The Netch Slayer

That’s it, my last fic of the week! And what a week (and a half) it’s been! Thank you for reading my fics, for all the love and support, wether it was with comments, kudos or just reading! I appreciate you all and thank you for keeping me going!

There is something romantically scientific about taking a heart. While it certainly is a process of brutality, it is a way of exploring the human body and its anatomy. It is tactile and he can even count the heartbeats vibrating against his skin. The hot flushes pounding in the chest, crashing against his palm. He can feel the heart quickening, pulsing and thrashing and pushing him away.

Of course it does not matter, because at that point it already is his. He is the one caressing it, fingers brushing through the thick, steamy blood. It rests heavy in his hand and it is an act of control to refrain from crushing it. Such nimble, fragile thing. His fingers barely even cut into the flesh, with its skin barely breaking. The teeth are glistening, dripping in deep lust gnashing against each other, ready to draw blood.

When removing the heart, he has to be surgical and precise. A calculation of how many bones he has to break , in order to remove it. A feeble number of rib splinters cutting into warm body mass. The sounds of cracking and bristle fibre rewarding him. With some bones not ready to let go.

And when the heart is bleeding out on the altar that is his palm, a limp body resting beneath him, his free hand hast to break through skin. Has to clench his bones and tear them apart. Has to make room for this second heart. And with haste, he has to plunge it into his flesh. The flowing veins being cut open and sown together again. His own creation beating a heavy drum.

And he breathes. Once, twice and thrice.

He is alive, despite the cold corpse having become unrecognisable.

Anon ♤

You are stuck as a soldier in this historical war

(this is a magical universe where people who wouldn't usually be able to fight would. so you can all suffer.)