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undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

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O Rubor Sanguinis - Kaz Brekker x Grisha!Reader

[vulgar language]

[Part 1 - Agnus Dei]

SUMMARY: The Black General docks in Ketterdam and the lives of all four of you depend on booby traps set around the city and whether you really are as powerful as you're led to believe. Standing face to face with the man who's been haunting your family for years, can you stop yourself from becoming a monster?

Kaz may not be the bear he likes to appear as.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.7k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist<<

Inej is finally back. Her return has a strange property - it resolves one tension just to build another. But no one is expecting this day to go any differently. You don’t look for sunlight under grim, dark clouds.

“The ship docked,” she informs.

Three pairs of eyes turn to look at you, watching in anticipation. Guilt and shame swirl inside your chest once again. From this moment on, they are your responsibility. Each bruise, cut and wound they will suffer is as if done by your hand.

You clench your fist to stop the hand from shaking and take in a ragged breath. “Let’s go over this one last time. The main goal is to separate Kirigan from the Second Army soldiers. Our advantage is that we know Ketterdam a lot better.”

“And we set traps,” Jesper adds with visible thrill.

“Exactly,” you point at him with a snap of your fingers. It’s the second best thing to saying ‘a point for you’. “You can’t take on Kirigan’s Grisha all at once, so send them on a wild goose chase through the city. They don’t know much about tactics, they’ll just throw whatever they have at you, for better or worse. While you’re boxing in the Second Army, I’m fighting the Black General.”

A moment of reflective silence falls among the four of you. Jesper, Kaz and Inej exchange glances, then their eyes return to scrutinizing your face. Something’s the matter.

“You’re actually going to kill him?” Inej asks with a hint of disbelief. It’s hard to say whether she’s sceptical you can do it or in awe that it might work, after all. Although the words came from her, you’re well aware that she’s voicing everyone’s thoughts - even your own.

A sigh escapes your lips as you look away from them for a moment. The anticipating stares feel like red hot cauteries; vultures waiting for any sign of their prey passing on. “Only if I have to. Kaz is right, taking down someone of his calibre may be brave but it is impossibly stupid.”

Brekker takes this as a cue to put in his own two cents. “They won’t make it easy,” his tone is harsh. “The Black General expects resistance. He’s not taking prisoners.” Kaz pauses for a moment, probably to accentuate the seriousness of the ridiculous plan they’re about to carry out. “No mourners.”

“No funerals,” the rest of you answer him in unison. It’s more a habit, a reflex, rather than a conscious effort.

A sting appears in your chest - with a hand on your heart, can you honestly promise this to Kaz? That by nightfall you will not be the one buried underneath streets of Ketterdam?

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Kaz looking at the side of your face. Something’s on his mind, some thought that begs to be set free but he manages to keep it hidden. You don’t acknowledge this observation and leave the club, taking up one of the most reckless thing you could probably come up with.

The widespread panic started somewhere after the first detonation - when one of the Squallers got their face burnt off with phosphorus, causing all of the Ketterdam citizens in the vicinity to run around with a scream on their lips. Overlooking the ramming herd, the explosive did its job and Kirigan’s Grisha soon dispersed through the better portion of the city. Now they are a responsibility to be handled by Kaz, Jesper and Inej. The only thing you can do for them is trust that Veles is looking away from Ketterdam.

You weave the alleyways and streets of the grim city in search of Him. The sounds of fighting are once close by and other times distant. Each whine of agony, a moan of pain, makes your heart stop beating until you’re sure that the miserable shout does not belong to any of your friends. But you can’t know whether the next scream will not come from their lungs. That realization makes you clench your fist a little too tight, nails digging into your skin - the three of them are risking their lives, so you have a chance. It’s only fair that you put your fear on the farthest shelf.

With a newfound determination, you storm through the streets of Ketterdam, never paying attention to anything that doesn’t even remotely resemble the black robe of the General. People run past you but you shove them away. A flame flies towards the sky in a column of frenzy a few streets ahead of you. Not your circus, not your monkeys.

Then, the rim of heavy, black material flashes before your eyes right when it disappears around the corner. Anxiety once again blossoms in your chest but you stifle it, ripping it away from your soul and discarding it with a chunk of sensibility and compassion.

The alley is deserted. A narrow, uneven cobblestone road goes up and down, a true nightmare for a cart. A man dressed in all black is strolling through the street, unbothered by the widespread panic and fights across Ketterdam. Truthfully, you’ve never seen the Black General, only heard about him but at that moment, seeing the proud posture and elegant robes, you know it’s him.

“Черный батюшка!” you call out to the stranger.

He immediately stops walking. First looking over his shoulder, then turning around, Kirigan is facing you for the very first time in his life. Despite that, he knows you’re the rabbit he’s been chasing. The deserted street where no civilian will suffer, opponents that recognize each other at first glance - all of this seems almost fated.

“You,” he says thoughtfully, pondering the relatively unimposing sight in front of him. Then, a condescending smile creeps onto his face. “Finally.”

“Me,” you try to sound more unbothered than you truly are. It’s hard to say whether he’s buying your act. “Always and invariably, me.”

There’s no word of warning, not even a dishonest attempt at negotiations born out of courtesy rather than diplomacy - Kirigan does some complicated motion with his hands and suddenly there’s a blade made out of solid darkness charging at you.

But since it’s material, it must obey the laws of physics.

With barely a flick of your wrist, wispy flame, lilac in colour, wraps itself around the shadow, forcing it to change the trajectory of its flight. A thundering sound, a cloud of dust - the blade flies through the brick wall of a nearby house.

Something changes about Kirigan’s face. The condescending, cocky mannerism falters when he’s not consciously keeping it up. An expression of surprise, if not disbelief, dances across his features before he’s pulled back into the moment. No matter how stern and unbothered he may appear, you’ve already seen the General’s doubt in his own superiority. Playing into his broken confidence might just be the solution.

You shake your head in disappointment. “Why are you doing this to yourself, Alexandr? You know you can’t kill me with your power.”

Kirigan falls to his knees when you clench your fist, the same lilac smoke hovering around his body. He can’t move his hands and any attempt at conjuring darkness end with the shadows falling on the cobblestone in coal-like ash. In no rush, you stroll closer to him.

Standing maybe a metre or two away from him, you can see into his dark eyes - nervousness and contempt swirl together as though his human form is just a disguise, hiding a rabid animal underneath.

“I am both the rock and the tree roots that crumble it,” you begin in a condescending tone, “the mountains and the turbulent waters eroding them.” Slowly leaning down, you face him with merely a palm’s length between you. “I could be your god. I can make you beg,” you grit through your teeth.

Kirigan bursts into laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. “Do you really believe this nonsense? That you’re anything beyond a barking, toothless mutt?” Suddenly, his amusement disappears as swiftly as it came to be just a second ago. “You’re just like him,” he spits ouit. “Too weak to make a change, to be someone. I can help you, make you into something that matters.”

You take a step back. It’s both pathetic and impressive that a man rendered powerless claims to be the key to some inexplicable strength. The longer you look at Kirigan, to more you’re certain that he genuinely believes his own words; having gone through spirals of madness, he circled back to some twisted normality.

Kneeling before you, unable to defend himself in any way that matters, he's something of a prisoner - a man held hostage by mercy and vengeance battling inside your head. You could just... kill him. The curse that had haunted you and your family for centuries, it can end just like that - snap your fingers, flick your wrist, it doesn't take much.

You swallow thickly; a deep, ragged breath inhaled through your mouth. This must end, his reign of paranoia and delusion, but you know the day is yet to come - not here, not right now.

In a spiteful manner, you cross your arms on your chest. A cocky smile crooks your lips. Even if you don’t kill him, this is going to be equally satisfying. “See, батюшка, that’s the difference between you and me: you must be someone, while I can be anyone.” You shrug. Then you nod your head, silently agreeing with his words, although only a percentage of them. “You know, there’s a thousand ways I imagined killing you. Maybe I’ll increase your blood pressure, giving you a heart attack after a heart attack until the muscle finally gives out or slowly put more pressure on your skull until it pops like an overripe watermelon. I could also change the density of the air, making you suffocate for hours on end.” You sigh in defeat, throwing your hands up. “But you’re right, I am just like Mikhail. That’s the only reason why you’ll get to see another day.”

Before Kirigan has a chance to continue this pointless dispute, you kick the side of his head with all of the strength you can gather. With a loud thud, he hits the cobblestone road, knocked-out cold. Incapacitated for a moment but nowhere near dead. Although you have no way to be sure about that, something tells you that you got your message across and Kirigan is going to direct his delusion of grandeur elsewhere - at least for now.

“You know what’s the problem with chasing rabbits?” you say to the unconscious General. “There are bears in the woods.”

Some of your drink spills as you hit your glass with Jesper’s, raising a toast for all the tears you will not cry over your friends. You whine and laugh, feeling brandy running down your fingers. For tonight, it’s the only sorrow you’re going to suffer.

You’re drinking the alcohol while listening to Jesper’s tall story of how he brought down one of the Infernis earlier. He’s absolutely amazing at the craft, gesturing and adding noises to paint the picture. The tale is so engaging, you don’t notice Brekker’s eyes burning into you. Maybe part of your dismissal of his behaviour is because you’ve grown to know him a little too well - always pessimistic until his own skills are being evaluated. He will probably tell you words of impeding doom, revenge of the General, and although he will be right, you don’t quite want to think about the inescapable future just yet.

To your misfortune, as you think at the moment, Kaz gives Inej a meaningful look and she picks up on the silent message immediately.

“Let’s get another round,” she says as she pulls Jesper up by his arm. He doesn’t seem to mind, following her through the crowd to the bar.

Kaz leans forward, resting his forearm on the table. “You did the smart thing, letting the Black General live,” he begins.

The mention of the man in black robes makes you sober up immediately, his condescending smile flashing before your eyes. You finish the rest of your drink in one go, the glass clicks loudly against the wooden table as you set it down.

“Save that for the day he comes back all fucked off.”

He only scoffs, amused at your sudden lack of humor. You’re watching Kaz as he fishes something out of his pocket and places it in front of you on the table. A glint of polished golden surface - the watch.

Strange. It looks a lot better, newer, than you remember. With furrowed eyebrows, you look at Kaz but his expression remains unreadable. Cautiously, as if the pocket watch is about to bite your hand off, you pick up the keepsake. Pressing down the button on the top, the lid pops open. Your eyes widen in surprise - the hands are steadily moving around the face of the clock.

Your eyes snap back to look at Kaz. Something equally warm as it is flustering sprouts inside your chest. “You had it fixed.”

“It’s a nice watch,” he answers with a certain tone of indifference. But if he was willing to go this far about something he was supposed to just keep in his pocket, there had to be at least a speck of care behind his cold exterior. “There’s something else that might spark your interest. Come with me.”

The garden square is nearly deserted. Those who do walk through it, use it as a shortcut rather than a green area meant for leisure. Plantanetrees tower over you, their widespread crowns rustle as cold wind brushes against them. A leaf or two falls with a stronger gust, covering the neatly-kept lawn in reds and oranges.

In front of you is a bench - a park bench like there are thousands throughout Ketterdam. And yet, this one is unlike any other. It’s so uncommon, in fact, that you can hardly believe you’re standing in front of it. Your teary eyes read the plaque on the planks once more:

In loving memory of Kosomova Anastasia Fyodorovna. One mother’s sacrifice is worth that of a thousand martyrs.

“Thank you,” you whisper to Kaz, your voice wavering with unconsolable emotions. His face is still stern, impenetrable, but he appears calm rather than somber. “She would have loved it.”

“Do you?” he asks immediately after.

A dry chuckle flies past your lips. Despite the tears running down you face, you smile - genuinely. “This is the nicest thing anyone has done for me.”

Kaz doesn’t say anything in response but neither does he leave. The two of you are standing there motionless, taking after the impressive plantanetrees rustling over your heads. Autumn wind brings stray raindrops with each gust, the oncoming rainstorm mixing with your tears on your cheeks as though they are one and the same. Gas lamps shine with dim, yellow light - not enough to brighten up the forgotten garden square. Despite the surrounding darkness, the plaque is still fairly legible as the lamplight cascades off the polished metal.

When the emotions finally settle down, you find yourself wondering about the imminent future you had been chasing away earlier this evening. Perhaps Kirigan has withdrawn but it is more than foolish to assume he has abandoned his mission like a wolf that disappears into the thick forest only to come back with the rest of its pack; the howling of tomorrow resonates in your ears.

“What happens now, Kaz?” you ask quietly.

He spares you a questioning look. “What do you mean?”

With a sigh, you look to the side to meet his gaze. “We’re in open conflict with the Black General. He might keep away for now but one day he’ll come back.”

Kaz slightly turns to face you with the rest of his body. The strange softness in his gaze disappears in favour of something cold and determined but never calloused; the same water that cleanses, drowns. “Then we’ll fight him again.”

The word ‘we’ brings you a sense of comfort. It’s a lovely sentiment - to not have to stare down into the abyss alone.

“You have incapacitated a handful of Kirigan’s personal guard and you’re harbouring a fugitive.” You pout your lips thoughtfully and nod your head. “I guess now it really is your fight.”

“You’re always my fight,” he states firmly, almost as if he is arguing with you. “Whether you like it or not.”

___

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