DAY 39-1: TRAPPED

"Spill the blood, tear the flesh, penetrate at good locations..."

"Y...your H-High...ness p-pleas—"

"Watch them writhe, kill as swift, without a moment's hesitation..."

His hums fill the air, tuning out the screech of the quack beneath him. Blood pools from their widened eyelids. They squirm against the serpents that hold him to the gurney, strapping each limb and suffocating him by the neck.

Avel's blade hits the flesh of the abdomen; softly at first, manoeuvring the sharp edge with vast familiarity and skill. Blood seeps from the steeled tip as he drags it across the abdomen, crafting a long, thick line of red. Prying apart the flaps of flesh, he exposes the yellow fat within, then slices through it. Working quickly, roughly.

The man has stopped squirming. His eyes lose all essence and he twitches; until finally growing limp. Physically he's ripped and destroyed, but he's finally relaxed. No more suffering, concerns. He can be at peace.

"Avel, why'd you stop?"

Her voice slithers in his mind, as always. He's always disliked how she can do that.

Regardless, Avel's mint eyes grow hollow. "He's dead."

"Already?" Zaire asks. "He was fairly weak."

For the first time in what felt like hours, Avel's senses rush back to him. The sickening smell of metal and rotting flesh infiltrate his lungs in a choking aroma, something he's grown so fond of. He has to swallow the undeniable pleasure every whiff surges through him. He unhands the knife, setting off to where the rest of his supplies sit.

He slips off his spoiled gloves and coat. Under the nipping chill of the mist that spreads over the night sky, moonlight illuminates the otherwise darkened room. He collapses into the window seat, leaning back and running his fingers through his shaggy purple hair.

A flask drifts from the fridge into his free hand and he downs a good gulp. With some remaining alcohol rolling down the corner of his mouth, Avel bends over his thighs. His hand over his face, he peers to the opposite end of the room, currently illuminated by the moonlight behind him.

There are more than he remembers being there, all lying like ghoulish mannequins. Corpse after corpse are strewn in a tall pile. But all are fresh— warm—blood thick but not yet dried on their waxy skin. One in particular dangles from the mountain, soulless eyes aimed directly at him; their mouth open, head almost cleft from the body. Severed vessels, esophaguses, and arteries stick out like corrugated rubber tubing. Ungainly as rag dolls, multiple of other heads droop forward as well, and over their slit chests and splayed organs and innards.

"You already completed the antidote last night, right?" Zaire's voice once again is like a hiss in his ears. The black serpent familiar of his twists her way over the couch, enclosing his shoulder. "Why did you go and kill more people?"

Avel drops his gaze, unable to stop the grin from stretching to his ears. "I couldn't help it. Just thinking about how broken Leda would be if I just killed that Spade gave me urges."

"But you still won't kill him," Zaire hisses. "For you to have gone so far for a human, maybe your madness has grown weak after all."

Avel chuckles, pressing his back against the cool window and drowning another refreshing gulp down his throat. "Zaire, don't go sounding like Mother. If she wants me to kill, I'll kill. I've always done so, haven't I?"

"Maybe so, but this is no time to be fooling around. You do realize it's past midnight. The engagement party is in twelve hours."

"Is it?" Avel laughs. "It's already the promised day? Leda will be mine in twelve hours, huh?"

He can hear Zaire's disappointment. "You're talking about the wrong bride."

"I know," Avel drawls, pouting as he does. "Remi is cute and all, but Mother has already finalized I kill her in a couple weeks anyway. But Leda's a human, Zaire! I was so roundabout about bringing her to the palace so I can keep that kind of treasure without any problems. Since Mother will be in the best spirits then the plan is to convince her to let me keep her after today's ceremony."

"What about that Mond with her? And the Spade?"

"I'll get rid of them, of course. Mother can take their heads if she wants but Leda's the only one I care about."

Zaire pauses. "Then why did you have to go through so much trouble? If you wanted you could've taken her from the start."

"Well, it's been extremely boring lately. I wanted a little fun," Avel dismisses. "Besides, I really only agreed to save that Spade because I've always been interested in novel illnesses. Imagine how much fun I can have killing somebody over and over again to find a cure? I can gut their insides, suffocate them, poison them, flatten them, drown them, shoot them, track down and slaughter their loved ones right in front of them—"

"Avel, your madness is showing," Zaire whispers.

The man's hysteria heightens to an extreme. "Whoops." He takes another drink. "But the plan is simply perfect! Mavix is the one who came up with the idea, too, and... Hmm?"

Avel's sudden solemnity draws Zaire's confusion.

"Avel?"

His brows furrow as his eyes flicker out the window behind him. "It's... oddly quiet tonight, isn't it?"

"You can tell?"

Avel's mouth curve downwards. Concern breaches his countenance. "Do you think something's happened to Leda?"

"She promised to keep hidden didn't she?"

"She did," Avel mumbles. "But—"

"No. You don't have time to run after a pathetic human," Zaire snaps. "You're the next king, Avel. To become the leader of Straeh you need to learn to cast aside the less important things."

Deep down, he knows Zaire is right. She's always been his voice of reason.

Nonetheless, it's the first time in a while he's ever felt so passionate about something. Though, if his Mother has already discovered and killed her he has no choice but to suck it up until another idiotic human comes waltzing into Straeh.

Avel puffs his cheeks. Still... He really wanted to keep her, too...

Childishly folding his arms, Avel juts his chin. "You're always thinking about yourself, Zaire. That's it. I'm not feeding you any dead bodies for the rest of today."

"Wha...! Avel...!"

♥♦♣♠

Orian's eyelids open suddenly. The pain in his limbs and the pooling cold from beneath him glue him in place. Every nerve in his body urges him to claw his way to standing. Within the blackness enclosing around him, he trudges forward on his stomach; slowly, painfully.

   A foot is stabbed straight into his spine. A yelp of pain escapes his mouth, his face colliding straight into the snow beneath him. The sound of titters unbelonging to his own resound in his ears—soft, but prevalent.

   Orian's head is splitting from a headache. Embarrassment, incompetence; how useless and weak he really is hangs like a sign before his eyes. He grits his teeth, bunching a fistful of the nipping snow in his fingers.

"Master... Leda..."

"Poor thing." The owner giggles further from above him, removing the heel of her foot from his back. "Even after I saved you from that Heart you're still griping about a dead woman? You have absolutely no loyalties to your kingdom do you?"

   Orian stifles each gasp of pain that originate as a result, heaving heavily and praying it passes over. The mud and grit have become entangled with raw pink flesh, white jagged ends of a broken bone cutting through the skin of his left wrist. Every portion of his body is littered in deep wounds and cuts; purple bruises. With each slow and deep breath, rivers of scarlet soak his thin clothes and the snow beneath him.

   Even towering above him in this icy forest, Remi Mercer knows he isn't going to last long.

   "Hawke, Kahlea, Holly," she calls.

   In accordance to their master's wishes, three female foxes slip out from Remi's long red cloak. Each glow like fireflies in the darkness of night. They surround the pathetic body of the dying man then shift, growing larger in size until they stand like regular beings, on two feet. Without even having to lift a finger, Remi watches her familiars carry Orian to the nearest tree, resting his head against the wood and keeping his body upright.

   Orian intakes carefully, his fingers curling over his side. He parts a throbbing eyelid and settles it on the blurry figure of the short girl ahead. She wears a heavy cloak over a pink dress and knapsack. But even in the stark of night her fox ears twitch as she stares right back with her matching green eyes.

   "How long were you running from that Heart?" she questions. "It would've been easier if you let her kill you. Or if you used a portal like I did to get you out of there..." Her words trail off and she averts her gaze, as if in understanding. "I see. You don't seem to have familiars either. I didn't think those kinds of Monds still existed."

   She approaches him, her three foxes back in their original forms and encircling her body. Orian clenches his teeth, not only the metal taste of blood on his tongue, but newfound frustration as well.

   "Why... are you..."

   "I don't feel too comfortable here anymore," she confesses. "I did believe forming a proper alliance with Hearts would be better for Dia in the future, but I now realize just how corrupt this land really is." She titters as she crouches beside him, combing her fingers through the fur of one of the foxes beside her. "My little cuties also tell me I may just get slaughtered if I stick around for the ceremony. Leaving quietly before I get stuck too deep in the trap these Hearts laid out for Dia is best."

  Her icy palms connect with his cheek and though he wants to refuse, he can't muster the strength to.

   "Poor, poor, Orian," she coos, lips tilting up. "I still cannot comprehend why such a beautiful Mond chose to live with the rest of these lower suits. You're welcome back to Dia anytime you'd like, you know."

   Orian emits an uncontrolled growl, only surging more amusement through Remi.

   "Well, I better be off," she says, already up and on her feet. "If you want to live through this it may be in your best interest to tend to your wounds and hide before that Heart tracks you down again."

  A large wind billows through, sending a current of snow into the air. When it dies down, Remi is gone, downed away by a portal she's so skilled in crafting.

   The dark blood makes its way out of his body. It oozes between the space between his fingers but that's not the only place the blood is escaping.

   Cold licks at his face and creeps under his tarnished skin. It's getting colder; number. His vision blurs. The redness of his shirt darkens and darkens until all he can see is the scarlet blood that once flowed in his veins. He counts every drop that gushes, each slowly seizing the life in him, leaving him paler and weak. He can't help but wonder if Leda and Estan felt this way too when they left.

   They were right in front of him and yet he let them go. He's always been too weak. Always a crybaby. He even received help from a family he swore to never involve himself with again.

   He'd told Rhett repeatedly it was crazy for them to believe things would be all right if he gathered the suits. They were lucky enough to get this far. If Straeh was this deadly they had no hope for Revolc or Dia.

   He can't count how the minutes that pass, but before he knows it he can see light peeking through his half-lidded eyes. Sunlight. Morning.

   Something slinks through the snow. Slowly. Carefully. Casting a shadow far too menacing to fight.

   "Death. Death. Death."

They stop right in front of him, scythe glinting off the sun's rays.

   The corner of Orian's lips forge up the slightest. Maybe this time he'll be able to have his freedom.