Who would you want most by your side?
The bullet tore through DeMain's head before Yolanda could even utter a spell in retaliation, and the spirit turned its flickering gaze upon her with baleful amusement.
"I feel like— I've seen this one before." It cackled. 'Like father, like son!"
The blood from her friend's skull pooled on the floor, an unceremonious death. So many of Yolanda's memories had been scrubbed, reexamined, and lost to time. Not the one like this, though.
It was a snowy day when they arrived in their cabin. Yolanda and her mother had emigrated from their homeland of Russia, from one of the fairly busy city areas-- a dense world of concrete she barely recalled. She hadn't fully understood why they'd moved then, and she barely remembered what her home before had actually been like at the time besides the differences in the inside of their house. Her mom, Alina, had reassured her it was a personal decision, but one that wasn't without difficulty. She'd been planning to leave for years, maybe before Yolanda had even been born.
"Why did we move? I thought you liked where we were." She had asked, perched by her mother's side as she had journeyed through the airports together with her.
"I did, Yolanda. But kind people like us should not be trapped where unkind people rule. I cannot call myself a part of that place anymore."
Yolanda's great-grandmother had been a child of the Spanish Civil War, and it had just been her when she first arrived in Russia. Living hadn't been easy, but eventually one of the men took a liking to her enough to persistently call her beautiful. It worked after some time, and the rest was history. Her grandparents unfortunately hadn't shared the sentiment when Alina had wanted to leave though, so their family was forcibly split. Yolanda didn't get much contact with her grandparents from then on, but it affected her less than she expected throughout the years.
She had been maybe six or seven at the time of their arrival in America, but the memories from around then were fuzzy and hard to draw back. It'd been a long road. Some of the details slipped her then, so she couldn't hope to recall them now. The only thing she could definitely remember was the first time her mother brought in a set of videotapes for her birthday (again, she didn't remember which one). Seasons of Sailor Moon, My Little Pony (the original films, not the newer ones), and others within those realms of fantasy, friendship, and adventure. They were extraordinary, and sometimes they were all she really had to come home to. Some were older in styles, but she loved them regardless. Her mother mentioned finding them in a nearby video shop, and they'd sit and watch them together for hours on end together.
During a walk with her mom, Yolanda managed to find a stick out in the woods behind their house that resembled her idea of a magical girl's wand. It was straight, with some brambles near the top that curved in on themselves like a hand. The grasp of the branches was empty though, it needed something to give it its own magic. Something… special-- besides the magic that was already in her, of course. Her mother spent a lot of time attempting to find rocks that would fit in it, always bringing one home from her walk to work. Yolanda refused, because she believed that the right rock would come to her, choose her. It was a strange belief, but Yolanda's imagination trumped most reason in her life at that time.
There came a point when Yolanda's mother asked her to stay at a neighbor's house for a little while so she could get just a little more time to herself, which initially offended Yolanda. Now though, since she had watched children herself in the Witch Hamlet, she understood.
It'd been a friend her mother made while out shopping who offered to watch Yolanda in place of a sitter, a very kind old woman who worked as a seamstress. Her mother was gracious, and insisted she be paid for her work. The kind old woman, who she only remembered as 'Baba', refused compensation out of a wistful longing towards her own children who had since moved out and on in life.
Yolanda would watch Baba's threadwork for hours at a time, and while most of her clothes were fit for much larger people, she loved them all the same. Eventually, Yolanda was allowed to use the woman's TV, where she put her favorite tapes to even more use. By now, Yolanda had learned how to work the rewind and she was all the more entranced by the colors and lights on repeat because of it. Even now, the shows had been burned into her mind, at least the seasons she had access to.
Like all Witches though, Yolanda's innocence wasn't destined to last. The world simply wouldn't have it.
Yolanda had a father that had come with them, though 'father' was the most rotten description of him. He was barely around, and oftentimes either working or 'staying late'. He'd come along for the fresh opportunities for jobs, but he ended up falling victim to many of America's political pitfalls and sinking into conspiracies and theories about his superiority to others. After a year or so, he disappeared into the night without a word, and Yolanda's mother was forced to reevaluate her situation. It wasn't as though it was impossible to live by herself, but money was tighter without another hand in the house. Yolanda heard later that her father had met another 'traditional' woman who would serve him better, but she never got to verify this.
Her mother had met a nice guy named Stephen months later, some pharmacist in the area who she met often with as part of doctor-ordered prescriptions for things her parents had refused to acknowledge as deeply back home. Alina's arthritis was becoming debilitating, forcing her to power through excruciating work days and agonizing night shifts for the sake of keeping food on their table. Stephen could fix this relatively easier with some over-the-counter medicine and unofficial diagnosis.
Stephen was a sweet guy to her mother, but to Yolanda he seemed only to look at her with disdain—at best. Yolanda was pretty clear to her mother that Stephen made her uncomfortable, but she didn't seem in her right mind whenever he came over. Always sort of spaced out, a little more giggly than she should have been. Yolanda knew later in life that it was probably the medications, and that she couldn't fault her for it 100%, but she wished her mother was 'all there' to listen to her concerns instead of telling her not to worry at the time. She wished so, so much that her mom had been in the right mind, but Stephen was good at convincing her to stay half-lidded.
Stephen surprised Yolanda after a few months of being with her mother, excitedly talking about their next plans for an outing together. They were taking a camping trip down south somewhere in a forest, Yolanda could never remember the specific name because it wasn't technically a real camping spot. Stephen had essentially convinced her mother that it was a safe patch of woods and that nothing could go wrong, the argument piercing through her clouded judgment. It wasn't clear whether she agreed because she was high, or because Stephen had actually managed to convince her.
Yolanda could overhear their conversations in the car as Stephen drove. He was talking about plans for the future, maybe some kids down the line. Her mother laughed and giggled as she sat watching the treelines pass, too far gone to comprehend what was happening. Yolanda couldn't shake a sinking feeling, but she tried to ignore it the whole time.
The trip itself, and the camping afterwards was without problems. Stephen made some smores, her mother sobered up a bit enough to enjoy the time together, and Yolanda was able to swing her wooden stick-wand around so many times you might think she was a practiced spellcaster from watching her by the end. It was a pleasant time, though Yolanda didn't care much for the bugs that insisted on swarming her vision at all times. After a plentiful day of playing in the river with her mother and Stephen, she slept like a baby in her tent for much longer than she anticipated. The warmth and stillness of the air outside lulled her to a slumber, like a cloud hanging over her very world.
Yolanda woke up in the tent with the sun already setting, hanging low in the afternoon. The car they'd taken to get here and all of their food was gone, no traces that anyone had been here save for the remnants of ashes in their firepit pile of gathered stones. She anxiously exited the flap of the tent, wondering where her parents were. Surely they were just at the river, and they would return. Right?
Yolanda waited for hours filled to the brim with worry, the moon cresting into the sky fruitlessly as her worry morphed into terror. Her parents hadn't returned, and it was far too late for Yolanda to be by herself. She gasped as a thought crossed her innocent mind, a sliver of true fear digging into her psyche.
What if they got killed? Or they drove somewhere and they can't find me? What if a bear came and they couldn't wake me up in time when they tried to get away?
The young girl could barely comprehend her situation amidst her hunger and thirst. All of their food had been taken with them, so maybe… maybe they just forgot about her?
No, that didn't make sense. But… Yolanda could see it. Stephen didn't seem keen on having her around, and her mother had been on a string of his 'treatments'. This was probably what he and her mom wanted, she was just some stupid kid anyway. A burden to them her mother would much rather drug herself out and ignore. Yolanda spent hours trying to counter-rationalize, insisting to herself that soon she would hear the car return, or that she would wake up in her bed at home any second now.
As much as she wanted to curl up and die from the realization that her guardians weren't coming for her, her hunger gave way to desperate survival instincts upon the sunrise of the next day. All that stopped her from heading into the darkness were the shifting rodents outside that seemed to brush up against her tent whenever she began to work up the courage. By the time it was bright outside, she wasn't sure if she had rested at all. Her body shivered from the cold and the pain in her stomach.
Every sound seemed to pound in her head. The buzzing of the mosquitos, the rampant birds in the trees keeping her awake, and the cries and creakings of the unknown from deep within the forest's depths. Her movements felt oddly fluid, like she was stuck in a dream. But a misstep into a spiky weed reminded her it was not.
She didn't know how to eat or hunt anything out here. Maybe Yolanda could have found some berries if she were back home, but that was a chance as slim as getting to Russia from these woods. The only thing she knew was that running rivers were usually okay, and that eating a little bit of something was a good way to find out if it was bad before she ate too much. It was the best she could muster when she didn't know how to make fire and she hadn't been in America long enough to know anywhere. Yolanda felt pathetic, meek, and vulnerable in the worst place to be during that time. Unfamiliar, alone, and with nobody to come to her aid.
Any food Yolanda might have had was absent, and after the first day it became clear that she would have to work things out on her own. She had gotten by on the leftovers of her last dinner, but the stomach of a child was only so large, and only so formidable in unexpected scenarios. She had to leave the safety of the tent before her hunger overtook her, but paralysis clutched at her limbs. If she left she could get lost, or worse. Unzipping the tent or making noise felt like a death sentence in her current conditions,
By the next day, Yolanda had realized that crying was only wasting her water. She was parched, and the salt of her tears seemed to make it worse the more she tried to conserve them. Her spirit wanted to hold out and say that someone would come to get her. Maybe Baba would pass through and notice her tent but…
Yolanda was starving, so much so that she wondered if the dirt outside would be edible. She wanted food, but moreover she needed water. With no sign of rain, she would have to go searching.
She'd never really known any faith in particular, so even her prayers felt as weak as her stumbling gait. In lieu of God or Allah or whomever other higher powers were worshiped, Yolanda hoped only that some force within the forest would come to her aid. Initially she considered staying close to the tent, but with how long it'd been without anyone coming she would likely starve before someone passed by. She was forced to open the flap and venture into the daunting woodlands, searching for anything that might fill her belly. With her brambly 'wand' in hand, the young girl braced herself into the hallowed grounds of nature.
Her journey past countless trees was relatively peaceful, but she didn't want peace. She would have taken seeing a deer or being spooked by a bear to the constant, gnawing hunger eating away at her mind. As minutes passed she could feel herself getting more desperate. Her mind told her to try some moss from the trees, even though she knew it wouldn't taste good. As soon as it hit her tongue, she gagged and coughed but choked down the green substance anyway, her hunger overriding her disgust. She needed water now, more than anything. The moss maybe had a little bit inside of it, but Yolanda would give anything for a glass with some icy agua in it.
The day dragged on into night, an inescapable darkness lit only by the natural sky. Unfettered starlight trickled down through the dense canopy, every rustle of wind and distant birdcall causing Yolanda to jolt and hide. Her stomach had long since stopped complaining about the lack of food, but Yolanda's head had become a swirling, paranoid mess. She had scavenged relatively safe-looking mushrooms and berries based on what she could find, and she had made a small tray of bark to bundle and 'sort' them based on which ones didn't kill her outright. She had passed by a deer carcass, but she wanted nothing less than to eat the infested carrion. She could swear that the dead eyes had been watching her too, steering her away from the clearing it had died in.
Yolanda thankfully wasn't as tired as she had expected to be at this late of an hour, but she was being kicked into an overdrive survival instinct. The wind rustling in the trees seemed to blend with the cries, and soon she found herself hallucinating the sounds of rushing waters and roaring oceans while her stomach turned from the contents of her diet. The world didn't just spin, it seemed to converge upon itself in every direction. Yolanda felt as though if she didn't hold onto the ground, she might be flung into the sky. One of the items she'd eaten had been poisonous or whatever other word there was to describe this feeling, but she knew the sensation wasn't damning enough to be the beginning of death.
She curled on the ground for what felt like nauseous hours, rolling herself into a bush to try and stay hidden from whatever might come her way. As her mind turned and her senses conveyed things they shouldn't have been able to, Yolanda's eyes lit with newfound clarity. The stars seemed to shine down like blacklights, highlighting the lives of every living thing to her like stars of their own from within the dark.
She'd known nothing of this before, yet Yolanda was taught over the course of a few minutes the instincts she needed. Bigger shapes were probably predators she had to avoid the smell of, and the knowledge given to her was remote and inhuman. Instincts that didn't belong. Yolanda knew much later that this had been the beginning of her Awakening, but at the time she had considered it a form of her 'Magical Girl Powers'. Not all that far off, all things considered. Still, she was right to be fearful. In all of this, she still hadn't seen water. Death would show its face if she strayed from the clock anymore. Her hopeful heart sank as she realized again that she was lost, and that she had managed to loop back to that wretched clearing.
The buck's corpse this time, did not sit still. As she made an effort to hastily journey past the twitching mess, its body propped itself high into the air and stopped her dead in her tracks. The hind legs twisted around, twitching and bending to act as hands to push the corpse from the ground. Tail raised high, a mess of maggots and swollen guts spewed forth from the hole of its rear, forming into the rough estimation of a face devoid of eyes. It spoke to her in a low, chilling voice as excrement and filth poured from the tears in its intestinal maw.
"I can offer you a life anew."
Yolanda stumbled back, away from the repulsive, rotted creature. Whatever path she needed to take out of the woods, she would find it. And if it were blocked by… that, she would find a way around. She didn't know where else to go through, her senses becoming overwhelmed by the newfound eyes and faces in the wood and leaves of the forest. They all seemed to stare and follow her as she walked, but she couldn't tell if their incessant gaze was benign or malevolent. Even Yolanda knew she was eerily calm in the face of everything that was happening. Their constant staring didn't end, and soon little Yolanda found herself being overrun with a distinct sensation of being watched by thousands. Like a nervous performer onstage, her legs began to shake and yearn for an escape. She ran and ran and ran, until she felt peace. Her hand pushed forward past a thick bramble of thorns that pricked at her skin, but they did not cut. She knew, somehow, that they did not want to. It reminded her almost of the gentle hand of her mother, despite their paining nature. As she passed through their briared embrace, a sensation of relief filled her. She was home, a home she had never known before now.
As Yolanda strode away from the now towering wall of black brambles, the trees and the roots of the forest evolved into a swirling landscape of massive intertwined roots and branches. The canopies which had previously blocked any skylight now spiraled into the heavens, their leaves slowly shifting to the vibrant colors of Autumn and beyond as they floated upwards like a ticker-tape parade. Yolanda's feet were no longer on a ground of dirt, but airy platforms of leaves that welled from another world below her. Where was she? This place was almost incomprehensible, but it reminded her a little of the fantasy worlds she'd read and watched on the TV. All that was missing were magical talking animals and fairies flitting about from hollowed stumps full of water.
Yolanda's sense of magical rapture was dulled (but only slightly) by the realization she had been truly abandoned by now. Her parents hadn't come for her during any of the days she'd been starving. She'd been forced to scavenge for food that wasn't provided to her as it should have been, and yet through it all she felt some other force giving her guidance. She couldn't answer if it had come from herself, or if it was her power as a magical girl. Yolanda had gotten her answer later, but not without much time for self reflection.
-
The following years of her life were unblurred, undaunted by the drying paint of memory that comes as you age. Each moment was vivid and colorful, enhanced by the life she led. They weren't all bright greens and blues though, she could remember very clearly the reds and blacks that stained her canvases just as easily. She was foolish to think the nasty truth of reality wouldn't eventually rear its head at her, especially in the realm she came to know as the Reikai. A world of spirits unbound and yet equally bound by the limits of humanity. Most spirits were ignorable, but every time she found a safe haven or a place to eat and live freely, some other spirit gobbled up the one that was trying to be generous for her sake. She could only run, and as she slipped, tumbled, and fell on her endless path, her mind fell with her.
Maybe I'm just dead, and this is because I was a bad daughter…
I'm not smart enough to survive this. I wish I was better…
Some of the thoughts that clawed at her mind didn't even feel as though they were own, yet they still rang with truth.
You're only getting help out of pity. An ugly, stupid little girl who can't fend for herself.
Should've starved in those woods. Maybe then you'd be good for something-- food for worms at least.
Yolanda knew she shouldn't listen, and yet she couldn't help but lend an ear to the musings of the unseen mouths. It never stopped, and no matter how much Yolanda made efforts to take care of herself, the voices were unrelenting. She could think-- no, feel herself going crazy. Why was she hearing voices? Did she take too much of the mushrooms? Was she born wrong? Did Stephen drug her, and was this all a dream?
She certainly wished it was. The more unstable Yolanda's mentality became, the more the wicked spirits of the Reikai seemed to be drawn to her. Most were just teases or as evil as nasty children, but there was one she wasn't able to defend herself from at all. It clung to her nerves, hung on every breath. She knew it was there for weeks before it showed itself. Just as Yolanda thought she had evaded whatever it was, it violated her idea of safety in the Reikai.
Waking from sleep in a cold, empty wasteland was the last thing she wished for. She immediately missed the dazzling sunshine of the Reikai's muraled skies, the biting chill freezing not just her skin, but her emotions as well. She remembered the feeling now all too well. Abandonment. Loneliness. Panic.
Desolation.
The dry, cold wasteland sprawled out, only fog to keep her company. Yolanda's breath chilled the air, a plea for any spark of life in the dark wasteland. Howling wind was her only reply.
She was no stranger to the domains of spirits, but this one was different. No matter how far her legs took her, there was no change in scenery, no visible exit or border to the new area she found herself in. Yolanda's legs took her as far as they could go in the cold, but the pain and isolation here was so much more real than it felt anywhere else. Even her sense of connection to all things gained from her Awakening felt dulled and dismissed. It was as if the domain itself was plucking at the webbed strings of her psyche and plucking any connections it could find. One by one she felt the pain of loss, over and over again, for things and voices she never truly knew. The voice of a father who cared, wiped away. The voice of a mother who listened, pried by the roots. The voice of a happy child, ravaged and tossed away to die in the white abyss.
Yolanda tried to fight, her frosted tears clinging onto her cheeks like claws as they sank past her chin. Inside of her head a desperate war raged, her very being trying to hold a thousand strings all at once. They pulled so tightly at her body and fingers, coiling around so tightly it felt as though she would become ribbons from the force. She sank into the snow, only able to huddle her knees as her frostbitten soul spread to the outside.
This was her legacy. A child, lost to the elements and abandoned.
No, that was dumb. She'd gotten this far, and she'd already been through enough bad stuff to last a lifetime. She was a magical girl. She was special.
All at once, the domain of Desolation became deathly still. Then, it whipped into a frenzy, pelting her with frost and snow quick enough to cut her skin. The wind lashed, ripping away her breath and slicing at her eyes. As Yolanda became blinded and helpless, she could only feel fear and anxiety. All of this effort to escape, to distance herself from her old life, and she was still as useless as she had been as a child. Everything inside and around her cascaded and welled, like torrents of anguish in every form possible. In the agonizing cold, she could only scream out into the endless nothingness.
"I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!"
Yolanda's only afforded company was the tormenting, heartless laughter that came from the domain's host, echoing into the frigid wind that assailed her. She could see it only for a moment, a massive, abstract figure which defied even the strangeness of the other spirits she was accustomed to. Through the harsh gale her eyes only remained open for a second, yet it was enough to burn the image into her mind.
No form could be a better fit for all she had felt so far. A great hollow shell, made of hollow, broken pieces . Its patterns showed only the indent of a person, with nothing to show for it. Like an animate fossil of what once was, eroded away by time. Behind it, the flat cape of a field of dying trees became its entourage, the very landscape of snow rising to meet and swallow them where any more dared to rise.
Yolanda knew why the spirit had come to claim her, she was perhaps its greatest work. Its greatest pleasure. Its greatest reward to come. It was like she was back in the forest, stranded and helpless.
"WHY CAN'T YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?!" Yolanda screamed, her eyes too frosted to open now. Without a word, the spirit cocked its head, and vanished without a trace. It had done as she had asked. Somehow she knew what the spirit was feeling, and it worried her more. The idea that, through all of this, it was merely amused. It pissed her off, and something inside of her felt as though it was splintering.
Everything. Everything she had been through, and the Spirit of Desolation had the luxury to find it all funny. Countless slurs and curses crossed her mind, but screaming them into the wind did nothing. She cried, she slammed her head into the snow, she shouted and she curled up to die. But she never did. It never helped her, and she couldn't help herself. All she could do now was sleep. It was all she really wanted. To sleep as she had when she was a child. Safe and happy. Devoid of this weight thrown on her shoulders. So sleep she did.
She knew only the colorful robe and the handmade mask of the woman who came to her in her dream, but the actual memory no longer belonged to her. There were few words exchanged, the dying spirit could barely speak. Only in the most ancient, primal tongues could she communicate now, her cultures long made extinct and her temples all but ruins. She saw the spirit's intent. A tree struck by lightning, doomed to die unless it was willing to survive by more drastic measures. Split, with its growth halved. What else could she do but accept begrudgingly?
-
Jo rose from the icy, cold ground with her head feeling as though she'd been hit with a sledgehammer. Great. Her useless dad had dumped her here after he got high out of his mind and drove off like the hippy he was. What a fucking bummer. Now she was tangling with some spirit or something and she was about to die. Whatever. Oh well, hopefully there'd be a next time she could rag on him for it.
There wasn't much going on in Jo's head other than boredom, and the spirit manifested itself predictably in front of her now that she dared to put up any sort of struggle. That same darkened indent in the broken leftovers of whatever heap it'd crawled from. Jo remembered it vaguely, but the memory so far extended only to its villainous nature.
"Hey! Fight like a real person, dumbass!"
The spirit didn't take kindly to her remark, and immediately the landscape shifted and became more violent. Fine, whatever. Jo knew what she needed to do, but she could have done without the biting cold nipping at her extremities.
Almost as if by instinct, Jo's front became shielded by a soft, almost rubbery metallic surface. As soon as she did it, her head felt… strange. Like she was experiencing her body from an outside set of eyes. Knowing what it was wasn't as important as how it worked right now-- all that mattered was she could shield herself decently enough from the elements. The metallic surface was almost like mercury. Weak and fluid, but strong in the intense cold and pressure. A strange inverse of her current predicament, and how she knew she should be feeling deep down. But she really didn't feel much of anything right now besides a poisonous rage.
Predictably, the Desolation Spirit didn't seem to care much that she had a newly acquired skill, or that she was acting completely different than before. Maybe it chalked it up to Jo just being a stubborn kid. It was technically correct in that regard, which just pissed her off more. As soon as the intimidating spirit was close, she simply ejected the mercurial aegis towards it, splintering its vacant form with small needles. She wasn't happy with that, it was a lot weaker than she wanted. The Desolation Spirit seemed totally unaffected by it too. Maybe she had to be closer?
The feeling of out-of-body-ness was worse for a moment before she felt herself mentally retreat from her own attack. Immediately the metallic fluid rebounded back to her and then… it was gone. Like a dream, waking just before impact is made.
The spirit sent another gust of winter towards her smaller body, sending her tumbling in the snow. Even as her head hit frozen dirt and her skin sang with pain, her heart hummed with something fiery and uncontrollable.
This was fun.
"Come on you piece of shit! Too afraid to hit a girl for real? Dumbass! Or are you too empty to make a fist?!" Jo laughed in an unhinged way, standing on her legs as though she were perfectly fine. She wasn't, but this was too exciting to act like a pussy for.
The desolate spirit's form raised its arm, preparing for a punch. Or, was it more like an anti-punch, since it didn't have a fist? Didn't really matter. It's what Jo wanted.
With a sidestep that made her wince through the grin on her face, Jo brought down her soulform as a massive blade across the spirit's fragile arm. With a sound like plastic crunching and chains breaking, the arm was severed into nothingness. With it, the domain of the spirit shrank, and just became a bit more bearable. Sure, Jo was having another out of body experience, but it just mean that the pain and aches affected her even less than they had before. Perfect.
The Desolation Spirit immediately attempted to make distance between the two of them, but Jo was having none of that. A mercurial shape like a cross between an anchor and an arrow (she didn't care to remember the name right now) plunged itself into the creature's casing of a chest.
"Uh uh! I didn't say you could leave me! You're stuck with me now, fucko!"
With a crackling and twisting like the broken parts of toys, the spirit's body folded in on itself until it faced Jo fully. Its gaping chasm of a face stared down at her before it attempted to engulf her fully, the edges of its form spreading out and over her like a smothering blanket. Jo only narrowed her eyes and cackled.
"Too close, idiot!"
Solid pillars of sharpened steel sprouted from the spirit's back, freezing it in place. It was already dead most assuredly, but through Jo's psychotic mirth, she reveled in the feeling of victory. Like an opening clamp, all of the steel pillars connected to her stretched apart from one another, widening until the Spirit of Desolation burst open into raw essence.
Jo was no longer in the cold wasteland. Instead, she was perched on the edge of a soft-sand beach, warm sunlit water dragging the cold from her feet. She shuddered, laying back in the sand and staring into the blue sky as she reveled in her victory. She was too sore to get up and dance, or jump up and down and scream with how good it felt. The best Jo could do in her excruciating form was yell every curse and profanity she'd ever wanted into the pleasant air. She laid there for however long she could manage, the heat soothing her chilled body. Even the water felt like a nice spa, the perfect temperature against the frigid death she had felt before.
Eventually, a small shadow loomed over her, interrupting her sunbathing. Jo opened her eyes and found herself to be staring up at a handmade mask of some kind. It had two beautifully painted irises of every vivid color, and soft rosy cheeks to compliment the white plastic. An expressionless mouth was painted onto the mold of the lips, unmoving as the face behind it spoke.
"You did quite well. I am proud." The voice said, rich, warm, and feminine.
"'Course I did. That dumbass didn't realize anger just makes people stronger."
"Not everyone, but yes. You are a… unique case."
-
Over the course of the next few hours, the mysterious woman opened up to Jo. She was an old spirit, but by no means powerful. Her societies had long since died, or at least they weren't strong enough to prevail throughout time. Her name was Xochiquetzal-- or at least she was the Spirit of Xochiquetzal. Jo asked what that meant, and her answer was pretty straightforward.
"Spirits are only the representations of the things they hail from. I am not the goddess herself, but rather an interpretation of her. There are others like me, though they may not share the same degree of humility."
"What's that supposed to mean? Also, who are you?" Jo said, standing and twisting her neck to look at the enigmatic appearance of the spirit. She couldn't tell what exactly they were supposed to be underneath their pleasantly colorful outfit, creepily adorned by the stone-faced kigurumi mask. Black, wavy hair swept itself over the figure from behind the plastic visage, nearly reaching the floor in a cloak of its own. Underneath the mess of stygian was a colorful rebozo, similar to one you might visualize a Mexican grandmother wearing. The poncho-esque weave itself draped all the way to the floor, obscuring any arms or legs, even as the figure stood. She was almost a tower of hair with fabrics and silks meshed together underneath.
"Ah. Right. You are a child. A spirit like me is not the god themselves, just the… idea of them. The same way you might picture someone to be evil, but they're actually really nice."
"I guess that makes sense. Kinda. Well who are you then?"
"There's really not much else to me at the moment. When you defeated the Spirit of Desolation I was able to revive my own essence by ingesting theirs, but it has been so long I cannot even remember my origin."
"Huh. So you got dumped here, like me!" Jo teased.
"..."
"... Uh… Sorry. It wasn't funny." Jo apologized.
"Thank you. Well, we are both lost, and we are both at a disadvantage whether we like it or not. Why don't we work together?" The spirit said, crouching down to be eye(?) level with Jo.
"What did you say your name was again?" She asked, studying the mask.
"I have nothing to me but what you see. Most of my other identities were stolen or adopted by other spirits. I am only my name now, Xochiquetzal."
"Funny name. Can I call you Chiq? I dunno if I can say the rest of that. Zaw-chick… uh…"
"Chiq is fine."
"Great!" Jo beamed, her fiery eyes full only of possibility and violence. "So, what were you thinking?"
"I am thinking you should be averse to making deals with spirits. You may not remember much of it now, but our deal has already been made. You, Jo, are a protector. Of me, of yourself, of your sister, and of many others."
"My sister?"
The masked woman pressed a finger to Jo's head, and images and memories flooded her mind. Once one, now two. The tree split down the center by lightning, forced to survive in the harshest of conditions. It needed only to be nurtured, and Chiq was the rain that came to cool and quench the ashen cinders from within. Jo saw what she was, a piece of a soul where nothing had to be held back. That flicker of flame that lingered in the tree, the damage that had been done yearning to be free forever more.
When Yolanda opened her eyes, she found herself on a beach. She had only the vaguest memory of defeating the Spirit of Desolation, but it felt more as though she had been viewing the entire thing from somewhere else. Like watching the TV your parents have on late at night in secret, creeping around the corner of the walls to see.
All things considered, she felt… fine. Comforted almost. Nobody was around, and despite her singular silhouette on the sand Yolanda knew she walked with two other shadows as company.
From then on she walked with guidance in her stride, knowing that, no matter what, she would be able to continue walking forward no matter what came her way. Watching from behind what was essentially a closed door at times was annoying, but she knew it was for the best. A door she shouldn't really open unless she absolutely had to. Her life was severed down the middle, one half living joyously as Yolanda, and one half living for the thrill of adrenaline and violence that was Jo. To say they got along was an overstatement, but the two halves knew to respect one another. Jo never came out unless Yolanda wanted it, and if Jo was the one in control, then Yolanda wouldn't interrupt. The Reikai was thankfully amicable towards them from then on, with Yolanda finding her way to the Witch Village within the months following her split. She was welcomed-- accepted even, by others of her ilk. While they didn't know her capacity for violence then, it was such a peaceful place that Yolanda almost forgot about Jo. Maybe, just maybe, she would heal, and she wouldn't need Jo anymore. Yolanda even learned to cast spells (not really, just one so far) that could aid her in fights. She was finally getting stronger, learning to fend for herself!
-
Tears streaked down the sides of Yolanda's face as she ran away from the devil walking the halls of bullet-riddled suffering. She could hear him laughing, and the anxious tinnitus of the halls and offices she ran through erupted into a discordant choir of quiet sobbing and screams of pain. She was overwhelmed by everything, knowing that with all she had done she couldn't face this. She'd lost one of her friends, probably both. She was stranded and alone. She was… trapped. Just like in the forest. Just like in the snowfields…
Yolanda's pacing slowed until she halted completely amidst the chaos of Firearm Kami's domain, and Jo began to crack a small grin.