The Cure - I

[PepsiWhirda]

"I'm not sure I eat anymore, either," Whirda said dryly. In the dying light, she hefted one of Dobson's obligatory backpacks over one shoulder anyway. "How long do you expect this to take?" She felt a queer sort of nervousness in asking the question. Although he appeared to be a child, not even approaching his eighteenth year, she got an impression of great power from the enigmatic Blues. His technology was a marvel, unlike anything Whirda had ever seen. That much was for sure. But there was something else, a quiet confidence about him that spoke to strength as of yet undisplayed.

"A week," Blues said simply. He turned and began to walk, speaking to Whirda from over his shoulder. "Maybe more."
Whirda nodded briskly, trotting up to fall into step beside him. I hope I last that long. In truth, it might have been a baseless concern. She felt healthier, more vigorous, more powerful, every day, as if the contagion repaired her beleaguered body as a perfunctory action. Hunger and thirst seemed like foreign concepts now, and the ripples of power in the darkness around her seemed to multiple with each passing hour. The night came alive as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, thrumming in a way that seemed almost audible.

If Blues noticed, he gave no indication. "Dobson seems convinced of your strength," he said, frowning. "I'm led to believe killing a shade is no easy feat."

"I wouldn't describe it as easy," Whirda agreed. "I'm lucky to have escaped intact."

"Luck holds very little sway in The Omniverse, I think."

*****

Their path took them north and east, the royal hues of dusk fading at their backs. Blues seemed content to plod on in silence, and to Whirda that was just as well. It didn't pay to make friends in the Omniverse, she decided. In the seemingly endless parade of tenous alliances that made up her existence here—Nyx, Dobson, Professor Van Helsing—, she had come across no one she could trust, not truly.

Perhaps, though, Blues would be the first. Ever the pragmatist, trust had never come easily to Whirda. Nyx's betrayal stung, but it came as no surprise. Betrayal, in fact, had ceased to surprise Whirda entirely a long time ago. The Omniverse seemed by its very nature, though, to encourage Primes to band together. Whirda wondered, not for the first time, the nature of Omni's fickle game. Could the god-thing truly be as devoid of empathy as he seemed, or was there a greater purpose to his design?

"Tell me about where you're from," she said suddenly. The words seemed to spill from her unbidden, coupled with none of the conscious forethought to which she'd grown accustomed.

"It's a long story," the boy said, without making eye contact.

Whirda sensed her words had refreshed old wounds. "Sorry," she managed. "It's just... do you ever feel like we're here for a reason?"

"No." The single word answer reverberated in the stillness, gruff and uncompromising.

Something about the kid's dismissive attitude boiled Whirda's blood. In the blink of an eye, she disappeared, reappearing a few feet in front of him. "Look, kid," she snarled. The darkness encroached from all sides, as if ready to defend her. "I know the circumstances here are less than ideal. Gods above, I'm not sure I'd be inclined to trust me either. But you're not the only one who's lost friends in all this."

Inscrutable behind his tinted visor, Blues didn't deign to respond.

Whirda took a deep, steadying breath before she continued. "This isn't some run-of-the-mill bad guy we're up against," she said. "I've fought goblins and trolls, giants and sorcerors, even the occasional dragon, but an archdemon? It's above my paygrade, Blues, and I have a feeling it's above yours. How about a truce? We'll work together on this, hell, maybe even show each other some basic kindness, and then we'll part ways. Sound good?"

Blues remained impassive. "Did you know your veins go black when you're angry?"

"Yes," Whirda said calmly. "It's as unsettling for me as it must be for you."

"I imagine it must be," Blues said with a faint smile. "All right, a truce then. Maybe even some basic kindness. But do not mistake it for friendship. That is a mistake I'm not willing to make twice."

"Your friends... what happened to them?"

"One died at the hands of a demon under Scylla's command. The other fights for her life in Darkshire, injured in the same struggle."

"I'm sorry," Whirda said.

Blues acknowledged her words with a brisk nod. "So am I. Can we get moving?”