In Which Florian Battles a Wyrm

January 25, 1157

Wherever he was, it was dark, slimy, and filled with a vile aroma. Was this what it was to be dead? Was this hell? If it was, he was disappointed--he'd imagined hell to be infinitely more interesting than this place, and maybe with someone to keep him company. Here, Florian was completely and undoubtedly alone.

Oh well. At least it was quiet, he had to admit. Plus, with no one else around, he could pretty much do whatever he pleased... providing, of course, that there actually was something to do around here.

He surveyed the infinite landscape once more; nothing looked too promising, or even like anything at all. A shame--maybe one other soul would have been nice after all. But no, it was just him.

Or maybe not, a sudden low growl announced.

Oh dear God, what was that thing? Some sort of giant snake? Whatever it was, it had attached itself to a wall--well, walls seemed relative here, but of course Florian had no time to dwell on such details--but could seemingly still reach any point in Florian's field of vision. Now this was starting to seem more like hell, and all of a sudden, he wondered why he'd wished for it to.

The thing was now eating chunks of the floor, allowing an assortment of putrid fluids to gush upwards from below--quite the disgusting sight. Of course, that was nothing Florian couldn't live with... if only it didn't seem like whatever that creature was drew nearer and nearer with each bite it took.

But then, for some inexplicable reason, he became very much aware of a crucial fact that he had somehow missed before.

He was armed.

Ah, what the hell? He'd fight it.

"Halt, evil... whatever!" he challenged it, raising his sword. "Let us fight to the death!"

It replied by lunging at him; he quickly stepped to the side and slashed it at the base, severing its hold on the room. Evidently, this angered it, but he didn't care.

"Bring it on, slimeball," sneered Florian, prodding the creature with the sword once more. "Bring it on."

It wasn't so tough now that it was detached, he realized. All it did now was flail about aimlessly, allowing him plenty of opportunities to slice through it. He cut it in half... thirds... quarters...

There were now eight pieces of creature lying about, all lifeless save for the struggling head. Maybe if he was a nice person, he might have pitied it, but the fact of the matter was...

...he wasn't and didn't.

With one final thrust--and a vindictive smile--he drove his sword through the head of the wyrm, destroying it once and for all.

This had been too easy. Once he'd decided to fight it, it had never even fought back.

"Ha!" he mocked the eight pieces, making faces like a childhood bully--and why not? It wasn't as if anyone was there to see him. "You call that a fight? My three-month-old son would have been a more formidable opponent than you; at least he flops and flails in a more threatening manner!"

Florian then proceeded to kick the limp head. Twice. Three times. Four...

There was something in his throat, and whatever it was, it was quite unpleasant.

"Florian!" exclaimed Thetis from a chair near the door as he stumbled out of bed. "Thank God! That kid--"

What kid? Florian didn't know any kids. Babies, yes... but actual kids? What the hell was she talking about?

"Where are you going? You silly man, get back in bed! You need some rest--"

Florian wasn't listening; he wouldn't until he either swallowed this damn thing or coughed it up.

"Florian... please..."

Even in the dim light he could see the color of her eyes, and suddenly, he knew exactly where he had seen it before. Its opposite, that dull, dark red of the place where he had fought the wyrm, he now knew, was the color of death.

And that meant that Thetis's eyes were the color of life.

He wanted to tell her that--that and more. He wanted to tell her that she was an angel sent to save him, that his life never would have meant anything had he never met her, that he spent every moment of solitude wondering when he would see her again...

But he couldn't, with his throat blocked like this. That was just as well; corny sentiments just did not fit with the ways of Florian.

Whatever it was had traveled to the back of his tongue.

"Florian...?" Thetis pondered worriedly. "Florian, are you all r--?"

He cut her off by means of a coughing fit. Instinctively, he fell to the ground, allowing the contents of his mouth to land squarely upon the dirt floor. The scent of the mixture was overwhelming; by the time he had finished, he could barely bring himself to look at it.

There was saliva, mixed with a significant amount of blood, as well as some other liquid that seemed to be the source of the odor. Dear God, was that from his stomach? His intestines?

But the mess upon the floor was not all fluid. No... the most noticeable chunks were solid, flat, and a yellowish white color. There were eight of them in total--eight pieces of worm.

From the other side of the room, he could hear Thetis choke in disgust. "What's that smell? It's awful!"

"Don't come over here!" Florian snapped as her footsteps drew nearer; never in a thousand years would he have her see this. "Stay where you are!"

Perhaps he had frightened her. No... if he hadn't frightened her before, then perhaps he never would. Maybe.

"How long have you been here?" he demanded of her as soon as he was near enough to stare straight into her life-colored eyes.

"Five days," she answered. "I left once on the first, to get Byrn."

Florian shook his head. "What the hell are you hanging around that long for? Go home, Thetis."

"No," she insisted. "I can't."

His eyes narrowed; he found the color of hers shone brighter now. "Why not?"

"Because this is home."

He couldn't help himself--he laughed. "Damn right it is."

It was fitting, really, that the girl with the life-colored eyes should be the girl with that smile--the smile that somehow made life suddenly worth living.

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