Warm Bodies (Herobrine X Entity303)

chapter 1

(additional warning for puke, the rest of the tws are in the story description)

Blood poured out of my fresh wounds as I limped through the forest. A thick mist built around my ankles on the grassy ground, the frosted green spattered red behind me. My whole body was weak, shaking, growing colder by the second. Teleporting now would be too risky, I don't have much energy left in me. Tonight's battle took a heavy toll on me.

Keys clattered, lock clicked unlocked, handle screeched, door creaked open. I had made it home, smearing crimson on every surface I touched. I was in no position to care. Kicking my mud covered boots off at the door, I limped upstairs, where a disappointed-looking Null stood atop the stairs waiting for me. All this would be difficult to scrub out of the carpet, but with my vision darkening and my head spinning, I couldn't find it in me to care. I didn't like carpets anyway, I supposed.

My roommate was becoming used to these late-night battles, and these early-morning returns home, leaving behind a trail of red. I fell into the bathtub and removed my hoodie, once white but now a rotting assortment of browns and reds, littered with inexperienced hasty stitches and held together with scraps of fabrics and staples. The porcelain of the cold empty tub bit my skin and shocked my nerves as my bare torso lay limp inside it, cradled by the curves. They already had the first aid kit spread out on the countertop above me, first reaching for tweezers to remove any dirt or debris in the gashes littering my body. The smell of sterile alcohol solution soaking cotton balls soothed my breathing and comforted me. I had no strength to respond to their disapproving silence and cold stare, simply staring up into the harsh buzzing halogen light on the ceiling.

The alcohol burned. It hurt, and it stung, and I winced and bit my tongue. My wounds were clean, but in my head I was screaming, and a single tear escaped the outer corner of my eye. Next the suture thread and a thin, curved needle. My vision was streaked with the light of their glowing eyes, and the blinding blue-white of the bathroom light, and I looked over to a sign held by a phantom hand. It scolded me for pushing myself too far again, for allowing him to cut me that deep. Scoffing, I shut my eyes again and set my head back, exhausted but trying to at least stay conscious. Their sign changed, and it urged me to take it easier next time.

Crimson and dirt was wiped away and replaced with soft white gauze and fibre, the bandages were in place and I was good to leave and go to bed. Rest would do my weakened body good. Laying in the once white porcelain tub, I took a minute to try and gather my strength, having lost enough blood to make me eternally nauseous and dizzy. Null stayed beside me, still disapproving but caring and comforting, their sign soothing me and advising me not to get up too suddenly, to lay with my feet up to increase circulation to my head, and some other stuff. My eyes could barely stay open long enough to read, and my head was spinning, and my stomach was clenching, and my mouth was full of blood. I had lost blood in this quantity before quite a few times, once in my teens, and the rest since then. I was used to empty veins and a racing heart. Still, though, it was never pleasant.

After throwing up once or twice, I couldn't find the strength to stay conscious, and passed out in the bathroom.