Aftermath

Chapter 6: But I Wouldn't

With Ingressus' mind broken, Achillean must come to terms with the reality of his situation and learn that some minds cannot be changed. But that doesn't stop him from trying one last time

Author's note: I've had a couple of questions regarding the last chapter. hopefully this one will answer them. if not, I have briefly explained it at the end

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Achillean and Ingressus rarely said a word to one another since their argument and spent their time in each other's company in almost complete silence.

It was hardest for Achillean as he watched Ingressus walk around the Nether refusing to acknowledge him as he still sat chained to the wall. He still brought him a plate of food every day and occasionally checked his wound and changed the dressing, but the reception was harsh. His bruises glowed black and blue in the dim Nether light and Ingressus was not willing to look at them anymore. They both knew why. Achillean had managed to break the Deathsinger down to his core and shake it like an earthquake, prying apart all of his weak spots. Of course, Ingressus was going to be embarrassed by all that transpired, but Achillean had hoped that he'd have come round sooner than this. He wasn't so sure how many more of his stone-cold silences he could take.

Time after time, Ingressus would sit on the edge of the cliff for a short period and use his Wither Skull projection to check in on progress in the Overworld. It was not looking good.

And time after time, he would remain on that same cliff edge and study their weapons – the Tidesinger's staff, especially. He would regularly stare into the hardened emerald of the well-crafted blade and watched as his pupils grew dim in the light of the golden enchantment. What Achillean didn't realise was that Ingressus was suffering with each passing second that he stared at his reflection in the blade.

After he yelled those words, his mind crumbled and he became disassociated.

He caught himself with his hands wrapped around Achillean's neck, squeezing and his broadsword had been moved for the first time since they settled in the Nether, now cracked, and slanted. He replayed that time in his mind over and over again, analysing every motion he made, every word he said, but he could no longer recall Achillean's reactions as if he had been blinded the entire time – as if they had been censored from him to make it worse. Achillean wasn't banged up like it felt he should be, so Ingressus knew that he still had some self-control. Bruises were all that amounted across his body, luckily, but it could have been much worse.

So much worse...

It had been decades since the pair of them were connected to their Songs, yet there was still the light, empty feeling that they were there inside of them, waiting to be channelled. The remnants of his Songs still coursed through his body – even after all this time – as Achillean saw Ingressus lose his temper and the weak, leftover effects of his Aggressium Song swirled as though it was still there. Even though Ingressus had fallen and done all that he had, Achillean still wished there were a way to help him. He wished there were something he could do.

"Can you not see that there is no helping me?"

"You never cared!"

"Don't pretend that you've never wanted to kill me!"

"If you wanted to die so much, you should have let me kill you when I tried to kill Aegus!"

"I WISH THALLEOUS SENDARIS HAD KILLED ME WHEN HE HAD THE CHANCE!"

Achillean remembered those words. He was unlikely to ever forget them, but he was okay. Ingressus was okay. They were both okay and they always would be. He knew it could have been worse and was just grateful that it wasn't. He remembered staring into the blind eyes of the Deathsinger as he gripped his neck in his broken frustration and seeing nothing but pain. In seeing that pain, it made him forget his own. Ingressus wasn't hurting him because he wanted to. He was hurting him because he had to and Achillean could see past that.