Into the Fold (original) (raw)

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Hello everyone, I was invited to join by forgottenlover and skyler_daemon and I've accepted. This is a facinating community and I shyly put up a story I wrote for recasted_series only edited slightly to fit in more with the current storyline.

This is not quite work safe...so I've been told.

Lost Light

~*~

He loves to watch the light fade from their eyes, the way their eyelids widen in shock or pain. The contraction of their pupils as they stare at him, realizing he’s not like them. Sometimes he kisses them at the moment of their last breath, tasting that sweet flavor of mortality. Each one has a different taste, but he won’t kiss all of them, if he kisses them he misses the light fade.

He doesn’t know which he prefers, it depends on the type of person really. Some know before he reveals himself, they fight back and their light is brighter and stronger, more fun to watch vanish, but their taste is also stronger, sweeter, more enjoyable. The stupid people that don’t see him for what he is until the moment he strikes…well, he much prefers to see the emotion play across their face. The shock, then the betrayal or the fear, and then the pain, finishing always with grimace before their light fades.

Still, the fighters are the hardest to decide on. They seem to sense him and that gets him hot, especially when they actually wound him. The feeling of his own hot blood rolling down a limb or his torso, the scent of it, it makes him harder than Greed can. Sometimes the fighters run, those are the ones he likes the taste the most. They run and their mortal flavor mixes with fear, making it taste more heady, almost like something you’d taste during sex. He loves that.

The fighters that face him are all unique, the bravest are the hardest to choose between the taste or the watch. Their taste comes out because their will to live is overpowering their fear, making their taste all their own, completely them, when he tastes them it is that person on his tongue. Still the expressions range on the bravest. Anger is always there at least once. Sometimes there is a calmness and they close their eyes, he hates it when they cause him to miss the extinguishing of their light. One, a fiery alchemist who cut him up something nasty before he caught her, she lunged for him, biting into his lips, ripping them right off his face. He came when she pulled back, his blood running down her chin and his as the light dimmed in her eyes. He almost couldn’t tell she was dead, she had been a particularly enjoyable one.

There is something sexual about killing someone by impaling them on his claws. The slippery feeling of his claws sliding through their flesh and organs. When he was younger, he was much like a young man, fast and quick about it. Killing them far too fast, not savoring the feeling of pulsating flesh around his digits. Now, oh now it is an art for to him. He stands in front of them, his hand waist level, gut wounds are the most painful. He slips his thumb, index, and ring fingers completely through, hitting only secondary organs. He completely avoids the spine. He opens them up sometimes with his middle finger, stroking the hot, bleeding flesh with it. It’s never deep, probably not even beyond the abdominal muscles.

His fingers twitch with just the thought of the hot liquid moving over his finger as the muscles contract, almost trying to force his finger out of the wound. It’s a slow way to die, painful, and so intimate. He loves to hold them to him, feel their bodies cool as the blood escapes, as the shock causes their hearts to freeze, and the last, shuddery breath.

They all mean something to him, either because they taste so sweet or their light amused him for a moment. Between kills it’s hard, he watched them walk by, sometimes he can pick out a fighter. They’re the people that walk down the sidewalk before him and suddenly cross the street, staring at him from the corners of their eyes. He wonders how they would taste, how that distrustful light in their eyes would look as it faded into a sightless gaze.

He slowly breaks out of his train of thought as he newest victim steps into the alley. He’s a young man, he’s tall, muscular, handsome, and planning on warning some important investigator about Elric’s research. Pride wants this young man dead, and he will kill this young man. The victim pulls out a cigarette and nervously lights it, his blue eyes are looking up and down the alley as he runs a hand through his messy blonde hair. He will play with that hair as the light fades, or as he tastes, he’s not sure yet.

He knows that the investigator will arrive soon, so he strikes, one claw through the liver, one through intestines and part of a kidney, and the other through more intestines. He slowly walks, allowing the claws to shorten with each step, keeping the young man pressed against the wall, cigarette dangling between his lips as he stares at him. He reaches up, removing his cigarette with one hand, before stating the obvious.

“Homunculus,” he whispered and he nods with a seductive smile. He’s right next to him when the cigarette is jabbed into his eye. He was not expecting this one to be a fighter. He’s pleased when a blade remove the ends of his claws, leaving them buried in young, hot flesh. The victim runs the blade over his throat and he gurgles as he falls, the burnt eyes already healing as the victim turns to exit the alley. He sits up and uses his other hand to put a claw through each shoulder and lift him up. He brings him back and throws him back into the wall. With each hand he stabs his victim’s hands to the wall and presses his body against his victim’s. The shock is starting in his eyes and he knows his victim will be dead soon. He presses his hard flesh against the boy’s, eyes widen and he hisses something, but he wasn’t really listening. The light is dimming and he presses his lips against his victim’s. This one is a taste. Behind the taste of cigarette is his mortal taste. Like honey and some sweet fruit, strawberry perhaps. It is delicious and he licks his lips as he pulls away. He lets the body fall to the ground. His job is done and he heads out. Let Gluttony or Envy take care of the remains, he wants to get back to Greed and tell him about how this one tasted.

Thanks for having me.