Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

(Trigger Warnings: descriptions of body horror, implied gore, implied violence, implied experimentation, self-multilation, mentions of syringes/needles, arachnophobia, mentions of death/dying, slight mentions of eating. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

___

The topmost half of Castle Isurus jutted out from the choppy waves of the estuary down below. A pair of bridges had been painstakingly built to connect the stronghold’s balconies to the rock and hard place–respectively, House Loxosceles and the Ophio Menagerie–on either side. The fact tickled Matthew as he crossed one of said bridges for the umpteenth time now. Mark may have been smug, but he was surprisingly considerate; if it wasn’t for him, these little trips would take much longer than strictly necessary.

A chorus of tip-tip-tapping could be heard as the long, spindly insectoid legs protruding from Matthew’s back reached down to help him walk. He made his way about the castle’s outer perimeter, then paused. On this side of the castle, Lord Isurus’ pride and joy stood silently on a dais near the second bridge. It was the likeness of a nine-foot-tall woman, carved from a crystalline substance.

As usual, Mark was pacing around the statue, his dark eyes gleaming with worship. The jagged, razor-sharp teeth lining his maw softly clicked against one another as he murmured something to both himself and her.

To some degree, Matthew could understand this behavior. The statue was gorgeous and had been made with an unbelievable amount of detail. Apparently, it was the work of one of Mark’s would-be victims in exchange for not being made into a meal or lab rat. Though Mark admitted to only accepting their offer for amusement, the end product had impressed him so thoroughly that he’d released the artist back into the village under special protection.

Under normal circumstances, Matthew would have joked about the fact that this woman couldn’t and wouldn’t appreciate Mark’s admiration (read: obsession) because she was just a damn statue. But then, the last and only time he’d done something like that had resulted in perhaps the most horrific temper tantrum the world has ever seen.

Matthew liked to think that the ordeal had made him a bit smarter, as it led to one of few cases where he knew to let sleeping dogs lie.

He skittered closer and offered a polite nod to Mark, who took a few long seconds to return the gesture.

“Making another delivery?” Mark asked.

“No, I’m meeting up with a gentleman caller,” Matthew snarked. “Got any spare parts you’re willing to donate?”

Mark shook his head, glancing at the tall, ominous building that stood on the other side of the bridge. “Not at the moment. I don’t think he’d appreciate waterlogged material.”

“He probably wouldn’t,” Matthew agreed before tilting his head. “I thought you were finished with those experiments?”

(Not too long ago, Mark had tested Cadou’s compatibility with water. The yielded results were a resounding FUCK IT along with a tangent about how stupid and annoying said parasite was for not working with a host’s body to keep them from drowning.)

“Ah, Miranda wants me to work with different temperatures now. I tried to tell her it wouldn’t make much of a difference, but she wasn’t having it.” The scowl on Mark’s face slowly shifted to a smirk as his eyes wandered back to the statue. “She’s become such an attention-whore, hasn’t she?” He purred up at her. “Not like I can blame her. Anyone can see why she’d be jealous of you…”

Matthew suppressed a sigh, taking this as his cue to leave. Mark’s one-sided conversation faded into the fog as Matthew trekked across the bridge. Without pausing, he peered over the edge.

The dark shapes of Mark’s more successful experiments stared back at him as they rippled and writhed in the embrace of murky water. A bird unwisely flew close to the surface, prompting one of many maladjusted creatures to surge up from the water, snatch it out of the air, and dive back down again.

Even as Matthew drew closer, the sight of the Ophio Menagerie didn’t become much clearer. Its outer walls had been almost completely swallowed up by a shroud of strangler vines. Until you went inside, it would have been impossible to know that this place had once been a church. Deep holes were scattered throughout what was left of the front garden, each one complimented by a crumbling headstone.

The very second Matthew set foot on this new property, a chorus of cawing and screeching and growling sounded from almost every direction. 

The cemetery was animate…in a way. 

Milling about were a variety of critters that all looked like they’d died a few days ago and somehow hadn’t noticed. Because they had; the only thing keeping them from decomposing like they probably should have been was their master’s bizarre power.

Not only that, but Lord Ophio made them even more worthy of their freak-of-nature status via performing types of grafting that could have been found only in a surgeon’s drug-induced night terrors. A mountain lion with the head of an enormous python. A small herd of elk that each had an unreasonable amount of legs. Two bears that had been fused together in a way clearly inspired by the Push Me Pull You. A few wolves with extra eyes and mouths and porcupine quills.

And that was just scratching the surface. More and more of these DIY zombies were lurking about in places unseen, and no two of their crooked upgrades were the same. Despite how much of a gorefest his gift was, Nathan made a point to never be cruel to his creations. If anything, he was very attentive and responsible towards them. Sure, he used them as extra force when needed, but making repairs to their bodies was always his top priority after the fact. Nate had always been pretty open about preferring animals to people, and the childlike longing for pets to be immortal had never left his mind.

Matthew continued walking, putting on a poker face in response to the cacophony. These monsters may have been territorial, but Matthew was someone off limits to them (unless he directly did something to change that, which was, admittedly, very possible).

 He halted just before the main entrance, where a mutt suddenly came to greet him: Phibes, the very first thing Nathan had ever reanimated. His eyes had the same yellow tinge as all of his master’s other creations, but unlike them, no macabre adjustments had been made to his body. He had clearly died a long time ago–a few bones and organs were exposed here and there–but he was still the most normal-looking animal this place had to offer.

“It’s just me, little guy. Is Nate busy today?” Matthew held out a hand, letting Phibes recognize his scent.

Instead of answering, Phibes clambered around Matthew as though he wasn’t some arachnid monstrosity (then again, Phibes was a dog), sniffing at the box in Matthew’s hands. After a thorough inspection, the hound looked out to the cemetery and let out a calm, positive bark that slowly but surely silenced the other animals.

With that, he trotted back inside, ragged tail wagging, constantly looking over his shoulder at Matthew.

Matthew followed the dog’s lead through the nave. In the aisles on either side of him, benches had been replaced by rusty cages that came in differing shapes and sizes. They contained Nate’s other specimens–the more human ones, at least. The former church staff (holier-than-thou prudes whose heads Nate specifically grafted goat horns onto for morbid irony), those who had previously been buried in the cemetery, as well as anyone whom Nate deemed annoying enough to be worth his efforts.

They all dripped with pus and bore nasty gashes, the exceptions of the technically humane code Nate worked under. The animals were easier to train and influence, so Nate generally let them wander the grounds as they pleased. Humans, on the other hand…they took more patience than strictly necessary. Even in death, they were still complex, still stubborn, still idiots who rarely knew what they were doing.

Some of the ghouls whined and cowered in corners while others reached through the bars to swipe at him with rotting hands. Matthew softly hissed and snapped at them, unable to help but feel a little frustrated. This was all very impressive in its own odd way, but that didn’t change how it was also such a waste of good red meat.

Sitting atop the altar, ahead of everything, was a huge glass tank. It was filled to the brim with dingy liquid, which was probably the source of the strong chemical odor wafting off of it. Floating inside was a corpse that somehow managed to look shriveled and bloated at the same time. Nate had never spoken their name, never explained why he chose to preserve them instead of adding them to his army.

The only thing Matthew knew about this person was that Nate hated them with a very personal passion.

Another yip from Phibes caught his attention, this time echoing from a staircase in the corner of the transept. Matthew shook himself, then padded down into the catacombs after his guide. A low, familiar voice mixed with his footfalls, and Matthew strained his ears to listen.

“Immortal soul, our inner being

Does it endure or does it perish with the flesh?

In my hands I’ll hold the answer

And the power of life and death!”

Matthew smirked. Nathan wasn’t completely obsessed with dead things–well, okay, he was, but anyone who knew him could tell that he kept one part of his barely-beating heart reserved for music. One of the village’s shyer acolytes had managed to stay safe by bribing him with samples of songs and instrumentals from…wherever their family used to live. Apparently a musical had been made out of Mary Shelley’s most famous work.

It was, unsurprisingly, cold and dark down here. Only a tiny amount of light was able to peek through what was left of the windows, which had all been overtaken by roots. It was also as unkempt as one would expect from a not-so-average creepy basement. Except for an odd lack of spiderwebs, of course.

Matthew normally would’ve been happy to fix that–his little ones were never too far away–but he knew from experience that it wouldn’t be worth it. Looking through his spies’ perspective as Nate crushed them under his boots had been more traumatic than he'd cared to admit.

Speaking of Lord Ophio, there he was now: sitting in a velvet chair that would have looked very out of place if it wasn’t covered in stains that were all a darker shade of red. Nathan held a long, thin needle between his fingers like one would a pencil, regularly dipping it into jars of colored ink lined up on his table. With careful hands and impressive speed, he slid the needle in and out of flesh, etching the likeness of a venus fly trap into the human forearm lying before him.

Matthew opened his mouth to greet him, but Nate held up a single finger to silence him, not looking up from his canvas. He took a few more minutes to finish the tattoo before wiping the needle clean. Then he turned to a cabinet beside his chair, fished a scalpel from one of its drawers, and proceeded to peel back the skin from his arm at the elbow.

Once the area was cleared, he produced a bone saw and severed his forearm completely. Nathan placed the appendage on the table, then reached for the one he’d just inked. He smeared some of his blood across the foreign body part, then held it close to the broken remains of his previous arm. A few seconds passed before Nate’s stump and the new limb began to fuse. It almost looked like they were reaching out to one another. The bones molded together while the skins overlapped like magnetic clay.

A strange scar formed once the process was complete. Nathan wiggled his new fingers and turned his new wrist, eliciting a chorus of pops and cracks. But other than that, the new arm worked exactly as intended. Had you never known Nate or missed out on his latest back alley-esque surgery, you might have thought that that arm had always been part of him.

Matthew titled his head, unsure whether to be exasperated or not. Nathan was fully capable of regeneration, but he still kept a supply of arms and legs and organs and what-have-yous just to have some variety. (Not to mention how it was a lot easier to draw tattoos when the canvas wasn’t prone to squirming or complaining or breathing.)

“You almost made me mess up,” Nate announced, finally looking up at Matthew. “Wasn’t expecting you until after dark.”

“Good thing I already have an olive branch,” Matthew replied, setting the package on Nate’s table.

Nate’s eyes glinted. He glanced at Matthew suspiciously.

Mathew’s many eyes blinked in an almost wave motion. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I’ve found that trusting you should only be an option half the time,” Nathan deadpanned.

“Fair point,” Matthew replied, shrugging, “but seriously, it’s just the usual.”

Nathan nodded as he eased the box open, revealing rows of glass jars stacked atop one another. The liquid inside each of them was black and looked almost reflective. Nate carefully took one out, turning it over in his hands as he squinted at it. “How fresh is this batch?”

“The draining took a couple days, but it’s still pretty recent,” said Matthew. Nate raised an eyebrow at this, to which Matthew made a lame gesture. “Hey, it takes more energy than you’d think. Plus, you didn’t specify how much you needed.”

The community had its fair share of macabre macguffins, and Matthew’s venom happened to be among them. A single dose could give someone hallucinations that made even the most potent drugs look like Pepto Bismol. Very few humans were able to walk away with a sample of said venom–if someone got within touching distance of Matthew’s chelicerae, it was already too late–but Miranda would occasionally require some for ritual purposes. And from there, it would trickle down to the village.

Matthew and Nathan had long-since worked out a deal: so long as Matthew regularly drained his venom and delivered it to the Menagerie, Nate would refrain from killing every spider in sight.

Nate gestured to the bookcase standing in a corner across the room. “The empty jars from last time are on the middle shelf. Mind replacing them for me?” He twisted the one jar open, wincing at the sharp, strong smell that was released into the air. He took his original arm and held it over the jar, letting his blood drip down into it. After that, he used the blunt end of his scalpel to stir the venom, mixing it and the blood into one.

Matthew rolled his eyes but hummed affirmative. He took the box over to the case, exchanging the old jars for the new ones. The task didn’t take long, and by the time Matthew was finished, he turned to find that there was now a syringe in Nate’s hands.

Nate dipped the needle into the venom and pulled back the plunger until the tool was completely full.

“New pet?” Matthew asked.

“What do you think?” Nate answered.

“Can I see it?”

Nate froze for a few seconds. There was an edge to his voice when he asked, “Why?”

Matthew ignored the fact that his questions had been answered with more questions. “Just curious, I suppose. Do I really need a reason?”

Nate continued to look skeptical. “You always have ulterior ones, so…”

Matthew huffed, folding his arms. “Look, I haven’t started nearly as many of the spats you’re probably thinking of–that’s Mark’s job.”

“I feel like he still gets some help from you with that,” Nate interjected.

Matthew shook his head, incredulous. “It’s not like you’d let me get away with anything.”

Nate hummed. “That’s true, I definitely wouldn’t.” He cracked a small smile, likely remembering all the maulings his creatures had been responsible for. After a moment, he finally rose from his seat, syringe still in hand, and made his way up the stairs. Phibes trotted along with him, and Matthew took this as a green light.

Now above ground, Nate took a second to fix the floating cadaver with a disgusted look before marching across the nave and out the front entrance. Matthew followed at a slight distance, chuckling as every undead animal in sight stopped what they were doing to stare at Nate as he walked around the perimeter of the church. It reminded him of his spiders, how they would crawl along the edges of their webs to be closer to him.

Soon they came upon a wooden gate that gave Matthew splinters just by looking at it. Nathan grabbed the latch and pulled it open, then closed it behind himself after he, Phibes, and Matthew entered the sprawling meadow at the back of the church. Gnarled trees were growing here and there, casting long shadows over the grass. This area went on for miles, only kept in check by the fence, which looked very small from where Nathan and Matthew stood.

Nate scanned the field. Matthew caught a shape moving in the distance. He pointed towards it and asked, "Is that the new one?”

Nate nodded, grinning. "That’s the new one.” With that, he resumed walking, dry leaves crunching underfoot. He snapped a lower branch from one of the trees and threw it. Phibes excitedly bounded after it, retrieving it again and again and again.

It was almost disturbing how wholesome the next minute or so was.

But that didn’t quite last.

As the group got farther and farther away from the church, the shape Matthew had seen grew clearer until all of his eyes widened. Nate had apparently fused not one, not two, but three horses into a single, eight-legged, tri-headed crime against nature.

Its body was covered in dark gray fur, as were each of its heads, with a tail and mane(s) of salt-and-pepper hair. The heads seemed pretty much identical, though Matthew was close enough to see the difference (the right head had sunken brown eyes, the center head’s eyes were so bloodshot they almost looked red, and the left head’s eyes were blueish-green. The sclera of each was an unpleasant shade of yellow).

“This must’ve taken some work,” Matthew mused.

Nate was nearly laughing. “Oh, you have no idea.” He snapped his fingers a few times, causing the horse’s heads to knock against one another as they turned to look at him. Phibes got the memo, moving to stand a little ways behind Matthew.

“You’re almost done, buddy,” Nate assured, his normally hollow tone turning soft and even. “There’s one more thing we need to do.” He held the syringe at his side as he approached his monster, taking slow, careful steps.

The abomination pawed at the ground, fidgeting in place. All three of the horses that made up this new creature’s body had gone through the early stages of decay, but they otherwise looked only a little less than fresh. Matthew couldn’t be sure how long ago Nathan had reanimated them (the assembly process alone had to have been a long episode of trial and error). But right now they were in between life and death.

Nathan had explained that, no matter how simple an animal’s brain was, that animal would still be aware of its own mortality. If it could know that it was sick or injured, then it would know when it was dying. So, to bring that animal back would severely confuse it. Death took away bodily senses and functions, after all.

Once something was dead, it couldn’t feel tired or rested, healthy or ill, hot or cold, satisfied or hungry. It couldn’t feel anything.

After much experimenting, however, Nathan had found a remedy for that. It was surprisingly simple: Matthew’s venom and its hallucinatory magic didn’t discriminate. That on its own wouldn’t be incredibly useful, but when it was mixed with Nathan’s blood, it would further connect Nathan to his animals. It basically tricked the animals into thinking they were indeed still alive, which made their training more efficient.

Once he was close enough, Nate used his free hand to reach out and stroke each of the horse-thing’s necks in turn.

“Easy, now. Easy.” Nate gently patted the horse-thing’s shoulder. “This won’t hurt. And even if it did, it’ll be over before…you…know it.” As he spoke, Nate moved to the horse-thing’s side, one hand rotating between its necks as the other hand quickly pushed the needle into skin just below the withers.

Muscles randomly twitched all over the creature’s body. Raspy snorts and groans escaped each of its three throats. It stamped its hooves, kicking at nothing in particular. Nate backed away a few paces, shoving the now empty syringe into his pocket. His expression was calm, his focus remained firmly locked on his creation.

True to Nate’s word, however, the process was complete in no time.

The creature gradually slowed its movements, quieted down. It lowered its heads, each blinking curiously, then took a timid step towards Nate.

Nate’s smile widened, and he reached out to gently scratch the creature’s ears. “There we go. Doesn’t that feel better?”

Phibes slowly approached, bumping noses with the horse’s left head. Matthew walked to the side, giving Nate and the equine a wide berth.

Nate’s smile disappeared as he glanced at Matthew.

Matthew froze. “What?”

“I’ve commissioned the leatherworker for a custom saddle and tack set. If he suddenly goes missing before my order is ready, I’ll make you and Mark regret it.”

After a brief pause, Matthew inquired, “Why both of us?”

“Because you’ll both point fingers regardless of who’s actually guilty,” Nate said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Just like always.”

“Wouldn’t that be really inconvenient for you?” Matthew tilted his head, trying and failing to feign innocence.

“Maybe, but not enough for me to care.” Nate paused, smile flickering back to life for a second as the creature’s center head rubbed its nose against his chest. “Especially after all the time I’ve spent on Cerbehorse.”

Matthew’s intended retort died in his throat. “…You’re calling it Cerbehorse?”

Nate shrugged. “It’s gotta have a name.”

Without warning, Matthew’s vision suddenly flickered. He blinked once, twice as colors began to creep around the edges of his eyes. He allowed those colors to swallow up everything within line of sight, and suddenly he had a clear view of the interior of House Loxosceles. His perspective shifted from room to room, each of his eyes now peering through the eyes of too many spiders to count.  

Matthew watched as light flooded into the cellar, as an unfamiliar figure with white hair and blue eyes trudged down the stone steps from the secret entrance outside. The intruder sputtered and cursed as they walked into one of many webs. Their profanities grew louder and louder all spiders in the area–including the ones Matthew was looking through–attempted to ambush them. The spiders dropped from the ceiling, skittered across the floor, crawled up the stranger’s clothing. They worked themselves into a frenzy, hissing and biting for all they were worth.

Matthew’s vision abruptly went black, then flicked sporadically from one spider to another. Matthew couldn’t help but let out a small scream as he forced his eyes to shift back to focusing on his current surroundings.

“Matt?” Nathan sounded as though he was far away. “Matt? Hey, what’s wrong with you?”

Matthew didn’t reply. His hands became tangled in his hair as his extra limbs shuddered. 

Someone had broken into his home, and now they were making a mess of his cellar and killing his little ones.

The spiders could keep the intruder busy, sure, but many of them would die if their target was left alone long enough.

Matthew felt a weight come down on his shoulder, to which he hissed and jerked away. He found himself glaring at Nate, who now held a worryingly large pair of butcher shears at the ready. Phibes stood at his side, hackles raised, growling.

An uncomfortable silence settled around them all.

“Are you gonna do something stupid, Matt?” Nate finally asked.

Matthew took a moment to compose himself, still shaking. “No.”

“Then why’d you make a scene like that?”

“It’s not my fault,” Matthew argued. He felt his face twist into a scowl. “Apparently, some idiot is trying to earn their stripes.”

“Is that all?” Nate raised an eyebrow and lowered his shears. “Gods, you’re so dramatic.” He then waved Matthew off, returning his focus to Cerbehorse. “Go take care of it, then.”

Matthew was already sprinting off. His eyes constantly shifted back to House Loxosceles. The stranger was making progress, but they wouldn’t get far.

This sort of thing was fairly routine for the Lords. A human would break and enter, and then that human would die. The people of the village were typically smarter than to try something like this, with the exception a few wannabe heroes here and there. And as for the odd amount of strangers who passed through this area…well, things generally just didn’t go well for them.  

But this particular person…something was off about them.

There was something wrong with them.

As smart as Matthew was, he simply couldn’t tell what that something was, but just looking at them made his skin crawl.

Matthew shoved those thoughts aside as he made his way around the church. Mark’s bridge came into view, and the intruder was still panicking, still being swarmed by spiders. 

Matthew wondered if the hallucinations he’d soon give his uninvited guest would be strong enough to scare them to death. Prey always seemed to taste better when it died that way.

___

(If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment! I would love to see your feedback!)

Chapter Text

(Bat’s AU isn’t identical to the game, and there isn’t really a concrete plot—nothing wrong with that—but I’m trying to draw inspiration from game elements for the story. To clarify, this snippet takes place after the previous one. It’s loosely based on how Ethan Winters was captured by Heisenberg shortly after entering the village.)

(Trigger Warnings: descriptions of body horror, implied gore, violence, implied experimentation, mentions of blades and syringes, blood, surgery/dismemberment, arachnophobia, mentions of death/dying, eating/drinking, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

___

It took Ethan a few seconds to stop panicking. Not that he could be blamed, seeing as he’d just been attacked by what had to have been multiple swarms of spiders. (To be fair, Ethan had found this place via a tunnel in the cave system he’d just wandered through, so it wasn’t like he’d expected a plate of waffles. But still, how the hell had those spiders managed to cause this level of infestation?)

Even so, he eventually noticed that the stinging bites had ceased, that he could no longer feel tiny legs skittering on his skin. Ethan slowly halted entirely, staring at the floor to watch the horde retreat across the floor and walls, returning to their webs in no time at all. Ethan stomped on the ones still within reach.

He was as confused as he was relieved. The spiders hadn’t had an actual reason to leave him alone, so why had they anyway? It just didn’t seem like natural behavior for insects

Not being one to turn down a lucky break, Ethan brushed himself off and resumed his exploration. He rotated his wrist in order to have his flashlight shine on everything around him. The silk of the webs glistened against the light, which would have looked oddly pretty if not for what Ethan had just experienced. Despite all the spiderwebs, this place—a cellar, Ethan guessed—looked remarkably clean. The wooden shelves lining the walls seemed to have been dusted fairly recently. Each shelf housed a collection of either books (which were alphabetized) or bottles (which were categorized by age and ingredients).

Ethan’s flashlight caught something metallic, which he paused to inspect. It was a glossy bronze frame, which housed a photograph of a child. They appeared to be about thirteen years old and were very nicely dressed. Their warm brown eyes matched the short, neatly-kempt hair atop their head almost perfectly, and the smile on their face was a natural one. The bottom frame was adorned by a small plaque, which read: Matthew Loxosceles — 1937.

The portrait made Ethan think of his niece, and he immediately had to blink back tears.

Out of nowhere, the unmistakable sound of a door creaking open echoed through the cellar.

Thankfully, Ethan’s instincts were on-point, as he turned his flashlight off at the exact same time. Regardless, he felt his heart stutter. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve whipped around, but quick movements would give away his position. He slowly maneuvered himself in a small circle, shifting his weight with each step as he scanned the environment. He silently shoved his flashlight into his pocket and exchanged it for his tactical knife. He gripped the handle tightly in an attempt to calm his shaking. Ethan strained his ears, trying to catch some footsteps or breathing nearby.

Ssskrrpp.

There.

Ssckkr–ssrrtch.

Something lightly scraping against stone.

T-ttp, t-ttp, t-ttp, t-ttp.

A rapid, padding, tapping rhythm. Oddly similar to that of a person drumming their fingernails. Ethan wasn’t sure how he could tell, but whatever the source of the noise was, it almost seemed to be stirring the air with its cadence.

Ethan took a deep, slow breath through his nose. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep his mouth shut. He knew something was down here with him, but he could barely pinpoint the noises. And that wasn’t just due to his pulse hammering in his ears—he was positive he’d never heard anything like what he was hearing now. Something in his gut insisted that it wasn’t normal.

“I hope you don’t plan on leaving.”

Ethan startled badly at the unfamiliar voice. He backed away a few paces as quietly as he could. By now, his eyes had somewhat adjusted to the darkness; with how close the voice sounded, he should have seen some kind of silhouette among the shadows by now. But he couldn’t, and that was very, very bad.

Before he could start questioning his sanity, however, foreign weight materialized around on his shoulders, forcefully turning him around, and then his neck, squeezing viciously. Ethan immediately choked as his knife fell from his grip, and just barely had time to register the fact that he was being lifted off the floor. He found himself mere inches away from the face of his attacker.

Four eyes, each the color of blood and bulging in their sockets, drilled into his own. Beneath them, a mouth full of razor-sharp fangs was set in a snarl, accentuated by some kind of inhuman hissing noise. Although it was very difficult to make out his appearance—considering how Ethan was thrashing for purchase and how his attacker was somehow upside-down—there was no doubt he’d made a horrible mistake coming here.

“Because I’m sure as hell not going to let you!” The monstrous stranger drew back and decked Ethan across the face. The pressure around Ethan’s throat finally loosened, but precious air was still barred from his lungs as he hit the floor with a dull thud. He floundered there, gasping and coughing as he tried to get to his feet. His knife lay just a few feet in front of him, but before he could reach for it, the full weight of his attacker dropped down on top of him.

A guttural scream was forced out of Ethan’s mouth. “Stop! STOP–!”

“NO!” His attacker exclaimed. He then grabbed a fistful of Ethan’s hair, and proceeded to punctuate his words via pulling Ethan’s head up and slamming Ethan’s face onto cold stone over and over again. “You do NOT! Have ANY! RIGHT! TO ASK ME THAT!”

The metallic flavor of blood suddenly coated Ethan’s tongue, and more was starting to drip from his forehead. He felt a hand grab at his jacket, pulling it and his shirt collar back. Then came the explicit feeling of a pair of jaws latching onto his shoulder, of two rows of teeth digging into his flesh.

And even as Ethan fought and howled, he was acutely aware that his skin was being pierced by something else.

Something that felt similar to a medical needle—quick, sharp, profound.

In that moment, adrenaline finally took full control. Ethan grit his teeth before bracing one arm against the floor, using the other snatch up his knife, and blindly stabbing in the direction his attacker had to be in. Ethan felt the blade connect to something soft. His attacker stopped biting in favor of letting out a startled shriek. The death-grip suddenly disappeared from his scalp, and Ethan saw his chance. He crawled forward, picked himself up, and ran.

“Oh, go right ahead!” His attacker shouted. “You won’t get far—I’ll find you no matter where the hell you go! That’s a damn promise!”

Ethan couldn’t go back the way he came—that would’ve just made him even more of a target. Even if the cave system hadn’t been like a maze, he’d still lose his footing for sure.

Fortunately, as Ethan sprinted, he realized he was growing closer and closer to a stone staircase that led up, up, up to a heavy wooden door. Ethan may not have known what was beyond the threshold of said door, but he couldn’t afford to care right now. It meant he’d have more of a chance to hide.

So, he ascended the stairs, threw open the door, slammed it shut behind him. He was greeted by a room full of glossy cabinets and countertops. A large mahogany table took up space in the center, and it would have complimented its surroundings if it wasn’t covered in grooves, scratches, and old bloodstains. A practical canopy of spiderwebs clung to the ceiling, glancing off the walls. Ethan could very clearly see a generous amount of spiders crawling within the silk, but unlike the ones from the cellar, they didn’t try to come after him.

Ethan spotted another door across the room and rushed towards it. His attacker couldn’t be far behind; he couldn’t waste any time. He twisted the knob, pushed the door open.

And the stench just rolled out over him.

Ethan clamped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from vomiting. As someone who had studied the stages of decay in the past, Ethan had come across the odd article or two claiming that rotting flesh gave off a sweet odor, of all things. He’d never really believed those articles. But now, with this sickening aroma filtering through the air around him…how did that old saying go? Fact can be stranger than fiction?

Considering what he’d just witnessed in the cellar, Ethan kind of felt like an idiot for ever doubting that in the first place. This new room wasn’t filled with webs like he’d learned to expect by now. That didn’t make it any better; in fact, it was much, much worse. The majority of space inside was taken up by silky cocoons. They’d been attached to the walls and floor, coming in various sizes, and though the silk had been woven in layers, Ethan could clearly see the human corpses it was encasing.

Ethan wanted to run, to scream. But he needed to hide. And he was confident that, seeing how horrific this little room was, his attacker would never look for him in here. With that in mind, he trudged inside, quietly closing the door behind him. He pushed his way past the cocoons, retching whenever the silk brushed against his jacket. Eventually, he found the very back of the room and pushed himself into a corner.

Now that he was finally standing still, it was much easier to focus on his injuries. He’d already been in pain, of course, but now…now a new pain made itself known. It didn’t sting or ache like his fresh cuts and bruises. It was burning, blistering, and getting worse by the second. Ethan suddenly remembered what that freak had done to him, remembered the needle-esque sensation, and swallowed the bile in his throat as he craned his neck to glance down at his shoulder.

A bloody, symmetric pattern of teeth marks marred his skin, which was to be expected. What Ethan hadn’t expected, however, was a perfectly round puncture wound on either side of the teeth marks. The pale skin around those wounds was slowly but surely turning a sickly gray color, as though a stain was spreading right under his epidermis. Ethan let out a gasp and began rummaging through his jacket pockets, searching for the vials of serum he’d brought along. That stuff had never failed to help him recover before, so—

Shffshffshff.

Ethan’s head shot up. What the fuck was that?!

Shffshffshff.

He found himself staring at the cocoons. Several pairs of glowing eyes stared back through the veils of silk. The cocoons began twitching as the corpses inside them spasmed. A bout of muffled, raspy wailing found its way into Ethan’s ears. Ethan backed away, shaking violently. More choked cries began echoing around the closet. More eyes blinked into view. More dead people began writing in their silky shrouds. Ethan grasped at the wall behind him, only to recoil. It was pulsing.

The cocoon closest to Ethan bulged forward. The silk stretched and split like frayed seams, then finally gave way as the cocoon burst open like a rotting melon. A mummified arm reached out. It was followed by another…and another…and another until there was a veritable mass of limbs all clawing at Ethan. Ethan couldn’t help it. Survival instinct be damned, he just couldn’t fucking take it anymore.

“NO!” Ethan screamed. He curled into the fetal position, no longer caring how the floor seemed to be melting underneath him. “Nononononononono—!”

He screwed his eyes shut and continued gibbering. It didn’t matter how pathetic and helpless he looked right now. He was going to die here, and his niece would never see her family again. Ethan couldn’t hear his own voice, couldn’t hear the door opening, couldn’t hear the footsteps that were now approaching him.

“I told you you wouldn’t get far.” It was the same voice he’d heard only a few moments ago. It sounded deafening.

Ethan could just barely feel his wrists being brought together in a vice-like grip, as well as his lower body being dragged across the ground. But by then, his vision was blurring around the edges.

___

Matthew’s family—when they’d still been alive—hadn’t been a very large one, and they’d only ever employed a small number of servants. Therefore, one couldn’t be blamed for raising an eyebrow at the number of rooms House Loxosceles had to offer. Each of those rooms came with individual purpose in the past and, technically, they still did. Matthew just so happened to use them for his ordered experiments.

Matthew propped Earwig against the wall of one of them. (Shortly after his transformation, Matthew had gotten into the habit of nicknaming his “guests” after various insects. For one thing, it just made sense; he was part spider now, wasn’t he? And for another thing, it had helped him adjust to his instincts. Ever since he was a teenager, Matthew had always experienced strange cravings. He’d appreciated meat from livestock, sure, but he’d also been curious about what certain…other food sources would taste like. Deep down, he’d always known that the answer was delicious. It seemed appropriate to compare the intruder to an earwig. Both were annoying as hell and both had no qualms with invading places they had no business being in.)

Matthew's four insectoid legs reached around his torso, their joints popping and cracking. The upper legs (the ones extending from his shoulder blades) hovered over Earwig’s left arm, while the lower legs (the ones extending from his lumbar) moved towards Earwig’s right arm. Matthew felt a slight prickling sensation as the spigots on the ends of those legs each projected small strands of silk. Matthew moved them all in a way akin to knitting needles, quickly weaving sheets around Earwig’s wrists, and then attaching those sheets to the wall before he stepped back to review his work.

Silk produced by most normal spiders was at least five times stronger than steel cables. And Matthew was nowhere near a normal spider, so Earwig wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Not that he was in any condition to try and escape. He was still murmuring to himself, his watery eyes glazed over and twitching. Matthew was surprised by this: he’d given the intruder a generous dosage of venom, and while it wasn’t actually fatal, a few of Matthew’s past meals had ended up succumbing to cardiac arrest thanks to the hallucinations.

Yet this one was still kicking? How?

Matthew walked over to a desk in the corner of the room. He opened its drawers and fished out the proper equipment. After that, he got to business. He moved Earwig’s jacket and shirt, exposing a patch of skin on his forearm. He filled up a syringe with some of Earwig’s blood, and then used a scalpel to cut off a long strip of flesh. Satisfied, Matthew took both samples and sat down at the desk. He let a few drops of blood smear on a glass slide before loading it into his microscope. A moment after focusing the lens, he felt his mouth drop open in surprise.

Earwig’s blood was completely abnormal.

Matthew was no stranger to this sort of thing—not just because of the Cadou experiments. He performed tests like this on all of his meals for the sake of efficiency. He knew exactly what to look for in healthy and unhealthy blood alike.

But this? He’d never seen anything like this before.

He adjusted the lens and light, but nothing about the sample changed. The cells all came in different shapes and sizes, all tinged with black, all basically appearing to be eating one another. Matthew paused, then sliced a piece off of the skin sample and put it on another slide. The skin cells looked just as odd as the blood cells. The same black material was there, branching through them like roots.

Matthew got up and stood before Earwig. He peered at him more carefully than before, but failed to find a single aspect that made this person look anything less or more than human.

There was one more way to know for sure.

Matthew snatched the skin strip from the desk and popped it into his mouth. No two humans were exactly the same, but Matthew had learned that they typically tasted rich and gamey, like a combination of prosciutto and something that he couldn’t quite place. He didn’t find any of that in Earwig’s skin. Instead, he found a flavor that could only be described as rancid.

Matthew spat the skin sample out onto the floor, shaking his head in disgust. He hadn’t tasted any of that when he’d first bitten Earwig! (Then again, he’d been very angry at the time, so he probably hadn’t been paying the flavor much attention.)

Matthew scowled at Earwig, marching over and giving him a solid kick in the chest. Earwig failed to regain consciousness. It may have been a childish gesture, but Matthew didn’t care.

This wasn’t fair at all!

This lowlife had broken into his house and killed several of his darling pets. If he’d been that set on painting a target on his back, then he could have at least been edible, damn it!

A frustrated sigh made its way through Matthew’s gritted teeth. As much as he wanted to kill Earwig, he couldn’t. Earwig was a defcato anomaly—that wasn’t something he could just waste. Just because he didn’t have a use for him didn’t mean Mother Miranda might not…

But that could wait. For now, Matthew had an appetite to take care of.

Matthew stormed out of the room, locking the door with the skeleton key he always kept in his vest. He glanced down the hall and immediately caught a pair of gray eyes peering through a crack in a door just ten feet away. The owner of those eyes (a wiry human with tawny hair) froze, knowing they’d been seen. Matthew’s stress quickly melted into snide relief.

The person staring at him was the latest delivery from the village. Mother Miranda sent at least one villager to House Loxosceles every couple weeks; some were meant for experimentation, others were meant for nourishment. Collins—Matthew personally called them Cricket, because they didn’t make much noise unless they had to—was the latter.

“Cricket,” Matthew called, his calm tone meeting neither his eyes nor his smile.

Cricket flinched, dipping their head as a sign of cautious respect. “Lord Loxosceles?” They asked nervously.

“Could you meet me downstairs in a few minutes, please?”

“Um…yes, Sir. I can do that.”

“Good. Thank you,” Matthew replied. He deliberately waited until he’d walked past them to look over his shoulder and add, “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Even in the dim lighting, you could see the color instantly drain from Cricket’s face. They merely nodded and ducked back inside the guest room.

Matthew chuckled at this as he descended the staircase. His diet may have called for humans, but that didn’t mean he ate them as they were. Much more often than not, they needed to be fed and cleaned before anything else.

(Although, Matthew definitely wasn’t above tormenting his meals if they put up a fight. It may have been taxing, but he wasn’t one to turn down entertainment).

Like those before them, Cricket had been somewhat treated like an actual guest. They’d been provided with a place to sleep, as well as water and any food Matthew didn’t eat himself. They’d been allowed to wander certain areas of the mansion if they chose—it wasn’t like they could’ve escaped, thanks to Matthew’s little ones watching from every square inch of the place. Of course, ever since their arrival, Cricket had clearly never felt safe here. Rightly so; Matthew hadn’t exactly been subtle about his plans for them. Despite this, they’d been surprisingly mature about their circumstances. They’d shown some undeniable bravery, whether they knew it or not. They’d managed to be both amusing and interesting to taunt.

Matthew soon found himself in his kitchen (the very same kitchen where Earwig tried to hide. So perfect and convenient AND YET—). He locked the cellar door, then went through the drawers to lay a disturbing mix of medical tools and butcher knives onto the countertop. Finally, he opened up the liquor cabinet and surveyed what it had to offer. After a few seconds of browsing, he took a bottle of Chianti from the top shelf. His parents had been far more engrossed with alcohol than he was, but this stuff paired so well with human remains.

As he filled a glass, he heard the kitchen door open with a squeak. He returned the bottle to its place before tilting his head at Cricket, who forcefully closed the door behind them, visibly shaking. They held their arms to their chest—if it wasn’t for the woolen sweater they were wearing, they would have been digging their nails into their skin by now. Matthew casually took a carving knife into his hands before moving to stand between Cricket and the kitchen door. They backed away until they bumped into the table.

“Sir…” They began. “I know what’s about to happen, but could we please have a talk?”

Matthew hummed, taking one step closer. “We’re talking now.”

“N-no, I meant—I just need one minute—”

Matthew cut them off by surging towards them. In one fluid movement, he grabbed ahold of their collar and dragged them onto the tabletop. Cricket’s hands instinctively flew up to clutch at the arm pinning them down. They winced in pain, breath coming out in rapid, hitching gasps.

“I’m listening,” Matthew jeered as he loomed over them. “If you have something to say, then say it.”

“Lord Ophio sends birds to the village,” Cricket stammered. “I’ve seen them myself—their eyes glow exactly like his do! He uses them to spy on us.” They grit their teeth in an attempt to stop the tremble in their voice. “Lord Isurus does the same thing. While I was there, I always saw strange creatures swimming in the river, and there’s no way they couldn’t have come from the waters around his castle.”

Matthew raised an eyebrow. “And you’re telling me things I already know because. . ?”

“You’ve said that you can see things through the spiders around here. But you can’t send them outside because of the cold, r-right?”

Matthew nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Still not a very compelling argument for me to stall dinner, though.” He sent the signal to one of his extra legs, having it reach towards the spot where Cricket’s jaw met their throat.

Cricket shut their eyes tightly before nearly shouting, “What if I was a spy for you? In the village?”

Matthew paused. He genuinely hadn’t expected something like that. Many of his past meals had offered to abduct another villager to take their place. Matthew had ignored all of those pleas, not only because of his stomach, but because they hadn’t impressed him at all. But Cricket…Cricket was literally inches from death, and they were still trying to rely on themself for a way out.

Cricket took his silence as an opportunity to keep going. “I-I could report back to you if something noteworthy happened. Wouldn’t that be useful for your work? For the plans you need to make?”

“Mother Miranda tells me the things I need to know,” Matthew answered flatly. “And, call it a hunch, but I think the information she gives is a bit more pertinent than what you could offer.”

“She doesn’t tell us everything,” Cricket argued. “I know she’s been keeping certain things from us. So what’s to say she isn’t doing that to you?”

Matthew narrowed his eyes. Cricket was smarter than he’d given them credit for, which was frustrating, since he particularly enjoyed killing ignorant people.

“The other Lords have already been doing it. So why can’t you?” They asked, then quickly corrected, “Why shouldn’t you?”

Matthew straightened his shoulders, glancing around the kitchen as he thought. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but Cricket had pinpointed his primary jealousy of Nathan and Mark. He could’ve brought his little ones to other indoor places and let them take care of the rest—in fact, he’d done that exact thing before. But that had still led to the poor things dying from more forces than just the weather. And he hated that. He hated watching them suffer from their very perspective, just as anyone with a pet would.

“You do make a valid point, I’ll give you that,” Matthew finally admitted.

A tiny spark of hope flickered in Cricket’s eyes.

“However,” Matthew stated, to which that spark disappeared. “I need to eat. You can’t deny that, can you?” 

Cricket slowly shook their head, swallowing the bile that was no doubt rising in their throat.

Matthew smirked. “That’s what I thought. I’ve already had to wait a few days for some food; I’m not waiting any longer.”

“What if you just took…” Cricket hesitated, looking nauseous, “…one piece to eat? Something that I wouldn’t need to survive? Then we would both get what we want. Wouldn’t that make this more civil?”

Matthew started laughing in spite of himself. “Good grief, you’re tenacious! I guess that’s one reason you’ve lasted so long around here.”

He weighed his options. On the one hand, Matthew was going to satisfy his appetite. There was no question about that. He couldn’t feed on Earwig, and Cricket was right here…

But on the other hand, he knew that he had a right to use his power however he wanted. Nathan and Mark had done a few things Miranda definitely wouldn’t have approved of, but they’d managed to keep her from suspecting defiance. If his adopted brothers were able to act that way, then what was stopping Matthew? He was more than capable of keeping some things under wraps.

Matthew’s laughter died down to snickering before he let out a sigh.

“You really want to make a trade? Alright, then; we’ll make a trade.” Matthew then took a couple moments to look Cricket up and down. They were an adult, but they seemed a bit skinnier than they probably should have been. Matthew chalked it up to either malnourishment or constant activity. Probably both, considering the manual work villagers had to do so often.

“One of your legs,” Matthew eventually pronounced.

Cricket blinked. Their mouth opened and closed a few times with no words coming out until they managed, “Wh-what?”

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re suddenly going to let your one bargaining chip fall off the table,” Matthew scoffed. “If you want to leave House Loxosceles alive, then the price is one of your legs. Simple as that.”

Cricket continued to stare at him, their expression less horrified than before, but still extremely distressed.

“Your legs aren’t technically vital to your survival. Plenty of animals chew off their own limbs and go on just fine,” Matthew explained. “And don’t say you’ll be helpless without one. I know there’s a metal-worker in the village, and I know they can craft some kind of crutch or prosthetic for you.”

Cricket remained silent. They were tense, shifting in place. They started craning their neck to try and look away, but one of Matthew’s extra legs slammed down against the table, just a few inches away from their head.

“I could be a lot more unreasonable about this, y’know,” Matthew reminded them, his voice set in a low, dangerous tone. “I could take one of your arms instead. Or maybe your eyes. Or one of your lungs, or half of your liver, or whatever the hell I want. But I’m willing to settle, just this once, because you might make it worth my while.”

Cricket’s eyes glistened with tears, which they were making an obvious effort not to let fall. Matthew wasn’t sure why. He was being exceptionally fair and patient right now, which he wouldn’t be able to do for much longer. He had a foul-tasting trespasser taking up space in one of his rooms, he still needed to tend to his little ones, and he’d just settled for a smaller meal than he’d been looking forward to despite being goddamn FAMISHED!

“Well? You’re the one who decided to try negotiating.” Matthew drew ever-so-slightly closer to them, making sure that their eyes were firmly locked onto his. “Do we have a deal?” He asked, intentionally wording the question to sound much more like a statement.

After what felt like approximately three hours, Cricket nodded. “Yes, Sir,” they whispered, their tone of voice an odd combination of exhaustion, defeat, and relief.

Matthew nodded. “Good choice.” With that, he snatched one of their wrists and brought it up to his face. He opened his mouth wide, allowing his chelicerae to unfold.

Cricket let out a shocked yell. “W-wait, WAIT! You said—!”

Matthew rolled all four of his eyes and reached down to flick Cricket hard on the forehead. “Anesthetics weren’t included with the equipment I was given, so a small dose of venom will have to do. Unless, of course, you want to be completely conscious during the amputation…”

Cricket, despite their newfound panic, was quick to shake their head. They reluctantly went still, closing their eyes and gritting their teeth as they braced themself.

Matthew hummed before sinking his chelicerae into Cricket’s forearm. He gave them just enough for the hallucinations to be present, but not enough for those hallucinations to kill them (he’d already had plenty of time to experiment with differing amounts of his gift).

The gray spots appeared under Cricket’s skin after a moment. It didn’t take much longer for them to start twitching in place, their pupils sporadically dilating and constricting. Matthew moved their arms close to their sides, then spun a small web around them and the table. The hallucinations would be enough to distract them from the amputation, but that didn’t guarantee they’d be perfectly still.

The process took less time than expected. Matthew made a small incision a little ways above Cricket’s right knee, then used that incision as a marker to follow. He used a scalpel and dissection scissors to clear a few layers of flesh away from the area. Cricket’s breathing came out slow and ragged. They convulsed and sobbed, but they weren’t screaming.

Matthew wondered what they were seeing, now that they were under the influence of his venom. Every one of his victims seemed to take to it differently.

Once Cricket’s femur had been partially uncovered, Matthew took a large bone saw to it. His wrist ached like hell by the end of the procedure, but Cricket’s right leg was well and truly severed, which definitely made up for that. Matthew wove a generous amount of silk, which he wrapped in tight layers around Cricket’s new stump until the bleeding stopped.

With that, he carried Cricket back upstairs to the same room they’d been staying in. By now, his stomach was gnawing at itself. Painfully so. Unfortunately, he couldn’t start dinner just yet.

Matthew quietly unlocked the door to the room Earwig was being held in. He crept inside and had another look at his captive. Earwig was very still, but he was also breathing heavily. His now bloodshot eyes were fluttering open and closed.

It took Matthew a few seconds to realize that the cut on his arm where he'd taken that test sample…was gone.

As was the bloody scrape that had been on his forehead…

In both places was new, unharmed skin.

Matthew’s bite mark hadn’t completely faded away, but the puncture wounds from his chelicerae looked significantly smaller than they had before. Matthew gawked, rubbing at his eyes just to be sure they weren’t playing tricks on him. They weren’t, which was extremely disconcerting. Matthew understood basic biology. Of course he knew human skin was capable of repairing itself. But that healing process usually moved slowly; it had to take at least a day or two before an open wound even scabbed over.

And yet this person’s body had been able to mend itself in just a few hours?

Matthew hissed with ire. He held Earwig’s head out of the way as he delivered another bite to his shoulder. He had to remind himself that it was a precautionary measure as he gagged at the taste. Matthew re-locked the room and made his way to the parlor downstairs, where an antique rotary phone waited for him alongside a collection of plush furniture.

He dialed a certain number, then fidgeted with the phone’s cord as he waited. The phone on the other end rang, droning on for a few long moments.

“If he’s still sweet-talking that sculpture, I swear to God…” Matthew muttered impatiently.

His eyes lingered around the room before landing on a mirror that was positioned next to the fireplace. As Matthew studied his reflection, he discovered that fresh bloodstains actually seemed to compliment the monochrome colors of his vest and button-down. This would’ve made him feel a bit more positive, but then he found a small cut along his jaw—where Earwig had tried to stab him in the cellar—and his stress grew just a little bit worse.

Finally, a deep, familiar voice piped up on the other line. “What? What is it?”

Lord Isurus sounded agitated, as though he’d been caught completely off-guard. This more or less confirmed Matthew’s suspicions.

“Hello to you, too, Mark.” Matthew cleared his throat. “I need a favor.”

“Let me guess: your current ‘visitor’ escaped?” Mark inquired. “If that’s the case, I’ll be taking them for myself if they end up on my property.”

“Oh, please. Just because I’m more responsible with my food than you are doesn’t make me less competent.”

“Really? Well, then why are you calling?”

“Someone broke into the mansion earlier today. He looks human, but I’m not so sure he is. As of now, he’s been neutralized.”

“A non-human entity? In this region?” Mark gasped, voice dripping with over-exaggerated sarcasm. “Who could’ve foreseen it?!”

Matthew felt a flare of temper. “I ran a few basic tests on him. The yielded results aren’t like anything I’ve ever seen—not even with my worst test subjects.”

“And what do you mean by ‘neutralized?’ Is he still alive?”

“Yes, he is,” Matthew answered, exasperated. “And yes, my venom is in his system. He should be under control for a good while.”

“He’s also right in the palm of your hand. So, just butcher him and feel lucky that you got some surprise extra rations.” Mark started snickering. “And you always say I’m the wasteful one.”

“He isn’t fit for consumption—whatever he’s been contaminated by, it’s completely awful,” Matthew deadpanned.

“Something tells me you’re just being a food-snob.” Mark hummed. “Why not just see how he takes to Cadou?”

“And get punished if he somehow ends up ruining the experiment and wasting materials? Not a chance.” Mathew sighed, massaging his temples. “Look, I’ll be calling a meeting with Miranda tomorrow morning. And if one of us has to talk to her, then we all have to talk to her. So I expect to see you at the ceremony site once you’re summoned. Alright?”

“Fine, fine,” Mark relented. “I’ll pass the word over to Nate. We’ll be ready.” He paused, then added, “Even if the only thing to come out of this is the fact that you’re just being paranoid.”

Matthew slammed the phone down onto the receiver, fuming as he made his way to the kitchen.

The act of tearing flesh between his teeth was gratifying on its own, and as his hunger steadily faded away, his nerves grew calmer. A voice in his head nagged at him, complaining about how he’d have to act very carefully tomorrow if he wanted to smuggle Cricket back into the village without Miranda knowing. Matthew pushed the voice aside; Miranda may have been calculating, but she also tended to have a one-track mind. If she was given something peculiar, she’d disappear into her laboratory for days to study it. She’d be far too interested in whatever made Earwig so defective to bother with the villagers.

Right now, the only thing that mattered was Matthew’s long, long-awaited dinner.

___

(If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment! I would love to see your feedback!)

Chapter Text

(Bat’s AU obviously isn’t identical to the game, and there isn’t really a concrete plot—nothing wrong with that—but I’m trying to draw inspiration from game elements for the story. To clarify, this snippet takes place before the two previous ones—before Ethan officially begins his journey. Also: yes, the Baron is this AU’s stand-in for The Duke, and yes, Baron is based off of Hunter Hughes/Dookieshed because Bat liked the idea.)

(Trigger Warnings: descriptions of pain, implied experimentation, talk of death/dying, body horror, gore, implied violence, implied self-mutilation, mentions of sickness/injury, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

 ___

nnnnNNNOOOO NO NO NO NOOOO!

A dull ache flared around Nathan’s temples as the voice barged its way into his head. On reflex, Nathan sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. The syringe he’d been holding slipped from his hand and landed inside the wide-open torso of the cadaver on his worktable. He stepped back, just barely remembering to take off his gloves (which were currently covered in stagnant blood) before he reached up to knead at his forehead.

“Goddamn it,” he growled. “Just when I thought I’d have some peace and quiet for a few fucking minutes…”

He felt a small bit of movement by his legs and looked down to discover Phibes tugging on the end of his black coat. The dog was struggling to walk backwards at the same time, obviously trying to distract his owner.

“I know, I know.” Nate sighed. He gently pried his coat from the dog’s mouth, then sat down on the velvet chair at the end of the worktable. Phibes placed his front paws on Nate’s knees in order to stand up, leaning forward to try and get closer. Nate used one hand to scratch Phibes’ ears and the other to stroke Phibes’ back. It’d been a good few years since Phibes’ death and subsequent reanimation, and yet his brindle fur still felt as soft as it had when he was a puppy.

The nostalgic feeling didn’t drive the intrusive voice away, but it was better than nothing.

Just a few hours ago, Nathan had sent two creatures over to the village: a two-faced fox he’d named Twin (who, surprisingly enough, had apparently been born with both of his faces. He was currently the only animal under Nate’s jurisdiction that hadn’t been given the cut-and-paste treatment as all the others), and one of his more human projects (which he didn’t bother naming. This wouldn’t have made him attached to them like he was to his actual pets; but, seeing as they were human once, they’d probably had their own names before, so what was the point?).

Nathan did this sort of thing pretty frequently. He didn’t go to the village unless he absolutely had to, and his gift made undead animals remarkably easy to train, so…

However, nothing was perfect, and his gift was included in that nothing. Because death itself couldn’t do anything to change how…frustrating humans always were. It took a lot of trial-and-error just to make them into simple working drones. Regardless, Nate still used them as well as the animals for whenever he needed something to be retrieved or just felt like the village was due to be scouted around.

PAIN DANGER IT HURTS WHYYYYYY STOOOOP!

…Of course, humans typically didn’t have much to offer in the instinct department, and dying definitely didn’t sharpen those instincts. Humans—especially shambling, half-decayed ones—were more noticeable and unwieldy than animals. So, more often than not, Nate’s human scouts ended up getting themselves into trouble.

And, seeing as Nate gained a strong mental connection to anything he resurrected, he usually had to listen to the internal monologues of his projects. The voice of Nate’s current scout continued screaming and gibbering. Nate tried to drown it out via focusing on Twin’s thoughts, which were much more calm and hushed.

Hmmmm…things out of place…new smells…

(Nathan was near-constantly listening to the minds of his animals, but they were easier to handle than the minds of humans. Animals mostly thought with colors, senses, and simple images. Although if Nathan was focusing, he could catch words that would change depending on how the creature felt or if something happened to it while he was listening. How an animal’s thoughts could be translated into English, he had no idea.)

It seemed Twin had found something out of the ordinary. A portion of Nathan’s frustration morphed into curiosity. He’d already had enough experience listening to his pets’ thoughts to know when they’d just found another carcass and when they found something that was actually more interesting than that. He still had no way of knowing what exactly Twin had discovered, but he was fairly confident that it wasn’t something a fox could bring back to its den all by itself. And apparently, his stupid human scout was in no condition to do any retrieving.

So, that meant Nathan would have to go over to the village and figure this out for himself.

With a sigh, Nate rose from his chair and cracked his neck. He crossed the basement and climbed up the staircase. As soon as he entered the nave, the mental cacophony of undead trains-of-thought flooded into his brain. Because it just wasn’t enough that they were already making a physical ruckus. They were groaning and yowling, pacing and rattling at the bars of their cages.

Old Dependable, which came in the form of the shovel Nate surprisingly still had use for, had been left propped up against a nearby wall. With narrowed eyes, Nate took it into hands, then swung it up over his shoulder and down against the bars of the nearest cage. Metal connected to metal with a loud, sharp CLANG!

The room instantly fell silent. Nate could still hear the awful wailing in his head, but it was something.

Taking a few deep breaths, he marched down the aisle, holding his shovel—which was still reverberating from the strike—over his shoulder. (He’d made a few adjustments to the tool: both the grip handle and blade were heavier than was probably necessary, and the tip was sharp enough to cut through more than just dirt. Even though he already had some blades in his pockets, it never hurt to have a little more insurance.)

Nate threw open the wide mahogany doors at the front of the building, then paused to glance around the cemetery. He didn’t know or care what time it was, but the sun had long-since set, and both the moon and stars were currently being blotted out by ominous clouds. Not that that mattered. Nate’s eyes had a habit of glinting in darkness similar to that of a cat’s. You’d think the fact that he was the living dead would’ve meant that his eyes should’ve at least flattened by now (which definitely wouldn’t have been good for his vision), but the mold inside him really gave new meaning to the phrase Fuck you, I do what I want.

In the shadows, he spotted an enormous figure pacing around the gravestones.

“Jaws,” he called as he approached her. “Jaws!”

The wolf’s head jerked in his direction, momentarily tense before she realized that it was just her master. She trotted to meet him halfway, circling around him and nudging at his waist.

Strange, strange…stress, anger. Why? Her mind murmured.

For whatever reason, the church had portrayed certain animals as being connected to sinful behavior—and, if Nathan remembered correctly, wolves had been particularly hated due to being associated with witchcraft. A bounty had even been placed on the wolves of the nearby forest, and several local hunters were all too happy to take advantage of that.

They would just leave the wolves’ bodies in a pile at the corner of the graveyard. And, seeing as Nate was the groundskeeper, he was always the first one to find those wolves. Their fur would be caked with blood, and at least one of them would have a broken leg or ribs. He could always tell that the wolves had never just been shot. He’d known that they’d died slowly, that they’d been tortured.

He always made a point to bury the poor animals. He hadn't wanted didn’t to give the church staff the satisfaction of skinning them or burning them or whatever the hell they would’ve done to appeal to their visitors.

Phibes had been the first of Nathan’s projects. (He’d deserved to be. He’d been Nathan’s best and only friend up until his untimely death.) And after reanimating Phibes, after taking some time to really get a grasp on his new powers, Nathan remembered the slaughtered wolves. Unfortunately, by the time he was able to dig them all up, most of them had been too decomposed to work with

…Except for one.

Nate had taken her and  the other semi-viable wolves into his workshop, then spent the next few days undoing the damage.

He’d salvaged the other wolves’ bulk and added it to her frame, making her even bigger than she already had been. He’d removed their eyeballs and implanted them into her head, which left her with virtually no blindspots. He’d detached their mouths and placed them on either side of the maw she’d been born with, giving her plenty of extra teeth to bite and snap with. And, as a unique final touch, he’d carefully plucked the quills from a dead porcupine and grafted them onto her back.

Once the process was complete, she wasn’t just a wolf anymore. Now, she was something that only a complete fucking idiot would even think about going after.

Phibes clambered over to Jaws, tail wagging as he rubbed his nose against hers. Nate blinked, somehow having forgotten that the undead dog had been following him around as usual, offering the best (and only) emotional support around here. He shook his head and reached down to scratch at Phibes’ ears.

“Go back inside, buddy,” he said, soft yet stern.

Phibes responded by cocking his head to the side. The look in his amber, yellow-tinged eyes was stubborn and surprisingly human-esque.

Like the good boy he was, Phibes always insisted on never being more than ten feet away from his owner. And while this could very easily be compared to most other dogs, Nathan knew that the bond he shared with Phibes was special—and not just because they both should’ve been dust by now.

“Look, I don’t want to leave you alone, either. But there’s a good chance things’ll get messy when I’m in the village, and I’m not gonna risk dragging you into something like that again.” Nathan put his hands on Phibes’ shoulders, gently guiding the dog to turn around and face the church. “Just wait for me, okay? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Phibes’ ears drooped, and he huffed a sigh in the way that only dogs could pull off. It took a few long seconds, but he eventually trudged his way over to the building and disappeared into the knave. Once the dog was securely inside, Nate sent a signal to the strangler vines covering the outer walls. The tendrils, which really shouldn’t have been able to survive here due to the cold temperatures, stretched down and pushed the front door closed.

As the vines reeled back into place, Nate returned his focus to Jaws. She stared at him expectantly, like a soldier at attention.

“We’ve got some work to do,” Nate muttered. He dug around in his coat pockets and produced a bundle of worn, faded fabric: the blanket Twin often rested on. He held it in front of Jaws’ face, giving the wolf some time to take in Twin’s scent.

Familiar. Fox but not prey—gone but still here. Like me.

“You up for helping me find Twin?” Nate asked. Of course, he did still need to find the human, but he wouldn’t need Jaws to track it. Undead foxes were much better at hiding than undead humans.

Jaws lightly shook herself, squaring her shoulders as she licked her chops. Yes yes can track a fox down fast. She lowered her head to the ground, sniffing loudly. Nathan held the front gate open, watching her.

The wolf took a few careful steps out in front of him, then froze. Her head whipped up, and she padded across one of Mark’s bridges. Once she was on the other side, she paused to check the ground again, then made eye-contact with Nathan and let out a sharp bark.

Nathan perked up, stuffing Twin’s blanket into one of his pockets. He left the gate to rattle shut behind him as he began trudging forward on the bridge.

Jaws hurried away from him. She raced along the perimeter of Castle Isurus before halting at the head of Mark’s second bridge. She stood there, waiting for Nathan to catch up, and as soon as he did, she took off once again.

This was something of a theme throughout the trip—there was a generous amount of distance between each of the Lord’s territories, and while the village was relatively close, it was still quite a trek to get there on foot. Nate was so familiar with the area that he could’ve found his way there with his eyes closed, and Jaws was fast enough to have gotten to the village in no time at all. But as far as Jaws was concerned, Nate was part of her new pack.

After about ten minutes or so, ramshackle cabins began popping up here and there, seemingly multiplying and getting closer together until Nathan and Jaws were wandering through a little community.

As they kept moving, Nate glanced down and realized that a specific pattern was distorting the snow. It consisted of three sets of tracks: two were simple, rectangular lines, obviously left by wheels. The third set between them, however, were very clearly hoofprints. They were wide and deep, outlined by the unmistakable shape of horseshoes.

Nathan chewed his lip at this, curious. Horse-drawn wagons were nothing new around these parts, but the villagers couldn’t use them very often thanks to the weather. Plus, the few horses he’d seen here weren’t nearly big enough to leave such large tracks.

A bark from Jaws brought him back to reality. Nate looked up to see that the wolf had halted up ahead. But unlike she had been earlier, she didn’t glance over her shoulder at him. Instead, she paced around her find, which was a twitching heap of fuck-knows-what.

Nathan heaved a sigh as he approached. A bout of raspy, pathetic cries grew louder and louder as he got closer, and a matching voice pulsed around his head. He grit his teeth in pain, but attempted to ignore it.

Nathan came to stand beside Jaws, looking down to discover what was, indeed, the human scout. However, even with the corpse’s voice screaming in his mind, Nate had to admit that it would’ve been hard to recognize this one. Primarily because Nate was sure he’d remember this corpse’s face having been a flattened, pulpy mess (whether it’d looked that way before or after the reanimation). The upper half of its head had been split open in an awful way, blood and pus dribbling out like strands of a rotten pumpkin’s inner flesh. Both of its eyes resembled crushed grapes, seeping down its cheeks through now caved-in sockets.

Nate grimaced as he took in the damage. He may have developed a strong stomach over the years, but this was still a nasty sight. The corpse obviously couldn’t see anymore, which would render it pretty damn useless unless he found a way to repair it.

As he stared at the mess, however, he spotted brownish-red streaks marring the snow a few feet away from where the corpse had apparently fallen. He took a step forward, staring at the aforementioned streaks, discovering how the bloodstains perfectly outlined the pattern of tracks he’d found earlier. He blinked, then narrowed his eyes.

Well, if he somehow didn’t have any spare parts back home, then perhaps whomever had run over the corpse could help him…improvise for this new repair job. Whether they liked it or not.

The corpse was writing in the churned-up snow, wailing as it tried and failed to right itself. Nate leaned down to snatch the corpse by the collar of its stained, torn shirt. The corpse’s neck lolled to the side as he forced it to face(?) him.

“Oh, shut up! Shut up already!” Nathan snarled. He wrapped a hand around the corpse’s throat, digging his nails into decayed skin. (He wasn’t just limited to resurrecting the dead; he could reverse the process entirely if he had to.) The corpse let out a few gurgling whimpers, but it soon went still and silent. Nathan dragged it over to one of the houses, propping its back against a sturdy wall.

Afterwards, Nathan snapped his fingers at Jaws, prompting her to walk with him as he followed the bloody tracks. He traced them all the way to the ceremonial altar at the heart of the village. Even with all his experience, he was still a bit surprised at how stubborn these bloodstains really were.

A large wooden caravan sat near the altar; Nathan vaguely remembered seeing drawings of similar-looking wagons in a book he’d found at the church (which had then been confiscated by the priest due to telling stories about gypsies). Two of its four wheels were still spattered with gore, as would be expected. The back of the vehicle was facing the altar. The waist-board had apparently been folded out to allow a short sliding ladder to extend and be braced against the ground. Sitting on the rungs of said ladder was someone Nathan didn’t recognize.

He was a broad man who, despite his position, Nate could already tell was taller than him. The short, reddish-brown hair on his head matched the mustache and beard on his face. He sported a navy-blue waistcoat with a red tie and white button-down. He would’ve been wearing a three-piece suit if not for his brown leather overcoat. 

There was a small animal sitting on his lap. From a distance, it probably could have been mistaken for a cat, or perhaps some kind of dog. But Nathan, who was currently getting closer to the stranger, could tell right away that the creature was a fox.

The fox mostly looked as one would expect: rust-colored fur, black markings on its legs and ears, a white spot at the tip of its fluffy tail. What one wouldn’t have expected was the fox’s face. Or, faces.

One seemed to have been slightly tilted up while the other was a bit lower. Two narrow snouts jutted out from its head. It had three amber eyes, the one in the middle shaped more like an oval than a sphere as it was stretched between the fox’s faces.

If Nathan still had an actual pulse, his heart would’ve been hammering against his ribs at the fact that Twin was being handled by someone other than him.

“Jaws, watch him,” Nathan commanded, raising his voice. Jaws automatically darted over to the caravan, then stood close to the ladder. She snarled with all three of her mouths, hackles raised.

The stranger’s head shot up, the surprise on his face lasting all of three seconds before it was replaced by a look of understanding.  “Oh, Lord Ophio! I should’ve guessed that something like this came from your place.”

Nate blinked as he came to stand beside Jaws.

He’d lived in this region his entire life. He’d recognized those who had attended sermons when his menagerie had still been a church. He may not have known the villagers personally, but he knew their faces, and he never forgot a face.

And he was positive that he’d never seen this person before.

“How do you know my name?” Nate finally asked, narrowing his eyes, more tense than before.

The stranger smiled at him in a way that was polite yet simultaneously screamed What, are you stupid? “You’re one of the Lords serving under Mother Miranda—the most powerful and merciful one, too. Would’ve been hard not to hear about you.”

“Flattery’ll get you nowhere.” Nathan deadpanned. “And you’re gonna have to rethink that ‘merciful’ part if you don’t tell me how you got your hands on Twin.”

“Is that his name?” The stranger asked, still all smiles. He tilted his head in Jaws’ direction, showing no signs of disgust or apprehension. Instead, he looked curious, as though Jaws really was just an overgrown puppy.

Jaws wouldn’t attack unless Nate told her to. Even so, the way she looked should have been enough to scare the shit out of anyone with good sense. She paused her growling and turned her head to peer at Nate, looking almost as confused as he felt.

The villagers were always desperate, always paranoid, always acting out of both respect and fear. Nate had adjusted to being feared fairly quickly; he knew how it felt to live like that, although he couldn’t deny how good it felt to be the one causing those feelings for once. Mark and Matthew were both even more smug about their power, but if you knew them as well as Nate, you would’ve easily seen how they were just as afraid of Miranda as the villagers were.

Around here, no one could afford to be calm or happy for any given amount of time. It just wasn’t possible.

But apparently, this person didn’t care about whatever was considered impossible.

“I was just setting up shop when he came by,” the stranger explained. “Not gonna lie, he caught me off guard. I’ve heard the noises foxes make before, but they always sound so weird. Like tiny little village idiots.” He chuckled as he glanced at the houses around the altar. “Thematic appropriateness, right?”

Something light tried to bubble up in Nathan’s chest, but the mold in place of his blood suffocated it before it could get very far. Nathan remained silent, still glaring.

“Since Janus animals always have such a hard time surviving in the wild, I imagine they’d still have a lot of problems after death,” the stranger mused. “You must’ve worked hard to take care of this little guy.”

“Yeah, I did,” Nate said sharply. “So put him down before you hurt him and undo all that work.”

For the first time during their conversation, the stranger’s smile disappeared, and an insulted look made its way into his eyes.

“Hey, settle down,” the stranger pronounced. “I’m a merchant, not a fucking scumbag.”

“Sure, sure,” Nathan scoffed, slightly startled by the stranger’s sudden shift in tone. “Because a fox pelt definitely isn’t something traders always love to sell.”

“For the record, I only ever sell animal products if the animal in question is already dead when I find it.” With that, the stranger gently picked Twin up and set him down one of the lower ladder rungs.

Twin trotted over to Nate, pawing at his boots. Nate knelt down to gather him up in his arms. One of Twin’s faces nuzzled into his scarf while the other licked his chin.

“A merchant?” Nathan eventually inquired, mainly to himself.

“Ah, I’m sorry. Call me Baron,” the stranger replied, his voice and expression calm once again. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, towards whatever was waiting inside his caravan. “Ammo, foodstuffs, remedies…if you want it, I’ve probably got it.”  

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “But here?”

Obviously he couldn’t be sure when Baron had arrived, but then, that wouldn’t have mattered. He had to have seen Miranda, or the amphibious brutes Mark used as attack dogs, or one of Nate’s other resurrected animals. Hell, it would’ve been easy for him to have witnessed at least one villager meeting an untimely end due to one of the options above. Even if those dangers weren’t present, the village was far from a pleasant place to visit.

“Where there’s potential profit, there’s me.” Baron shrugged. “Besides, the things I’ve heard about this region were way too interesting not to look into.”

Nate pursed his lips, then gently set Twin down. “Go back home.”

The two-faced fox obediently scampered away along the path Nate and Jaws had previously walked on. Once Twin was out of eyeshot, Nate planted the tip of his shovel into the snow, rested his arms on the handle, and returned his focus to Baron.

“‘Interesting,’ huh? That’s a nice way to put it.” Nathan stepped away from the merchant to get a better look at the rest of the caravan. “Have you found anything interesting since you got here?”

Its outer walls were a grayish-brown color; one couldn’t be sure if the wood was just old or if it had been covered in faded paint. A stove pipe and cowl jutted out from one corner of the roof, which boasted shingles much like those of an average house. A wide window adorned the upper-middle of the structure, flanked by a pair of weatherboards. At the front end of the vehicle, an enormous shire horse was attached to the footboard via a complex amalgamation of straps—one bearing a little brass plaque that read Casse-Couilles—that formed a sturdy harness.

“Not really,” Baron admitted as he hopped off the ladder rungs. “But I only just got here. Can’t expect things to start happening all at once.” Baron walked around Nate to stand beside Casse-Couilles (Nate assumed that was the horse’s name), who responded by pushing her head against Baron’s chest.

Nate tilted his head to the side in a faux-curious way. “So, you don’t think running someone over counts as an interesting scenario?”

“That’d probably be a different kind of interesting, but I’d personally see it as more of an inconvenience,” Baron said rather casually as he stroked Casse-Couilles’ neck. “Why do you ask?”

Nate blinked, trying his best not to spontaneously come back to life and then die again due to a stroke. He took a deep breath, then gestured to the horse. “It just seems like you’ve had a bumpy ride.”

The equine’s thick, shaggy brown fur ended in white socks around each of its legs…well, the socks would’ve been white, if not for the dark red spatters around the animal’s hooves, matching the stains on the wheels.

Baron followed Nate’s gaze, humming as he looked over the mess. “Well, that’s gonna make my hoof pick all grimey, but Casse’s a trooper. She doesn’t take shit from anyone.” He smiled as he scratched Casse-Couilles’ ears. “It’s not her problem if a pedestrian can’t get out of the way fast enough.”

For a few long seconds, Nate’s mouth opened and closed with no words coming out. Admittedly, he could understand the joys of sicking a large beast on someone who was wasting too much oxygen for his liking. But that was part of his purpose now! He had an actual excuse to do it!

It was his thing, for fuck’s sake!

“Would it be your problem if that pedestrian was someone else’s responsibility?” Nathan finally asked. His tone was relatively calm, but he made sure to speak in the way that suggested his voice alone could strangle whoever he was talking to.

“There’s a difference between being someone else and being a Lord,” Baron replied. The look in his eyes was strangely unreadable, but he was still smiling, still speaking as though his current situation was a perfectly normal one. (Hell, even Casse-Couilles looked calm for an animal that had obviously crushed something’s head under her hooves not too long ago.) “And since you’re the latter, then I guess it might as well be my problem.”

“Really?” Nathan inquired, shaking off his disbelief.

“Yeah,” Baron answered. “I can give you a discount on all your purchases from The Baron’s Market until you think I’ve repaid this debt.”

Nate stared. He silently tightened his grip on his shovel, to the point where his hand was shaking and his knuckles were undoubtedly white.

Baron stared right back, eventually adding, “And I guess I can also dodge anything that might belong to you.” He still maintained his relaxed attitude, although his smile was definitely a shit-eating one. It was obvious that he knew exactly what he was doing, and that he didn’t care one iota if his apathy ended up getting him into a less-than-pleasant encounter.

A couple tense moments hung in the air. Both Jaws and Casse-Couilles seemed to be looking back and forth between their respective owners as though they were spectating a tennis match.

Eventually, a long-suffering sigh fought its way out of Nathan’s throat. He straightened his back and hefted his shovel over his shoulder. He could’ve easily done something to make Baron regret talking in circles. He wouldn’t have faced any consequences for doing so (it was probably even expected of him to do so. Baron himself was apparently aware of this).

But something in his rotten stomach told him that something was just…off about Baron, that Baron would still barely bat an eyelid at anything Nathan did, and that it would be much easier to not waste more energy than he had to. Besides, he wasn’t about to start mimicking the rage-fits Mark was infamous for.

“Heel, Jaws,” Nathan muttered. Tension slowly left the wolf’s shoulders, and she looked at him curiously. He reached down to scratch her ears.

“Should I take that as a yes?” Baron asked, returning to his seat on the ladder

“That’s for you to decide,” said Nathan. “Your offer is as good as it gets, I can already tell.”

Baron merely raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Fair.”

At Nathan’s signal, Jaws went trotting back to wait beside the human scout. He turned on his heel to follow her.

But then, purely on a whim, he glanced over his shoulder at Baron. “I suggest you leave this place while you still can.”

“Interesting point,” Baron hummed. “Buuuuuut I don’t think I’m gonna do that.”

Now it was Nathan’s turn to shrug. “Your funeral. Bad things always happen when people take up too much space around here.”

“Well, I’m very anti-space-wasting myself, so I shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”

“The people you need to worry about won’t necessarily care about that,” Nathan deadpanned.

“Thanks for the warning, but I was always taught to just worry about myself,” Baron chuckled.

Nathan gave the merchant one last hard, searching look, then shook his head. “I’ll see you at the menagerie, then.”

With that, Nate left the carava—er, The Baron’s Market behind. He wrapped one hand around the scout’s wrists, leaving yet another bloody trail in the snow as he dragged the corpse across the ground. Jaws, now with nothing to track, trotted right by Nate’s side, panting with just one of her mouths.

Even as he exited the village, even as all the houses gradually grew smaller and smaller with more distance, Nate could still feel Baron’s eyes on him. The feeling wasn’t ominous or foreboding, since Baron hadn’t been threatening at all. He’d looked just as human as the villagers, albeit healthier and calmer and happier.

But then again, Nate himself looked pretty human. The yellow tint of his eyes and the discolored scars on his skin could definitely be waved off with logical explanations (so long as whoever was trying to use those explanations didn’t know anything about Nate or Miranda, that is). This obviously set him apart from Matthew and Mark, and on one hand, it made it easy for others to underestimate him. On the other hand, however, the confused and horrified looks on others’ faces usually made being underestimated worth it.

So, what evidence was there to argue that Baron couldn’t benefit from a similar tactic?

Nathan shook his head. He had more important things to deal with than some cheeky newcomer. As he and Jaws crossed the first bridge, he tried to think about how exactly he would have to repair the scout. Giving it a new head from another body would be easiest, and doing so wouldn’t set his other projects back. He kept a supply of spare limbs in his workshop simply to replace his own, as his anxiety forced him to use his gift of regeneration sparingly.

Limbs. As in arms and legs. A few organs were in the mix, sure, but heads were surprisingly not.

He generally didn’t have a use for them. Despite the many horrific things he’d witnessed and participated in, he still didn’t have the nerve to cut off his own head and put another one in its place (his humanity may have been gone, but his sense of reasoning was still hanging on by a stubborn thread). 

In the event that one of his humans was decapitated for whatever reason, he’d usually just chuck the remains of the lost head into the river. If he was feeling generous, he might give it to Matthew or Mark, considering their appetites were much more gruesome than his. 

(Please read give it as throwing it through one of their windows at random because A. stranger things had happened and B. it wasn’t like Nate could die twice.)

Then again, it probably wouldn’t be too long before Miranda sent another villager to the menagerie for experimentation. And even if that didn’t end up happening, Nate could always just leave the scout as it was. It was already dead, so it wasn’t like this little accident would set it back too much. . .

He was barely halfway across the second bridge when Jaws suddenly started barking. The wolf was a blur of movement as she raced ahead of Nathan toward the menagerie’s front gate. Thoroughly caught off-guard, Nathan released his hold on the scout and took off after her. Time seemed to slow down as he came to stand beside her, ready to bash whatever had startled her upside the head with his shovel.

And for the next few seconds, he was frozen in battle-stance, staring, gaping like a fish.

“What’s that look for, Lord Ophio? You told me to meet you here,” Baron stated, propping his elbow on one of his knees and resting his scruffy chin on his hand.

Nathan didn’t answer. He continued to stare at The Baron’s Market, which had been parked right next to the front gate. Casse-Couilles pawed at the snow, not looking the least bit concerned at how a large, dog-like animal was snarling at her. For the second time that night, in fact.

“…Oh, wait. Did you mean that as in you’d expect my dead body to be sent here?” Baron laughed, making it clear that he knew exactly what Nate had meant. “Whoops! I hope I’m not trespassing.”

“Where the fuck did you come from?” Nate blurted.

Baron tilted his head to the side. “Well, I just made a few trips around Italy.” He quirked an eyebrow at Nate’s expression, which was equal parts disbelieving and infuriated. “Seriously? You just saw me in the village.”

“Really? Were you the one who ran over my scout? I thought that was someone else,” Nate snarked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Something tells me that’s not what you’re thinking. Mainly the fact that I did run that thing over and already admitted it to you,” Baron replied nonchalantly. “My reimbursement offer still stands, if you’re interested.”

“That’s not the point!” Nate argued, gesturing at the caravan. “The point is that you couldn’t have gotten here before me! The only route is across the bridges, and they obviously can’t support all that weight!”

Baron gave an exaggerated gasp. He exited the caravan to approach Casse-Couilles, hugging the horse’s neck. “Is he calling you fat, Casse? That’s no way to talk to a lady! You’re just big-boned.” He returned his attention to Nate. “This old wagon is much faster than you’d think.”

“But—it isn’t—” Nate sputtered. Before he could go even further down this rabbit hole, he forced himself to just shake his head. He raised a hand to massage his eyes, then let it drag down his face.

So. It seemed his instincts had been at least somewhat right about Baron.

Nate wasn’t sure if that was good to know.

But he was certain that interrogating Baron wouldn’t get him anywhere. Besides, he didn’t want to give Baron the satisfaction of reminding him that supposedly impossible things were literally the norm around here. In fact, an omnipresent merchant and his caravan was pretty damn tame compared to those aforementioned things.

“Just forget it,” Nathan muttered. He turned away, starting back towards the bridge to collect the scout…which…wasn’t on the bridge anymore…

Nathan blinked, then slowly looked over the edge. He managed to find the scout. Or, what was left of the scout, at least. It had apparently fallen over the edge and into the estuary, where some of Mark’s experiments were swarming around in, churning up the water with red froth.

That was another one of his humans down the drain. Nate almost wanted to get angry, but he lacked the necessary energy. Not only that, but despite his ability to no longer need sleep, he was still begrudgingly aware that it was too damn late for any more of this shit.

He commanded Jaws to enter the cemetery, then trudged along after her.

And even as he got farther and farther away from the front gate, even as he was closing the front doors of the old church behind him, Nate heard Baron call out, “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, then!”

___

(If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment! I would love to see your feedback!)