Xayn (muttering): "Hah... Sure gave you a run for your money, didn't she?"
Her flail and shield had already dissolved back into the ether, leaving her looking strangely vulnerable. He gently gathered her inert body into his arms, holding her bridal style. With meticulous care, he placed the recovered torso piece atop her still chest, aligning it roughly where it belonged – a morbid but necessary burden. The familiar coldness of her undead flesh seemed heavier now.
Xayn (muttering): "I do hope that's not why you spared her... See you in a couple of hours, Bazren. Rest up..."
He rose, his own movements slightly stiff. The black, void-tainted patches on his ravaged dark metal armour and the pale flesh beneath seemed to absorb the faint blue flames that still flickered around him, extinguishing them inch by inch. He could feel the insidious crawl of the corruption, a slow decomposition that his regenerative abilities fought against, but could not halt entirely.
In the distance, near the edge of the smouldering ruins, Mola waited, arms crossed impatiently, silhouetted against the dreary sky. She wore dark, practical robes, slightly singed and stained from the recent conflict.
Mola: "Come on! We've quite a ways to go, let's get moving already..."
Xayn cast a sideways glance towards her, the desiccated, leathery demonic dagger bumping rhythmically against his hip as he walked.
Xayn (muttering): "What a piece of work..."
He joined Mola, adjusting Bazren's weight and the grim parcel resting upon her. Together, they turned their backs on the devastated settlement -- a ruin of splintered timber frames, collapsed thatched roofs, and ubiquitous bloodstains -- and began the trek outwards. The cloying illusion that had masked the town's horror had completely dissipated, leaving behind only the raw, brutal truth of the massacre for any passing eye to witness. Soon, wind and time would reduce even these scarred remnants to ash and memory.
Mola walked briskly ahead, her form now entirely, almost unnervingly, human again. There was a tension in her shoulders, a forced rigidity in her stride, as if she were consciously holding herself together after the monstrous transformation. Xayn followed, the burden of Bazren a physical manifestation of their precarious situation, his own corrupted body a ticking clock. Though the void-touched areas continued their slow decay, the uncorrupted parts of his form worked tirelessly to mend, a losing battle against the encroaching darkness.
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Xayn: "How far is your master's home?"
Mola: "No more than a quarter day's walk from here. If we forgo rest, we might reach it before nightfall -- so get those rotten bones of yours moving."
Her voice was clipped, devoid of warmth. Xayn glanced down again at the shriveled dagger secured at his side. Its presence felt... discordant. Almost too convenient.
Xayn: "I can't help but wonder if it's lucky or unlucky that an artifact like this showed up so close to your master's domain..."
Mola stiffened almost imperceptibly, her gaze fixed forward.
Mola: "Trying to imply something...? I'm not about to bite. Mind your business, undead."
A faint, humourless smile touched Xayn's lips, barely disturbing the taut, pale skin over his cheekbones.
Xayn: "If you're not about to bite, you suggest something must be dangling from the hook... If you've anything to hide, Mola, you ought to be more careful with your phrasing."
She shot a glare back over her shoulder, her dark eyes flashing with irritation.
Mola: "I'm not about to get lectured by a shambling corpse, thank you very much. The dagger's not a threat anymore, is it? So forget about it. It'll be off your hands soon enough, you won't have to concern yourself with it."
Xayn: "I'm less concerned for its future than its past. Though it is contained for now... who do you reckon might have unleashed it to begin with? If you were to leave Bazren and I out of the suspect list I mean, as unbelievable of an idea as that might be for you."
Silence answered him, thick and heavy. Mola simply quickened her pace slightly, her boots crunching on the debris-strewn path leading away from the village.
Xayn: "Silence speaks volumes, dear Mola."
Mola: "I'm growing really tired of your pathetic, futile attempts to probe me, bone-pile."
Xayn sighed, the sound like shifting gravel within his chest cavity.
Xayn: "Even though you know my name, you still refuse to call me by it...?"
Mola: "I gave you my name, that doesn't mean we're friends. I'll call you whatever I feel comfortable with!"
Xayn: "Ah... How kind of you. I suppose the comforting pleasantries stop at your side of the equation, disregarding my own feelings on the matter? 'Bone-pile' isn't exactly... endearing."
Mola let out a short, sharp bark of laughter, utterly devoid of mirth.
Mola: "Oh, I'm sorry... Are you going to cry? Good luck doing that with no tear ducts!"
Xayn maintained his serene, if weary, expression, the blue light in his enso-shaped irises unwavering.
Xayn: "Are you this cordial to everyone you meet, or do you reserve a particular *bone* to pick for the undead?"
Mola's expression didn't flicker. Her focus remained resolutely forward.
Mola: "... Was that *supposed* to be funny?"
Xayn sighed again, the effort visible now in the slight slump of his shoulders, despite the weight he carried.
Xayn: "It's terribly unfunny... but a reasonable person might at least acknowledge the attempt."
Mola stopped abruptly and turned, her gaze sweeping over him, taking in the burden he carried -- the still form of Bazren with the gruesome torso piece resting upon her -- and the visible black corruption spreading like rot across his damaged armour and exposed, pale flesh.
Mola: "You and I should have never met. This... *arrangement*... is purely transactional. Stop trying to turn it into something it isn't. Just keep your mouth shut and keep moving -- you'll save more energy that way."
She turned sharply and resumed walking, leaving Xayn standing for a moment amidst the lingering scent of smoke and death, the weight in his arms suddenly feeling immense. He followed, falling into step behind Mola on the path leading away from the ruined settlement. The only sounds were the crunch of their footsteps on the uneven ground, leaving the destruction behind, and the whisper of the wind carrying the faint echoes of the town's demise.
The next hours passed in a heavy, unbroken silence, each step measured against the slow decay eating away at Xayn, and the unspoken secrets carried by the peculiar sorceress walking ahead.