Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 39: New connections

Kitty observed Leshy with a confused expression, not entirely understanding the situation. She didn't know who this strange individual was—wrapped in dirty bandages, dripping ichor, and carrying an attitude that didn't match his disheveled appearance.

"Uh... hello?" she greeted timidly.

Leshy, hearing a voice finally acknowledge him, smiled with a strange sense of triumph—something he hadn't felt in a long time. "At last, someone speaks to me!" he exclaimed, trying to sound grandiose, though his current state did little to back him up.

Kitty, still watching him with curiosity, asked, "What do you need?"

Leshy, maintaining an air of authority, spoke as he once did in his divine days. "Since I'm in this form, I might be able to heal my wound. I need medical supplies, now."

Perplexed, Kitty couldn't help but notice the bandage around his eyes, stained with blood and dark ichor. Something in her took pity on him, though his demanding tone puzzled her.

"Well, I'll take you to the healing room, but... you need to be nicer," she said, frowning at Leshy's attitude.

Leshy almost retorted with pride, wanting to say he was a god and didn't need to be kind to anyone. But something stopped him. The words caught in his throat. He realized he no longer held the divine authority he once wielded. Now, he was merely a mortal—a blind and vulnerable one at that.

He fell silent, accepting his new, painful reality.

Kitty felt a pang of discomfort as Leshy unexpectedly took her hand firmly. Though he didn't say it aloud, she understood that he feared being left alone—or worse, being abandoned. Despite his unsettling nature and grim appearance, he was, at that moment, someone in need of help.

Without protest, Kitty guided him toward the healing room, noticing how Leshy seemed to cling to her presence. When they arrived, she tried to pull away gently, but he held on a little longer, as if her company was the only thing anchoring him to a world he could no longer see.

"I request your help," Leshy said, his voice breaking, revealing his vulnerability. "I... I never learned even the basics of these things..."

Though Kitty wasn't an expert in healing, she couldn't ignore his fragility. Something in her heart urged her to stay. "Well... what do you need? I only know the basics, but I could bring someone more experienced to help..."

Leshy shook his head firmly, gripping her hand a bit tighter. "I know no one else will help me," he said with bitter certainty, his words echoing through the small room.

Kitty decided not to argue. She sat beside him as Leshy, with clumsy yet determined hands, began unwrapping the bandages around his face. What emerged was a grotesque, deep wound—a divine slash that had taken not only his eyes but part of his essence. Black ichor and blood dripped from the scars as if his body hadn't fully accepted the loss. A faint dark smoke wafted from the wound, a constant reminder of the power that had harmed him.

Kitty swallowed hard, unsure of what to do. Despite her bravery, this was far beyond any ordinary wound. With trembling hands, she grabbed medicine and cotton, trying her best to clean the injury. But soon she realized this wasn't just a physical wound. Every time she wiped away the ichor or blood, more oozed out, as though the wound were tied to something deeper than flesh.

Leshy, sensing her futile efforts, remained silent. He didn't need sight to know that mortal remedies wouldn't work. Exhausted, Kitty paused for a moment and asked, almost dreading the answer, "Does it hurt?"

In a moment of pure vulnerability, Leshy nodded slowly and murmured, "Yes... it hurts all the time."

That "yes" hung in the air between them, heavy with emotional depth that Kitty hadn't expected. The room filled with a palpable sadness as she gazed at the broken being before her, unable to heal either his body or his soul.

Trying to offer some comfort amid the darkness, Kitty whispered, "I'll do what I can. But this... this wound, it's not just physical, is it?"

Leshy took a deep breath, exhausted. "No... it isn't. I lost more than my eyes... I lost everything I was." His words lingered in the air, heavy with sorrow only someone who had lost everything could understand.

Unsure of what else to do, Kitty stayed by his side as silence enveloped the room. And though she could offer him nothing but her presence, in that moment, it was all Leshy had.

With careful hands, Kitty wrapped Leshy's face in a fresh bandage. As she adjusted the final piece, she gave him a soft smile. "Well, a cleaner bandage is better than nothing. Maybe I could ask the leader to find something to heal you," she said, glancing at his tattered and stained clothes. "And maybe some better clothes, too."

Leshy shook his head, his tone somber and resigned. "Don't bother. That cat won't lift a paw to help me. That's how felines are... they only care about themselves."

Kitty felt a flicker of offense but couldn't help chuckling at the irony. "Well, I am a cat."

Leshy blinked in the darkness of his blindness, surprised. "Oh, really? May I see?"

Kitty understood what he meant. Though he couldn't see, Leshy still needed to connect, to form a mental image of who stood before him. Without hesitation, she leaned closer and let his hands rise to her face.

Leshy's fingers, hesitant at first, began to explore Kitty's features. He touched her soft fur, brushed along her fine whiskers, and finally reached her triangular ears. In that moment, an image of her formed in his mind—a distant echo of what his vision once provided.

"So... this is what's left," Leshy murmured, calmer now but with a clear note of melancholy.

Kitty, trying to lighten the mood, quipped playfully, "Well, I'm tall, very cute, yellow fur... uh, though I don't know how to explain colors to someone who's blind..."

Leshy huffed, almost laughing. "I lost my sight, not my knowledge. I know what colors are, even if I can't see them anymore."

That brief laugh bridged the gap between them—not just as stranger and guide, but as two beings sharing an unexpected moment of understanding and companionship. They spent the rest of the day chatting in the small healing room, reminiscing about Kitty's childhood memories and the days when Leshy ruled his domain with arrogance and power.

Kitty couldn't help but feel a touch of sympathy, seeing how someone once so formidable now relied on another just to walk. Yet, she didn't look at him with pity, but with a kind of resigned tenderness. Meanwhile, Leshy, used to being the center of attention, now found himself vulnerable in ways he had never imagined. And though he wouldn't admit it, Kitty's presence brought him a measure of peace, if only for a while.

In that quiet space, Leshy rediscovered something he had long lost—a connection, not rooted in power or fear, but in simple companionship, or perhaps, in what remained of his ancient divinity. And Kitty realized that even those who appeared monstrous carried scars far deeper than what met the eye.

Together, in an unexpected way, they found solace in each other's presence.