Chapter Text
“Your name is... y’know.” Elliot’s voice held a sharpness masked in exasperation. “So why call yourself Otazar instead?”
He shoved damp hair out of his eyes as beads of sweat trickled down his temples. The dim alleyway around them felt stifling, the air thick with something heavier than heat. Fading iris-purple walls surrounded them, chipped and worn down to reveal pale underlayers. The clutter of crumpled papers littered the floor, some spotted with faded ink.
Otazar stepped lightly through the mess, his movements an exaggerated dance, each hop deliberate. Elliot’s sun-kissed skin shimmered faintly under the streetlamp’s dim yellow glow. His crystal-clear blue eyes burned with determination, though exhaustion pulled at their edges. His blonde hair, cropped close to his scalp, revealed stark black roots breaking through like ink stains. A plain white t-shirt clung to him, damp with sweat, and his gray sweatpants hung loosely on his hips.
Towering over him, Otazar adjusted his shape, shrinking slightly to appear less imposing—a kindness that felt more mocking than generous. His mauve-toned skin, muted yet rich, looked as though it might flake at the slightest touch, the texture alien yet unnervingly organic. Long tendrils of jet-black hair flowed down his back and shoulders, weaving like a sentient gown around him. Every movement carried an otherworldly fluidity, his form both regal and grotesque.
“To conceal myself, of course. Just as I did when you were too young to understand.” Otazar’s voice was silken and smooth, dripping with condescension. He loomed closer, his piercing eyes glinting with amusement. “Not everything needs explanation, little one.”
Elliot frowned, unmoved by the haughty tone. “That doesn’t matter, though. I want your real name, pretty boy.” Otazar’s sharp features softened into mock dramatics. He twirled around Elliot with an exaggerated grace, his hair fanning out like a living shadow. Without warning, he collapsed into Elliot’s arms, his slender form draped theatrically as if overcome by some invisible force.
“Oh, Eli, your gallantry is overwhelming!” Unfazed, Elliot’s stoic expression remained. He tightened his grip on Otazar’s shoulders, forcing him upright, and muttered, “It’s Eli. Call me Eli.” “Ah, short for Elias? Or perhaps Elijah? Maybe Ellio—”
“Stop.” Elliot’s voice cut sharply, his brows drawing low. He shoved Otazar off with enough force to send the being’s tendriled hair cascading in a slow, elegant waterfall. “I don’t care what you think it’s short for. You’ll call me Eli. Understand?”
Otazar staggered backward, his body moving with exaggerated languor. He paused, seemingly startled by the command, before breaking into a wide, predatory grin. The low hum that followed felt more like a growl, his eyes flickering downwards. Elliot noticed the gaze and instinctively clutched at his shirt, glaring.
“What? What are you looking at?” “Your neck…” Otazar’s smile widened as his voice took on a mischievous lilt. With a flick of his wrist, he produced a small mirror seemingly from thin air. “You’ve been branded.” “What?” Elliot’s voice wavered with alarm as he snatched the mirror. Sure enough, a sigil burned faintly against his skin, still red and raw. The intricate design resembled a pentagram, but the addition of a diamond at its core warped it into something otherworldly.
“What is this?” His voice cracked as he stared at Otazar, a mixture of panic and accusation. Otazar tilted his head, feigning surprise, before stepping closer.
“Oh, dear Eli…” He reached beneath his robe with slow, deliberate movements until the sound of jingling metal filled the air. A rosary slid into view, its azure beads glinting faintly. Hanging from it was the same sigil, etched onto a talisman that swung lazily from its chain. “We match,” Otazar cooed, his tone laced with a gleeful malice. “Isn’t that amazing?”
“No, it’s not!” Elliot turned sharply, distancing himself from Otazar’s smirk. His hands trembled as he pressed them to his neck, trying to make sense of what was happening. Otazar chuckled, his laughter low and echoing faintly.
“Oh, Eli… my dear little mortal. You’ve no idea how much fun we’re going to have now.” Elliot’s body stiffened, and he refused to look back. His jaw clenched as he bit back his anger, but Otazar’s final words reached him like a slow dagger. “Happy eighteenth, Eli.” The air seemed to grow colder, the shadows around Otazar shifting and curling like smoke as Elliot clenched the mirror tighter. Whatever lay ahead, it had already begun.