Chapter 189 - Back In Orun

With the heat and the atmospheric darkness that was all about, a key noticeable feature of the place in which the two of them, Sunday and Niniola had come to, the form of the Wolf stood.

The wolf said its goodbye to its host, bending down as it sought to pick up the battered figure of Niniola from the ground.  Despite how she was right about now, she could still pick out the form of Sunday as he turned huis back and began to move to the World Bridge. 

For a second or two, she wanted to smile. To say that she had accomplished that which she wanted to do but the pains in her body would not allow her to. She had taken quite a deal of damage. Usually this might not give even been anything assuming she had been in shape for the recent times. Rather, it had been a while that she had kept shape. All because she had chosen to stick around the only person who did see her as a living being. 

Sunday, that was. 

It was hard for her to picture that Sunday would have this much potent power in him. The same Sunday that she had always been about, saving and protecting from all those who wanted to make a mockery of. The same Sunday she often beat up bullies for, just so he could be comfortable and not be harassed in any way possible. 

She smiled, weakly, happy that he had grown. Her only regret about now even as she was lifted up by the snout of the Wolf was that she was not with him. 

She whimpered just then as she felt her weight being moved over to the back of the Wolf, her eyes shutting off from the blurry images she was seeing. Her final grasp on consciousness vanishing even as she felt the body of the wolf lift up into the sky.

Even as her vison faded, Niniola began to spasm now. But this time, the whole scenery was different and changed. No more was the setting of the First Heaven where they had to battle their way to get through the demons. No more was the hazy atmosphere and the demon infested lands with their grotesque characteristics. No more was all of that, the red outline of the topography. 

Rather, the whole scene was much more relaxed, a visualization of the time that had gone by. 

Now, Niniola lay down on the ground, her eyes shut tightly as she shook her head left and right. Her fingers which were by her side were tightly clenched but even as they were, the next moment that came by, she would flex them open and then clench tightly till her knuckles blanched. 

She was still in her white gown, the same gown that she had worn over the time when she did accompany Sunday to the World Bridge. But in comparison to that time with all of the soot and the demon energies that had splattered on her, this gown was much cleaner and more sparkly. She looked more like an Angel, with her closed eyes, braids and finely curved face. A sleeping beauty at that. 

She was on the ground, her body laid out flat on the tarpaulin of white colour. the rest of the surface around her was the b.a.r.e earth except that the grasses on it had been neatly chopped short, recently. 

To the far corner of her head was a jar, a brow jar made of pottery. And some boxes of varying shapes, six of them, placed about the jar. However, before one got to Niniola, there was a little oil jar which had sweet smelling oil in it, the odour of it scenting about the atmosphere. 

From the set up of the place, it appeared to be a tent in which Niniola was laying, unconscious, her body spasming as she clenched her fingers very now and then only to revere the whole process again. She seemed in so much distress but no matter how much she kept o tossing about, her eyes would not open. Neither did it seem as though there was anyone in the vicinity who would attend to her. 

The tent was white in colour, the top of it pitched like the sharp tip of a hat that a gnome would have. the atmosphere outside the tent was calm and warm It was about the second dawn already, the equivalent of it in Earth being the evening or dusk time. the birds and the creatures about had begun to settle down back into their holes, nests, caves as it was just about the time for them to rest even as the Second Dawn was somewhat reducing the brilliance of the light that was all about Orun. 

The surrounding of the tent appeared to be some forest of sorts. A clear patch of land appeared to have being prepared specifically for the tent, having only one foot path into the thick of the forest about it. The trees were mostly thick and the few ones which appeared to be slim in size were complemented by being extremely long in height. 

From the top of the tent, a superficial covering of tent material was placed just for the length of a few inches, like some cuffs on the sleeves of a shirt, the colour being white in number. And on the form of it, some strange inscriptions which seemed to crackle with lightning every now and then was present on it. 

Just by the entrance of the open doored tent was someone seating on a rock, his gaze focused on the sword he was holding. 

The person had a sharp gaze on, cold black eyes, a low butch hairstyle. In his right hand, was the hilt of his silver blade, the silver scabbard lying just by the foot o his left, diagonally. 

His body was adorned in white, somewhat like a type of clothing of which his entire body was wrapped with white bandages. Except that this was not bandage. rather, it was the style of the clothing, in which the whole form of it was segmented, from the neck down to the end of it. It was long-sleeved too, reaching down to his wrists and even to some of his palm. 

On his lower half, as he sat, he had a black combat, baggy trousers there, the end of it being tucked up in the black boots that he had on the cold gaze, the clothing type and the entire physique of this person as none other than the persona of the one who had been with Sunday right when they had all been in Lightning. 

The person being none other than Tayo, the former friend of Sunday. 

And right about now, sitting at the right-hand side of the tent, he was holding a whetstone with which he was using to sharpen the stone that he held in his left hand. He diligently moved the whetstone up and down the length of the blade, trying to increase the sharpness of the blade. 

He waited a while, using the corner of his eyes to watch the spasming form of Niniola inside the tent. It did take a while but when she stopped, her body relaxing again, he did exhale one more time. And then he turned around, resuming the rhythmic sharpening of his blade with the whetstone. 

it had been while since they had been here. It was eve longer since they last parted ways in the realm of Thunder but then again, here they were, the bot of them, altogether like neither had left. 

Not two of them per say. But rather, the three of them. The three of them who were most unlikely to be found together, right about the end of the fight with the Assasins and the Mercenaries. The fight which had being ended rather brutally by the sheer might and power of the Lightning Sage then. 

(See Vol one for the battle scene.)

So, it had been much of a surprise to have seen that Niniola was being returned to them, in a rather beat down state. He knew that Sunday had a Wolf in him. 

But to think that Sunday would have being capable of learning just how to unleash his summoning in such a way that the Wolf soul bond of his could go so far was amazing. 

He smiled, even though it had been a while since then, remarking how strong Sunday had grown. He shook his had now, l.i.c.k.i.n.g his lips as she smiled to himself now, pausing the sharpening of his weapon once more. 

Sunday had really grown. 

At this time like this, he wondered what Sunday would be going about in Earth. What he would be doing and somehow, even though he knew what could have happened, he wondered how Niniola had ended up being so beat up like this. 

"I just hope you are fine there, friend." Tayo said, silently as he bent his head down to the ground.