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There. He was right there.
His scratched-up helmet. His scarred face. His battered palms. His warm scarf. His small wings. His bright red clothes. They were all there. He's still alive. He's still here.
He had no pulse. His expression did not change. He did not open his eyes. His appendages did not flutter. And, his voice could no longer be heard - like it had been mercilessly hunted and snuffed out. Venomshank stared down at his boy, holding back a tempest, that inevitably was going to erupt.
Sword was dead.
He had died quickly, and Venomshank did not have time to save him.
No. He was alive. He is alive. He's right here. He's right here, right now.
Venomshank's breaths were uncontrollable and very sharp, mirroring his disjointed and unstable state. How could someone do this to his son? He glared down at Sword's face - for a moment he imagined his son's beaming smile and infectious laugh. It made him angry. Why.
Dead.
How. Why. When.
How could someone do this to a boy so young and bright?
He refused. His boy would not die. Sword would not die. He slowed his breathing down promptly, sucking in the sickly venom that was escaping from his lips. Unhurriedly, Venomshank got down on both his knees, getting a closer look at Sword. There was still a spark left. There was light remaining. He could feel it radiating.
Dead.
Sword had died.
With viciously shaky hands, he unfastened the mask, pulling around the straps and sliding it down, discarding it carelessly to the side, before refocusing his attention on his child. He was so young. He was so cheerful. He was so accepting. He was so welcoming. How could someone do this to someone like him and think they can get away with it? How?!
Even when caught up to by Death, he appeared happy, there was still a faint, glowing ember, resonating. Though, Venomshank was going to reignite that flame. He would not let it die just yet. Sword still had so much life ahead of him. Venomshank held his palms to his chest and stared down furiously at his son, trying to keep the venom from exploding from his throat. He did not want to taint Sword, after all.
His breathing was very uneven, and was finding it very hard to hold it together - honestly, right now all he wanted to do was rampage across the entirety of Inpherno until he found the demon that murdered his son in cold blood, then slaughter and ruthlessly punish them. It's what they deserved.
His palm moved up to his own neck.
Dead.
Sword really was dead.
There was no coming back.
He needed to live.
He needed to do this now. Venomshank's hands shot instantly to his son's neck, he pushed all the loose hair and his scarf away, leaving it fully exposed. Venom was pooling in the back of his mouth, and the more he stared the more the urge was growing inside him, gnawing cruelly at his subconscious.
Bite.
Bite him.
Bite your son.
He will live.
He's Sword, he'll be fine.
Just the same as before.
He lent his hand down softly on Sword's chest, careful not to cause him any pain, and retaining his balance. His head inched down, a forest fire burning within his soul. Sword. He looked so weak. So small. So frail. And Venomshank could fix that. And he was going to.
Dead.
Yes, Sword was dead.
But he was going to stop it.
In no way was Death going to take his boy this early.
His mouth opened hastily, revealing a sharp set of teeth, like daggers, with venom coated everywhere within. He moved his head down and angled it. Without hesitation, he bit into the swordsman's skin. It drew blood. Flesh was caught in his teeth. The green liquid entered the wound, making a mark on his body very quickly.
Not quick enough.
He needed to wake now.
In desperation, Venomshank delivered another bite to the other side of Sword's neck and then went down to his shoulder, tearing more flesh, like a ravenous beast who had finally caught its prey, revealing more and more of his insides, as blood began to seep out faster and faster. The noises were disgusting and squelchy. His breathing was terrifyingly brisk. He was not able to hold back.
Venom oozed into each laceration on the boy's body, circulating through his system. Faster. Faster. More. He was close.
Sword was going to live.
He was going to be fine.
Suddenly, Sword's eyes opened, followed by mild groaning. Venomshank paused his anguished spree.
He was there.
He was here.
He was alive.
Venomshank hugged his son, ignoring everything, and the remembering how much he loved Sword's hugs. They were so warm.
It was so cold. Lifeless. Freezing. Bitter.
He was here.
He was fine. He squeezed tightly, believing that if he let go Sword would disintegrate.
No words in response. No words of affection. Nothing.
Just groaning.
The wings were dangling down lazily. There was no smile. There was no joy.
But Venomshank did not care.
Because his son was right there.
Alive.