You remember when I said this was just all my 3am thoughts put in one book? It's so apparent in this chapter and I apologise in advance. Honestly, if you thought Brendon's long paragraphs of dialogue were bad then oh boy...
Ryan's eyes stopped their wistful search of the tragic scene, focusing on the emerging vessel. His desperate hands dropped from Brendon's back and he straightened, alert.
Brendon pulled back, confused and subtly shivering, as yet unaware that they had company.
Ryan nudged him lightly, apologetically, prompting him to look behind him.
Brendon saw. Brendon recognised.
The man was little more than an outline, yet the solemn slope of his shoulders and the undefined lines of fabric slipping over his form were unmistakable. Brutally familiar. More familiar than anything.
He clutched Ryan's hand. There was fear behind the strength of his fingers. Defiance too.
The boat floated towards them, undeterred by the lack of oars, sliding through the current, guided by momentum and willpower alone.
The fog seemed to muffle everything: the sound of the waves, the sound of Brendon breathing, the sound of his own thoughts.
The bow came to rest inches from the edge of the newly formed island, rocking gently from side to side, though the figure maintained an eerie stillness.
Though the eyes were hidden, Ryan knew they were trained on Brendon.
This was it.
The time for Brendon to be who he never wanted to be.
He wasn't sure if Brendon would allow that.
Because he was strong. He was strong because he'd been chosen for a purpose, and he would use that strength to defy said purpose.
Ryan was about to witness a confrontation; a man-against-god battle which would be considered legendary if anyone else was here to see.
Nevertheless, their isolation would make the moment no less powerful to him.
That is, if he lived to see it. Brendon would be the last man alive so, somewhere between now and his death, Ryan would meet his own.
The figure lifted an arm, pointing at Brendon. The cloth shifted quietly as the hand turned. Beckoning. Demanding.
Gingerly, he stepped onto the boat, hands flying outwards to catch his balance as it tipped violently. The figure hardly seemed disturbed.
"Remove my veil." The voice was as controlled as his body, tone calm and monotonous, without a hint of impatience or doubt that his orders would be obeyed.
A shaking hand brushed across the cloth, reluctant to make contact and even more reluctant to unmask whatever had preyed on his dreams for as long as he could remember.
He was bitterly afraid and the fear, Ryan knew, would only make him stronger. More determined. If he let it. If he used it.
The disrupting touch of Brendon's fingers caused the first layer of fabric to slide off his arm and the others followed it, cascading down rather beautifully to lie discarded at his feet, grey and normal. Unthreatening.
YOU ARE READING
Deus Ex Diluvium (Ryden)
AdventureAt the end of the world, where is there left to run? It doesn't matter, Brendon claims, as long as you keep running. Run, like Ryan, who never made much of the life he had and didn't care much about losing it, but runs anyway. Run, like Brendon, a p...
