A Poison Named Calypso (Viggo X OC)

Chapter 3: Taken by Fire

The air was painted with pitch, strangled to its roots with smoke. The bleak black filled all those who breathed it in, corroding their lungs from the inside, promising death through the very thing needed to survive. Breaths drawn haggard, eyes blinded with tears, coughs that only drew more smoke in.

It was a living nightmare.

But he had to keep going.

For the old chief.

And Calypso. The new.

The blackened healer struggled amidst the columns of flame that burnt his clothes and skin to a crisp, fried him alive and baked him through. The girl on his back had long ago fainted from the heat, limp on his quivering shoulders.

He couldn't see past his face.

He couldn't see anything but the ashes that fell from the flames.

His knees buckled, collapsing and slamming the ground with a shattering force. He barely felt anything. That pain was nothing compared to his lungs that ached and gasped for a breath of air. His own body was failing him.

His hands slammed the ground. Calypso rolled off his hunched figure, her body falling gracelessly to the ground. She was wheezing, too.

Althos coughed violently, his hands and knees supporting himself. His hands gave way, and he tumbled to the ground.

No...

His eyes stared listlessly at the sky. It was black. The smoke had swallowed the sun whole. The only light was from the burning fires.

Small, white flakes fell from the sky, a sharp contrast to the pitch black. They fell slowly on the healer's face. They fell everywhere. It was almost beautiful.

Was death beautiful?

Lying on the ground, his lungs gasping for air, death would be a merciful thing. It would be a sweet relief, a saving from the pain and suffering. His shuddering breaths slowed, and he drew in the smoky air with a longing. Begging death to be let in–

NO!

Althos coughed, lurching to all fours.

Images, bloody memories, came in floods: his chief, his friend, lying on the ground, writhing in agony as he was burnt alive, his flesh turning in on itself. His young daughter, screaming and wailing for him to wake up; if only he would just wake up. The smell of the chief's burnt flesh wafted through his nose in the form of ashy smoke: it was death. It was by no means a mercy.

Althos stumbled to his feet and groped through his pain for Calypso's body. His fingers grazed her face, and he quickly lifted her from the soot-covered ground. Ashes fluttered around them.

Althos clutched her body close to him, adrenaline coursing through his strangled veins. He stumbled, found his footing, and pounded the ground with feet that flew.

He passed huts on fire. Trees that burst into flames. Cries and screams that floated through the air like ashes from the sky.

And suddenly, he was free!

The smoke was pushed back by the cool, night air. It washed over Althos and Calypso like the waves of the ocean, and they fell to the sand, gasping in relief.

They were at the water's front, their village's harbor.

And there was a boat!

A loud, resounding boom shook the earth. Something behind them exploded with the force of a thousand suns. Althos felt a scream leave his throat, his body already moving to pick up Calypso. His feet pounded the sand, carrying both of them to the boat at the water's edge.