The Pseudo Semicolon

CHAPTER 13 || PART: 2

"There's nothing here!" Devland cursed, "It's just another wasteland."

They were in the middle of a forest, huge trees surrounded them with their enormous trunks. He pawed the ground with his shoe, frowning.

"I'm sure I got the address right." Akira swore as he joined Devland.

"Well, there's nothing here." Devland grumbled, "Maybe you heard it wrong."

"No—I'm pretty sure I'm right." Akira nodded.

"Fuck—Guess we gotta search harder." Devland ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Akira, check over there. I'll take this side."

Akira nodded, scratching the back of his head and heading out in the opposite direction as Devland. The location stated that it would be here somewhere, somewhere between the trees.

Somewhere between the trees.

Devland inhaled sharply as he saw a dark figure out of the corner of his eyes, whipping around in fear as his heartbeat sped up.

"Not this bitch again." Devland cursed as the monster appeared again, this time it was grinning. He usually would've turned around and run, usually would've cried out in fear. But mustering every bit of courage he had left, he stood his ground, staring down at the creature as it inched towards him.

It radiated an aura of evil; death, horror, disgust. It reminded him of everything bad, everything he regretted. Devland clenched his teeth and didn't move an inch as the creature towered before him.

"You showed your ugly face again." Devland forced himself to sound brave, "What other wonderful death threats have you crafted for me?"

"You seem to be harming yourself even better than I could harm you."

Devland stumbled away from the creature's grasp, gritting his teeth. "I haven't done that shit in a month. Before Max died—" his breath hitched, " —I've been clean for a year."

"No matter—I sense dark things approaching you, little mortal." The demon wrapped its fingers around Devland's throat, tiny drops of the black sludge dropping on his face. "How I wish they sacrificed you instead."

" 'They'?" Devland repeated hoarsely, "Who are they?"

"Weaklings. Fools. Desperate peasants that have seeked my help."

The demon cackled and Devland steeled himself as the hand squeezed the breath out of his lungs. 'It's not real, it's not real, it's not real—'

And just when it felt like Devland couldn't breathe anymore and he was sure that he was dead, his vision suddenly flickered, changing to a different scene.

The tone of the world had changed; it was no longer dead and brown, instead, it was summer. Beautifully hot summer.

He was traversing through the woods, laughing—why was he laughing? Devland didn't know. He stabbed the long stick he held to the ground and walked through the forest. He stumbled upon a creek, bending down and cupping his hands in the flowing water.

A face was reflected on the water's surface; a face with grey eyes and brown hair that was cut short. The face held a bright smile with full lips; barely a trace of an eye bag surrounding the person's eyes. The face reflected on the water's surface belonged to Max.

"The water could be dirty, Max, don't drink it." Mitchel's voice suddenly interrupted as Max looked up and saw the boy, his hands on his hips.

"Best case scenario: I die, Worst case scenario? I get diagnosed with an infection." Max shrugged indifferently as the rest of the Elites appeared behind Mitchel, all cheering and talking.