The Knight's Eyes

27: FROSTBITER

KIT POV

In his eleven years on earth, he had never been on the other side of the wall in the midst of Summer Terror. His father and mother made sure he and his sisters were safe from the dangers of the curse. When it was all over, he'd hear stories of what people had witnessed or been through or died in result. Now he would be the storyteller. Even the sorrowful decay of his body after death would tell a story.

The only fact he knew about Mad Mist was its deadly power to freeze anything in a matter of seconds. But that's just the beginning of it because once the icy mist go away, whatever once breathed now dead would resurrect as a Frostbiter. And no one knew how long the flesh-eating demons could survive for they'd disappear into the Doom if weren't contained.

The drunkard man lost his balance and fell into a stall shivering Kit back to life. Possibly a mile away and closing in fast was the frosted mist. Already he could see his breath leaving his mouth in puffs of misty smoke. The breeze sliced through his thin clothing that stuck dry to his skin.

He spun around hearing the frantic screaming of his heart and the whistling breeze. He turned to the drunkard, "Run!"

With him following far behind, he sprinted through tiny aisles searching the area for the best place to escape the mist. A row of boarded up stores was his best option. He took a daring glimpse and regretted it. The Mad Mist was breaking free into the arena. He could see nothing beyond the white fog and it made him cringe.

Kit slammed himself into a few doors hoping they'd give in and let him in. He ran around the corner into another part of the arena and prayed the gods would stop the mist before it claimed him. Heart racing and pounding out his chest, he dared another look back and saw it was gaining speed.

Then smack. He ran straight into a tall post still holding up old posters and crashed backwards onto the ground. He couldn't feel the pain of the impact except a quirky ache that flapped over his chest and shoulders. He shouted formless words at the darkened sky. There was a crash behind him. He slid around chest panting up and down, each strain of cold thin air clung onto the walls of his airway and burned. He fell into a coughing spree squinting wearily at the drunkard who had fell into a stack of wood and crates causing it all to scatter across the ground.

This was it, he knew, staring wide-eyed at the Mad Mist now covering the section of the arena where he had entered. A ton of movement broke free from where the drunkard had crashed. Ten maybe more skinny rats now exposed to the danger coming, scurried past Kit at top speed. He watched them licking his crisped lips as they disappeared into a manhole built into the sidewalk of another line of stores.

His weak heart fluttered to life as he realized the hole was big enough to possibly fit him. He jumped to his feet and sprinted to the sewer where the last rat had jumped in. He looked around and spotted a flat slab of wood leaning beside a stall. Swiftly he ran to it and snatched it up. He ignored his shivering and the fact that he couldn't feel his fingers and toes.

Just a few yards away the Mad Mist claimed the marketplace. He strained for air feeling his throat constrict and the bones in his legs stiffening hard. Warm liquid, which he didn't take the time to give attention, ran from one of his nostrils. He dropped the slab partially over the hole and easily slid in. His shoes flopped into the puddle of murky water sending the rats running in all directions.

That's when he remembered the drunk.

Standing in the middle of one aisle close by, the redness of the man's cheeks and eyes was now crispy white. Visible frost hung from the tips of his hair, his nose, his eyelashes and his clothing. The man already looked like a goner.