#[menandros is emrys’s real name ~]

[stainedpast]

He knows: they are not human, he would have sensed their FILTH a miles away otherwise, his superiority- or maybe arrogance, fuels his dislike of them. This one though, dancing alluringly, leading their victims into their bait. He shouldn’t be affected too, should he?

——Oh! He is!

It is different to the rest of those who surround him, the consciousness is fighting to slip away as he watches men fall one after the other like dominos, his vision blurring by the second, THREATENING to disappear. It does eventually, the last image is of them standing afar, and then close, closer, too close, and then he is gone, slipping into darkness and unconsciousness.

@vulpesse | sc

[stainedpast]

emrys: despises humans and sees them inferior

me: but you married a humans and had a human son—

emrys, with a knife: don’t tarnish them with your tongue, you filthy human!

[stainedpast]

Many are the titles appointed to him with no permission, with little reason: a mere human for the disguise he wears, an important pillar and a legend to those of his own blood lusting species, d e a t h to many, a GOD to some- but do gods bleed? If he is to be one, he is a one that does. The blood, dark yet surprisingly maroon, spills out his mouth, complicating something that should have been so simple as his breathing, as letting words out coherently. It is a RARE site: Menandros of the house Drakos, in agony, weak and vulnerable. The pain is tearing him apart from inside out, like a million daggers with the most ancient spells to pierce him with such agony, his breath is barely taken, labored when it is, hands grip at the soil below them, and sometimes at the fabric of his attire, threatening to TEAR it all apart, strip him to his most basic form.

There is whirlwind of emotions within him; he despises being seen in such a state even by a close one, even if by a loved one, maybe even more so when they are, yet there is a hint of reassurance even before they utter their words, an existence that would calm him, a hand that would hold his despite his attempts to kick it away, would stay by his side even when all he does is scream at them to leave, to abandon him in this state. They don’t. ❝ Leave! ❞ It is all he manages in a groan, his back arching in a sudden wave of pain, eyes shut, hands squeezing the life out of whatever they hold, legs almost kick but he still manages to control them well enough not to do so; he doesn’t want to appear so weak, so desperate; DEATH is a sweet alternative to that.

He knows he is safe here from any outsider, from any intruder that does not emerge from his own body, that doesn’t rip his ribcage to be free. If he is to die, he would do so in the absence of those who would make use of it, of those whose faces would haunt him in the afterlife for an eternity with humiliation and ridicule. Here, he knows he could die well aware his son would not be a witness, yet would have a chance to know of his death. Here, he could become one with the soil, a source of energy if must, a body that might not decay for as long as nature prospered, as long as they prospered. Why else would he crawl all the way to its embrace?

❝ [][][][]… leave! ❞ He calls them by their real name, it sounds like a demand even when there is a hint of a plea in the hopelessness of his state; he is Menandros, he would never plead for his own benefit, maybe only that of his family’s if it were the last measure.

@vulpesse : ❛ you're not by yourself, alright? i'm right here with you. ❜ ( for emrys ♡ )