Let me cauterize the wound.

  Castigan’s conscience shatters Arric’s train of thought.

  “No. You just want a chance to kill her. We’ve been in her head together for years. I know what you’d do to her given the chance. ‘Burn you to cinder’, I believe, was your choice of words.” Arric’s confidence flees as he speaks the words. Castigan’s consciousness is unarguably stronger, almost regal in its bearing and weight. Arric begins to wonder how long he can keep him under control.

  The girl will die if you don’t let me.

  He’s right. They both know it. The only way Eve is going to survive is if they cauterize the wound. Castigan is the only option.

  “Fine. But I’m staying in control. Just borrowing the power.”

  As you wish.

  “Eve,” her name feels like honey on his tongue. Her gaze falls upon him, her void black eyes barely reflecting a consciousness that’s barely present. She is pale. Too pale. Gaunt and stricken. She doesn’t have long. No matter what fires burn within her soul.

  “I –” Arric begins to speak as it dawns upon him that he’s withheld Castigan’s presence from her. A terrifying omission. “Castigan is with me. In here. He says he can cauterize the wound.”

  Eve looks as if she might vomit. He supposes it’s better than her wrath.

  “Do it,” her voice is faint, “just do it.” The resignation is plastered on her face. She’s falling, failing, spiraling…dying.

  Arric moves closer, still wary of her prior admonition.

  “Just get on with it, please,” she says, “I couldn’t hurt you if I wanted to right now.”

  Permission granted, time to act. Arric rushes forward. The wound in her gut is bleeding furiously. He presses his fingers into it as she groans. The wound is deep, any deeper and her intestines would be at risk from the flames. “I think it’s safe. Not that there’s any other choice.”

  Tell the girl I’ll only do it if she agrees to find a way to get us separated.

  “What?” Arric asks.

  You heard me. I want a body – my body. The body of a true elementalist. Not this frail thing. The girl is going to help us with that. I want to hear her say it before I save her life.

  “What are you waiting for?” Eve asks, eyes closed against the incoming pain.

  Arric closes his eyes in anticipation of her rage. “Castigan says he won’t do it unless you agree to help.”

  “Spit it out, help with what?” she breathes.

  “He wants his own body, like mine. He wants your promise.”

  She rolls her head, looking at Arric once again. Her gaze hardens into a glare for just a moment. Her fire returning.

  “Fine! He can have whatever he wants, I’ll give you both blowjobs if I make it through this, just fucking do it!”

  Arric’s fingers begin to burn and glow over the wound, his own skin searing. The scent of burning iron and their commingled burning flesh swims through the air. This is for her. This is for Eve. He reminds himself, lest the pain force the cessation of his efforts.

  “Fuuuuuck!” She screams as her face contorts in agony. The skin at the edges of her wound blisters angrily.

  Mmmm she smells like a delicacy, doesn’t she?

  “Delicacy?” The words are a distraction from their shared pain. Arric inhales deeply the scent of vanilla which rises delicately from Eve’s skin - almost completely overcome by iron and smoke. “Yes, but not in your twisted ways.”

  Oh? So only in your twisted ways? What are you going to obsess over her hair? The smell of her skin?

  Arric’s lips pull back into a snarl at his words, despite the uncomfortable truth behind them.

  It’s done. Move our hand, it takes time to cool. You’re burning her needlessly now.

  He pulls his burning hand away, resting it on the ground next to her where it sizzles against the crystal. He leans close to examine the wound, the skin is smooth where it had burned. Dried blood stains both flesh and cloth. There’s no fresh bleeding. Arric snuffs the small flames that still burn on her outfit with the fingers of his other hand. “How’s the pain?” He asks.

  “Fine,” She says softly, “Rose is taking most of it. She’s fucking strong. It just took her a second to get there. The blade…it’s taking most of her attention.”

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  “I told you she was strong,” he says, “you should have let her harbor the pain from the beginning.”

  Her gaze turns to ice as she looks him up and down. “She’s still only nineteen…barely younger than I am.” She adjusts her position on the crystallized souls beneath her. “I’m definitely not walking out of here.” Of course she wouldn’t be. Cauterizing the wound had done nothing for her blood loss. Not to mention the ominously slow leak from her chest. “You’ll have to carry me.” An inconsiderate smile pulls at Arric’s lips as he tries to keep a straight face. “How strong is that new body of yours? It looks…fit,” she finishes.

  “I should be able to carry you without issue.”

  “Then do it,” she commands.

  He reaches down to place a hand under her legs when –

  I think you might need a minute to pull yourself together.

  He grasps nothing — there is nothing to grasp with.

  Gone. Some body you put together. Very high quality. A little bit of pain, an insignificant speck of my power, and it disappears on us. Well done.

  “Arric?” Eve says weakly, looking up at him. Her voice rattles his heart in its cage.

  “My hand.” Is all he can muster.

  She looks down with a confused “oh.” She’s fading ever more quickly.

  We need to use the young one’s energy. Use your other hand to touch her. Siphon it carefully or you’ll kill Eve and we both know what a shame that would be.

  “The young one is all that spares her the pain.”

  Then find a vein of souls in the crystal below, I don’t care either way, but she’s sitting there dying so be quick.

  “Eve, I need a pick, do you have –”

  “Small one. Waist. Don’t get handsy.”

  Let’s just fucking leave her.

  No.

  He reaches for her waist with his remaining hand, her blood slickens his fingers as he grabs blindly for the pick.

  “Front’n’center,” she slurs, “so it looks like a…like a cock when I…” She laughs deliriously. The blood loss is taking hold.

  Of course that’s where she put it. Arric can hear Castigan cackling madly in the back of his mind as he reaches towards Eve’s center. Castigan is loving her impending death more than anything. Arric grabs the pick, sliding it through the loop at the front of her waist as her head falls against him. Her hair snags on the zipper of his jacket as bloody spittle drips from her lips.

  “Eve,” he says, “Eve, wake up. Stay with me.” She looks up at him wordlessly and nods. She sits up on her own, but that probably won’t last for long. He takes several paces away, not wanting to find out what happens if soul dust works its way into her open wounds.

  Light scatters throughout the crystalline floor. The pick is heavy in his remaining hand. I’ve seen Eve do this in the past. It wasn’t often that she let them - her passengers - observe what she did unless she thought she needed them. Look for the shimmer. Watch for the faces. No demons, they’ll kill me. No animals, they make for poor passengers, no –

  We’re absorbing it, not binding it, who gives a shit what it is?

  Reckless. He’s always reckless. Arric stares hard into the surface, it’s almost impossible to make out the faces. Does that one have horns? Is that one a human? That one might be a baby. He listens for Eve’s breathing as he watches closely. He can’t hear it. He must hurry.

  A rat. There. Just below the surface. He swings the pick hard. It crashes off the crystal. Really? Have you ever eaten a rat before? Vile. An ethereal scream rips through the cavern as he continues to tear into the crystal below. The echoes off the wall are loud enough to wake the dead. Hopefully they don’t.

  He strikes again and again, scream after scream reverberates through the cavern. Eve’s pick sends the dust of lesser souls, the young, the lost, the peaceful, shooting across the floor to be eventually taken by the wind. For a moment, he hears laughter. Eve’s, maybe. One can hope.

  Squeaking and chittering begins to emanate from the growing hole in the icy surface. Quick. Reach into the vein before it migrates.

  “I’ve watched her do this. I know how it works.” He can feel Castigan’s presence recede. Fine. I don’t need him right now anyway.

  He shoves the stump of his hand directly into the vein of souls where the rat resides. Herein lies his mistake. The rat begins to gnaw at the stump, tearing the flesh with its teeth, grappling his arm and beginning to climb.

  No, no, no. “I don’t have a binding crystal. I don’t know how to do this. Castigan. Castigan what do I do?” His silence echoes throughout Arric’s mind. He can feel his arm beginning to shrivel away, his form beginning to fade.

  “Castigan, please!”

  Oh, finally some manners. Was that too much to ask? “Please, Castigan.”

  “Quick, what do I do?”

  Just focus on the energy. Ignore the biting - it’s not real. I mean, neither the Rat, nor your body apparently.

  “What do you –”

  Damnit! Picture it in your mind. It’s a rat but it’s a soul. Feel the light on your arm, feel the light inside yourself and fuse them! This shouldn’t be that hard!

  He closes his eyes. Searching for…something with his mind. He feels his arm, the teeth which rend his flesh, the hot blood that trickles free, the dull sense of dissipation it was like…like…

  A light going dim.

  Finally he can see it, feel it in his mind’s eye. A light that radiates throughout his body. It’s fraying - fragile. He can see the rat, too. Its light burns with rage. It’s strong. Virile. He… wants it…needs it. His mind reaches out and latches on. The light moves. Vibrates. Pushes against him. Arric pulls it close, its fire brushes against his and they –

  Become one.

  He opens his eyes, touching his hands and his arms. Complete. Warm. His nose twitches slightly - a temporary side effect - as he scurries over to Eve. A foul taste permeates, not just his mouth, but his entire being.

  Not quite like chicken, huh?

  He flexes his renewed fingers. The joints crack and pop, as if they’d been unused for centuries. He calls her name as he grows closer. Receiving no response, he rushes to her side.

  “Eve? Eve!”

  She’s unconscious on the floor in front of him. He hardly feels the ground against his knees as he falls to take her pulse. Time seems to slow for a moment, as he reaches his hands toward her neck. Still. Calm. He can see no movement, no thrumming against the surface, no warmth to the complexion.

  What will I do if she’s gone?