Rise Of Pandora

Rise Of Pandora: XVII. Empty Handed

"You are all flies feeding on the same mound of shit."

-Genesis

III. Brotherhood

They had finally reached the wavy Crescent Shore behind the citadel. Drained of almost all strength, the Rare Men continued to levitate above the undulant ocean, their bodies marked and sore. They wandered near the land like spirits lost ashore. 

Alastor breathed out thick, hot air which emptied from his throat. His skin looked drained and the skin below his eyes sunk low to his lips. Their faces were blanketed by lugubrious fatigue. Now only a few yards separated them from the sultry earth. Pontus steered them to the closest stretch of land where a few ships were anchored near.

They returned to the shores of the capital, unsure of what happened to the beast. Their expressions said it all. 

Finally, there was land beneath their feet. Pontus abruptly let up his power and they all plummeted on the hot earth just far enough away from the tides. Alastor had fallen onto Pontus. Chaos rolled over onto his back with his left arm covering his face. He was struggling to draw breath, as were the others. Mors was sat up on his butt with his arms extended behind him, holding him in place. He faced the dreary sky which shed tears over his burns.  

They lied on the dirty, water-logged ground. Pontus had his face and belly flat against the ground. He said nothing. He breathed seldom. Too spent to shove Alastor off, he lied unmoving. Erebus was lying on his back just as Chaos was, his face turned to the sky.

He noticed the many burns and holes in his clothes. Annoyed, Erebus growled to himself. Through the damaged areas of his clothes, he saw that there were light burns on his pale flesh. The afflicted areas were bright red and tender. Erebus turned away and reared his attention back to the gray clouds, allowing his head to drop gently against the earth. He opened his mouth wide apart, the webs of his lips paining and aching as he did it. He let the raindrops slip past his lips and onto his tongue.

Alastor was gradually becoming responsive again. Noticing he was smothering Pontus with his back, he swiftly rolled off of him, relieving him of his weight. Burn marks were prevalent throughout his tender body. His mind was in shambles and so was his head which pounded endlessly. His vision was blurry and his chest was stuffy and searing with heat. 

The urge to regurgitate overcame him and gradually overwhelmed him. Too exhausted to rotate his body, he just reared his head to the side and out came a spilling of vomit which drooled down his shaggy, purple beard. They had not come so close to death like this before. Not much could overwhelm them, but they too had their limits and for a bleak instance, Alastor feared he was nearing those limits.

But the five of them were strong enough to endure the pain and agony. They possessed a grand quality of endurance that matured with age, and at his age, he knew who would recover soon with time. Clutching the shirt over his chest, Alastor bellowed with streams of hot tears slipping down his eyelids. 

His spilled hot red like a cherry. Alastor placed his arm over his face despairingly. The tears would not cease. 

"We do not even know if we slew it," Alastor muttered to himself.

Before any one of the others could muster up a comment, Alastor spoke abruptly with soft and tearful words. 

"I'm sorry," he said weepily. 

With his voice cracking, he weakly called out each of their names in a humbled tone and again told them that he was sorry.

While trying to manage his overwhelming emotions, Alastor said, "I did not mean to break." He rammed his fists into the muddy ground, breaking through the hard ground with his shaky fist. He sniffled and whimpered. 

Pontus, while twisting his body around, encouraged. "Save your apologies, brother. The fault does not lie with you." 

The Rare Men's lives were pretty when spoken of in brief and superficial gossip across Pangaea. The millions that inhabited Pangaea know the legends surrounding the Rare Men. There were not many who had never heard of their name. There were also not too many people who have met them and formed an undying bond. Lying on the ground, there was this distant clatter blaring far across the citadel where the coliseum lied. 

"Do you hear that?" Chaos stood up. "It's coming from near the Opal Castle."

"Yeah. I hear it too," Erebus backed Chaos. "What do you think it is?"

"I don't know—it kind of sounds like a battle..." Mors dreaded.