And maybe that’s beautiful.
Maybe it’s good to wither.
A silent bite into my right hand drags me down into a ugly reality where a corpse’s teeth are stinging my skin and more surround.
I thrust the rifle forward to snare that first ghoul with the bayonet, but my hand feels empty even as it’s freed. Useless.
Drop the rifle. Grab the pistol. Relax. Stay calm. Load it in one hand while it’s in my pocket.
Look up and jump back as something pathetically swipes for me.
Press the pistol to my chest with my elbow while cocking it. Finally. There may not be sound to accompany my relief, but I can feel an orchestra in my head as I kill six ghouls and waste a seventh shot on the bayoneted one, out of spite. Malice.
Hatred.
I drop into the mud and puff.
The silence breaks with Hanna’s panting. “Stop shooting! Shit, that’s hard to keep up.”
“Don’t worry about it. You can sit there all cute while a real mage handles the next—“
I prop myself up on my good hand to climb to my feet. Turning around, I get to have the luxury of watching Lucia and Hanna kiss—and Lucia trying to fit her hand under Hanna’s pants.
I avert my eyes north, to where the Great Ring shines, orbiting just above our home. I love it, but I can’t get myself to love its gifts.
