Back in his underground refuge, he raised his bound arms against the metal iron that was once the cell bars, and flexed, pulling the ropes against the edges until they frayed and, finally, fell loose. He undressed, pulling free his keffiyeh and tossing it aside before he lowered himself with care onto the piss poor bed. His head hurt. Stupid woman. He rubbed his palm against his temple where the skin was bruised and his skull tender. The force she could have put behind her punch, he supposed he needed to be grateful she didn't cave in his skull.
But how does she have that power? She wasn't large, had no reason, at least not that he could explain, why she would have that power. Nor her ability to transport herself. That sort of magic wasn't new to him, not considering he could do it, but what was the blue flash of light that appeared whenever she did it? And why did it drain her so?
His thoughts circled, plummeting down until he was staring at the cracked wall of the cell, and seeing her face stare back. Not the scarred one, but the flawless one. The one that smiled and whispered in that voice that reached his core. Her beautiful raven hair, her blood red eyes, the soft lips. The smooth, ivory skin that never sweat, never warmed. The cool darkness to his burning monstrosity.
Why did she have her face? He sighed, wondering through the reasons. Siblings. Twins, even. But... "Have you seen this face before?" She demanded to know. That wasn't a question someone asked if they knew someone else was walking around with the same face.
Unable to sleep after having done so all day, he heaved a sigh and got up again, covering his face before he went back to the surface. His stomach growled, twinging painfully, but he didn't feel like hunting down a coyote or a scavenger fowl to eat. No, instead he tailed the woman, keeping himself a distance away, making sure he moved slowly, and silently, ensuring she wouldn't hear him or round a ruin corner and surprise him. She did nothing odd. Unless he counted scouting the ruins odd. She weaved through the broken alleys, the rubble remains of the homes, appearing to do exactly as she mentioned to him. She was looking for something. Looking for clues as to what happened. In silence, he shook his head. She'd find little. But why bother with her. Let her search. Let her lose hope. Let her leave.
After a while, she took refuge in the remains of ... He inhaled. His brother's home. It was sturdy, only because of the way the house was shaped, and the materials with which it was built no doubt helped prevent its collapse. He stood on the street above, hidden between a broken wall and a fallen support beam, and watched her walk through and enter the house he'd known well. And, turning his head to the right, his home. The home he'd loved. The home that connected him to his family, his friends, the few good memories he had. With its blue paint and horrible decor that he never bothered to replace.
The home he hadn't been able to step into, despite it being relatively upright; at least the lower floor. Instead of taking refuge on the couch he knew to be whole, he'd gone underground to the ruined palace dungeons. For a long time, he remained outside, watching to see if she made her way out again. Wondering if she would wander in to his home, too, and if she'd find the entrance to the cistern that coiled beneath the city.
He hadn't been down there, since the attack, either. He didn't know what was left.
Exhaling, he turned and left. Back in the cell, he lay himself down, sprawling on his back and staring at the ceiling. Maybe tonight it would collapse at last and take him with it.
The sun rose high and took the temperature with it. The majority of the animals that scavenged from dusk til dawn vanished now, finding shade, shelter, or, if they were lucky, water.
Ziad had once been a thriving oasis city in the center of the desert, rising out of the sand like a mirage. Build of stone and wood on top of a impossible supply of water that provided life. The stone walls wrapped around the city, protecting it from the desert storms and the dizzying, endless nothing beyond. Now in pieces, the city looked haunted, the broken buildings, the shattered wall, allowing the wind to howl through it when it bothered to make its way across the ruins.
The corpses of the Ziadi were gone. Eaten. No one had lingered to look for their missing loved ones, let alone bury them. The only one to be found in the city, beside the insufferable prick with the habit of throwing stones, was a blue-grey corpse buried beneath what had once been part of the city's wall. Ikegai's magic grew stronger around the corpse, its thick arm dried and withered with decay as it lay partially exposed, turning its flesh a sickly ash colour. Clutched in its hand even in death was a blade that easily boasted six feet in length, the edge of the blade more than honed iron. Lethally sharp teeth were molded into the edge, stained in between with the blood and innards of whatever poor civilian it had the displeasure of meeting. While the birds had carefully picked out the larger chunks, the arm of the corpse itself was entirely untouched. Avoided. The animals that devoured decaying and rotted flesh knew better than to touch this.
