Awakened

Bewinged

Killer burst into the clearing, rings alight and staring uncomprehendingly at the wings Ink now inexplicably sported.
At the same time, a familiar wither dropped down from above, sockets just as wide. Ink scooted away from them, back screaming as he did so.
“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't- I'm sorry.” He stumbled over his words, the new limbs still heavy behind him.

“Are those.. wings?” Fresh asked quietly, usually slang absent.
“I don't know!” He abruptly sobbed, clutching at the now stiff structures that used to be tendrils on his head, yanking at them. “I don't know!!” He wailed, Broomie curling around his legs as black blood continued to weep from his backside.

Suddenly, a familiar warmth shot through him with jarring suddenness, flooded with a terror and relief separate from himself and Broomie. Ink automatically turned towards the skeleton racing across mushroom tops, iron boots glinting his namesake.
You're okay?

Ink started frantically wiping his eyes, more black tears spilling out regardless as it started staining the fur on his arms. “I don't know- I just- everything hurts.” He blubbered piteously, confusion blending with fear and the overall stress of the past few days bursting forth in pathetic, honking sobs, miserable squees riding the wobbly trills caught on his breath.

Yet Blue approached, swaying on his feet as he dropped into a kneel, gently taking his hands off his face. “It's alright. As long as you're safe. It'll be okay.” He murmured gently. Ink was a little embarrassed by the whine that escaped him.
“The manticore stung me.” He mumbled.

“The manticore?” Blue asked, concern flaring over their momentary link.
“It. The tail. It's a stinger. The venom’s hemotoxic. And paralytic. It. It hurts.” He admitted weakly.
Blue stared at him, eyelights shrinking as he was treated to a swell of horrified recognition at those words.
“Do potions help?”
“Only.. partly.”

Blue stared for a moment longer, Ink staring back uncertainly, uncomfortably aware of the formulating plan. The skeleton abruptly turned to the side, locating Dust as he meandered closer, leaning on Epic again.
“Dust! Do you have any healing potions?”

There was a pause as the enderman absorbed the question, blinking wearily. “Do we know if they work on him?”
Blue almost looked at him, but Ink shot him a nonverbal thought, feeling tired.
“Yes.” He spoke for the sculky piglin.

Dust came over, clearly too drained to keep teleporting like usual as he offered a bright red bottle. Blue took it without a word, hesitating when he leaned over to look at the injury.
“Does anyone have any water?”

It was Cross who stepped forth, surprisingly with an entire bucket.
“You sure you won't need some of that?” Killer asked as the spotted piglin silently poured.
“First aid first.” He stated, Ink wincing as he brushed some flaps of skin flat, dabbing some blood away from the edges with some form of cotton.
“You're lucky the shirt only covers the shoulders.” He noted quietly as Blue splashed bits of the potion over the worst of it.

“The.. skin was feeling too sore for other shirts.” Ink admitted, idly grasping a gloved hand. The glove, bracer and coat sleeve helped deter him from the abrupt instinct to bite the bones, bright-tasty as they suddenly seemed.
“At least the.. bulges are not a mystery anymore.” Blue noted as the wounds began to close with a dreadful itchiness.

How much will this help with that venom?” Blue asked softly.
“Venom?” Cross was alarmed as Ink fought against the burning need to scratch, trying to sort through faint memories, the sculk responding slowly from a dimension away. It felt unnervingly distant.
Blue, still in his mind with that energy thing, didn't seem to understand the glimpses at all.