Chapter Text
The thing seeps into Arthur's mind, takes control of his body, and by the time Arthur realizes what's going on it's already too late.
It pushes Lewis. That's the first step.
It catches a glimpse of Mystery out of the corner of its eye, and it grins. Confident and smug.
Arthur-that-isn't-Arthur drops down the ledge, skipping down the cliff from hand- to foothold with catlike grace. The actor knows the position of each stone before he lands on it, navigating the darkness with ease. It's a long drop, but he crosses it in seconds. Only barely slower than Lewis had.
A long drop. Too long to jump safely. Mystery does not have hands to climb.
The actor lands, silently, dips briefly in a concealed vest pocket. Arthur carries a Swiss Army knife with him, an emergency tool that's come in handy for many a locked door or mysterious box. Nothing on it is particularly lethal. The actor doesn't bother looking for the knife, just flips it out into the scissors.
Not ordinarily lethal. Ordinarily, it would've been easy to overpower. But Vivi's still staring numbly at Lewis's body, and the actor has made not a sound.
He lunges.
The actor is making for the exit, hands bloodied, barely breathing hard. His steps are confident and near-silent over the rough stone. Just a little farther. Past the crossroads, past the short tunnel, and then freedom. Sweet fresh air.
A forgotten obstacle is waiting for him in the crossroads.
Mystery lowers his head, ready to pounce.
"You'd really kill him for me?" it manipulates his mouth to say. "For revenge? You've already failed, you idiot. They're dead. Let this one live."
A growl tears its way out of the kitsune's throat, and he leaps.
It's a fight between two monsters with deep instincts towards bloodshed, but it's also a fight between a (comparatively) flimsy human armed with flimsy scissors and a honed killing machine. The actor never stood a chance. Arthur's head cracks sideways against the floor as Mystery pounces, knife-sharp claws dig into his chest, and then teeth bite into the sick green flesh of his arm and slowly, like a thread unraveling, the control of the possession is pulled away from his soul.
Later, Arthur would not be able to explain how he survived. He couldn't explain anything from the cave. It was all a blur, mostly black with a few snatches of hazy memory. He recalls going in, with vague images. He remembers leaving. He remembers hurt and the dizzy, disoriented feeling like he'd just come out of a deep sleep. Like waking up from anaesthesia. The phone was already in his bloodstained hand when the memory starts, 911 already dialed. All he had to do was press call and drag a few desperate words out of his uncooperative throat. Then nothing. Then the hospital.
He could see Lewis and Vivi in the first memory, just ahead of him. He could not see them in the second.
It was a miracle he survived, everyone agreed. More than a miracle - it was impossible. He should have bled out by the time the first responders arrived. It didn't make any sense. It was like something had saved him, slowed the flow of blood out of the wounds and kept him alive somehow.
He shrugged and grinned hazily at Lance and joked that apparently, he'd finally gotten lucky.
The deep cuts to his chest, the broken jaw and missing tooth, even the whole missing arm - those were all tolerable. In a life-goes-on sort of way, yeah it sucked, but he'd just have to manage. The thing that made his weak attempts at humor evaporate, though, was the news that Lewis and Vivi hadn't joined him in the hospital.
As far as anyone could tell, they weren't anywhere.
If they were still in the cave, they were much deeper in, where SAR wouldn't go without the proper equipment for fear of a cave-in or hidden pitfalls. There was no sign of them anywhere, just blood on the stone floor that mixed together until it was impossible to tell what was Arthur's and what wasn't.
That was not tolerable. Life did not go on from that.
Mystery's self-control, honed over centuries living as a guardian, stopped him from taking Arthur's life directly. It did not keep him at his side. His charge was not here, not with him.
He turned and padded back into the cave, leaving the bloodied body and broken arm behind him to do what it would. His nose divined the salty-sweet scent of blood, divided it into three trails each laced with their own magic, and he followed the most familiar one back to its source.
There was one comfort. Vivi's death had been quick.
He laid down at her side, curled up with his head on the ground, and watched the body. Waiting.
You made a promise, he called to the two fading, dissolving forces of spirit around him. To always come back to each other. Will you break it?