Spill
Posted: Mon Nov 16, 2020 6:45 pm
76th of Ash, 120
Two days had passed since his imprisonment, and though Arkash had meant to try working on his blood shaping abilities, he'd been too exhausted. Despite his strong will, he couldn't muster the energy to even attempt to mold the blood again. So, he'd done little but recover from the tremendous blood loss over the next couple of days. He was fed decently for a nameless, and was allowed to drink as he pleased. The good diet and rest saw him recovering well, but he couldn't grow complacent.
The only method he could use to read the passage of time was to watch the sky. The cloudy overcast above was visible to Arkash through a crevice in the ceiling, and it heralded the night whenever it darkened. The draft it caused was something of a nightmare for the cold-blooded rath, but he was glad for daylight all the same. He'd grown so familiar with the stone walls that trapped him, as well as the patterns of rust on the collar that held his neck in place. The only other item of note in the cave was the campfire he rested beside and the box of hardened blood he'd shaped when he first arrived.
With his claws covering one of his eyes, he gently ran his free hand over the surface and sighed. Crushing pain clung to the edges of his vision while pondered; he'd already poked his claws around the mechanism of the lock in an effort to measure it, so he had a vague idea of the shape of the key. All he had to do was focus his energy and create a shape with the blood box that was complex enough to suffice.
Before he could begin to muster his ether, however, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed. Arkash lifted his head to rest it against the wall of the cave while he stared blurrily at the darkened hallway. From its depths, both Chitters emerged with another human in tow. The two scrawny, ratty men dragged the third human across the room by their arms, as their feet didn't seem to work. Furthermore, their head hung low with strands of hair veiling their face. Arkash merely stared and drew a breath through his nose to test the air. The scent of fresh blood filled his lungs.
Malafor, the old, withered man entered the room behind the three, then began his approach when the Chitters both dropped the third human unceremoniously just a couple of feet before Arkash. The rath looked up at the pair before focusing his gaze on the old man, who smiled broadly. "Fresh material for you," spoke the old man with a grin that flashed his rotting teeth. Arkash squinted hard, then lowered his gaze to the limp human. It was a woman, he believed, likely dead.
"...Whatchya mean?" Asked the lizard, only to widen his eye a little and bare his teeth in an uncomfortable cringe. "What d'you mean?" Malafor held a deep distaste for Arkash's rough common and beat the correct dialect into him.
Though Malafor curled his nose in disgust at Arkash's first attempt, his features eased some at the second. "Better," he spoke flatly, then directed his attention to the human that laid on the floor. "More blood to shape with," he offered with a turn of his hand to the woman. Arkash lowered his gaze to the raggedy woman. Was she breathing? He couldn't tell. What was more was the idea that Arkash could control other people's blood? It didn't have to be his own? Interesting.
Carefully, he put down the cube of hardened blood with a metallic tap on the stone floor, then crawled forward with the blanket that wrapped his form clung tight. All it took was that moment of pause for the woman to cough and jolt where she laid. She was alive, after all. He hesitated.
"What is it?" Asked the mage just a moment later. Arkash knew the man was thin on patience, what could he say that would make sense?
"D'you wan' her alive?" It was a good question, he thought. The reason Arkash hesitated wasn't for any reason of empathy, but because he had to make sure he'd get more blood after exhausting his supply with the girl before him. Malafor grinned.
"No, we can get you more bodies. No need to hold back." Arkash nodded while he exhaled through his nose, then squinted at the pain in his head that resulted from the brief wobble. He looked over her while he contemplated the best way to kill her; it was nothing too new or unsettling to him, but his mind wandered while he thought. Not too long ago, someone else had tried to end his life. A powerful god-tier mage attempted to cut Arkash in half with a bolt of fire but relented. That same mage saw some value in Arkash's life and spared him. After such an occurrence, he couldn't help but wonder what life he was taking.
He'd destroyed a couple of families since he woke from his coma, killed a mother, and stole a child. Hell, he'd even shot at a man just for telling him to be quiet in the dead of night. Arkash had done a lot worse than kill an unconscious urchin woman, so why did he even think before the act? Why did he wonder who she was? Did it matter? She was human, she was probably evil.
With that, he took a fistful of her hair and lifted her head from the ground with some difficulty. There, he saw her beaten, bloody features and paused again. She'd been battered recently, and he couldn't help but wonder what Malafor and both the Chitters had done to the woman before bringing her there. He didn't look at them, or give any tells to what he was thinking as he dipped his claws beneath her chin, and gently pressed at her neck. A gentle pressure thrummed against his fingers while he held her neck - her pulse. He was feeling her pulse. Again, he hesitated. The moment Malafor spoke, he dug his claws into her skin and ripped, which opened her jugular like a faucet and poured plentiful lifeforce over the floor. The woman's eyes shot open as she stopped breathing, and choked while her own blood filled her lungs. Shaky, worn hands reached for her throat while she laid there, but only managed so much of the journey while she gasped through the broken tubes in her neck.
He continued to hold her head up and stare while she died. In his other hand, he held ribbons of flesh and gore. His gaze met the bloody whites of her eyes, where the icy stare of her pupil pierced the hazy, regretful glare in his eyes as if to ask 'why'. Without an answer, she faded and passed. His eyes remained locked with her cold dead gaze for a moment or two before he lowered her head to rest in the broad puddle of her blood. Finally, he looked up to spy Malafor's gaze, which barely paid attention and instead picked through dirt in his fingernails. "Done?" He asked at last and crossed his arms. Arkash had just taken a life; destroyed everything that someone was and ever could be. The old man wasn't at all phased by such a thing?
"Yeah..." Arkash nodded, then looked to the blood he knelt in. It stained the blanket he'd been given around where it touched the floor, and no-doubt worked into the crevices of his scales. "What should'a maek?" He asked with a bow of his head.
"Try making a weapon," the old man instructed. A weapon? He really wanted to give Arkash the ability to make weapons? With a nod, Arkash lowered both his hands into the puddle of blood with his eyes open just a sliver. Focusing his ether on the life-force, he brought it to harden to a clay-like consistency, then began to pull it together in clumps while it continued to harden. His head hurt to focus so much, but he was getting better at it. It helped when he had instructions on what to do, he found.
He was to make a weapon, but he couldn't sharpen the blood. So, he had to make something that was deadly just from its shape. A hammer? A flail? A spear! His eyes widened just a moment, and his focus waned. His grip on the blood was lost, and it fell into the cave floor again as it slipped through his fingers. Arkash groaned in frustration and bared his teeth through the thudding pain.
"Try again," ordered Malafor.
Arkash did, of course. With a sigh, he began to harden the blood and clumped it together one handful at a time. It was of simple craftsmanship, but he eventually formed a long spike made entirely of hardened blood. When at last it was finished, he fully hardened the structure, and set it completely. In his claws, he held a pointy meter or so of a javelin. "There..." he declared when he was done. SImple, but effective. It was a very 'Arkash' style.
Malafor rose his brows. "Lazy, but I suppose it does the job," he judged.
With that, both the Chitters closed in to collect the body, and Arkash tightened his grip on his spear...
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