Chapter Warnings: Violence, injury, blood, character death

***

Louis was towering over Palette before he could even blink, wrestling his sword from its sheathe and dragging it across his humerus. Blindsided by the sudden sting of metal, he fell to the ground with a pained gasp. Rolling onto his side in preparation for a follow-up strike, he watched the man dash away from him instead. A moment of confusion became panic as his adversary came to a stop at the cart and lofted the stolen sword into the air, the tip poised to stab down into the blue cover.

"NO!" Palette screeched, launching a haphazard bone attack to stop the blade... his breath caught in his throat as the attack lodged itself in Louis's back; the cuirass covering their upper body did nothing to stop it. He watched in stunned silence as the man stumbled back from the cart, dropping the sword to clutch at their chest with a marrow-curdling gurgle; the construct vanished and dark red liquid seeped from the opening in its wake. Staggering back another two steps, the man collapsed onto their back, their head lolling to the side before their body fell still.

Laboriously picking himself up off the ground after a few seconds of silence, Palette hissed at the burning twinge that ran up his arm; he pressed his hand against the wound, activating his healing magic as he shuffled forward. Approaching Louis's body cautiously, the vacant, glazed eyes, the bloody hole in their chest, the thin trails from their mouth and nose, and the dark pool underneath the body were grim confirmations that they had passed on. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but a human corpse was far more graphic than he ever would have anticipated. 

A corpse... a life taken by his own hands...

A wave of nausea forced his vision away from the body to the nearly healed gash on his humerus; it would be sore for a day or two and there was the possibility of a lasting scar, but he would survive. Letting his magic dissipate and returning his displaced sword to its scabbard, he tried to focus his attention back on Goth. Leaning over the cart's siding and peeling back the cover, there were multiple crates of produce and burlap sacks lining the bottom, but no bodies.

Before he could stress over the possibility of overlooking something important, he noticed one bag looked off from the rest; it was the same spot Louis had been aiming for... that had to be Goth. 

Scrambling into the cart, he almost tripped over a crate of apples in his haste. Reaching the bag, he tugged at the knot with trembling fingers and bated breath, praying that he was right... opening the bag, the sight of the smaller skeleton's sleeping face was everything he could have hoped for. Tearing away the burlap, there was an oversized rag shoved into Goth's mouth and silk threads binding their arms, wrists, and ankles together; he could just barely make out the remnants of tear tracks trailing down their face.

Images of Goth waking up in that dark, cramped bag, tied up and gagged flashed through his mind; thoughts of them struggling to escape their bindings or call for help while panicked, crying, and in pain... being carelessly tossed over a ledge to face a watery death... it sent a spike of rage through him. For a moment, he wished he had made Louis suffer more, but he clenched his jaw and took a breath; that wasn't right... he couldn't let his anger consume him.

Besides, Goth still needed him here.

Laboriously slicing through the sturdy threads with his sword and removing the gag, he lifted Goth's limp body into a sitting position and checked their breathing and pulse; both were thankfully steady and calm. Lightly tapping their cheek with his fingers, he called out to them, "Goth? Hey, can you hear me?" His browbones furrowed at the lack of response, but their calm expression also suggested there was no immediate danger, so he put aside his worries in favor of checking for injuries.

Running his fingers gently along their bones, Palette was able to pick out and heal a handful of minor scrapes along Goth's arms and legs; the worst looked to be where the threads had dug into the wrist joints to the point of wearing angry notches into the bones. Biting his tongue to avoid cursing the monster he suspected the strings belonged to, he cupped the injured hands in his own as his magic illuminated their dim surroundings once more.

Watching the soft green light curve across his companion's slack face, the lull in activity allowed the reality of what had happened to finally sink in; his senior officer had tried to kill Goth... and now Louis was dead because of him. He pulled his companion close, cradling them against his chest to fend off the tumult of emotions surging through him; he was relieved, but he was also sad, angry, confused, tired, and nauseous. He felt so overwhelmed by the night's events that he could hardly process his thoughts. How would Goth react to what he did? Would they see him as a hero, or would he be reviled as a murderer?

And Drago... he was still a threat... he would definitely try to have Goth killed again if he got the chance. What was he supposed to do now?

"Bring him to the Bristelburg Crossroads instead."

Xander... his friend had a plan, or it sounded like they had one. They had put Goth in danger but had also helped with the rescue; until he had evidence to suspect otherwise, he would trust their change of heart.

Taking a breath to settle his nerves, Palette scooped Goth up into his arms and eased himself out of the cart. He had intended on bringing his companion to his horse that was calmly idling near the tree line... if not for the body still lying in the grass. He really wanted to hate Louis for what they did, but they were just another victim of Drago's lies; he couldn't hate them any more than he could hate Xander, and he knew he would regret it if he left them to rot on the side of the road. Releasing a heavy sigh, he backtracked to the cart's driver bench and laid the sleeping prince across it before rummaging through the cart's contents for something to move the body.

He eventually resigned himself to using the blue cover, as it was the only piece of linen big enough to hold the former knight. Wrapping them up, he painstakingly hauled them over to the cart and heaved them into the back. Leaning against the cart once the bundle was situated, his body sagged with fatigue. He wanted to rest so badly, but he knew the night was far from over.

Returning to the bench with the torn burlap and a heavy soul, he unfurled it and placed it over Goth like a blanket. "Sorry I don't have anything better," he hummed, brushing his hand across the smaller monster's forehead; there was no reply and he kind of felt silly for expecting one.

Once his horse was securely hitched to the side of the cart, he climbed onto the bench and situated Goth's skull comfortably onto his lap. Taking up the reins of Louis's horse and coaxing the animal into returning from the direction they had come, he took a breath and allowed the calm surroundings to settle his anxious soul as the sounds of the nightlife and the lazy footfalls of the horses serenaded their journey to the crossroads.

He had chosen his path, and now it was time to see it through for better or worse.

***

Word Count: 1,294