A cacophony of screeches and coos echoes down the path as the horde of furious purple lizards pick up speed. Jenna glances over her unoccupied shoulder and growls, tightening her grip around Allen's waist.
"Are you kidding me?" she snaps—something suddenly catches the lace of her boot—she begins to fall— "Shi—!"
"Ahh—!" Allen shouts.
Jenna barely manages to catch herself against the white gravel as Allen is flung forward, landing with a rough grunt not too far ahead. A creature shrieks behind her—she flips over and kicks the offending thing mid-leap, the momentum flinging it right into the trunk of a nearby tree.
The screeches intensify. The bright orange frills snap back up with shakes and hisses as the creatures flank their every side. Jenna leaps to her feet, wrapping her last wrist cuff around her hand like a brass knuckle. Her eyes dart between the creatures, one bright orange frill and furious skink-like face at a time.
They're surrounded.
Allen shrieks—several lizard creatures leap onto his back, taking advantage of his vulnerable position to bite at him from every angle. He kicks and screams to get them off of him, but the swarm persists—
"Allen!" Jenna closes the gap, ripping the creatures off of Allen's back by their stupid feathered necks and flinging them back into the trees, "Get the hell off my—ah!"
Two lizard-things leap onto Jenna's back and tear into her pleather jacket shoulders. She grabs them by the necks like a pair of freshly hunted ducks and yanks them off—another lizard launches at her from above. She curses—tightens her grip on the lizard necks and spins, slamming them into the airborne creature and throwing the lot off the path.
Jenna scans their surroundings for something, anything she can use as a weapon—she spots a good stick just off the path. Her eye twitches. It's behind the stupid lizard-things.
She's not going to be able to defend Allen and go for the stick at the same time.
Her grip on the spiked wrist cuff tightens.
"Hey Al," she starts—she stomps her foot in front of one of the purple lizards to scare it away, "Your pain tolerance is pretty good, yeah?"
"...Huh?" Allen sounds confused—Jenna glances over her shoulder. He's standing behind her, his back to her own. She looks down. He's favouring his good leg, but he's pushing through the pain to keep guard. Good.
He can take it.
Jenna spins on her heel, plants her boots into the gravel, grabs him around the waist—
"Wh—hey! What are you doing?!"
She takes a deep breath and spins, her muscles straining as she throws the man over the horde like a human discus.
"Ahh—Jenna—!"
"Grit your teeth and fucking run, Allen!" She snaps—one of the lizards takes the opportunity to jump onto her back. She growls and rips it off—its claws tear into the exposed skin of her lower back, "Aghh, you stupid—Allen, run!"
He scrambles to his feet, shouting in pain when he uses his twisted ankle to stand, "Are you insane?! I'm not leaving you—!"
"Yes, you fucking are!" Jenna roars, grabbing a handful of gravel. She pegs it at the beasts who try to pivot and attack Allen, "Hey! Turn around you little shits, I'm over here!"
"Do you have any idea how hypocritical you sound—?!"
"Oh, for—I'm obviously going to catch up, asshole!"
Jenna rips another creature off her leg, its claws tearing through the side of her black jeans—the pain is sharp. She hisses and uses it to smack away its friends with its fat feathered arse.
"We are not doing this—"
"Yes, we are!" Jenna snaps, "Who's more likely to win in a fight, Al? The man who got winded climbing three hours up a hill, or someone who actually trained in this shit? I know what I'm doing—you don't. You're no use to your sister dead—fuck off!"
Allen hesitates still, his hands twitching by his sides—Jenna growls.
"Go!"
Allen's light blue eyes dart around the path one last time as Jenna pegs another rock at the stragglers attempting to turn around. She flings another two off of her back, her legs—
The man finally turns on his heel and runs.
"You'd better catch up, you hear me?!" He shouts as he disappears around the corner.
"Just shut up and run!" Jenna shouts back—she turns to the horde snapping at her ankles and growls back.
Her eyes dart to the stick lying dormant behind a group of those stupid lizards. She scowls. It's time for her to scare off these stupid lizard-things once and for all.
───※ ·❆· ※───
He needs to trust her—Allen's ankle screams with every slam of his foot against the gravel path—he knows that she'll be okay. He needs to trust her.
The icy air stabs a thousand needles into his throat with every breath as he runs as fast as his sprained ankle can carry him. A lizard creature screeches at him from behind—lunges at his back and slams him to the ground.
"Ah—!"
Its claws dig into the fabric of his sweater—Allen yelps as they dig into his spine. His palms scramble through fog to find something, anything to get it off of him. He finds—grabs a particularly large stone from the edge of the path and swings his arm as far back as he can.
Screech!
The weight on his spine disappears and he doesn't think—he scrambles back to his feet and runs. He doesn't look back—he can't look back.
He just needs to trust that Jenna will be okay and pray to all the Gods he doesn't believe in that help will be waiting at the end of this gravel path.
Please don't let them be alone out here.
───※ ·❆· ※───
Allen races down the path, his hands and knees scraped raw from every trip, stumble, and fall into the rough stone. His ankle beats to the pulse of his racing heart, the pain naught but a backdrop as he runs through the rising fog.
He gasps for air—his sprained ankle catches against his good one and suddenly he's falling to the ground. He barely manages to cover his head before he collides with the gravel and his body skids to a halt.
Every inch of him is trembling—screaming for him to stop as he drags himself forward, one limb after another. He plants his palms into the stone and pushes himself onto his hands—tries to push himself back to his feet—
His elbows give in—he collapses back onto the path, his hands twitch atop the tiny white stones. He can't—he can't—
The familiar coo-like screech of the frill-necked tiny dinosaur echoes from behind. He can't bring himself to look.
He can't bring himself to move.
Allen squeezes his eyes shut and prays that Jenna, and Ana, and Blake all made it out okay—!
Bang!
Garbled voices in foreign tongues shout as the lizard creature yowls and hisses, its feet scrambling away through the gravel. Someone cocks some kind of gun, followed by a faint whiz and another bang.
A large hand grabs the back of his sweater and yanks him out of the shin-high fog—Allen's eyes snap open and he gasps for air. A man with shoulder length peach hair and an almost identical build to Allen crouches before him and offers his hand.
He's wearing a black and gold gas mask topped by a pair of dark red horns. His fingers are clawed and his skin is pale.
"Esne bene?"
Allen feels an icy tear crawl down his cheek.
He's not alone.
"Hey, Hornless," the man snaps his clawed fingers in front of Allen's face, "I asked if you were okay."
"Riain—" the dark-haired man sighs.
"What? I'm not blind," the peach-haired man retorts, gesturing at Allen's forehead.
Allen's jaw opens and shuts several times. He doesn't—he shakes his head.
"You think he doesn't speak Common?" the woman asks, tilting her head to the side. Her red hair shifts with the movement, exposing a smaller set of golden horns curving up the sides of her head.
"Maybe?" Riain shrugs—he scratches the back of his neck. His accent suddenly shifts from something vaguely English-American to a thick Irish brogue, "Do you understand me now?"
Allen's confused gaze stares right back at him through the reflective glass covering Riain's eyes.
"I don't think he speaks—" the larger peach-haired man interjects.
"My friend," Allen croaks—coughs—clears his throat and tries again, "My friend, she's—"
A series of coughs force their way out of Allen's throat. The icy air pierces him with a thousand invisible daggers as it refuses to let him speak—
"Whoa, hey, deep breaths," Riain says, a hint of panic creeping into his voice as the vaguely English-American accent snaps back into place.
"No, don't take deep breaths!" The tallest of the group interjects—the man with thick dark green hair and emerald green horns kneels beside him with a square of cloth, "Here," he offers it to Allen, "Use this to cover your mouth and nose."
Allen takes the cloth mid-cough and does as he's told—
"Wait, why? What's wrong—?" he cuts himself off and shakes his head, covering his nose and mouth with the cloth, "My friend, Jenna—she's still back there. Please."
A sharp throbbing sensation in his skull drowns out whatever he was going to say next. He grits his teeth, keeling forward with a groan.
He feels a clawed man's hand gently touch his shoulder.
"In as few words as possible, please tell us what happened," the green-haired man says. Allen forces his eyes open to make eye contact.
"We—we were running. We fell, and these—creatures started chasing us. She's just up the path," Allen points towards the open gap between the trees, "She stayed back to—"
"Give you a chance to escape?"
The green-haired man gently redirects Allen's outstretched hand back to his mouth.
Allen nods.
"She was still conscious when you last saw her?" The blue-haired man with the silver horns asks in a rushed tone.
Allen opens his mouth to respond—he stops, remembers the green-haired man's warning, and closes it again. He nods.
"How conscious?" The peach-haired—Riain interjects.
Allen furrows his brow.
"Are we talking barely awake, half asleep, lethargic, high energy—we're going to need specifics here," Riain snarks.
"I don't know—I wasn't exactly focused on whether or not she wanted a nap while we were running for our lives," Allen snaps—he stops, takes a deep breath and covers his mouth again, "Sorry, that was—sorry. You didn't deserve—" Allen shakes his head, "She was—is fully awake. Please—"
"Allen!"
Allen's head snaps up—he spins around to see Jenna racing towards him with an army of frill-necked lizard-things hot on her heels. An ambitious pair of creatures nip a little too close to her shins. She spins in place and smacks them back into the fog with her long, bloodied stick before turning back around and picking up the pace.
"Damhan—"
"Already on it," the large peach-haired man replies, "Flare—?"
"Here!"
The woman slips a blue cylinder the size of a permanent marker off of her belt and tosses it towards the—Damhan. He catches it midair and loads it straight into his crossbow-like gun.
"Thank you!"
"Hey—slow down!" Riain barks, jumping to his feet and flailing his arms in the air, "There's a cliff—!"
"Oh, shi—!" Jenna shouts, digging her heels into the gravel hard as Damhan cocks his crossbow gun and aims it behind her. He pulls the trigger—bang!
The flare whizzes past Jenna's head as she stumbles forward at a breakneck pace. Allen and Riain dive forward, barely managing to catch her before it explodes into the gravel with a loud clap and a vibrant display of blue smoke. A cacophony of screeching erupts from the horde as they scramble away from the smoke and back into the fog.
"Yeah, that's it! Keep running!" Damhan shouts, loudly clapping his hands in the air, "Shoo!"
Jenna groans, pushing herself out of Allen and Riain's arms. Her clothes are torn and she's covered in a variety of new scratches and bruises, but otherwise she seems alright. She turns to Allen with concerned hazel eyes.
"You okay—?"
"How are you okay right now?" Riain balks—his head snaps back to Allen, "How are either of you okay—?"
"Take this," the green-haired man interjects, offering Jenna a square of cloth, "Cover your mouth."
His head tilts towards Allen—he startles and brings his own cloth back to his lips. Jenna reluctantly takes the fabric.
"And you are...?"
"Alexios," he replies, offering a clawed hand to shake, "Team medic."
Jenna stares at him for a long beat before shaking his hand, "Jenna—"
"Not to interrupt," the blue-haired man interjects with a stern tone, "But the fog's coming up quick. We need to move."
"But—" Riain starts.
"Aerys is right," Damhan says, clipping the crossbow gun back onto his belt, "Firfirli will be the least of our problems if we don't make it back before high tide." He turns to Allen, "How's your ankle? Think you can walk?"
Allen's ankle throbs as if to remind him of his heavily irritated sprain. He swallows against his dry throat and shakes his head.
Alexios—the medic—crouches down behind him and tentatively lifts up the bloodied hem of Allen's trousers. He exhales sharply.
"We need to get him to the hospital," Alexios says, "He definitely can't walk right now."
"I'll carry him—" Jenna offers.
"No, you're wounded," Alexios replies—he turns to Damhan, "Could you—?"
"Of course," the larger man nods—he slips off his backpack and crouches next to Allen, "I'll have to pick you up. Is that alright?"
"Uh, yeah, sure—wait," Allen leans forward, his hands tightly gripping the fabric of his sweater, "Before you do—have you seen anyone else out here? Like a tall boy with brown hair or a short girl in a green dress?"
Damhan and Riain turn to face each other for a second before turning back to Allen. Damhan shakes his head.
"No, sorry," he replies.
"The Resistance regularly patrol the area, so there's a good chance your...?" Aerys pauses.
"Siblings."
Aerys nods, "There's a good chance your siblings have already been picked up. A close friend of mine is one of their Brigadiers—he regularly liaises with Onboarding, so I can ask him to look into it for you when we get back. Alright?"
"Thank you."
The blue-haired man nods in return before turning to face the blue smoke and fog-covered forest path.
Once Allen is safely on Damhan's back and everyone is situated, the group begins walking up the path.
"I really hope this brigadier guy's got some answers," Jenna mutters under her breath.
Allen's hands tighten a fraction against Damhan's shoulders.
"Yeah," he says, looking forward, "Me too."