Dead Already *for leaf*

[madeofbone]

The second his eyes dusted over the horizon, his stomach churned, but it wasn’t in sickness, it was just the smell. This was a wasteland of precious treasures for him. Rotting corpses. Decaying bodies. And the occasional preserved part that was always found in strange places. He took one step, not fully paying attention to where he was going, and landed with a crunch. The loud crack sent vultures flying like little birds, and he winced at their squawking.

“What? I’m shopping.” Six snarled at them, still moving without breaking stride. He never knew why they were afraid of him; if anything, vultures should like him. That’s all he was. His gaze scanned over the dead ground, the lumps of material and weaponry strewn across the ground, and rolled up his sleeves to reveal one finger that was almost completely black. “Frost bite.” he hissed. It wasn’t as if he didn’t deserve it, he thought. It was hard to think that a few months ago he had his hand down an ice hole for god knows how long trying to catch a fish.

One body after another he sifted through and over the field. Six rolled one smaller soldier over only to find that there was no hand on him at all. Shrugging, he thought back to the first time he had to do this. That’s where his mind always went back to when he was hunting… How afraid he was, how their faces, dead faces, stared him down. Daring him to disturb their peace. What had scared him the most out of all of it, was knowing that he could do it. The feeling in his gut that said to take that one, attach it, and wait for however long it took before his body accepted, and made it his own. He also remembered the first time he had to cut off his finger himself to replace it. Not nearly as traumatizing, mind you. But it was like trying to stab yourself, you hesitated until the very last moment.

Six was so lost in his usual morbid thought that he almost overlooked a small figure that one booted foot had already stepped over. His brain skidded to a halt when he saw the face of it. It was a young woman, wrapped in red blood soaked blankets and chain mail; she looked like a goddess of death on the battlefield. At first he closed her milky eyes in reverence, then curiosity got the better of him. Slowly he started peeling away the layers around her, it was like digging for treasure when you should have enough respect to walk away. But this had not been his war. And his respect for the dead died a long time ago.

She had welts like crimson strips of silk across her arms and chest. There were bruises that were as dark as night. It was a solemn and sad sight but her hands were beautiful, and almost completely preserved. It was different though, he has never tried to fuse with anything other than a male about his size, but she wasn’t slight, she wasn’t little or scrawny. She was muscular, with thin incredibly long fingers that he had never seen on a woman. She wasn’t as far off from his build as he would have liked. He was 6’4 and around 170, not to great for a guy of his size, but he had a little muscle.

Well, here went nothing. First it was a tedious task of sharpening his dagger, and getting a flat hard surface to put her hand under. The sun was already starting to set, sending colors blossoming over the horizon. Time was running out and he only had one real chance. Time passed too fast, and by the time he had a rock under her hand with a sharp blade ready, the sun was far past down. With a sigh he braced himself and pinned her wrist. It was a fast process, clean as he could make it and just as cold. The pinkie came off first to make it an easier access to the ring finger that he needed. He was thankful for the sharp black blade he carried that held an edge sharper than any other he knew. The next one came off even easier, and he said a silent poem he always said after in thanks.

“Another day, another pain
But because of you there is much to gain
In debt I am yet again
But your journey is not at an end
I know your peace has been disturbed
But I will hold your forgiveness dear,
if you will give it looking down.”

Here was the hard part. He had already found a safe place to sleep in the crack of a large rock near by. The healing process took days, sometimes weeks depending on the state of the body he was fusing to, and a safe sheltered place to stay was key. He moved away when he caught the eye of a shining piece of metal, without even examining it he snatched it up and made his way back to his hide out. Settling down he tried to calm himself and let the adrenaline ebb away. Too much blood loss would be dangerous.
He winced in advance as the blade came down on his own hand. Stifling a scream he made fast work attaching her finger to the nub of his. Wrapping it tight and secure in a piece of clean cloth he started to nod off. It was beginning. He curled up; pushed tight against the rock and pulled the dark wool blanket he carried over himself to keep his temperature up and his body better concealed.

“Here it goes.” He whispered, feeling the lethargy push at him. “I feel the need to ask myself, if I have now committed myself to becoming partially transgender. Does this make me part woman? If so I have to wonder if I shall become confused.” He chuckled. His mind wondered to certain places, and with a short burst of laughter he trailed off. “Not a chance in hell…..”

[Leaf]

The infamous Battle Grounds were as rowdy as they usually got these days; not at all. It was monotonous, but it wasn't silent. Vultures and other various scavengers crawled around the area, picking at whatever flesh they could find that littered the ground. Other than that, however, a uniform deadness coated the entire area, shrouding the grounds into an invisible mist. A mist of death. There was no movement. No twitch or spasm that was visible. It was a lonesome and desolate area where no one would ever venture.

Perhaps it was the resonance of the voices of the dead that led him here. Perhaps it was the fleeting image of war that deluded his parched mind into approaching this repulsive land. That didn't matter though. He was here, against every single wish that he ever had, but now with every wish erased. The dark elf stood over the bloodstained fields, glaring with eyes that could no longer see. His silver hair sat still in the dead air, unmoved by the absence of wind. Blood. Blood. BLOOD. He couldn't even remember who he was or where he was. All he could see was red. Blood red. His arms had twitched and his eyes had quivered as their pupils shrank and faded into an empty stare. His vessels had throbbed and pulsed until he couldn't hear anything but his heartbeat. Everything blurred and became unimportant. He had lost himself and had watched his consciousness fall backward into an abyss that enveloped it. Swallowing it.

The creature stood at the edge of the field, without anything in view except littered bodies and blood. He was motionless. Still. Then, his hand twitched and the frenzied elf threw his head back and a feral howl was released into the air. It resonated, then silenced. Vultures screeched and took to the air, flapping to get away. Their livelihood that was suddenly triggered reached the dark elf's mind and he responded. The creature threw itself at the ground, tearing at flesh that was already dead. His long fingers gouged into the eyes of a man, tearing the tissue of the corpse. He screamed, quivering and wild, and dug his heel into the skull of another body. The elf kept clawing, moving from body to body, ripping flesh and plunging himself into the field for naught but his insatiable bloodlust. It was a mindless attempt to kill what was already dead.

What a peculiar thing, though, that there had been no painful screams nor responses of those being attacked. The creature stopped after he had torn out the heart of a man with his dagger, pondering. His rage was only increased, for he could not hear screams other than his own. Roaring with fury, the elf threw his bloodstained hands into the air and waved maniacally, stupid and erratically. 

Then, he stopped. His large, pointed ear caught a sound that was a ways away, but a sound nevertheless. It was something. Something alive. Something that could be strangled, tortured, and torn from limb to limb. Something that could be killed. Like a predator, the dark elf confirmed the direction of his target and bounded toward it, as nimble and agile as a deer, but with the resolute feral look of a wolf.

The elf soon reached a man with a dagger, curled between the rocks. The man was among the dead, but not part of them. A wide grin spread on the elf's face. An aggressive hiss that turned into a growl escaped the creature's mouth and he stretched his neck, cracking it. He wanted to kill this man. Kill him, and let his body join the endless heaps of the murdered on this battlefield. "Die." He snarled before he pounced toward the man, waiting to see the face that illustrated what satisfied him the most: Horror.

[madeofbone]

His mind was tugging on his body, trying so desperately to leave it uninhabited while it still could, which meant his body was in a lot of trouble. He had learned this trick over time, it made pain easier and sleep more sound and still. Less of a chance to roll over on the fusing part of him. This personal protection system, had become an alarm as well. And it was the only thing that never failed to wake him from his dead like sleep. He snapped himself together, mind and body as one, and felt the pain that came with adapting to a different part. The excruciating pain pushed into his consciousness like a needle in bone, and it was worse than ever before. His scream could not be stopped. It bubbled up to the surface like air hidden under a cup at the bottom of the ocean. It rushed out and the tears that streamed down his face had nothing to do with heart break.

"That was a GREAT idea!" he shouted at himself with all the sarcasm in his body before screaming again. Six pulled his arm to his chest and cradled his hand against him. Clenching his teeth would shatter them, so screaming was good, it got rid of tension but often attracted some interesting, and not exactly good company. He breathed in deep once, twice, and then a short breath out when he opened his eyes. He needed to examine and move it before a muscle problem could develop but that was the last thing on his mind when he looked up to see the large man... no.. elf above him with a feral look that he hadn't seen in anyone since his older brother. Tears were still streaking down his face but he had stilled to complete silence while his mind made all the sound he somehow could not. Before he could really think of anything important or in any way useful, his healing hand flew out and up in front of him.

" I really hope that you didn't need this." he struggled. The past flashing in front of him was pure fear dripping onto his already rippling mind. The hand Six held up was bruised. Around the base of his finger a brown clotted ring had formed. Just flexing his fingers out in front of him hurt so bad, that his breath was taken away. It had healed enough for him to feel the finger itself, but he hadn't noticed. It looked like his whole hand was dying, and that his arm was going next. Hell, maybe in a few seconds it would be, but his face was straight, and as dull as his eyes were, they only showed pain. "Next time.... you should knock."

[Leaf]

Flesh ripped and blood splattered across the elf's face, but left him unfazed. Instead, what puzzled him for a second was fact that he had struck the man, but there was no reaction. He wasn't dead, that was for sure. The sensitive ears could pick up the dull throbs from the heart that kept pounding evenly even after the creature's attack. The quizzical gleam in his eyes disappeared soon after he saw the target's own eyes flutter open. For a moment, it seemed as if he was still assessing the situation, but then it came. The long awaited yelp of both surprise and pain. A raw sensation of glee bubbled up inside of the elf and shot a twisted cackle into the air. The surprise soon became mere pain and what was an acknowledgement of the situation earlier became a pure screech of pain joined with bitter tears of fear. All the more pleasing to the bloodthirsty creature's taste.

The man said something. The elf heard them, but didn't listen. He didn't care about what his prey had to say. He didn't want to understand what it wanted to relate. All this savage being want was to rip it until it no longer could be recognized as a man. Hissing ominously, the elf reached it's slender fingers toward the man's throat, ready to dig his claws into the fragile skin that covered collections of veins and arteries. A simple squeeze would render the area covered in blood.

His actions were stopped when the man raised a hand, putting it straight in the creature's face. The hand was strangely disfigured and unnatural. It reeked of death and of others. Not only so, but it seemed patched, like an irregular puzzle forced together. How strange. How peculiar. But it didn't matter, now did it?

Drawing a hand up, the elf matched his bluish palm to the tan wrist of the human and closed his hand. "Interesting. Perhaps your blood is also pieced like your skin." He growled gently and licked the edge of the man's finger. It tasted like what it smelled like: dead and unsavory. "I suppose I'll find out soon." Flashing a toothy grin, the elf dug his nail into the feeble, dying arm he was holding, piercing the skin and tearing the muscle. The grin only widened when drops of crimson blood began oozing from the cut. It was everything that caused this raging obsession. This liquid that resonated with the substance within the creature's own vessels, calling up his mindless lust for killing; it was almost addicting to watch.

[madeofbone]

The ripping in his injured arm was something like a dagger to flesh, but the pain wasn't nearly as bad as the pain in his hand. There was sensation and that was a positive outcome. He didn't even scream when the blood splattered over the ground. His fascination with his hand was beautiful and overwhelming. It had worked. He let out a gleeful laugh as his hand flexed and moved. Questions arose like the dead finger on his hand. Cross gender, could he cross similar species? The finger bending, turning. it was only when he pulled it towards him that his awareness of the attack struck.
"I don't want another foreign arm..." he whispered more depressed than hurt. The last one forced him to sleep for almost a full two months. He didn't feel like fighting, if the creature was going to rip his arm off, he'd lay here half dead until his body told him to get up and fix it. What if he took this guy's arm? he wondered. Would the transfusion even work? Life was about risks, and he had taken plenty of them already. So much for living.. when the majority of his body was technically dead. His mind screamed that it should separate, project away from his body to avoid the pain. Six sighed a heavy shuddering sigh before a silent solemn realization passed through his mind. Eventually, he would not be himself at all. He would be a puzzle of everyone else. In time, nothing would ever be fully his own, ever again.

Was it worth it? Piecing himself back together over and over again for what? He was going to bleed out, and by the look in the man's eyes, it was going to be very very soon. So what was his action going to be? would he retaliate and try to fight it, would he push himself to far? Or would he take the pain in stride and walk right down that darkening hall way he was headed towards anyway. For some reason, that made him mad.

"Alright, lets dance." Six spat, pulling his dagger up, and making the most of his wounded arm. "You took the lead, but I hate to follow."

[Leaf]

The creature let go of the bleeding arm and stepped back, a sloppy maniacal grin still hanging from his face. The pupil-less eyes hung staring at the opposing man who hefted his weapon up. Drawing his own dagger, the creature sneered at the man with contempt in his eyes. It had been long since he was conscious, and even longer still since he had faced an opponent who fought back. "Yes." He chortled, putting the blade next to his own face. "We will dance to this symphony of blood." 

A long tongue slid out of the creature's mouth like a serpent and touched the cold steel. It tasted so steely, with streaks of remaining blood crusted upon it. The iron in the blade mixed with the iron in the blood and the elf was fascinated with the taste. Soon the blood of the man before him would join that on his dagger. Yes... How fascinating it would be when he could plunge the blade into the torso of his opponent, twist it brutally, and extract a mangled heart, still struggling to maintain it's weak pulse. The thought excited the sadistic elf and his limbs began fidgeting in excitement. It was going to be so fun, so fun, so FUN!

Suddenly, a sharp pain coursed through the creature's mind, pausing it's movement for a moment. Its sinister grin disappeared and a blank look slid upon his face. For a second, his body quivered with something similar to fatigue and an ache began to bite at his head. His consciousness was reminding itself that time was sparse. The elf named Sëken was going to awaken soon. The creature scowled and shook its head. Then he turned his silver covered head back toward his foe. 

"Well," the creature enthused, grin stretching back across his face. "Why delay any longer?" As he finished his sentence, he dug his heel into the dry soil and lunged for the man's throat, dagger raised.