immunity

By the time he stumbles into the tiny town, his breath is burning in his lungs. His hand catches himself against the side of a stone building, and he bends over as if it would help him catch his breath. It doesn't. The best it does is give him a stabbing pain in his side, and he straightens with a groan. He doesn't even want to think about the knee, and the way it throbs hot beneath his pant leg. He'd stumbled a couple times in his haste, but his magic or his cane had been quick to catch him.

Thankfully, the afflicted aren't very quick. And as long as he can outrun them, he's fine, right?

It doesn't surprise him that Wraith is already there, but the way she is holding herself does. She's already inside the closest building, her shadowy form hardly visible behind the window pane. It appears as if she's sitting on a counter, hunched over, tucking her knee to her chest, holding a dirty cloth against her shin.

Basileios feels his heart drop, chest clenching. It's then that he feels the warm red dripping down his arm and between his fingers, and he raises his arm to the moonlight. Three long cuts are bored into his skin, dirty and frayed at the edges.

A scratch.

It hurts like a bitch now, his adrenaline settling and nerves firing. He doesn't feel any different, though. He doesn't know how long it takes to settle in, either.

With a sigh, he presses his free hand to the wound, closing his eyes as he calls his magic to work. Shadows bind his skin together, black marks tracing each scratch carefully. His fingers twitch at the tickle across his skin as the shadows kiss the wound and disappear into wisps in the night.

Well, he could only hope that would work. And if not…

He wouldn't think about it.

Pressing on, he steps in through the doorway, rapping his knuckles softly on the wooden door as he cleared his throat, announcing his presence.

"I already know you're there."

Of course she did.

"Are you hurt?" He asks, slowly approaching. His knee really hurts now, and it's impossible to hide the scuff of his heel and the limp in his gait.

She replies with merely a breath and turns her gaze to him while she peels away the bloody cloth. She gives him seconds before her gaze turns to the blood on his coat sleeve. "Are you?"

Basileios pulls up his sleeve, turning his forearm to her to expose the dark stitchings his magic had done. "A scratch," He muttered before he pulled his sleeve back down, letting out a sigh. There's a heaviness about the air now; crushing, suffocating silence hangs in the air like a noose.

Wraith is the first to break it, turning to lay her leg across the counter, exposing the wound fully. "Well, go on then." She nods to him impatiently. "They'll catch up."

And Basileios knows she isn't wrong. At this point, they're both doomed, right?

He sighs and steps forward, hovering his hand over the wound. The shadows go to work again, covering the wound with their inky tendrils. Slowly, but carefully, they stitch the wound back together.

Wraith is quick to jump off the counter as the shadows recede, and Basileios wordlessly follows.

And by the next morning, they both find themselves breathing, alive, unaffected…