Fate: Diabolical

Mercy for Beasts

Ira was remarkably happy for someone on their way to take a life. He had remorsefully left Astra sleeping, little thing had passed out the moment her head touched the pillow. He had wanted nothing more than to stay by her side and gaze at her perfect face, but he’d made a promise to Genro, and whilst not generally a man to worry about keeping his word, he did make an effort when it came to his oldest friend. Perhaps his only friend. Ember was loyal, but he saw the heavy judgement in her eyes whenever she could bring herself to look at him, and he heard the dripping revulsion on every short, snappy sentence she used exclusively with him now. It had been a long-time since they had talked about anything other than business, which did hurt him despite it being a bed of his own making; a price he knew he would pay for the decisions he made last summer. Last summer had been significant for everyone, but for Ember in particular it had been both her breaking, and her re-making. In some ways he already counted her amongst the list of their dead, for that’s what it felt like to look at her now. Gone, was the feisty young tomboy with a head full of adventure who had been glued to his heels since he was 11. The day he sacrificed their friendship, he also sacrificed that girl; perhaps he should really count her amongst the list of his murdered. However, what he lost in a friend he gained in a soldier. When she broke down to dust, she re-built herself in solid iron and was now a veritable machine. A useful, but soulless machine. And really, he needed machines more than friends right now.

There she was, standing over by the central square fire, engrossed in the flickering flames with that same haunted look which had taken up stubborn residence on her face. It’s strange how experience can physically alter you, how it can age you; to look at her you would never know that she was only 19. And that was his fault too.   

She smelt him instantly, always the first to notice him. Before her eyes would light up at his scent and she would come running, eager for orders of their next adventure. She would pump her fists in the air in mock-fights with monsters she dreamed of challenging… now she adverted her eyes swiftly and scampered away without looking back. He was the monster to her now. Ignoring the twinge in his heart he kept up the pace and turned his mind to sweeter subjects, like his beautiful mate. He was relieved to see that he could get her blood pumping after all, although she still wasn’t as enthusiastic as he would have liked, which bugged him. Maybe he should mark her soon? He had been so nervous when talking to her outside his quarters. A lone wolf by nature, words did not come easy to him and he had been desperately wracking his brain for something to fill the silence, but overall, he was happy with how it went. He definitely saw it in her eyes, and that gave him the ego-boost he needed. Such a strange feeling for him to crave someone’s approval so much.

Following the glint of a frozen stream, he finally arrived at his destination - and it seems he wasn’t alone. Genro leaned casually against the wall, one knee perched up against it. In his hands he swung around a knife. He didn’t look up as the Alpha approached.

‘Didn’t trust me to do the job or something?’ Ira gruffed, folding his arms across his puffy chest.

Genro’s cheshire-cat smile glistened from ear to ear as he looked up from his still twirling knife.

‘Well you know what they say boss, want something done right and all that. Besides, I know how you can get carried away’ he said with a cheeky wink. Ira didn’t smile back, but he didn’t complain either, just shot him a foul glare and headed for the door. The first thing that hit was the smell, the putrid scent of musky, stale air mixed with human excretion. Slumping just a few feet ahead, behind sturdy metal bars something hideous lay twisted on the stone floor. The inhuman lump was perfectly still, but you could hear the tiny scratches of nails against the floor. In a most unorthodox position the thing lay, with its long sinewy limbs covered in welts thrown high above it’s torso, bum facing the air; naked as the day he was born. Retching slightly and quickly pulling his sleeve over his nose, Genro heaved

‘Ah Jesus. What is it with them always getting naked?’ he spluttered revolted ‘Im telling you some doc outta do some kind of research on why nutters always feel the need to meet their maker in the buff! Ah, Christ you smell him… Oi!... Oi! Beasty?’

The thing did not move. Ira studied the odorous filth before him. Every time he saw him, he had to quash the violent urge to brutally m**m, which he'd had no problems doing before, but now he had to control himself. Genro was right, he’d pushed too hard and broke him too soon. That was his only regret, not the cruel torture he had meticulously served, but the fact he hadn’t got the information he needed first. He just felt the insatiable need to make him feel pain, to make him regret touching what wasn’t his. Every desperate cry for the sweet release of death satisfied a dark hunger in Ira’s soul, and denying him that release satisfied even more. Truly, he was sad to have to stop his games.

Genro grabbed at Ira’s arm, his roguish face serious as he held out his knife to him

‘Supposin’ you’ll wanna finish him off yourself’

His face expressionless, Ira took the knife without a word. Feeling the leather strap against his palm made him remember Astra turning his fathers knife on him earlier. God, she had been so hot with those flushed cheeks and those fiery eyes. He was happy she had fight in her, she would need it soon. He sauntered slowly to the cage door, pulling a brass key from his pocket. Genro gave his boss space, leaning back against the wall and tried to breathe through his mouth. He knew this wasn’t his fight, but he kept his eyes on his boss, ready to referee.

Ira towered over his prisoner, glaring at the foul creature, disgust in his eyes and mockery in his sneer as he hoped to provoke the monster to fight back, to give him the excuse to pound him down again. But this loathsome beast was just the deranged shell of a man and merely gawked misty eyed and gormless, drool wetting his lips and chin. Filthy Animal. When it saw the knife in Ira’s hand it gurgled softly in its throat and for a moment Ira thought he saw a flash of sanity flare in its pitiful eyes. Hopeful sanity, wishing for the end. Ira was sad to give it to him as he plunged the knife down into the willing throat. The gurgles heightened and the thing convulsed its hideous body, making Ira pull back, afraid to be touched by such a vile creature. He yanked the knife back with him and left the thing to bleed-out on the stone. Expressionless Ira turned to Genro.

‘Astra is never to know’ he said blankly.

Genro’s face crumpled in confusion.

‘Who?’

‘Astra. My wife. She isn’t to know. I will have the body disposed of and after this night, he never existed’

They walked back together in casual conversation and didn’t mention the still twitching body they left behind them. They waved goodbye with a hearty smile and headed for bed, where they would both sleep just fine.