The child then uttered once more while his head turned back looking into the bottom of the barrel: "He has wings of a dragon and eyes of an eagle, Aleck. Both of our actions will not be able to slip around his presence, or even his absence. May you find the answer of what we have talked about."
Micael winced a lot this time. He water was filling fast like the speed of four faucets. No. Five.
"No! You are going nowhere," he replied with a scream atop of his throat, and the water had reached the ankle of the child. Even surprising, he looked at the water. It was transparent, but the body of the child beneath the very ankle of his was never to be even looked and sighted at. The water kept on rising, and so the body the child disappearing like sweet cotton candy in one's mouth like pure, illicit magic.
The water continued on rising, as well as Micael's tension against his body and mind, but he knew there was something more than just helping. The water then reached the knee of the child, and what was below the child's knee disappeared like bubbles, all in such the littlest of the poofs.
"We could have known better, Aleck, from the very start of our journey way back thirteen," the child said with words coming out from his eyes and tears coming out from his mouth for he knew beyond his knees, there was nothing.
His limbs were slowly being eaten by the cold monstrous waters which had been spitted off from the obscure steel pipe which came from nowhere, and Micael could only do nothing but to look at what could have evaded and driven off of, but he knew it was very likely to be another inevitable unfolding of time and space right before his eyes, and so he shouted.
"I will get you out of that shit, kid. Let me just get my—" he said towards the child, but the child's ears were never really able to comprehend what Micael chose to get through him, as the child could hear was splashes and the very voice of the water which had uttered a phrase over and over and over inside his head: You have done your part. Find yourself home now… which repeated over time as the water kept on rising past his chest, and the child looked below the water surface, of which he had regretted from the very best of his life. Beyond his eyes were nothing. The water was transparent, and his body had seemed by one, too.
He recognized the color with his very eyes, and it was black. Much blacker than he thought it could have looked like, and beneath the water was an incandescent light coming out from own of the crevices from the very bottom of the barrel, of which he knew Micael had no cause and the variable to even see, but he knew it was there. He turned his back against the wet wall of the wooden barrel, looked at Micael once more and uttered some words with his eyes, cheeks, and his mouth as Micael was about to turn his back towards the child, and his words had flown towards Micael's ears in the very nick of time, and Micael got it. His eyes were not really away from the child's mouth, and so he saw its movement. The clenching of its cheeks and the curling of his forehead, in really dire need of his aid but the child had started to look like he knew that it was no hope at all, and so Micael stopped and read the child's mouth. The voice coming from the other had been weakened by the splashes of the water against the wooden barrel's body, and with his virtuosic mind he read the child's lips which were close as two inches in the rising waters.
Time is irrelevant but time is the answer towards eighteen. You should find time more than how Jack finds it to be. Finding the answer irrelevantly will lead you into gallivanting towards eighteen, and you will seek happine-ss for the both of us. He had become light-headed for the time being after the thought of the child had come to his mind, let alone he felt like he had just dazzled upon the brightest light from stars, and his world had started to revolve around him, but his hands were locked tight unto the barrel's mouth, and so did not fall. His wound had started to drip more blood than usual, and it seemed to be a living faucet down to his very foot, and its effluent had mixed with the still water above the bathroom floor, and he held still. He could still see the child's head, which was 6 inches above the surface of the rising waters, of which he knew that any moment, the child would be under the surface as the flow coming from the mysterious steel pipe was too fast enough which had led to that very situation.
His thoughts were revolving around him, and so did the space around him. He looked like he was spinning, the child looked so relaxed about his inevitable kind of fate. A figure then went on and grabbed his feet, of arm he could not see but he felt it touch and hold his shin, and so he was dragged down the water barrel, of which was never really one. It felt like a deep ocean, and the child was kept on getting dragged down deep waters. He got his crotch into something much more concrete and looked at the arm holding his shin, abut it was no arm at all.
It was a skeleton of a vulture swimming down the vast trenches of the wooden barrel and towards the incandescent light, of which kept on getting brighter and brighter while some blocked the very of its light, constituting into dark shadows which would explain why the water was indeed transparent yet impossible to yet right beneath its surface. He still could not breathe and his hands were atop of his shoulders as he was dragged by the vulture with its claw held tight into his shin.
The child tried to shapeshift himself into something smaller for him to be able to swim back into Micael's bathroom. He tried his best, but the only noise he could make was a bland whimper under the cover of the vast waters. He bones could not crack and shift into something much frightening and brave enough to fly against the vulture's current and his flesh had started to move elastically like rubber, but all his efforts had met into a quite disappointment. He had nothing to do of hims-elf but to look at the very back of the vulture's locomotive skeleton, which held itself after thousands of its death. He looked at it longer and there glowed a light right behind its spine.
It was dim, but it lit a different color of which was the sole reason he could see it. The light blasting towards his eyes was yellow. It was piercing like the vulture's crooked claw, but he had his eyes half open which made him see the emitting light from the vulture's spine, and he did. It was green in color, and he immediately realized that it was no ordinary vulture at all. It was Jack's. Or maybe Jack. He never knew. He quickly gave up unto himself, stopped the bubbling coming from his mouth and slept as the vulture approached the vast nothingness of which nothing would be able to see but the blinding incandescent light. Soon enough, it was no water at all. The vulture had passed the clouds above the opaque-like waters, and there the wind's breeze had hit the child's body like straight apparent fluid, but his consciousness was never gotten back into his very consciousness, and so the vulture continued to plummet down the atmosphere.
The vulture kept on flashing his speed until he could see the black cape of his commander of which was waiting above the very top of the mountainous range. At the very top of it. The wooden spear from his behind had turned away from the vulture's eyes and beyond the vulture, there was black, with purple glow right above his eyes, and with the vulture's ears he had heard the smallest palaver of the purple-eyed figure, and it talked.
"No one dares to be away from the open gates, and he who tries to be one will never to be remembered once more but kept as a trinket to be taken care of much more closer," and the vulture sped towards the source of the voice with the flap of its featherless wings and kept his shoulders as pointed as a dull blade and his claw tight as a vice grip, as losing the child in the wicked trees the vulture was traversing above will the something out of the question for the figure, and shot would be flying with glee.
...