Garden Of The Abyss

The small, barely lit flame inside of him was rekindled by the words of his friend. 

"Macheo…" He said. 

He was interrupted by the crimson-eyed prince tossing the silver cloak he borrowed at his face, pulling it off as he looked back at Macheo. 

"Didn't you hear me? Get the hell out of here!...It's on you now: I'm counting on you--you're my best bet to...to save Aiko, okay?! You've got Iris waiting on you, too!" Macheo roared out as the cultists began to slowly enclose around them. 

Clenching his fist tightly, he nodded his head--accepting the mission bestowed upon him as for the first time in what felt like forever--he could smile. 

"Go---!" Macheo shouted. 

Following his words, the Lucrauvian prince made a clearing in the abundance of black-robed foes with a burst of his aquatic magecraft, parting a path for the scar-laden young man. 

"Achelous: Atlantean!" 

The Lucrauvian prince yelled out through his strained throat with his right arm limp at his side, pushing forth with his artificial limb as his conjured water took the shape of a massive, spinning drill. The cultists in the way of the aquatic drill were ragdolled by the viscous torque gathered by the azure magecraft, resulting in a mess of blood. 

Without any hesitance, he ran with complete faith in his comrade making sure his pathway was completely open. 

As he sprinted with strength that shouldn't even inhabit his malnourished body, he fell to a knee sharply. 

Crap…! He thought. 

Enclosing around him were the wordless, enigmatic cultists that loomed over him like deathly shadows. 

"Out of the damn way---! Achelous: Stride of the Leviathans!"

Macheo's voice cleared through as his visceral, leviathan-shaped water magic cut through the cultists that attempted to seize the young man, giving him enough time to get back up and continue running before he reached the large, metallic door. 

Grabbing the handle, he looked back at his friend, watching as he fought off the overwhelming cultists with magecraft with large, monstrous formations of carnivorous water that chewed through the blade-wielding cultists. 

"...I'll definitely bring you back! I'll save everyone!" He shouted at the top of his lungs one last time. 

Macheo placed a wide smile on his face, "Yeah! You better!" 

Somehow forcing his gaze forward with his new conviction, he pulled the heavy, dense door open as its doorway was indeed detached from the rest of the dank realm, leading back to the innards of Purgatory. 

"Here goes," he whispered to himself. 

Sucking in a breath to push himself forward, he leapt from the mystical gateway leading from the territory formed from magecraft. 

Passing through the threshold, the rotten air was cleared and replaced by a cold, somewhat fresh wind as the sounds of Macheo's magecraft was gone from his ears. 

"...Uff…!"

He landed harshly on the ground, collapsing onto a bed of white, frosted grass as he laid there for a moment to gather his breath. 

Lifting himself with a few, hoarse coughs falling from his lips, he raised his halved gaze to find himself back in the camp ground. 

After wandering around for a few moments, he quickly found tears leaving his eyes after it all returned to him–what had just happened. 

"Why is it always me?! Why am I always the last one left standing…?" He asked himself harshly, pushing his forehead against the harsh bark of the tree. 

He allowed himself to fall into this spiral for a few minutes before gathering himself, regaining his breath as he etched his resolve into his heart. 

"Thanks, Macheo...I owe you one," he muttered weakly as he straightened himself up. 

I was spiraling into an endless well of self-pity. At the rate I was going...I would've lost it. It...still hurts--more than anything else. Even right now, I want to cry...just break down and curl up in a ball. But, now's not the time to wallow in grief...it's on me now...do-or-die...I'll do it, Macheo. I'll bring you all back, he thought, no matter what it takes. No matter what the cost. 

Though it didn't seem as if anything had been taken or destroyed, the real difference sat in the weather that clung to the area. While it was somewhat chilly before, now it was a freezing, deathly cold that was accentuated by the white frost that clung to the once verdant grass, lining the bodies of the surrounding trees as well. 

This isn't going to be fun, he thought. 

Hugging himself as he gripped onto his cloak slightly to embrace himself with it, it was hardly enough to combat the cold as his breaths exuded in a fog. Most of this vulnerability to the cold stemmed from one, simple fact: he was without a shirt of any sort. 

Checking the beige bags of supplies that sat in the camp, there was an adequate amount of bread left, but certainly not enough to last the rest of the time needed. The other sack, containing the mana potions, was still primarily full, but the question laid in how much mana he'd have to use when it's just him--doing everything. 

"...Shit," he muttered. 

Turning back to look at the campfire, or what once was a burning, bright beacon of warmth, there was no hope in reigniting the warmth--not in the storm of snow that would engulf any kindling embers without mercy. 

There's no way I can stay here now. I have to find someplace warm...a cave, maybe? Anything with at least a roof from the snowfall would be a nice start, he thought. 

Throwing the remnants of yeast into the sack with the potions, he slung the pack over his shoulder before beginning to move, scarfing down a half loaf of bread as he marched into the unknown depths of the frosty forest. 

His entire body ached with a pain that repeated with each beat of his heart; beneath the veil over his right eye, he could feel a constant, burning sensation as if the foreign organ was set ablaze. 

It still persisted within him; lamentation, regret, guilt, anger, sadness--a spectrum of negativity that continued its spiral. 

All that's changed is the existence of a goal to help him look past it all; a potential future in which that darkness is turned to light. 

I don't know for sure, but I'm pretty sure this is the sixth day...almost a week. It's doable. Three more weeks...I can do it, Macheo...thank you, he thought. 

As much as he wanted to simply walk forward with his arms wrapped around his body, he had to keep his sword drawn due to the sheer unpredictability and hostility that was the natural element to the third floor. 

The frost-bitten foliage crunched beneath his boots as he walked through the snowy, quiet forest in lonesome, exuding breaths that added to the thin veil of fog that persisted. 

It was eerily quiet; more so than the noisy, critter-filled forest once was as it now seemed devoid of such wildlife. 

"...So cold," he breathed out in a cold breath. 

After marching for what felt like an hour without encountering a single change in the scenery of boundless trees, he finally found his way to something new as he slid past a tall, frost-laden, spiky plant. 

He was standing at the edge of a tall hill, looming atop the precipice that looked over the heads of snow-topped trees. Though there was something that stood out; a sight visible from his elevated position. 

A building; it inhabited a large hill that protruded from the forest no more than a kilometer ahead. By the looks of the slightly frosted, mossy nature that clung to the weathered stone that stood the unknown domain in a towering, rectangular shape, it seemed to resemble a dungeon of sorts. 

"It's better than wandering around aimlessly, right?..." He asked himself quietly. 

Though it did worry him somewhat, the constant snowfall was beginning to get to him as his body itched all over in an attempt to heat itself to combat the cold. 

Looking at the distant structure for a moment more, he reluctantly chose his path as he carefully slid down the slope, continuing his path onward to the enigmatic building. 

As the lonely cold churned, filling the misty atmosphere with a shower of snow, sparkling, azure crystals began to dance in the air around him as he trudged onward through the corridor of frosted cedar. Looking up at the glistening, abstractions of the gliding frost, he found himself smiling despite the sight also conjuring a throbbing in his chest. 

They were the same shade as her eyes; that same, almost mystical serenity embedding the falling flakes of dazzling blue. 

Holding his hand out, he watched as the concentrated, azure snow crystal landed atop his bare palm with a vibrant frost that bestowed a slight numbness to the skin of his hand. 

"...Just a bit longer. I'll save you...so just wait a bit longer for me, Iris," he muttered. 

Continuing his slow, but steady march, he was seized for a moment by a sudden fit of visceral, striking pain that originated from his new, covered right eye. 

"...Ghh--!"

Leaning against the rough bark of a tree, he placed his hand over the makeshift eye patch as he gritted his teeth, waiting for the pain to pass before it settled. 

I don't know what kind of eye that bastard put into me...but, it's trouble, he thought. 

Regaining his breath as a bit of stressed-induced sweat clung to his skin, he looked down at his held broadsword for a moment as a thought occurred to him that could only occur when questioning the worth of the agony he had to endure from his ocular organ. 

It was only a fleeting thought, far too insane to go through with as he pushed himself to continue marching towards the structure inhabiting the bowels of the frosten forest.