#thiarn

A minor piece of plot between Avynda Dyaxik and Thiarn Molove. Written from Thiarn's point of view. Slight gore mention towards the end.

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It was only a matter of time.

The little rustblood would always return to you. It was like a game, almost. You knew she came by more than she wanted to let on. She would use the skills you'd forced her to learn to sneak in rather than risk seeing you. To charge the phone you'd given her, to take steal food now and again. Such a hypocritical gesture. Sometimes you think it's her form of revenge and that alone amuses you. You leave the windows open for her, make it easy. Let her move as she pleases. Let her think she's safe.

But now the windows are closed. She'll know it's time to speak with you again. You've been kind to her lately, generous even. Bestowing gifts and not demanding as much in return. It's a cycle you've learned to play well to keep her in your hands. You don't want the game to end just yet. You've spent so much time, rebuilding and tearing down her hopes. it's such a fragile endeavor - but one you enjoy greatly. Each time you see the hope dim in her eyes, too young to have even filled in with color, you fill a thrill of satisfaction. That's what this is all about. Watching her wither away on the inside. Its your greatest source of entertainment.

And so she returns, walking timidly into your livingblock and you give her the warmest smile you have to offer. You beckon her closer and she comes, as usual, sitting by your side. You snake an arm around her back and pull her close. Your embrace contains no warmth, physical or emotional. But she leans into you nonetheless, bowing her head so she doesn't look directly at your face. You suppose it's out of shame. Though perhaps she just can't stand to look at you any more.

“How haeve you been, Avy?”

She's silent for a moment, before speaking up quietly. “Alright, I gueff... but... I've been thinking...”

That piques your curiousity. “Oh? Plaese do go aehaed.”

“W-well... you... y-you know... fometimef... fometimef people... they... they grow apart, y-you know? They... ftop being... together fo much... they change... and ftuff... it juft fort... of happenf...”

She couldn't possibly be getting at what you think you're getting at. She hasn't the spine for it. “Oh?”

“Ah... yeah... I mean, I... I think it doef... even with... people, who are... ah... clofe...”

Perhaps she is. Something must have happened to plant this tiny seed of sense in her. Oh, but you know just the way to crush it. You're grateful for her positioning, the little redblood unable to see the twisted grin that spreads across your face as you start to rub her back.

“Oh yes... you're right, thaet does haeppen. It haeppened between me aend my lusus, in faect. We grew aepaert... did I ever tell you aebout my lusus Avy?”

“Ah... no...” curiousity tinted her voice, however. And who were you to disappoint?

“He didn't like how I waes growing up. He didn't like whaet I turned out to be. We were just too different.”

“Oh I... I'm... very forry... w-what happened?”

Ah, that sympathetic tone. Such a waste. Your grin softens as you pull back, reaching with your free hand to tilt the girl's head up. You wanted to see her face. Her eyes.

“My daer... I killed him.”

For a moment it was as if it didn't register. But then her skin pales, that warmth that comes with rustblood life cooling just slightly under your palm. Her pupils dilate and she stammers for a response.

“W-...w-...”

Your smile widens, flashing sharp teeth at the corners. Your hand caresses her cheek as if it were fragile, tone soothing.

“It waesn't easy. He fought so haerd. I couldn't tell his blood from mine aefter I'd ripped off aell of his limbs.”

Your mind flashes, brief glimpses of violence and noise. Scorpiondad certainly had put up a fight. After you'd taken his claws he wasn't nearly so keen on the struggle. But the screams he made, the screeching insectoid noises as you pulled each leg until chitinous joints popped and ripped from their sockets. You'd never felt such a thrill down your spine.

“I haed to waeit for the longest time. I caeught him sleeping aend cut off his taeil. It waes easy aefter that.”

Your smile lingers, a stark contrast to the growing look of horror on Avynda's face. You took in the sight like a beautiful work of art. That's what the scene was – your masterpiece. The art of deceit. You hadn't exactly threatened her. Or had you? You doubt she could even tell. But she knew you were no idle threat now. If she crossed you, you could very well strike back.

Mercilessly.

Her body trembles in your hold as she tries to speak.

“Didn't... d-didn't you... c-... care about him...?”

What a delightful question. And of course, you give her the truth.

“Oh Avynda... of course not.”

Her body stiffens and goes still. So much so that you wonder if she will even be able to move from your embrace. After a few long moments she does, swallowing and trying to stand. You let her go, folding your hands over your lap calmly. Her knees wobble a little and she looks as if she might bolt at any moment. For now she's resigned to backing away slowly. You continue to smile softly at her. Warmly.

“You will be coming baeck, won't you? My collection haesn't haed aeny new aedditions in quite some time.”

She nods slowly, as if in a trance.

“Y-... yef Thiarn... o-of courfe...”

Nielon stepped into the small stone room – tomb, rather. The walls were made of a dark red stone, heavy enough to block out the sound of great machinery moving and shifting all over the land around and above them. Light peeked inbetween gaps in the ceiling. It was no sun or moonlight; the atmospheric glow came from luminescent crystals, nestled in the thin crevices. It fell down and echoed from the stone enough to dimly light the scene before him.

When he had begun to trail Zilist and Thiarn, this was not what he had expected to find.

He cautiously approached the altar at the center with the body resting atop it. Green liquid oozed and trickled from numerous wounds on the small frame, pooling on the slab beneath the girl, marring the gear-like symbol adorning it. As he got close Nielon could detect the faint rise and fall of her chest that gave proof of her dwindling life. She, too, took notice of his presence – god only knows how long she had left to live by this point – and the tiniest of smirks graced her bloodied lips.

He didn’t know what to say. He only stared, face set in grim acceptance of the situation. That fucker Thiarn had gotten the best of her. The price she paid would be death – though the “reward” far greater.

“are… you jealous?” the words held too much weight and yet none at all as she spoke them. He scowled, but refused to look away. Here she was, dying, preparing for rebirth. Here she was, refusing to shed that damn attitude. Here she was, mocking him like always…

“I can’t believe You let that hissbeast get the best of You. Even moreso, I can’t believe I actually expected any better of You.” Of course he had expected better. Zilist was one of the few trolls he could lend occasional respect to, and her gifted ‘sight’ should have kept her one step ahead of Thiarn. Letting your guard down around him… well, it got you here.

She went on, as if his words meant nothing. “you always… wanted to god tier…” her smile was joyless and pained, and the bloodloss was probably already addling her mind. The seadweller didn’t respond.

“i don’t… i don’t even want it…” her eyes slipped closed, missing the shock that touched his expression. She may have sighed, but she hadn’t the strength for more than a weak breath.

“You don’t?” Nielon did his best to hide his surprise. Godtiering was what he’d been fixated on from the beginning. Of course. As much power as possible, flight, immortality. He craved this power and here she was, about to receive the greatest gift and she didn’t fucking want it?

“no.”

He bared his teeth slightly in frustration. This whole situation, it was all too unreal. And yet it had played out before his eyes – even more, he had acted in it, taking some role in this morbidly ironic scene. And now he had a choice to make.

He stifled any feelings he was capable of having – which many would argue were few if not nonexistent. Stepping to the side of the stone slab, he bent over to slide his hands underneath Zilist’s body to pick her up carefully. He turned away from the room’s olive-stained centerpiece and knelt down to lay her on the floor. It was no proper place to die, but he figured she would prefer it to the alternative. He leaned over her, staring at her face until her eyes cracked open to return his gaze. Her smirk was gone and he thought she looked questioning, though he could tell her mind was fading away with her life force.

“Why don’t You want it?” he needed to know. He demanded to know.

The girl let her eyes slip shut again, the effort of consciousness becoming too much. “i don’t.”

“That’s not a reason.”

She murmured something too quiet to catch, then let a more audible phrase escape with her shortening breath “take my things… i’ll go… go…”

Nielon grit his teeth for a moment before cutting off her half-formed thought. “I’ll find you.”

The girl gave no sign that she’d heard. The seadweller watched her, face set. As her chest stilled, the air in the room around them seemed to grow heavier and silent as well in the wake of her passing. Without a second thought he leaned down and briefly kissed her lifeless lips. Pulling away, he took all the items from her sylladex with little fuss and got to his feet. He didn’t look back at the body, nor at the blood covering his hands as he left the room.

He was going to find Zilist on her return, and then.