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There’s an iron beast clamped around Clara’s ankle, biting deep into her flesh. It had been lying in wait beneath the dense weeds of the Steppe, hungry for something to dig its sharp maw into. Who knows exactly how long it was there for. But eventually, it got its wish, and its wait paid off: it got itself a meal.
Clara was that meal.
She grips tightly at her ankle, digging her claws in as though that’ll help with the torturous pain shivering up her leg in vivid waves. Hot beads of blood rise from where the teeth have dug into her skin, slicking up her fingers and causing them to slide wetly over her flesh. Despite this, there isn’t as much blood as one may have expected there to be given this grievous of an attack, but she’s pretty sure that’s because the metal teeth of the beast are clogging her wounds, refusing to let go.
The iron beast is an ugly and crudely made thing, born from the hand of someone who cared not for appearances but for how much damage it can do to another creature. It does its job well, and it gnaws flesh all the same.
Clara tried to pry the jaws open, but the beast is strong, and its bite is unyielding. After waiting for so long, it’s not quite ready to part from its prey. It’s going to keep her in its grasp for as long as possible, and she really doesn’t want that. She has things to do, places to be, and it’s just holding her back—literally. The pain it’s causing her certainly doesn’t help, either, making it for a terrible form of company.
But no matter how hard she tries, she just can’t get it to release her.
She slides her hands down the firm mandibles of the beast and tries to find a way to open it from the sides, but its bones are made of metal, and it doesn’t even flinch at her touch.
She fiddles with its iron joints, but it doesn’t seem to care at all that she’s messing with it because it still won’t budge.
She digs her claws into where it has its teeth sunk into her flesh, an uncomfortable sensation that makes all of her nerves want to shrivel up and wilt away, and attempts to pull it open like that, but it barely even gives a hint of resistance. In fact, doing this only seems to hurt her further when she accidentally scrapes herself with her own claws, spilling more of her blood into the Earth.
Well, at least Mother Boddho won’t go thirsty today.
She gives up on trying to free herself for now and attempts to stand up instead, to maybe try and limp her way back into Town, but this immediately fails the moment she puts her weight on her trapped foot. It feels like all nine circles of Hell just fell upon her leg, and she instantly buckles and crumples back to the ground as though all her bones just melted, a sharp cry of pain escaping her lips. For what seems like an eternity, all she can do is lay there as excruciating spasms wrack her entire leg, and she almost contemplates cutting or ripping it off somehow just so she can stop feeling this horrible, horrible sensation.
Eventually, Dante’s Inferno simmers down to low embers, and she can once again exist freely without feeling as though she’s being immolated. She looks warily at her ankle, almost expecting it to look worse, but it doesn’t. It’s still the same, still bloody and stomach-turning, but nothing has changed, even though it really felt like all her skin had just been shucked off.
She takes a deep breath and tries to focus, but adrenaline has worn off by now, and her entire body feels heavy and drained. Adrenaline is one hell of a drug, and it’s good to try and work while it’s still in effect, but that time has gone and passed, leaving her sluggish and uncoordinated.
It’s at that moment that she realizes that this beast isn’t hunting to eat her. It’s hunting just to make her suffer.
It has no intention of using her for sustenance, as its true goal is to hold her down by locking her to the ground and see just how long she’ll last until she finally stops wriggling. Her captivity is nothing but a sick game to it.
Clara takes another deep breath, but her heart is pounding, and she’s starting to get worried. Due to the beast’s keeping her from bleeding profusely, she doesn’t think she’ll bleed out, but there are so many other things that can kill her. Exposure, for one, as it gets very cold at night, especially around this season. Starvation, for two. She’s already running on fumes, and because she’s trapped, she can’t even scavenge in trash cans for any scrap of food. Someone coming by and killing her, for three. She doesn’t have the best relationship with the Town right now, and she doesn’t trust anyone to not do her in if they find her, seeing as she’s in no spot to properly defend herself from an attack. If a mugger or looter happens to come by, one knife to the throat, and it’s all over.
That being said, when she hears footsteps nearby, she can’t help but go on guard, looking around in every direction. One part of her considers laying as flat as she can to not be seen, while the other part wants her to yell for help. The cautious and desperate sides of her are at war with one another, and what she actually ends up doing is sitting there in an erect position like a frightened groundhog, not doing or saying anything except for swiveling her head around in an attempt to find who is there.
It doesn’t take her very long, as the person isn’t exactly hard to miss, and Clara never thought she would be so happy to see this pompous, prickly, overly dressed man in her entire life.
“Changeling?” the Bachelor says when he spots her. Despite his pristine appearance, even he looks a bit shaken to see her ensnared so cruelly in the jaws of a metal monster.
“Bachelor,” Clara says in relief.
He hurries over to her, and he looks more concerned than she would have expected from a man of his nature. Maybe he’s not as unfeeling and uncaring as he makes himself out to be.
Daniil kneels in front of her, examining the beast biting around her ankle. “What the hell happened?” Ah, there’s the sharpness she knows from him. She was starting to wonder where it was at.
“I-I don’t even know!” Clara says. “I was just walking around when this THING clamped onto me! I didn’t even see it!”
Clara half-expects Daniil to tell her, “You should have been more careful!” and then lecture her about how clumsy and careless and stupid she is, but he doesn’t. Instead, he begins to carefully feel around the area where she’s being bitten, searching for a weak point in the monster’s jaws. His face is set firmly, and he looks very focused on what he’s doing.
“I-it, ah…r-really hurts,” Clara says, and she hates the way her voice trembles slightly. She’s trying her best to stay calm, but her emotions are starting to get the better of her. She’s freaked out and worried and in a lot of pain, and she’s beginning to worry that the only way to free her is to cut off her foot or worse, her leg, and if either one of those things are amputated, her life is over. How can she be a saint if she can’t walk? What is she supposed to do, crow hop everywhere? She can’t heal people, and she certainly can’t find a way to cure the Plague if she doesn’t have an entire limb that helps her get around!
Daniil seems to notice that she’s beginning to panic because he sets a hand on her shoulder, catching her off guard. His touch isn’t firm or forceful or strong- in fact, it’s very gentle. He just keeps surprising her again and again, doesn’t he?
“Hey,” he says, and his voice is gentle, too. Is she even sure this is the Bachelor at all? Maybe the blood she’s lost is making her delirious and mistake someone for the haughty, big-city doctor…for whatever reason. Or maybe this is all a hallucination! Or even a dream!
God, she hopes this is a dream…
“Take a breath, Changeling,” Daniil goes on, and Clara realizes that her breathing is rather rapid. She hadn’t even noticed. “Take a deep breath. I know this is scary right now, but I need you to breathe.”
Clara does as he says, taking a deep breath. It helps somewhat, so she does it again. And again. And again.
Daniil watches her, nodding in approval. “There, that’s it. Good girl.”
The praise makes Clara’s head spin. She wants to hear more of it, so she keeps breathing deeply and steadily.
“You’re going to get out of this, okay?” Daniil says. “I’m going to help you. You’re going to be just fine. But I need you to stay as calm as you can, alright? Can you do that for me?”
Clara nods.
“Good.” Daniil removes his hand from her shoulder and focuses his attention back on her ankle. “I’m going to try and pull it off. This may hurt, but I need you to stay still.”
It does hurt, as Daniil had said, but Clara does not stay still. In fact, she does the exact opposite of what Daniil told her: she kicks him right in the face.
When his gloved fingers snake their way down to her ankle and begin to pull at the beast’s jaws, trying to tear them apart, the tension sends shockwaves of pain radiating up Clara’s leg like the high tide of a sea of fire rising across her flesh, blistering her muscles as it passes by. It triggers uncontrolled seizing in her entire body, and she really hadn’t meant to kick Daniil, she just momentarily lost authority over her own limbs. The leg that isn’t being used as a chew toy for a stubborn metal monster begins to move on its own, and the next thing she knows, she’s sending it flying forward like an arrow released from a bowstring, and she feels something firm thunking against the bottom of her boot.
“OW! SHIT!”
When the tide of the flaming ocean recedes, burning her muscles on the way out, too, just for good measure, and Clara’s vision is no longer distorted by white spots, she sees that Daniil is bent over sideways, pawing at his face. She immediately realizes what she’s done and feels bad about it.
“What the FUCK?” Daniil snaps, and this is most definitely the Bachelor. She knows that for sure now, and any doubt she had is gone.
“I’m sorry!” Clara yelps. “I didn’t mean to! Are you okay?!”
Daniil grunts, sitting up straight again. There’s a bit of blood-tinged mud smeared on his lower jaw, which he wipes off; it looks like she managed to kick him in the mouth. This is proven further when he spits on the ground, probably to remove any muck that may have gotten in his mouth, and when she sees a small slit in his bottom lip, oozing out a bit of blood. But at least it wasn’t his nose that she hit, and nothing seems to be broken or badly damaged, which is good.
“I’m fine,” Daniil says, spitting again. He flicks his tongue out like a viper and licks the split in his lip; his face cringes a bit when it must have burned in reaction. Then, again, firmer this time, he says, “I’m fine.” And then, “I thought I told you to stay still!”
“It hurt!” she squawks, trying to defend herself. “I couldn’t control it!”
Daniil heaves a sigh. “Whatever. It’s fine. This thing isn’t budging, though.” He shoots a sharp glare at the iron beast, as though hoping he could melt it with his glower. Clara wishes it were that easy. But life is not that kind, and things are never that simple. “At least, not from simply pulling at it.”
“Oh god,” Clara whispers, starting to get anxious again.
Seeing this, Daniil suddenly goes back to being more gentle, his voice softening, the switch is quite jarring. Clara never expected it would be so easy for him to stop being a harsh, haughty jerk.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay. I told you that already, didn’t I?” he says. “Just remember to take deep breaths. I’m going to get you out of this, Changeling. And, you know what? Just stop looking at it. Don’t look at your ankle anymore. Look at me.”
That’s easier said than done, but Clara does her best. It probably won’t do her any good to look at the iron beast anyway.
Daniil tries to gently feel around her ankle and the monster’s jaws again, gentler and more tentatively this time to avoid getting kicked, and while he’s searching for somewhere he can dig his fingers into so he can rip it open, there’s a voice from behind.
“Hey! What’s going on over here?”
The Haruspex, who must have been passing by, probably because he’s out looking for herbs in the Steppe, trundles over, moving like a hefty bull through the weeds. Clara nor Daniil even have a chance to explain before he sets his eyes upon Clara’s leg and the unruly beast attached to it, and he grimaces, immediately understanding.
“Oh dear,” Artemy says. A bit of an understatement, in Clara’s humble opinion.
“I’ve been trying to get her out, but this is a tough little thing,” Daniil tells him, then glares at the beast again. It still won’t melt or even rust a little.
Artemy kneels down next to Daniil. “How did this happen?”
Once again, Clara explains herself, “I was just walking around when I must have stepped on it or something. It was buried in the weeds, so I didn’t even see it. I just felt my foot step on something, and then I heard this weird metallic sound, and then the next thing I know, THIS THING is chewing on me!”
“Are traps like this common here?” Daniil asks Artemy. It may have been a useless question at the moment and definitely could have been saved for a better time, but Clara won’t deny that she’s rather curious, too. “It seems a little crude, even for this place.”
Artemy scowls slightly. “Not common, but not unheard of, either,” he answers. “I remember, when I was younger, my father got called out after a young man stepped on one of them. Completely mangled his foot and permanently damaged his joints. He walked with a limp for the rest of his life.”
“WHAT?!” Clara warbles. In an instant, she’s panicking, realizing she may really be useless for the rest of the epidemic. What use will she be to anyone with an injury like this? A wound that affects her mobility will only slow her down, if she’ll even be able to walk at all after this. And that’s not even considering if she’ll still have her foot and/or leg.
Through the white noise of anxiety now buzzing in her head as her breathing starts to pick up again, Clara can hear Daniil calling out to her, “Changeling, Changeling, hey!”
She whimpers, and there are tears in her eyes. She doesn’t want to not be able to walk. She doesn’t want to be useless. She needs to be able to do stuff. So many people, Daniil and Artemy included in their own way, already think she’s worthless in the struggle of the Plague, that she’s just getting in everyone’s way. If this injury lands her in bed for god knows how long, then they’ll all be right, and she can’t let them be right. She just can’t.
“Changeling, sweetie…”
The pet name snags her attention like a fish hook catching on her brain and then tugging sharply. She looks to the Bachelor, who seems genuinely concerned about her. At his side, Artemy wears the same expression.
Seeing that he has her attention, Daniil says, “You’re going to be alright. Everything is going to be fine. We’re going to get you out of here.”
But at this point, Clara’s worry isn’t over if she’ll get out, it’s over if she’ll be able to do anything at all once she gets out. Being free from the beast’s jaws means nothing if she’s stuck with lasting damage that makes her incapable of even walking around normally.
She tries to voice this to Daniil and Artemy, but her words come out stammered and awkward. She realizes that she’s having a panic attack, and it’s very hard to do anything, even speak.
Daniil grabs her by the shoulders with a firm but gentle grip, trying to keep her focus on him. “Sweetie, you need to breathe. Take deep breaths, just like I was telling you.”
Clara struggles a bit, but she obeys.
“There, that’s good. That’s very good. Good girl,” Daniil says in approval. “Now, we’re going to get you out of this, okay? We won’t leave you out here. You just need to remain calm and trust us.”
Clara gives a feeble nod in agreement.
This time, it’s Artemy’s turn to feel around the mouth of the iron beast. He even tries to open them by pulling at the jaws, and he actually manages to open them by an inch, but the monster isn’t giving up that easily, and his strength falters.
When the teeth clamp back into place, Clara can’t help but let out a yowl of pain. The burning sensation from before returns, and she’s starting to feel like it’s the beast’s flaming tongue dragging up her leg, tasting the torment it’s causing her.
Setting his own jaw firmly, Artemy continues his physical inspection of the monster’s mouth. He slides his hands down the curve of its mandibles, touches beneath its cold metal lips, feels the spots where its jaws connect together. His fingers fiddle with tight muscles and tense tendons, searching for a weak spot, and he seems to find one in the form of a sort of spring on either side of the jaws, almost like interlocking joints that allow the beast to gnash its teeth in such a terrible way. When he presses on them, the jaws twitch a bit, as though the beast’s gag reflex is being prodded at.
“I think this may get it to open up,” Artemy says, gesturing for the springs. “Dankovsky, help me with this.”
“Wait a moment,” Daniil says. “We need to think about this. If this does release the trap, then she’ll start bleeding the moment it happens. We need to have somewhere to take her so we can treat her properly.”
“My place is the closest,” Artemy says. “We’ll take her there.”
Daniil nods. He then begins to remove his snakeskin coat. “We’ll use this to try and stem the bleeding.”
Clara is shocked. The Bachelor is really going to dirty his nice coat for her? With her blood?
Artemy seems to be thinking the same thing, at least in terms of Daniil using his coat for any purpose other than fashion reasons, because he asks, “Really?”
Daniil gives him a sharp look. “Yes, really! What else is there to use?”
There’s Clara’s cowl or her jacket, and she’s sure Daniil must know those two things are available and viable, but he doesn’t choose to use them for some reason. Strange.
“Now, let’s get her out of this thing,” Daniil says.
Artemy nods. “Alright. It’s going to be a bit tough, so just be aware of that.”
Daniil rolls his eyes. “I’m not a dainty little flower, Burakh. I’m stronger than I look.”
“I never claimed you weren’t, Dankovsky.”
“I could hear it in your voice. And I saw the way you were looking at my arms now that my coat is off. Or were you looking at me for a different reason?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just surprised you have any muscle at all given your time in the Capital, where little minions attend your every beck and call, so you don’t even have to raise a finger.”
“Strange of you to say that because I do recall you also spending quite some time in the Capital yourself.”
“Uhhh, can you guys NOT?” Clara says loudly. “Please, you can continue your weird argument later! Just hurry up, and GET ME OUT OF THIS THING!”
“Right, right, of course,” Artemy says.
“My apologies, Changeling,” Daniil says at the same time.
Artemy clears his throat, then says to Clara, “When Dankovsky and I press down on these springs, the jaws should open. When they do, pull your foot out as fast as you can. Okay?”
“And if they don’t?” Clara asks nervously.
“Then we’ll find another way to free you,” Daniil says before Artemy can answer. “I already told you, we’re getting you out. So don’t worry.”
Clara looks into his eyes, and she can see how earnest and honest he is about this, and he seems like he genuinely cares about her wellbeing. And not just because he’s a doctor and it’s his job to tend to people who are injured, but he is really acting like he cares about her as a person.
She nods, trusting him. “Okay.”
“Good,” Daniil says. “Let’s get you free.”
Artemy places both of his hands on one spring, and Daniil places both of his hands on the other, and then the two of them press down with all their strength. The iron beast doesn’t seem to like this, and it begins to creak its jaws open slowly. Once there’s enough of a gap between its sharp metal teeth, Clara immediately yanks her foot out.
She’s free!
The pain hits her instantly, and it almost feels like she’s still being bitten. Blood begins to flow, and she winces as Daniil’s coat wraps firmly around her ankle. The next thing she knows, she’s being scooped into Daniil’s arms and is getting carried through the Steppe.
The pain doesn’t go away. The teeth must still be there after all, grinding and shredding her flesh. She feels lightheaded and woozy all of a sudden.
“Is it off?” she asks blearily.
Daniil looks down at her. “Yes, it’s off. You’re free now. You’re going to be okay.”
She rests her head against Daniil’s shoulder, hoping it’ll make the world stop spinning. It helps somewhat but not by much. Her ankle throbs and burns.
“Is it off?” she asks.
Daniil doesn’t answer this time, but she can feel the worry radiating from him as he holds her, and he picks up the pace.
The strong smell of herbs suddenly hits her like a brick wall falling on top of her, and the world gets a lot dimmer; she realizes they’ve gone into Artemy’s lair. She’s laid on top of an examination table, and then tight jaws crunch around her ankle.
But those aren’t jaws at all actually. They’re hands. Daniil’s hands. He’s gripping firmly at his coat around her ankle, pressing the fabric to the wound that lays beneath so the blood will be soaked up. But it feels no different from the iron beast’s jaws, if she’s being honest, just minus the sharp sting of its serrated teeth digging into her.
“Everything is going to be okay, sweetie,” Daniil says to her, assures her, and she can’t help but believe him when he speaks to her so gently, as though she’s an injured baby bird.
Artemy takes off her boot and sock, and then the coat is removed, allowing them all to see the wound for the first time.
It’s an ugly, ghastly sight. It’s like a bright red ring of fire encircling around her ankle, the flesh torn and bloodied.
“Oh god,” Clara whispers.
“Changeling, stay awake,” Daniil says.
But it’s too late- Clara’s head falls back, and everything goes dark.
Sometime later, Clara awakens. It’s almost like waking up from a nap, but her body feels heavier than usual, and her head is very fuzzy, as though it’s stuffed full of cotton.
“Wh…what…?” she croaks. Her mouth is dry.
“Ah, you’re finally awake. That’s good.”
She lolls her head to the left and sees him: the Bachelor. He’s sitting right next to the examination table she’s lying on top of.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
But instead of answering, she asks a question of her own, “What…what happened?”
“You passed out,” Daniil informs her. “Burakh and I stitched you up, though. The wound was ugly, but luckily, the damage wasn’t too severe. Your ankle bone appears to be fractured but not broken.”
Clara looks down at her ankle and sees that it’s been swathed in bandages. The pain has dulled down to a persistent, throbbing ache, but it feels better than it had before.
“Now, answer my question,” Daniil says. “How are you feeling?”
“A-a little better,” she says. She lays her head back. “Thank you. For helping me.”
Daniil seems a bit bashful. “Well, I wasn’t going to just leave you out there like that. I’m not that cruel.”
Clara giggles softly. She reaches for Daniil’s hand and holds onto it. “I know that now.”