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raven-n-tha-moonlight · 4 years

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(Pronounce: “Calada” - “Cuh-LAH-dah” and “Pioney” - “PIE-uh-KNEE”)

Calada’s throat was raw and burning from the crisp night air. Her harsh panting disturbed the lonesome forest. Squinting, she made out her sister’s small figure darting between trunks in the darkness before her. Moonlight filtered through the dense foliage.

“Pioney,” Calada hissed. “You’re going too fast.”

“You said hurry.” Pioney’s complaint came from ahead, but she markedly slowed her pace.

“I know, but you haven’t been here before. I don’t want you to get lost.”

“I’ve heard you describe it enough. I know what it looks like.”

“Just stay close to me. We’re halfway there.”

Their boot treads gripped the mossy stones as they scrambled down the hill. They sent a few small rocks thunking through the brush. A startled bird took flight. The disturbance faded as the bird’s wing beats grew distant. All was silent except for the night insects.

In the distance, from the direction they had come, her hypersensitive ears picked up the rough barking of canines. The dogs were his.

She pushed her sister forward. She kept her voice steady, not allowing her nerves to surface. “They’re onto us. Remember, Pioney, no matter what happens, keep running. Keep going until you reach that spot I told you about.”

Pioney grabbed her forearm, her sharp little nails digging into her flesh. “I won’t leave you, Ladi,” she insisted.

Calada shook her head. “Pie, I need you to keep yourself safe. Don’t stop for anything.” She gently disentangled herself from her sister. They scrambled through the brush, snapping the twigs that snared them. “If I get caught, get yourself to the spot. There will be someone waiting for you. Follow them.”

“I won’t leave you,” repeated Pioney.

Dogs’ growling pierced the night air. She turned her head, listening as she went. Her keen hearing distinguished sounds in the distance. “The mutts are coming from behind, from the left and right.” There was a howl, and then a chorus of yips, and she breathed, “They’ve caught our scent.” Gods, have mercy.

They stumbled over roots and overturned stones in their haste. She didn’t bother being quiet, not anymore. They would hunt them down, either way. Time was not on their side.

She scanned their surroundings, searching. There. A tight huddle of tree trunks shone bright in the moonlight. Their reptilian bark cut pronounced grooves in the silver rays of the full moon. Almost there. A bit further.

They came to the sharp plunge onto the rocky embankment of the creek. She was familiar with this place.

“Like this.” Calada demonstrated how to grip the exposed roots for stability. Pioney caught on quickly. They made swift time down the rugged slope. She flexed her calloused fingers as they reached the dry creek bed. Her neck craned as she took in the climb awaiting them on the opposite side, and then-

A menacing bark issued alarmingly close. “Go,” cried Calada. She broke into a sprint, Pioney close behind. Her legs burned as she pumped her arms harder. Her feet barely seemed to touch the ground as she navigated the uneven terrain. Her heart beat like a drum in her chest. She looked back, and her heart’s cadence faltered.

A mutt was gaining on Pioney, and her sister seemed too exhausted to push herself farther. Calada spun around and raced back toward her sister.

She crouched, not breaking her stride as she picked stones from the ones littered along the creek bed. Then she hurled them with all her might at the mutt. She struck the creature’s shoulders and back. It whined and slowed. Her sister, confused to see Calada coming back toward her, also hesitated.

“Keep going!” yelled Calada. “Get to the spot! Just keep running!”

She pulled out the knife she had stolen from a saddlebag earlier that day. It gleamed in the silvered light of the moon. She drew it back, ready to take on the mutt. From the edge of her vision, another mutt shot toward her, having negotiated the treacherous climb.

Calada gave a yell and swung her knife at the mutt’s throat. It dodged her wild swing and bit down on her arm. She screamed as its teeth tore into her flesh and blood rivulets ran down her arm. Frantically, she threw a punch, and it connected. The dog shook her roughly, jerking her around. White streaked through her vision as the bolts of pain shot up her arm.

She clung to her arm, fighting. She gasped as the other dog chomped on her left foot, puncturing the boot’s leather. Tears ran down her face as she wrestled to get free. It was no use. They were too strong.

Then her sister was there, screaming. Pioney’s arm was wrapped around the mutt’s throat from behind, choking it with the crook of her arm. It bucked and released Calada’s arm, growling and whining in equal measure. Pioney held tight. Finally, it slumped to the ground. Calada hurled a rock at the dog biting her boot. A flurry of blows knocked it senseless.

“Come on, Ladi!” urged Pioney. She grabbed Calada’s uninjured arm.

As Calada leaned on Pioney to lever herself up, she realized just how slow she was going to be. Also, if their tracks weren’t already obvious enough to him, now there would be a boot print of blood.

“Go on, Pie.” She gave her sister a push, but Pioney wouldn’t budge. “I won’t be fast enough. I’ll just slow you down.”

“I’m staying with you,” insisted Pioney.

“No!” Calada said, nearly wailing. “There’s still a chance for you to make it! I’ll never forgive myself if you suffer because of me.”

“You’re not changing my mind, Ladi,” Pioney fired back, resolute. “Now be quiet and move!”

Stiffly, Calada limped away from the dogs she left on the ground. They were still, except for their rib cages expanding and deflating slowly. They would wake soon.

Tears streaming from pain, she hobbled closer and closer to the far side of the creek bed, where a steep climb awaited. Calada almost screamed in despair. It seemed higher every passing step.

She picked up the sound of something approaching fast from behind and above. It was a soft, four-legged cadence resonating through the ground.

She turned in time to see a shadow shoot out from the tree line, taking the sheer drop in one leap. It landed, not faltering, and rushed toward them.

Calada shrieked and staggered more urgently away. Then, she took her arm from around Pioney. “Run, run, run,” she breathed.

A look came over Pioney’s face as she took in the creature bearing down on them.

It was hulking and brutish-looking. Its muscles bulged under its black fur in places where there should be none. Saliva dripped from its mouth, gums pulled back to reveal ivory teeth as long as her fingers. Its pace held a ferocity that had been absent in the dogs.

Pioney whirled, fleeing. She navigated the slope on light feet. In no time, she had reached the top. Pioney looked back at her, her figure small and almost indistinguishable from the darkness. Then she was gone.

Calada turned, squaring her shoulders to face the wrath of the terrifying creature barreling toward her. It passed over the dogs lying in its path, not sparing a moment. It drew near enough for her to see the intention gleaming in its beady eyes, a look far too cunning for any ordinary beast.

She picked up a rock and lobbed it. It arced in slow motion, heading for the monster. Almost too slowly, she watched it hit the beast’s shoulder. It kept racing for her. Her stone might have been water, for all the good it did.

It rose to its back feet, planting itself in a two-legged stance. It looked down its muzzle at her, blocking out the moon. She fell to the ground.

She screamed.

Then, it began to melt. No, its limbs began to shrink, molding and reshaping into a humanoid figure. The process was eerily silent.

In a matter of moments, the transition was complete. A man stood in the place of the monster.

His clothes were black and cut to fit his bulky frame. His biceps bulged as he unsheathed a long, elegant blade. His pants were loose, not hindering him in the slightest as he advanced toward her.

“Where do you think you’re going, girl?” He leveled the blade at her throat. His voice rasped quietly like the warning of a snake’s rattle. He did not demand attention. He promised retribution if it was not paid.

“It doesn’t matter, now, since you caught me,” Calada said, waveringly. She was frozen, not daring to move, not daring to break eye contact with the man brandishing the sword.

His boots crunched the stone on stone. She scrambled backward as he advanced, his blade fiercely angled at her neck. She found herself pressed flat against the stones, panting.

“I want to know where you were heading,” he demanded, the edges of his tone sharpening. “Tell me, or I’ll cut it out of you.”

Pressing her hands into the creek bed to disguise their quaking, she replied, “I wanted to get away from all this.” She shook her head. “It makes you think death is preferable.” She glanced back at him to find his steel hovering a breath from her face.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, finally. “Your lies fool no one. Tell me the truth.”

“That is the truth!” Calada protested. She found her voice in that moment. In a flood, without thinking of consequences, she said, “Of course, you think I’m lying. You don’t see how our master treats us. You think he’s heaven sent, and maybe he is to you, but to us, he’s the one who bound us to him through that god-forsaken contract. If it weren’t for you, I’d rip that contract to shreds. You’re the prized one. You get treated well, the pet who chases after the runaways. You get the treats for turning us in. You have no conscience, no soul. You run around, performing tricks and tasks for our master, and you question nothing, and what’s worse, you enjoy it!”

Calada paused for breath. She met his eyes. There was something shining there that was a far cry from ferocity. In the dark and gloom, Calada might have said they were almost anguished. The light was poor though, and she became certain she had only dreamed it once he said, low and vicious, “You will pay for that later.” His feral snarl punctuated his sentence.

He whirled, placing two fingers in his mouth, and gave a piercing whistle. There was a scattering of sediment as another dog came bounding down the slope from behind them. Slobbering, it skidded to a halt a few paces away. It was decidedly less graceful than the other two dogs.

She inched backward as the dog sat docilely at the feet of the man. Unlike the other two, it wore a harness. There was a bag attached, from which the man drew a rope.

She scrabbled back as he curled the rope around his fingers. His black eyes were hard. Roughly, he seized her wrists. When she fought him, he dropped his knee onto her chest. The air whooshed from her lungs. In a matter of moments, he had knotted the rope, binding her hands tightly in front of her.

He whistled for the dog again, and it came loyally, mouth dripping wet. She cringed away. He sneered in derision. “What, can’t take a little dog breath, girl?” He stood, jerking her up by her bound hands.

He dragged her toward the dog. Every step was fire. “Get on.” His tone was an order, dipped in menace. “I’m not doing this for your comfort. I could care less. I want to be back by sunrise, and you won’t travel too fast in your condition.” She complied, trembling. There was no blanket between her and the dog’s back. It was just fur on skin. The dog’s back and shoulders were wide. She was uncomfortable against the boniness of the dog.

“You’d better hang on,” warned the man. He pointed to the harness strapped around the dog’s shoulders and chest. “Don’t fall off,” he advised without a note of concern. “Or else you are going to walk back on that bad foot.”

Calada didn’t respond. She barely had time to tighten her grip on the harness before the man whistled a third time, and the dog broke into a trot.

The gait jostled her. She bit her own tongue as they jounced up and down. The dog’s back bruised her buttocks as it bounded back up the hill.

As they entered the trees once again, things became even less comfortable. They picked their way across the uneven ground, riddled with holes and massive tree roots. She bent low to the dog’s neck, her tied hands clutching the harness, as they careened beneath low hanging branches.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her tears were whipped from her by the wind before they could fall on her cheeks. She felt the percussive beating of the dog’s paws resonate through her own body.

She thought of Pioney, and her terrified face before she fled. Something stirred in her chest, was it hope? Hope, that her sister would find a life without borders, without masters?

She clung to that warm feeling, fighting back the fear that chilled her to the bone.

They slowed. Calada opened her eyes. They were back at the master’s. They slid to a stop. The iron gates were closed, as they always were before dawn. Only hours ago, she and her sister had scaled them to escape. When they had left, Calada had believed she had put them behind her for good. Seeing the black metal again filled her with dread.

The beast halted beside them. She swiveled, in time to watch him shift, sleek and silent, to his human form. “Down,” he ordered. At first, she thought he was talking to her. Looking at the ground far out of reach, she couldn’t imagine a way of dismounting without her hands. Toppling off became a very real possibility.

Before she could attempt what would surely end with her falling on her face, the dog lowered itself. It was not a smooth motion. Its back legs went first, and she felt herself slide down toward its hips. She grasped wildly for the harness. Finding it, she squeezed her knees around its chest, clinging like a bug. Then its front lowered, leveling its back at last.

She met the man’s eyes. “Get off, girl!” He barked.

She clambered off the dog. A throbbing reminded her of her bitten foot. She clenched her teeth as she rested it on the ground, shifting her weight to her other leg.

He seized the ropes binding her hands and yanked her toward the gates. She staggered, unbalanced. Her foot pulsed white hot as she landed on it with her full weight. She dropped to a knee, holding in the scream.

The man looked back at her. He pivoted slowly, facing her. “Get up,” he snarled. “Or I will have you dragged through our master’s gates by a dog.”

Shuddering, her mouth dry, she pushed to her feet. He grabbed her ropes once again. He marched them toward the looming gates.

Her arm ached. Every step sent another bright knife of pain through her echoed by a rolling wave of nausea.

It would be so easy to fall, and not get back up. Just to remain laying there, no matter his threats or his punishment. She supposed getting dragged by a dog would be easier than walking.

Maybe it was pride, forcing her to battle on. She refused to let him win so easily. She would not bend to his brutality, and so she kept step with him the rest of the way. The two guards let them in through the gate. The dog followed them before the gates swung shut.

She felt it in her bones, that dry click of the lock. She felt heavy, heavier than she had ever felt in her life. Her steps dragged.

There was the familiar house, in all its nightly splendor. It glowed, ethereal, even at night. That beauty sent a cold thrill down her spine as the man led her across the grounds. The chilled wind carried the smell of woodsmoke and turned earth through the air.

Her breaths quickened as she took in the standalone building he walked them toward. She was reluctant, slowing her pace. He was uncompromising, forcing her along when she slowed.

It was a small, stone structure. Unassuming, on the outside. It posed no hint as to what punishment awaited her. Her palms grew sweaty. When it came to her master and his ideas, often simplicity hid terrible truths. While enslaved, she and her sister had learned the hard way.

They stepped through the threshold. There was a lack of scent in the place that made it deathly empty. The interior was bare. A solitary orb of lumistone, suspended in midair, glowed yellow in the center of the room, throwing its pulsing light against the windowless walls. The place felt hollow, like the husk of something long since departed.

A lone door stood opposite the entrance they had just come through. He led her toward it. Unease sunk into the pit of her stomach.

Whatever comes, she thought. For Pioney. For my sister’s freedom.

When the door swung out, he pulled her forward with more force than ever. Every swift step was another shard of pain lancing through her. She stifled her scream, tears trickling down her cheeks.

She peered into the darkness through the haze of agony. The lumistone’s glow could not illuminate what lay behind the doorway. They stepped through.

Her skin prickled. There was a shift in the air. She doubled over, coughing. Her bound hands went to her throat. She couldn’t breathe. She sank to the floor, gasping fruitlessly for air. In the dark, she clawed for the door.

He wasn’t with her. The door, he had closed behind him. Her lungs burned, her mind fogged. Her body seized, and she was floating, and suddenly everything didn’t hurt so much.

In the dark, her last thought echoed. Pioney.

(Thank you for reading 3060 words of mine! Please let me know what to improve! Funky dialogue, slow pacing, etc. Do I need to include more details of anything? I want to know so I can improve as a writer! I wouldn’t be posting if I couldn’t handle feedback!)

#feedback #original story #fiction #fantasy

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keeroo92 · 5 years

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Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch27 (V x Reader)

Chapter 27 - Agony and Ecstasy

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June 15th, 11:14 am

V’s emerald eyes are shadowed, downcast in defeat as he watches tiny fragments of his body float away in the wind, signifying his mortality in an impossible to ignore fashion. For a moment, you can’t comprehend what you’re seeing. The cracks in his skin were one thing, but this? You don’t have a medical term to describe what’s happening to the man you love. He sighs heavily, his shoulders sagging as he reverts to his previous cold acceptance of his fate.

“No, no no don’t you do that! Don’t you give up on me!” you cry out, only to see his lips twist into a sad, accepting smile. You pull him into your arms, stroking his back and his hair.

No, no, no this can’t be happening!

An icy chain wraps itself around your heart, squeezing it harshly in your rib cage as you feel it crack under the pressure. The unfairness of life has been a constant theme for you, yet this is the cruelest stroke of all. V trembles weakly in your arms as your tears stream down your cheeks, your hiccupping breath stuttering in your pained chest as you replay the moment endlessly. The image of his beautiful fingertips, tiny flakes of his body carried away in the heartless breeze as if he were so much dust.

Maybe I can fix it? Maybe I can heal him?

You pull his lips to yours for a desperate kiss, tasting the salt of your own tears as you attempt to convey how much you love this man through the motion of your lips alone.

Please, God, in whatever form you actually are, please save him! I’ll do anything, give anything you ask! I’ll pay any toll for his life!

The void doesn’t answer. It never will.

Your lips tremble against his, your jaw vibrating from the strength of your stifled sobs. His arms wrap around you in a delicate embrace, his tattooed hands stroking your spine warmly. His mouth on yours is a chorus of movement both achingly wonderful and maddeningly terrible because you know you may have very few chances to kiss him remaining.

Don’t think like that, Y/N! He’s going to be fine; he has to!

He sighs softly into your lips, his shaking hands coming up to stroke your face tenderly, as if he’s trying to memorize the sensation. You pull back at the thought to stare into his emerald eyes, seeing the pain and fear he’s feeling in the dark shadows within. The utter despair in his expressive eyes breaks you even further, the crack in your heart widening into a chasm. You pull him closer, laying your head in the crux of his shoulder and letting his familiar scent comfort you.

Please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me…

“I’ll try,” he whispers hoarsely, and you realize you must have vocalized the thought without meaning to. You lean away to look at his hand again – there aren’t any more specks floating away but it obviously hadn’t recovered, small cracks running through his previously smooth skin amongst the dark lines of ink. You caress the crevasses, feeling for yourself how deep they run, and your heart splits in half.

“It doesn’t hurt,” V tells you in surprise. You hadn’t even considered that, too focused on the ramifications of the decay of his flesh to imagine how it might feel from his perspective.

What would it feel like to know your body is fading away?

I hope I never find out for myself.

“I think… I think I can continue,” V informs you hesitantly. “We should try to catch up to Dante.”

“But… V, you should try to rest first,” you begin.

“You know why I cannot, why I must keep going, no matter the state my body is in,” he replies with a morose shake of his head, his obsidian hair shining in the light.

Yes, I know… that doesn’t mean I agree!

“We are running out of time. The Qlipoth is almost fully grown; the fruit will appear within the next day unless we can stop it before then,” he continues, panting slightly as he struggles to stand, using his cane for what seems like the first time in days. You sigh in surrender, quickly pulling a protein bar from your bag and handing it to him with a teary smile.

“At least eat while we go, my poet. For me?” you beg him quietly. He smirks and unwraps the bar, taking a small bite as he steps forward.

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June 15th, 11:27 am

Following Dante isn’t difficult. The man leaves a trail of broken scenery behind like a tidal wave, fresh scratches on the ground testifying to his battles. V can still smell ash in the air occasionally, the last remnants of the demons defeated by his brother.

Catching up to him, however, proves a challenge. Since his hand began to crumble, V has felt a massive shift in his energy. He is forced to use his cane with nearly every step, a sign of his growing weakness that makes his jaw clench in frustration as he limps forward doggedly, your sorrowful gaze tracking him worriedly.

I cannot stop now, not when so much is at stake.

His dreary thoughts are a plague he can’t escape, an itch that resists all attempts at scratching. His very bones are weary, so tired of this inexorable trudge toward death that despite your best efforts, he knows you cannot save him from.

I’m sorry, little fox. I’m so sorry for what this will do to you. I can’t help but wish you had walked away that day, never decided to join us on this doomed quest.

A pulse of agony rips through him, searing his every nerve in excruciating pain. He falls to his knees, cane clattering as he drops it to grip his head in his hands, lightning bolts arching through his neurons within his aching skull. Shards of glass rip his throat to shreds, knives sinking into his kidneys and stomach and twisting cruelly. He can feel the flames that burned his mother’s corpse into ash licking his skin, the heat burning him alive as he finally hits the pebble strewn ground. His very blood burns like acid in his veins as he curls inward, instinctively moving to protect his core from the invisible foe that is the source of his tormented screaming.

Make it stop! Make it stop, make it stop makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstop….

He can no longer see the devastated cityscape surrounding you on all sides, can no longer smell the burning refuse or the rotting garbage. He can no longer hear the wind rushing by, or your voice desperately screaming his name in panic. His existence narrows to only pain, all of his senses completely overwhelmed in the horrors of its ferocity. He cannot even string together a coherent sentence in his mind, his mental processes shattered and mutilated beyond recognition.

Minutes that feel like centuries pass before he hears your voice from somewhere far too distant. He mentally latches on to it, clinging to the sound as if it were a parachute and he were falling from the sky. His pain fades incrementally, brutally slowly as he focuses on your voice and drags his consciousness back from where it had retreated from the agony.

Shame fills his incoherent mind as he regains awareness, finding himself cradled in your arms protectively. His convulsing body stills as your gentle hands stroke his hair, voice murmuring reassurances and comfort as he presses himself closer to you.

So weak, so powerless. I would not have made it this far alone.

Holy fuck, V! What the hell just happened?!

…did you feel it too?

An echo, not like you did… We all got a taste. You okay?

…I don’t know. I think I’m dying.

Shit.

“V? Can you hear me?” your anxious voice questions him. He licks his lips to speak, only to find the words catch in his aching throat, his vocal cords refusing to function in protest of their abuse. He nods instead.

“Can you speak?” you probe softly, and he shakes his head.

“Okay… I’m going to lie you flat and examine you,” you inform him, and he nods again as you scoot back from him, helping his limbs into a position of neutrality. By now his nerves have stopped their spasming and he can feel your touch, feel your careful hands slide up and down his body searching for injuries. After a moment, you lean back with a satisfied smile.

“Nothing external at least. Can you talk yet?”

“I… think so… hurts,” V gasps out through his overworked throat.

“Do you want to try standing or wait a little?” you ask him, brow furrowed slightly.

“Try,” he rasps out. You hand him his cane and crouch nearby, ready to catch him if he needs it. As much as he appreciates the support, he can’t help but also feel irritated by it and its necessity.

If only I was stronger…

He gets to his hands and knees easily enough, then braces his weight on the cane and pushes, bringing himself into a low crouch. Its uncomfortable, but bearable. He rises further, coming to a full standing position carefully. He takes a few steps cautiously, your arms still awaiting his fall, but he manages to not even stumble. You drop your hands with an apologetic smile, and he forces himself to smile gratefully back, despite his frustrations. At long last, the pair of you are able to resume your trek, albeit much slower for the time being.

Even with your slow speed, you manage to find Dante not too much farther ahead. There’s a blonde woman lying on the ground near him.

Trish?

“Dante!” V calls out, breaking into a full run and desperately trying to get the man’s attention.

There’s so much I must tell him…

But Dante turns away, mounting a motorcycle and barely bothering to send a few more words his way before dashing off. “Take care of Trish for me!”

“Dante, wait!” V exclaims uselessly, and he falls to the ground once more.

Dammit… always so weak.

In an act of desperation, he commands Griffon to accompany the legendary devil hunter, the blue bird flapping mightily and easily catching up to the speeding motorcycle.

V tries to stand on his own but only falls again. It isn’t until you come to help him that he’s able to rise fully. He angrily chooses a chunk of rubble to sit on, easily able to keep an eye on Trish as she sleeps. He pulls out his book of poetry to try and calm his anxious mind, try to stop thinking about his own death, as you sit beside him with a small smile, taking his unoccupied hand and stroking his fingers gently.

_____________________________________________

June 15th 11:40am

You sit beside V, his hand in yours as he reads quietly. Your mind is racing, wondering if you missed something with your theory. Wondering what more can possibly be done to save V, or if your theory is even right.

What if it’s wrong? What if he still dies?

You clench his hand in yours tightly, mentally swearing to not let that happen. No matter the cost, you will save V. You have to.

“When Trish wakes, I’m going to tell her everything. She may have better luck in telling Dante than I have thus far,” the lean poet comments suddenly. You hum in acknowledgment, glad that he’s becoming more and more willing to tell the truth of his origin. You hear a quiet sigh and look down to see Trish’s eyes have opened at last. She sits up carefully, holding the blanket covering her nude form in place as she looks around.

“Dante’s left,” she states, her voice unexpectedly soothing.

“Yes… and I don’t think he can win,” V comments back, turning the page in his book.

“What was that demon, V? Where did it come from? Urizen is not a demon. I know for a fact, because I'm from the Underworld,” the blonde woman adds. V doesn’t respond, instead turning the page again with a smirk.

“Oh my god... what are you then?” Trish asks V fearfully, and he closes his book at last to face her and address her directly. Her eyes shift to you curiously for an instant before V speaks and her attention is drawn back to the poet.

“It doesn't matter. I'm a shadow of my former self who lost everything. I will tell you... the story of my birth,” he murmurs softly. You squeeze his hand in a silent show of support as he once again tells his story, voice catching here and there as he describes the moments before his creation and the minutes afterward of sheer terror.

Trish takes it all in stride, her expression barely shifting throughout the telling. She’s an especially difficult person to read, a think outer shell of armor protecting her innermost thoughts from casual observation. You can respect that, even as you find it incessantly annoying.

“I've tried to hold together my crumbling flesh with whatever demonic power I have left, but... I'm approaching my limit. In separating and regaining my human soul, I've realized the gravity of the crime I've committed,” V concludes slowly, his emerald gaze glancing at you as he utters the next few words in a near whisper.

“I've realized how important everything was... everything I've thrown away in my pursuit for power.”

Finally, the poet is silent, his tale told and his secrets bared. Trish simply gazes at the pair of you, an unreadable expression still holding court over her features.

“Is that why you went to find Dante?” she asks.

“Yes. Foolish. I thought maybe he could change... maybe fix... maybe right my wrong. Tell me... was this fool before you right?”

Trish stands, the blanket covering her naked body somehow morphing into a black leather ensemble that makes you blush with all it reveals. She turns and starts walking past you and V, heading toward the Qlipoth.

“I'm not your mommy, V. You're a big boy. And you need to see this through. Dante's war,” she tells him in a scolding tone, sounding very much like a mother reprimanding her child. V grimaces in pain as he rises to his feet and steps forward to follow her.

Fuck that.

“V, either you sit back down on your own or I’ll force you. You’re going to rest for a few more minutes whether you like it or not,” you command the poet. He turns to face you, protests already forming on his lips, but you glare at him as threateningly as you can while you cross your arms until he swallows the words. He sighs but obediently sits back down beside you with a smirk.

“I suppose I’m not strong enough to stop you at the moment anyway,” he comments dryly. You take the chance to give him a bottle of water and another protein bar, watching him chew slowly beside you lost in thought. His lighter tattoos look strange to you, Griffon’s absence an empty void hanging in the air.

“Can you talk to Griffon right now?” you ask him curiously, wondering how strong the bond between them has become. He closes his eyes in concentration for a moment before clenching his jaw and shaking his head in frustration.

“I can tell he’s with Dante, see flashes of a house… but I can’t seem to communicate,” he murmurs between bites. Your mind continues its pondering, examining all you know about Urizen and V in an anxious search for answers.

I don’t know what else to do…

You lean against the poet beside you, careful not to force him to support too much weight in his weakened state. You feel his hand rise to wrap around your shoulders and pull you closer and you succumb to his desires and lay your head in his lap. He strokes your hair, your cheek, your lips. Memorizing your face.

Damnit, stop doing that!

You glare up at him, anger tinting your words. “V, we can’t give up yet. Please, keep fighting it, keep fighting for who you’ve become. Fight for our future together,” you urge him. He can barely meet your pleading eyes as he sighs heavily, his hand pausing its exploration at your jawline.

“It doesn’t seem to be working, little fox,” he reminds you softly, his eyes mournful as he meets yours.

You brush his hand away and sit up, reaching out to turn his face to yours once more as you sit beside him. Determination and stubbornness color your voice as you respond, your intense glare forcing him to accept what you say as truth.

“You don’t know that. There could be all sorts of reasons you’re still weakening. We’re closer to Urizen than we’ve been in weeks, you’re older now than you were last time you faced him, maybe Dante waking up did something… The point is, we can’t know if it’s failing. We won’t know until Urizen is dead. But as long as there’s even a shred of hope left, we have to keep trying. You have to keep trying. Because goddamnit V, I’ll go after Vergil myself if you merge. I’ll drag you back out kicking and screaming if I have to. I refuse to let you go,” you inform him passionately.

V smirks, looking down for a moment as he absorbs your monologue. After a beat, he carefully turns his body to face yours and pulls you against him, crushing your form against his. You can feel his racing heartbeat, feel the heat radiating off his skin as he embraces you.

“Thank you, little fox,” he whispers into your hair.

_____________________________________________

June 15th, 11:52 am

V limps quietly alongside you, your hand grasping his carefully. The Qlipoth ahead is taller than ever, reaching high above the clouds in its daunting height. The grey patchwork structure is impossible to ignore, a now constant backdrop to both his innermost thoughts and the landscape surrounding him. He reflects on your words as you slowly move forward, trying not to focus on how his failing body is preventing you from reaching the tree at a reasonable rate.

Your stubbornness and love, your passion and conviction… it had startled him. Even as the fear of death, of losing this chance at a future threatens to consume him entirely, your presence has helped keep him from tumbling over the abyss into hopelessness. Kept him from surrendering to his fate entirely.

There’s still doubt plaguing his mind, still anxiety tugging at his thoughts. Yet he now refuses to ignore the thin tendril of hope that’s grown miraculously within the garden of his terror. Grown only from your attention.

Perhaps a little from my friends as well, but mainly Y/N. I wouldn’t even consider them friends if not for her.

She has utterly changed the course of my life.

Sudden terror grips him as Griffon panics over something Dante is doing. He stops in his tracks, trying to focus on the hazy image he can barely see in his mind, too diluted by distance to have much meaning. You look at him quizzically, your steps halting to stand beside him.

“Griffon… Something’s happened with Dante,” he rumbles. Your eyes color with nervousness as he focuses as hard as he can on the image. Blurred shapes flash into a defined form for an instant before the haze obstructs them again, but he can see Dante standing before a portrait of the entire family, a blade embedded in his chest.

Not again…

He waits for a moment, then focuses his energy again on the image. He watches in awe as Dante transforms, his body absorbing the blade within and using its power to fuel his new appearance. A stronger version of his devil form, power radiating off his crimson flesh in waves of heat.

The image dissolves as Griffon’s panic vanishes, and V can’t help the wry grin from crossing his face.

Only Dante…

“What happened, V?” your shaky voice asks. He smirks at you as he answers.

“Dante has absorbed the Sparda. The reckless fool stabbed himself. He has grown stronger, perhaps strong enough to win,” he ruefully states. He chuckles, bitterly amused at his brother’s ability to gather strength and how it mirrors his own decline. Always opposites, the two of them.

“Really? So… you might not even need to fight Urizen?” you probe hopefully. He shakes his head, refusing to miss the final fight.

“I must be there, must witness Urizen’s destruction myself no matter who strikes the blow,” he answers determinedly.

“Would it be dangerous to do it? To kill Urizen?” you thoughtfully ask him. He pauses, not having fully considered it.

I suppose it could be dangerous. I have no idea what will happen to his body.

“It may be. I cannot even begin to guess what will become of his remains. He may have even set a trap for anyone who dares to strike him,” V pronounces with a slight frown. He watches your face carefully, suspicion growing in his mind as your features shift from curiosity to resolve.

“Then I should be the one to do it,” you state boldly, and his heart skips a beat.

No, no no little fox! You can’t be serious!

As if you had read his racing thoughts, you smile at him tenderly and elaborate.

“If it is dangerous, how much more hope and fear would fill you if I was the one taking the risk? If I was the one who could get hurt?”

He grimaces, already knowing the truth of your words yet refusing to accept the risks. You had to be safe, you had to survive. Even if he was doomed, he absolutely would not under any circumstances drag you down with him. Unthinkable.

“Irrelevant. It will not be you, I won’t allow it,” he forcefully pronounces. You only smile wider, reaching out to stroke his cheek tenderly.

“V… the whole idea about keeping you alive functions on you experiencing as much emotion as possible. As arrogant as it feels to say it, I’m the one you care about the most. Seeing me strike down Urizen… watching me walk up to him… you can’t deny how it would make you feel. It might be the final key, the last shred of humanity that saves you,” you explain carefully.

I know she’s right, but I cannot allow this!

“The risk is too great. Let Nero do it, or Dante,” he miserably begs you.

You shake your head, your hair catching the light beautifully.

“You care about Nero, true, but he’s only a friend. And you hate Dante, you’d be happy to see him fall. It has to be me,” you declare. “V, at this point, how could you even stop me? This is my decision to make, so you can either help me save you or fight me and lose anyway.”

Damn. She’s right, I couldn’t stop her even if I tried. I’m too weak, always too weak.

He presses his forehead to yours, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek. It goes against every fiber of his being, every single one of his protective instincts screaming in his mind to not even consider letting you do this.

But he has no choice.

He cannot fight you.

“I don’t like it, not one bit. But you have a point. Just… promise me you’ll be careful?” he begs you, surrendering to your will at last. You nod, your lovely eyes lighting up happily at his agreement.

“I promise. Thank you, my poet,” you murmur gratefully, and then you close the gap to kiss him lovingly. His tongue darts out to taste you, craving your unique flavor. A surge of lust overtakes him as you open to his attentions, his arms pulling you against him forcefully as his blood thunders in his ears. He wants you, all of you. He wants to consume you and never let you go. You are his, now and always, and he desperately craves the chance to claim you once again.

V doesn’t care that you’re in the middle of a street. Doesn’t care that there’s chunks of stonework and broken buildings surrounding you. Doesn’t care that the only remotely clean or flat surface is a small portion of sidewalk. He tugs you toward it, easily stripping off his vest as he goes. Your mouth pops open in surprise but you don’t fight him as he carefully lowers you onto the pavement, using his vest as a pillow so your head doesn’t lie on the cold ground.

“Really, V? Here?” you whisper. He grins ferally, his hands already working at your top as he growls his response.

“Yes.”

You blush deeply, eyes darting around the area to check for other witnesses to your carnal pleasures. You find not a single soul, as he knew you would, and seem to settle as he pulls your shirt over your head.

“You are mine, little fox,” he murmurs lustily, and his mouth descends to decorate your bare chest with kisses and bites. You wrap your arms around him, but he tuts. He pulls back and looks you in the eyes.

“If you want me to stop, say ‘juniper’, yes?” he instructs you and another powerful bolt of heat rips through him as he sees your swollen lips stretch into a hungry smile, your glazed eyes narrowing as you nod forcefully. He descends upon your form once more, his arms moving to pin yours at your sides so you’re helpless to his actions. He needs to feel powerful, feel in control even though he would never force you.

He grins darkly as your hands, pinned to your sides, drift to your waist to open your belt. You release him as well, clumsily baring you both to the chilly air. A wicked smile twists his lips as he has a sudden idea, and he rises, pulling his pants up enough so they don’t trip him as he pulls you up. He plants his lips on yours again instantly, his tongue ravaging your mouth passionately as he backs you against a small sedan nearby. You gasp as the back of your legs hit the metal, another exhalation escaping you as he grips your hips and flips you face down.

He drops his pants again, working himself out of his briefs as you extend your arms out on the hood of the brown car, the dust already showing where your body has touched it. The sight pleases him immensely.

“Good girl, always so obedient for me,” he rumbles, his long fingers parting your legs easily as you whimper in desire. He tears your panties away forcefully, a small ripping sound accompanying the motion as he flings them away dismissively.

“Yes, I’m a good girl for you V. Show me how good I’ve been,” you whine as he drags a single digit through your slick folds.

“Hmm. You’ve also been very naughty, my little fox. I ought to punish your misbehaving,” he growls in response, using the tone he knows you can’t resist. You moan, the sound starting a fire in his belly and making him bare his teeth in a wolfish smile.

He raises a hand and smacks your bare ass, leaving a delightful red mark behind in his wake as you squeal. He listens carefully for a moment, in case you need him to stop, but only hears your ragged breathing. He smacks your ass again, another red mark joining the first as you groan.

“Please, V... please… I need you,” you beg, and a heady rush of power fills him.

“Not yet, love. I’m not done punishing you yet,” he groans back with a smirk. He takes a moment to enjoy the view, your arms outstretched and trying to find purchase against the smooth metal of the brown vehicle beneath you, your legs parted and shaking slightly in your excitement. Two red marks on your round ass where he’s marked you as his. He adds one more mark with a final smack, making you gasp amidst your staccato breaths.

“Now, for your reward,” he whispers just loud enough for you to hear. He delights in the way you shift your hips, angling yourself for his ease.

Not yet…

He strokes himself a few times, satiating his own needs just enough to focus his mind as he slides a finger inside you. A delicious moan reaches his ears from your parted lips and he curls his digit just the way he knows you like it. The way you breathe his name jolts him, the low fire in his belly becoming a raging inferno as he feels your wetness. He withdraws his finger and steps forward at long last, his hands gripping your hips in a bruising grip.

“Such a good little fox…” he rumbles and slowly presses his hips forward. His eyes flutter closed as his head breaches you, the tight tunnel welcoming him home like a lost pet. His own moan joins in with yours as you clench around him, the slick fluids allowing him to inch his way further inside at a pace that would make a snail impatient.

His hips finally become flush with your ass as he sheathes himself fully. One of his hands moves from your quaking hip to fist in your hair, pulling your head up so he can see the blissful expression on your face. He holds your head there as he pulls away, your brows furrowing as you bite your lower lip. He bucks forward again, reveling in the sharp gasp that escapes your lips as you are suddenly filled again.

He releases your head, laying his hand on your spine and holding you against the cold metal as he thrusts voraciously, his panting breath echoing your own. You do your best to angle your hips to meet his, clearly desperate for friction on your tiny bundle of nerves.

“You’re being so good, you deserve a reward,” he gasps out and the hand still on your hip descends, finding its way between your thighs and stroking your clit the way he knows you like. Your cries elevate his feeling of dominance even further, still not uttering the word he’d told you before he began. He feels you approaching your peak, your body sending him all the signals he needs. He stills his fingers and his hips, leaving you panting and wriggling in frustration beneath him.

“Did I say you could come yet, love?” he rumbles, leaning closer to your ear to ensure you can hear him.

Your face says it all – he has total control over you as you willingly surrender to his will and still your hips.

“Good girl,” he growls, standing tall once more and resuming his ferocious pounding. The dust under your form mixes with your sweat, a watery mess coating your front as he molds you to his desires. He can’t help the long moan that sounds from him as you find your rhythm together, the wet slapping of flesh marking your union audibly.

He’s close now, he can feel it.

I want to feel her come with me.

He resumes his little touches, bringing you just to the edge to join him. With a final shout, he rubs the spot that he knows will send you over, your clenching walls and signature orgasmic moan rewarding his intimate knowledge of your body as his stuttering hips clench, his own pleasure pulsing between his legs within you. His skin prickles, his vision flashing with color as the high of release fills his consciousness.

His blood pounds in his veins as he comes to a stop, spent. The two of you both pant heavily as you catch your breath, the exertion such a wonderful strain on your lungs. His hands leave your body as he stands and pulls away with a slight squelch, your mixed fluids spilling out of you as he joins you on the hood, laying down and meeting your half-lidded gaze.

A long moment passes of the two of you simply staring at each other, reveling in ecstasy.

“I love you,” V finally murmurs, and you smile that smile he so adores, lips twisting to perfectly display your teeth in an expression of utter joy.

“I love you, too,” you whisper back, and his own joyful smile matches yours.

#dmc5 v #dmc5 #dmc #fanfic #v x reader #v x you #reader insert #op #SBHS #lemon #spicy #vitale

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