OUR SPOT // SkepHalo

Chapter 20

Warning: Death, gore, trauma

     It was completely silent when Clay was awoken from his sleep. The infirmary was entirely still when the hitman shot up in his bed, where he was temporarily sleeping. He peered through the darkness, but there was nothing more than moonlight to shine into the quiet room. 

     The room was trapped in stillness. Nothing made peep. Clay heard absolute silence. No creaking of floorboards, no passing of servants in the halls...

     No breathing.

     He shot up out of his bed and heard the first noise since he'd woken up: The padding of feet against a carpet. In one motion, Dream struck a match and lit a nearby candle. The flame cast shadows against the wall, and against the figure of a man. 

     The man was startled by the light, and quickly rushed for the door, but Clay was faster. The hitman cut him off, snatching his sword from its place against the wall. He swung, but the man was not incapable of defending himself. With a flash of metal, their swords collided, clashing in the darkness. 

     They fought back and forth, neither winning, and neither losing. Clay felt his limbs growing tired, still not fully awake. He cursed himself. He'd been trained as an assassin by some of the best fighters from this kingdom to the next, but he could barely hold himself against a cloaked stranger. 

     The only person that had ever beaten him was Darryl. But this man was no prince. His form was messier than Darryl's, and he was almost cocky with his ability to hold his own. Dream growled, focusing on his attacker's motions. He memorized the pattern in his steps, and the tilt of his head with every swing. There was much to learn behind every movement of the human body, especially in an intimate fight. 

     Clay found himself cursing the sloppy way his opponent fought. It was calculated, but unpredictable. It left little room for a physical attack. The sound of metal clashing against metal filled his ears, overwhelming him as he tried his best to keep his feet steady. 

     Suddenly, another sound hit his ears. A dripping sound. 

     His attention was diverted for a split second as he looked towards Noa's bed. A hand hung limply over the edge, and fresh blood dripped down the sheets. In his distraction, Clay failed to notice his opponent's sword coming down, and he cried out as the man slashed down his back. 

     The man pulled his arm back to swing again, but a scream came from the doorway and light pooled into the room. A servant girl stood in the entranceway. The man cursed, his deep voice being the only clue as to who he was. 

     Clay moved to grab him, but the man had already fled, pushing past the servant, who was in a state of shock. More servants rushed in and Dream caught sight of guards running down the hall. Someone helped the blonde over to a hospital bed.

     As he moved, he saw the full horror that had befallen Noa while the hitman slept just feet away. Clay sucked in a breath. The blonde boy's face was pale and frozen, his blue eyes stuck open. The older man winced. That meant he'd been awake for his own murder. 

     After everything he'd done, Noa had died nonetheless. No potion could fix death. No rare herbs and special mixtures could bring the light back into the youth's eyes. With every numbing thought, he felt the pain of his own wounds less and less. 

     Darryl and the King arrived minutes later, Mega and Zelk following in suit. The room was no longer silent. It was filled with the sounds of screams and mourning. Darryl came and sat near Clay's bed, letting Noa's closer friends gather around his deathbed. The brunette's eyes were wide, as if he couldn't believe the sight that he was seeing. 

     Dream reached out and put a hand on the prince's shoulder. They sat in silence, sharing a level of understanding that could only be felt by them. Darryl's eyes seemed focused mainly on Mega, who was handling the whole situation worse than anyone. 

     The gardener was lightly stroking Noa's hair, signing something every now and again. Clay recognized the pain in his expression denial. Zelk was handling it in a more quiet fashion. Tears spilled down his face, but he wasn't looking at Noa, almost like he couldn't bring himself to. Gently, he reached over and grabbed Mega's hand. He pulled him into a hug, both to comfort him and to keep him away from the body. 

     The King was in the worst state. He wailed at the top of his lung, gripping onto Noa's bloodied shirt like the boy would disappear if he released him. Darryl watched with broken eyes. The sight of his brother in such a distraught state brought back repressed memories. 

     The night their father had died was the last time the older of the two brothers had been seen like this. Their mother had stood at the foot of the bed, just as empty as Darryl had been, but she showed no signs of sadness. The King was sick for weeks before he passed, she'd mourned the entire time. As cruel as it had sounded, she'd already come to accept his inevitable death.

     The two brothers, however, were far from used to the idea of death. Darryl had been too young to understand the concept of losing someone he loved. He had held his father's cold hand until his mother had pulled him away. His brother however, was old enough to understand that things would never go back to the way they were. 

     Noa's death sparked memories that made the emotions well up inside Darryl's heart. He pulled his knees to his chest and tried his best to hold it all in. Clay watched, unable to do anything. He thought, desperately trying to find a way to fix it all. He squeezed the brunette's shoulder and whispered, " Go see him, you need it."

     Darryl nodded, but his eyes were distant, and Clay feared the prince hadn't even heard him. The other man stood up and left the room without a word. Dream grabbed a servant and whispered a command into their ear. The servant nodded and rushed out.