The Ghost Of You

Chapter 17

The avalanche hit, before Feng Xin could stop it. Weakness had shattered his reaction time.

It took only a second for Mu Qing to be torn away from him, pulled into the turbulent, howling white. He was screaming, when it took him. The sound vanished with him.

Feng Xin tore after him. It was stupid, and foolish to do so, but he could not bear to let Mu Qing be taken. He did not deserve to become another lost body, frozen and forgotten.

It struck him when he ran, when he called out, and caught him in the mass. His vision blanked, full of nothing but the repetition of black and white. He was hurled against the slope, lost into spinning, screaming grit. He was half aware that he was screaming too, voice muffled under the Avalanche's enormity. Its weight bore down on him. Pain throbbed in his remaining, long suffering ribs. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. Fear shot through his veins.

Feng Xin let go.

It felt almost like dying for a second time, or perhaps waking up from a dream. The world bled color. He was aware of himself, of his mind, of his consciousness. He was aware of his ashes, and the simultaneous way in which they were both so near and so far away. He was aware of the body, one which was not quite his own, but an undead, torn up shell made for his ghost. The connection to his physical form severed, and he was nothing.

Spiritual energy burned in front of him, a roiling, thrashing mass. His own. Held far away, held just out of reach. Feng Xin grabbed for it, forced himself forwards, pushing against the current. Gathering up every piece of shattered courage, he took it, cupping it in the palm of his hands. It seared his flesh. No marks showed.

He was a desperate, panicked thing, working only with deep-seated instinct. He was not made to use it, to tame it. It squirmed. It jerked. It screamed. Barely knowing what he was doing, he forced it into his chest. It was so much, almost too much to take, devouring him entirely, from the inside. Swirling colors blotted out his vision, falling like flower petals.

Somewhere else, the body threw its hands out, and the world stood still.

Feng Xin was dragged back. There was no serenity to it. Waking up felt like resurfacing, after nearly drowning. He was shaking, and gasping, his body threatening to collapse into the earth. Revived spiritual power embraced him like a lover. Pain vanished as quickly as it had come. He was remade, and he was what he was before, the raw power that Mount Tonglu had eaten away returned.

The avalanche was gone, no sign of it remaining. Soft snowflakes fell from the sky.

Slowly, Feng Xin picked himself up. He did not recognize where they had landed, the mountainscape empty, and unfamiliar. What he did recognize was Mu Qing, sprawled limply on the ground.

He ran to him, panic once again rising in his throat. He dropped to his knees, lifting Mu Qing into his arms.

Mu Qing was still, apart from the weak rise and fall of his chest, marked by small, ragged breaths. Blood welled up, seeping through his robes. Awful bruises marked his skin. He groaned, barely audible, and shifted, just enough to rest his head on Feng Xin's chest.

"Fuck, Mu Qing! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

He lay him on the ground, only to be rewarded with the small, pained sound that escaped him. Terrified, Feng Xin pressed his hands to his chest. His heartbeat was an active threat, fading away quicker, and quicker.

He pushed. His spiritual power headed him, flowing through his palms, into the plex of Mu Qing's chest. He felt his heart stutter. Once. Twice.

Mu Qing gasped, sitting up quickly. He was dangerously close, so near that all Feng Xin could focus on was the sound of his breathing. He did not give him time to speak.