FALLEN WARRIORS

VIII: Hold On Loosely

08;
HOLD ON LOOSELY
The Rubens―I'll Surely Die

Their journey continues as it was before; filled with silence, their shuffling feet and their constant hitched breath whenever they took deep breaths.

Ilithyia leads them through branches of branches, guiding them deeper into the heart of the city. It's fortunate that they haven't met anyone else since their encounter with Eltham. But Ilithyia isn't so sure about that. There are lots of Cranks way past the Gone living in the depth of the Underneath, they should've been attacked long before. Something's not right. . . again.

She takes a sharp turn to the right and as she rounds the corner, her breath hitches. She takes an immediate halt, causing someone behind her to ram into her back. Follows by a groan from him and others who've also rammed into the bodies of those in front of them.

"What the shuck?" The voice belongs to the person behind her exclaims. It's Minho's. His voice's loud and clear in her ears, his angry breaths fanning her nape, hot and sultry.

When she doesn't answer, he looks ahead of him, past Ilithyia's shoulder. His breath too hitches at what he sees. He leans forward, his gaze never leaving the sight, his lips brushing against the skin of Ilithyia's ear shell. He whispers, "retreat slowly."

Though in a small whisper, the others hear him just perfectly. In alarm, they take small step behind, retreating as slowly and as soundless as they can.

Minho who notices that Ilithyia hasn't moved, reaches out a hand and tugs on her left arm. But Ilithyia stays put.

"C'mon, Ilithyia." He half whispers half shouts, tugging furiously on her arm. "Before he notices us."

"I don't think he'll notice us." Jorge sudden voice startles Minho, causing him to drop his grip on Ilithyia's arm to stare at the leader who stands beside him. "He's too. . . preoccupied."

Minho stares back ahead of him, where he sees a man, his back facing them, hunched over something, digging with his hands like he's lost something in the mud and is trying to find it. His clothes are tattered, holes everywhere and filthy. Patches of smudged red is painted on the back. His movements are jerky and desperate, his elbows keep popping back like he's tearing something and Minho's glad he doesn't know what the man's tearing.

"We should keep going," Ilithyia finally speaks up, her voice filled with hoarseness. As Minho strains his gaze to her back incredulously, she continues, "but try to not attract his attention―"

"We'll be walking, we'll definitely attract his shucking attention!" His voice matches with his incredulous gaze on her.

"Fine," she grumbles out an answer, her gaze still on the man. "I'll go first, you wimp."

Minho glares towards the back of her head, mentally imaging her violet orbs that would glare back at him if she hasn't got her back on him. He watches as she pulls out her longsword and she gently walks forward, facing the man all the way she walks as she grips on her sword.

Midway, the man looks up to her. Minho helds his breath, hand going to his back and pulls his machete, ready to attack the man if he makes a wrong move.

But he merely stares at Ilithyia before he goes back to his activity, ignoring her as though she's not standing there. Minho thinks that it's bizarre.

When she reaches across in safety, Jorge follows. His feet hastily taking him to where Ilithyia stands, her grip on her sword hasn't loosened as the pointy edge of her sword's dangerously near the head of the man, as though she's ready to kill him if he'll come to his senses and attack them.