Aarin pushed through the crowd of ghosts. People jumped out of the way, some fell; he didn't care to look back, they didn't care to follow. He grabbed the talismans and held them tightly in one hand, his spear now brandished in the other. He rushed through the main gates and dived into the mist.
He didn't even have to try that hard to push through the effects of the effects; the sheer adrenaline in his body propelled him forward.
It felt as though his soul had lagged behind him before being violently slammed back into his body as he stepped onto the bridge. He stumbled forward but didn't fall, using the momentum to run faster.
His juniors were in danger, and gods forbid anything happen to them under his watch. It would be a stain on his name for at least a century to come, and he would not let that happen.
Finally, the noise of a struggle reached him, and he made his way towards it. The ruckus led him to a clearing. On one end, Kian was fighting a ghost. The spirit was huge and moved slowly, but every time it took a step, the ground cracked. Kian was barely holding his own. His posture and sluggish blinking made it clear he was drunk.
On the other side of the field stood Lina, holding her side with blood running down her mouth. Her spear was held tightly in her hands, but her form was weak. In front of her stood a tall ghost. Its arms were long, and its neck was scarily thin. Its face was gaunt, almost like that of a sickly woman's, and its eyes bulged unnaturally.
Right as the tall ghost closed in on Lina, she caught Aarin's eyes, and relief cut through the terror on her face.
"Master Aarin-!" She never got to finish her sentence as she was engaged in battle.
Aarin hoisted his spear up and charged in. As the ghost reached for Lina's neck, he swiped down on the creature's arm and immediately cut it in half. Before the ghost even had a chance to screech, Aarin jammed his spear in its neck, sending it flying and pinning the ghost to a tree.
"Take care of it!" he yelled at Lina, pulling his spear out and running to Kian.
Kian was on the defensive, dodging punches and kicks. Aarin let out a loud, distracting shout and slammed into the ghost's body. Using the moment of confusion, he stabbed the spirit in the back. The weapon broke through its spine and landed in front of Kian, who fell flat on his back in response. Aarin let out a frustrated groan and pulled a talisman. He was about to place it on the ghost, but a scream caught him off guard. He looked over his shoulder and realised the tall spirit had recovered, its hands wrapped around Lina's ankle.
Aarin made a split-second decision.
He didn't know how it would end; he'd never done this before, but he had no choice. He slammed the talisman in his hand on the big ghost, pulled another and sent it flying at the tall spirit, and chanted a prayer to Niryati for good measure.
Everything immediately blacked out.
The world rang and shook; an inescapable violence inside his skull.
The twin ghosts each staked their claim on his mind, and Aarin couldn't hold himself together. His body wasn't his own. Far too many hands clawed at his stuttering heart, as if they wanted to rip it from his body for a second chance at life.
He gasped as flashes of a destroyed mansion flew past his eyes. A merchant sat on the stairs, clutching his hair and looking desperately at the road. His clothes, once glamorous, were dirty and in tatters now. City guards marched with boxes and bags of gold.
Please don't take it away, please, give it back to me, I'm hungry, I'm starving-
No, he was a bitter, old woman with hunched shoulders, crushed by years of service. Her love lost to war and daughter lost to famine, she had nothing left to live for, and yet this wretched body refused to give in.
It should've been me, none of them but me. It should've been my rotting flesh in my daughter's pyre, it should've been my creaking bones in place of my husband- IT SHOULD'VE BEEN ME!
Aarin tried to steady himself, to greet the onslaught with some sort of dignity.
He could feel the dirt on the merchant's hands, the ache in his legs, the swell of panic as everything was snatched away.
He could feel the texture of her daughter's clothes, still clean even though their wearer had died years ago.
He tried to separate them, to build neat boxes of suffering, but they shook violently and fell atop each other like in an earthquake.
Blinding, deafening agony, and he had no choice but to endure it and-
A hand on his shoulder.
Aarin could feel his body, the dull pain in his chest, the splitting headache, tears streaming down his face in rivers, and blood forcing itself up his mouth.
The hand was cool on Aarin's bare skin, anchoring instead of searing. He tried to turn, but the world corkscrewed, all sight and sound funnelled through memories that had never been his.
He heard the merchant's voice, No, don't leave me, don't-,
"Aarin! Don't leave, please- I- I don't know how I'm going to live without you I-"
Nirvan's scared, shaking plea stumbled into the old woman's defeated cackle.
They wanted him to die the way they died, over and over. And he would. He would, he would, he would, he deserved it, he deserved every second of this-
Fingers gently slotted below Aarin's chin, letting his heavy head rest on the cold palm.
"I've got you now,"
"Let go." Aarin gasped, afraid. He meant to sound dangerous, but it was more like a child's tantrum on his tongue. He tried to jerk away, but his body belonged to memory, not to himself, and his knees buckled.
He felt an arm wrap around his torso, the one on his chin slipping down to steady his arm instead. Flashing memories and faces disappeared, and a blinding light bloomed before his eyes. Standing in it was a young man. He looked over his shoulder, eyes widening with joy at the sight, and turned to face Aarin.
"May this unruly subordinate of yours join you?"
And it all went dark once again.
Aarin gasped for breath. The forest slowly came back to him in a green and blue blur. He tried to focus his vision before his knees gave way and he collapsed. He expected to hit the grass, but was caught by someone instead.
Squinting and blinking, Aarin looked up as everything finally came into focus.
It was Nirvan.
Ah, so it really happened, not just some delirious hallucination.
The arms locked around him were painfully gentle, holding him like he was on the brink of shattering. Nirvan slowly picked a jasmine that'd stuck to Aarin's hair and crushed it into a glittering, fragrant dust.
Aarin remained frozen, fear making it hard to think right.
Disoriented, he looked past the ghost lord's shoulder and noticed his juniors staring at them with wide eyes. Aarin hastily pushed himself away from Nirvan, standing on shaking legs. His breaths were ragged, blood painting his chin and chest in red.
He looked over his shoulder towards Lina.
"Return to the hut with Kian." She seemed hesitant but didn't look too eager to argue. So she slung Kian's arm over her shoulder and began limping away, disappearing into the woods.
As they left, Aarin turned to face Nirvan again. He couldn't help the shame rising in his chest as he raised his weapon. The ghost looked at him, confused, before Aarin threw it down at his feet. He untied the talismans on his side and threw them down as well.
Every part of him begged him to run, but he stifled his instincts and dropped to his knees. He didn't know what Nirvan wanted to do with him, what punishment he would have to face, but he'd deserve everything coming to him, and he'd take it with no complaint.
"I said I would not fight back," he whispered, unable to meet the eyes of this ghost of his past.
For a moment, even the wind dropped away, as if the entire forest was witnessing his surrender.
The prolonged silence was broken by the sound of running. Aarin closed his eyes and waited for impact, but instead of a blade, he felt a hand reach for his. He resisted the urge to flinch away.
"Please… please don't kneel, not for me," Nirvan whispered, gently pulling Aarin up by the hand.
Aarin didn't know what to make of it, so he simply followed.
Nirvan tapped his trembling fist, and he opened his palm. A cold, metal card was placed over the dried blood and the scabbing wound on his hand. Aarin dared a peek, and his eyes widened.
An immortality card- Nirvan's.
"Why?" It was the best he could muster; pain and shock made it hard for him to form a full sentence, rendering it childish.
Nirvan only smiled. It was terrifying for Aarin, not being able to read it. Or maybe because he knew exactly what that smile meant, and he didn't want to acknowledge it.
Aarin jerked back clumsily, and Nirvan's grip loosened.
"What form of vengeance is this?" Aarin said after he found his voice. Nirvan leaned away and looked down at Aarin with confusion.
"Vengeance? What do you-" His eyes widened with realisation before he could finish the question, and Aarin looked away, face a deep shade of red. Nirvan quickly reached to hold Aarin's shoulders. Aarin could see restraint in the ghost's wide eyes, though for what, he did not know. He could feel the way the fingers on his shoulders twitched, as if begging to do something, perhaps hurt.
Nirvan pulled Aarin closer, and he couldn't help but recoil.
"Did you really think that I-?"
"I wouldn't blame you." Aarin sighed, cutting Nirvan off. "After all I've done… I got off lightly. It's only right that you-"
"When did you get so stupid?" Nirvan laughed softly. "Ah, I guess we have a lot to catch up on."