Chapter Text
The cycle would continue and the sun would rise to signal the new day's beginning, and it will rise as a bright- painfully bright- orange, almost red fiery blob in the sky. This same red blob was the pale visitor's main source of real joy, for it's what brought him out of the cold moisture of the earth below and into the warm embrace that is the earth above. He loved it, when he went out there during the day, when no human life was out to poison the experience, to spoil the new world, he'd sit out there for hours on end, on the highest hill he could find (preferably in close proximity to the homeowner) to be closer to the sun, lay against the grass (or the charred remains of it)- as the sun's rays lay upon his cold slimy skin and seep into his ever itching soul.
As he was cold, always cold, not freezing just never warm or ever fully finding gratification in bathing himself in the sun’s heat. Yes, it helps him feel more content after doing it, but never whole. He's carried this morbid thought since the cataclysm started, and hence following the start of the new world also began a rebirth that is he. Through this the visitor would discover fulfillment through adrenaline- the adrenaline forming from murders, furthermore, from the homeowner; during their chats he would be filled with nausea so strong it was sickening, and often after leaving, came the bursts of adrenaline from the strangled lukewarmth that bloomed within his stomach and flourished all throughout his person- This is the only reason he is to be spared, because despite the uncomfortable twisting of his insides that every visit pains him with, it is addicting. He did not know if he was a dope fiend in his past life or if he even had a past at all before the cataclysm- but for these feelings he was, undeniably hooked.
The sensual pleasure is what he truly looked forward to with these visits, if he could find the same feeling elsewhere, he would, and this man would be long gone. But he can't, it cannot be found for the life of him. Every word, every lavish or roughed out syllable, irked this voluptuary reaction more than the last. He did not know why, and wouldn't find out why, perhaps ever. And do not mistake this for lust, lust is a feeling much lower than this, he does not lust for the man, he doesn't feel aroused or excited around him, lust was a pointless human emotion, and he was not human.
He wanted to put an end to these snip bits handed out to him like charity on the occasion, and instead have it all to himself, the nauseating warmth, he wants to tear past the man's flesh, and muscle, watch the blood flow out thickly in rivers along the lines of the floorboards, he wants to find that warmth deep within the man and claim it as his own, so atlas he could terminate this brutal yet exquisite torture he's thoroughly subjected to, and so, atlas, he'd feel complete.
He fantasizes of this frequently.
Very frequently.
These thoughts would come to mind as he lay on that hill, with sun shining down on him, these thoughts come to his mind as the sun sets, these thoughts come to mind on his slow walk there and back. And these thoughts never leave, they won’t leave until he is inside that house, with him, alone, and when the man’s flesh is torn to ribbons and chunks to mock what it used to be, as it mocked him.
And so he lies there, long limbs spread across the ground, daydreaming; greedily soaking in the warmth though his skin. Last night he took the initiative to pay a visit to the homeowner, and despite the other man trying to drive him away, he enjoyed it nonetheless, this would be one of their longer talks, he remarked within his mind, glad that humans could not bare a heat this high as he might've been caught smiling dumbly to himself. Now he could not drop by for the next few days, not that he has anything going on, he had nothing to do- or nothing he wanted to do. It was more so a matter of self control, going there multiple days in a row would not be the best idea. Considering what one 5-minute chat does to him already, he needs time to cool down. Going more than once in a sitting might have a result only close to what a drunk man must feel during a hangover and only further increasing the alcohol intake in hopes to numb it out, but as expected that would not work, on the contrary the condition would worsen and they'd be in more pain, except he would not be in pain. Why, no! He'd be so overwhelmed with feelings so utterly blissful he might ruin the fun of the game, break the rules, and kill the man early. To avoid that, he cuts down the visits to 1 every 4 or so nights, but still allows himself the luxury of watching the house from afar.
That is what he's doing now, gazing. The hot yellow sky turned dark blue-black and warm through all this dreaming, and now he was watching the house again, those silly humans with the yellow suits were there, at least he had decency to not go there ALLLLL the time. They are there more often than not, but they do not care for the man, they, from what he observed, just want the people inside, which is perfectly fine for him, less human influence, sometimes less visitor influence too.
He hated that.
Despised that some of his species managed to slither their way in.
"You feeeeeeel that?" Its been a few days too long, and the pale man was beginning to get a bit pissy. The more he thought of these other visitors staying in that house, the more annoyed he got- especially with the very possible outcome that his prey could get killed long before he lay a hand on him.
"Change is haunting you." He stood tall, hand holding his wrist, trying to appear more polite. "...So am I"
The visitor added lightly at the end, the homeowner probably didn't like it that much, but at least he found it funny.
"And now one of your ilk is deathless." Continued he, "All because of a word, one singular word...But what a word it is!"
"You know who I mean, yesss?"
He didn't, the homeowner hadn't a clue what he was talking about, the riddles were frustratingly confusing, but it didn't matter as long as he told him he was alone.
"Strange things happen around you." He could senssse it.
"..."
"I don't feel anything." He uttered atlas.
Oh but it did! The feelings were not warm nor fuzzy but rather scalding and sharp, nearly sending him into a state of euphoria.
Right, what he came here for!
"Must be tough.." He grounded himself and pursued forward. "Sounds like you need help."
"Why don't we try something new? A gamble, of sorts." To the point now!
No response, that's fine and dandy.
"If there are at least two of US-" he made a point to put heavy exaggeration on 'us' "inside your house...You'll open the door for me."
"Because dogs reside in their bodies now." Metaphorically speaking. But they aren't human no longer. And they, aswell as himself, have finally awoken again.
Homeowner didn't seem to take a liking to this new proposal, it could sense that. "I don't understand."
Humans can be so ignorant sometimes.
"It's simple. Let's give it a try."
"But first..." And the homeowner could already predict the next words leaving its mouth.
"You alone?"
"I'm not alone."
The smile dropped but the sensual pleasure didn't.
"Well, well..."
It didn't let his answer discourage him, picking its smirk back up.
"Even we are a rare sight now. Let alone your kind, locked in their walls. Change isn't the worst thing coming for you. You don't think I lead the pack, do you? There are far greater things out there, I simply follow orders."
Like a dog.
It could tell he still wasn't getting it, Which is alright, he'll understand soon enough.
"Well then...Until we meet again?"
Whilst Mirshka was left confused and wondering, the visitor left panting and shaking. Every bone in its body felt too crammed within its skin, and unable to rid of these feelings- faulty to excitement, it'd have to run around for a while to shake himself loose, running around meaning finding itself anything largely warm blooded to prey on. These largely warm blooded things would consist of deer, FEMA (any humans would do but they are much more fun to hunt), and other visitors. (2 that were already somewhat weak and weakening.)
She probably didn't care much for those two anyways.
Doused in a burgundy liquid that sticks, he looks to the sky, grinning stupidly at the seemingly endless atmosphere, where the sun would rise in a few hours he stares, and when she rises she'll be gorgeous, and oh-so warm.
And yet, he is still not grateful.
The others might consider him a brat, even being one of the strongest and most adored by God- it is not enough. He feels somewhat ashamed by this conclusion, that he feels a little less empty with the other man than he usually would, opposed to with her, God. She is beautiful without a doubt, but how is it that in her embrace he feels nothing but lukewarmness, and with him- why, the man does not even need to lay a finger on him for him to boil over!
This man does not love him like she does, in fact he doesn't love him at all, he hates him, and its delicious. He reviles in it, would bathe himself in it, if possible, because it is far better to be feared than be loved.
Not that he desired love, not that he loves the man, of course!
Not in the human sense, it is far more predatory than that, much more malicious, he assured himself and rose from his crouch position, licking up the blood from his hands, somehow in his daze it had managed to reach to its forearm- his arms in general were much much more elongated than a normal humans' would be, so take that as one will. The blood, if on a normal human man, would reach their elbow, he'd like to see this look on the homeowner.
The visitor shook his head, looking down at the mess he's made, it wasn't a pretty one, that's for sure, but he admired it nonetheless and for a moment allowed himself to think that instead of a deer laying there it was the homeowner, he'd make the kill cleaner and prettier, more appealing (to himself and himself only) to look at of course, more thought would be put into it when he does actually kill the man, and that'd show, when FEMA eventually found the corpse they would see that the man was a grotesque piece of art, nothing careless about it, not at all, not by a long shot, he'd be sure of that, he's very attentive to detail.