Little Boy Belmont (Richter x Olrox)

Chapter Nineteen: Smoking Mirror

On the way back to the Hold, Olrox buys more food from one of the nearby villages for Richter. Belmont eats some dried meat and a pear that Olrox bought. He's still a little shaken up from the attack earlier.

The somewhat stale air from the Hold is a welcome feeling, along with the countless books. Richter helped Olrox and Edouard hide the mutilated bodies so any villagers won't get suspicious, hoping another rainstorm will wash away the blood still on the grass.

The three of them sit down at one of the tables, still trying to process what happened earlier in the night.
"Has Quetzalcoatl ever protected you like Tēzcatlipōca did to me earlier?" Richter asks, curious.
Olrox shakes his head no.
"Not as a separate entity, only when he lets me turn into the Feathered Serpent," he admits, head tilted.

Olrox asks something out loud in Nahuatl. The three of them hear faint, purring laughter in the air. The Aztec God of Darkness is most likely circling around the table as they speak.
"What did you ask him?" Edouard asks.
"If he and Quetzalcoatl will ever genuinely get along as brothers again," he sighs, seeming to feel Quetzalcoatl's sadness for his elder brother.

Richter sighs, still a little shaky. He flips through the Aztec Mythology book and looks down at the faded drawing of Ometeotl. Exhaustion from the fight earlier makes Richter's eyelids droop.
"I'm gonna get some sleep. We'll think of a plan on going back to France tomorrow," he murmurs, tired.

Edouard and Olrox agree. The Aztec stands when Belmont does and kisses his lips gently.
"If anything odd happens when you're asleep, wake up and tell me," Olrox whispers, looking into his eyes.
Richter nods, then goes to lie down.
****
He's back in the field in his dreams again, but Leon is absent. Even so, he feels the Aztec God's presence, it feels stronger in his mind.
"You saved me back in the forest. Why?" he asks, looking up at the stars.

Belmont feels Tēzcatlipōca walk over and sit in front of him. He lowers his head from the sky to face the God. This is the closest the God has gotten to him in his dream. Even sitting crisscrossed, Tēzcatlipōca is still taller.
"Because you are important. You mean a lot to me," he explains, speaking in perfect English with the slightest hint of an accent.
'You mean a lot to me. That's the same words Olrox said in the inn,' Belmont realizes.

"Do you say that simply because you want to use my body as your vessel?" Belmont asks, brows furrowed. Tēzcatlipōca laughs softly, smoke flowing out from his nose and lips. Richter accidentally breathes some of it in and coughs. It doesn't smell terrible, it doesn't even smell like smoke, but the sensation of him breathing it makes his chest tingle.

It feels somewhat dry, like ash coating the back of his throat.
"How can you constantly breathe that?" Richter asks between coughs. Tēzcatlipōca grins, more smoke venting out, inky black like a starless sky.
"You get used to it after eons of being alive. The first time I breathed out smoke was moments after I was born. That's when Ometeotl named me Tēzcatlipōca with amusement," he explains, his somewhat smug look faltering at the mention of his parent.

Richter sees vague sadness in his pale eyes.
"Your mother? Father? Parent? Ometeotl...are they still alive?"
Tēzcatlipōca nods.
Belmont hesitates.
"If I agree to let you use my body, what happens?" he asks.

"Well, my powers become yours. You will breathe out smoke that is toxic to any person, you can blend into shadows, your strength will increase dramatically, you could snap people's spines like twigs. You will be immortal, my memories might even merge with yours. You'll see the Aztec Empire in its prime before you were even born," he explains, looking oddly calm describing all of this like it's the most normal thing.

"It might be what we need to defeat Báthory," Richter admits. "And my powers..." He looks down at his hands.
Belmont sees the Aztec Gods' black hands touch his own, the skin warm.
"Will most likely be unleashed. With so much power, you very well could lose yourself to the surge of strength for a moment. Whatever happens when you all reach France, I will not hesitate to defend you again. If you get seriously hurt, call for me in your dying breaths, I'll respond."
****
Richter sits up in his bedroll, still feeling the Aztec God's hands against his own. He looks around, hearing the faint buzz of the lights in the Hold. He's surprised to see Olrox awake, sitting at the table and reading.

Seeing Richter moving, Olrox looks over and smiles when he sees Belmont awake. Richter stands and sits at the same table. He's bewildered to see Olrox reading a book in Spanish, of all languages.
"You can read Spanish?" He asks.
"And speak it too," he notes with amusement.
"How?" Richter asks, figuring Olrox only knows English and Nahuatl.
"The Conquistadors forced any survivors to learn their language," the Aztec explains, looking down at the book with a small sigh.
"Oh," is all Richter can think to respond with, forgetting what horrors Olrox had witnessed and gone through.

Olrox smiles at him, gently grabbing his hand resting on the table and caressing his knuckles with his thumb.
"Do not mourn me, Richter," he assures Belmont.
"I'm fine as long as you're by my side."
"Always," Richter promises him, smiling back.

By the time Olrox goes to sleep for the day, Richter looks down at the book the Aztec was reading. He's surprised to see Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare translated into Spanish.
He spends the early morning pouring over and studying a English to Spanish dictionary, finding the words in Spanish easier to understand than he expected.

He didn't find any English to Nahuatl books in the entire Hold, so this will have to suffice.
"Te amo," he repeats, his Spanish sounding very shaky since he's never spoken it before.
"I love you," he translates to English, smiling to himself.
"Lo siento," he whispers.
"I'm sorry," he translates.

He spends the remainder of the day between eating and slowly learning more Spanish as Olrox and Edouard sleep. He tries his best not to think about Báthory's scouts, or Drolta, or any of the nightmares they'll have to face in the coming days.