ennui • |art book|

one? (writing)

T/W: Heavy gore, blood, surgery

Part/ rough draft of "Wings of Fire - Jaakobah's Silence"

"Help us! Medic!"

A strained voice shouted throughout one of the entrances to the Seawing palace. Instantly, a flood of blue and green scales came rushing to the scene, the mob lurching back in disgust in the same movement. A chrous of anguished cries followed the two mangled corpses being dragged by bloodied and scarred Seawing soldiers. An expanding trail of scarlet followed the wounded pod. A heavy scent of iron wafted throughout the palace.

Sargo stood from afar, watching the scene unfold in front of him. Each of the wounded guards wore expressions of unimaginable terror, their eyes widened and bloodshot. What was most repulsive was their mutilated bodies. Sargo's dark brown eyes soaked in their horrendous wounds, it was as if they were burned alive. Large blisters and charcoal black marks adorned their once healthy scales, decaying skin hanging from exposed bone. Flesh ripped away from the joint, each step causing more wounds to rip open. Sargo could see the pink flesh even from afar, as if the guards were a walking, living vivisection. The young Seawing forced himself to swallow the bile rising in his throat at the mere sight of the deceased guards, both dragged by their impossibly flattened stomachs. Their eyes lolled back into their heads, a clear absence of their tongues and teeth. Dark blood dripped from their maws.

A few Seawings scampered away at from the pod, some vomited at the sight of it. Hatchlings were shieled from the chaos, tucked away in their mother's shaking arms. Screams and shouts emmited from the crowd, before the living dead limped into the medical wing. A herd of medical officials swamped in place of the commoners, taking delicate measures to collect the bodies.

"Sargo. Sargo!"

The steel blue Seawing jolted, turning towards the voice. It was his mentor, faded blue scales clashed with bright green eyes. Sargo's voice shook with fear.

"P-Prion, sir, I'm sor-"

"Sargo, there will be no cowardice. Not now, not ever. Now hurry! Did you forget you are a blasted medical apprentice?!"

Prion shoved Sargo in front of him as the two galloped down the hallway and into the medical bay. Entering through the double doors, there were already five medics present, frantically putting a cooling gel on the burns. Two of the doctors already began stitching up one of the guard's many wounds, while the bodies lay lifeless on the marble ground, ignored. Sargo stared in awe at the sight of them, even the doctors gave the occasional wary glance at the deflated corpses. It was too much of a drastic time to be worried about the dead. Prion gave Sargo the task of mending one of the guard's many burn wounds spread across his abdomin. The scales in some areas were burnt off, leaving an exposed area of flesh and muscle. Sargo grimaced, the wounds were worse up close. All he could think was, what had caused the two Seawings to be violently singed to the point of muscle tear?

Sargo dabbed a piece of soft coral onto the open wound, he himself wincing at the contact of raw muscle with stinging chemicals. The soldier's name was Torrent. His partner was reported to be Bonefish. It didn't come from him, but of another official, as Sargo's patient was fighting against the pull of death. Torrent's eyes lay half lidded, his body lifeless against the seaweed bed, mostly likely unconscious due to blood loss. Reds and blues mixed across his body, performing a swirling ritual on his bandaged wounds. His breathing shallow, his scales burnt and raw. His partner wasn't so lucky. The two were barely alive as it was, holding onto the last strings of existance.

Sargo, alongside another medic, worked to aloe the blisters and stitch up what they could. A nasty gash made its way across Torrent's gills, hilting his breathing. Anyone could piece together that Torrent was under the worst hell imagined. A painful, slow death.