“Though you can't see it, the Vitsaus has begun to take root within you as well. You too have the rotten tendrils you despise so much,” repeated Miška, as though he had not understood her the first time or comprehended them at all. But Mutasm heard every word as they seemed to echo in his mind. Looking down at his chest, his wide eyes began to blur, his hands shook, a tremor ran through his entire body. With a sudden aggressiveness and lack of thought that startled Miška, he tore at his shirt, ripping it to shreds.

In the process, he caused himself harm, his nails accidentally dug into his chest. Flinging the remains of what had been his only cover for his upper body, he rubbed at his chest; the scratches burning as his fingers ran over them. With wide eyes, he was staring as hard as he possibly could. His hands searching as they ran past corded muscle he had not noticed before. His constant struggle with the lack of food, stealth in the forest, and climbing to his home multiple times a day had toned him.

Yet, at the moment, that was looked over, seemingly not noticed at all by Mutasm. Because the longer he stared, the more visible they became. Feeling his heart rise up to his throat and stomach clenching in fear, he whispered to himself, “No, please, anything but this.” His voice was harsh, though still loud enough for the occupants of the cave to hear him. Slowly, his hopes were dashed away as thin, black tendrils - more like rotten flesh and dirty green mold - steadily swayed left to right and up to down in an almost random pattern; to an unseen current constantly changing. Muscles locking up, he began to shake, his mouth trying to sound out words yet unable too. Because the thing he feared most had found its way to him, in the most intimate way possible.

“Mutasm, calm down. Aren't we already set on our path to get rid of them,” said Miška, trying her best to keep him as functional as possible. She had not expected him to react as badly as he did. Looking up towards her, he nodded his shaking head as he interlocked his hands together, to keep them for shaking so much. Gulping audibly, he tried to speak, but every time he opened his mouth it began to clatter, teeth slamming into each other without remorse. Fearing he might bite his own tongue off or chip a part of his teeth, he kept his mouth closed.

Taking deep breaths through his nose, he closed his eyes with a tremendous effort. Slowly his beating heart, running a million miles per second, began to return to a reasonable rate. His shivering body became steady again. Yet, his clenched stomach remained; his deeply ingrained fear ever so present. Opening his eyes, he let out a relieved sigh, it would not have been good for anyone if he continued to panic.

Clearing his throat, “T-Thank you f-for being patient with me. I didn't e-expect myself to have those… those things on me,” said Mutasm, goosebumps running down his spine as he spoke. “Still, I want… no, I need to have whatever power I could put my hands on. At the very least, I can defend myself and Hope for a little while.”

Nodding, Miška seemed to be resigned to his demand. “Very well, but I must warn you. I do not know how this will affect you or how it would manifest. For all we know, you could suddenly transform into a monster,” staring directly into his eyes, a serious face marred her usually joyful persona. Crossing her arm, she waited for Mutasm to finish calming himself down.

“I understand the risks,” said Mutasm after a while, his eyes downcast, and body still shivering every now and then. But he had regained enough of his facilities and emotions to speak without stuttering and clench his fist without them shaking.

“And like I said already, this is too important to pass on,” determination lined his face, jaw set and eyes narrowed just a bit to make his resolve clear. He watched as Miška sighed as she shook her head. She slowly got up, her body quivering in stress from her previous strenuous actions. Her scanning him, Mutasm guessed, had taken a lot out of her.

“Okay, but it will delay the purification process for both of you. A week at the minimum would be ideal to find out what my inherent powers would have transformed into and for you to recover from the pressure and pain it will cause,” nodding, she motioned him to stand as she moved to the front of the cave, only a few feet away from the illusion itself. Getting up with a grunt, Mutasm felt winded and unusually tired; his reaction to the rotten tendrils took too much energy from him.

Facing her, he stood there watching her in silence for what seemed to be very long seconds. She had her eyes closed, and head tilted downwards--her chin almost touching her chest--in what appeared to be a state of reverence to Mutasm. Her hands hung loosely at her sides, but with a sudden jerk, she slid her foot forward. Crouching into a martial arts pose, her right arm raised in front of her face, palm facing Mutasm.

Steadily, the air around her seemed to move in visible waves; circling her like a tornado and she its center. Faster and faster they moved, making the dust rise from the caves floor, slowly floating towards her. In time, a ball of dust and dirt had covered her like a ball. Rising a bit, Miška alowed the sphere to fully form around her. Mutasm feared his things would be drawn into the vortex as the dust had, their currents strong. Coughing and closing his eyes, arm covering them as he looked away, he felt like he couldn't breathe. Suffocated by the storm of dust and dirt.

Peeking under his arm, he searched to spot anything in the dense fog of dust that had materialized around Miška. Yet, to his surprise, a bright green ball, as large as a basketball, hovered in the air. Vivid, Mutasm was able to make out every single detail on it. A rough texture, similar to bark, but was carved in perfect and artistic swirls that had him dropping his guard. The clarity of the moment passed though his mind, but he couldn’t keep his thoughts together for a second. The only thing important in the world seemed to be the ball of light hovering above his head; closer to Miška than him. It was then that the surreal moment struck him like lightning. There was no sound, nothing at all. No roar of the strong winds, or things crashing into each other. The vibrating ball of green light also made no noise, making him feel very disconcerted. Confusion flited past his face, looking around, it felt like he stood in a lucid dream.

But, Mutasm didn't get any time to observe the situation any longer than he already had. The ball of light shot forward towards him, not giving him any time to even react until it had already crashed into him. Blown back a few steps, Mutasm felt like he was fighting against a strong current of wind, no matter how hard he tried, he could not make any progress forward. Closing his eyes, he put his arms in front of him as he tried to keep standing.

With a sudden echo of whistling wind, the pressure disappeared, and Mutasm found himself falling forward with a yelp. Landing hard on his knees and hands, he groaned in pain. Sitting up, he rubbed his knees with his palms as his eyes searched for Miška. The fog of dust had gone, and the bright sun filtered in unobstructed by anything. It shone brightly on her green skin as she sat there. Her legs under her, and her body leaning forward onto her hands. Her head was downcast, droplets of sweat slowly fell as her breath came out with labored effort.

With great difficulty, she looked up with a sad smile she stared at him. Slowly her mouth opened, but she hesitated like she was afraid of what she had to say. “I-I am sorry…” Was all he heard before he felt his ears and every other part of his body explode in pain.

Screaming a hoarse cry, he hugged himself, as though that would lessen his struggle. He felt daggers ripping him apart, claws tearing away at every inch of his skin. Underneath it all, he felt lava and liquid fire coursing through his blood vessels to his heart, then to the rest of his body. But worse of it all, he felt something crawling under his skin, wiggling through his body; growing constantly. Looking at his arm, he found a green outlining--like a blood vessel-- pushing its way up his forearm towards his hand.

Falling forward he struggled and cried-tearing at his own body to rip out what ever it was that ripped his insides. Looking up, his eyes met Miška’s, pleading for the pain to stop, yet it continued without thought to his feelings. It took ages, but a familiar blackening of his peripheral vision began to grow. A comfort Mutasm never thought he would find solace in. The last thing he saw before darkness overtook him was Hope leaning on the tight fence of ropes he had made, tears streaming down her face as she tried to reach him from so far away. But, thankfully unconsciousness took him before his mind and soul broke. Wrapping him in its cold embrace.