ORCHID FANGED

 “ IN THE END, WHAT MATTERS IS THIS ; I SURVIVED “ 

Nezha was piss drunk. But this was nothing new. Regardless of however much he drank, he always seemed to force himself to down even more. But at this point, he was more fucked up than he was usual. Perhaps it was the conglomeration of events and people that were at the venue that had really fucked with him. 

Despite it all, he still managed to get his hands on more, in classy spider fashion as always. He had found himself fixated on a new bottle. A shiny one. And it was in the hands of his favorite fellow house member. 

It was never easy facing his brother. Not after all the time that had passed between the two. Even now, he had no idea truly how to conduct himself and Nezha easily settled into drunken stupor or faked it to lessen the tension. 

But there he was, in all his stupid soldier glory. Their mother and father would be proud, wherever the fuck they were. The prodigal son and the disposed nobody. He had really only shown up to say his well wishes after all. 

“So the brawl ...” This was worse than sober. “don’t die.” 

They were old friends and Nezha was considerate in visiting the other. In order to congratulate him but also to wish him luck with whatever happened next. He knew the House of Moth was relying on the few contenders they had to keep afloat. 

He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed as he interrupts. 

“So you made it past the beginning, kudos to you Ilyas, you’ve got your shit together,” he makes a faux salut. “How’re you holding up? Seems like the pressure is on, especially with your house and all. Honestly, you know if I were you, I’d consider switching things up. How long has been? Eons? You’ve been with the Moths forever, you could always join another. I’m sure Spider would be happy to have you. Though, if you’re going to tell me you’re tired of all the shit again, then maybe not. Process sounds painful from what I’ve heard - blood drawing and all.”

It is a mutual dependency that she loathes and is dually invigorated by. Though both emotions struggled for dominance, neither prevailed. Both are present as Oseye cranes their neck toward Nezha, with the intention of eventually agreeing, but not without first being unnecessarily difficult about it. She at first positions herself to be fed upon, only to pivot, lips now hovering above his ear. “Try rephrasing your statement into a question,” Oseye explains in a whisper that nearly shifts into a growl. “Makes it sound more like a request and less of a command.”

“Please, can I drink, p l e a s e.” He accentuates every syllable of the word. There is a hunger to his voice. And while she plays coy about it, the natural shift of his teeth have already begun. The scent of the blood that coursed through her body he could devour in that instant. Though it was truly hunger pains than anything else - he was simply acting upon his desire to feed and quench his stomach. That was always how it seemed to be - nothing more, nothing less. 

Nezha wasn’t a threat. 

If not for the pale flush eternally painted upon his cheeks from the various spirits he had on hand, then for the abandonment-sized shield she held that reluctantly answered to husband. 

Nezha wasn’t a threat, and she knew this — still, Rin couldn’t help but stiffen at his words as if they were a dull blade held against her throat; unable to breach skin yet its indentation fitting so perfectly into her shallowly hidden insecurities nonetheless. Perhaps this was worse — that the very shape of the weapon confirmed the presence of the wound.

“Perhaps,” was the delayed response, hissed with a violence in its undertones that didn’t quite match the way her lips pulled back from her teeth in a fiendish smile — or was it a snarl? — whichever served as a more apt description of a tempest . “And you? Will you fight your dear brother? Or simply run from him again?”

“I’m good at that,” he brushes off the comment with ease. Rin had a knack for attempting to get under people’s skin but with how much of a fucking mess Nezha was on a regular, it was hard to truly unsettle him. He had wildly embraced his differences if that were even to be made a positive. 

“So how do you think you’ll punish him for whatever fuck up he does next. I can see it in your eyes, you look like you want to,” his grin parts, his teeth almost gleaming like razer blades. 

tw bodily harm

“does it hurt, sweetheart?” slim fingers entwine themselves with the fighters’, almost delicate if not for the tatters of skin adorning the others’ hands, if not for the way the scientist’s nails are digging into open wounds almost imperceptibly. 

a smile as sharp as knives, pulling their hands away from the man before he snaps like a bear trap around too-curious touches; dragging tongues across his own knuckles where nezha’s blood seeped into his skin. slow. taunting, almost. 

“sawing without me? a crime, nezha. how dare you.” they’re already reaching for vials and pills strapped to hips, counting them with long nails. “you can rent me out next time, how about that? i’m certainly not too hefty of a price for a night and can do a much cleaner job than whatever you brutes call… that.” 

you know better than to take this as a mere joke. 

“this time’s on the house — least ‘till it’s not anymore.” pills are dropped into the other’s hands, and kisa’s already working on bandaging the broken skin, surprisingly tender. “now, how does the other guy look if you’re dragging yourself in like this, hm?” 

“Please, I don’t do it for the fun, you of all people should know that,” Nezha almost tsks but winced at the sensation crawling through his skin. “The next time I do some chopping, I’ll be sure to notify you if you’d like.”

Nezha’s relationship with Kisa was one that danced upon the line of useful and something entirely different. “I don’t have much BY to pay for a night, but you’re welcome to come along for free if it satisfies your interest and your entertainment.” He plays along as always. 

Titus snorted. “I’ve got muscles all year round,” he quipped, pulling out a nondescript envelope from his front pocket. In any case, he mused to himself, the Blood Brawl tended to set off an old part of himself he’d much rather keep buried six feet deep; he wasn’t going to stay in the Dome longer than he needed to be. He set the hefty package on Nezha’s palm with surprising gentleness, his other palm now outstretched for the goods. “Who’ve you got your money on this time?”

Titus wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but even the silent figure could afford a few exchanges with a select few. The drunk being one of them might colour others surprised, but circumstances often brought the most unlikely of people together. Or apart. “Heard your brother’s going. Probably a stand-in for Cai.”

“Couldn’t be me,” Nezha remarked, casual as ever. He never willingly fought, not when he didn’t have to. “Well, I’m obligated to say my wife ... other than that, all’s up in the air.” He thought of his brother too but to speak his name was another matter in its entirety. 

TW: mention of bodily harm 

Drugs felt good and Nezha knew exactly who to get hooked up with for the right amount of pain relief. Stepping foot into the hospital with his arm or leg bleeding had become the usual - and even now, he stared down at his fingers grimacing at what it looked like. It’d go away in a couple hours but he was still nevertheless, a bitch about it. 

“Do you people rent out equipment? If I can purchase something to saw myself off easier next time, that would be great.” 

The pair were a deadly combo, one with the ability to embed life essence into weapons whereas the other could making anything they touched lethal. But even so, despite all the danger and potential bloodshed either could cause - outside the realm of their reputations, they were far less violently composed. 

Marriage was a convenience. 

And that’s exactly what Nezha had signed himself up for when he had said his vows to his beloved wife. In truth, he had agreed out of spite because what bigger way to say fuck you then to marry one that had been part of his destiny. And well, it wasn’t like he was mad about the whole deal either - it was beneficial to have a walking fountain of blood to drink from and it certainly helped boost both his power and his tolerance. So he supposed he’d count himself lucky compared to others facing similar situations. 

Nezha hated making deliveries but he supposed that the payment in which he received it was worth it. Though his body usually fought against it, the pain of doing what he had to do just to properly infuse the precious cargo was a different kind of hell. Even though it was painful, he was slowly getting numb to the feeling. It never truly went away but the hospitals had almost become a second home for him. With three weapons on him this time, he signaled one of the guards who were keen to his identification. And then he was promptly received. 

A familiar face greeted him. 

It was another day of infinity and Nezha was enjoying himself as per usual, gluttonously drinking yet another fine glass of wine. He swirled the contents in his hand as he eyed his companion. With the news of the Blood Brawl at the cusp of the coming season once more, he knew that she’d be one that’d no doubt, enter and represent the glorious house of Spiders. After all, their matriarch mother dearest made it known that she was a darling favorite. He didn’t get it but nevertheless he bit his tongue. 

POWER / STRENGTH / BRUTALITY

Life has its power and it is you who can push between the intangible. Your hands are your weapon, like a parasite - your fingers drink the essence of existence. It is through lifespans that you can toy with, shred and remake, imbuing and creating it into weapons of brutal destruction should you wish it. But even devils must pay their price in blood. For you it comes with your own flesh, the pain excruciating the heftier the trade is.

AND MORE.