Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Coven
Chapter 1: A hunger by no other name…
Beneath the piss yellow clouds and darkened sky, the city of Stevnholf stood ashamed as if it had soiled them itself. Its winding streets packed with boiling hot pipes and boxes, coated in snow and sheets of ice outnumbered its morose citizens ten to one. Masker had the misfortune of being one of them as he slumped down behind a crate, staying out of sight and mind of the people, scratching his arm viciously as he tried to swallow the urge back down his throat like it was a late night sickness. He scrambles up and lunges forward further into the dark of the alleyway, panting and sweating… He needed to feed, he could feel it in his bones as he moved towards his typical hunting ground.

Masker was odd, even when he was young the adults would never look him in the eye. They said things behind his back they always believed he couldn’t hear. How his skin clung to his bones as much as it did to his muscle no matter how much he ate, how is eyes wouldn’t so much as bulge when he saw something that interested him but instead stretch his whole face around them - almost like they were trying to flatten and widen themselves against the back of his skull and just how uncomfortably pale he was. The people of Stevnholf weren't known for vanity but he managed to scratch some sort of hidden itch they didn’t even know they had, like they wanted someone they could compare themselves to and feel better about themselves.

He finally reached it, Crouching behind some barrels he stared out at the Saints Smother’s Orphanage. The Cities premiere location for dumping unwanted babies, most of them born out of nights of passion that the people involved would wish never to be uncovered. The nuns didn’t care, every child meant a little more from the city in their pockets. Or so Masker had heard from idle chatter, sometimes he wondered why he hadn’t been sent here. Perhaps his mother, who whilst not physically abusive certainly made her apathy towards her son known, had just enough care for her son to keep him around to help with housework. Masker would think that in the late hours of the night sometimes, when everything was still and all he had was mind for company.

But as he found himself slipping back into that space in his mind, he finally saw what he was looking for, a black carriage bearing no seal of any house pulled up in front of the old doors of the orphanage. The driver quickly jumped down and grabbed a worn basket from inside the carriage and ran up to the doors. This was his moment.
Masker darted across the street and slipped under the carriage. Flattening himself on the underside of the vehicle and staying very still, clinging to it as hard as he could. After some time the driver steps back onto the carriage and whips the horses into moving. Masker remains still, shifting his body slightly to stay attached despite the bumps in the road. This was the method that the guards hadn’t figured out yet, how he got at his prey. They had found the holes in the wall and put heavy iron bars in the sewer and doubled patrols on the battlements but somehow they hadn’t gotten this one yet, Masker knew it wouldn’t last but he’d just find another way.

As the cart trundled along. Masker clung hard to the timber making its frame, he felt every bump as it went down the road. Eventually it passed through the wrought iron gates into the massive gated community that was Wellington Side. Masker dropped as it passed under a bridge, quickly rolling out and flattening himself up against a dark wall, Wellington Side stunk just like it always had. It’s not one of those smells that most normal people can smell since it implies that most normal people visit Wellington Side but no it was more like a smell that only a sane man could smell in an insane world, a thousand different brands of perfume wafting from open windows coupled with the smell of warm cooked food that would go mostly uneaten. The stench of semen from 100 different midnight affairs stuck its tendrils into the smell like a back riding parasite whilst the metallic scent of coin drifted up into its underbelly.

It was practically a playground for Masker, his urges knew no morality so he himself would have to apply it and one place that he knew that was perfect for it was Wellington Side. Politicians, Ruthless Businessmen, Slavers, Men who believed themselves above the law tasted so much sweeter than the easy targets that were those trying to get by with what they had. Masker could no longer restrain himself, he already had a target in mind and with catlike agility he darted up a drainpipe, sprinting on all fours across the rooftops until he saw Mandervon Manor with the window to the master bedroom slightly open. Masker knew of the Mandervons, he had been meaning to get around to dealing with them. They controlled a not insignificant amount of territory in the city after all. Banks, Business, Apartments, They ran them like factories. squeezing as much revenue out of them as possible without even stopping at all to think of all the people dying because of it. Masker couldn’t resist, he sprung across the gap and burst through the window, waking the lord and lady of the house immediately. A moment of silence filled the air as the whole world seemed to slow before being broken by the ladies scream.
Masker acted fast, spiking a nearby candlestick across the room and through her skull, her body slumped against the headboard as the man desperately ran for the door. He only made it halfway before he could feel 5 fingers driven into his neck like small daggers, he sank to the ground as his eyes rolled back in his skull, the last feeling crossing his mind being his own blood seeping into his pajamas.

Masker panted, staring at the corpses for a moment before kneeling down. He had done this so many times before after all, he knew the exact right spot. Tearing off the clothes he started to dig into the man's chest, pulling out the lean, succulent meat until there was a gaping hole where his pectorals would be before slowly doing the same to the lady, taking extra care to leave the breasts undamaged. After he was finished he emptied a pillow case, Placing the bounty into it he darted out of the bedroom and back onto the rooftops. The sack already stained red and dripping, hung over his shoulder like a sin as he jumped from rooftop to rooftop with ease before spotting it, a dark corner of an alleyway on the furthest side of the city.

Like a panther, he slid down the angled roof and pounced onto a dumpster, opening it up to find it relatively empty he snuck inside, withdrawing a small covered candle and a box of matches he quickly sets them down. Lighting the candle and illuminating the small makeshift dining room he grabs a discarded box and places the sack on it, peeling the cover back he starts to rip into the meat like a ravenous dog. Suckling on the veins and spitting out the grit. Masker looked up at the roof of the dumpster, he could see the stars in the sky as if he was sat on a windswept hill. “What a beautiful night to do something terrible” Masker says to himself, smiling grotesquely, he rarely talks these days. No one to talk to but every now and then he’ll allow himself a couple words to the world. Just one or two to the silent audience of trash and loose bricks he often found himself surrounded by.

After some time, Masker snuffed and dried the candle before stuffing it back into his jacket. Crawling out of the dumpster he could already hear the shouting across town and the ringing of bells. The servants finally found the bloody mess he left behind it seems, ran straight to the guards as expected. Masker quickly started to clamber up a nearby pipe. Stopping only very briefly once he had reached the top to get a feel for where he was on the rooftops. Staring out over the sea of chimneys he could feel something in his bones, a gnawing sensation that something somewhere was going wrong and it was somehow going to affect him, that was interrupted when an arrow thunked into the shingles next to his feet. He glanced first down at the offending projectile and then followed its possible path back to its shooter. Only to then see the 30 or so rangers prancing across the rooftops like only the most elegant of dancers, their black and gold cloaks billowing in the wind as they leap across the gaps between the buildings. Masker knew who they were, the mayor's lapdogs that had joined up to hunt him down. He almost felt prideful that his mere existence was such a threat to the ruling classes that they created an entire brigade of edgy clowns just to try to kill him.

“Try” being the key word, as Masker kept a steady pace ahead of them, swerving and ducking between chimneys and ornate rooftop decorations to dodge the desperate arrows from the even more desperate hunters. Slipping in and out of the shrubbery of slate and stone he spotted two of the smarter hunters waiting ahead for him. Ducking under the arrows flying at him, he pounced on the closest one. slashing his throat before trampolining off the man's stomach into the second one. Twisting his neck mid-air before landing gracefully. Laughing manically he pushed his few muscles to their absolute limit. Sprinting across the rooftops towards the walls he could see his goal. A part of the wall which he could leap from to a partially large townhouse, the hunters were only employed to protect the upper classes so he didn’t have to worry about them coming after him past the wall. Just a couple more rooftops and he’d be home fre-

Masker felt the warm rush of blood as the arrow struck him in the back, its poison tip spreading a paralysing liquid all around his body, his legs buckled almost instantly from it. His head smacking against the tiles of the rooftop he landed on, two more arrows hit his back and tripled the amount of liquid in his body which caused Maskers whole body to convulse and shiver. It was an odd concoction, Masker still had his reason about him but could not for the life of him move a muscle. He could only stare at the tiles as he felt himself be lifted up and the haughty cheers of the rangers. Time became a blur, Maskers vision fading in and out as the next couple of events passed by him. All he saw was him being loaded onto a wagon, staring up at the midnight sky as the dry cheers of socialites and sycophants fill most of the streets they pass through. The rangers on the cart, those whos parents paid that little bit of extra blood money so their schooling included the lessons “Sitting on Your Ass 101”, “Introduction to Small Talk” and of course the far more intensive course “How To Be An Annoying Womanising Bastard With All Of The Money But None Of The Work Ethic Or Maturity” otherwise known as HTBAAWBWAOTMBNOTWEOM to the alumni. After a while Masker could hear the whistle of the grav-steam trains as he feels himself loaded onto the main carriage and strapped to some iron bars, his last memory before he feels himself fade away is the high pitched squeaky laugh of a short, small woman in a military uniform in front of him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: The Bunny and the Chained Wolf

Masker blinked away the paralysis as he slowly awoke. Still drowsy from the poison he could swear he could hear the chittering drown of a mosquito in his ear… only to realise that in front of him and the source of the endless irritation was a person finally as short and thin as he was. Though he doubted it wasn’t by choice, the expensive military garb that looked hilariously impractical coupled with the painted nails, fixed up eyelashes, heavy makeup and long blonde hair. She looked less like a veteran who had earnt the strips on her shoulder and instead more akin to a parade outfit. Masker sneered at her, now that his vision was clearing up he knew who she was.
“Oh, it’s you. The prodigal daughter, beloved by the masses that matter to you and only you” He tried to spit, but found only dust coming out as dehydration gripped his throat. How long had they been travelling? Suddenly a searing pain gripped his chest as the crack of a whip echoed throughout the entire carriage. She stood there with a half hearted manic smile across her face. That stupid smile, the newspapers often called her an “honourable warrior queen” in the making, one who was “firm but fair with a secret heart of gold who could lead the masses into a new age” but the truth was always known to common man that it was her jackbooted thugs that swore loyalty to her where her real power lied, all her matches in the grand arena where against opponents that conveniently went down after one or two good hits to the chest. Then she could make a show of sparing them and the upper classes could cheer it on. It was sickening and now here she was, the chief officer in charge of Maskers capture.

“You must be very confused my dear Masker, only half a day ago where you prancing around rooftops gorging yourself on innocent men and woman” her voice was laced with the trappings of the upper class, the kind of accent you’d expect to hear behind a glass of wine and plate of caviar, every syllable a blight upon existence. “It took a lot to capture you, those rangers were specially trained to track how you moved down to the slightest movement of muscle. All that effort for one clean shot” She gritted her teeth, clearly the idea that Masker posed a challenge infuriated her. “Well, none of that matters now anyway, you’re my property now after all and I intend to make you… obedient.” She giggled, but to anyone with even the slightest hint of how psychos sound she sounded more like a schoolboy who believed that laughing at inappropriate times made them cool and edgy.

“SARRUS” She screeched out, her highborn accent like nails on a chalkboard. “Could you come here please, I’ve got a new toy for you” The door to the car slammed open as a massive man who looked like a leg of pork stuffed into a military overcoat walked in, his sleeves had been ripped off to show off his bloated muscles covered with esoteric tattoos. He was as much a man as he was a peacock. “Yes babe?” He strode over and grabbed her chin, tilting it upwards sharply. “What is it you desire?” His voice was somehow even worse than hers, somehow combining the worst qualities of gravel and false bravado like an alien's idea of an ideal male through the eyes of an insecure twit.

“Show our little friend here what you do to disobedient brats” She smiled, she always smiled. Masker couldn’t help but feel disgust, most of the time when he had the rare interaction with people he would shy away from them no matter their stature. He would only admire them from afar, taking in everything he could of packed inns and townhouses and even sneaking glances through the windows of strip clubs just to get the closest he could to a social life. But something about the two people in front of him tugged at that little black cord that all people have, the little black cord that tells the person “I don’t know you all that well but I already hate you”. All Masker saw in front of him was two people who he desperately wanted to punch, not slash nor consume. He wanted to hurt them.

Or maybe he was still working the poison out of his body and that made him cranky, either way his mind almost started to work on a way out of this mess until a rough pain hit his stomach. The man's massive fist had struck him where his stomach was causing Masker to spew up the half digested couple he had just eaten right before he was captured all over the man’s face, causing his expression to go from abject sadistic glee to mortified horror in times that would break world records, he stumbled back and screamed. Causing the princess of pain and perfume to scream in toe, this caused a number of guards to suddenly rush into the room. One of them carrying a particularly impressive shotgun then run up and pressed the barrel to Masker's chin, shouting at him to stay still. He was clearly not very perceptive because one, Masker was chained up and unable to do anything other than stay still and two, he had just tried to plant a solid foot in what was a very slippery substance on the floor. The train lurched just enough to cause him to stumble ever so slightly but that was all that was needed. He went down harder than a sack of bricks tied to an anchor, causing the gun to misfire upwards and just barely missing Masker. Blasting a hole in one of the chains that held him by his arm. For one solid moment everything was silent