Ouroboros II | The Wolf

12 | Bezel Goes For A Swim

The silent forest was a pleasant alternative to the abandoned club. At least there, slipping between the pine trunks silently, his loneliness could be passed as intentional. He was the last one left on Earth. Even in his own blinded eyes, that stood out. Not that it was anything particularly odd. It wasn't Bezel's first time getting left behind. It wasn't even his second, or the third. If he counted all the cold nights when his immortal soul had faded into a mortal death, then it wasn't even ranked among the top ten. He should be more familiar with it by now. The perfect quiet. The cold air that rested against his cool skin. The mask crumbled on its hinges, leaving Bezel's true blank self fully exposed. And yet, there was undeniable strangeness to the stiff air. As if the show had continued, the audience veiled just beyond the curtains. If that was the case, then Bezel still had lines to deliver from his rusted jaws. 

He walked through the woods, as stoic and haunting as a ghost. The sunrise seemed galaxies away, its golden light was unable to cut through the thick pine nettles overhead to reach him. Or maybe it didn't feel the need to illuminate Bezel's path. Luckily, Bezel didn't require the sun's guidance to chase the trees towards the water. 

The thicket was much different from the last time he had seen it, choked with holy knights and whimpering priests. There was more life this time around. Not that it was meant for him to observe. His presence was a vacuum, forcing a cold breeze into the humid summer morning. One the inhabitants of the forest could feel. Some small furry creature chittered at him from a high branch. Overhead, birds fluttered into flight to escape his shadow. 

Jays and pigeons were the least of his problems, he knew. A fact that only grew more and more evident as the pine began to thin ahead. Bezel could hear their prayers carried in on the lake breeze, pressed back towards the shore as faithfully as the waves. The platoon Ira had warned him of. Bezel nearly scoffed to chase away the thought. What did he have to fear from Ossein-armed Heimrians? No, they were as fitful as pollen-heavy bumble bees. Bezel had nothing to worry about from them. 

Not from them, he thought, but their patrons. 

". . . hear my plea, grant me in me desperation. . ." 

". . . dear angels, grant us strength so that we may save this unworthy place," 

"Protect me so that I may protect others. . ."

Their cries filled Bezel's ears, begging in agony for what he had been so easily born with: power. Not that he had much left. What hadn't been burned away in the gate, he had stuck to Ira Rule to buy him time down below. There was just enough left to keep Bezel from fading into a Fourth of July finale. Which meant he had to do this without tricks, illusions, or Mayvalt there to soften him. The odds weren't great. Bezel stepped from the last of the forest's cloak. His polished leather shoes sunk into the thick sand, vanishing down to the laces. 

The lake was only a few meters further. The nearest knight, just a few steps beyond that. The woman was submerged up to her hips in the waters of Lake Seneca, her Ossein sword she held slung over her shoulder. Likely to keep it from the holy water's boiling touch. Her black cloaks dragged in the gentle waves at her side, casting a net of silky fabric to swirl in the silt at the bottom of the pool.

His kris caught the sunlight glittering freely over the beach, washing the waters in sparkling white waves. Maybe it was that little flash of silver that drew the nearest knight's attention. Maybe it was the chill he carried on the surface of his skin. Her eyes fluttered to Bezel. Confused at first, squinting beneath her creased eyebrows. He could see it the moment the pieces came into place for her. Her brown eyebrows snapped upwards, disappearing into her curls. She raised her sword over her head, slashing the white bone through the sky in the same manner as an air traffic conductor signaling with their neon baton.