In her mind, Alicia wanted to feel overjoyed about the return of her father. She knew deep down what the seventeen-year-old Zion had done. But the pain of the possibly loss of Zion was overwhelming. "I think Zion..." she painfully whispered. "I think Zion gave his life for yours!"
Lance bolted up from the ground like a zombie rising from it's grave. "WHAT!?" he yelled. The possible blow blasts through Lance with great force. "That simply cannot be true..."
The ghostly Modello watched from behind the lamenting two. He was sitting down on the blood stained grass, his emerald green irises stuck on the scene outside of the city of Lucio. This truly makes Modello think about the only thing he could ever think about, his truest love Alyssa.
Alicia was completely blown away by this change, to actually think she would watch the great and powerful Zion give his life in exchange for her father's. Her eyes turned to the motionless face of Zion. Her tears of sorrow crash down on the bridge of his nose. "Zion..." she whispered. "Please don't go..."
As the situation began to become utterly hopeless, a crack grew on Zion's face. A light smile grew on his face, his emerald green irises blow open the doors that kept them hidden. Alicia's eyes widen, a smile blew across her face. "Zion!" she yelped. "You're...you're alive!"
Lance grew a smile on his face, to see the joy and happiness written on his daughter's face. Zion's faded but still living irises gaze up at Alicia. "Sorry...to have worried you..." he weakly mumbled, then turning his head over to the now living Lance. "Are you alright...Lance?"
Lance shook his head. "Better than I've ever felt." he quickly stated.
Zion closed his eyes. "That's...good," he quietly spoke.
Just after he spoke those words, his entire body just went limp once again. Alicia began shaking Zion once again, completely and utterly worried that he may be actually dead. "Zion!" she yelped. "Zion!"
Lance turned his eyes onto the seventeen-year-old Zion's torso. He then realizes that the red hooded young man was drawing breath into his lungs. "It's alright," he calmly stated. "I think he just passed out from exhaustion. Let's get him back to his room where he may rest."
Alicia shook her head. "Okay..." she mumbled. Several hours went by after this situation passed and the father and daughter returned into the stone arms of the castle of Lucio with Zion. The night had eaten the morning light from the world and caped the land with darkness. Blankets and sheets of red and green wrapped the motionless Zion like a Christmas present. His room was silent and still.
Modello was leaning against the wall beside the room's entrance. His arms were crossed, his head looking down at the floor, his eyelids closed and his thoughts silent. The gates that closed off Zion's irises from the world began to open, standing ajar.
His eyes slowly shuffle down at the foot of the bed where he saw Alicia. She was on her knees, the upper half of her body laying flat on the cotton bed. Her face turned to her right and her eyes closed. It would appear she fell asleep.
Modello opened his left eye, tilting it over to the now awake Zion. The look on his face gave no change once he noticed Zion's reawakening. The mask drawn on his face was still stolid. "You're finally awake..." he whispered softly, making sure he doesn't wake up Alicia.
"You needn't whisper, Modello," he stated, slowly sitting up from the coffin that was his bed. "Only I am able to hear you."
"That's a pretty big admirer you have there," he softly spoke. "She's been here since this morning, not moving a single inch away from you."
"It is a bit strange," he said. "I've repeated the same sentences, the same actions and the same feelings. I've watched time and time again the deaths of the Zamorakian army and of Alicia. And yet...it feels no different from when I was going through it when I was alive during this time."
The transparent black sheep closed off the only gate revealing his beautiful emerald green eyes. "Hmm..." thought Modello to himself.
"What goes on, Modello?" quickly questioned Zion.
Modello turns his head away from the red hooded Zion. "Nothing..." he mumbled. Just as their conversation came to an end, Zion turns to Alicia with a smile on his face.
~+~+~
All by herself, Moriah is among the forsaken concrete and wooden forest of buildings. Within the hold of a hallway of buildings, rotting corpses caped a space wherever she looked. She wore a disturbed look on her face, shuffling her head left and right. "These poor people..." she mumbled to herself, softly. "They had no chance."
Her feet carefully take one step at a time, the rancid smell of rotting death rush up her nostrils. However, the purifying rain purged most of the scent away. She continued to walk down the eerily silent alleyway, her left hand clenched onto her pouch of runes strapped to her waist.
The air was almost deathly cold, but the only things that Moriah felt was the soft pounding of her heart and the fierce apprehension growing with her every step. She approached the end of alleyway and into the vein of the city street. But then she felt something wrong, as if she was being watched.
Her feet froze like a statue, her left hand unwrapping the string around her pouch of runes. "Who's there?" she questioned, not even turning her head. She then heard a faint step echo from behind her. She quickly turned around to face whoever it was behind her. But before she saw the face of the person, a loud sound of something being launched echoed throughout the rain clouded day.
Her body froze, standing before the man. He had his left hand out in front of him and blood rained down from his greatcoat. Moriah's eyes widen, feeling something pierce her right shoulder. Her right arm flails backwards as blood shoots out into the atmosphere. Her head slowly tilts over to her right shoulder. She watches her own blood pour out, a small bolt injected like a needle into the flesh of her shoulder.
Her face wrote an entire novel of agony. Her left hand swung from the pouch tied onto her waist and up to the wound. It tightly hugged her shoulder. Her head quickly jerked over to the one responsible. And much to her surprise, it was Richard. But something was definitely wrong about him.
Her pale blue irises looked down at the blood dripping from his abdomen. She was confused, puzzled by this. "Richard..." she mumbled. "What are...you doing!?"
His head hung low so Moriah couldn't see his face. But then, he slowly turned it up to gaze upon the wounded magic user. And when his mask faced Moriah, her eyes widened. His face was emotionless and his eyes were hallow and empty. Blood streamed down the left and right side of his lower lips. He breathed in air, but it was almost nothing. It was slow and shallow.
Moriah wore a mask of disbelief, frozen in shock. "Richard...?!" she gasped. "Are you..." He slammed his right foot down at the ground, the flexible blade in the sole of his right foot pops out. His arms dangled down limp-like and his back was hunched over.
His right hand traded spots with his left hand, coming up in front of him. Like an arrow towards a target, he pointed it at Moriah. But his motion seemed conflicted, as if it was trying to be pulled back down. "Moriah..." Richard spoke out weakly. "Zin...is controlling me...I can't stop him."
Moriah had an intense look on her face. "Controlling you...?" she yelped. "Wait...does that mean-?!"
Richard's emotionless facial expression grew a look of frustrated look. His teeth grit together. "Yes, it does," he stated. "He has become aware of our actions..."
"No..." she frustratedly growled.
"Listen to me...I don't have much time left consciously..." he replied, still fighting the control on his right hand. The small crosswire bow under his right sleeve suddenly launches the broad bolt. "There is one thing you MUST not do..."
Moriah sways to her right, dodging the bolt. "W-what?" she questioned. Richard forcefully charges at the wounded magic user. His footsteps rush quickly over to her, they thud against the stone which causes an echo.
When he arrives in front of Moriah, he launches his left foot up vertically. Moriah backsteps, jumping about a foot from Richard. The narcissist grabs the handle of his Dragon Scimitar sheathed on his waist. "You cannot...trust Drake!" he softly stated, slowly pulling his Scimitar out from it's case.
Moriah had a questionable look on her face, her left hand entering the den of runes strapped on her waist. Her hand clenches tightly onto several Air Runes. "Why?" she questioned.
Richard charged at Moriah, his sword ready to kill in his hand. Moriah pulled those runes out from the pouch, holding them in front of her like a shield. Richard was right in front of her, about to swing his Scimitar down upon her. The Air Runes in Moriah's left hand responded to the magic command given by the wounded magic user.
"Because that man is actually-!" he quickly declared, but then as soon as he was about to utter the last part of his sentence. His voice had become lost. Just after he spoke those words, the Air Runes' magic actives. A huge rush of wind blows Richard away from Moriah, whipping blood from the two all over the area. Richard's back crashes down on the stone pathway.
His eyes widen from the pain, but then as he became smothered by pain. He felt the life disappearing from him, his vision dissipates into black. Moriah had a confused look on her face. "He's actually who!?" she yelled back at Richard, trying to gain an understanding of what Richard was saying.
Richard sluggishly returned onto his feet, his arms dangled down like icicles. His head hung low, looking towards the ground. Moriah knew that Richard could very well no longer be himself. The pain that smothered her right shoulder became almost unbearable, her left hand clenches tightly on it.
Her own blood rivered down her black cloth sleeve, crawling down onto her pale skinned hand. The blood dripped from her fingertips and raced down the Tablet of Zion in her hand. Her teeth grit together and her face tenses up. Her vision constantly changed from blur to normal.
Richard suddenly dashes towards Moriah, hasting rather quickly. An emotionless mask clenched his face. Whether she liked it or not, Moriah had to ready herself. Once in range of Moriah, Richard launches himself up into the air. He throws his left foot out in front of him, it charged towards Moriah.
Richard's left foot slams into Moriah's chest, sending a shockwave of pain all throughout her body. Moriah's body crashes down into a puddle of water that was just behind her. Her body bouncing like a rubber ball in the water. She cries whimpers of agony out into the atmosphere just as she lands on the ground.
The blood pouring out from the wound on her shoulder merges with the rain water in the puddle. Richard stares down at Moriah, his Dragon Scimitar ready to kill in his hand. He began walking over to Moriah, his eyes never off of Moriah for a split second.
Richard stood not even a foot in front of Moriah, pulling his Scimitar like a door as he was about to finish Moriah. He then launched his blade down like a missile down at Moriah, ready to take her life. But then he stopped just before his blade came too close to the wounded magic user.
A blade made of steel pierces through right where Richard's heart would be. Blood falls from the possessed Richard, the blade that pierces Richard is then recoiled. Richard collapses onto the ground like a falling tower, slamming onto the stone with a thud. Once Richard falls, it reveals the hoodless blonde haired Drake and the blood covered blade in his hand.
His black irises looking down on Moriah, realizing that she was quite wounded. Drake wasted little time, quickly casing his Steel Longsword in it's sheath strapped on his waist that was hidden under his black cloak.
He walked over to her left side and dropped down onto his knees beside her. Moriah was looking up at him, surprised. "Drake," she called. "Thank you."
"You needn't thank me," he replied, digging his left arm under her knees. "I know you would've done the same." He pulls her upper body up with his right arm. Moriah throws her left arm around the back of his neck like a scarf. Drake stands to his feet, carrying Moriah in his arms.
Drake walks about ten feet from where he originally picked up Moriah. The clothing wore on Moriah was dripping wet, raining double the more water onto the ground with the cooperation of the raindrops. He knells down beside a wall of a building. He lays Moriah against this wall with her upper body leaning straight against the wall as if she were sitting in a chair. Her legs laid straight out in front of her.
Moriah let out a sigh of relief, releasing the worries and troubles that once brought her down out of her body. The rain continued to pour down onto their heads. "Thank goodness you came," she said, relief was the absolute rule in her voice. "Otherwise, I think I'd be him right now."
Drake threw open the left side of his cloak, his right hand entered the shadow from under the cloak. He lifts up his left arm and clenches his right hand onto his left shoulder. His right hand then rips off the entire front portion of his left sleeve. It was a beige colored ribbon of it that was about two and a quarter feet long. He turns his head back towards Moriah. "I'm going to have to take out the bolt," he stated. "Alright?"
Moriah shook her head. Drake shook his head back at the wounded magic user. His eyes turn onto the bolt that stuck out from her black sleeve. Moriah recoiled air back into the withholds of her gallows. Her eyes close shut, bracing herself for the pain. She lets out the air she drew back into her, sighing for what comes next.
Drake reaches his left hand out in front of him, out towards the bolt's shaft. He turns his index and middle fingers into squares, holding the bolt in between the two. He turns his black as coal eyes onto Moriah. "I'm going to pull it out as fast as I can," he stated. "Ready?"
Moriah parroted her actions from just a moment ago, shaking her head up and down to assure Drake. His focus retreats back onto the injury, his glance was focused without hesitation. Quickly, like his words suggested, his right hand pulls jerks back. And the bolt comes along with it.
Moriah lets out a soft whimper of pain, gritting her teeth tightly. Blood was let loose, flowing out from the wound. It flowed down like lava from a volcano out onto the surface of her black sleeve. Drake quickly began wrapping the cloth from his left sleeve around the wound to act as a bandage.
Moriah turned her pain-written face onto Drake. "So, what brings you here?" she questioned.
Drake ties a knot with the strip of beige cloth around Moriah's shoulder. "I was worried about you," he answered. "The thought that you and your friends being in the same area with that monster Zin made me quite concerned. So, I came along without your acknowledgment. I hope that isn't too much of a problem."
"And it seems like you came just in the nick of time," she said, turning her head to the dead body of Richard. "Still...what we're doing now is hopeless. Zin knows of our plan...and he almost made it so I wouldn't get to Zion's body..."
"Almost," he repeated. "For all we know, Zin may actually believe you're dead. So, this event might actually work to our advantage."
Moriah looked away from the black cloak youth. Her eyes fell down into apprehension. "I think maybe...he wants me to get to Zion." she said. "I mean, if he wanted us dead. Don't you think we would've died a long time ago by the plague? Well, maybe not me...but still."
Drake turns his eyes away from Moriah. "That could very well be the truth," he said. "But we won't that for sure until we confront that monster face to face."
Moriah turns to Richard, her eyes and thoughts clouded by uncertainty. "Richard..." she thought to herself. "What did you mean?"
"Is it what Richard said?" he asked, his eyes looking at Moriah.
Moriah's mind snaps back into reality away from the comfort and confusion of her thoughts. Her head jerks over to Drake, his head looking away from her. His eyes looking upon the ground with a look of upset. "You heard?" she questioned.
Drake shook his head, confirming her question. "Do you still not trust me, Moriah?" he asked, reaching into the pocket of his pants. In his pocket, he clenched very tightly onto a piece of paper.
Moriah turned her head away from Drake. She sighed, readying herself for her next tray of words that came fresh from her thoughts. "Look, I'm sorry..." she apologized. "I'm just all that trusting of a per-"
"Here." he said, grabbing the piece of paper that he held so dearly in his pocket. He extended it out to Moriah. "I'm not sure if this will make you believe me. But believe what you desire." The young magic user glanced upon the paper. She extended her left hand out to Drake's left hand.
She grabbed the piece of paper and pulled it in front of her face. It was an artist's drawing of a family drawn in pencil. There was an adult female and a shorter male both standing in the back beside each other. In front of the two were five younger children, three boys and two girls around the ages of five through nine.
Moriah had a expression on her face that spoke for it's self. She had no idea what to think. "This is-..." she mumbled.
"-My family before they were all taken from me by the plague." he answered. "This was drawn by my father, who was an artist before he passed away. My family wasn't the richest, in fact we were quite poor. And my father was the only shot we had to lead a wealthy life...which unfortunately never came true. He drew that picture about a month before the blight took over."
"So, you were the oldest..." she mumbled.
Drake shook his head. "My father was always so busy pleading with people to buy his work and was barely ever home, I had to look after my siblings as well as my mother. My mother was a mess most of the time. Whether she was angry or depressed, there was always something wrong. So I took on the role on parenting my siblings. I was twelve when this was drawn." he continued.
