Child of the Ether (Summoner Fan Fiction)

Desperate times

So sorry guys :( I feel so guilty. I haven't updated this in ages. O.K. I'm going to make it up to anyone still out there by making this chapter extra long :) also I may be changing the character's name soon just so you know.

Time flew before Yang's eyes. What to do? There was so little time. Three weeks left, surely that was enough?! He had already made a huge dent in the tree. Two weeks left... surely he can make it? He was so close! One Week, he started to panic. He was so close, but not close enough! He wouldn't be able to make it. Why did Arcturus have to pick such a terribly massive tree? Yang would have a feeling of dread whenever he walked back to the orphanage.

His mind often drifted back to the small potion which had disappeared. He was glad that he did not have to make the choice himself but he started to worry that he had made the wrong choice. Six days left... Things were looking bleak. That day, he punched the wood two times and he punched it much harder than before. As he returned, he winced on his dormitory bed and part of his hand turned a nasty shade of green.

Five days... He punched the tree twice yet again. His hand was toughening and recovering, but not fast enough! He reckoned that he would have to punch three punches with each hand. His hand was starting to turn black and would burn whenever he tried to do something. Even sleeping, whenever he turned he would be woken by the sharp stinging pain that coursed through his body infecting his mind and mood.

Four days... A splinter came away and buried itself deep into the flesh in his hands. He could feel the start of the outer layer now. But the outer layer was harder. After the third punch his hands were bleeding heavily.

Three days left: it looked very close indeed. As he got up, he felt a small weight on his foot. He sat up and looked down. He could not believe his eyes, there was the bottle. The bottle. That was the only thing he could think about and he sat there for at least half an hour deciding what to do. Throughout the day his mind was in tatters. He could not decide what to do. It seemed to him that both choices were wrong. He decided that he wouldn't take it unless the last moment. Upon the bed there was also a small note:

For the effects of the potion to work, you must use it the night before at midnight for the desired effects come into place.

He headed back to the tree and punched it firmly three times. His skin was starting to peel away, red trickles of blood trickled off his hand.

Two days, the last layer was proving to be very difficult. He could not do it. Still, he got up, ignored the bottle and this day, he punched four times and passed out from the pain on the floor. When he awoke, it was night-time. He sprinted back to the orphanage and pondered the time. It could not be midnight already, the night was still young.

He grabbed the bottle, screwed off the lid and jerked his hand up. He stopped for a split-second deciding on the consequences of his choice. Then he remembered the last piece of wood. He would need at least ten punches to finish it and even then, there was no way to guarantee that he would make it. He drained the bottle in a gulp and lay there in the night.

Soon, he found that he could not sleep. He felt guilty and his stomach twisted and turned. He found his muscles tensing and the urge to vomit. He stood up suddenly, sprinted to his window and pushed open the wooden boardings blocking the windows. There, he vomited out a white wisp of misty gas that floated into the sky. He did not get any sleep that day.

The last day- no time left. He felt terrible, he felt as if he were ill. Was it the potion? But he had used it before midnight! What to do? His back ached uncontrollably, his legs tensed all the time making each step hard and his stomach churned away. He started to walk towards the tree from the orphanage, but along the way he started to feel dizzy and collapsed.

He crawled along, but now his eyes were deceiving him. He was confused at first and panicked as to what he should do. But, having walked the way every day for the past two months, he remembered the way and crawled blindly towards the tree.

He felt with his hands, and finally he felt the roots of the tree. He smiled and puked violently. As he felt his way up the tree, he realised with a dark feeling in his heart that this was the wrong tree. His eyesight was so blurry then and his mind in such stress that he collapsed after standing up to find the tree.

The day went on and he felt the other trees... Would he be able to make it in time? He didn't even know if the potion was working.

On the fifth tree, just as he was about to give up, his finger caught on a small branch. He recognised this tree! He would usually lean against it after his session with the other tree. This meant that the other tree was just two trees to the right.

Two trees to the right, he found the hole. He punched again, but his punches were feeble and he began to weep. He wept in silence, and sat down. After half an hour he stood up and tried again. All his punches were feeble, and did nothing to the wood but he stood there all day attacking the tree ferociously with all the power he could muster whilst weeping openly.