#finally takin part in whumptober to get back into writin

[lizardinacoat]

Whumptober 2022 - Day 1: A little out of the ordinary

The soft flesh of the ground yields easily as Bakar sinks his claws into it, the blood that seeps through his fingers long since a familiar warmth. Each step is harder to take as the ground tries to pull him in, writhing flesh wishing to devour him whole and it’s only the heavy steps of his partner behind him and the reassuring dread they bring that keeps Bakar from giving into the pull.

He doesn’t know where they’re going. He doesn’t care. Bakar doesn’t think much these days. Yet, through the haze of blood craze and clouded thoughts, a nagging feeling has nestled into the back of his skull that refuses to be ignored. Focusing on the feeling brings forth a headache of memories; the darkness of the alleyway, the fear in his eyes, the sweet taste of his blood that still lingers.

He tries to focus on the man.

Rahkut.

Standing there before him as he once did years ago. It was easy to figure out it was really Merek standing in that alleyway. Rahkut had been dead for years, so it must’ve been Merek. After all, Merek was behind the trickery the last time Bakar met with Rahkut. So seeing him there once more it was easy to figure out what was really beneath that skin.

The rage had flooded him in an instant upon hearing his own name pass those lips, suffocating any reasonable thought that might have remained after a year in this state, and he lunged instantly.

The devil wearing his brothers skin had the audacity to keep the act up, feigning shock and fear at his assaults. Eventually the devil stumbled and fell, shuffling until his back hit the cobbled wall of the alley. He didn’t remember Rahkut’s eyes being blue but staring into them brought a spark of familiarity nonetheless.

Then he’d spoken. A soft voice. Softer than Rahkut’s. Softer than Merek’s ever could be. The sound of that voice brought a rush of warmth, conjuring an image of meadows and sunflowers and this wasn’t Merek. Staring into those eyes, Bakar truly looked at the man before him. Blue eyes, slightly tanned skin, blond hair, and a face he could never forget.

“Leif.”

He saw the moment hope entered his eyes upon hearing his name, and the subsequent fear as Falzaphir spoke.

“What are you waiting for. Kill him.”

Kill him? But this is Leif.

Bakar isn’t sure what he says, speech just as much instinct at this point as everything else, but he’s sure he hesitated. Tried to draw Falz’ attention to the fact that this isn’t just anyone. It’s Leif.

“It’s not. It’s just your delusions.” was the only answer he received.

“But it’s Leif.”

Bakar never pushed back on Falzaphir’s decisions. There was never a reason to. But this was important.

“Kill him or I will.”

No.

No no no no no.

Not Leif.

Well aware of Falzaphir’s preferred methods and the pain they caused, he made up his mind. It didn’t stop him from hesitating as he looked into those eyes again, a softly whispered ‘please’ barely registering in his mind. Then he’d put his jaws around his throat and crushed. Leif’s blood flooded his mouth and the sweetness only felt wrong.

This was never supposed to happen.