#immolation tw

"I heard about this one vampire... Crazy Bloke." | tvd 1x14

The first episode is on right now.

Naesala has not looked away once from Reyson's body since he lit it on fire. The gold hair curls and singes, bubbling his skin and eating away at what parts of his body remains.

Reyson was a holy thing, once. Coveted and loved and torn apart for it -- whatever pieces others wish to carve from his flesh will be taken with little resistance. Tibarn would have kept him safe. Naesala could not.

He vows to find the wings. Add them to the fire, if he can.

>Could even be fucked up like the Master decorating bleached coral like a Christmas tree and the Seven are the decorations

>Even have a starfish as the tree star

>Nah, even more fucked up shitpost because writing and drawing anything is hard when you're marathoning Christmas movies at work

“Stare giù cazzo!”

As if he has a choice. All he can do is kneel in front of them, head bowed, wrists taped together in silver so they look like he’s going to pray. Of course, Nicky stopped such a ritual a long time ago, enough so that it feels weird for his palms to lay this flat against each other. He knows that this death will not be permanent. None of them are. But it is not one that he cares to go through, let alone attempt to heal from. Burns have always been tricky. Slow. 

“Uccidi il puttano,” the one in charge says, standing back with a cigarette between her lips. It is her lighter that will do this, and her hand that shoved him down to his knees on the gravel lot. Joe is still out beside him from a shot to the face. It will take too long for him to come back. The others will be even longer. “Mi annoio del suo pianto.”

“I am not crying, signora,” he corrects.

“No? What is this, then?”

She comes closer, intending to brush her fingers through the wet trail on his cheeks, but her proximity allows him to headbut her. Joe would be proud. It gives him time to stand up and subdue a couple of the assholes trying to kill them, but he is sloppy with restraints and gasoline covering his body. He is too aware of its scent and how easy it would be to light him on fire right now. He would be defenseless to a single spark. 

Of course, he is a liability when he moves like this, so no one dares light him up. The most they can do is try and subdue him once more, which proves to be more difficult when he is not kneeling over Joe’s body, trying to coax him awake with soft words and gentle touches. Nicky fights for as long as he can. Buying time, mostly. But eventually, someone lands a shot to his leg that has him dropping, and the woman grabs him by the hair to keep him down. He looks up at her in refusal to submit. 

“Corroto bambino,” she whispers, almost fondly. “È per il tuo bene.”

He spits at her. 

She shakes her head in disgust and flicks on her lighter, bringing it so close to his face that he can feel the gas getting warm. Another millimeter and he will burn. His eyes flick to Joe, who has just begun to twitch on the ground. There won’t be time. Joe will kill this woman, but not before Nicky burns, and perhaps not without getting hurt as well. There is only one way to give him that opportunity, and it is to accept her killing. 

When he dares to try and stand once more, the flame hits his gasoline-soaked skin, and it consumes him. Burns are familiar, but not like this- it is overwhelming, painful, destructive. All he can do is feel it, even as instinct has him moving in a desperate attempt to put it out. It’s already too late. His head is swimming as the temperature inside his skull climbs too high. The pain slowly begins to dull as his nerves die. It will be merciful to pass away. 

“Nicolo! Nicolo, ascoltami!”

That is Joe’s voice, but Nicky cannot do anything about it. He dies, and when his cheek hits the gravel of the lot, he succumbs to the kind release of death.