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For as long as Terra had known him, Conner had been a bit… odd.
There was no actual proof for her suspicions, but he was just odd. There was something about him that set her nerves on edge, though she spent much time telling herself it was just baseless suspicion. But he was always odd. Just a little too knowledgeable about things he shouldn’t know, things that he said was part of being a Guide but felt deeper than that.
It was baseless, though. Meaningless. He was just odd. Some people were just odd. That was all.
“Motherfucker!”
Terra curses as she shoves the door shut behind her, dismembering a zombie hand in the process. It flops around on the ground for a moment and she stops on it. It crunches unpleasantly under her feet.
The ambient glow of the Blood Moon paints the house she shares with Conner in an eerie red, the air thick and cloying with dark magic. She’s not sure how long the door will hold, since Terra hadn’t time to actually pull up the steps. It had taken half a dozen blood moons and several broken doors before she found a way to pull steps up from the ground onto the porch, since blood zombies couldn’t exactly climb, but she was in no condition to do so now.
Limp-running to the kitchen, Terra grabs the first aid kid before heading to the safety of the second floor, and with it, the emergency trapdoor she had installed into the attic for just such nights. Conner hadn’t been happy about having to move houses but after the first moon, he did begrudgingly admit that it was nice being able to not have to worry about zombies breaking into his room every blood moon.
“Conner? You decent? I’m coming up!”
Terra yanks the ladder to the attic down, not bothering to wait for a response before climbing the stairs. There’s not exactly room for decency when a blood moon is occurring.
When she comes up, she briefly registers Conner on the extra bed up there, seemingly curled up in a ball on the bed. Asleep, maybe? She likes to think her house modifications means people can sleep easier through a blood moon, but the truth of it is no one sleeps on a blood moon, no matter how safe.
As she turns to pull up the ladder to the attic, Conner’s voice from the bed answers her question. “Terra?”
Is he sick? Terra finds herself thinking, frowning at the deep, scratchy quality to his voice. Hoarse, even.
“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry to barge into your house, but a blood zombie got a good hit on me and I needed to back off for the night.”
The hit in question was a large gash on the outside of her right thigh, though Terra was pretty sure it hadn’t hit an artery. She thinks. If she finds herself in her own bed in her own house within the next hour she’ll know for sure. It does throb in time with her heartbeat, though, making it feel like her leg has its own pulse even though she knows it doesn’t.
Terra would prefer that to not happen, though, so once she’s sure the ladder up to the attic is up and the door is secured, she drops the first aid kit on the ground. The best thing to do would be to stitch it up right at the source before it gets infected, but that would mean undressing in front of Conner and she’d rather not do that if she doesn’t have to.
Already, a bloodstain has spread on her upper thigh, and she grimaces, wishing she had remembered to stock her healing potions earlier that day. She takes her knife and cuts away the fabric outside the wound, grimacing whenever it catches against the half-dried blood.
“Shit.” Conner curses quietly under his breath--but not quietly enough. “Terra- you- you can’t- shouldn’t-”
Something about the tone of Conner’s voice gives her pause, and she looks up at him—actually looks at him. He was sitting against the headboard of the bed, knees pulled up to his chest and head bowed, one hand gripping the sheets and the other hidden behind his legs.
“Conner?” She asks slowly, lowering the knife. “Are you okay?”
“Terra, it- you shouldn’t be here- it’s not safe-“
The words sound like they’re being strangled from Conner’s throat, and alarm rises in her chest, more pressing than the erratic pulsing of her leg. Carefully, she stands up, trying to scan what little she sees of him for injuries. And, while she can’t see anything obvious, was he… shaking?
She doesn’t know how to react to this. This… whatever this was, it wasn’t like Conner. It felt… wrong.
“Conner, what do you mean-“
“Get out!” He snaps at her, a harsh, sudden bark, vicious enough to make Terra jump. “You shouldn’t- I can’t-“
“What the hell are you on about?”
A chill crawls up Terra’s spine. It wasn’t uncommon for people to be antsy during blood moons, given the grim situation one found themselves in because of it, but Conner had never snapped at her like this. In fact, Terra can’t ever recall a time in which he’s gotten angry at her, at least enough to snap at her like that.
Conner, though, doesn’t answer her question—at least not verbally. The way he answers it is by lifting his head up, narrowing his eyes at her, and lunging.
All she can before that is a reddish haze to his eyes and a row of sharp, gleaming teeth.
Conner hated the blood moons.
It didn’t used to be this bad, this… this urge. This craving, back when blood moons were still rare, an actual once-in-a-blue-moon type of event. Rare enough that Conner could almost sense it like the rise and fall of the tide, the slow buildup of dark magic left over from the war that permeated the air and grew thick and cloying.
Every time, it set that great beast inside him stirring, restless under the magic that was woven into the air itself. Though they shared a metaphysical aspect, it was still its own thing, still a guardian and a monster rolled into one, though it had been enough time that Conner had forgotten the specifics of how they worked, only that he was a sacrifice, a vessel and a monster masquerading as a human all at once. Like a patchwork quilt, sewn together from different squares.
It hungered, plain and simple, though the reasons why it only really manifested during the blood moon and no other time, he could only speculate. He assumed it had something to do with the dark magic that came with the rise of the blood moon, stirring up the guardian like it stirred up blood zombies and dripplers.
But for a long time, he simply didn’t have to deal with it. He spent his days alone, in the woods, far away from the company of anyone except the animals. There was no risk of losing that tempestuous control he had over the guardian he shared his spirit and body with.
Then, he met Terra. Then, the two-room cottage she had built became a town, a slow build over a period of several months as she sought out her friend.
When Terra had built him his own house, with his own room and attic, Conner figured he could handle it. The blood moons left everyone restless and on edge, but also in the comfort of their own homes. Unless someone was actively dying, or you believed in the idea of safety in numbers, no one bothered anyone else. It was simply too dangerous to go out.
That suited Conner just fine. It meant everyone was a little more safe like that.
There was a routine to this. When Conner could feel the magic of a blood moon building, he would lock himself in his house, alone in the attic, and wait out the night locked in some strange mental combat with the monster inside.
So when he heard Terra’s voice echoing from below, Conner felt his heart fall into his stomach.
Did he not lock the doors? No, wait, it was a blood moon, maybe a zombie broke them down-
Does it matter? She wasn’t supposed to be here. She isn’t supposed to see.. to see… this.
“Terra?”
The ladder to the attic creaks. “Yeah, it’s me. Sorry to barge into your house, but a blood zombie got a good hit on me and I needed to back off for the night.”
Blood. Conner felt his mind go cloudy at the words, an otherworldly haze of hunger settling over his mind. He can smell it, now, the sharp, metallic taste, so much fresher than the blood that runs from the monsters outside. He can practically taste it on his tongue, wondering where it was-
Stop! Snap out of it! He bites down on his hand, the skin just behind his thumb, barely feels it when sharpened, amalgamated teeth break skin and taste blood.
“Shit.” The curse slips out without meaning to, a hiss as he tries to focus on something, anything, other than the debilitating hunger gnawing at his stomach, the desire to rip, and tear, and shred. Count the threads on the blanket, rub the fabric between your fingers, focus on the pain in your neck from being hunched over like this.
“Terra- you- you can’t- shouldn’t-” he manages to bite out, looking at the blood trickling down the back of his hand. The thought that it is his own blood feels foreign to him, as unnatural as the monster that’s made a home with and within him. But he can’t finish the sentence, mind swirling in two different directions, an invisible tear within his own psyche.
“Conner?”
Was that alarm he heard in her voice? It makes his chest clench, but all he can focus on is the blood. Glistening red, even against the dim ambiance of the blood moon, the rivulets of them that trickle down his skin towards the bandages that overlay his arms. He wondered what it would look like trailing down Terra’s neck, her shoulderblades.
“Are you okay?”
No. No, he very much wasn’t. He was hungry. Debilitatingly so. It was a foreign hunger, though, wrong in its want.
Getting out the words is a challenge in and of itself, each one fighting him on the way out. They claw at his throat, tearing their way out of him. “Terra, it- you shouldn’t be here- it’s not safe.”
He can see her now, laying in a pool of her own blood, torn to shreds by his own hand. Eyes wide open and afraid—afraid of him, of the monster he really is. The thought makes him shudder. It makes his mouth water.
“Conner, what do you mean-"
The scent of blood filled the air and Conner knew he was fighting a losing battle, his thin control over this thing fraying by the second. He wanted- he wanted- he wanted-
“Get out!”
His voice comes out harsher than he intends it to, grabbing at and tugging fistfuls of hair in a vain attempt to ground himself. There’s an itch running beneath his skin, wild and frantic and restless, skittering along his bones like ants.
Immediately, though, guilt wells within him, recognizable even through the haze creeping over his mind. “You shouldn’t- I can’t-” He tries, words coming out a gasp, now.
It’s getting harder to think over the curling, writhing want that’s overtaking him. He wants. He wants he wants he needs-
“What the hell are you on about?”
The haze slips over him suddenly and quickly, like a branch that has too much weight and gives underneath it, like a castle of playing cards folding beneath each other.
It moves without thought, only acting on instinct. Conner has enough presence of mind to see the way Terra’s eyes widen, her tan complexion going pallid, before it lunges across the room.
But it is limited by the human’s body, and Terra ducks and rolls under it, causing it to crash into the back wall. Conner feels his head spin.
“Hey, hey, Conner- Conner, buddy, what the fuck,” Terra gasps out, drawing herself to her feet, spinning around to face it. “Ohhhh stars above Conner what the fuck is wrong with you- your face--”
Distantly, Conner knows what she’s talking about. Another side effect of the guardian’s influence. He doesn’t particularly enjoy it either. At least he can’t really feel when it happens?
It draws itself up, staggering, and the growl it lets out is inhuman, unholy. Terra backs up and hits the baseboard of the bed, and it lunges again, ready to tear, to rip.
This time, she’s more prepared. She lunges, too, shoving all her weight forward, ramming her head into its chest and pushing it back. They tumble to the ground in a tangle of limbs.
“Woah woah- hey! Conner! Can you- stop!” Terra shouts, like she’s trying to scold a particularly rambunctious dog. They roll around on the ground, trying to overpower the other, and Conner doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse that she hasn’t gone for her sword yet. “What the fuck has gotten into- motherfucker!”
The short-lived fight ends when it manages to roll over on top of Terra, sinking its teeth into her shoulder, breaking past the metal of her armor, and she screams. A wave of sickness rolls down its stomach, but it punctures further, further, tearing through flesh and sinew.
It wants to hurt. It wants to shred. To see crimson blood spilling on the wooden planks, to feel bones breaking and snapping under its teeth, to tear through flesh and sinew with its claws--
Stop. Not Terra. Not her.
It feels like trying to wade through honey, mind slow and fogged from the haze of the guardian’s presence, trying to exert any form of control over it, taking all his effort to not let it rip out a chunk of Terra’s skin--or worse.
“Conner- fuck, Conner-” The emotion in Terra’s voice--fear, hurt, confusion--breaks his heart. She wriggles beneath him, but it’s got her trapped like a bug under a pin, one arm pinned at her side and the other above her head, her body trapped between his legs, so all she can really do is wriggle about. “Let go of me, damnit! What the actual fuck has gotten into you? Do I need to call an exorcist or something?!”
Oh, if only that could work. He manages to make a sound, not quite human, somewhere between a growl and a low whine. The haze clouds at the corners of his vision, and it feels like his head is being split apart. It’s all he can do to keep it from ripping Terra apart.
Terra curses a lot, at first, and shouting, trying to buck him off or get him to let go. He can’t. The haze is still too strong. The guardian is a guardian, after all--more powerful than he would ever be.
Then she starts pleading, voice going soft, desperate. That hurts worse. His jaw begins to shake with the sheer effort of trying to fight against the haze. His hand is cramping. Useless observations, but it gives something Conner more concrete to focus on that isn't her voice. How he wishes he could just-- explain it to her.
How he wishes that he didn’t have to. That she could continue to be ignorant of this part of Conner, this bit of his life and being that he doesn’t wish to share with.
Finally, she goes silent, and that feels damning. Her breathing is harsh, pained, but steady. There’s still blood, though, lots of it, oozing from the puncture marks and into Conner’s mouth. It’s gross and disgusting and Conner hates the fact that he now has to live with the knowledge that he’s tasted Terra’s blood on his tongue. Worse, that he’s caused that.
The haze comes in waves, low and high, accompanied by the slight shifting of his body, the press or release of the teeth in Terra’s shoulder. She’s tense and stiff as a board under him, the muscles in her wrist constantly flexed as though she’s ready to push him off again. She’s shaking, too.
But, slowly, the presence fades. The air dims from being blood red, the color leeching out of the air like blood in a stream. Conner doesn’t exactly feel the tiredness that comes from being up all night, but there is a heaviness in his bones that suggests it.
His control over his limbs feels--tangential. Like it’ll fade at any moment. As the rising sun breaks the horizon, however, Conner slowly manages to unclench his jaws from around Terra’s shoulder--then bolts and scrambles backwards until he’s hit the opposite wall.
Everything about his body feels disconnected, and his brain feels empty of all thought even though the haze was gone. He can feel the blood dribbling down his chin, the crick in his neck and back from hunching over Terra most of the night.
Slowly, hand pressed to her shoulder, Terra sits up. She’s pale, pale as she was the first time the Eye of Cthulhu had bit her in two, shaking visibly. Blood covers her entire right shoulder, her shoulder armor broken into large bits and chunks, a bloody mess of shrapnel.
For a moment, all they do is stare. The air is thick, thicker than it ever is during the blood moons, when tensions run the highest. Conner fears anything he says will shatter it like glass. He presses himself back up against the wall like he could sink into it, feeling strangely vulnerable. Seen.
After several minutes, he manages to get his mouth to work. “T- Te- Terra, I-”
“Conner, what the fuck was that.”
He can’t help but flinch, and then immediately feels guilty for it, her words not unreasonable but still sharp, still biting. He pulls his knees awkwardly up against his chest, like doing so would shield him from her wrath.
Terraria below, where does he even begin? How is he supposed to explain the depth, the magnitude, of this to her? He could apologize, sure, but- what would that do?
He hurt her. He could’ve killed her. All because he couldn’t keep this- this thing in check.
“I…” Shame wells in his gut, and he wishes he could just melt into the ground. His body feels foreign, strange. He’s still dripping blood onto his hands. There’s still a puncture mark on the back of his own, misshapen and crusted over with dried blood. “Terra, I- I’m so sorry. I…”
Terra waits, silent, staring accusatorily at him, and Conner hates that he can’t read what’s on her face right now, can’t glean even an inkling into what she might be thinking. The blood tastes coppery in his mouth and he feels vaguely like throwing up and-
He can’t. He can’t do this. Not now. Not with her.
“You-” he stands up, sharply, swaying a little as he does so and trying not to feel his heart breaking when he notices her flinch. She’s scared of me, his mind supplies. “You’re- injured. You- Heather. I’ll- I'll get Heather.”
It’s a flimsy excuse, but Conner’s single-mindedly focused on leaving. He vaguely recognizes Terra calling out his name but all he can focus on is yanking open the trapdoor downstairs open and flees.