#like Mhin would love to be in Vere's “luxurious position” and Vere wants Mhin's “freedom”

[vermilionsun]

veremhin please.. i’m starving 😞

And I shall deliver~~

Word count: 1. 5k Relationships: Mhin & Vere, Mhin/Vere Tags: Gore (somewhat), Blood and injury, forced proximity, inspired by "Hunter" by Paris Paloma, Warning: Vere

They meet at the edge of the ash-grey, crumbling wastelands outside Eridia. The air is heavy with rot and dust. The sun is weak, just a pale disk through clouds.

Mhin had crouched behind a jagged outcropping, watching, waiting for the thing—the abomination stitched from nightmares and worse—to show itself properly. Praying for the other problem to get infected and succumb to a deadly disease, too. 

Vere stood casually amidst the ruins, hand playing with his harness, like he owns the damn earth. The Senobium's pet Monster, sent probably under the threat of "Clean this mess up, or we'll find something worse for you to do."

Mhin almost spits.

They, meanwhile, were quietly contracted by someone outside the system; a shadowy tie to Leander’s network, because the Senobium can’t be trusted with anything important. (And of course Mhin didn’t know Vere would be there, or they would’ve made other plans.)

They had agreed to stay out of each other's way, but, you know, Vere is Vere.

Mhin keeps low, breathing shallow, eyes never leaving the beast stalking the wreckage nearby. It’s even worse up close: Hunched like a broken mule, skin stretched thin over ropy muscles, patches of mange revealing sagging grey flesh. Its eyes—gods, its eyes—a dozen bulging, oozing orbs embedded in its sides, rolling wildly, leaking pus. A snout split too wide, stuffed with jagged shark teeth. Two curling horns, serrated and dripping black filth.

It sniffs the air, turns around, spotting Vere, and charges. The ground shakes. A scream tears itself from the beast’s ruined throat; an awful, human noise that doesn't belong in its chest.

Vere moves, claws sharp on his fingers, grinning like a lunatic. He ducks the first swing of the beast’s massive horn, then laughs as it slashes again, catching him across the ribs. Blood arcs into the air.

Mhin doesn’t move, not yet. They watch, calculating, as Vere stumbles, blood blooming bright against his veiled shirt. The Soulless looms over him, thick clawed hands swinging down to crush him. Vere rolls away at the last second, but he’s slower now, bleeding harder, breathing ragged.

Good.

Mhin moves, silent and surgical.

While the beast’s back is turned, distracted by Vere’s faltering, they sprint forward. One dagger slams into the creature’s hock—a deep tendon just above the hoof. It howls, twisting, and Mhin yanks the blade sideways. The tendon snaps with a wet, stringy sound.

The beast collapses onto one side, legs kicking spasmodically. Its teeth gnash, its many eyes bulging in agony. Mhin doesn't stop; They scramble up its twisted flank, boots finding purchase in torn flesh. Their blade punches into a seam between two rolling eyes, jamming deep into what might have been a skull once.

Black blood erupts, hissing against their hands and arms. The Soulless thrashes, almost throws Mhin, but they cling tight, driving the dagger deeper, twisting it with all the strength they have left.

Below, Vere staggers to his feet, grinning wide and bloody despite the gash leaking from his ribs. "Missed a spot," he croaks, voice rough.

Mhin ignores him. Another shove, another twist, and finally, with a sickening, rattling gasp, the beast goes still.

The silence after is almost worse than the fight. Mhin yanks their blade free, black slime dripping from it. They drop down from the carcass, landing hard enough to rattle their knees.

Vere leans against a shattered wall, leaving a crimson smear behind him.

"You're welcome," Mhin mutters, crouching to carve a chunk of twisted bone and core from the beast's remains—proof enough for payment.

Both of them are breathing hard, bloodied and tired. The wind shifts—a sour, electric tang of rain in the air.

"Storm," Vere mutters. Mhin doesn’t reply.

Both of them spot the cabin at the same time: a crumbling relic barely standing against the wasteland winds. Mhin doesn't look at Vere, doesn’t offer help, doesn’t care if he bleeds out in the dust. They just start walking. If Vere wants to survive, he can follow.

The cabin door slams behind them, the storm raging outside like the dying breath of a god. The inside stinks of mold and old blood, but it’s enough of a shelter. Mhin strikes a sad fire together from stubborn, half-rotted wood. It flickers enough for them to see the exhaustion carved into both their faces.

Mhin crouches by the fire, cleaning blood from their knife in short, savage strokes. Vere paces the edges of the room, restless like a caged animal.

It should end there. It doesn’t. It never does.

"You should’ve stayed gone," Mhin mutters, not looking at him. Thunder rumbles—low and angry. The first drops of acidic rain sizzle where they hit the ground.

Vere laughs. "And miss you tripping over your own feet? Not a chance."

Mhin stiffens,their fingers flexing on the knife handle. They’re already so tired, and now this thing that refuses to leave them alone.

"You’re nothing but a coward," Mhin snaps, finally looking up. "You think survival makes you strong. It just makes you pathetic."

Vere's grin sharpens like a blade honed on hatred. "And what does that make you, little hunter?" he drawls. "Clinging to scraps. Pretending you’re better. Pretending you’re still..." He trails off, watching them with glittering, predatory eyes. "...human." The word lands heavy; an accusation and a mockery all the same.

Mhin stands slowly, every movement controlled. Their knife glints in the firelight. "I'm not the one rotting from the inside out," Mhin says, voice razor-thin. "You gave up everything for power. Even your humanity. You're not a hunter. You're a fucking parasite."

Vere's face shifts. Not hurt—no, he doesn't feel things that clearly—but something darker, colder. "Humanity," Vere repeats, almost tasting the word like it’s something foul. He steps closer, slow and deliberate, boots crunching on the dusty floorboards. "You think I was human?" Vere asks, voice like a knife twisting into soft flesh. "I wasn't. I’m not. I never will be. And you—" He lunges, hand flashing out faster than a blink.

Mhin barely dodges, stumbling back, but Vere grabs them, slamming them against the rotting wall hard enough to make the whole cabin shudder.

Mhin grits their teeth, knife at Vere’s ribs, but not stabbing. Vere leans in close enough that Mhin can feel his breath, hot and ragged. "I could kill you right now," Vere whispers, feral. One hand clamps around Mhin’s wrist. "I could rip you apart," he breathes.

But then, he staggers. Vere’s knees hit the floor with a thud, hand pressed hard against his side where blood leaks between his fingers.Mhin stands over him, dagger drawn, breathing hard.

This is it. All the hatred, all the chances, all the reasons. Vere looks up at them, defiant even now, like he’s daring them to do it. Mhin raises the blade—

The dagger slips from their fingers and clatters to the floor. They exhale. A loud, broken sound.

Their hand closes into a fist around nothing. Shaking. "If I was easy to kill," Mhin says, voice barely above a whisper, "you would have done it already." It slices cleaner than any blade, gutting the space between them.

The fire pops, loud in the silence that falls between them. Vere watches them, smirk gone, expression unreadable. Something cracks across his face—not guilt, not mercy, but something close.

They tear some old cloth from the cabin’s once curtains and kneel down with stiff, jerky movements. Mhin tilts their head, inspecting the wound and wrapping the cloth around Vere, patching him up, hands rough, breath coming in shallow bursts. They tie a makeshift bandage around his ribs, pressing too hard, maybe on purpose, maybe not. Vere grunts but doesn't push them away.

When it’s done, Mhin slumps back against the wall. Fumbling with a dented metal cup, they scoop up some of the grimy water left in an old barrel. They try to drink—

But their hands won’t stop shaking. The cup wobbles, sloshing water down their chin.

Vere watches. Amusement flickers across his face; sharp, fond, cruel all at once. Then he leans over and with two fingers, shoves the bottom of the cup up, forcing it to their lips.

Mhin jerks away instinctively— but Vere is stronger. Not rough, not tender; just insistent. "Drink," he says, voice still dangerous. "You're no good to anyone dead."

Mhin glares at him over the rim, water slipping from the corners of their mouth. But they drink. Because they’re both exhausted, and for one moment they're not enemies, not monsters, not prey and hunter. Because neither could find the strength to kill the other.

Not tonight.

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