Stray

There was not much blood flowing from the right arm of the black armored warrior. He froze in place like a stone statue, an uncomfortable red light glowing from the gap in his helmet.

"Wait, I remember your taste," Nemo said, taking two more steps. From this distance Oliver could see his eyes—silver-gray eyes that shimmered pale in the night, like a full moon behind clouds, or a pearly ghost. His pupils are no longer the standard circles of human beings, but split in four directions, turning into the unique crosses of demons. "You live near the gravity labyrinth, I think... Witherspoon?"

Black Armor Warrior - Witherspoon took a small step back again without saying a word.

Witherspoon didn't want to talk, he even wanted to scream. Oliver Ramon is only human, and naturally cannot understand the fear etched in the souls of demons—if they really have souls.

Even though the demon kings of each generation are very different, when they show their hostility unreservedly, the superior demons will never admit their mistakes. It is not a simple sense of oppression, but the heavy terror brought by the natural enemies. That cold sense of terror gnawed at his nerves, biting at the flesh and blood attached to this human body. His tongue was numb with fear, and his mind seemed frozen, not even remembering how to breathe. He instinctively wanted to run away, but he didn't want to reveal his back at all, like a fledgling bird trying to raise its feathers in front of a predator - Witherspoon just stood there, moving back a little bit awkwardly, even if He subconsciously knew it was just a futile struggle.

But this is clearly impossible. Everyone knows that the monster cannot leave the bottom of the abyss.

"A suggestion." Nemo raised his hand and spoke lightly, as if to discuss the supper menu with the Black Armor. "Don't get too close to Della Lane, that little guy has a personality problem."

Witherspoon and Oliver stared at the hand.

But Nemo did not attack. He made a simple gesture—he raised his hand slightly toward the sky, a small movement, more like repelling mosquitoes than casting a spell. No spells, no complex circles, not even any dazzling brilliance.

The sky cracked.

It may not be accurate to say that the crack is open - the space was torn apart by a huge crack, as if the sky above their heads was just the painted inside of the eggshell, at this moment the fragile shell cracked a gap, revealing Hell on the other side. Inside the crack, the crimson fire was bright and dark, and from time to time there were huge creatures swimming through the gap, or peeping out of the gap with weird pupils.

"Time to go home," Nemo announced, with no condescending sarcasm or cold anger in his tone. "That's fair—it's self-defense. Get a good night's sleep, Witherspoon, that'll be good for you."

He flashed ghostly in front of the black-armored warrior from about ten steps away from them, stretched out his hand and pushed down the opponent's breastplate. The air was suddenly twisted into water-like ripples, and with a piercing roar, Witherspoon was instantly knocked into the air, and then the shadows caught him unceremoniously—this time, the shadows no longer appeared out of thin air, a huge crack Like a ferocious fresh wound, dark and sticky shadows are dripping from the edges. They devoured Witherspoon's figure like living creatures and flowed back into the crack.

Everything is at peace.

Nemo withdrew his hand and looked down at Oliver, who was lying on the side.

Oliver Ramon knew he was about to die.

During the battle just now, Oliver's arms were already rotten to the point where they were a mess of flesh and bones. In addition to the unstoppable blood on his arms, red blood also poured out from the wound on his abdomen. There was a deep bruise on his forehead, and the blood stained his handsome face a little horribly.

Oliver grabbed the air with difficulty.

He was facing the huge crack, the dark blue night sky was embedded with burning cracks, and the ashes floated on his eyelashes, not melting like real snowflakes. They made his vision a little blurry, and everything in front of him seemed like a dream.

Nimo stopped in front of him and leaned down slightly. With his back to the firelight, Oliver couldn't see his expression for a moment, only those inhuman pupils that flickered. He didn't restrain his momentum, Oliver couldn't help coughing twice, the sweet smell of blood filled his throat - it felt as if a mountain was about to be crushed.

With a little strength left, Oliver thought dimly. He could move around like Witherspoon to try to get away, or cry for help... or ask for mercy.

Nimo just stared at him like that, didn't do anything, didn't say anything, seemed to be lost in thought.

Oliver's consciousness began to blur. He raised his head slightly, staring at the familiar companion in front of him and the brilliant fire behind him. He subconsciously decided how to use the last few strengths - he used all his strength and smiled at the other party.

The next moment, a pair of warm hands held his face.

Nimo knelt down beside Oliver, supported his head with both hands, leaned forward, and pressed his lips to the wound on the other's forehead. Black shadows dripping from cracks gathered from all directions, flowing over Oliver's shapeless arms and running over the wound in his abdomen. They were light and cold, not gentle, but razor-sharp pain.

The intact skin touched the moist air, and the feeling of being alive returned to him again. Oliver found that he had the strength to move again, but he didn't want to move now.

"You didn't run away." Nemo stood up and wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand. "…thanks."

Oliver could finally see the other person's expression - it seemed to be someone he knew, and Nemo's face was a mixture of relief, relief and a little joy. Oliver stretched out his right hand that no longer bleeds and became intact, and stroked Nemo's cheek as if to confirm something. The warmth of life came from his fingertips, and he unconsciously pulled the corners of his mouth into a more obvious arc.

"You're welcome." His voice was clear, even though the terrifying sense of oppression still crushed his brain. "It's me who should say thank you."

Nimo was stunned for a moment, then gave him a smile.

Oliver suddenly felt his heart skip a beat. For a moment he couldn't even tell what it meant—his brain was screaming danger now, and instinctual timidity made his hair stand on end. Anxiety and tension stabbed into his back like a steel needle, but he just couldn't look away.

The ash continued to fall like snowflakes, building a thin layer of ash on the sand. The flame on the other side of the crack was so ominous, but it filled his vision with light, and everything sparkled.

Like a summer day a few years ago.

"You rejected Susannah outright?!" The father in memory yelled at him, "God, Oliver, how can you hurt a lady's heart so much?"

"She's a lovely girl, but..."

"How dare you but? God, how did I teach you? Be polite, Ollie, you have to be polite, not 'I don't have any feelings for you'!"

"There are a lot of lovely people in this world, Dad. I can't be in love with everyone. You're not in love with my mother... You're telling me how to fall in love with someone? Stop talking" She's the most beautiful woman in the world' 'she'll make your world lose its colour and the food lose its flavour'' crappy lyrics - at least I can't understand that feeling."

Piper's face tensed, he put back the shoe he had just grabbed in his hand, and his expression became serious.

"Listen then." He sighed and looked away. "She may not be good, she may not be beautiful. You may have a lot of arguments and frictions, and even be disappointed with each other from time to time. But there will be a moment when the view of that person will be unparalleled - you will know , you'll never see anything more beautiful than that in your life."

"Love doesn't have to mean total acceptance or self-sacrifice. Ollie. But it does make you want to live more."

Is that so?

Oliver lowered his arms.

At this moment, he was blindly convinced that he would never see such a beautiful and terrifying sight for the rest of his life. He could still feel the residual warmth left by the other person's hand, and that warmth made him very-very want to live for a moment.

Nimo kept a half-kneeling position when suddenly his body swayed and he let out a painful gasp. The cross-shaped pupils began to shrink, returning to human appearance, and the slightly flickering silver light also extinguished. The cracks in the space across the starry sky quickly closed, except for a place of ashes, nothing could prove that it ever existed.

"Oliver, I..." He panted hard, digging his fingers into the blood-soaked grit.

"You..." Oliver was still in a trance, too many emotions were mixed together, he didn't know how to deal with them. "How are you?"

"I'm not good, I'm not good!" Nemo exclaimed, "You see what I just did? Do I look good?"

"Do you remember?"

"Remember!...Remember part of it." Nemo muttered softly, "It's like a dream, I understand everything in a dream, and that feeling is completely gone when I wake up."

"But I do remember what I said and what I did...Now I can even do this." He reached out, black flames blazing at Nemo's fingertips, lining him His face became paler.

"At least now we can all be sure of one thing - Oliver, I don't seem to be human. And maybe it's kind of dangerous..." Nemo couldn't find a suitable one that wouldn't make him uncomfortable nouns, had to stop the sentence awkwardly.

"Oh." Oliver lay on the ground solemnly and held out his hand. "Anyway, do me a favor and give me a hand—I'm in a mess right now, and I'm not in the mood to stand up by myself."

Nemo's sadness was so disturbed that he rolled his eyes and pulled Oliver off the dune.

"Tell me," Nemo bowed his head, with a courage akin to dying with generosity. "speak out."

"Say what?" Oliver raised an eyebrow.

"...Don't you have any thoughts? Just say what you want to say, or I...well, I'll think we can act together later."

"Can you?" Oliver said absently, brushing the ashes from the other party's black hair. "I promised you before, didn't I? I'm not really afraid of you because of your 'what'—that statement still holds true."

Perhaps too effective, Oliver stared at the ashes glued to his knuckles.

Not only did he not want to run away, he even wanted to travel longer with the other party. The sense of oppression has long since disappeared, and his heartbeat has not slowed down because of this, but has become more rapid. Something went wrong, Oliver wiped the ashes from his hands and sighed inwardly - he must be crazy.

(m..=)