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yanara126-writing · 1 month ago

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The Many Meetings of Death and Death (3/5) - Mercy Is the Mark

Daud is a wreck. Corvo is a player avatar. Neither of them is happy about it.

Well maybe the Outsider is.

- Read here or on Ao3 (2979 words)

Have fun! Comments always welcome! :)

Daud is a wreck. He knows it, even without seeing the looks his Whalers give him. He knows he scares them and in the privacy of his own mind where none of them can see he scares himself too. He's been cracked down the middle for a long time, and the sword he's rammed into the empress had equally rammed a wedge into that crack, ruining his careful paint job. He's been strange and out of character for months, but at least those actions he could justify as a crisis of morality. Choices to be able to live with himself, however unproductive they were, however much they disturbed Billie. Sitting here at his same old desk, waiting for Attano to get out of the pitiful hole they've thrown him into, he feels more conflicted than ever.

He tries not to let Thomas see it who stands in front him, staring him down with the most accusatory glare he's ever seen on the young man. Attano is gone. They haven't found any bodies yet, but Attano is not a merciful man. He has carved his way through Dunwall in a righteous crusade, felling the conspirators one after the other, as well as guards unlucky enough to try and stop him. Some of his victims are never found, but they don't have time right now for a headcount. And frankly he cannot be sure he would notice a bond breaking, not right now. And doesn't that add another stab to his long list of guilt. Daud knows Thomas resents him for the choice to not simply kill Attano and be done with it, and he cannot blame him for it. It was a stupid decision born of months long desperation, and one that his Whalers will pay for.

Daud doesn't want to die. He doesn't want his people to die either. And yet he may very well have ensured both. Ironic almost that Billie now keeps the best chances of survival. He doesn't regret sparing her life, sending her off, both as mercy and punishment, but sitting here in his office knowing he has made yet another irreparable error he can't help but think maybe it would have been better had Billie succeeded. He has repeated her mistake and let another killer into their midst. He doesn't expect to receive the same mercy she did. All he can hope for now is that the body count will be lower, that Attano will be satisfied with Daud's life, rather than going after his Whalers as well as the Overseers had done. That is a price he is maybe not happy, but certainly willing to pay, a bed he has made himself and he will lie in. Delilah was for the girl, his own life will be for Attano. (Something rings in the back of his mind at that, something familiar, something claiming that Attano will not kill him. It's a ludicrous thought, considering both of their histories, a pathetic hope Daud is above, so he ignores it.)

"Understood. Deal with the sentries as you will." Thomas stares him down and they both know that nothing will be done about the sentries. Either they are dead already or there will be other funerals to hold tonight. Daud's being one of them.

"Sir." Thomas says, and it's not agreement. Daud doesn't argue. Instead he turns back to his desk, old and creaking from the humidity and starts sorting papers. A pointless task at what is sure to be his and the Whalers' last day one way or another, but human nature makes it difficult to simply wait for death.

Daud expects Thomas to turn, put his mask on and leave. They both know how this will end after all and the surviving Whalers (and by the Outsider's bastardly ways he hopes some of them will survive his bullheadedness) will need a steady hand with both Billie and him gone. While Thomas does put on his mask after a last dirty look, he walks over next to the room's window and stands with his back against the wall. A good view of the doors and a defensible position.

Daud considers him from the corner of his eye, standing watch as still as a statue. Loyal as ever, despite his master's terrible decisions. Daud has no illusions that he will be able to make Thomas leave. His loyalty seems to be endless in a way Daud most definitely doesn't deserve, but he can feel that he's found the limit of Thomas' obedience. Perhaps it should be frustrating, or even reassuring, that in a fight between obedience and loyalty, loyalty has obviously won out, but all Daud has the emotional capacity for now is resignation. What will come will come, and Thomas has made his decision along with Daud.

Time passes, Daud shuffling paper on his desk, standing, not sitting, that would feel too much like an invitation, and Thomas standing watch, while nothing happens. Daud fidgets with the sword at his waist. Not the one bloodied by his last kill, that one he'd left lying around in a corner of the room, uncleaned and reeking, until a few weeks later it disappeared. Daud never asked who took it or what happened to it. Water gently splashes and rushes outside, the ever present noise of Rudshore, the death gurgling of an entire district. The occasional Weeper moans are a thematic touch, all the more as they never used to reach up to their base. They used to clean out the streets as well as possible, for security and to try and keep the plague away. Now they formed a dirge to Rudshore. And to Daud.

The dirge is the only thing audible for a while.

When Attano finally comes it's sudden and all at once. Thomas drops from one second to the next, and before Daud even has time to flinch, much less try and reach him, that horrible skull mask is right in his face and Attano nearly skewers him. Daud manages to block the strike only thanks to decades of practiced paranoia.

Sparks fly as their blades meet, the crash shattering the soft requiem with savage violence, the desk shaking from the force. Despite himself Daud's eyes widen as he stares at the mask mere centimetres away from his face, static and unmoving, even as Daud's arms start trembling under the pressure. No sound comes from Attano, not a grunt, not a growl, not even a breath. Were Daud a man of superstition and if he hadn't seen the man just hours before half dead and choking on his own saliva, he'd be tempted to think Attano died in Coldrige and only his vengeful ghost escaped to kill him now.

Following a vague instinct somewhere in the back of his mind that insists Attano will not follow him, Daud gives way, letting a knee buckle as Attano presses down on him, then transversed away across the room, leaving the man to stumble with the sudden momentum. He lands next to the stairs, away from Thomas. He doesn't dare avert his eyes from Attano or reach for the bond to check on the Whaler. Either Thomas is already dead or he is unconscious and better served by being ignored. Either way Daud can't help him anymore.

Attano catches himself and whirls around, staring straight at him. Daud's resolve hardens. All other thoughts fade away, all thoughts of Whalers, doubts, regrets, until all that remains is the moment. This is it. Make or break. He will give Attano what he came for. He will not go down like Campbell, like the Pendletons, Lady Boyle or void-damned Burrows. He will make Attano bleed for it, will not make his death cheap, for either of their sakes. For Attano the satisfaction of a revenge well earned, of a monster slain, and for himself the hope that that will be enough of violence in Rudshore. His life was always destined to end in violence anyway.

Attano stalks forward, not following with a transversal of his own. Does he not have one? No that seems ludicrous. Again that strange familiarity rears its head and Daud shakes it off with a growl.

Of course that's when Attano pulls out a fucking revolver. Daud curses and ducks away just before the bullet would have ripped through his shoulder. One more reason not to try and put himself between Attano and Thomas. At least he knows Attano's ammunition isn't endless. He counted before throwing the box down the refinery shaft. Four more left.

He makes the calculated decision of not letting the man use them and pulls on the void, grasping for the familiar power coursing from his left hand throughout the rest of his body. With one step he's in front of Attano again, his sword lifted and ready to run the man through. He doesn't have any illusions that it will work. It doesn't as Attano rips his own blade high to block the strike but he does drop the revolver with a clatter. Daud grits his teeth and drives the sword forward again, pushing Attano back from the gun. He doesn't dare try and kick it away. In his experience those things are at best unreliable, but when they do go off they pack a punch.

The fight continues as they drive each other through the room, one slash, parry and doge after another. It's surprisingly easy to keep Attano away from Thomas' lifeless form. He tries not to think too hard about that. An easy endeavour with the way Attano keeps the pressure on, never relenting. The Royal Protector is a monster with the blade, and Daud is suddenly very aware that had the man been able to shake off the tether back at the Tower, they would have all been dead.

No one comes to interrupt their duel. He tries not to think too hard about that either. He's not sure what he would have done had any Whalers tried to intervene. He doesn't want them in the line of fire, this is his problem, but... He doesn't want to die either. And regardless of the traitorous whisper in the back of his mind spewing ludicrous delusions, Attano will kill him.

Daud grits his teeth and presses forward, banishing all thoughts of life and death and Whalers from his mind. No one is coming. One way or another he will finish this today. He may never know whether his people are not coming because they respect his wishes, because they resent him, because Attano knocked them out, or because they're all dead. Perhaps it's for the best.

The sounds of steel clashing against steel resonates through the large room. For a while Daud is keeping up, relying on his experience with the dark magic of the void coursing through his veins, but Attano is the better swordsman and the void's blessings aren't infinite. Especially with the black-eyed bastard playing favourites with his shiny new toy. Attano resembles one of Sokolov's damned machines more than a human in the relentlessnes of his approach. It's inevitable that eventually Daud slips.

That damned foldable contraption masquerading as a knife slips past his guard and only well used instincts turn the wound from complete bisection into a wide bleeding gash. Unfortunately the same instinct has him transverse through the window out onto the walkway, right past Thomas. The moment his feet touch wood he curses through his teeth and snaps around to face the window, even as his left hand uselessly presses against the gushing wound and his knees start to buckle.

Attano follows on foot, stepping over the sill and stalking right at Daud. He doesn't spare Thomas even a glimpse.

Daud does not relax, he is an amalgamation of bad decisions but he is not stupid. Still something in the very back of his mind relents at the sight. If Thomas isn't dead yet he likely won't be later.

He tries to shamble backwards and lifts his sword to block the next strike, but he knows well the by now agonizing slash in his chest at the latest has sealed his fate. The certainty is... Not as comforting as he hoped it would be. He grits his teeth and resolves to at least make it count. For what he isn't sure.

Blood seeps through his fingers and his chest burns. His focus has run out and his left hand is occupied anyway, Attano has an easy time ripping the sword out of his right. It goes flying and knocks against a crumbling wall before tumbling off the walkway. Before he has time to even try and duck Attano's next strike comes down, the sword's grip slamming right into the side of Daud's head.

He does drop at that. His vision goes white and his knees give out and for one blissful moment his mind is blank, right up until he slams into the pitiful remnants of an office wall, teeth rattling from the force of the blow.

A groan rips through his throat and the world tilts on its axis. His limbs go numb and limp. Everything is fuzzy, indistinct. Everything except that fucking mask.

It comes closer, almost floating, disembodied from everything else.

Daud tries to open his mouth, to speak, to say his piece, those words that never quite stopped floating through his head. His breath comes heavy, gasping, and the words are stuck deep in his slowly more blood-filled throat. Watching the mask approach, the way Attano's tightly wound body comes into deadly focus, begging for his life seems worse than pointless. So he doesn't.

Daud considers at least lifting his head for the final strike. Out of pride, respect, or some desperate plea for the quick death of a slit throat he doesn't know. In the end it doesn't matter. Blood loss, pain, and resignation fill his body with immovable lead, more thoroughly than the Outsider's damned dreams ever could. His eyes slide off the mask like repelled by a bonecharm as he collapses into himself even further until only the water-dark and bloody leather boots remain in his vision.

The boots come to a stop, in easy reach of his throat. Or heart. Or however else Attano wants to do this. Daud waits for death. For pain. For something. He shivers, suddenly very cold, and the blood soaking through his shirt is almost a balm with how it warms his chest. Vaguely he's aware that the blood loss is why he's cold, his life leaking out of him with every beat of his shriveled up heart, but it's so very hard to care.

For ten, twenty agonizing heartbeats nothing happens, except that his throat feels ever more slick with blood. There is a dim awareness of that being wrong, that a simple fleshwound across his chest shouldn't start filling his lungs with blood, but it's fleeting, gone with the next flood through his chest.

"Fuck." The word barely penetrates the pounding of his own heart in Daud's ears, much less the tone of exasperated resignation they are spoken with. The boots turn with what seems like unnecessary flourish and walk away, leaving drops of blood on the ruined flooring.

Daud watches without comprehension. Attano is gone. Daud still breathes. Why?

More blood wells up in his throat and a violent cough rips through him, forcing him to bend over and sending new waves of agony through his chest, neck, and head so excruciating if he had any air left he would be screaming. The blood continues staining the ground, parts of it running like the Wrenhaven down his ruined coat, parts of it spit, coughed, and vomited out.

Ah. Of course. That makes sense. Attano has simply already seen it. No mercy for the Empress' killer, not even that of a clean and brief death. What point is there in cutting in his throat when he will die anyway, horribly and in agony. It's only surprising Attano didn't stay to watch.

Daud would have. Once.

(He doesn't dwell on why this feels like betrayal, like Billie all over again, as if the man doesn't have more than enough reason to kill him. He lets the feeling drown somewhere in his blood filled lungs.)

He doesn't try to get up, doesn't even consider trying to find an elixir, something to delay the inevitable. He can feel his strength waning with every beat and doesn't fancy dying with his face in a pool of his own blood if he can at least avoid that. The blood shimmers with the few rays of light the sun manages to get through the clouds in this damned city. It almost looks like an ocean sunset in Serkonos, those summers when the sun turns the waves into wine. For thirty years he's only seen the beaches in the bastard's twisted visions, where the void leeches all colour and warmth from them.

Daud sits there, staring at his own pooling blood, until he can't feel the stonework against his back anymore and his consciousness fades, slowly yet unavoidably, like a Whale sinking to the bottom of the ocean. It's not Daud who makes the comparison.

(Thomas finds him there, still dazed from the sedative as he clambers through the window. Daud still breathes then, shallow and bubbling, slumped against the crumbling ruins of their home. Thomas screams and the other Whalers slowly picking themselves up from where they dropped come running. Someone turns to get to Montgomery.

Daud dies in Thomas' arms, surrounded by yet more Whalers, lung sliced open by a strike too deep and breath stopped long before Montgomery can get across the Chambers of Commerce. He never learns that the worst injury sustained by the Whalers is a broken ankle from falling out of a transversal when the bond breaks.)

#dishonored #fanfiction #writing #corvo attano #daud #graphic violence #major character death #temporary character death #this is the depressing part of groundhog day #or one of them anyway #thomas the whaler #the whalers #high chaos

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