Chapter Text
Medkit woke up.
The first thing he noticed is the unbearable pain behind his head, threatening to rip his skull apart. Based on his medical knowledge, he probably has a skull fracture, but then again, this agony is preventing any coherent thought from forming in his head. The second thing he became aware of is the humid, mossy smell inside the room. Rhythmical drops of water can be heard in the distance, the noise echoing in the empty room. Then, Medkit discerned that he is blindfolded, the darkness obscuring his view no matter how many times he blinks. He lifted his hand, wanting to grab the fabric, but finds himself incapable of. A tight, rope like texture enveloped his wrists, tying his arms back against a hard surface in an awkward position. His legs were also strapped together, the rough fetter grating on his pants’ sleeves. He exhaled gruffly, finding it harder and harder to breathe.
With a ringing sound in his ears accompanied by an unsupportable wave of headache, he remembered. It was a calm afternoon, similar to every other sundown. He sipped his coffee and adjusted his reading glasses with a book in his hands. Outside the window, the sky was a warm, soothing colour of orange. The peace was harshly broken by a hard swing on his occiput. The sound of broken glass on the ground, presumably his glasses clashing on his floor, was the last thing he registered. The doctor began thinking despite the throbbing torment that menaced him to fall unconscious once more - perhaps, he sort of welcomed the escape from the smarting torture. He must have been taken into this room after getting knocked out. He doesn’t remember any sign of a break-in back at his house. No shattered windows, no door ruins, nothing. The structure has no other entries, so the aggressor must have entered from the front door with a key. The only people who have it are himself and Sword.
Sword. He left to meet Rocket that day, didn’t he? Medkit remembers the bright smile the Phighter had when he announced his departure. Now that he thinks about it, Sword returned just before he opened his book. Oddly, he silently clicked open the door without shouting ‘I’M HOME’ like he usually does. Medkit paid it no mind back then, but now, he found it suspicious. Medkit sighed, shaking his head. He immediately regretted it as the wound burned and ached like fire was pressed to his scalp. Still, he can’t bring himself to doubt Sword. The kid saw the doctor as family with his whole heart and there’s no way he could ambush someone with such a title. Maybe someone else has somehow gotten their hands on the key. Yeah, that must be it.
Before Medkit could continue his train of thought, he heard a cranky, rusty sound of a door opening. Then, a faint light passed through his blindfold ; someone turned on the lightbulb. The curtains were then lifted from his eyes with a harsh yank. His vision was blurry from the concussion as well as the sudden change of luminosity. As his eyes adjusted, he lifted his head slowly. He identified his ankles attached together between wooden chair legs, a tarnished table in front of him, and a familiar white-clothed demon staring him down with a smirk.
Scythe.
Wait, Scythe? Medkit blinked with his mouth slightly agape. His boss? At the doctor’s confusion, the other smirked further.
“Howdy, ‘Kit.” Scythe greeted, though there was no warmth in her tone. “Sorry for bringin’ ya so roughly here.” Similarly, no remorse was present in her voice. She tapped on the table with her nail, the action resonating impatience and fury, contrasting the amusement displayed on her face. “I have somethin’ we gotta talk about.”
“What..?” Medkit replied weakly with a hoarse voice. He was still befuddled by the situation. Scythe took him here?
Scythe suddenly pulled out her gear, pressing the electric tip of the blade against his neck. It smelled of burning plastic, a scent Medkit now associated with fear. Waves of burning heat hit his skin as the cyan laser hissed menacingly and altered in shape, sometimes brushing on Medkit’s collar. The fabric melted almost instantly, leaving some crispy cuts on the once neat frill. He couldn’t even gulp, afraid that the bobbing of his Adam’s apple would be his doom. “Tell me, ‘Kit. Where’s the group of kids that tried to leave the Family now?”
Medkit’s eyes widened. A few days back, three of the young members tried to resist the cult, attempting to escape during the night. They took a rather obvious road, leading to their capture. No surprise they were seized - nobody ever succeeded to leave the temple of their own free will. Scythe dumped the traitors to Medkit, ordering him to discard them. The children were crying, hugging each other in a batch. The oldest one stood courageously, with tears in his eyes, between him and his brother and sister. The doctor hesitated. They were just so young, naive, wishing to see the world.
They reminded him of himself.
Pity kills here. The land of the desert is not one for the gentle hearts. Medkit knew that well. Yet, he still brought them outside, looked out for guards, and opened the hidden, dented gate at the border of Lost Temples, hurriedly letting the little ones flee under the dim moonlight. Now, he’s suffering the consequences.
“D-dead. In the ditch. Like you told me to do.” Medkit forced an answer, grimacing at how shaky his voice is.
“Lies.” Scythe coldly declared, inching the weapon closer to the doctor’s neck. Any contact with the electric courant will most definitely kill him in an instant, both parties knew that well. Medkit leaned back until his dorsal couldn’t be pushed any further onto the wooden backrest as its stiles digged painfully into his scapulas. “I know ya helped them, ‘Kit. And for your information, they are dead in the ditch now.” Scythe slammed the desk with her fist rather than tapping it this time. Medkit turned cold. He had been so sure that he was discrete enough to fool everyone.
The cult sees all. The Eye knows all. This is the motto that has been engraved into Medkit’s mind as they repeated it every single morning at the temple. Perhaps he should have taken it more seriously. “You filthy traitor.” Scythe snarled, her amusement from the beginning completely vanishing.
Ironic, isn’t it? Medkit ran away from Blackrock because he was called a traitor. He joined the cult in desperation to have a place to stay as well for the tempting protection they offered to him. And now, history repeated itself - he’s a betrayer to his own district again. However, this time, the doctor wasn’t sure he could escape once more, judging by the increasing pressure of the blade against his neck.
A wave of fear, salted with disappointment, washed over him. His life never truly started under the control of others like a puppet with strings. He still had so much to do, to see, to love. How naive of him, holding such a hopeful wish to see the world. He wasn’t ready to die, Medkit realized. He’s scared, so fucking scared. He didn’t want to face the black, endless void of death, a world where he can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t dream.
The heat of the scythe suddenly lessened. Medkit, dumbfounded, watched as the other demon retracted the promise of death away from his neck. Relief relaxed his tense muscles and folded fists at first before panic surged through his veins. His eyes followed Scythe hopelessly as she lifted her gear over his head, and with a clean swipe, sliced off his right horn.
He screamed. The pain of his headache is nothing compared to the slash of his horn. The gash seemed to carve everywhere on his body, outside and inside. His vision was blackening on the edges. His hearing was drowned out by the thumps of his veins. It was like all of his senses were overwritten by anguish, suffocating and excruciating. His skin blazed, his organs spasmed. His every nerve was howling, his every muscle was screeching, his very soul was being torn apart. It burnt, scratched, throbbed, ached, anguished, plaguedtormentedpoundedharrowedracked-
Scythe pulled him by his other horn, forcing his gaze back on her. “I’ll take this.” Her claw grasped his symbolic healing crystal and tugged hard, tearing it off. Medkit cried in protest, unable to do anything else other than so. The glowing stone now sat dully in the kidnapper’s palm, losing its angelic shine without its creator. Scythe, vexed, rolled her eyes at this before snapping her focus back on the traitor. “Listen, Medkit.” Her words were pronounced with venom and hostility, abandoning the familiar nickname. “I don’t wanna see you on Lost Temples no more. Startin’ from now. If I see ya again, I’ll take the other horn as well.” She pressed roughly on a thin branch, making a cracking sound. “Got it?”
The doctor didn’t reply. He wasn’t even sure his brain registered what Scythe said under the pressure of everything else. “Got it?” The other demon repeated with impatience, pressing even harder on his antler, forming a fissure on the fragile corner.
“Yes!” Medkit yelped. He could feel his horn fracturing like small wood scraps digging into his flesh. It made his skin crawl, disgusted by the sensation.
Satisfied, Scythe let the deer demon free, the latter sighing in relief. She cut the restrictions on the victim’s legs and wrists open with precision of her gear. Medkit collapsed on the molded ground, but Scythe didn’t do more than sparing him an annoyed glare. She then turned on her heels and walked out of the room with a mocking laugh.
Medkit panted. Finally, silence returned. It was a cool breath onto his burning mind. He grunted as he sat up, thinking about his next course of action. His legs was sore from the attachment earlier, protesting as he pressured them onto the dirty floor. However, it was the least of his concerns at the moment. As adrenaline pumped in, all of Medkit’s pain were muffled to a background buzz. He took this chance to formulate a plan. First, he needs his injuries treated. He can’t risk getting an infection, but he also can’t go to the hospital. Scythe made it clear he was no longer allowed to be seen in Lost Temples. Then, his own house was the other option. Surely he has some crystals stored in his lab. He could get help from Sword. The warrior would help him - they’re family, aren’t they?
Now determining an objective, Medkit pushed off the ground, stepping outside. Dusty, dry air and a ink-black sky greeted him. The night desert was cold, making Medkit shiver. Surrounding him was utterly nothing other than the sand and the sky. If Medkit squinted his eyes, he could see some flashy light in the far distance, lighting a glimmer of hope within him. Suddenly, the hellish pain returned, announcing the expiration of his adrenaline. His vision grew fuzzy and his legs threatened to give up.
He’ll crawl home if he has to.