The Crack In Heaven [A LitRPG Progression Fantasy] Chapter 55: Chapter 55: Truth of the Gutter-Serpent's Speed

Read chapter 55 of The Crack In Heaven [A LitRPG Progression Fantasy] by Adamus_Auguste on NovelPedia.

Chapter 55: Truth of the Gutter-Serpent's Speed Kael shifted under the warm sheets. His back pushed against something softer, so much softer than the broken pavement of his shelter. For the briefest instant, he enjoyed the wonderful hard mattress. Then, it struck him. Mattress. Wrong! He jerked his chest up. Instead of scanning the room, he gripped his forehead. Spots of light mottled his vision. His breath came out ragged, and a low ringing sound whistled in his ears. Don't panic. With long inhales, the white spots dimmed into darkness, and the ringing faded. Soft fabric brushed his fingers. Someone had bandaged his forehead. He also reeked with the stench of ointment. Els? He turned his head slowly this time. Her auburn hair spread on the red cushion on his right. Tonio took his left, coiled over the blanket in his rat-man body. His shoulders relaxed, and memories filtered through the haze of his awakening. We met Marc, who ran off to work mid-talk. We're safe. For now. A painful grumble from his stomach confirmed it. Eat first. Since he couldn't leave the bed from any side, he left it the way he had joined it; he slid under the sheet. The bed creaked as a navy-blue carpet tickled the soles of his feet. Tonio shifted. When he stilled, Kael looked for his shoes. He found them beside the bed, with their twelve arrows neatly arranged on their blankets. Els' basket rested on a flat, knee-high rock, with his bloodied shirt tucked between a half-closed can of ointment and Joss' machetes. He ran his hand over his greasy skin. She shouldn't have wasted it, but his chest warmed when he looked at her face. He picked and buttoned his shirt, then tiptoed to the door. His muscles ached even though he didn't feel exhausted, so he traced the wall and walked down the stairs. The living room was as cold as this morning; the lamps were as unlit, too. Something stirred in the dark, and a playful voice cut his observation short. "Awake at last?" Marc pushed himself from his seat at the table. "Thought you never would." Kael rolled his eyes. "Say you thought I'd die. Wait... you're back already?" Marc blew on his fingernails. "Already? It's two in the morning, lad. And if you ever plan to die, please do it outside. Last thing I want is for my poor bedsheets to reek of death." Kael clicked his tongue. "A stench as unpleasant as your jokes. I'm too starved to entertain you." He moved to the kitchen, but paused at the door. "Still, thank you for taking us in." "Your and Els' parents were good people; it doesn't make us close enough for me to shelter you." Marc massaged his brow on his way to the stairs. "We'll talk when you're all awake tomorrow. Your plate's on the counter." Kael leaned toward the stairs. Marc was already gone. "Stuck-up," snorting, he entered the kitchen. The soft glow of dying coals from the fireplace brightened the room. He didn't see his plate. He smelled it—cold grilled meat and something else. His body moved instinctively to the counter. The fork glowed in the coal light, its surface ignored or unseen. Instead, Kael wolfed down the white meat with his bare fingers. The first taste widened his eyes. After the second, he couldn't stop himself before he devoured it whole. Why was this meat different? It reminded him of the leftover chicken he had in the sewers, but a hundred times fresher, and salted. Salt! Creamy mashed potatoes and mushrooms vanished into his mouth. All salted. How much did Marc earn at the factory to own a two-story house covered in carpets and still have enough to waste a king's dish on him? His eyes trailed to two other plates, and the voices of Edwin, Walter, and Ben resurfaced from old memories. "Why's that bastard flaunting his wealth in Ashcoil Row?" Edwin had groaned. "Because they forgot to hammer the last nail of his brain." Walter had spat in front of Marc's house. Ben had simply shrugged. "The air's much more breathable in the central district. Let him stay. He'll die in the same dirt as us in the