Mortuus dashed into the woods after The Stitcher. The world spun as he ran, his vision blurring with each breath he took as he struggled to breathe. His breath deepened with each step he took. He couldn't keep up with The Stitcher, as his vision became dizzy and slow. It ran faster, leaving Mortuus behind.49Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIzQKfV2ngu
"WAIT!! STo... Stop... ru... running..." Mortuus clasped his stomach in pain. He pulled his hand back to see why it hurt so badly, warm blood drenching his hand as he stared down at the massive six-inch black claw jutting out from below his ribcage. He wasn't sure how it got there or why it was so painful.
Mortuus fell to his knees as he grasped the gnarly claw. Each breath was... painful? Yeah, pain. That was the feeling he was experiencing. It was somewhat new to him. Most of the pain he felt lasted for such a little amount of time that he didn't notice it.
"Ho... How?" Mortuus choked out weakly as he tugged at the claw; it was really stuck in there. Each draw of the nail was more painful than the last. Mortuus ripped it out, screaming in pain so loudly that birds flew from the trees in fear as the claw left the wound- a withered organ dangling from the tip of the claw, blood dripping from it and the wound.
Mortuus tore the organ off, tossing it in a nearby bush like a piece of trash. "It... Sti... Still hurts..." He touched an unsteady hand to the wound, blood wetting his fingers as they made contact. The wound was still there, just as fresh as before. Mortuus shoved the claw into his jacket's pocket and wearily stood.
He grabbed the wound, wincing as he stood, trying to wrap his head around what was happening. He wasn't used to an injury staying for longer than a minute, and the fact that was made him uneasy.
Mortuus staggered back to the clock tower, collapsing onto his mattress with a heavy and pained sigh.
He lay there staring emptily at the large bell above his head. Its gentle rocking with the wind was relatively peaceful. The pain had finally stopped, but he felt empty, more so than he usually did.
"Why do I feel nothing? What's wrong with me?" He asked himself, taking a deep puff of the pen, holding a second, and sending it billowing up.
Mortuus sat up and set his feet on the ground. The wound had finally healed, but it felt strange. He stared into the shattered mirror across from him. As he watched the mirror, his anger took him over. Mortuus slammed his knuckles into the brick wall beside him.
The bricks cracked and sent dust bits of brick everywhere. Mortuus held his hand there, blood painlessly dripping down his knuckles as he stared forward emotionlessly. A tear slid down his left cheek before he continued beating his fists into the wall.
BANG!! BANG!! BANG!! BANG!!
Each blow to the wall left him more bloody than the last. The wall was stained a deep shade of red and crumbling to pieces. Tears streaming down his face in anger and hatred for his situation. He beat the border, throwing his anger into each punch.
BANG!! BANG!! BANG!! BANG!!
More and more, he punched the wall, his fists now a bloody lump of flesh and bone. Each punch sent brick pieces flying. He was beating it so hard that it was only blood and brick. Tears were still falling as his vision was blurring with the anger and sadness that was overwhelming him.
After a while, Mortuus fell to his knees again, drenched in tears and blood. The indent in the wall was completely drenched in his blood. The bones of his knuckles were showing clearly and had chips in them from beating them so violently against the wall.
Mortuus stood up, wrapping his hands in white bandages, his blood seeping through them. He walked down the stairs and sat on the bottom step, twirling his revolver numbly.
"That's the last straw, Stitcher." Mortuus loaded his revolver. "This time, it's personal." Mortuus pulled a small flask with an "M" on it from a hidden pocket of his trench coat. He took a long swig of it before placing it back. Vodka dripped from his chin.
"Is this really what you want, Morg... Mortuus? Do you really want to kill The Stitcher?" Death said, placing a bony hand over Mortuus's blood-soaked knuckles as he felt his anger and sadness. He could tell Mortuus didn't want to kill anyone, even someone like The Stitcher.
Mortuus brushed Death's hand away. "I don't have a choice anymore, Death."
"You always have a choice, Mortuus. Even if you cannot see it." Death sighed. "Do what you do, but do not regret it."
Mortuus stood up, looking down at his open palms. He closed his fists and ran off, leaving Death standing at the church steps, alone again. Death smiled and chuckled to himself as he watched Mortuus run. For once, he didn't know the fate of a soul.
"Do not lose your way, Child." Death mumbled as he silently sat on the steps; he stood and walked to the center of the road, his eyes on the spot where Mortuus was beating his fists into the brick.
He looked sad as he watched the still-dripping blood on the wall. With another sigh, he vanished in a cloud of smoke.
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