Contact - Part 3
#3 of White Chrysanthemum {Drafts}
This is the third part of this little series. As with the first two parts, I finished writing this a few months ago. I had only shared them with my friends before. To be honest, I didn't plan to publish these at all. I only wrote them for fun and to occupy myself whenever I got bored. But the more I see people sharing their passions. The more I wanted to share mine. So after a few weeks of thinking, I decided (and pardon my language) "Fuck it!" Here's a little quote that motivated me into trying my luck at writing my own stories.
"If they won't write the kind of books we like to read, we shall have to write them ourselves." - C.S. Lewis
if you do spot some errors in the story. Don't mind them too much! Because as I've said before, these are still just drafts.
Disclaimers:
Depiction of Blood, Injuries, and other themes.
Reader's discretion is advised!
[En: Cht White Chrysanthemum] by RandomCanis
Contact -
Part 3
Sparks fizzled, blood pooled, and the swift fox's fangs grounded in pain. Fire blossomed from his left hip, biting deep into his rump and tearing at flesh and bones. Rutherford crawled away from the harsh laughter. His ears crooked and eyes clouded with pain as red painted his clothes and trailed behind him. Trembles danced across his flesh and fur as the fire bit deeper into him.
And the hums against his left eye grew worse. Lashing out violently against the miasma seeping into him. Fleeting memories surfaced through the pain. Lessons of why two opposing elements should never mingle in your body. Of the effects, they had on someone's body. Of the blinding pain that came from such a reaction. And now, he knew how it felt, how it tore at his flesh and spirit. Like a flower pulled from all sides by a tornado. The fox hated it. He wished and begged for the pain to stop. Wished that the warmth drizzling down his lower haft stopped. But they didn't.
"Crawl all you want. You're not going anywhere, you little bitch." Hoofed feet forced a yelp out of the fox when they stomped on the fox's hand. The ibex grinned with manic glee at the sound. The blade in her hand sang along happily. "I didn't want to use this." She shook the blade near his ears. Rutherford flicked them away as a hateful presence brushed against them. "But you just had to bear those disgusting fangs and bite back, eh?" She hissed and pain flared as the blade's pommel greeted his temple. Stars and spots flickered by as vision blurred for the fox.
"Why It chose a filthy meat-loving whore like you is beyond me." Her hoof caved into the swift fox's waist, inches away from the bleeding, ugly gash on his hips. The fox curled up into the pooling blood, his blood. Fangs grounded harshly with snarling lips as tears cleaned his marred cheeks. The echoes of two more footsteps filtered into his ears.
But he was too tired, too hurt to do anything. Rough, disrespectful hands pulled him up. One on his nape, one twisted his tail painfully, and the last perversely digging into his hips' bleeding gash that reached his mid-thigh. The fox stirred and those hands dug deeper into his flesh and wound. His hackles strained more as a grinning muzzle licked his ears. Along with the miasma still coiling into his spirit, he felt violated.
The baleful sword brushed against his chin. Its tip tickled his throat as the ibex forced him to look up. To her scowl and to the bleeding socket where her eye once sat. That made him feel a bit better, only a little bit. "We'll have to fix that. Liberate it from your filth and let it flourish in a proper vessel." The ibex declared with the sword raised. Her grin was broad, filled with fangs unbefitting of an herbivore. The swift fox closed his eyes, tears cascading as pleasant memories danced across his mind.
The air hummed, carrying a tinkle with it. And Rutherford's eyes flew open as the two holding his nape became red mist. Pebbles and dust pelted his bloodied body as something crashed into the ground. The ibex stumbled back in surprise. Right into the awaiting jaws that jumbled the fox's vision. A sickening crunch and a spray of blood forced Rutherford to blink, least bits of flesh and drops of blood entered into them. The Beige and cream fur of a wolf welcomed him afterward.
"Mm, I'll admit." The she-wolf reached up and plucked a flake of flesh from her teeth. "Not my proudest choice for a light nibble. I bet those fishes in that river taste far better than her, right Liraeti?" Sawyer quipped as she flicked the flake away. "Liraeti?" She asked once more when silence answered her. And the young swift fox stared through with wide eyes. Fresh blood drizzled down his nose while his eyes twitched as pin-pricks. The hum against his eye was overwhelmingly loud as his jumbled mind tried to settle itself. The visage of an endless gullet decorated with stars-painted fangs. The swirling void of nothingness taunted his mind. Whispered sickeningly sweet white noise that tore his ears.
Until a gentle caress on his bloody, tear-stained cheek chased them away. Warmth flooded into his achingly weak body as his vision cleared. Cleared to see the cloudy eyes of a beige-furred wolf. Rutherford blinked as his spirit settled, as the miasma ruptured from the comforting warmth. The vulpine blinked twice more. Before he all but pushed his head into the lupine's shoulders. His shaking as relieved yet confused tears soaked into the wolf's clothes. The gentle strokes at his nape reminded him of his mother's warm fur.
"There, there Liraeti. I almost forgot you're still very much mortal." Mortal, Rutherford thought confusedly. But he shelved it away and pushed himself deeper into the lupine's fur. Their ears perked up when scraping metal echoed by. They looked towards the baleful sword inching away, using its miasma to form crude claws. Rutherford flinched away at the sight, glancing at the wolf when he heard a scoff. "How revolting."
Crackling rods sang above the sword. And as quickly as they appeared, the rods slammed into the weapon. Fire and ash erupted from where the blade lay before. The swift fox winced, ears turned away from the crash. The dust cleared, and not a speck of dust or spirit was left behind from the weapon. "Much better." The wolf hummed, her hand scratching at the fox's ears.
Rutherford flinched away when her eyes landed on him. "Come now," She rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to test you in your condition." His body slacked in relief, noticing how he stopped bleeding from his wounds. "You're a resilient little fox. But even you have your limits." Sawyer chuckled softly as she stood up. Her hand lingered on his head before she pulled away. The swift fox frowned at the lupine's words. Resilient? But then he recalled those rods impaling his arm and leg. Then he looked at the bits of the two people that held him. His limbs remained intact with scars while those two became red mist. He grimaced at the thought, shifting away a bit.
"Mm, seems your skulk's closing in." And several voices echoed across the ruined building afterward. Rutherford felt a fresh wave of tears as he recognized his parents and grandfather among them. "I'll be taking my leave now," Sawyer said as she moved away. The fox tracked her back. And she was gone when he blinked. Rutherford frowned a turmoil in his mind, filled with questions and fear. Confused by the comfort she gave him. Yet the randomness of her actions brewed fear inside him.
And they remained at the back of his mind as his parents pulled him into a protective hug. As his grandfather's eyes lightened up with relief. As the authorities carefully placed him onto a stretcher to not agitate his wounds more.