Eternal Rest

Tags: Yandere!Hivemind x fem!reader, MMM4F, stalking, non-consensual touching.

It has been two weeks since your apartment has been flipped upside down. Your belongings scattered on the floor like it had been raided by the police for illegal substances, even the sofa wasn't spared—it had been completely flipped over. Beneath the cushions is where you hid the stash of your playgirl magazine. Weirdly enough none of your belongings were stolen, your valuables remain as they were even the cash—whoever the perpetrator was they were clearly after something else. Getting the CCTV footage was impossible, apparently it happened during a blackout. Either they had special equipment with them or they saw better in the dark.

You also began getting strange calls around this time—heavy breathing on the other line, sometimes silence. "Urgh.. gah.. haah~" You hang up the call immediately, a shiver running down your spine. Other times it was like this…moans and groans as if the caller was trying their hardest to speak but couldn't.

That was two weeks ago, everything is back to normal now. It was nothing more than just a weird phase in your life. Crowded streets greeted you as soon as you stepped out of your home, going by stores and diners alike with the occasional honking of passing cars. The streets were something you knew like the back of your hand.

You were on your way to work, a barista in a modest and small cafe with a salary of $12 an hour, occasionally you had to take overtime to scrape by—another job would be exhausting, but it's what you need to survive. Troubled by your thoughts, you hadn't noticed where you were going and accidentally bumped into someone.

"Oh! I'm sorry I wasn't looking where I was going" You blurted out an apology, a slight stinging sensation on your shoulder. The man stumbled into the ground, the bag slid off his shoulder, scattering books on the pavement. After recovering from the fall he gathered his belongings, placing them back into his bag "It's fine I wasn't paying attention as well" You lend a hand and help pick up his fallen stuff, you pick up one of the books—the title read 'Learning the basics of English' you paused for a moment, then handed the book over. He quietly gave his thanks, and upon seeing him up close he was tall, brown curly hair and hazel eyes that hid behind golden framed glasses, freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose like stars in the midnight sky—they were also etched on the tan skin of his forearms. Sunlight accentuated the sharp curve of his jawline. He was handsome—no, handsome was an understatement. This man was majestic, he could pass off for a model from one of the playgirl magazines you read. Oddly enough he seemed like a local rather than a foreigner.

"Sorry again"

"Don't worry about it. It was partially my fault as well"

He offered a nod as he dusted off his shirt—his hazel eyes locking into yours. You felt a strange knot in your stomach, there was something different in the way he looked at you. Almost like he was observing your reaction in his presence.

"I should get going, I'm going to be late for work" You excused yourself and never looked back, yet you can still feel his eyes bore holes at the back of your head.

Your day continues with nothing unusual happening. Arriving at work you wore your apron and did your shift—greeting customers with a practiced smile, writing their orders and making their drinks.

A shiver suddenly ran down your spine, you paused and shifted your gaze at the window—across the street was the same man you had bumped earlier. His eyes locked onto you once more, he strained a smile and waved mechanically—it was just a small gesture, yet dread washed over you like a bucket of cold water. Did he follow you? You lowered your head, swallowing a hard lump in your throat, you brushed it off as a coincidence and continued your shift, yet something gnawed at the back of your mind.

Night had fallen once your shift ended, the usually busy streets were now quiet—street lamps illuminated your path home.

The moment you stepped out of the cafe you felt a pair of eyes watching you. You tread carefully not wanting to alert whoever was observing you that you noticed, your heart pounded in your chest with each step you took forward.

As you pass by a dark alley a wet sound follows you—slithering and squelching from a distance. You were smart enough to never look back, afraid of what you might see and not letting your curious mind get the final verdict. Once you reached your home, you locked the doors, closed your windows, and pulled the curtains. The wet sound slithered outside your door, curiously prying yet oddly respectful. After a while it withdrew from your home, enveloping the area in an uneasy silence.

That night you hardly slept, every little sound your apartment made jolted you awake, whether it'd be the wind tapping at your window or the occasional hum of the AC.

Ever since that day you felt watched. That man never appeared again, yet his presence lingers for weeks to follow. Every move you make, every shift you finished, every place you visit feels like you are being observed in all directions. It was driving you to the brink of insanity. Your shoulders slumped heavily after your shift was over, it wasn't just exhaustion from work or from overtime.

Questions began to pile in your mind. Ever since you bumped into that man this became the norm for you, who was he and what was he after?

Footsteps followed you from behind, you hadn't noticed—it was only after that you were yanked in the dark alley that you snapped back to your senses.

You open your mouth to scream, but a rugged hand covered your mouth as they pull you deeper in the alley. Then they stopped and a familiar voice came through "Something on your mind, sweetheart?"

Your body went rigid, when your eyes adjusted to the dark the familiar hazel eyes greeted you, his smile wasn't as strained as before like he had been practicing.

You jerked yourself free from his grasps. "You!" You wanted to demand for answers, but the words died out of your throat. "Me?" He tilted his head curiously, a teasing smile playing at his lips as he raised both hands in mock surrender. "Who the hell are you?! What do you want from me?!" Weeks of frustration finally snapped out of you. You wanted reason, a cause, answers.

"I'm no one important, but what I want…" He took a step closer, he reached out his hand. You close your eyes, preparing for the worst, but you only feel the warmth of his rugged hands on your cheek. "You" The words uttered so endearingly made it so uncanny that you gagged on the spot, you swatted away his hand as a shudder ran through your body. "You're disgusting" You hissed venom in your tone. The hazel eyed man paused, lifting a brow in confusion "I made sure to practice it well, did I not put in enough emotion?" He murmurs to himself "Or perhaps this appearance isn't to your liking? But I made sure this guy has the most similar appearance to the magazines you've read" Your brows furrowed. What was he talking about? Magazines? Was he the one who broke into your apartment?

Another shiver ran down your spine, if that was the case how long has this guy been on your back? You took this opportunity to run while he was still confused. But before you could take a step, a pair of hands caressed your waist from the back.

"Going somewhere, darling?" A deeper voice whispered in your ear.

He was a man in his forties with hair graying on the edges. He wore a classic suit of a bank-teller. Faint lines rested at the corner of his eyes, while shallow creases marked his brow—a shadow of graying stubble dusted his jaw.

"W-What's going on?" More questions piled up as you searched the man for answers.

"Like I said" the brunette started. "That isn't important" The old man finished. "Are these appearances not to your liking?" "Then what about this one?" Another man stepped out of the shadows. He has a typical blonde hair and blue eyes, he appeared younger than the both of them, he wore a jersey from the nearby college campus. He knelt in front of you and kissed the exposed bridge of your foot in an act of worship "Am I still not enough?" He slowly stood up, meeting you eye to eye. You couldn't form words for a moment, this has to be a prank, someone out there was going to come out with a camera pointed at them. It never happened. The sheer absurdity of this was similar to the dream you had once when you stayed up late reading your playgirl magazine and being surrounded by the models.

But this was the horrors of reality, faced with the same situation you could only freeze up. Whatever you attracted clearly was out of this world.

"I'm sorry" You sucked in a breath. "But I like women" Your lie clearly fell flat. All three of them paused, they looked at one another as a shared thought passed. "No you don't" They said in unison "You wouldn't have stashed those playgirl magazines under the cushion of your couch" "Some of them were special editions too" "Whatever that means" The older man's grip loosened around your waist, you shook him off—placing yourself near the mouth of the alley. "You're letting me go?" A spark of hope lit in your chest, whatever this thing was, did it actually respected your rejection? All three of them shook their heads in unison. Of course that wasn't going to happen. "Let's make this more interesting, Y/N" The brunette offered, whatever he had in mind was clearly something twisted. A familiar knot curled around your stomach once more.

"Let's play hide and seek" The old man smoothed the wrinkle on his sleeve and fixed his tie. "I'll give you a month of head start, then we'll begin our little game" The blonde man strained a smile that was too sweet to your liking. "So hide well"

"Don't hide on obvious spots" "And make this thrilling for the both of us" You turned and ran off, you didn't stay around any longer for the conditions—they might've been important, but they're letting you go for now, and that's all that currently matters. They remained rooted on the spot with smiles on their faces as they watched you run towards your home, it was futile, but it was all part of the fun when they'll eventually catch you. In the month that followed you moved out of your place and resigned your job, changed your number—you even contemplated changing your name. You left the state in a hurry and panic. You didn't even contact your friends and family, afraid that even the tiniest of information would give you away. You became wary of strangers, anxious of crowded places—you developed a habit of glancing over your shoulders when you were alone, you didn't linger in one place for too long. Perhaps you hid too well that two years have already passed by in the blink of an eye. Slowly you are recovering, you have managed to land a job at your local library, not too crowded and you're able to socialize from time to time. You made new friends, but the guilt of leaving your family in the dark still kept you awake at night, the old Y/N was slowly creeping back in place one step at a time. The aroma of brewed herbal tea filled your room, it helped you keep your nerves calm whenever you relapsed that night. You settled on the couch, a warm blanket draped over your legs as you watched the television. But suddenly your phone rang, it was from Ashley, one of your co-workers. It was already late. Did something happen? You answered without a second thought "What's up?"

Thunder rumbled on the distant cloud. A storm was about to take place tonight—I hurried my pace to the village of Esthal—a village further than most civilization right next to a large body of river, it was a perfect place for those vile scums to hide. A passing gale pressed coldly against the exposed skin of my face "I pray that I make it in time" White breath left my lips, was it usually this cold or perhaps it was due to the brewing storm? I discarded the thought, draping my hood over my head as I moved further down the dark, soil threaded path—gravel crunching against my boots with every step I took, the woods were far from silent. Crickets sang their hearts out followed by a rhythmic hooting, and in the distance a lone wolf cried out. The woods tonight were lively. Good, that's usually a sign that no threats are around. The village came into view and just as I took a step forward, the brewing storm suddenly poured down. Great, just my luck—I should be fine as long as I follow the trail.

A wooden gate loomed over the village and the trail, separating it from the outside world. Men stood guard on both sides, holding a well-crafted spear with one hand—the torches behind them flickered against the harsh rain and wind. "Halt! Who goes there?" One of them shouted, I held my pace temporarily. "I'm a Witch Hunter" I tucked one of my hands into my cloak and pulled out the sigils of Witch Hunters. "Frederick Thorne, and I've been told that there's a Witch hiding in your village" I pocketed the sigil back into my cloak. Both guards look at each other unison "Yes, we've been looking for her, but that Witch is hiding too well with us common folk." "We have everyone inside their homes the moment the sun sets down. With a few exception of us men to patrol" They explained the situation to me. The hardest part of the witch hunt wasn't battling the Witch, but to identify them. Civilians are quick to accuse one to ease their fear—however it is also how innocent blood is spilled. Hence why the Witch Hunters were formed, to avoid unnecessary bloodshed out of fear. A shout inside the village broke my thoughts "Witch!" The guards hurried towards the direction of the scream and I followed from behind. Rain poured hard and made it difficult to see what's in front of me, but I could see men begin to pour out of their houses. Holding torches in one hand with a weapon on the other. An old man quickly scrambled to his feet, possibly the one who shouted. The guards and I approach with caution. "Are you alright? Where did she go? What did she look like?" One of the guards was quick to interrogate him, at least let the man recover first. "I- she- I-I" He spurted out words that barely held any sense, I stepped forward and placed my hand on his shoulder "Breathe. Tell us what happened" He exhaled deeply and collected himself. The villagers surrounded us now, ready to drive out the witch and burn her to a stake. "I-I couldn't see her clearly, she ran away and I-" The old man furrowed his brow as he tried to recall the brief encounter. The gathered men marched towards the direction of where the witch ran to. I stepped between them before they could take another step. I presented the sigil to these men "Do not let your emotions cloud your judgment. You may have numbers, but a Witch is still a Witch" There were still some men who wanted to argue, I can tell from their disgruntled expressions through the rain "I've lost countless men to these Witches, experienced hunters as well. You are Fathers, brothers, and sons. You have a family waiting for you at home" I raised my voice louder, the howling wind suppressing my voice "With this weather it will be very difficult to traverse and accidents may occur. I beg of you to please leave it to me" Murmurs spread between the crowd—some reluctant, others see my reason. In the end they went back to their homes, leaving me to do my work.

I marched forward towards the direction of where the Witch ran. I was drenched from this continuous downpour, my soaked garments and the muddy road made everything felt heavy. This was suicidal, I know that. But the thought of those villagers becoming a victim to this Witch gave me the strength to move forward. There were patches of disturbed leaves and mud. Someone had come through here, I bent my knee and inspected—it was still fresh, someone had passed by here, and judging from the footprints they were in a hurry. I followed the path in caution, I couldn't tell if this was the work of an amateur witch or they had left this trail on purpose to lure possible pursuers. Deceit is in their nature, and there is no such thing as being too careful when you're a hunter. The footprints came to a halt, the trees here grew unnaturally close together, she must've used a spell to close off her trail. Still this is nothing new, I forced myself between the gaps, the bark squeezing my chest and back as I moved forward. I came out the other side unharmed, there were no signs of her footprints anymore. "She figured it out" I muttered, as I continued my hunt. I could hear rushing water in the distance, and now there were new marks on the mud. It looks like she slipped and was stumbling. I approached the riverbank, a faint mark in the soil as if someone slipped and fell into the river. Crouching down I inspected them, there were no traces of magical signature in them so this was not a spell that was cast. Lightning cracked in the distance followed by the roar of thunder. Glancing at the river it had turned into a violent stream, anyone who fell in them would be swept away without a doubt.

tags: angst, temporary amnesia, hurt no comfort, suffering, self-doubt This is also in ao3 if it's easier to read there

The waves crashed against the shoreline of his familiar home, there he stood at the docks facing the waves—reminiscing the times before he learned the truth, everything in this world—the trees, the grass, the sea, the  animals, and even himself.

Just a string of code in a simulation for the perfect equation of destruction.

"Back again old friend?" Phainon didn't turn, he already knew who awaited him at the end of each cycle.

"Did you succeed this time?"

"Another failure" His knuckles tightened as he whispered.

The hero within didn't have any distinct features. It merely paused to look at him "I see"

"Why was I doing this again?" The Deliverer glanced over his shoulder, seeking answers to the only figure present in this space.

The hero within seemed to relax his shoulder "You're asking again?"

"Again? This isn't the first time?"

"Yes. Lately you've been asking that question every time you come back here"

He paused, then he turned his gaze back towards the waves. His eyes that were burning so brightly had their flames extinguished, only the coldness of emptiness remains.

"I-" The words remain forgotten, after experiencing countless cycles his mind was fragmented—pieces of memories that should've been there ceased to exist.

"It seems like you need a reminder" The hero within seemed to smile at him "I'll see you again soon. Don't worry, I will always be waiting"

Phainon didn't reply, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes—the clock reversed its flow and the cycle was reset once more.

He has returned to the beginning again, donning the black cloak and eerie mask he now wore after a millionth cycle. Flame Reaver of the deepest dark—that's what the previous iterations called him.

The scent of earthly aroma greeted him, it was a familiar scent—he scanned his surroundings, the golden wheat fields the extended towards the horizon, basking under the warmth of the summer sun.

Aedes Elysiae. His home before it was destroyed by the black tide.

For a moment he stood there, basking under the sun—the gentle breeze carrying the scent of wheat, his cloak fluttering gently against the wind. In that instance he was just Phainon again. Not the Deliverer, not the Flame Reaver, but Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.

The sound of screams broke his stupor, forcing him back to reality. Smoke began to rise from the distant houses.

He remembers this fateful day, where he fought against the black tide with nothing but his father's rake.

The Flame Reaver moved, he manifested Dawnmaker, once whole now fractured—a reflection of his soul if he had one.

Houses burned in the chaos, black ashes blocking out the sun—the scent of burning wood and blood engulfed the area yet the Flame Reaver continued to traverse, he only had one destination, one purpose before leaving.

Through the burning wheat field he spotted a familiar pink-haired girl.

Fragments of his memories slowly returned, he began to remember slowly—the cycles, their promise.

"Cyrene" His voice came out strained and distorted.

Like they had promised, the Flame Reaver told her about the story of their Flame-Chase Journey.

Cyrene listened, then a gentle smile. An odd expression to see as their homes burned.

The shattered Dawnmaker plunged deep into her chest, golden ichor flowed through the wound. He felt nothing, his heart had already hardened after millions of cycles.

"Cyrene!" A young boy with white hair dashed over, running past the ominous figure that had killed his friend.

"No…" He cradled her lifeless corpse—her golden blood staining his clothes "Why…"

The boy looked at the swordsman clad in black "Why did you do this?!" 

Phainon gazed at his younger self behind the eerie mask, his cold eyes a start contrast to the rage of  his younger self.

The puzzle of his memories became whole once more. Now he remembers why he embarked on this endless cycle of suffering.

Embers of hatred has ignited within his younger self.

Use it as a fuel.

For the girl who watches over time.

For the warrior who carries the world.