(live: 1s)[(t8n:"dissolve")[Somehow, someway, you get used to [[it.]]](stop:)]The (link:"pain.",(action:'mouseover'))[(display:"Pain")]pain.
The agony becomes an ache, the ache becomes acquainted.
You find ways to push [[through...]]Not this time.
My leg…well, it was fucked to say the very least.
From what I could see, it was bad. From what I could *feel*, it was worse. May have even hit the bone.
Pushing through, in these circumstances, often meant being able to walk, and that was off the table.
Chaos is no friend of clarity.
I couldn’t see who was pulling me along until they’d dragged me [[behind cover]].Aching and I were acquainted, but fuck did getting shot still hurt.
While sucking in sharp breaths and bracing the pain movement delivered, I looked at (link:"him.",(action:'mouseover'))[(display:"Him")]him.
As much of him as I could see, anyway.
Eyes that were blue. Not greyish blue like slates of stone, not deep and dark like the middle of oceans.
Just brightly and wildly (text-color:(rgb:135, 206, 235))[blue].
The rest is just a mask.
A skull mask.
(link:"Simple.",(action:'mouseover'))[(display:"Effective")]Effective.
(after:time+2s)[Like a reaper from beyond, come to snatch me from my body and make away with me.
The thought crossed my mind: If it was all over to a damn shot to the leg, I’d be pissed, that’s for sure.]
(after:time+4s)[To say the least, if I was this startled by his presence, just imagine the enemy.
Through dirt and muck and a vignette of hurt hazing my vision, I almost tensed at the sight of [[him.]]]
The skull-faced man however wasted no time. I was reminded he did not reap my soul, but rescued it.
[[Rescued me.->Dialogue]]
“Thank you!” I rasped through gunfire rains and resounding explosions. He worked at my leg with ease and efficiency that told of experience. “You a medic?”
The figure nodded, while reaching back for something on their person. Medical aid.
So a medic.
(text-color:(rgb:147, 112, 219))[“Of sorts!”] He shouts back over the noise.(text-color:(rgb:147, 112, 219)) [“Trained in medical but wanted out, to be on the field. Comes in handy to be able to help with this shit, though.”]
“I bet,” is all I could laugh airlessly, humourlessly as I leaned up against whatever limited coverage we had. (text-color:white)[[["Wha'd'they call you? ->Name]]](text-color:(rgb:147, 112, 219))["Hell!"]
(after:time+3s)[(link:'"What?"',(action:'mouseover'))[(go-to:"Hellbringer")]]I’d have thought I heard wrong over the fighting, maybe my ears were ringing.
But he repeated the word.
(text-color:(rgb:147, 112, 219))[Hell.]
“Why Hell?”
(text-color:(rgb:147, 112, 219))[“Hellbringer, really!”] The reply was curt and short, as he worked, handling my leg firmly but with intention. He tied off the bandages while looking around and waving over assistance.
I knew it was right, I was in no condition to keep fighitng, but it sat wrong in my chest and settled into my bones uncomfortably- I *wanted* to keep fighting.
Hell continued his explanation.
(text-color:(rgb:147, 112, 219))[“Saved a few people in my time, nothing special. Just my job, you know? Eventually people start talking, say I ‘pull the bastards’ souls from hell with my bare hands, don’t let ‘em go until the job is [[done’]].”]“I guess my job ain’t done then?”
I swear the bastard smiled, underneath the bone of the mask, and laughed back.
(text-color:(rgb:147, 112, 219))[“Not even close, soldier. These two will help you back behind lines, now go!”] Blue is all I see before he takes off again.
Just like that, he was back out. I couldn’t see him beyond the blur of bodies. The allies and the enemies. *Us* and *them*. It was all blurred to the point I wondered if there ever was that clear of a division of us and them in the first [[place]]. I carried that thought with me as my team carried me out of the action.
Back to base, back to safety.
I was thankful for my life, but sitting still was never my style. Unease ate away at the soles of my feet, that begged to take me back to the fight.
And while I’d never been the religious type, I prayed for that (text-color:(rgb:147, 112, 219))[crazy son of a bitch].
In the middle of battle, he managed to pull me aside and patch me well enough to get me out of there. Ran back into the fray like it was nothing.
There’s got to be a little bit of crazy underneath that [[willpower]].
(text-color:(rgb:222, 184, 135))[[“This looks like Hell’s work.” ]]I lost myself in thought, in recollection. I was rended back to reality by their statement. By the name.
The medic on base mused as they inspected my injury, while preparing to unwrap it and have it tended to properly, out of the dust and dirt and sweat of active duty.
[[“What?”]](text-color:(rgb:222, 184, 135))[“Hellbringer,”] they rolled their eyes a little, chuckling at themselves, (text-color:(rgb:222, 184, 135))[“The irony of the name is not lost on me, believe me. This is his work, yes? I can tell his bandage wrap from a mile away, always tucks in at the left side, and while he works quickly, he certainly is efficient,”] the doctor pointed out the unique bandaging, like a calling card.
I didn’t know medics *had* calling cards.
(text-color:white)[“[[Guy in the skull mask?]]” I replied in question, trying to recall how he worked on my leg, if I could remember the thought that went into how he did it. I tried to recall *anything* other than the short-lived terror, and the following gratitude.
Tried to remember anything other than how insanely blue the guys eyes were.
My memory failed, unsurprisingly, to the pain of being shot.](text-color:(rgb:222, 184, 135))[“Mmm, the mask. Intended to keep away the reaper. If Death cannot recognise him, he cannot be reaped. And when you steal from Death as often as Hell does, anonymity is your friend.”]
“And that’s all true? That's why he wears it?"
(text-color:(rgb:222, 184, 135))[“No. Well the anonymity is. The prose is just rumour. He covers his face so he isn’t ID’ed, same as anyone.
I think the poetry of it all surprises even him, but I suppose reputations are to be perceived by others, not ourselves. He just does what he does, it's everyone else that spins the fable.”]
“But people call him (text-color:white)[[[Hellbringer->Hell2]] because he brings souls back from Hell?”] (text-color:(rgb:222, 184, 135))[“Sort of? That’s how it started, anyway. Helped he was a damn good fighter too. Like a two way street, he can bring you back from hell, or he can bring hell to you. Depending which (link:'side you’re on."',(action:'click'))[(display:"Lucky")]]
(text-color:(rgb:222, 184, 135))[side you’re on.”]
(text-color:white)[“Lucky I was on his side.”]
(text-color:(rgb:222, 184, 135))[[“Lucky indeed.”]]“He ever lost people?”
(text-color:(rgb:222, 184, 135))[“Oh sure. I mean, teammates and friends, yeah. It’s part of the job. Patients, though? Only [[once]].”]“Only time Death ever got a one up on him?”
The doctor just smiled, shaking their head. I earned from them a slight chuckle.
(text-color:(rgb:222, 184, 135))[[“The only time."]]The notion followed me, a thought in the back of my mind.
*Death does not know his face, Death has no soul to claim.*
It’s pretty badass, having that sort of fable made on your behalf.
It speaks to something bigger than even himself.
The way people view him, the salvation he's brought them.
I could have bled out on the battlefield. Many have before and many will beyond me.
I wouldn’t have been surprised, it’s the job I signed up for. I would have gone below, seen no pearly kingdom but an eternity of fire, for all the life I’d taken under the name of a job, and I accepted that [[fate]].(text-color:(rgb:147, 112, 219))[The Hellbringer had other plans, though.]
(text-color:(rgb:147, 112, 219))[(link: "End")[<script>window.close()</script>]]