Work Text:
Experiment: ritualistic materialization of crystallized rage in a subject
Subject: Oisin Hakinvar
Before operation:
Oisin was a happy child. He had a rich upbringing that made people think he couldn’t have had anything wrong with him at all. They would even have been correct in that assumption; there wasn’t anything wrong with Oisin, he was just a shy child, that’s what he was told.
Oisin was a shy tween and even shyer teen, so he never found it in himself to speak up. He was his own person, or so he thought he was. Being rich often meant that you were nothing more than an extension of your parents’ will, and Oisin was no exception. When he entered his freshman year, he often found himself compared to Fabian Seacaster, some pirate’s son from who-the-fuck-knows-where. The only similarity between the two was that they had rich parents, and Oisin did not like the comparison, it made him angry. He was noble, in a way, descended from a great and ancient dragon. He was nothing like Fabian, a spoiled boy who’d had lessons in fencing since he was old enough to hold a sword.
[Oisin couldn’t admit to himself that if he saw Fabian as spoiled, then he must have been absolutely rotten. Oisin had been supplied with every possible resource to hone his abilities from the time he could read by himself, and before that he was read to and given lessons by the best teachers that money could buy.]
Now, Fabian was a freshman Fighter, brandishing a rapier with a cocksure grin that made Oisin want to break something. Oisin was nothing like Fabian, he was absolutely sure of this.
[He thought he might hate Fabian, but what he really hated was that Fabian liked himself. Despite his best efforts and despite being a goddamn good Wizard, Oisin had always been told that he could be better, better, better.]
Then, there was Adaine Abernant. She was like nothing he’d ever seen before. Somehow even shyer, even more anxious than he was, and yet it was like she was born with more magic than Oisin’s entire bloodline put together. She was an Elf, a High Elf to be specific, and her parents were ambassadors from Fallinel, so of course she was learned and capable. Oisin should have been like her. She made classes seem effortless, despite how much of a wreck she was; even if she didn’t understand something, she could always just try a little harder and it would go her way. That was how Oisin saw it, at least.
Adaine was beautiful, ethereally so. She was like every maiden in every human fairytale, fair and beautiful and quiet and just perfect—dear gods above, was she perfect. She was incredibly skilled, even as she stumbled through social interactions and kept her voice as low as she could. Oisin could see something special in her that would surely blossom into greatness, if only she could cast with confidence.
Oisin knew himself, he knew that he wasn’t going to be able to talk to her. He knew that he wouldn’t have the gall to walk up to this beautiful girl and tell her that he thought she was the most perfect thing he’d ever seen. How fucking creepy would that be? No, Oisin knew that he was going to sit in class and watch her excel from the sidelines.
Analysis: subject has adapted well to his rage. He will make a fitting right hand.
Status: operating normally after adjustment period.
After operation:
Oisin was mad. He was so mad that he thought he might rip his heart out of his chest so he didn’t have to feel it anymore. It was burning, white-hot, constant. It scared him so deeply.
The only thing that cut through was the sight of her, of Adaine. She was cool, a breath of fresh air across his burning body.
He’d confided in his friends about it, and now he was going to talk to her at this party. He was going to hide the burning rage inside of him again, he was going to see her and she would see him. She wouldn’t remember him, right? What reason would she have to remember him, they’d only had the one class together, and that was two years ago.
He wanted to hold onto her so badly, so badly. He was angry, sad, afraid; so fucking afraid. He was a whirlwind of all the worst parts of himself and he couldn’t stop it.
He never should have entertained Kipperlilly’s idea, he never should have fucking trusted Porter, of all teachers. He was terrifying in Oisin’s eyes, even more than he was to others. All Oisin could see when he looked at Porter was that giant figure looming over him, crushing his blood into gems and suffusing this blood curdling anger all throughout him.
He was so fearful, but he wanted this so badly; at least, he thought he did. He thought he wanted what his friends wanted; wanted to be better, to be stronger, to be the best. He thought it was noble. It had to be noble, or he’d eat himself alive.
Even when his blood boiled inside of him, Oisin could not back out. No matter how much it hurt him, no matter how many times over it killed him, he couldn’t let it go. It sang to him, a siren song of fury.
He spoke to her, and she didn’t even remember his name. Ivy bluffed, said it was because he’d gotten buff over the summer and hit a growth spurt. Oisin knew it was because he was forgettable, average. Nothing like Adaine, beautiful Adaine, perfect Adaine, stupid fucking Adaine—
No. He didn’t think that. He liked Adaine, he always had. He wanted the best for her, even if it meant that he had to suffer this feeling forever. She would always be exceptional; she was the Elven Oracle, for the love of the gods, and Oisin was just a mediocre Wizard.
Oisin played it off. He was nice, he offered Adaine some diamonds, she ran away. She’d always be a step ahead, sprinting ahead of him, and he could only watch with wide eyes.
I can’t let her get away. She’s not better than me. I have to prove it, I can prove it, I’m better than her. Better than all of them. I’ll show them, anger sang. Oisin had long given up fighting. He knew that it only hurt worse for it; Porter only pulled his strings tighter.
Their friends started fighting in the cafeteria. Oisin mediated as best he could, shot a message to Adaine when it was over. He said he was sorry. He really was. He wished it could mean anything more than it did, wished that he could just split from this and confess his undying love to Adaine and run away with her. He didn’t care if she outlived him by lifetimes, all he needed was her for the short time he was alive.
Why, then, did his friends say it was such a good ploy? It wasn’t a ploy, really, he was sorry. He nodded and laughed along with them then and cried to himself later. Oisin wished that Aguefort was there. He could turn back time and make this all right, right?
It didn’t matter. When Aguefort came back, Porter would be at the center of the new world. Oisin and Ivy and Ruben and Buddy and Kipperlilly and Mary Ann would be at his side, he’d promised them. He would be their new god of rage, and they would be his closest advisors.
Analysis: subject has fallen. The rage could not sustain him for long.
Status: rapidly declining. Down. Down. Dead.
Oisin was being slashed at, nearly in half, it seemed. His blood spilled out of him like beads out of a chute, pouring down to the ground as half-liquid and half-crystal.
Gorgug Thistlespring was murdering him. He didn’t know what he did to deserve this; he just wanted better for himself, for his friends.
You know what you did.
Oisin gasped awake. He was in a bare room, surrounded by gold walls. It was hauntingly similar to his family home. He stood, looked around. There was nothing here, only him. No furniture, no people, no doors.
There’s no getting out of here now, Oisin.
“No, no, what did I do?” Oisin cried out to the empty room.
Oh, don’t play dumb.
“I’m not, I promise, please, what is this?” Oisin shouted. “Why did he kill me? Did I hurt him?”
You didn’t just hurt him, you fucked with his friends. You fucked with the most precious thing in those kids’ lives: Adaine.
“She’s…she’s the most precious thing in my life—” Oisin started. He was cut off by a laugh, rude and abrupt.
Is she now? Is that why you tried so hard to kill her? Is that why you tried to kill all of her friends? Because you love her? You want to protect her? Stop lying to yourself.
“I’m not lying, I swear, I’d do anything for her.” Oisin looked around the room again, searching for a door or window or air vent or anything he might be able to use to get out.
There’s nothing. You’re here with me. Forever.
“I don’t even know who you are!” Oisin shouted. He went around and pressed on the walls, still searching for a way out.
How rude of you. Of course you know who I am, Oisin. I’m your teacher.
“Teacher?” Oisin said.
It dawned on him.
“No,” he said. “No, no, no…”
Yes, yes, yes, my friend.
“You can’t be here, I’m dead,” Oisin said, reaching for any piece of reason he could find.
Oh, but I can. I’m the one who crystallized your blood, who made you a part of my rage. I made you better, made you mine.
“I’m not yours, for fucks sake,” Oisin screamed. He was pounding against the walls now, leaving bruises and small cuts on his knuckles.
You are, you always will be.
Another cut. Another scale ripped off. Another slash into his side. He fell.
Everything was black—no, darker than that. It was nothing, so much less there than black could ever be.
He didn’t have thoughts there, no, not in that place of nothingness. He didn’t have wants or needs, he was just a body. Just meat. His chest opened and something left him, something he knew he needed.
Then, he felt something electric in his brain. A synapse firing, so loud in his head that he thought it might have been a gunshot; something to finally tear his mind apart for good.
There was light, blinding light, like a flashlight pushed right up against his eye. He didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t know how. It was so loud here, so many voices all around him. It hurt. It hurt so much. It was so painful, but it did not burn. It bled, but it wouldn’t blister.
Oisin was not burning anymore. He cried then, in that loud and blinding place. He didn’t care how much it stung his face. He felt the slash along his side and felt no granules of rage in him. He cried and he did not stop.
He passed out. The adrenaline only kept him conscious for so long. He needed blood to live, and he was quickly losing what little he had left of it.
He lay there in that black place for days, weeks, months, maybe. He didn’t mind, he wasn’t mad anymore. He wouldn’t ever be angry again, he hoped. If his heart was gone, maybe he could just die there and go to his afterlife. He could meet his ancestors, his family members who’d long since passed.
Oisin had no such luck. He woke again in the gym, a radiant healing light over him. He jolted awake, sitting up with a flash of pain that made him think he might die again. His eyes adjusted slowly, blinking against all the lights around him.
There she was. Running around the gym, offering her help to anyone she could. Dear gods, she was so perfect. Oisin stood, the pain almost blinding him, ignoring the protests of the healer on top of him. He didn’t care what happened to him, he just had to say that he was sorry.
He stumbled over to Adaine. When she saw him, her eyes widened slightly. Fear. She was afraid of him. Oisin shook his head, looking down to his torso and ensuring he had nothing to hurt her with. He waved a hand in front of him, beckoning her closer.
She took tentative steps. Gorgug had noticed and unsheathed his axe again, readying himself to swing if Oisin made a wrong move.
“Adaine,” Oisin said weakly.
She nodded in response, looking up at him with her perfect, beautiful blue eyes. She was still a bit bloody, but she looked so amazing.
“I’m sorry,” Oisin managed to say. He faltered on his feet a bit, fighting to stay upright. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me too,” Adaine said.
“No,” Oisin said. It was too fast, too harsh; he scared her. “No,” he repeated, slower this time. “Please, no. I’m sorry, let me be sorry.”
Adaine nodded again. Gorgug was still at the ready. Adaine waved a hand at him, signaling for him to back down. Gorgug—very reluctantly—lowered his axe. Adaine took a step closer to Oisin and reached a hand out to him. She took his hand in hers—her skin was so soft, just like he’d always imagined—and looked at him with such tenderness.
“Adaine,” Oisin struggled to find the words. “I’ve always liked you,” he said. What did he have to lose? He’d died, he was finally rid of the anger that had taken him over, and he wasn’t going to let himself fuck this opportunity up.
Adaine did not respond, not verbally. She squeezed his hand a little tighter and led him back to the healer he’d escaped from. She sat him down and let a hand hover of the small of his back; just in case. She still held his hand as the healer gave her a concerned look and began their work again.
Oisin let the light wash over him again. The healing didn’t feel nearly as good as Adaine’s hand in his. Nothing could ever feel as good as this, right here.
When the healer finished, they spoke to Adaine for a short while. He didn’t really hear them, he was too busy being flooded by the memories of what he’d done while he was under Porter’s control. Adaine put a hand on his shoulder and snapped him out of it. He jumped like a scared animal. He looked at Adaine and nearly wept.
“Fuck, Adaine, I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
“It’s alright, I know it…it wasn’t you,” she whispered back. She was so forgiving.
Oisin didn’t have anything more to say. He bowed his head, covered his face with his hands, and let the tears come. Strangely, it felt good to cry. The way he’d cried when he was angry was different; it was never cathartic. This was a true release of emotion, something he’d been holding onto for so long that it had become part of him.
Adaine’s hand lingered on his shoulder, her fingers gently rubbing a circle into it. She sat, staring straight ahead. Her party stood, facing her, with their weapons drawn and pointed at Oisin. They were not going to take any chances.
Adaine waved them away. As she did, she cast a message to each of them. “Go away,” she said. “I can handle him. He’s hardly a threat.”
Riz just-perceptibly nodded and stowed his gun. Kristen raised her hands and backed away. Fig shrugged and turned to walk away. Fabian did not sheath his sword, but he did take a step back. Gorgug sneered and followed the rest of his party, never taking his eyes off of the two.
They were alone in the ruins of the gym, and everyone else was being evacuated. “Oisin,” Adaine said. “We have to get out of here.”
Oisin took a deep, shuddering breath and lifted his head. He wiped his eyes and looked ahead at the destruction he’d let happen. How could he have let this happen?
Adaine took her hand off of Oisin’s shoulder and put it around him, trying with all her might to lift him from his seat. Oisin smiled at this, stood, and looked at Adaine. He was determined to look away from this mess he’d caused.
[Oh, he believed he’d caused it. They all did, each one of the living Rat Grinders.]
Adaine did not return his gaze, instead leading them out of the gym to be escorted home or to the hospital by the police.
“Oisin,” Adaine said. She still didn’t look at him as they stood on the sidewalk, relishing the warm night air.
Oisin looked up from the ground. “Hm?” he said, voice still small and weak.
“I forgive you,” she said. That was all, then she went with her friends as they beckoned her. She looked back at him, pointed to her crystal, and nodded.
Oisin might have fallen to the ground sobbing if he wasn’t so tired. He had no idea where his crystal was, but he had to fucking find it.
He was escorted home by the police, to a scream-crying mother and a stern but teary-eyed father. He couldn’t speak to them. The police explained what they knew and politely informed them of his injuries. Oisin retreated to his bedroom as quietly as he could, wishing to avoid his parents and sleep for the next week.
But, just out of the corner of his eye, Oisin saw a light. His crystal, it must have been. There was only one new notification. It was a friend request from Adaine Abernant. He accepted with such speed he thought he might break his crystal.
Then, a message.
Adaine Abernant: Here’s my number. Let’s go to Basrar’s and talk.
Oisin Hakinvar: Now?
Adaine Abernant: Now.
Oisin Hakinvar: I'll be there in 5
Adaine Abernant: Same. See you then.