It was a dark, oppressing presence. Yves did not know whether time exhausted it in any way. But he wanted, he needed to believe that it could not devour the shard structures constituting the Mirror World. What about the roaming entities that were so much more substantial? And what about the stalker? Yves remained uncertain whether this powerful entity actually touched the Vicha. The stalker had not touched Yves, that was for sure. The Vicha had been a barrier between them.
It was all a painful blur.
What had he said to him?
What had he said
to him?
ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱
Yves broke off.
He could not revisit the moment. He could not go back there. He could not stomach the memories. He could not stomach anything. His stomach felt shredded.
Still, he had survived.
Yes, he had beaten it.
Still, he had survived.
Yes, he had beaten it.
He had BEATEN. A. FUCKING. VICHA.
He had
BEATEN
A. FUCKING.
VICHA.
Was it still there?
Yes.
Did it still chase him?
Yes.
Did it feel fucking horrible to be in the literal middle of it?
Most definitely.
But it could. not. touch him.
And what was more, what mattered even more, its dark presence kept all beasts at bay. If you broke it all down, then Yves had basically DUMPED the curse in another dimension — a dimension that the stalker had proclaimed the birthplace of the Gods. Well, happy birthday! Here, have a Vicha.
Yves laughed at his own joke. He laughed for much longer than anyone should, but somehow, in the midst of burning lungs and aching body with every shaky breath, it felt like an immense relief. He could not recall the last time he had laughed, and he had weeks of desert travel ahead to entertain himself, so he might as well make every moment count for two and pretend to enjoy his own company.
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