#bloodstrings

── The instances werein his attempts to leave have been foiled are slim. sisyphus can count them on one hand, in fact. a fireball disrupts his concentration; the migraine becomes too much to bare; the ground shakes and his attempt to rip open the throat of the world instead leaves him with nothing but air grasped tight in his hands. in the early days of his travels, these mistakes were far from common - an instinctive knowledge of how to tear things apart certainly helped - but when they happened, he remembered. adjusted. adapted for next time.

he learned to change his footing. he learned to focus entirely on the method at hand: the rest of the world did not exist save for him, and his hands, and the canvas in front of him. it was a stern focus that had been developed by sheer necessity; it was in that right, his greatest pride.

mentally, he raises another finger to the three-high hand. his attempt to leave is disrupted this time not by a fireball or migraine, but by a shrill howl elsewhere. something that normally wouldn't frighten him - nothing can anymore, not when he's seen death so many times - now makes his stomach wholly uneasy.

he takes a breath, shakes his head, and starts to move again. starts to run.

he's not sure how the situation devolved so intensely so suddenly. one moment he was readying to travel, ink by his side, thinking himself alone - a stupid thing to do, really - and conjuring a quick mule to help lessen the burden on his legs. the next - the next he's here, his conjuration gone, something after him. more than one something, maybe.

wolves, he thinks. wolves, or monsters, or hunters. fucking hunters. why fucking hunters?

yeah, yeah, yeah, humans are the real monsters. not because of any cliche reason. not because they're bad at heart. they're really quite good. most of them, anyhow. they're monsters because they know how to hunt. because of all the animals on all the worlds, they are the only ones that have ever learned to use tools to cause others pain and death - sometimes only ever the former.

he inhales, coming to a brief - damningly brief - stop by a riverside. his heartbeat is still steady. his hands are still in tact. if he focuses, he can rip the canvas open right now and leave. this world has nothing for him.

maybe it does, whispers some part of him, maybe i'm being quick to judge.

fuck that, says the rest of him, they want to burn me at the stake.

his hands extend. his attention focuses. he disregards the fact that he has no idea if the thing chasing him is a person or an animal, or a group or a singular person, or someone who actually wants him burned at the stake.

the world begins to split.

come on, he thinks, come on.

just one more second. one more moment. one more breath and he's in the clear.

𓇻 ───

The words coming from her teacher's mouth make her pause, but also make her scowl just a bit. The scrunch of her nose is evident as she turns to look at him, the urge to punch that face (and fail) briefly alighting her nerves. It takes a moment for her to actually process his words, tapping her bō staff onto her shoulder while her brain works.

still, zagreus doesn't feel like he's dead. certainly, this feels different than how it unfolds. there's a faint buzzing at the outskirts of his skull, like something is humming just above his nape, and it is distracting enough that zagreus near misses the figure in the distance. he passes a hand through his hair, trying to swat the sensation away, only to take a few steps towards the sight.

"Well, ya get what ya pay for."

Tomoko takes the other's arm, looking around. Being hired as a bodyguard wasn't anything new, though she usually gets to stay in the background with her clients, not having to interact with others. Admittedly, it's slightly uncomfortable, but at the same time, her boss would've told her that she needs to get out more.

"Gotta admit, not usually my scene. I'm more of the stand in the back looking scary type."

❝ FELIX... ❞

IT ISN'T HIM. it can't be. how long has it been since he heard his name in vein's voice? when was the last time he heard the rare needle-sharp bark of his laugh, the way it shakes through the canopy of leaves above him?

two years on the dot, his half-addled brain supplies. at least, it was two years on the dot when he fell through a glitch in space-time and wound up here, in the bowels of this never-ending fucking forest. was that... this morning? how many hours has xia fei been wandering, listening, as vein once taught him to do, for sounds of running water? listen carefully, felix. you don't want to die out here, do you? he can almost feel the flick to the back of his head, and he almost huffs in response, snaps something like i'm trying, boss. but he can't, and he doesn't. and he has no goddamn idea how long it's been. all he knows is that he needs water, or he's going to die in this prison of trees.

❝ COME HERE, XIA FEI. ❞

there it is again — louder, closer, his real name like a knife straight to the heart. fuck. he's got to be hallucinating again. he has to be. what else could explain the smell of cinnamon and incense drifting past him on a breeze forcing its way through the trees? this voice? worst of all, what could explain the man standing on the path before him when xia fei looks up from the forest floor?

vein holds his hand out with an expectant smile, and xia fei breaks down into sobs. the logical thing to do would be questioning what's happening to him, of course. the pieces align too easily: a portal to a new and unfamiliar world, a man who looks and smells and speaks like vein. hoping it's only some alternate universe where he never died is like handing over your bank account number to a scammer, but he can't help himself.

❝ boss — ❞ his voice breaks; he reaches out, stumbling over his own feet, and forgoes the outstretched hand to fling himself into vein's embrace. it's too good to be true. he knows it is. he has no idea. vein's arms slip around him exactly like they used to, and squeeze, and squeeze, and squeeze —

❝ he — hey, boss, too tight — ❞ vein plays these games sometimes. he keeps him on his toes, never quite comfortable, swimming in adrenaline, until the pretense drops and felix can sink into him again. but this time, there is no break in the façade. he keeps squeezing. by the time xia fei starts to squirm, that grip has already become crushing; he yelps when he feels his ribs creak, a horrible, lancing pain bursting through his chest like a firecracker exploding beneath his skin; he pushes at vein's chest, mouth wide-open in silent protest but only able to squeak like a broken instrument in absence of air.

❝ it's alright, fei, ❞ the siren murmurs against his ear. ❝ no need to struggle. you're already half-dead... doesn't a rest sound nice? you're so lonely now, aren't you, you poor thing... come home with me. ❞

come home. vein's apartment is winter-still, now. xia fei hasn't stopped sleeping in his bed, but over time, vein's smell faded from the sheets. that place is not home anymore. he knows what he means.

is it finally time to stop fighting? should he put down the burdens and let vein crush him to death, here, in a forest where no one will ever find him?

it sounds... nice. to die in his arms. better than any other way to go.

fei is about to nuzzle into his neck and let vein's arms squeeze the life out of him when something whistles through the air. it's bright, so bright fei can see the glow from behind his closed eyelids, and even before his eyes fly open, he hears the sickening thunk as an arrow sinks straight into the side of vein's neck.

"Have a good night, Kaz!~" One of your pleased customers waved out to you as you smiled in return, arm perched on the counter with a lazy wave back towards them as you chuckled seeing their inner thoughts about you. A deep strand of maroon surrounded the young masculine figure showing feelings of intensity, hoping you were single and available. Too bad for them you weren't interested in looking. Ah well, they'd bounce back.

As soon as the ding of the door shut behind them you slumped down against the counter with a weak sigh, thankful it was time to be wrapping up your shift.

Being a barista at the Ghastly Creme cafe was second nature to you. The pay wasn't the best but the tips and everything being under the table suited a vagrant like yourself. The customers loved the charm and atmosphere you brought to the tables too. It was the perfect distraction you needed from much of everything.

Trying to ignore while simultaneously scanning the minds of others during your long shifts would exhaust you though.

No one knew of your Psychic abilities and thankfully chalked your eyes and hair up to cosplay or trends. It helped you blend in regardless, making it all the easier to bear witness to all sorts of strange phenomena in the city of Arkham- Including the eerie glow protruding from the wall out of the window's view at the end of the seating area of the café. You were so used to these unusual events even more so since fleeing the Collective that you didn't even bat an eye- or open your own, still bent over the counter, only waving your hand in dismay to whoever or whatever was about to come out of the portal with a simple and calm response.