The Second Death Has No Power - Sorrel is marked
Apr 22, 2022 19:32:58 GMT
Lykksie, Delilah Daybreaker, and 2 more like this
Post by stephena on Apr 22, 2022 19:32:58 GMT
Shit scared out of me by the mighty Lykksie
CW: [Gore/mutilation, body horror, Being eaten - 1st person POV (veiled)]
Aftermath to Atlantic City
Sorrel's back in the Feythorn, running for her life. The big one, the one with the long arms and the grin too wide for their face, the one who ate the farmer while he screamed himself to death in the burning field - they're at her heels.
She knows this. She has been expecting it. She sets her teeth and runs, because it's the game, and she reaches for Selûne's chain around her neck.
There's a giggling in the trees, behind her, around her, in front of her, in her head.
"Run, run, run, little one! Get your blood pumping!"
Sorrel stops.
The forest falls deadly silent.
Not a whisper of wind, not a rustle of a single branch.
Nothing but her own heart beating loudly in her chest, and a whisper in her ear;
"You think you're clever, don't you? It won't matter what you do."
"I'm waiting."
"That's all you've done, so far. And now you're too late."
"I think not."
The giggling picks back up.
"I'm going to eat him, while he's still alive. And I'm going to make you watch."
Now Sorrel giggles. "Good luck with that."
The giggling stops. She looks around at the trees.
"I'm still waiting."
With the force of blades, five claws sink into her back. They sink deep, and the fingers they're attached to grasp her spine.
Sorrel reels - the pain is worse than she expected.
"You're going to fail. And you'll die knowing you didn't protect the high diviner."
The hand around her spine clenches, and her spine shatters in its grasp.
"If I die, I will surely go to hell. And then you will be trapped in there with me," she screams.
She's thrown face-down onto the forest floor. Mercifully, somehow, the grotesque fiend is starting with her legs, so she's only vaguely aware of what's happening.
As she slowly loses sight and hearing, a freezer-burn travels from her wrecked spine out to her ribs on her left side.
Summoning all that she has from her years facing thugs in the alleyways of Baldur's Gate, pursuing the beasts that murdered her lover, battling hordes of devils in the forests of Chult, she gathers her core, her soul, her essence together and knows herself. She is, in this palace, intact. They can tear her to shreds, but she has the final, the greatest choice - she can choose the attitude she will take to this.
She is still free.
"You talk of boredom so often," her mind screams. "And yet you things are so simple, just hungry. So boring. I have had the hunger inside me, and outside me and I have won before. I will win again. You mark me? You kill me? You burn me? You just tie yourself to me. There is nothing you can do that has not been done to me before."
And she smiles. As wide as she can.
The heavy hand lands on her neck and snaps it to the side like a twig. She knows nothing else.
When she wakes up, she's covered in sweat, soaked through like she'd done sentry duty in a typhoon
Her back is cramping on and off, and her ribs are burning. She doesn't need to look to know what's happened, but she does anyway.
It's big, bigger than the one they put on Marto. It stretches from just below her armpit down to the top of her hip. It's cold to the touch, and when she touches it, she can hear giggling, somewhere far away.
And then she’s out of bed and moving. Communication goes two ways. If this lets them track her, it can let her track them. She just needs to work out how.
She will not wait any longer. From now on, everything is attack.
CW: [Gore/mutilation, body horror, Being eaten - 1st person POV (veiled)]
Aftermath to Atlantic City
Sorrel's back in the Feythorn, running for her life. The big one, the one with the long arms and the grin too wide for their face, the one who ate the farmer while he screamed himself to death in the burning field - they're at her heels.
She knows this. She has been expecting it. She sets her teeth and runs, because it's the game, and she reaches for Selûne's chain around her neck.
There's a giggling in the trees, behind her, around her, in front of her, in her head.
"Run, run, run, little one! Get your blood pumping!"
Sorrel stops.
The forest falls deadly silent.
Not a whisper of wind, not a rustle of a single branch.
Nothing but her own heart beating loudly in her chest, and a whisper in her ear;
"You think you're clever, don't you? It won't matter what you do."
"I'm waiting."
"That's all you've done, so far. And now you're too late."
"I think not."
The giggling picks back up.
"I'm going to eat him, while he's still alive. And I'm going to make you watch."
Now Sorrel giggles. "Good luck with that."
The giggling stops. She looks around at the trees.
"I'm still waiting."
With the force of blades, five claws sink into her back. They sink deep, and the fingers they're attached to grasp her spine.
Sorrel reels - the pain is worse than she expected.
"You're going to fail. And you'll die knowing you didn't protect the high diviner."
The hand around her spine clenches, and her spine shatters in its grasp.
"If I die, I will surely go to hell. And then you will be trapped in there with me," she screams.
She's thrown face-down onto the forest floor. Mercifully, somehow, the grotesque fiend is starting with her legs, so she's only vaguely aware of what's happening.
As she slowly loses sight and hearing, a freezer-burn travels from her wrecked spine out to her ribs on her left side.
Summoning all that she has from her years facing thugs in the alleyways of Baldur's Gate, pursuing the beasts that murdered her lover, battling hordes of devils in the forests of Chult, she gathers her core, her soul, her essence together and knows herself. She is, in this palace, intact. They can tear her to shreds, but she has the final, the greatest choice - she can choose the attitude she will take to this.
She is still free.
"You talk of boredom so often," her mind screams. "And yet you things are so simple, just hungry. So boring. I have had the hunger inside me, and outside me and I have won before. I will win again. You mark me? You kill me? You burn me? You just tie yourself to me. There is nothing you can do that has not been done to me before."
And she smiles. As wide as she can.
The heavy hand lands on her neck and snaps it to the side like a twig. She knows nothing else.
When she wakes up, she's covered in sweat, soaked through like she'd done sentry duty in a typhoon
Her back is cramping on and off, and her ribs are burning. She doesn't need to look to know what's happened, but she does anyway.
It's big, bigger than the one they put on Marto. It stretches from just below her armpit down to the top of her hip. It's cold to the touch, and when she touches it, she can hear giggling, somewhere far away.
And then she’s out of bed and moving. Communication goes two ways. If this lets them track her, it can let her track them. She just needs to work out how.
She will not wait any longer. From now on, everything is attack.