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A fight had broken out between the Lunar Eclipse and Iris— all Silva was trying to do was solve some conflict between, that’s all he wanted to accomplish and he swore that nothing bad would happen.
Though, all it did was stoke the already burning fire; it burned and burned, flames engulfing everything in sight before all that was left was a mere pile of ashes, debris and dust. Raging orange burning everything in its perimeters as long as it wasn’t put out, a fire that spread as quick as time passing by.
Not even fifteen minutes into the ‘conversation’ they had, Silva had sent a voice message containing only a blood curling scream, nothing else. The distant sound of a blade cutting through the air before a loud thud erupted from the other side, the sounds of grass rustling beneath two pairs of feet echoed slowly, growing louder before assumedly Mugm picked up the communicator and sent the voice message for him, sending the distressed signal to Quakitus.
No matter how fast Quakitus ran, it felt like time passed by so slowly, it felt as though time had stopped right there and then. Every step she took felt too short, every stride felt like she was wasting time that was oh-so precious, time that could be used to save her best friend— she cursed himself for being perched so far away, maybe if she weren’t then all of this could’ve been avoided.
And before long, she could see a puddle of the red in the distance, fresh blood that only grew in size as he approached closer, slowing down and keeping her guard up, looking around in case the enemy was still there.
Fresh crimson pooled under Quakitus’ feet, the sticky liquid spreading across the pavement surrounded her boots, red splatters sprayed over the flooring, painting an almost ethereal portrait if it weren’t her best friend who was laid limp on the ground, pulse absent and chest no longer heaving.
Silva laid unmovingly on the stone pavement, wounds scattering over his face, slashes of red littering his jacket, now torn and worthless. Blood poured out of every open wound, flowing freely out of his corpse. The smell of coppery iron was evident, a smell that was all too familiar by now.
His eyes were half lidded, eyes unfocused and mouth agape, as though he was fighting to live but failed to survive a minute longer. His claws gripped tightly around a gem, pulsating a weak glow, beating like a heart pumping blood into the streams. Each body part limp, every ounce of guard was dropped, leaving nothing to spare.
The coppery smell was so evident; a slightly sweet smell, metallic, iron-like scent that emitted from the red substance, sticking in the back of Quakitus’ throat— he could almost imagine the thick liquid against his tongue, salty and metallic from the hemoglobin, coating his mouth in a shade of scarlet.
Cannibalism was often used as a metaphor for love; the act of consuming one, sacrificing your own health in the name of showing your devotion, the act of combining yourselves with the one you love, it was a symbol that Quakitus had held dear to in the past, albeit still doing so but in a less reckless matter.
Quakitus had stopped a long time ago— she finally caved in and listened to Vi’s advice, finally giving in and went on a journey of recovery, a journey of rehabilitation— but it wasn’t as simple as people say, no.
It was practically like she had to starve herself for the sole purpose of ‘recovering’ from her habits— but he still didn’t believe it was bad to eat a part of herself, no. What harm does it have to eat a piece of your own flesh everyday? It’s not like it's injuring someone else, she’s doing it to herself, why do other people care about her eating habits?
It’s not that weird to share a piece of yourself to your friends anyway— she was just trying to be nice, a symbolic gesture of friendship and devotion, a clear sign that she would risk even her own life to become a good friend. Why don’t other people understand that?
Why can’t they try to view it from her perspective?
Why do his ‘friends’ think that sharing a part of herself with them was a bad thing— something that should be disgusted? She was clearly trying to be kind, so why are they so disgusted in her actions?
It just didn’t make sense the more she dwelled on the thought, the more she tried to piece all of it together, it just didn’t make any sense— why would anyone care about her wellbeing? It wasn’t like she was harming anyone else— all he did was consume a part of her arm, it’ll regrow anyway, so why’s everyone repulsed?
Going on days without food, countless episodes of withdrawal, it was exhausting to even think about. Hallucinations plastered everywhere, lightheadedness taking over— every time she got up, the world tilted under her feet and she was forced back down.
QUAKITUS: ”You talk a load of bullshit..”
QUAKITUS: ”Maybe you don’t deserve that tongue of yours.”
QUAKITUS: ”Perhaps that’ll shut you up for good.”
VIOLETTAFIRE: ”Please, you don’t have to do this, Quakitus.”The shakiness in his voice was evident, nervousness and fear washed over him as he scrambled to get up after Quakitus pushed him to the ground, landing in a puddle of water, water soaking through Vi’s clothes, sticking to his skin.
Vi took cautious steps back, leaves crunching under her weight. His steps were short lived— his back met against the trunk of a tree, softly hitting the rough and uneven surface. His breathing was uneven, ragged and panicked, heart rate increasing as each second passed.
His blood ran cold as Quakitus took her sweet time stepping forward, slowly approaching her victim. Nailbeds dirtied with dirt and filth, her hands gripped the handle of a butcher’s knife; slightly rusted on the edges, dull from use— why does she even carry the knife with her, specifically to a therapy session?
There was no time to question; everything happened too quickly, Quakitus held Vi down, forcing his mouth open and grabbing his tongue, tugging on it painfully, digging her somewhat sharp, filthy nails into the muscular organ. The saltiness of her fingers were evident— it almost made Vi gag knowing the origin of the slight hint of metallic.
”Maybe you don’t deserve that tongue of yours.”
The words echoed in his head, a reminder of what was about to come.
A quick tug and pull, a slice through the muscle, the excessive pouring of blood from his mouth. Scarlet spilled out, ruining his already soaked clothes, though now with blood rather than just rainwater. Pain shot through his whole body, body letting out a shutter from the overwhelming feeling.
A scream could be heard in the distance— or was it his own? Well, it wasn’t his to compose.
But even as he struggled, squirmed and writhed under Quakitus’ hold, it didn’t stop her from taking away the only ability that made him feel somewhat ‘human’ and not so different compared to the rest of the server.
The only purpose of his existence— to bring stability to the server, now gone, all down the drain just because he couldn’t stop one person from destroying themself.
Her gaze never left Silva’s body, staring at every part of his body, gaze never faltering— if anything, his attention span narrowed solely onto the limp body in front of him. His stare was filled with emotions that he himself didn’t want to admit; the sight of the corpse made his stomach churn— not in a way that he wanted to vomit, no.
Quite the opposite, actually.
It stimulated hunger rather than nausea; she wanted to gnaw on the flesh and savor the taste once more like how she used to— she wanted to feel the silky liquid on his tongue, taste the salty and coppery meat, chewing through every tendon, ripping through all the muscles using his fangs, rolling the flesh on his molars.
She missed the feeling, missed the taste, missed the high it gave her on each consumption. That feeling of euphoria knowing that you— and only you are on the top of the food chain. The feeling of the powerscale tip, leaning in her favour and only hers.
Quakitus crouched down to Silva’s level, knees meeting the pavement, small pebbles digging into her kneecaps. Dust stained his pants— a sheet of white, a translucent tint colouring the layer of fabric. Dirt and droplets of blood tainting his pants along with, dirtying her pants even more.
The smell was more pungent now, enough to make someone squeamish to heave; it was just natural for someone to react that way— but Quakitus felt none of that. If anything, she felt as though she wanted to consume her own best friend, tear him apart piece by piece and savor each bite of the meat.
Subconsciously, she extended her arm, reaching out to Silva’s arm, gripping it and digging in her blunt nails into the skin, threatening to break the skin and dig into the flesh beneath. She leaned down, breath warm against the skin of her best friend’s arm.
Hesitation settled for no longer than a few seconds, she opened her mouth; sets of pearly whites, baring her canines and pressing it into the soft, meaty flesh before her. She sank her teeth in, tasting the salty, sweaty barrier of skin before breaking through. Blood flooded her mouth, sweet and salty all at once, the taste of iron she missed now washing over her tastebuds, blessing her with the flavor that she hadn’t tasted in months.
Tugging once, twice, before the flesh gave in and snapped under the pressure, finally tearing from the rest of Silva’s body. His bones could be seen; the two poles of white protruding between the mass of flesh, the pale white peeking out amidst the scarlet that surrounded. Almost like a bud waiting to bloom, waiting for its season to arrive to blossom and thrive under the care of sunlight and warmth.
Quakitus chewed on the touch flesh, breaking apart each muscle and tendon using his molars— it’s much easier eating cooked meat, but nothing can beat the savouring flavour of raw human flesh, no feeling can compare to the mixed feelings of exultation that settled deep within.
Even after swallowing the chunk of meat, she still wanted more, her stomach basically begged to sate its needs for food.
She wanted more.
No, she needed more.
She leaned down again, repeating the process of gnawing at the flesh before her canines pierced through the skin, blood spilling from the fresh wound, dribbling onto the floor and soaking into the already soaked fabric of their clothes.
Each bite tasted divine— a flavor she had longed for, a taste that she missed oh-so dearly, something that had been taken away from her forcefully in order to seem ‘friendly’ towards the rest of the members.
But she doesn’t care now. Blood had already tainted her teeth— there was nothing to be done, nothing can piece together the fragments of reputation she still had, nothing could make anyone else believe that she was finally ‘normal’ to society.
No matter her actions, her past will always haunt her no matter what. Her reputation had been tainted long before— all people saw in her was a sick cannibal who couldn’t hold herself down and it’ll stay like that as long as she’s alive. People couldn’t bother trying to look at her from a different perspective, all they knew was that she was mentally insane.
It had gotten so bad to the point there had been countless times people tried to assassinate Quakitus, whether discreetly or not.
But it never slowed her down from her series of self consumption— if anything, it made her think that, as long as she pushes people hard enough, they will learn to accept her into society and she wouldn’t need to change.
Though, those plans were short lived as she realised that no matter how she tried or how long she held on, nobody will accept her if she doesn’t make a move to change. Every time she brings it up to other people, trying to initiate a conversation normally, people would get uncomfortable or would just run away without even letting her finish what she longed to say.
For whatever reason, it always felt like time moved slower during their small picnic sessions. Each moment felt as though filled with dozens of emotions, each nerve ignited with a flame that served the perfect amount of warmth, every playful banter felt soft and whimsical, words felt as sharp as a blunt stick rather than a knife.
And for that short session, every problem of hers faded away, tuned out until all that was left was a buzzing reminder of the ache on her arm— but even that felt distant. Nothing was hurting anymore, every single urge to harm herself, to eat herself until all that was left were the white sheet of bones dissipated within that moment, drowned out by the soft laughter of her and Silva.
Even if she always hated having to let go, having to leave the area in favor for returning to their households of the much needed rest— though, Quakitus was sure Silva would’ve stayed if it didn’t worry his father— the curfew was because he didn’t fully trust Silva. But even so, she respected the thought her best friend put regarding his father’s concerns on his wellbeing, she too would’ve done that if she actually had a parental figure at home, waiting with dinner prepared on the table.
Sometimes she imagines herself in Silva’s place instead; the thought of a cramped house that was always filled with the warmth of home, the feeling of having to argue with someone she can call her sibling— it would’ve felt overwhelming at first, but she knew she’d warm up to it.
Too bad her reputation wasn’t the greatest.
On the way back to their village, crossing the woods, enjoying the scenery of the sunset peaking out ever so slightly, the orange almost fully disappearing in favor of letting the pearly white moon shine its ever-so soft glow upon the small town they resided in.
A flower caught his eye.
A star shaped flower; the almost furry-like petals, succulents that were like to a cactus’ spikes. The smell was undeniably akin to rotting flesh, the smell of decay and rot stenching the surrounding area. This type of flower was usually plucked and thrown away to prevent further spread— it was highly invasive and didn't serve the best purposes for the village, considering all it did was attract more flies than needed.
SILVAASAUR: ”Bro, what the hell is that smell.”
Silva was visibly holding his breath, not wanting to inhale the spores that it let out. The stench was unbearable; it made him want to heave everything that he had eaten in the past hour— but Quakitus didn’t seem the least bit affected, no.
If anything, she was thrilled at the sight of the invasive flower.
Before Silva could get another word out, Quakitus had already approached the flower, grabbing a stick to poke at it; it was clear she was intrigued with the sight upon her, and to be fair, its not everyday u get to see an invasive species of flowers, especially not these.
QUAKITUS: ”These are carrion flowers!”
QUAKITUS: ”Dude, I’ve like, never seen one before,”
QUAKITUS: ”They usually pluck it out before they even bloom.”
She started rambling about the flower; giving out fun facts about it, when they usually bloom, when they close to preserve their life span— every fact was thrown out in haste, it was clear she was excited.
But one of the facts seemed odd to say the least.
QUAKITUS: ”They reek of rotting flesh, just like me!”
It was said with such enthusiasm that Silva could’ve easily brushed it off as a joke, but Quakitus finally stopped experimentally prodding at the flower and turned her head towards Silva, almost like she was expecting an answer.
QUAKITUS: ”Don’t I?”
QUAKITUS: ”Don’t you smell it too?”
QUAKITUS: ”Can’t you smell that I’m rotting too?”
The smile Quakitus gave was creepy to say the least, the grin dripped with everything but innocence. Every nerve in Silva told him to run, to disappear once more. But that would worry the hell out of Cupid, he didn’t want to risk worrying his dad with his bad habits— he had promised to him that he’d talk if there’s something wrong, and he sure was ready to talk about it.
SILVAASAUR: ”I need to go, it’s getting late.”
Before Quakitus could try to convince him to stay, he fled from her, narrowly missing her grip on his legs. Not even he knew he could run that fast, he never knew he could muster up this much energy— adrenaline was a crazy thing.
Flashbacks from her last encounter with Silva as a teenager filled her mind— she didn’t really remember what happened next, all she knew was that she spiralled so bad that she woke up in the infirmary with blood-soaked bandages covering all over her body, throbbing and aching all over. And after that, she was put in a solitary confinement room— with no clue how much time passed in there, she slowly spiralled even deeper into her insanity.
It was so bad that she almost took her own life before she ended up in a room that always had someone watching over her no matter the circumstance. But it wasn’t like they actually cared about what she did— as long as she didn’t attempt to end it all once more, then they really didn't care. She could continue to chew through her arms, eating the meat off her own bones if she wanted to.
Nobody really cares if you are mentally ill, but if it involves them in the process, then they’ll care. For the sake of their job, their status, their position, then they’ll pretend for as long as they need to.
But Silva did.
Even if distantly, Silva always sent out a small gift or sneak in a letter for her to read even if it was a short paragraph, but he cared, he genuinely did.
It wasn’t that type of care where he pitied her, no— quite the opposite.
He sympathized with her, trying to understand how she felt even if he didn’t do it upfront, but he did. He put in effort on every letter, put in thought for the gifts he sent out even if it wasn’t much, but he tried, and that’s all that mattered to her.
All she wanted was for someone to pay attention closely, to look at her with eyes that weren’t filled with pity or fear. She wanted to be seen as a friend, as someone that was still somewhat trustworthy despite her deteriorating mental health status.
And she felt the friendship that she had with Silva dear to herself, something she hoped would last forever.
And now, it was inevitable. She had consumed her best friend, and now he was practically a part of herself.
A wave of guilt washes over before dissipating as fast as it crashed, Silva wouldn’t have mind that much— would he?
It's not like he’d remember, anyway.
Quakitus reached over to Silva’s hand; the gem was heavily tainted with blood, now crumbled up and dried out, brown from oxidation. She grabbed the gem and stuffed it into her pocket, next to her own gem, wiping her chin with the back of her other hand in the process.
She had to revive him either way— best she could pray was that Silva didn’t feel everything or didn’t witness any of her cannibalistic actions.
Making her way to the pedestal with Silva’s gem in her pocket, blood still covering the edge of her lips, a small stain of red in the corner of her mouth.
Quakitus placed the gem onto the center of the pedestal, sacrificing a few bottles of her own gem’s energy in favor of restoring her friend’s life. The ritual began, and soon enough her ears were ringing as a loud pang sounded out from the pedestal. A sharp flash of white covered her vision, limiting her visibility, eyes squinting from the sheer brightness.
A minute passed, then two.
Her best friend stood in the center of the platform, eyes widened with shock and possibly even fear— was he still semi-conscious when Quakitus had eaten a part of him?
Silva held his arm— exactly where she had feasted on.
They locked gazes for a while longer before he finally spoke up, though his words were short and filled with confusion, still dazed from his earlier death and the concussion he suffered after the Lunar Eclipse had knocked him out cold on the stone-cold pavement that was coated in his own blood.
“What the fuck was that,” Silva seemed breathless, genuine fear echoed in his voice.
Well, Quakitus had some explaining to do.