His body torn by wounds. His sword coated and dulled by entrails. The rain above him was endless. The bog that covered the landscape made him slow. Packs of wolves with their furs resembling rotten wood came and attacked him.
The bog made him sloppy. A wolf bit on to his shoulder, another tore his left thigh. He swung his sword and beheaded one. His left thigh bone was clear to see, and yet he continued fighting. He was used to such desperate fighting.
"Ah," he mumbled as if he could not form coherent words. He struck down the wolves and then fell on his knees. Black sticky mass of flesh forcibly stitched his wounds, vomiting blood, and trembling. The sigil of the Dove and the Snake of woes glowed for a second.
"Ah," he mumbled.
"Walker," said a woman. "Please rest."
He didn't reply to that woman's voice. He continued forward, dragging his sword in this bog. He looked at the tall trees covered in moss, passed by vines that are thick as his arms. His eyes continued looking forward, a raindrop on him, trailing down his face.
His eyes hollowed out, and yet it was stern. Dirt covered, mud-covered, and clothes wet with water and blood. The ghost behind him eyed him worriedly, was it pity? Or a secret mocking for the foolish?
Swamp of the Outer Lands, the lands of the wicked. Why would he come into a place like this? What kind fool would let himself succumb to such suffering?
"I'm from different age...ah, I should work hard in name of the order. All that matters is the job. I mustn't fail. Or they might curse me in their graves! Alive or dead, what can I say to those? I have a gift and yet I am alive! Why am I not dead! Why does God allow me to live, knowing that I cannot even succeed and run away?"
He fell face-first towards the mud. He stood up gingerly, his arms shaking madly as it is.
Iron and Steel rusts. The hardest walls could be torn. His heart had been taken down a notch ever since he started this aimless crusade. For what is the purpose of a heart of steel when it is rusted?
What was more painful? To die knowing that you run away? To die only to be revived, and be said that your life's philosophy is all for naught?
"Come, and hither me!" he shouted. "Scream for I shall slaughter!"
The Walker of Bleak madly fought. His blood spilled on the ground as he takes on hordes of enemies that dwell on the bog. The marshland turned into a field of blood, and in the farthest part of the swamp was the Bleak Walker, Nolan Salvatore torn to shreds, his limbs practically skinned.
A black mass of flesh stitched him up. His muscles and ligaments were being forcibly restored by an obsidian colored flesh that came out of his own sword. His mouth hung open and his eyes bloodshot in pain.
"Just a bit more, Walker."
"Are you my mother, no, are you Brother Sirius or Sister Ariel whose skills in medicine is grand? If you are, can you forgive me? I wouldn't mind dying if it pleases you, Brother Sirius, please forgive me, Ariel...I didn't want to let you die...ah, Ciara, am I really worthy of someone? I haven't protected anything and when I did, I failed, I utterly, miserable, and horrendously failed. Ah, Brother Calisto, can you spare me? Ah, please, please, teach this idiotic one, I am not worthy at all."
"Hush, Walker, you are wounded, badly, and dying, you are deranged, and your head is injured, ah, your soul, this soul of yours...It is really hard to hate you."
The operation continued slowly, and he was in pain. The rain didn't help in easing up his wounds, the swamp promises infection and searing pain. His body was still coated in blood, the apparition of the obsidian woman had to wash the constant splash of swamp water on his wounds that would occasionally make him scream in pain. The rain continued, the screams turned louder, and his wails occasionally overcoming the sounds of rain.
It took the apparition time to drag him out of the marshland and into the fray of the cold hard winter forest. Along the way, she had to drive away small dire animals wanting to feed on his unmoving body.
She placed him under a hollowed tree. The tree was full of ants that spits acid strong enough to melt the gauntlet that he wore on the left arm. His face almost got melted, but she had avoided that death.
"Steel can be bent with a hammer and when heated enough, it could be shaped and melted...you...how are you able to function this long with all the hammer blows and all the deaths?"
"O my Rusted Steel of a Knight, the man I hate the most in this world, and the man I wanted to be, yet your heart is already set with a woman who you've been devoted for so long. Such woman, she doesn't deserve such a million years of love, and you, who have been doing this...You are sinful, always capturing me, and in the end, I would always end up loving you and forgetting you over and over again. To lost your memories and end up falling with the same human for years...what a fool I am. I always end up being your eternal friend and never once you looked at me the way you look at her. But it's fine, and I do mind taking care of you...I'd break if you let me go. I cannot imagine a timeline where you are not like this. Though, I say that this is quite a new one. I wonder what turned this scenario into this. The Outer Lands, you've never ventured here and now...you are being pushed this far. Quagmires and deep sands have always been your weakness. You are a good fighter but you fight relying on that agility of yours and that cunning you call experience. I really cannot help you – or the void may pull me again."
She said while giving him her lap. The Outer Lands was unknown to her, and even she could not help but worry about the things that will occur.