The song for this story is "Bleeding Out" by Imagine Dragons. If you recall Mot giving Dianite a dagger back in TL&F right after Dia's revival, good on you. :) I may have made some backstory for that... I know, me and backstory, right? XD Technically, this could stand on its own. Either way, I hope y'all enjoy!

*Mot's POV*

I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Story of my life. When that unusually wet spring followed that unbelievably mild winter, my village was closest to the swamp the creepers poured from like snowmelt down a mountain river. Everyone I knew and loved died that day, but I survived. Or so I thought. It wasn't until weeks later that I learned the burns on my right shoulder and side had been infected with creeper spores. I was condemned to a slow death where my loved ones' had been quick. As long as I kept the burns covered no one knew, and I managed to beg and find work as a transient hired hand when I was old enough.

My bad luck struck again when my boss at one farm saw me with my bandages off. I couldn't have stayed there much longer anyways; the infection that had started on my shoulder was spreading towards my neck and was getting harder and harder to hide. One of the farmhands who I might have called a friend gave me a scarf and wished me luck as I was "escorted" off the property.

The scarf worked for a while, and I found a job in a warehouse. The work was hard, but paid enough to keep food on the table and firewood close to hand in winter. Soon enough I fell into a routine; I became complacent. I should have known better. I'd made a habit of avoiding mirrors over the years, and so I was caught unawares when my right eye started turning an inky black around the edges. A few of my coworkers recognized the signs, and I was chased off again.

I'd rather not relive the following years, but they brought me to Urulu's back alleys on the day Dianite was visiting the desert metropolis. Why he came down that alley as I fought off a group of thugs who thought they could take my night's earnings was beyond me. Maybe he heard the fight or the explosion. Either way, when I recovered enough to register my surroundings, there he was. I must have been quite the sight, a scrawny, diseased kid in his late teens covered in soot, leaning against the sandstone wall with three crooks sprawled unconscious around him.

Whatever he saw, he was interested. At least, that's what I assumed after I blacked out and woke up in a fancy office with him reviewing paperwork at his desk. At first I feared he was some head honcho crime lord I'd p*ssed off by working outside their system. Yeah, I'd heard of Dianite, but I didn't know what a god looked like. That wasn't something you picked up in my line of work. When I tried to bolt and found the door locked, he assured me he meant me no harm.

Then I thought he might be one of those goodie two shoes types who'd brought me here to "nurse me back to health", because no medical establishment in their right mind would have me. I didn't want any pity or handouts. I'd learned not to trust them ages ago.

He proved me wrong again by offering me something I understood: a business proposition. A bodyguard shtick in exchange for living expenses, and he offered to halt the spread of my infection with his magic as a bonus. (Apparently being a god had its limits too; he couldn't reverse what was already done.) I was suspicious of some trap or catch, but in the end I couldn't resist such an offer. Scaring people sh*tless was something I could do just by looking at them, and when they didn't run, I fought. Easy enough, right? Nothing I hadn't done before, and better than a lot of things I had done.

That was how I wound up following Dianite and his caravan as they left town on their way to somewhere in the mountains. Dianite lived up to his end of the bargain, even going so far as to outfit me with leather gear for the trip. (There was no time to commission the blacksmith for more durable armor.) Not all of his followers and associates shared his tolerant point of view though. The merchants and other guards took a while to get used to me, and the horses never did. I quickly figured out to stay away from the skittish beasts and picked out which humans to avoid too. Even though I wasn't contagious or worsening anymore, once a monster, always a monster in their eyes.

So what did Dianite see differently? I wondered that as we traveled, but the god paid me no more mind than any of the other guards after our deal was struck. I abandoned the thought after a while and focused on training. I finally had something good going for me, and I wasn't going to blow it by not being up to the task. I thought that maybe I had finally outlived my bad luck. Having hope should have been my first warning that sh*t was about to hit the fan.

~~~~~

"You there, Mot!" I turned around to find Dianite staring straight at me. "Come with me," he said motioning towards the road.

I nodded and slogged after him. Setting out when the region was coming into its spring storms wasn't the best idea, but Dianite wanted to finish the trip in time to take goods to Dagrun for the summer fair. The caravan had been forced to halt at the edge of a forest when a storm rolled in; they didn't want to risk bogging the wagons down in the mire that used to be a road. As we started walking farther from camp in the downpour, I understood why the other guards had made themselves scarce when we stopped. If there was something Dianite didn't like to do, it was sit still and wait. He wanted to scout the road on foot while the horses and men rested, and he liked to take a guard or two with him on these jaunts. I suspected this was to amuse himself with our misery more than anything else.

I looked up to try to gauge how much daylight we had left. I really didn't like the idea of trying to find our way back in the dark. My best guess put us at a few hours past noon. I involuntarily hissed as a raindrop hit my upturned face, and I flinched back. I hate the rain, I grumbled to myself as I pulled my hood lower to cover my face. Tucked inside the oiled cloak, I was dry enough—certainly drier than I'd been in a storm for the last several years. Really I should have been thankful, but that just wasn't how I worked.

"Not a big fan of rain?" Dianite chuckled from where he walked ahead of me.

Oh, he's definitely doing this for entertainment. "Not particularly," I said sourly. "How much farther are we going?"

"The road follows a river further on. I want to see if the road's washed out or still passable," He replied.

I examined the terrain around us, now leery of flash flooding. No streams or rivers were immediately visible, and I relaxed. The trees grew larger and the undergrowth thicker as afternoon turned to early evening. I hadn't seen this many trees in one place since leaving the remains of my hometown. Something about that much green surrounding me on all sides made me uneasy. The feeling only got worse as we drew closer to the river, and the canopy began to obscure what sunlight filtered through the clouds. I swore I heard a twig snap off to one side, but I couldn't make anything out in the gloom. I very well could have imagined it, but I couldn't force myself to believe that there was nothing out there. "Sir?" I started to ask, but he waved a hand at me dismissively. He didn't want to hear it with the river road so close.

My hand drifted towards the pommel of my sword as my eyes darted back and forth. Surely no one would be insane enough to challenge a god, right? My eyes darted to the cloaked figure in front of me, and I realized that from the back, he looked neither godly nor threatening. That wasn't good. One of the first things I had learned when I came to the city was that if I didn't want to be mugged or worse, I needed to look not worth the effort—or even better, not be seen at all.

That predatory calculation I'd grown all too familiar with in Urulu hung heavy in the air, but I couldn't pinpoint a threat. When the left hand side of the narrow road grew into a steep bank and the right hand fell away into the now visible water, alarm bells started going off in my head. I didn't want to appear a coward, but I even less wanted to be dead. So, I spoke up again, managing to keep my voice even, "Sir, we should head back."

Dianite looked over his shoulder at me, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "Screziato, you're not afraid, are you?" I bit back what I wanted to say, that only gods and idiots aren't afraid when they're being stalked. Dianite noticed my glare and narrowed his eyes.

I heard a soft splash behind me and realized he wasn't looking at me at all. When I would have turned around, I spotted four more cloaked figures slide down the bank on the other side of Dianite, blocking our path. We were trapped. I wheeled with my right hand on my sword and my left on a dagger but froze when I saw a drawn longbow aimed at my chest.

There were eight bandits in total. Four ahead and four behind, all well-armed and moderately armored. Their gear didn't match, and I suspected it had been gathered from prior victims. A pair in each group had bows. Two swordsmen stood with the group ahead of us, closest to Dianite. The group behind us was rounded out by a dwarf wielding an axe and a slight man with a set of sheathed daggers at his belt. This last held himself with far too much confidence for my taste. He was either a crack shot with those knives, or he was the leader of this band. Maybe both.

"You should have listened to your friend," the cocky one said, crossing his arms. "What have we caught here, Fergal? Two travelers lost in the rain. I wonder if they know this is a toll road." The man paced before us before pausing. He whirled and threw up an arm as a fireball flew past my head to hit his bracer. As that fireball passed me, four bowmen loosed their shafts. I dove to the side, hearing one arrow whiz past me. I wasn't so lucky with the second; I felt it bury itself in my left calf through my leather armor and bit back a yell. I heard cursing from the other group of bandits and knew that their arrows had missed Dianite. As I drew my sword, the dwarf lay his axe blade firmly against my neck and his muddy boot ground down on my arrow wound. I got the message and let go of my sword, holding my hands up.

For being so small and stocky, that dwarf sure could move. What really surprised me was the skinny bandit laughing at Dianite. He was completely unharmed too.

"Hahaha! I thought I felt a live one. Sorry, wizard, but your magic won't do jack against dwarvish steel," He said, tapping the dull but intricately ornamented metal of his bracer. "Isn't that right, Fergal?" The dwarf answered with a toothy grin that was more snarl than smile.

Dianite didn't take his word for it and attacked again, this time unleashing a sweeping magical attack that thankfully passed over my head. The dwarf merely raised his hand not wielding the axe to block the magical attack with the gauntlet it bore. The magic fizzled out when it touched the gilded metal, disintegrating for several feet around the dwarf. It turned out the other bandits were just as armored, though one swordsman had to hastily strip off his cloak and beat it out when it caught fire. If the situation had not been so dire, I would have laughed.

Instead I gulped—feeling the honed edge of the dwarf's battleaxe tickle my skin through my cloak and scarf—and glanced sideways at Dianite. He looked...hesitant. He's never run into a situation his magic couldn't get him out of, has he? Wait! Get out; that's it! He can teleport. He can get us out of here. I still didn't know much about how god-follower relationships worked or if our arrangement even qualified as one, but I tried to think at him really loudly in hopes of him hearing.

Maybe I got through to him; maybe he thought of it on his own. A devilish smirk crossed his face, and he vanished right as the swordsmen moved to attack him. I should have teleported at the same time, but instead, it felt like someone punched me in the chest. I couldn't breathe for a moment, and it felt like I was being pulled in two directions at once. The feeling passed as quickly as it came, and I was still at the dwarf's mercy.

"Coward." The skinny bandit snarled and spat to one side before turning a predatory look on me. He smirked and crouched down to my level. "Looks like you'll be paying both tolls, kid. Bring him," He said standing up and motioning back toward the forest.

One of the archers shouldered their bow and approached while the others remained on guard, scanning the area for Dianite. In one swift motion, he bent and snapped the arrow shaft close to my skin, making me hiss in pain. "You won't be going anywhere with that in your leg," he said matter-of-factly. One of the swordsmen quickly bound my hands behind my back as I glared at the archer, wondering what he meant by that. The arrow he pulled from his quiver as he stood back up was tipped in a dull, engraved metal—the same metal the dwarf's gauntlet and the skinny guy's bracer were made of.

My eyes widened in realization. That stuff ruins magic. That's why Dianite couldn't teleport me. Can't teleport me, I corrected as I felt that odd tugging sensation again, weaker this time. Looks like I'm on my own.

One of them stuffed a gag in my mouth that tasted strongly of dirty sock, and I was unceremoniously thrown over the larger swordsman's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I hadn't noticed just how huge this guy was earlier; he carried me like I was nothing. He was clumsy too. It was all I could do not to let my creeper explosion trigger every time he moved or bumped my leg climbing up the muddy bank. I'd only get one chance to use that; then I'd be out cold. If I couldn't escape, I wanted to take as many of them with me as possible. Once into the tree line, the bandits spread out and moved soundlessly. I wondered at this until I caught sight of the skinny guy at the head of the group. His eyes and feet glowed blue with some spell that made each step silent whether he scattered leaves with his feet or not. My eyes widened. No wonder the others let him lead; he was a bloody rogue wizard. I briefly wondered who had messed up the spell earlier or if some animal had made the sound that alerted me to danger.

After a long trek we entered a clearing. Here was the bandits' camp. There weren't that many more of them. I spotted four that hadn't been with the group that attacked us. One of these was dressed in a set of armor that immediately filled me with dread: blood mage armor. The blood mage wore no helmet and looked like he had a screw loose if you asked me. It was something about his eyes.

To my growing horror, I was tossed in the mud at the blood mage's feet. "Just the one?" He asked the wizard.

"The other one had powers. He teleported out and left us a consolation prize," the skinny wizard said, kicking me in the ribs.

I growled at the wizard and aimed a sharp kick for his shin with my undamaged leg. I smirked around my gag as he hopped on one foot, muttering curses. The blood mage looked me over in cool detachment in the meantime. I was reminded just how bad of a situation I was in when he grabbed my arm and yanked me into a sitting position to better see my face. He turned my head to the side to get a look at my infected skin and eye. He dabbed a finger in the blood soaked into my trouser leg and nodded to himself as he rubbed it between his fingers. "I've worked with worse. I'll set up the ritual for tonight. Do try to keep him from losing more blood until then," he said in a bored manner before rising and walking away.

I sat there, frozen, as one of the bandits tied a rough bandage around my leg, making the arrow dig in further when they pulled the knot tight. The pain seemed distant, and I fleetingly wondered if the blood mage had placed some spell on me. I'd heard they could do just about anything with a bit of their victim's blood. Things couldn't get much worse. I had failed as a guard. (Did that nullify my agreement with Dianite?) I had gotten myself injured and captured by bandits. If anyone felt inclined to find me, there was no way they could track us from the road. The rain had already destroyed our tracks. Oh, I also had a rogue wizard and blood mage intent on sacrificing me for some ritual. If I had been traveling by myself, I would have bolted at the first hint of trouble. Look where attaching myself to others got me.

Hours seemed to pass in seconds, and I snapped back to full awareness when I felt Dianite's magic tug lightly at me again, though it didn't quite feel like he was trying to teleport me this time. I shook the fog from my head and looked around seeing the last streaks of light swiftly fading from the dark sky. It wasn't raining any longer, but the clouds had stayed. The ritual is tonight. I tried to move and found myself tied securely to a tree. I struggled with renewed urgency until my wrists were raw and my injured leg burning. I only stopped when I heard someone approaching. That odd feeling of being pulled in two by magic dissipated when I spotted the swordsman who'd carried me earlier.

Looks like my time's up, I thought, almost wishing I hadn't snapped out of whatever spell that was. I bristled at the defeatist thought and focused on my anger instead. They weren't going to use me, not while I was alive. I schooled my face into blank passivity as the swordsman drew close enough to see me clearly in the deepening gloom. If he thought I was still ensorcelled, his guard might be down. I knew I wouldn't be able to run, but maybe I could set myself off without the bandits having time to raise any defenses. My chances of killing all of the bandits were slim, but almost zero was still worlds better than zero.

I forced myself to go limp and not make a sound or twitch as the bandit untied the rope securing me to the tree and slung me over his shoulder again. I tried to look around without moving too much as he walked, but I couldn't see anyone else. As we moved through the darkened camp, I started focusing on the throbbing pain in my leg, using that and my anger to bring my creeper side to a simmer. I could tell we were approaching a fire by the play of light on the ground and the crackling of flames. More disturbing was the faint hum of a chant in progress and the scent of incense.

I was about to make my play when I heard a sharp hiss and thud, and the swordsman carrying me shuddered and fell. I was so startled I almost blew. When I managed to look over the mass of dead weight that landed on top of me, I saw soldiers with crossbows and swords swarming from the tree line surrounding the camp. In the firelight the steel armor glinted orange and red in equal parts. It took me a moment to recognize them as the guards from Dianite's caravan. "Did you really think I abandoned you back there?" The god asked, stepping from the shadow of a tent with a smirk on his red face.

Truthfully, yes, but I couldn't really answer what with the gag in my mouth and the 300 pounds of muscle man crushing my lungs. Dianite chuckled at my shocked expression and moved the behemoth off of me with a flick of his wrist. Able to breathe again, I shifted myself into a position where I could better see him and the action. There had indeed been a fire, surrounded by a ring of some sort of ritual pedestals carved of a dark material. (I couldn't tell if they were wood or stone from here.) The bandits were now spread around that circle, caught between two groups of guards. Unable to flee, they fought with the desperation of outlaws who knew their bill was finally coming due. The wizard, dwarf, and blood mage were doing some real damage, and I saw one guard fall with a steaming wound burned through the front of his chestplate. By his expression, he was still alive, but not happy to be so. I really hope someone in the caravan knows healing magic, for his sake and mine.

Dianite was confident in his men and wasn't even carrying a weapon. He seemed content to monologue, enjoying his triumph. "I have to admit I couldn't have found you without your help," He started moving away from the tent to stand between me and the commotion by the bonfire, blocking my view of the battle.

My annoyance with his self-centered arrogance was temporarily eclipsed by my confusion. How had I helped him?

He anticipated my question and answered, "Our arrangement was strictly business, but back by the river, you did something I didn't anticipate. You believed in me. And that," He said, taking a step towards me. "Made you my follower. As such, I have a connection to you. It's a small connection and new; so it took a while to isolate and trace it to find you. How are they blocking my magic, by the way?" He asked, pulling me to my feet and removing the gag from my dry mouth.

My hands were still bound, and my leg hurt like the Nether. I balanced heavily on my right leg to remain upright and coughed. There wasn't enough mouthwash in all of Ruxomar to get that sweaty sock taste out of my mouth. As I was about to tell him rather bitingly that it was the d*mn arrow in my leg, I spotted motion over his shoulder. The blood mage had somehow broken through the ring of guards and was rushing towards us with a rabid look in his eyes and a bloody dagger in his hand. Without thinking, I shoved Dianite out of the way. The blow that had been aimed for the god's back hit me in the right shoulder, angling in and down. The sudden burst of pain triggered the explosion I'd been building up.

I wasn't even half creeper. So while my explosions left me alive, they usually left my opponents that way too if there was any distance between us. Dianite protected himself in time with his magic; the blood mage wasn't so lucky. Being at point blank range, I was 90% sure he was dead. Myself I couldn't even venture a guess on. The dagger was buried to the hilt in muscle and bone, and I could taste blood in the back of my throat. Belatedly, I realized the dagger was one of the ones the wizard had earlier, which meant it was very likely made of that magic disrupting metal.

I was vaguely aware that my explosion had signaled an end to the fighting. The dwarf and two remaining men surrendered, and I thought I saw the wizard fallen beside the fire with glassy eyes. I realized the soft wheezing in my ringing ears was my own labored breathing. I was so tired. The world started going out of focus as Dianite leaned over me, face concerned, and moved as if to pull the dagger free. I tried to warn him the metal was anti-magic, but my response came out a garbled whisper. The second he touched the knife, pain lanced through my chest, and I blacked out.

~~~~~

Snatches of conversation paled in comparison to my dreams, but somewhere in my mind I knew they were real. Though I recognized the voices most of the time, I did not seek to pursue those moments into wakefulness when they broke the cycle of darkness and dreams. Some part of me knew that I was badly, badly hurt and didn't want to face the pain.

"...not working! Why..."

"...burning up; how much further?"

"Will that work?"

An expanse of nothing stretched somehow longer than the previous times, though how could nothing be measured? When next the real world intruded on my sanctuary, sound was accompanied by other senses. The smell of rubbing alcohol and mint, a deep, aching pain in my chest and leg, the taste of chicken broth and water. These brief flashes became more frequent and longer.

After what felt like an eternity of drifting, I managed to reclaim my last sense. Opening my eyes was a battle, but by now I felt I was up to it. What greeted me made me wonder if everything had been a fever-induced nightmare, and I was really back home. The expanse of leaves outside the window, the wooden walls and floor, the quilt on the bed, the distinct smells of "forest" and dinner cooking—something with beef, maybe soup? One look at who stood in the doorway of the room, and that fantasy evaporated like morning mist.

"It's good to see you awake, Mot," Dianite said, his expression guarded. There was no trace of his usual arrogance and bravado, and that made me wonder if I wasn't still dreaming.

"H-hi, Dia..." I started to say. It came out with far less force than I'd intended, and made the back of my throat tickle. I started coughing and found I couldn't stop. Each spasm made my chest hurt horribly, and I tasted blood again. Through watering eyes I saw Dianite vanish from the doorway. A few moments later, an older woman rushed in with a mug of something steaming. She urged me in gentle, stern tones to hold my breath and drink as she lifted my head. I managed a sip, then another. The tea had something in it that soothed my throat and quieted my ragged breathing. I lay back on my pillow, shaking slightly, as the woman shuffled from the room. I closed my eyes and focused on taking slow, steady breaths.

I didn't let myself react this time when Dianite spoke from next to my bed. I merely cracked an eye open to glance at him. "We're in Katsir," He started. "A small village in the forest. One of the merchants has relatives here and showed us the way. It's a little off the beaten path, but it was the closest settlement. Several needed urgent medical care."

The way he drew out "medical care" let me know that magic—if there had been anyone with healing powers in Dianite's company—hadn't worked on wounds inflicted by those cursed weapons. His face was contorted into a disappointed scowl as he stared out the window. Whether that disappointment was for himself or someone else was unclear.

He took a deep breath and continued, "You're a fighter, even in your sleep. The wound in your leg was infected by the time we got here. That infection drove you so deep into unconsciousness the doctors here weren't sure you'd come back. They didn't have to give you anything at all to operate on you."

He closed his eyes for a moment before meeting my tired gaze. "You fought your way back; a few of the others didn't manage. They're still telling me not to use any magic to heal you for the next few weeks. It may do more harm than good, because of the weapon used. Traces of that metal are still in your system."

Ah, so he's mad at himself for not being able to heal us, and some of the guards died on his watch. Ouch. I almost felt bad for the blow to his obnoxious ego. Almost. I was still mad. He really should have worn armor and carried a weapon. That could have prevented all of this; I wasn't always going to be there to save him from danger. I resolved then and there to find him an appropriate weapon and teach him to use it as soon as I was up and about. Right now all I could do was nod weakly.

I thought Dianite might have drifted off into thought, for he said nothing else for a long time, long enough that I fell asleep. He invaded my dreams to ask me a final question once he'd sorted his thoughts. He knew I needed rest to heal, but he was still an impatient god. I was crossing a desert in this dream, running from something, though I couldn't remember what. One minute I was alone, and the next the red skinned deity strode with me across the dunes as if he'd always been there. In the manner of dreams, I didn't find this in the least strange. "Mot, why did you save me?"

I looked up at him and saw the question written on his face. "I failed you at the river, and I wasn't about to fail again," I answered, defeat bitter on my tongue. I continued walking, though Dianite stopped at my words.

"You failed me? No, I failed you, Mot. I didn't take your warning seriously until it was too late. I was useless when you were in danger and trusted me to get you out. I couldn't even protect myself. I failed as an employer and god." He was more shaken by what had happened than I'd thought.

I stopped and turned back to face him. "Then don't fail again," I said angrily. "We both failed, but that doesn't give us permission to just give up. You're relying on me as a guard, and you have thousands of people relying on you. Horrible things happen," I said, looking at my right arm as it turned from the tanned skin I wished I had to the mottled green it truly was. My voice softened as I continued, "But we have to keep moving. Sometimes that's all we can do."

Dianite considered my reasoning as we set out again. "I think..." He began. "Fate had some hand in our meeting. You are different from any other guard I've hired, and I've hired a lot in my time," He hedged. I waited, sensing whatever he said next would be extremely important. He stopped, and I turned to face him. "I think for the first time in decades, I've found myself a champion, if you're up to the challenge, that is."

I had heard tales of champions as a kid, but I didn't know what exactly one did. I did know that a god only had one at a time, and they could do without. Dianite hadn't had a champion in 70 years, according to the gossip going around the caravan. Now he was picking me? Out of all the bigger, stronger, smarter, less hideous men and women out there, he was asking me to be his champion? Part of me wondered if my luck would make even this turn out badly in the end, but I shrugged off the thought and stared at the hand Dianite held out to me. If the Lord of the Nether had picked me himself, who was I to tell him he'd made a mistake or suggest someone better suited? He'd made his choice for better or worse, and he was stubborn enough to not change his mind. It was up to me to accept, and so I shook his hand, giving him a smirk. "The real question is, are you up to the challenge?"

5,550 words x_x

Probably no update next week. Going to a concert (Switchfoot and Relient K) and finals due by Friday. yippee... Hope y'all have a great week, though! :)