Splintered

Chapter Seventeen: Reins Unheld

"Who are you?" Hazel croaked at a human-shaped silhouette occupying one of the chairs. A tattered brown winter coat obscured the back of the stranger's head. Their features hidden in the depths of its thick folds.

Despite her question, they made no move to address her or even acknowledge her existence.

Hazel curled her sweat-slicked fingers around the knife's handle. "What are you doing here?"

Her unwanted guest responded with a string of congested coughs. The nature of which was undeniably baritone.

What was the point of assigning an entire legion of infantry if anyone could just waltz into her room?

They didn't move or acknowledge her. The figure's shoulders slumped forward as another cough escaped. This time, a fine mist sprayed from his lips, splattering the coat's sleeves, chair arms, and table.

What was more disturbing than the spittle spewing over her bedroom furniture was the fact that the liquid in question was an unnatural hue. It was like artificially colored berry jam, rich in tone but unsettlingly blue.

Bizarre. Hazel shuttered and detangled the blankets from her legs, "How did you even get in here?"

She slid her stocking feet to the floor and crept around the bed. One hand braced against the frame while the other held the knife aloft.

However, using the thing was still like trying to brush her teeth with her left hand, awkward and uncoordinated.

"Leo?" Hazel yelled, hoping the walls were thin enough for him to hear her distress. However, the intruder's uneven breathing was the only response.

She inched forward until her toe was met with a sickly wetness that nearly caused her to startle. Glancing down, her sock was soaking in a puddle of the jelly-like substance.

What in hell?

Hazel grimaced; the coughing intruder's face was still concealed within the fabric confines of his coat. After a deep inhale, she pushed herself off the edge of the bed. Reaching toward the stranger, she let out a grunt, followed by a sharp tug, and yanked off his hood.

She flung herself back, her skin pulsing as if she'd pet one of Gaul's eels, bracing for a strike.

Pushing the weapon higher between them, she hoped it would make her guest rethink whatever plans they might have had, sneaking into her room in the middle of the night.

As she slid in front of the chair, her socks met more puddles, but she hardly noticed.

Without the covering, the stranger's identity rapidly took shape. Hazel's own features melted into shock. Light grey eyes met hers. His irises were mirrors of his mother. Raw, reddened cuts and scratches littered every inch of visible skin, but the most unnerving part was the streaks of teal smudged over his skin and hair. On one foot, he wore a solitary boot. On the other was just a sludgy sock stained a nauseating navy, almost purple.

More of the goo dripped from his chin and lips as he finally smirked in an all too familiar way, "Hunting Seven?" He tilted his head, attention falling to the blade. "Or being hunted, maybe ?"

Ethan merely watched her as she dropped the blade and scrambled back. Without looking, she gripped the other chair to steady herself, but it was no match for her rising hysteria.

She was pulled down with it, sprawling on the floor. "Not you too...." She choked. It hadn't been enough that her mind would torture her with Ruby. This isn't happening. It isn't real.

Ripping her disheveled hair out of her vision, she stared up at the boy to whom she owed her life.

"Graceful as ever, Seven." He winced before letting out another round of coughs, and more teal liquid sprayed out around him. A pungent odor followed; the acid of the spider's blood assaulted her nose, and her eyes began to water.