𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐘; spiderverse

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

"Here."

♞
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Fire. Fire is indiscriminate in its wrath, offering only heat and light in all it's forms. It will take what is alive and sacred to us and cast it as confetti into the sky, first glowing red before cooling to black. Regardless of whether one is human or not, when humanity consumes toxins instead of water and neglects the planet, fire serves as a 'safeguard' for life, a support system for the entire universe. By the morrow we will stand on the ashes and pray for the spirits of our brother and sister spirits. A powerful force of nature, comparable to the witches and warlocks seen in the scriptures. You knew this. They knew this.

They especially knew this; the flames of the bonfire danced and flickered in a mesmerizing exhibition of light and swelter, casting a warm glow that painted the surrounding area in magnificent orange and red hues. The crackling sound of the fire feeding hungrily was crossbred with the gentle pop of wood, creating a minute symphony that filled the surroundings with a soothing melody. A stark contrast to the girl's quelerous emotions.

The smoke rose steadily into the sky, carrying the scent of potent soot and adipose meat. Meat? Meat. The heat emanating from the flames produced a scalding steam. She let it sink into her pores and wished it would wash the horror away. The blonde wiped away a stray tear that slowed down the pane of her paled cheek. The fire hissed softly, and the log shifted ever so slightly with a little shower of sparks. She was surprised they moved at all, considering the bodies amassed on top of them.

The wistful bird calls of the barren night died one by one, suffocating silence swelling to fill the space available. No one dared to speak, encircling the massacre. That is until her senior decided to slash through the speechlessness. "Gwen." The Red-Widow prompted the girl, resting his hand on her shoulder as the clink of metal and brush of boot shambled again. The red insignia sloppily mended his breastplate glinted from the fire's rays as he did so.

Hooves hitting the ground echoed through the air as the riders steadily urged their steeds forward. Having taken a hiatus from their equestrian pursuits, they were now back in the saddle, ready to embark on their hounding of 'adventure' across the sprawling countryside. Adventure is the keyword here. Adventure? Yeah right.

The resounding,  clip-clop of the horse's grandiose bodies striking the earth dispersed running through the grounds as the riders pressed forward without their two comrades. The rhythmic cadence of a cadet platoon, and the steady tramp of their feet tolled like a muffled drum on the quad. "Gwen. We can't stay here any longer." He advised, his voice hardening. His words of caution were lost on the young teen. Her eyes were as blue as the ink in his geese feather quill, that trickled its life's blood gently down in the front pocket of his horse's satchel, as he tried in vain to get her attention.

Gwen could handle their deaths. At least she thought she could. The heart stops, and the muscles relax. Big whoop. And she would end up biting back on her callow thinkings. She couldn't handle it when their skin turns purple and waxy; enough to light a torch. She couldn't when their honed and sharp claws fade to white. She couldn't when the blood pooled to the lowest parts of their body in dark purple stains. For god's sake, she could see the marks from beneath their matted pelt. And especially not when their eyes descended into their shattered, burst skulls. To the point, you could no longer distinguish them apart.

Ambling up from the splintered log she sat, she held onto his bloodied shoulder plates for support; legs having gone weak under the new pressure. The broad shouldered male was more than happy to help her along, over the humps and trenches, potholes, and stone rivers to where their horses awaited. The bonfire still stood unwaveringly against the midnight squall.

"Peter, what we did was good, right? Did I do good?" She shook, recovering her poise with each step onward. She drew out the question, and he knew she didn't believe it. Something he, the tone-deaf bard,  managed to deduce in spite of the girl speaking in a tone he couldn't decipher. Her quivering figure spoke loads. She was only 16, as if that explained everything.

Rubbing circles into the curve of her back, he willed the dejection out of his voice, forcing the words out. "That's right. You did. I'm proud of you." She could only weakly smile back. Neither believed one another.

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"A— blade?"