The fireflies down in Auster had been terrifying and he couldn't seem to escape them. He couldn't escape the voices either. Gilgamesh, come here. Come closer. We have something to show you. They never stopped. They clouded his mind with whispers of nothing and everything at the same time. Don't you want to save her? What if she's in trouble? How could you leave her alone out there? What a terrible wolf you are. He had screamed for ages into the night with lonely, terrified, and anguished howls. No one had answered and no one came to help him. He had set out from Auster back toward Boreas in hopes of finding her. There was a loud trilling noise in his head paired with the constant whispers and screams that never seemed to stop. It was as if the fireflies had gotten inside his skull and never wanted out. Bouncing around in his head as if playing a game of tag. He wanted to escape it all, but most of all, he wanted to find Modesty. He had to make sure she was okay. He had to help her. But maybe she could help him. Or even her family could help him. Not that he was close with them, but anyone would do. Ever since this all began, it had been getting worse and worse by the day. The sun never rose over the horizon. That horizon that he looked to so often to tell him which way to go. Overhead as he moved with his crystalline eyes half-closed, the stars streaked even farther across as if one continuous line of bright light. The moon was full and menacing, hanging low and closer than he could ever imagine it to. As the sun refused to greet the morning dew, stuck in permanent twilight, auroras clouded the stars in muddled hues of blue and green. What did this all mean? Why was everything changed? Each animal, small or large, he saw was covered in crystals and fungi. Glowing and pulsing, edging closer and closer to him. Were they following him? Turning his chin over his shoulder, he thought he saw ooze trickling from recent scars. That couldn't be. He wouldn't believe it. The sound of footsteps moved closer to him. Leaves, now dead on the ground from what he thought was winter, crinkled quietly. Around him, at all times, beings were following, persistent to see where he would end up. Shadows elongated from looming trees as his paws squelched in the mud. This was one of the last places he'd seen her. It smelled horrendous here, but there was now an unmistakable scent of death lingering as well. He couldn't tell where he was going. He thought he'd been following the faint scent of familiarity, but it was gone now. The whispers grew louder in his ears as he flung his now oozing eyes toward the right. Who was that? Someone had to be following him. A shiver rolled down his spine as he bared his teeth. Ooze ran over his tongue as he coughed, spittle that pulsed a dull purple flung over mossy rocks. Where was this coming from? What was happening to him? His normal mottled coat was speckled with drops of ooze that he couldn't explain. Lost. Confused. Scared. These were new feelings. He was always fearless and courageous and tough. Nothing scared him, but now, the heightened sense of paranoia made him succumb to this new world. "WHO IS THAT?" He roars, turning his body around as he blinks away the ooze. Hackles raised, head lowered, tail tucked between his legs, the scarred man looks around wildly. Once a shadow had been following no longer was. Darkness pressed on him as the swamplands surrounding him felt deeper and muckier. His paws sunk into the mud and it felt harder to move. "No, no, no," he rasps out in terror. Lifting his paws, he searched for a solid place to stand. He felt like a beacon in the night with the ooze that permeated all of his orifices. The taste on his tongue was terrible, his hearing was muted, and he could hardly see. In the distance, what he thought was the distance, there was a tremble of light. Something growing closer to him. Or was it? Looking that way and this way, he tries to blink the ooze out of his eyes. Coughing again, more spittle coating the ground, he fought to search for a better place to be. His paws kept sinking and sinking and sinking farther into the marsh. It was hard to walk now. His body felt weak and unable to move anymore. Where could he go? He thought this would've been the place to find help. He was wrong. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" He yells, deep baritones shaking with paranoia as he lashes out at nothing. Birds scatter across the sky, leaving their own streaks of blue as he lashes out again. What he thought had been an animal had really been nothing. Fog swirled around his legs as he finally found a relatively wet, but solid piece of ground to not sink into. Darkness crept closer to him as he thought possibly the stars and auroras were fading. His body, covered in that putrid ooze, was lethargic and heavy. Wheezing quietly, he walked in a circle, his ooze-covered teeth now permanently bared in an atrocious snarl. Unable to fully hear anything, he swats at his ears and rubs at his eyes. The ooze is covering his paws and leaving tracks on the mushy ground. "I SAID GO AWAY!" He snaps again, lunging toward a shadow that retreated as soon as his body moved forward. You'll never catch us. The taunting whispers scream in his head as a pulsating headache drums into his brain. Why was this happening to him? What did he do to deserve this? A distressed whine escapes his throat through a forced gurgle as he coughs up more ooze. If you kill someone, maybe we'll help. He lowers his head to the ground, rubbing his cheeks against the dirt. "I can't do that," he mumbles into the mud, eyes pressed close, feeling the stinging of the ooze sinking into his skin. "I don't kill without a reason," he whispers, his voice hoarse as he coughs again. Pain sears over his face as he continues to rub his cheek into the ground. Everywhere, he feels eyes watching him, waiting and anticipating his next move. He felt the urge to comply. Why not? It would be just one wolf. If he found a weak or an old or a loner, no one would miss them, right? "NO!" He screams, jumping up, shaking with anger and adrenaline. Fear still courses through him as he swings around wildly again. How could he fall for the temptation of his thoughts? Remember how good it feels to draw blood? It's just one more step. The whispers are a rippling yell in his head as he goes to thump his forehead against a tree. A line of green ooze falls from the cut caused by his erratic behavior, but he has to ignore it. He can't fall victim. He couldn't give in to this torment. "Please end my suffering," the mottled man whispers as his ragged breath draws in through an ooze-filled mouth. word count 1226

Gilgamesh

The sickness deepens... Your face feels numb, but not tingly, your tongue dry and thick. It feels as if you're drunk for several minutes, but not in a fun way. Eventually it subsides.

What he believed to be his end surely was not. Standing there, shoulders hunched, head low, eyes ablaze with frenzy, Gilgamesh does not know where he is anymore. Though he thought he was safe on this patch on land, he was not. Mud squelched around him again, sucking in his paws as he tries to pick them up. Ooze still drips from every orifice of his body, warm and sticky. Couldn't escape. Couldn't leave. Nowhere to go. Every singular piece of fur on his body standing on edge as he continues to swing his head back and forth. An overwhelming feel begins to spread from his nose. No longer wet, but dry. His lips go number. His eyes flutter, heavy, and unable to stay open. He can't feel himself clacking his teeth together. Was that him biting his own tongue? Couldn't tell as blood and more ooze dripped from him. Confusion flickers across his expression as he finally stops shaking his head. Why couldn't he feel his face anymore? His tongue swells in his mouth, drier than his nose and thick. Can't swallow. Can't feel saliva. Can't do anything... Gil feels terror now as he brings a paw up to his face. When he believes he's touching his face, nothing happens. Why was he numb? The feeling continues through his head. Did they stop screaming finally? No, couldn't be. The voice was still echoing, but it slurred. Wholly woozy now, he stumbles further into the marsh. Ankle deep in the disgusting mush, he thinks he curls his lips. Why can't he stand up straight? Tripping a few more steps farther, he tries to lean against a tree. Is he drunk? How? He hadn't drunk anything. Suddenly, his stomach is queasy. Threatening to vomit, he feels the oozy liquid coat his insides. Unable to barely stand, he keeps his eyes closed. It's the only thing he can do to keep this drunk feeling at bay. Scared for his life and continuously trying to swallow past his tongue's dry thickness, he's tempted to bash his head on a tree again. Maybe that will get it to stop. Minutes pass and minutes fade. Feels like an eternity. Days, no weeks, no maybe months go by. Forever stuck in this swamp to perish by himself. What a fucking way to go. But then it stops. The drunk feeling subsides after what actually was less than a half-hour and he can see again. Unfortunately, the oozing condition hasn't gone away. And his face is still slightly numb. Going back to softly shaking his head, he snarls under his breath. "Who is doing this to me?" Gil questions out loud, peering into the darkness as he feels the eyes creeping back toward him.