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frighteneddraz · 2 years ago

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Anthology of Arik 7

Triggers: Sexual Abuse, Sexual Assault, Suicide, Character death, Human traficking, Gore, Abortion, Torture, Slavery

I kind of forgot to post this yesterday, I have been pretty busy so... Also, this is probably the saddest/darkest story I've written, so far so... genuinely be aware of the trigger tags because this one is dark. Or at least, I thought it was particularly dark. It is also a direct sequal to the 5th story so... does this count as plugging my own stuff? I don't know. Reader Discretion Advised.

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Arik had spent the last week slowly trudging west, trekking through the tundra in which he was born, even in early summer, snow covered the ground up to Arik’s knees, and the headway had been slow, but Arik was determined. He was exhausted, he had not stopped, even to eat or sleep, for the past 3 days, and he was beginning to hear whispers, and see shadows in the snow. It got to the point that when Arik saw a keep materializing from the landscape, he had to double check if it was real. Verifying that no, it is not merely another hallucination Arik, redoubled his efforts.

The keep was small, likely garrisoning only a few dozen men, child’s play for Arik. Arik slipped on the punching weapons he had gotten crafted from the unicorn whose blood had granted him freedom nearly a decade before. Right around the time when Mist was sold to Valentine by her father, to save his own miserable hide. Maybe, if I had come straight home, I could have… No, I had just had my battle skill wiped clean, in all likelihood, I’d have just been pressed into service again. Indeed, Arik had waited to return home, until he was strong enough that no one would stand in his way. Until he regained all the battle prowess he had once possessed, he couldn’t risk wandering into the frozen land of warlords and the peasantry caught between them. He would, however, rectify his failure to protect his sister now. He would leave this shithole with her, or he would kill everyone present. Approaching the keep, Arik was unsurprised to find it closed, the tall spiked wooden walls, lined with wooden rampartsAssuming it to be yet another trick of his tired mind at first, Arik ignored the guard on the wall who began questioning him, and, pulling out a grappling hook and rope, he wordlessly began scaling the wall.

Arik hardly reacted to the crossbow bolt that hit him in the shoulder, merely looking at it with disinterest before finally acknowledging the, now terrified, guard who had shot him.

“What?” Arik said, at last

“I uh… I-I-I said, stop or I-I-I’ll… or I’ll shoot.” The poor guard stuttered out, looking like he was about to cry

“No, I mean what did you ask me before that, moron? I thought you were fake” Arik said, as though that explained anything to the terrified guard

A tinge of confusion now colored the guard’s frightened features as he fumbled out his questions from earlier, “I said… w-w-ho are y-y-you, and w-w-what is your business?”

“Oh” Arik said, scratching at his 2 months growth of facial hair under his scarf, before continuing “Arik Nooneson and I’m here to find my half-sister Mi-actually, hold on-I’ll be up in a minute to answer your other questions.” Just before he resumed climbing he added a very matter of fact “Don’t shoot me again, or I’ll kill you”

The guard, not wishing to die, followed that order, allowing Arik to scale his way up to the battlements. Gazing down at the interior of the keep, Arik noted the wooden barracks, such as they were, and the stone castle. The place was bleak, pathways had been cleared in the snow, and smoke poured from the tops of the buildings. Grey on white, it less resembled the keep of some frightful lord, to Arik’s eyes, and more a monument to the profound stupidity of the land squabbles the various warlords in the winterlands engaged in. Aiming to rule over such a land was profoundly baffling to Arik, it was akin to claiming lordship over an active volcano, certainly one can do so, but why bother? The land was not only worthless, but actively hostile to your rule. Shaking his head, Arik turned to the guard, whose shivering may have come from cold or fear. Arik neither knew nor cared to know one way or the other.

“As I was saying,” Arik started, stalking toward the guard, “I am looking for someone, and you’re going to help me find her,” Arik finished stopping in front of the guard.

The guard was neither short nor tall, Arik figured he was on the thinner side from the way his dark fur cloak fit him, he was missing the tip of his beaky nose, likely from frostbite, and a wiry brown beard covered his jaw and the bottom of his face and everything not covered by it was a deep red from the cold. Arik reckoned he was somewhere around 30, give or take, and his brown eyes seemed to perpetually shift from the ground up to Arik’s scarred face, as though hoping Arik couldn’t actually see him. Overall, the impression Arik got was that the guard was one unlucky sot.

“W-w-who?” was all the guard managed to get out, his ever shifting gaze meeting Arik’s for just the barest of moments

“A girl, she should be about 20 and 6, would have been brought here 10 years ago”

The guard’s eyes slowly widened, as his face going from beet red to ghostly white, a reaction that darkened Arik’s countenance considerably. “She…” the guard seemed to struggle to speak, as though the air had been taken from his lungs.

The unlucky guard never did get another word out, Arik’s fist struck, fast as lightning, stoving in the poor bastard’s head in before he even knew what happened. Arik stared at the corpse of the man for a while, the blood freezing in the summer breeze. Arik heard the shouting as the other soldier on guard duty atop the battlements noticed Arik. He heard footsteps and the alarm beginning to ring. But Arik remained perfectly still, the guard’s reaction playing through his mind, over and over until he felt a crossbow bolt strike him in the arm, and then in the side, and without looking, he caught the third fired at him and without a word, threw it back at the one who had fired it, blood spurting from his throat as the bolt struck true.

Arik finally turned and dropped the nearly 30 feet from the battlements to the ground, rolling he began running at the 30 or so soldiers that had formed ranks, he struck hard and fast and even though they drew their spears, it was never enough. They never stood a chance, Arik had spent the last decade fighting monsters, and demons and creatures of the night. The number of mortals who could match him in combat could be counted on one hand, and none of them had a method to put Arik down for good. It would take a small, well trained army to even stand a chance, and this paltry garrison was neither an army nor particularly well trained, and so Arik stood in the middle of the courtyard screaming his defiance into the icy northern wind.

Blood dripped from every inch of him, some his, most not, as he kicked the reinforced castle door open with a force greater than any battering ram. Stalking inside, Arik found the main hall empty, doors leading right and left and one leading further in greeted him. Walking to the door at the back of the room, he opened it to find the kitchens. He saw a servant, hiding as best they could behind the center island. He approached them, and squatted down in front of them. “Do you happen to know what became of someone named Mist?” Arik asked, his tone entirely at odds with his appearance

“Mist?” the servant girl asked, tears in her eyes

“Yes, Mist” Arik responded patiently

“Sir… Mist… She…”

Arik felt tears prick his eyes. So it was true then, he had arrived too late.

“When?” Arik asked, trying, desperately, to choke back his tears

“It was… Just today, sir. She… Well… We haven’t had time to…” The servant girl began to cry

“How?” Arik asked, “Please… I need to know how my sister…”

The servant girl slowly calmed down, Arik, covered in blood and looking for all the world like a demon from the bowels of hell, waited patiently, biting his lip hard enough he bit through to stop himself from breaking down.

Finally, the servant girl said “You’re Arik… Mist always said you’d come and save her but… no one ever believed her. And I guess… she stopped believing too. She… she was master Valentine’s favorite, and when she found out she was… with child” Arik stood up and began pacing, no longer able to hold it together, tears began to flow, unbidden down his cheeks. He became aware of someone screaming, it took him a moment to realize it was him.

He didn’t remember finding Valentine. Just became aware at some point, that he was strangling someone. He could have made it fast. Could have killed him before he knew what happened, but Mist’s voice was silent in his mind. Strangely, even the Beast seemed to have grown silent. Arik numbly realized he wanted the man in front of him to suffer, so he made it so. He kept Valentine at the edge of consciousness, making the pain of suffocation last as long as possible. In fact, he killed him earlier than intended, closing his hands a bit too tight and snapping Valentine’s neck. When it was done, Arik stood up, and went to find his sister.

Arik felt nothing as he walked up to one of the servants, and asked them where Mist was. He felt nothing as he found her in bed, pale and lifeless. He simply sat with her. He had failed. Again. Like so many times before. And with that realization Arik once more wept, and wailed, and roared at the injustice. He held his sister and cried himself sick and eventually, cried himself to sleep. The only person who had always believed in him was gone. The only person who had seen him as anything other than scum or as a killer, the only one who believed he could be a hero. Some hero he was, he had failed. Again.

Arik awoke to find himself in his sister’s cold embrace. It almost felt like she was… comforting him. And he realized, for the first time in nearly 30 years, he had slept peacefully. He had dreamed of her. And as he held his sister in his arms he heard her in the back of his head.

Can you hear me brother? This isn’t your fault. I couldn’t take another day of this. But thank you, I knew you’d come rescue me. You always have before. You’re my hero, and I will always root for you. Go be the hero you would have been had fate not intervened, don’t let my death stop you.

I love you.

Arik wasn’t sure if that had just been an illusion of his grief stricken mind. Arik’s mental state was tenuous on the best of days but… when he looked at his sister, he thought he saw her smiling.

I heard you sis. I’m not sure how I’m going to do it without you, but I’ll do it. I promise.

#whumptober2023 #no.7 #“can you hear me?”#lyric #oc #oc fic #sexual abuse #sexual assault #suicide #character death #human traficking #gore #abortion #torture #slavery #This one hurt me

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frighteneddraz · 2 years ago

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Anthology of Arik 6

Triggers: Torture, character death, mind control, child death, crucifixion, self-mutilation, gore

A lot of tags on this one, and this one doesn't even have the most. Isn't that fun? Oh, and not that anyone asked, Arik was not created explicitly for these stories, though as of now, the plan is for him to be the main character of all the whumptober stories. I have only finished... 16 of them though so... we'll see. Anyways, onto the longest story I've written so far

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Mist swirled in the breeze as Arik approached the town in the night. Arik’s keen eyes cut through the dark with ease, the businesses and houses lining the street seemed to him like great mausoleums of stone and mortar. Not a sound reached Arik’s ears except for the sound of his own footsteps, and no light shone to guide him. He had arrived later than intended, much later. A great oak loomed in the town square, rather ominously devoid of any foliage. A grotesque wooden hand reaching from the depths of the earth below it to rip the moon from the sky. Shaking the image from his perpetually exhausted mind, Arik stalked towards the inn behind the tree. He would sleep in a bed tonight, even if it was only for the last few hours before sunrise.

The breeze picked up, sending goosebumps across Arik’s skin and exacerbating his paranoia, his eyes darted to the other buildings. Am I being watched? No… No, that can’t be. And yet… A creaking sound hit Arik’s ears, causing his eyes to swivel in their sockets, seeking the cause. Arik expelled a breath he had barely realized he’d been holding, it was just the sign now moving with the wind. “The Red Bed Tavern and Inn” read the sign as it creaked and groaned in the bluster of the night.

The tavern itself was unremarkable on the outside, a stone and mortar building of some size, a number of windows dotted its edifice like the eyes of some eldritch beast, the shutters closed on all save one. Arik considered just sneaking in, he could scale the building easily and something about this town set his teeth on edge. He could still feel eyes watching him from somewhere, years of experience telling him that this town was home to something dark. Still… even if Arik were to sneak in, whatever was watching him would see him do so anyway. There would be little point in the act. Realizing he’d been standing in front of the entrance for several minutes, Arik opened the door and trudged inside.

The bar was, to Arik’s surprise, manned, even at this late hour. Candlelight illuminating the room and making the shadows seem to move and dance to an infernal rhythm all their own. The sat behind the bar, absentmindedly cleaning a glass, and didn’t even glance at Arik when he entered. Arik disliked him immediately and instinctively, for reasons even he couldn’t name. Well, to be fair, Arik hated most people immediately and instinctively, but this felt… different. How, Arik couldn’t say, he just knew it was different. He dismissed the feeling as tiredness, but he couldn’t fully shake it.

The bartender was tall and lithe, probably even in height with Arik, albeit significantly less broad, his pale features almost glowed in the candlelight. His eyes were hidden in the twisting shadows of the room. His hair was peculiar, long and in a neat ponytail, most of it was raven black, like Arik’s own, but the sides the bangs that framed his handsome and rather harsh features were blonde. He was immaculately dressed, which Arik similarly found bizarre for a bartender or inn owner in a medium sized town like this one. He wore a black doublet with red trim, and red leather gloves that shined in the candlelight like pools of crimson blood.

“One room” Arik said having concluded his study of the peculiar man

“One silver” the bartender responded cooly

Fishing his coin pouch from his belt, Arik rummaged around for a silver piece, eventually finding one, he set it on the counter. The bartender regarded it for a moment, before wordlessly turning, and walking out from behind the bar and up the stairs, the fine dress boots he wore making an audible clicking on the wooden flooring and stairs. Arik, for his part, simply followed, although he noted that the bartender hadn’t picked up the coin. Why leave the coin? Is he testing me? Did he just forget it? Arik tamped down on his paranoia as he approached the bartender, whose features were bathed now entirely in shadow.

“Enjoy your stay” said the bartender, opening the door to what would be Arik’s room.

Arik stared at the man for a moment longer before muttering his thanks and entering the room and closing the door behind him. Arik didn’t bother taking in the room, simply stripping off his once white, now rust colored tunic and travel gear and collapsing onto the bed. For once, mercifully, Arik slept dreamlessly.

Arik’s eyes opened, it was the first time he’d felt well rested in months, stretching, Arik walked over and opened the shutter to his window and was met with daylight. Or… something approximating it, based on the location of the brightest part of the sky, Arik estimated it was probably about noon, but clouds utterly blotted out the sun, leaving the still misty town in a dreary, foreboding gloom. Arik’s instincts, honed through decades of combat experience and an unfathomable amount of experience with evil, both human and nonhuman, told him to leave, that staying here longer than necessary would result in yet another scar on Arik’s heart. Yet more trauma for his already fractured mind.

Closing the shutters, Arik put his clothes and equipment back on and went down to the main tavern area where he found the barkeep dressed in the same clothes and cleaning the same glass. Arik walked past him and to the door before stopping and glancing at the peculiar man once again. His eyes were hidden still, as though the light itself refused to, or perhaps simply couldn’t, penetrate the darkness in his soul. Arik took a deep breath and, despite the niggling voice in his mind telling him to run, asked what he considered the obvious question.

“What are you?”

The barkeep stopped his incessant cleaning, and looked up at Arik, allowing Arik to see his eyes for the first time, and causing Arik’s blood to run somewhat cold. His eyes shining in the gloom, a darkly beautiful crimson. He stared at Arik for a time, as a wolf might stare at fresh carrion, before smiling darkly, his lips never parting, never revealing the final telltale sign, never fully exposing what both he and Arik knew to be true.

“What a novel question. I could, perhaps, ask you much the same.”

Arik considered those words for a moment, before pulling the door open and leaving the bartender to his glass. He wanted nothing more to do with this town. With the monster that wore the skin of a man, who tended bar for no one. He walked swiftly to the general store. While nearly every fiber of his being screamed to run, to never look back, two things prevented this action.

The primary one was simple: he needed supplies. He had stopped in this town in the first place because it was the last one that wasn’t particularly out of his way until he reached the coast, and he was running out of food. Arik could hunt, of course, but the further north he went, the colder it got and the rarer game became. Additionally, Arik was in a hurry, hunting could sustain him, but it would take precious time, time he would rather spend on the trail. Purchasing food and supplies here could well prove crucial if he was to complete his journey in the next few weeks as he hoped he would.

The second thing that prevented Arik from following his instincts was slightly more complicated. A voice in the back of his mind, one that he seldom listened to but one that he sought the source of on his journey now and that he wanted to obey. One that he had failed countless times in his rage and sorrow. The voice of his sister, of the only person that ever really believed in him. Who saw him as good, and worthy of more than what he had, something Arik himself found bewildering, but which he would never forget.

The General store, much like the rest of the town, wasn't particularly noteworthy. Gloomy grey stone and brown wood comprised the storefront. Actually, Arik realized, if it were in a different setting, perhaps it would be almost picturesque in its mundanity. A sign saying “Trade Goods and Supplies” sprawled the breadth of the second story, and entering the building a chime rang out from a bell above the door.

The shopkeep was an older woman of perhaps 50 or so. Brown hair with shots of grey was tied into a messy bun on her head, and kind smiling brown eyes greeted Arik as he walked in. She smiled and welcomed Arik in, directing him to where the supplies he would need would be. It was unfamiliar to Arik, this woman’s kindness. While it was no doubt just her being pleasant to a customer, Arik still found himself feeling odd at the interaction. It was over quickly, far more quickly than Arik would have hoped, and stepping out into the midday gloom, Arik was prepared to leave, but… stopped.

Arik toyed with the caestus at his belt, an artifact of his own design, crafted from the horn of a creature of immeasurable power that he had slain what seemed like centuries ago, but which had only been a handful of years. They were perfect for the newer fighting style he’d developed since losing his skills when he slew the creature they came from, but their effects were… unpredictable. Around half of the time, they acted as a simple magic item that increases the potency of his punches, but sometimes, the chaotic magic they contained would activate when Arik struck, and when they did, it was always a gamble on what they would do. A gamble that Arik lost far more often than he won, his luck had always been abysmal after all. Besides, his cloak did much the same, but with significantly less risk to Arik’s own person. Turns out, when someone hits you, and your cloak made out of a virtually indestructible magical material explodes, you don’t get nearly as badly hurt as the person who hit you.

Sighing, Arik turned to leave. He was no hero, and this town didn’t need someone like him to save it. He made it barely 3 steps when a voice called to Arik from behind him, it sounded like a child, and pausing to look over his shoulder Arik confirmed that theory. A kid, thin, homely and short came running up to Arik. He was probably around 7 or 8, though Arik couldn’t be sure. He had dishwater hair under a cap, and wore what could only really be described accurately as “rags”. Arik was confused and not the least bit torn. On one hand, he wanted to leave. To run, he wasn’t a hero. On the other, he was curious, and a part of him hoped…

Running up to the massive stranger, Sammy was sure that he was a hero come to save the town. A hero, just like in Sammy’s favorite stories, that’s what this man was. He was sure of it. His scarred face spoke of numerous righteous battles, his dark green eyes seemed to Sammy to possess the soul of a struggler. Of a monster slayer and hero and to Sammy’s young mind, no other explanation made sense. He needed this stranger to be a hero. Otherwise…

“Hey mister! Are you here to…” Sammy got real quiet, getting right up next to the stranger before whispering “Are you here to save us? You are right?”

The large man looked confused. He seemed to look for someone to help, but eventually, his shoulders sagged and he said “No, kid. I’m no hero, just… just a traveling mercenary.”

Sammy looked at the massive sword on the stranger's back and at the numerous weapons in sheaths and holsters, and finally said something that seemed to take the stranger aback. “You’re a mercenary, that means if I pay you, you’ll do what I say, right?”

“If you can pay me…” the stranger sighed, and seemed almost… relieved? Grateful? Sammy wasn’t sure. “Yeah, kid, I’ll take a job if you’ve got one, so long as it’s quick.”

Sammy rummaged in his pockets, and pulled out 3 copper pieces, “Will this do?”

Arik looked at the kid, he was amused, 3 copper wouldn’t fetch him a pint of mead after all. But still, looking at the hope in the kid’s eyes Arik couldn’t bring himself to deny the ugly little cretin. “No, but it’s a start, we’ll work something out.”

The kid looked up at Arik with tears in his eyes, and said “Thank you mister! I knew you’d help us.” “Yeah, whatever. What’s the job?” Arik asked briskly, trying to seem indifferent

The kid wiped the tears from his eyes and hiccupped out a “Thank you”

Arik felt uncomfortable, as with the shopkeep, this kid having any expectations or hope for him to do anything other than either fuck off or die was… unusual to say the least.

His tone softened a bit, the mask of indifference breaking away for the barest moment as he once more asked “Kid, what are you hiring me to do?”

The child pouted and said “My name’s not kid, it’s Samuel, or Sammy if we’re friends”

“Ugh… Fine. What are you hiring me to do, Sammy” Arik said, pulling a mask once more over his face, this one being of annoyance. It had served him well in the past, afterall.

Sammy considered the question, from his face, Arik guessed he hadn’t actually given it much thought, but finally, his face set and he said “I need you to defeat a monster. He looks like a person, but he isn’t one.”

“The bartender,” Arik surmised

Sammy looked around frightfully before nodding, then a familiar clicking came from up the road. Looking up from Sammy to the road, Arik found the bartender walking slowly towards him, and then… he vanished. At least, that’s what the villagers claimed when recounting this tale, but for Arik? Arik saw it all. He watched as the bartender began running, faster than any man, any beast, could ever hope to run. He reached Arik in an instant, Arik had just enough time to put his hands up into a loose guard before the creature hit him with bone shattering force. Arik was launched 15 feet into, and subsequently, through the wall of the general store. That movement, and the power of that strike… Vampire spoke both the Beast and Mist in unison in the back of his mind.

Slaughter him snarled the Beast

Protect Sammy called Mist.

Arik hadn’t been hit that hard in years. Vampires were strong, but this fucker? He was impossibly so. Arik rose unsteadily to his feet, he figured he’d probably broken both arms and had done a number on his internal organs, given how much blood he coughed up in rising, he probably punctured a lung. He’d been through worse, but still, Arik found the blood, what remained inside his body anyways, run cold. The vampire was holding Sammy by the throat, his red eyes locked on Sammy for a moment before glancing at Arik.

“You should have stayed out of this mercenary. This is one job you shouldn’t have accepted, and certainly not for such a paltry sum.” The vampire laughed darkly, “Well, I’m almost done with this town anyways.”

With a burst of inhuman speed, the vampire closed the gap between himself and Arik and once more slammed him into the ground, this time choking Arik as he stared into his eyes. Arik could feel it. The bastard’s tendrils were trying to snake their way through his mind. They were trying to infect him with their pollution. To make Arik his slave. Arik, however, would never be anyone’s slave ever again.

“You… think… you… can… control… me?” Arik gasped out, struggling against the vampire’s grip on his throat, “You… can… go… to… hell,” Arik finished

“Quaint. So I can’t turn you into my puppet. Shame, I was going to make you entertain me. Alas, I suppose I’ll have to settle for making you watch my show unfold,” the vampire said, snapping his fingers and lifting Arik off the ground, reorienting his body without seeming to move a muscle until Arik now hovered around 6 inches off the ground.

Arik punched the vampire in the face. That was the only blow Arik had time to get off, nails began flying through the air and finding their way into Arik’s body. Over and over until Arik had a few dozen nails sticking all the way through each limb, at which point he found himself being crucified against the back wall of the general store. Arik screamed, both in pain and rage as the vampire laughed.

“Sammy, dear boy,” the vampire called, “and Violet my wonderful lady, would you mind standing here and here respectively?” They each moved to stand where the vampire had indicated, tears in their eyes, but their expressions otherwise eerily blank.

“I’m going to tear out your heart and bathe in your blood you cowardly son of a bitch!” Arik yelled

“Son of a bitch? Please, I was once the highest nobility. If you must call me anything, call me by my name or title, Calidan or Archduke, respectively. And better men have tried. So many better men…” said the vampire, a look of nostalgic bliss written across his face. “Now then, to business. I have only a few dozen left in this town, and none left are willing to open their doors to me, sadly. Thankfully, Sammy was foolish enough to play in the road on a cloudy day and Violet… Well, she should have closed up shop today. How about we get started?” Calidan laughed, as he handed Sammy and the shopkeeper, Violet, each a dagger and darkly asked “What say you two entertain our guest here with some sport?”

Arik was made to watch, the nails too numerous for him to be able to quickly tear his arms and legs from the wall, as Sammy and Violet fought. Considering Sammy was a child, he did far better than most would expect, but… in the end he was fighting an adult.

Clapping reached Arik’s ears after it was done, and he felt a deep rage in his breast. Sammy was a kid. He didn’t deserve that, no one did, except maybe the vampire fuck Arik was going to fulfill his promise to. The Beast was howling in Arik’s mind, and Mist… Even Mist was urging him to put Calidan down. He would pay for making Arik watch that display. And he would pay dearly.

Violet held the bloody knife in her grip, tears streaming down her face, and blood soaking her dress, some hers most… not. The mercenary was pinned to the wall and Calidan was clapping. Violet couldn’t control her body. She could only watch as it moved of someone else’s volition. She had been made to watch that entire spectacle from the passenger seat of her own mind as someone else drove. She wanted to vomit, but couldn’t. She could only cry silently. The mercenary had gone quiet, he had been screaming obscenities and threats for the previous 15 minutes or so that Calidan’s evil game had been underway, but now the only sound from him that reached Violet’s ears was heavy breathing.

A clicking sound filled the room and Calidan was suddenly in front of her “Congratulations on your victory Violet, you get to live another day, though… you’ll have to help me get into the other homes…”

There was a sound then, a sickening one not entirely unlike the sound that ended the “competition”. It was wet, like that noise had been but also… there was a distinctive crunching sound as well. Once again, Violet found herself wishing she had the control required to vomit, a wish that was about to be granted. Calidan had turned to look at the source of the noise and now he wore an altogether different look from the smugness he had borne earlier.

“What… what the hell are you? Stay back you freak” Calidan cried as suddenly the mercenary appeared in Violet’s vision, a stake in his hand.

Violet found herself being made to watch as the dark clad figure staked the vampire, and letting out a dark and guttural laugh. The mercenary had stopped resembling a man, instead only a beast remained. One every bit as dark as Calidan had been. She watched him. And eventually, she found herself able to move, and the first thing she did was empty the contents of her stomach. The mess that had once been Calidan no longer resembled… anything. The beast wearing the mercenary’s face had taken it’s time. So much time. Violet had been made to watch as her body began stabbing the beast at one point, but he didn’t even react, the wounds healing faster than Violet could inflict them.

The Beast stood over the first in a long time that he had been allowed to fully enjoy. The Vampire had healed quickly, not as fast as the Beast itself, but still. The Beast turned to the sound of retching and stalked towards the lady who had stabbed him, who had inflicted him with pain, but… stopped. Arik calmed down quickly enough, he knew that she was suffering far worse than he after all. He stood there, unsure of what to say, how to console her as she slowly stumbled over to Sammy before collapsing into sobs.

“I… I’m… I’m sorry. Sorry I couldn’t save you two from him sooner. I’m so very sorry, he wanted a hero and…” Arik stammered out, tears in his eyes, “I… I…”

“It’s… It’s not… not… your fault… It was…” Violet trailed off and broke into sobs and then into full blown wails. Loud, miserable and heavy with the weight of despair.Arik wanted to say something else, to somehow fix this. Even as she broke down, this woman had been kind to him. Had tried to reassure him. Arik didn’t deserve that reassurance. And she didn’t deserve any of this. Not that Arik thought anyone did, but… He couldn’t imagine the pain she was going through, despite the myriad agonies Arik himself had faced, hers was one he hadn’t. One he would never allow himself to. Arik, knowing there was little else he could do, only placed his hand awkwardly on the woman's back as she cradled her son in her arms, trying to offer her some small comfort in her time of need as guilt wracked him.

#whumptober2023 #no.6 #made to watch #oc #oc fic #torture #character death #mind control #child death #crucifixion #self-mutilation #gore #I rewrote this story like 4 times

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frighteneddraz · 2 years ago

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Anthology of Arik 5

Triggers: Human Trafficking, Amputation, Character Death, Abuse

This is the first of the stories I wrote, and it's also the one I had the most help with, which means it's... probably the most polished and I think is one of the ones that best gets into the mind of Arik as a character of the 15 or so I've written so far. It's also one of the few I've had input on the triggers for because, again, I still don't know what I'm doing on that front. Also, I normally schedule these to post the night before and I completely forgot last night so... here we are. Anyways, a thank you to my friend Q for taking the time to read through and help edit this one, and for helping with trigger tags. ----------------

The road, if you could really even call it that-truthfully, it barely qualified as a path, covered in snow and winding through the woods that had seemed to stretch on infinitely for the past few days- had finally terminated. Arik had walked for… was it a week since the last town he’d seen? Arik ran the last couple hundred hours in his mind and guessed that was probably about right. It was, however, nearly impossible to tell, this far north and this close to the solstice, day was more or less a permanent fixture. He had stopped to sleep every roughly 20 hours, wanting to get to his destination far more than he wanted to dwell within his own feverish nightmares. Arik was exhausted, but he had finally arrived at his destination: Home.

Well, bluntly, calling it home was pushing it. A lot. Arik hated the place and everyone in it with a passion. Admittedly, Arik hated most people, but he had a special place in the spite-filled cavern that once may have held a heart for this miserable place. There were a handful of exceptions of course, and to amend the previous statement, there had been one person that Arik loved in this cesspit of human waste: His sister, Mist. And it was Mist who he sought, traveling hundreds of miles on foot, and countless more on sea and steed to reach her.

The village was just as he remembered it, albeit seemingly somewhat smaller. The houses, resembling cabins pushed halfway into the ground, would probably be described as quaint by most, bearing steep thatched roofs covered by a thick blanket of snow, with a hole in the middle of each of those roofs from which smoke poured out. To Arik’s eye though they were a ramshackle series of mud and wood huts with roofs that seemed to slouch under the weight of the weather and time.

Scanning the village, he was unsurprised to see that no one was outside; were it not for his healing, he had no doubt he’d have lost several fingers, toes and much of his face within the first hour of having been out in this cold. That said, it made the village seem desolate, were it not for the smoke steadily being exhaled from the mouths at the top of each cabin, Arik may well have thought that this place had met its fate. His scarred face, covered by a scarf, wore his typical scowl as he marched the last hundred meters to the door of his childhood home. As he reached the door, Arik’s eyes drifted briefly to where the cellar door would be, buried under almost 2 feet of snow, even in early summer, before he took a final, steeling breath… and knocked.

Arik could hear footsteps and his step-father swearing before, likely only a handful of seconds later, though to Arik it seemed a lifetime, the door opened. His step-father stood there, wearing a stupid look and what Arik swore were the same underclothes he had worn the last time he’d seen him, over 20 years hence. Leif, his step father, looked to be 40 years older and 40 pounds lighter than last Arik had seen him. Once tall and proud, years of backbreaking work had taken their toll, he stood slightly hunched, with his shoulders pinched forward painfully. His once golden-blonde hair had faded almost entirely to a dull grey, while his skin seemed to have been salted and cured like jerky by his many years in the fields, though it was remarkably pale now. Even his eyes, which once shone with a sapphire blue that belied the cruelty behind them, seemed to have dulled to a bluish-grey.

“Who are ye?” Lief finally spat, licking his few remaining teeth before continuing “And what do ye want?”

Arik suppressed the dark and ever present desire to kill the scumbag where he stood, he hadn’t seen his mother, Brynhild, or his sister yet and despite the terrible, urging voice in the back of his mind, he didn’t get any pleasure from killing. Instead, Arik just removed the winter wolfskin hat and scarf from his face, hoping he could answer both questions without having to talk to the creature before him.

Lief studied Arik for a long moment before saying “Expect you’ll be wantin’ to come inside, you ingrateful bastard'.

Turning around and slowly walking to the log pile, he added another one on the pile before sitting where he had presumably been before Arik’s arrival.

“That answers one, now what d’ye want?” Lief asked

Arik, having followed Lief inside, finished removing his coat and boots before sitting next to the fire. At well over 6 feet tall, Arik found himself stooping to fit under the low ceilings of the cabin he’d grown up in. A face bearing a number of scars that spoke to his years of battle experience, dark green eyes and shaggy short black hair, Arik looked to be about 22 despite being in his late 30s. One of the perks of his supernatural healing, which, to this day, he didn’t really understand much to his own frustration. Arik reflected with a degree of detachment that at least I understand why my step-father insists we aren’t related. Indeed, the contrast between the two men had never been clearer, with Arik standing now a head taller and being now far broader and more muscular than his step-father had ever been.

As Arik sat down he noticed that most of his toes had, indeed, turned black despite his musings from earlier. Pulling a dagger from his waist, he cut the top half of his feet off in much the same way one might cut their toenails. Arik was so used to physical pain that it had stopped really registering the way most would. Similarly unlike most would, his toes and the removed chunks of his feet simply grew back as he knew they would. As they had countless times now. His step-father watched with a look of disgust and likely horror, though Arik wasn’t sure and largely didn’t care. Arik sat in silence as he waited for his feet to heal, a process which took only a handful of seconds, much to Arik’s displeasure.

Finally, recognizing that he’d have to answer the question his step-father posed but dreading the response, Arik, tentatively and with much trepidation at first, made his query: “Where’s my mother?” Arik’s face slowly hardened, before he continued with a threatening edge to his tone, “And where the hell is Mist?”

Arik’s words didn’t seem to surprise Lief, though his facial expression had changed to one that almost resembled… sadness? Grief? Maybe even… regret? Again, it was difficult to tell, and even if Arik could have, he didn’t care to figure it out. It was easier that way after all. Lief seemed to chew on Arik’s question, both figuratively and literally, his handful of remaining teeth gnashing as he sat, the question hanging with the smoke in the air.

Arik took the time to look around the room. Much like the village before it, it was much as he had remembered, though, unlike the village, it had actually changed in one notable way. Before, there had been a second bed made of furs, upon which Arik and his kid sister had always slept, but now that bed was gone. Otherwise, the pans and pots which hung from the ceiling were the same. The bow and arrow that Lief had used to obtain meat during the early Autumn, before the snows but after the animals had fattened up in preparation for winter hung on one wall of the room, same as it always had. A pot of stew seemed to be cooking over the fire, making the room even smokier than it tended to be in the fall and winter months. It was spartan, but in comparison to sleeping outside, it may as well have been a 5 star hotel. Arik’s thoughts were brought back to the moment when Lief sighed, and Arik might have sworn he saw him age a decade in the span of but a moment.

“Brynhild died some 12 years back, and as for Mist… well”, Arik’s step-father prodded at the fire, his eyes seeming unusually wet before his face set and he looked Arik in the eyes saying “I sold that little bitch too.”

Faster than Lief had thought possible and with more strength than any man Lief had ever met, Arik pinned Lief to the wall by the throat. Looking into his eyes, Lief saw only rage and bloodlust and hate, and for the first time he saw the man, no… the Beast he had helped to make. Lief had thought he was ready to die, but in front of this creature of rage he could do little other than soil himself in fear of the Beast who held him by the throat.

“Where… is… she?” the Beast asked, seeming to struggle to hold itself back even long enough to ask the question. Lief struggled to get a word out, but under the weight of the Beast's inhuman strength all he could manage was a strangled gasp. Then he was on the ground, the weight from his throat gone, but he had no time to appreciate his newfound ability to breathe. No sooner had he taken a breath in than a scream escaped his lips as pain exploded from his right hand. Looking at it, he found that his index finger was bent at a wrong, impossible angle, and once again, a scream escaped his lips as he scrambled away from the Beast who had broken it.

“WHERE IS SHE?” the Beast roared, “WHO DID YOU SELL MY SISTER TO, YOU DISGUSTING CARRION FEEDER?”

“A… a warlord, he… he was going to kill me” Lief sobbed out his response, “Please,” Lief once more let out a fearful sob as he began to beg the Beast to spare him “I’ll tell… you what you want… just… just let me live”

The Beast let out another roar of rage and Lief a scream of pain as a crunch filled the house, the Beast breaking Lief’s right leg before once more roaring out his question. Lief sobbed in pain and fear as he realized that this was where he died. He had prepared himself, or so he thought, for the day that Arik would knock on that door and kill him, but nothing could have prepared him for the rage of the Beast that tortured him now.

“GIVE ME A NAME!” The Beast ordered, towering above Lief’s broken, sobbing form.

“Valentine! He called himself Valentine, please, let me go!”

Arik regarded the cowering wretch in the corner of the room, his rage burning through him as that familiar voice in the back of his mind called for him to put this creature out of his misery. He stood there considering what he had been told, and fighting within himself.

Kill this miserable creature, pin him to the floor with his arrows until he begs for the release of death, the Beast’s voice cooed. Make him suffer as he has made you suffer. As he made your mother suffer. As he made your sister suffer.

No. Arik, look at him. Actually look at him. See him for what he is. Recognize him for the man he is, cried another voice, a voice that Arik knew belonged to his sister. To the one person who had truly loved him and who had seen him as he had wanted to be seen. Killing him now will bring you nothing but misery, he is a broken man Arik. You have the name, you can leave and never give this place another thought. You could be who I know you are. You can be better.

Kill

Be better

KILL

Be Better

KILL HIM

BE BETTER

KILL HIM

BE BETTER

On and on the voices raged until Arik screamed in fury and grief and looked at the wretch before him. Broken, in mind and body, just as Arik himself had been countless times. Arik wanted to be better, wanted so desperately to be able to see the man. To see Lief in his entirety.

But Arik couldn’t do it. This creature had sold him and his sister both to save his own hide. I am sorry Mist, but I cannot let this vermin live. Not when he sold you to save himself.

The Beast had stood there in silence for several minutes as Lief whimpered in pain and fear. Lief had begun to find a spark of hope in his breast that maybe the Beast would be merciful, a spark that was snuffed out in the same moment as the spark of life in his eyes.

Arik drew from underneath his cloak a greatsword which he plunged into his step-father faster than most men could see, pinning him to the ground. Arik collapsed, both voices had grown silent in his mind, the Beast sated and Mist left disappointed once again. Arik sat in that cabin and wept, he wept for his mother, and his sister. He wept for himself. And to Arik’s surprise, he wept for the scum, nay, the man who had raised him. He was terrible. The worst kind of man imaginable, but now that he was dead, Arik could see he was a man, still. However, Arik feared he would never see him in his entirety, never be able to recognize all of him.

Arik would set up a funeral pyre for the scumbag who had raised him. The other villagers unwilling to confront the stranger who they had long forgotten about and who terrified them more than any beast of the forest. He would see to it that his father, or the closest thing he had to one, was laid to rest. Looking through Lief’s things, he was surprised to find a series of journals. Arik didn’t know Lief could write at all let alone that he did so regularly. Remembering Mist’s words, he began to read. The first journal entry was dated 44 years ago and detailed Lief’s meeting with Brynhild. How she wanted a man who knew his letters. A “Sophersticated tipe”. Arik poured through the first journal, every entry becoming a little better. A little more legible and a little closer to sophistication. Arik poured over journal after journal until the last entry he read: dated 10 years ago, when Mist was 17. When Lief had sold her to save himself. Arik had seen the man his father had been, Arik still hated him of course, but he saw him now. All of him. Arik looked once more at the spot where Lief had been pinned down under Arik’s blade. Even now, Arik thought, I would have made the same choice. Pushing that from his mind he focused on a different thought as he began to pack for the next long hike: I saw you Lief, and now it's time to go see my sister.

#whumptober2023 #no.5 #pinned down #oc #oc fic #amputation #human trafficking #character death #abuse

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frighteneddraz · 2 years ago

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Anthology of Arik 4

Triggers: Torture, gore, slavery, human experimentation, imprisonment, amputation, self mutilation

Some of these are more implied than overt, but again, I'd rather overtag than undertag. Thank you for reading my edgy nonsense.

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Arik didn’t have long, Malkion would be back soon. He pulled at the shackle holding his right hand, there was a tearing sensation, a sickening squelch, and suddenly… his hand was free. Next came the left, as the skin on his right regrew, Arik pulled with all his weight, the left was tighter though. So Arik pulled repeatedly, a pop, a crack, the sound of flesh being stretched and torn and an exquisite agony that radiated up Arik’s arm into his shoulder, then up his neck before pinging off his brain. Taking the hand, he reattached it to its stump, the flesh knitting back together in the darkened lab Arik had occupied for… he wasn’t sure how long. He would find out soon though.

Arik looked at the hell that had been his home, his eyes had adapted to see in the dark, part of his bodies mutations according to Malkion, damp grey stone walls lined with rusting steel pipes. He was naked, as he had been since shortly after his arrival, but he was strong, and it was time to make his escape. But… a familiar dark voice spoke in the back of his mind, the Beast, as he had come to call it. Kill him. He has chained you here, torturing you for his own pleasure, make him scream as he made you scream. Make him suffer as he did you. You can do it. You have the power now. Arik considered the Beast’s words, a dark smile spreading across his scarred face.

The preparations were set, Arik had made a batch of the elixir Malkion had created for his unhealing wounds, a double batch, in fact. Malkion was late, by Arik’s reckoning, but that suited him fine, it gave him time. He was strong, but Malkion was far from weak, so those hours were crucial. The Elixir was made into a trap, one which would blind Malkion, as he had so many times to Arik, from there, Arik would push him against the wall and chain him there. Then… he would begin his own dark work. The thought filled Arik with more cruel glee than he would ever admit.

Malkion strolled into the lab in a chipper mood, he had broken subject 116 after all, things were going his way. Now for his favorite subject. The first thing that hit him, as always, was the smell of blood and chemicals, subject 10 was the only one who he kept in his personal lab and as always the aroma of him was glorious. The second thing was a new sensation… fear, as he saw the shackles on the wall lay empty. Subject 10 had escaped. No, no, no, no… The third thing that hit him was yet another new sensation: agony.

Arik watched the door handle turn as he hid in what would be Malkion’s blind spot, ready to cover the bastard in the acid he called an elixir. Malkion was smiling, and humming, carrying his supplies for today's experiments, including that sword. Perfect. Arik could barely contain his glee as he poured the elixir all over the mad scientist’s head, aiming to get most of it on the front side; he was largely successful, given the screaming and the fact Malkion dropped the experiment supplies to clutch uselessly at his face.

Without missing a beat, Arik kicked Malkion in the back, sending him sprawling forward, but caught his right arm, and swung his body into the back wall. Malkion still hadn’t registered what was happening, the pain taking away any situational awareness he otherwise would have had, and soon, he was being chained as Arik had. Quickly, Arik took the healing potion he had brewed and poured it over Malkion’s eyes, restoring them so that he could gaze upon his precious Experimental weapon: subject 10.

Laughing darkly Arik looked down at Malkion, his face hideously scarred by the acid, and his newly restored eyes filled with fear and despair. “Well Malkion, what was your most recent Experiment number? 119? That would make you experiment 120, correct? Now, let’s begin expanding your limits, shall we? Hahahaha! AHAHAHAHAH!”

Now it was Malkion’s turn to scream. And scream he did, Arik kept him alive for days, butchering him and tormenting him in uncountable creative ways, until he was wholly unrecognizable. Even as he begged for Arik to kill him, Arik, no… The Beast that Malkion had created, had finalized the form of, had given purpose to, laughed in his face. Malkion wanted it to end. Subject 120 begged. Pleaded, but The Beast would not relent. Would not let him rest. Subject 120 died, not from his wounds, The Beast would not allow that, instead, his heart gave out. He died of agony, and as Arik had once promised, when he arrived in the Hells below, he wept for joy, for the devils were not half-so creative as Arik had become in the 6 years Malkion had known him as Experimental Weapon: Subject 10.

Arik looked at the skinless corpse that had once been the great Alchemist Malkion of Vildholm. He felt a profound emptiness. The glee that had come with his vengeance, the dark joy of watching his own personal subject suffer was spent. All that remained was darkness. He left and only now did he remember the others. Those dubbed experiments 115-119, the most recent batch of poor fuckers Malkion had obtained for his twisted research.

He found 115 in her cell. She had once, probably, been pretty. Malkion’s experiments had turned her dark hair white, her now lifeless eyes a light brown, her skin a deep golden tan, and on her neck Arik found a holy symbol. She had once been a cleric, or perhaps a paladin, Arik realized. The fact she wore her holy symbol meant that Malkion had broken her. Arik closed her eyes, he wanted to cry, but the all consuming darkness in Arik’s heart prevented that.

116 was a large fellow, a mite taller than Arik, and he had been decidedly handsome, pale skin with blonde hair and blue eyes with high cheekbones. Arik noticed something, he had learned enough from being experimented on to recognize that this man had likely been… alive when Arik had begun his vengeance. He had died of thirst. Arik closed his eyes too, guilt burning in his breast, but he took some small solace noticing that he too, bore a holy symbol around his neck. A cleric? A paladin? He wasn’t sure but… He hadn’t cost someone their life who wasn’t already dead.

That was what Arik thought at first, but he found 118 alive, the 3 man cell occupied by 117 and 119 as well. 117 appeared to be a high elf, blonde hair and translucent pale skin with emerald green eyes. He was lithe, as most elves tend to be, and relatively tall for a elf, he looked like he had been capable. 119 was likely 117’s sister, as she appeared mostly identical, save for… Arik’s gaze landed on 118, a giantkin of incredible size, a wound on his stomach likely the only reason he was even still here. But he looked tired, and thirsty. Arik realized that he had to move quickly. Running back to the lab, he broke one of the pipes and filled as many containers as he could with water, before returning. 118 drank deeply, downing several liters of water in only a handful of minutes. When he had drank his fill 118 stared Arik down, he looked… angry.

“My friends’d be alive if you hadn’t… I heard the screams. I’m glad that fucker suffered, and I know it’s not fair of me to say this, but… Why the hell didn’t you…” The giantkin looked like he was going to hit Arik, but then… he just deflated. “Leave,” he said, and Arik, not knowing what to say… simply did so.

6 years. That’s how long he’d been in Malkion’s “care”, something he determined by reading some of Malkion’s own notes. He should have killed him and left, but… that wouldn’t have been good enough, whispered that dark voice in Arik’s mind. He needed to suffer, and you made him suffer. Arik couldn’t make himself disagree, and that sickened him. He had lost so much more than time, he had lost something integral. He had lost the ability to look people in the eye and not have them see only the darkest pit of his soul. He had lost his chance at happiness. He had lost much of his humanity. They will know your pain, we will show them, whispered that horrible, beautiful darkness. They will know the fear when they meet your gaze. They will suffer as you have. Arik hated how much that appealed to him. Hated how much he hated everyone. Hated how dark Malkion had made the pit in his soul. He may have broken out, but in the end, Malkion still owned him. Still laid claim to the goodness in his heart. Arik feared he had taken it with him to the grave. Arik feared that he would always be subject 10.

#whumptober2023 #no.4 #lab rat #altprompt #oc #oc fic #torture #gore #slavery #human experimentation #imprisonment #amputation #self mutilation

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frighteneddraz · 2 years ago

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Anthology of Arik 3

Triggers: Child Abuse, Gore

Technically, there isn't any hard gore, but there is a compound fracture and blood so... I figured I'd overtag rather than undertag

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Arik sat in the dark of the cellar crying. Why did his father hate him so? Arik’s young mind couldn’t understand. Why was he treated worse than the cat his father kept to deal with mice in the house? Why was he locked down here while the other boys played freely? Well... he did understand, but still, it was an accident. Right?

Arik sobbed, and called up towards the door: “Please, pa, I’ll be good. I didn’t mean it, I swear, I’ll be good… Please let me out”

The day had started well enough, Arik’s momma and papa had announced that Arik would soon be an older brother, something that had excited Arik immensely. The other kids all complained about their siblings, but Arik was sure they were full of it. Arik had finished his chores early, and his papa had even said he did “alright”. He had been allowed to go play, a rare treat for the boy. That had been when what was shaping up to be the best day of Arik’s young life turned sour. The boys had been playing a “Knights Tournament" and Arik was paired up against an older kid, Thor, for the first round.

Thor was a bully, Arik had disliked him as long as he could remember, he was the oldest and by extension, largest boy in the village at the age of 14, and used his size to take toys from other kids. Nobody liked playing with him, so Arik was always stuck with him. “You’re the strongest other than him” the other boys would say, and Arik would always agree to partner with him for any games that needed a partner. He could handle Thor.

So the two boys squared up, Arik, age 9, against Thor, age 14. The rules of the game were simple, relatively anyways. If the wooden sword hit a limb, that limb was cut off and the person could no longer use it, the first hit to the chest wouldn’t count, but the second would be a mortal wound and the person would lose. Hits to the head and neck were against the rules, no knight would be so dishonorable was the logic of the kids. Obviously, accidents happen, so one kid was set to just watch and make a ruling should a head or neck hit occur.

Arik’s fight against Thor begin with the older and larger boy immediately hitting Arik in the head with his wooden sword hard enough that the world spun for a moment. Normally, that would disqualify a kid, but not Thor, Thor threatened the kid acting as referee into ruling it an accident. The Tournament resumed and Arik quickly “cut off” Thor’s non dominant arm and one of his legs, before Thor got mad and went to swing at Arik’s head again. Arik was ready this time, parrying the hit like a real knight, Arik countered by hitting Thor twice in the chest in quick succession, winning the duel.

Or… well, that should have been what happened. But Thor got mad and attacked Arik, defending himself against the older boy’s assault as best he could, Arik took a hit to the arm. There was a crunch and Arik’s arm exploded with pain, causing Arik to cry out. Arik grew desperate. He needed Thor to stop, or Thor would kill him. Arik hit Thor back as hard as he could. He wasn’t aiming, his eyes weren’t even open. He was just trying to get Thor to stop. There was a crack as the wooden play sword broke, and Arik opened his eyes as Thor stopped hitting him. A glance made Arik’s blood run cold. He had hit Thor’s head, and hard enough it made him stop attacking.

He had stopped doing anything really. Just… slumping into the snow, as it turned first pink, then a deep red. The other boys all looked at Arik strangely, as Arik looked down at his broken arm, bone protruding through the skin, it hurt. It hurt horribly, but it had already stopped bleeding. It wasn’t supposed to stop bleeding! Why had it stopped bleeding?! What am I? Arik asked himself in horror. Arik looked up at the others as though they held the answers he sought and watched as they backed away from him, fear clear in the eyes of each and every one of them.

“Please, guys, it was an accident. I… I didn’t mean to, honest. Please don’t hate me, I… he… Please…” Arik begged, tears pricking his eyes. That was when Arik heard his papa shouting…

Arik snapped back to the present, he had just been trying to defend himself. Thor shouldn’t have attacked him like that… Why had he been so vicious? Arik looked at his arm again, his mom had popped the bone back into place before he’d been sent down here. Arik began sobbing again. He was alone. The look on the faces of the other boys haunted him, but as Arik fell asleep in the cold and dark and solitude it was Thor that came to him in his dream. In his nightmare. The first of untold many to come.

#whumptober2023 #no.3 #solitary confinement #OC #oc fic #child abuse #gore

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frighteneddraz · 2 years ago

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Anthology of Arik 2

Triggers: Self-Harm and suicidal thoughts --------------- Arik had finally arrived at his destination, as always, the journey had been long and tiring. He had already reunited with Cecil 2 months prior, and had celebrated their reunion hard, feasting and drinking and overall living it up with his old friend and ally. While there he learned of what became of the other members of their band of weirdos, apparently Bliss, the dryad druid had yet to reform in her tree, though Cecil assured Arik that “Zevikial is sure that will happen… eventually,” which, bluntly, only raised more questions than answers. Who the hell is Zevekial and why is he an authority on matters like this? Why would she reform in her tree if she died, wouldn’t her tree have, logically, just died with her? How long does it take to regrow a dryad body from a tree? Cecil, though Arik loved him dearly, was not all that bright (despite the fact that his armor glowed a blinding white) and could not answer even the first question in a satisfactory way. The only answer Cecil gave was “Oh, he’s a smart guy” and that was that.

The final party member was Reina, whom Arik had once sold his soul to resurrect, the aasimar cleric. One whom Arik had bore a rather terrible crush on while they journeyed together. Evidently, last Cecil had heard, she was with “some guy named Rugalia the Terrible” and was acting as his personal doctor. Rugalia was not a name Arik recognized, but it didn’t take much to find out who he was, evidently he was a rather infamous warlord on the eastern continent of Celtolan, renowned the world over for his inhuman strength and brutality. Arik would likely have questioned why Reina was working alongside him, but given Arik’s own temperament, it would be hypocrisy of the highest order. So it was, Arik set out to find one of the few people in this world he called friend.

Arriving at Rugalia’s encampment, Arik felt dozens of eyes on him and for the first time in a long while, Arik felt the twinge of fear that comes from vulnerability. He was once, so recently, a god, but no longer. Though he remained inhumanly strong and still healed from wounds impossibly fast making him practically immortal provided the wounds themselves weren’t immediately lethal, his recently obtained freedom had come at the cost of his once legendary battle prowess. All skills and abilities he had gained as a result of training were lost to him when he drank the blood that freed his soul from the God he once so foolishly bound it to. He had regained some of the skill he had lost in his journey to get here, but even so, he was practically a novice still. While his natural abilities would mean most of these men were no threat to him individually, he was under no delusions that he would be able to beat even a handful, even his healing needed a degree of control to allow him to survive mortal wounds, after all, control Arik no longer possessed.

The encampment itself was rather incredible, tents and banners fluttering in the wind of the grasslands it had been set up in were rather typical, from Arik’s own time as a soldier, its sheer scale however, granting it a degree of majesty on its own. The warlord Rugalia’s forces were so extensive that he needed to forgo defensive positioning entirely in order to get his men to set up camp. By Arik’s best reckoning, there were well over 100,000 men here, with livestock roaming around by the thousands. Dozens of stable tents filled with dozens of horses each. Indeed, Arik considered that calling Rugalia a warlord was, while technically accurate, like saying that a raging inferno ravaging a forest, simply, a fire. It felt like a disservice to the sheer scale of the military force that Rugalia had assembled to call him “a warlord”, and Arik recognized he would do well to respect that if he wanted to survive his journey.

Finding the tent he needed was surprisingly difficult, Rugalia did not have any larger living quarters than any of his men, and no one in the camp seemed to know which tent was his. In fact, Arik may well never have found the tent he sought were it not for the fact that he bumped into a man, not for the first time since his arrival, who did not move when Arik bumped him. Indeed, in a rather unexpected twist for the well over 6 foot tall goliath that was Arik, Arik wound up finding himself knocked clean on his ass. Looking up, Arik took in a man taller even than him, standing around 7 feet tall and nearly as broad, shirtless with rippling muscle belying strength equal to or greater than Arik’s own, golden skin riddled with battle scars, and a greataxe slung over one shoulder, the man resembled for all the world the picture of a barbarian king. Dark eyes under dark brows under dark hair with a face that could well have been shaped in bronze. Arik knew immediately, this was Rugalia the Terrible, the man who had conquered half the continent in but a couple of years.

The first thing Rugalia the Terrible did was grab Arik and bring him effortlessly to his feet.

The first thing Rugalia the Terrible said was “Sorry about that, didn’t see you there, are you alright?”

Arik was dumbfounded. He opened his mouth, but no words escaped his parted lips. Arik was certain, this was Rugalia, the descriptions he had heard made him sure of it, but… Why was a bloodthirsty warlord bent on conquering the continent through violent devastation so nice? It truly boggled the mind, the juxtaposition of what Arik had been told vs the man who was now talking to him. Oh no… he’s still talking. What is he saying? Arik thought in a panic.

“Hmm, well, you look fine, but the fact you aren’t saying anything has me concerned, follow me, I’ll bring you to the medical tent”

Arik followed wordlessly, not that he didn’t try to say something, but no matter how hard he tried, Arik could not get past the cognitive dissonance of what was transpiring. Arik had not been this confused since meeting Cecil for the first time, and just as the confusion was wearing off, they arrived. Arik’s first words to what some believed was the most powerful warlord in the world were “Uhhh… Thanks” as the giant lumbered away.

Snapping out of it, Arik finally opened the medical tent, it was emptier than Arik expected, though, given Reina’s magic, Arik supposed that wasn’t all too surprising. Sitting on a wooden stool was Reina, nearly as small as Rugalia was large, at barely 5 feet tall, Reina’s blonde hair and porcelain skin shone in the light from outside, her blue eyes flicking up to regard Arik. He hadn’t been sure what he expected upon coming here, but it wasn’t what he got.

“Oh, you’re alive.” Reina said flatly. She regarded Arik the way someone might regard the fly that landed in their soup, her disdain palpable “Well, what do you want?”

Arik blinked. He found himself, once more, at a loss for words. So instead of speaking, Arik simply took out the envelope with the letter from Cecil, and passed it to Reina.

“Ah, you’re acting as a messenger now? Well then, you’re welcome to stay in the camp, I will send for you when I have written my own correspondence in kind.”

Arik simply stared at Reina blankly, and finally said “I… came to tell you that I obtained my freedom, actually. That was just a favor to Cecil”

“Ah, well… you told me. Is that all?”

Arik felt his temper flaring, “Do I not warrant even a ‘nice to see you’ or ‘glad you managed to escape eternal servitude to Dezmond’?” Arik asked, unable to keep the edge from his voice.

“What do you want, Arik? Do you want me to jump for joy because you managed to weasel your way out of the consequences of selling your soul? Something I’m still baffled by to this day actually. I’ve made it abundantly clear, I find you annoying at best. Did you think I was going to run into your arms now that you’re free?”

Arik could feel his anger getting the better of him, hear the Beast’s voice in the back of his mind urging him to kill her. Instead Arik simply said “You want to know why I sold my soul you icy bitch? Because, I was literally deranged, and had just watched all of my friends and allies in the world be crushed by a fucking boat. I sold my soul for you and Bliss and Cecil.” Reina continued staring at him, her gaze remaining cold as the winterlands of Arik’s birth before saying something would shatter Arik utterly. “Why the fuck should I care, I didn’t ask you to do that, I don’t owe you anything. Leave now before I have my fiance crush you like the sniveling little worm you are. We traveled together, you sold your soul and then died. We are not, nor have we ever been, anything other than business associates.”

Even Arik’s anger cooled with the finality of that statement. “You… really thought that little of me? Even after we fought and traveled together for months?”

“Of course, you’re a rabid animal. You kill, and destroy and hate and that’s all you do. It’s all you know how to do. If I ever felt anything for you aside from contempt or apathy, it was pity.” Reina’s gaze softened for the first time. “I don’t care about you Arik, but even I will admit, it’s deeply sad that you somehow harbored the delusion that I did. You’re still welcome to stay in camp for the next few days. I doubt if my fiance would have the heart to turn away a broken shell such as yourself, but I’d appreciate it if you left me alone.”

Arik just left after that. He could take pain easily, his pain tolerance was greater even than his physical might, but… This felt different. He was less used to this. It didn’t hurt. Indeed, it was like… a numbness in the pit of his stomach. An emptiness. Arik simply walked, and as he walked he took out a dagger and plunged it into his thigh. It didn’t hurt enough to fill the emptiness. So he took out another and stabbed it into his abdomen. It still didn’t hurt enough to fill the emptiness. He considered running himself through with his greatsword… but it was unlikely that would fill the emptiness either, and Arik did not wish for death. He had things he needed to do yet, after all, so instead he just walked with those daggers plunged into his body. Walked until he collapsed to the ground, unable to move, and finally the emptiness he felt was filled by the familiar anguish of his nightmares.

#whumptober2023 #no.2 #“They don’t care about you.”#oc #oc fic #suicidal thoughts #self harm

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frighteneddraz · 2 years ago

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Anthology of Arik 1

Arik sat staring at the empty bottle of liquor, the strongest his money could buy: a dwarven drink called “Dragonfire”, so named because it tasted of pure fire and because it had a habit of blowing up when exposed to even the slightest open flame. He could no longer even get drunk anymore, at least not on alcohol. Anger though? That he could still lose himself in, so he did what any miserable asshole in his position would do: He got in a fight. Sighing, he dragged himself to his feet and scanned the bar, in the city of adventurers, there was bound to be someone he could fight without having to worry about killing them, and to that end he was quite right.

His target stood at 5’2”, and probably just as wide, with more muscle than Arik had assumed was possible for a mortal man. Given his bald head and the sheer mass of his beard, Arik assumed the man was of dwarven blood, the fact he seemed to also be drinking Dragonfire made that assumption a near certainty, seeing as most other races would find their livers shutting down after only a few shots of the stuff. Striding up to him, Arik stood looming over the man. He was ugly, with a misshapen face and a nose that had been broken more times than Arik could probably count, his dark beard hung to his waist and his thick brows were out of line with one another, giving his face a strange slant effect. As though it were meant to be viewed horizontally, something Arik would realize almost immediately was rather apt.

Arik’s approach was straightforward and rather rude, striding up to the half-dwarf, Arik’s hand formed a fist and crashed into the man’s table, the force of the blow knocking it over and spilling Dragonfire all over the floor. It was effective, without even so much as a word, the stranger stood up, downed what remained in his cup, and hit Arik harder than Arik had ever been hit before. There was a crunching sound, Oh, that’s my teeth and jaw, Arik thought rather nonchalantly. He was unconscious before he hit the ground. The blow may even have snapped Arik’s neck, Arik wasn’t sure, if it did, the bone had repaired itself well enough by the time Arik came to again, sitting with the half-dwarf on the street, though as Arik ran his tongue around inside his mouth, he was unsurprised to find all of his teeth were in pieces.

“Shit” were the first words out of Arik’s mouth as he sat up, though the first thing was a not insignificant amount of blood

“Aye, I’m rather surprised you’re alive, haven’t hit a man that hard in a while,” the dwarven man responded, continuing: “course, no one has been dumb enough to spill my drink in a while.” He took a long draught from what appeared to be a new bottle of Dragonfire. “The fuck is wrong with you anyways? Your brain scrambled or something? Speaking of, how many fingers am I holding up?” the dwarven man asked, holding up 3 fingers while continuing to drink.

Arik didn’t respond, simply pulling out a dagger and getting to work removing the tooth shards that were preventing his powers from regrowing his teeth and repairing his jaw. The dwarven man looked on rather indifferently, as though the whole thing were just another Tuesday afternoon for him. They sat in silence for a while, the only sound was the sickening noises of Arik’s amateur dental surgery. Finally, Arik finished, the ground in front of him covered in tiny tooth and bone shards as well as an impressive pool of blood. Arik’s tongue felt around in his mouth as his new teeth grew in, and his jaw repaired itself.

Finally Arik regarded the dwarven man and said, simply, “I couldn’t get drunk.”

Tordek regarded the stranger who had just spent 20 minutes doing unholy things to his own face. The moron, or perhaps, lunatic would be more apt, who dared spill the drink of Tordek the Strong because he couldn’t get drunk. Tall and dark haired, with green eyes and a face that belied years of battle, despite the fact the lad couldn’t be older than 22.

Tordek simply grunted “Name’s Tordek. Don’t do that again, most aren’t as pleasant as yours truly.” Arik sighed, his battle frenzy and the pain in his mouth both now gone, he simply stood up and left the strange dwarven man without so much as another word. Maybe the adventurer’s guild will give me something I can kill, Arik thought numbly. If I have something to kill… I at least have something else to focus on. Arik looked up at the massive tree that made up the center of town and inside which the Adventurer’s Guild sat. And maybe I’ll get lucky, and this next job will kill me, Arik concluded darkly.

#whumptober2023 #no.1 #“How many fingers am I holding up?”#oc #oc fic #teeth #implied mutilation #god I hope I did this right #I don't know what i'm doing #I hope I tagged this correctly #Seriously #I don't know what triggers to use #If I screwed this up please let me know #I've literally never used tumblr :')#Nor have I posted any writing anywhere :')#Im scerred #thank you for reading assuming you read this #questions welcome

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