Chapter Text
Blood splatters against the pristine walls. My shoes become stained and they pound across the puddle. His body goes limp as pieces of his face fall to the ground. Ripples spread across the ground as they gently splash, like raindrops of a spring shower. The rest of him follows suit. Crimson dots blot themselves on my jacket as his body crashes into the mess on the floor. The blade he always carried flies out of his limp hand as he collides with the linoleum. The hilt is cold to my touch as I sheathe it at my side. I approach what was formerly a man so full of life and close his eyes. What's left of them at least.
I wipe my tears on my sleeve to avoid getting blood in my eye, and repress the urge to lick said blood off my hand. Terror and mortification can have their time later, assuming I’m still alive. If any of us are. Who knows, death may indeed be better than looking at someone missing half their face. Anything would be, I imagine. The gruesome aftermath of my actions disappears as I hone in on the ceiling. I’ve done the next step enough that it’s become muscle memory.
I bite back the urge to sob as I plunge his beloved knife into his chest. More blood begins to leak from the cavity in his chest as I continue down his body, creating a gash about a foot wide. I don’t let myself hesitate a second longer and plunge my hands in the second I retract the blade. The part of my brain that I wish I could carve out screams in delight as I rip open my friends chest. The polish my beloved so gracefully put on my hands disappears under layer after layer of blood and meat. Raw, bloody, delicious, tantalizing meat. I…. I’m so hungry. The next step etched into my mind becomes clouded by my hunger. My breathing slows until all I can push out of my lungs are harsh, ragged breaths. I haven’t eaten a human in so long, and I’m proud to say so. But even so, my hunger can’t be ignored. If I’m this exhausted now, how can I take out the nest with the others? How can I protect Kita, or Seline, or Kit? No, no, no, I can’t. I don’t want to. I can’t make myself like the others I’ve been trying so hard to eradicate. I don’t want my family to look at me like an abomination. But… they would understand right? I love them. I just want to protect them. This is for them. For love.
Fuck it. I was always going to hell anyways.
I throw his knife across the floor as my nails rip through his skin, my hands flying through the air to shove as much of his flesh as possible into my mouth. My sobs can't be held back anymore, and my cries join the squelching of tearing skin and bursting muscle. I can wail all I want, but it doesn’t change how much I’m enjoying myself. Ripping apart my friend and dining on his intestines gives me more joy than I’ve felt in weeks. God I’m disgusting. Before I know it, all that remains of his midsection is his unbeating heart, and my hands now hold more of his insides than his actual body. Jesus Fucking Chirst. I can’t even muster a single wisp of an appetite anymore. Tears stream down my face as I look at what I’ve done. His chest has been all but emptied. Only his heart remains, the rest of his chest either in my stomach, on my hands, coating my mouth, or splattered across the walls, ceiling, and floor. My hunger, and my dignity have left my body in their entirety, and all I’m left with is the last steps of my spell. I quickly move from a vulture-like feeding pose to one more distinguished for a spell caster. If I can’t give his physical form a proper send off, the least I can do is give his spiritual form one.
I stretch my disgusting, bloody hands and place them over his chest. The air grows cold as I begin, cutting through the sticky warmth of the blood. My hair begins to flow as though a gust has begun running across the room. Energy runs through my fingertips as the red smeared walls become bathed in a soft blue. A thin blue thread emerges from his heart as I get further into my spell. The thread grows colder by the second; in the moments between pulling it out and severing its connection to its former host, it begins to freeze my fingertips. Something that once burned as bright as the sun is now cold and dead in my hands. It spreads its cold tendrils across my body, a feeling that I’m never truly prepared for. With one last shiver, the blue light fades, the thread now fully consumed. Only the deep reds of blood serve as color in the pitch dark hall. I rise from my kneeling position and make my way towards the knife, a blood smear directing me towards where I flung it. I hold it in my hands for a moment and admire its beautifully arcing blade. A once distinguished weapon for a once distinguished man. I give a prayer that I doubt They continue to listen to anymore that I will give it a legacy deserving of its craftsmanship. Once I secure my knife in the sheath at my hip, I do my best to push what transpired in the last few minutes, pick up my gun and continue past the carnage.
The blood ripples softly as I step past it, sending the last uneaten pieces of flesh gliding across. I wipe my drool on my sleeve and try to ignore the craving that has already begun to form again. The now tantalizing stench of flesh and blood begins to fade as I continue. I’ve never been more happy to leave something behind. I continue to make my way through the complex, pushing my legs as hard as I dare, desperate to put his corpse as far behind me as possible.
A cold night breeze begins to make its way across my face the further I run. An exit is just within reach, and so are the others, whoever made it out at least. Echoing wails only grow louder the closer I get to the exit. The distant cries carry a familiar high pitch. They give a gruesome idea of what she might be doing. What they might be doing to her.
The echoing of my steps ceases. I turn my arm over, to the beautiful silver watch on the bottom of my wrist. Lady luck seems to have blessed me, as midnight has yet to fall. The others haven’t descended into the nest yet. My echoing steps resurface in the symphony, the cold breeze fading away as I reverse course. I can imagine Them rolling their eyes as I ask them to make sure she doesn’t have to go through what I did to him. Hell may be waiting for me, but I’ll be damned if I condemn one of my loved ones to go there with me. Only I should have to see the devil extend his hand towards me as I close my eyes. As my mind runs through prayers, strategies, and promises to do my best, the hands of my watch continue on. Each passing second gives way to the horrifying possibility of another friend drowning in their own blood. Blood that I hope I don’t lap up like a feral dog. I shake the thought out of my head and put all my energy into my legs. My desperation, and her screams, continue as the hour hand continues to inch closer to 12.