#Everia: Novel

[rachrar]

Tillie - Chapter 1

A failed experiment, Tillie is mimic made and staggers along the razor thin edge of beast and man, attempting to find stability and hoping to find a place he is accepted as he is rather than who others want him to be.

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

AO3 link to full story: HERE

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The first thing Tillie ever remembered was a sense of liquid around him, floating in something that damped vibrations and made it impossible to understand where he was. The next was feeling a thicker, better fluid on his claws, something that smelled tasty, and screaming that was so loud it was overwhelming before he felt his body begin to melt and he lost thoughts once more. He learned what it was like to speak through jaws of bone that lacked lips, his tongue prehensile enough to help make his speech understandable, and he learned that no matter how good it felt to sink his claws into flesh, he shouldn’t do that. It took beast-like training for him to finally listen, shocks and collars that stung his neck before he obeyed sullenly, doing what he was told.

He was intelligent enough that he knew they treated him like a tool, something they made and not something they considered a person. He hated them for it, lashing out and damaging expensive equipment and snapping bones until the lightning zinging through his body made him writhe on the floor, clawing at the collar and hissing in pain before he lost consciousness as his body fell apart. He always came back though, in that same floating liquid that left him confused and frustrated.

The experiments were not purposely cruel, but they cared little for Tillie’s pain. He was forced to run and run until he could run no further, legs smearing into the ground before he puddled on the floor in a wet glop. He was forced to tell them what vibrations rang through the ground, what the material was made of, how fast it moved. He was told to destroy what was before him, but that was one he enjoyed.

It didn’t matter what they set him against, big dogs, bears, men with armor and swords, he fought until he either killed or he found himself back in the floating tube. They liked it when he won, tittering and speaking and their hearts were fast, beating more and more and tempting him to try to eat them just to feel the way it stopped in his grip, but he began to keep himself in check more often than not. Not that they noticed or cared, they only wanted to see him obey, they didn’t want to know that he was thinking or had opinions.

The scientist called Vinnie seemed to care, but Tillie didn’t believe it. If he cared, then he’d let Tillie go, stop the needles piercing his skin every day, stop the shocks that stung and left his sense of the world dulled from burned skin. But Vinnie didn’t stop them. He said he did, oh he said many things, like “you’re not a failure” and “I consider you my son” and “I love you” but nobody would care for a beast like Tillie, not when there were more experiments coming after him. If he was enough, then there didn’t need to be more, but they never stopped. Some of them failed, died miserable, pathetic deaths with voices he could hear echoing in the hallways and rooms, others so silently that he knew they existed only when he felt their heart stop beating through the floor.

They were most excited when he ended up killing a particular man set before him. He was different in some way, something that Tillie didn’t know. Few people weren’t the same, but he never knew how. Some were taller, some were heavier, some smelt different, and some were shorter. But this one that he had beneath him, gleefully tearing to pieces in search of that fat, pulsing muscle in his chest, this one was bigger. He licked at a claw to clean it, a jolt going down his spine. This was new; something about the blood electrified his body.

He licked at his hands more, cleaning them of blood and slurping at the body after throwing aside the metal covering the flesh. Cracking through the bones— devouring the meat— Tillie snarled as his skin grew hot, his tail lashed and burned as it grew shorter, his claws fading into short, stubby nails. Something was hurting his head, something like heat but didn’t burn and he covered his face. There was something different. He had something in the middle that he breathed through, his mouth was still the same as before, the raw bone jaws, but the things under his hands hurt the most, two small, soft orbs above the protrusion he breathed with.

Tillie whimpered; pulling his hands away just made the not-heat not-cold stinging worse. The scientists were patient for once, watching him silently. He felt a hand on his shoulder, spinning away and lashing out with a hand but met nothing but air. He felt someone walk in front of him before stopping. The thing before him was short, thin, and made of something that hurt his face less. A blanket was thrown over his head and the pain began to fade. Vinnie sat in front of him, uncaring that Tillie was still straddling the eviscerated man with gore all over him.

Tillie blinked and the wet things were soothed, lowering his hands slowly. He blinked again and again as he adjusted to this new sense. It didn’t tap against his skin like vibrations, it didn’t smell, or taste, or hear. It was something completely different; Vinnie called it sight and said he was proud of Tillie. Tillie didn’t understand.

He was able to copy others. He couldn’t be Hao the elf, but he could have skin that matched his color, have hair that was a different hue and texture. He could be taller, but he would always have two eyes, a nose, and his jigsaw mouth. But apart from that, he could see when he copied them, and he could look as if all of the people were mixed together and traits were pulled from a big pot at random. It happened with anyone that they let him lick, or bite, or eat. He could be anything that walked on two legs, had two arms, had a head, and was intelligent. He couldn’t be a wolf or a dragon, but he could be an elf, or a human, or an orc, or any other race  as long as he had something from them. He was sick when they tried combining multiple races’ blood, but when there was only one source he was able to shift. All of them had a sense so foreign to him: sight. They called him Doppelganger.

He learned about the others that were made and that he was the first. They were better, more obedient, more pliant to their whims. The second to live was slow to grow but stable and had no issues with his form melting. It was stupider, but stronger; its name was Telemral and it was an Aberration according to Vinnie, the scientist who spoke to Tillie most. Tillie was angry, lashing out again and again until he was restrained against metal with manacles on his limbs.

And then there was the next one, the one they were so excited about. It spoke, and it was smart, and it could be whatever it wanted to be. They called it Glaukos. Glaukos was so obedient, listened to what they wanted so well, was so good and it made Tillie retch to hear praise heaped on the little bastard. He was a Changeling and he could copy people and be so perfect at it— even Tillie couldn’t tell them apart. Their voices echoed in the rooms, they walked the same, the weight matched, the scent was perfect, and it made Tillie furious. He could even have lips! Tillie couldn’t and knew that he wasn’t enough. He could shift his form, but not as well as Glaukos. He could be a person, but not that person.

Tillie paced the room when he was left alone to be himself, when he wasn’t the center of attention for more poking and prodding. Nobody cared about him anymore when Tillie was a disappointment compared to Glaukos. They just wanted to play with Glaukos and ooh and aah over him, and it made them neglect their duty toward Tillie. Tillie waited until they were focused on something else, maybe Glaukos, he didn’t care, but once they were completely ignoring him, it was time.

Tillie had learned how the lock on his door worked, especially since they kept needing to replace it when he began to destroy it. But this time, he had figured out something that didn’t involve the lock at all; he could destroy the hinges of the door instead. His claws were enough to scratch at the metal, but a lax technician had left a needle behind and using that meant he wouldn’t dull his nails. She hadn’t meant to leave it, of course, and she had remembered to take the syringe, but the needles they needed to use to get through Tillie’s thick skin meant that the needle was a fairly decent size, perfect for pulling up the head of the hinge pin to slide it out.

He was quiet, careful. His claws clicked against the ground softly, growling to himself in irritation at the sound. His tail flicked back and forth as he focused on what he heard and felt. He knew his senses were stronger than the scientists’, but he was wary nonetheless. There had been more than enough times that he had run gleefully through what he had thought were empty hallways only to be caught on some magical switch that made alarms blare. But now he could feel them, though it was very hard to listen. It had a particular kind of hum, an uncomfortable sort of feeling that made his skin crawl. He couldn’t take his time to find all of them, he already knew he was pushing his luck when he wasn’t caught immediately.

He struggled in place; he could rush to get out and hope he didn’t trigger any traps, or he could sneak around and possibly take too long. He tapped his claws along the wall to get a sense of where people were. Close, and coming closer. He had to decide now.

He spun around and began to run, nails digging into the stone tiles and leaving gouges, barreling into walls and snarling when he felt some glass vial break and the contents burn his skin. He wiped it off roughly; already he heard his jailers running after him, yelling about needing to go back into his room or else they would force him. Tillie didn’t care— he’d either get out or he’d goop and be captured once more. At this point his fate was already in the air. He may as well keep running and hope to get out into the open air again, feel the sunlight and warmth sink into him like a warm blanket.

Glass crunched under his hands as he slammed into a window, pausing for just a moment when he felt a swirling emptiness beyond. It wasn’t sterile out there, it smelled like dirt and leaves, the air rushing past him in a brisk wind. It felt cool out there, but not the cool of the inside of the building. It felt cool like lazily melting ice. He wanted that. He ripped at the remaining glass, uncaring of the wounds it dug into his palms and sides as he struggled to get out. He was too big and the window too small, snarling and snapping at the sill to try and widen it enough for him to escape.

He screamed when he felt the piercing needles of the zapper, bloody hands grabbing at them and ripping them out to throw them back at the attacker. Giving up on the window, he turned instead towards his jailers and leapt forward with murder on his mind. He was mid-air when he was suddenly back in the floating tube, any sense of time in between lost.

Tillie was watched more carefully now. He didn’t speak anymore, even when the scientists tried to shock him and force him, answering only with violence and growling snarls. Eventually, Vinnie came by, probably as some sort of last resort to get Tillie to speak. Tillie sulked as Vinnie spoke, pushing his uneaten food away and refusing to answer any questions.

Vinnie said that, in his escape attempt, Glaukos had managed to get out. Of course it was Glaukos, the piece of shit that didn’t deserve anyone’s attention, didn’t deserve the awe in the scientists’ voices. He was small and could copy people, so when Tillie made a mess he had a perfect opportunity to slip out. Vinnie apologized a lot, which Tillie didn’t acknowledge, and said that he didn’t want Tillie to be hurt. Part of Tillie wanted to kill Vinnie for pretending to act like he cared. 

He noticed the way that Tillie avoided putting weight on a toe, asking, not demanding, that Tillie let him look. Tillie refused for a couple of days until the glass shard still embedded in his toe bean made him want to rip it out himself, letting Vinnie look with an angry, unbroken silence. He didn’t speak the entire time that Vinnie pulled it free, using magic to whisk it out instead of the scalpels and needles that the others always used to cut him open. Vinnie petted his foot gently and Tillie flinched, expecting something sharp and painful, but nothing came of it. He let his foot rest again on Vinnie slowly, wary. Vinnie petted the rough skin, speaking about things that didn’t matter until Tillie’s tail began to thwap at the ground, pleased that he wasn’t being forced to do anything. He could just listen.

Slowly, Vinnie began to truly win Tillie’s trust. There were still experiments, but fewer over time. Vinnie was able to visit more often, offering him meat that was still questionably warm from wherever he got it from, which Tillie appreciated. He even gave Tillie live prey, quick little hooved things and heavy, squealing beasts that were satisfying to shred, the crack of bones pleasing and keeping his teeth sharp. With the new diet, his skin even began to soften slightly, something the others never bothered to think about, though the spiky growths caused by the needles didn’t shrink. The wet pulse of blood and life leaving his prey was invigorating and he began to grow even stronger, bigger, now that his body was getting what it needed on a more regular basis.

He still refused to speak, but Vinnie didn’t push him anymore. He brought little vials of blood for Tillie to take or not as he liked. When he did, he was a new shape every time, even if it was from the same person multiple times. He could wrangle the transformation into something similar when he wanted to, or keep it for longer periods before he lost control of it, but he never could truly choose the form.

He struggled with sight sometimes, the sense overwhelming for a day before it became useful in new forms. He vomited the time that Vinnie had given him blood from someone with four eyes, the dizzying spin of so many angles sickening. From then on, Vinnie only gave him human blood. It was easier to get, he said. More humans were out in the world than many other races.

He learned to read and to write, the pens and papers feeling ungainly in his hands when he was transformed. He was frustrated when he returned to himself, the fragile instruments snapping in his grip without meaning to, throwing them away and sulking. He couldn’t write when he couldn’t see anyway. But Vinnie was patient and the laboratory began to slow even more with fewer people walking about. He could count the number left on both hands, few enough that he could probably escape without problem. Vinnie said the center was losing funding, whatever that meant.

Vinnie taught him what it would be like outside casually, talking about things he had done and people he had met as if he weren’t giving Tillie the knowledge he needed to live outside the walls. Tillie wasn’t sure if it was meant to be as informative as it was or if Vinnie was just talking for the sake of talking.

There were so many places out there, places of bitter cold and searing heat, high mountains with wind swirling on the peaks and buried lands deep, deep underground with nothing but the weight of the earth above. There were beaches and oceans and abysses miles and miles deep until nothing there knew of light and could only understand their environment through touch or scent. Tillie paid keen attention to that until Vinnie explained that Tillie would, unfortunately, not be able to survive there. The pressure was too high and Tillie couldn’t breathe underwater. That started a new round of mutual experiments to see if he could breathe as a merman could, and the answer was yes, but that transformation faded away much quicker. The blood was thin compared to that of the land walking folk, Vinnie said, so it must be used up much quicker.

Vinnie vanished for a few days. Then a week. People were returning to the center, people Tillie never knew and had never smelt before.  The laboratory was warming up again and it frightened Tillie. He never said so but when Vinnie returned, Vinnie knew. They were coming to make more, Vinnie said with a quiet, angry voice. More creatures that they would use and experiment on and hurt to try and make another Glaukos, or even another Telemral. But Vinnie didn’t know what they would do with Tillie. He had been resistant to their desires, too violent to trust, and too unstable to fight consistently. Vinnie was the only one to keep him alive. Or at least, Vinnie said so. Tillie kept that doubt in mind but said nothing of it. If he really was useless, they would have just killed him.

One night, Tillie heard his door open quietly. The hinges smelt of rendered fat rather than oil, the metal gliding against itself and hiding the sound. Tillie was on his feet, ready to fight and almost jumped forward before he realized it was Vinnie. Relaxing only a little, he waited for an explanation. Experiments never happened at night and he was left alone almost all the time now. Something was different.

Vinnie said it was time to leave. Tillie didn’t understand but when Vinnie repeated it, Tillie moved forward towards him. Vinnie was small compared to him. He had never really thought about that before, the way that he towered over Vinnie. Temptation to leap forward and bite until there was nothing left went through his mind but he stopped himself, clenching his hand and driving a claw into the soft meat of his thumb. Vinnie whispered to be quiet, to follow, and not to speak until they were free.

Free. Free as in freedom, Vinnie said. Outside of these walls and away from the people inside. He was going to destroy it once Tillie was out. He said he was sorry but he had helped Telemral escape first and that was why he’d been gone for a while. Jealousy coursed through Tillie like flame, but another claw dug into his palm and he kept his calm. When they were out in the open, Vinnie explained, Tillie needed to run as far as he could. He was given a necklace with a symbol on it.

“Don’t lose this. Never, ever lose it. Please,” Vinnie pleaded, the wind blowing his hood around. The fabric made gasping sounds as it caught and lost the wind. Vinnie’s hand was still holding onto Tillie, his hand just barely larger than Tillie’s palm and cool compared to humans. The pendant was small, difficult to keep hold of in his grip. It was round with a raised oblong oval in the center, perhaps the size of the tip of his finger. He curled his fingers around it tightly, blood from his hand smearing against it.

“They’re going to come after me, and they’re going to threaten me, and probably try to kill me. Do not turn around. Do not come back. I will be fine. I’ll find you again one day, I swear I will.” Vinnie’s hand grasped Tillie’s curled fingers more tightly. “If you need me, rub the pendant. Think about me and I will come.”

Tillie shifted his fingers to grasp the pendant carefully, lowering down to a knee and bending his head. Vinnie tied it around his neck, then pressed a bag in his hand. It smelled metallic and there was a clink of metal inside. “This is money. Remember when we talked about that?” Tillie nodded. “I put in a paper with how much some things are worth so nobody lies to you. Food is cheap.”

Tillie touched the pendant. There was more to it than just Vinnie. He could feel the heat of others through the metal, the way the magic pulsed with the beat of hearts. He opened his mouth, tongue slipping out, and spoke. The words were hoarse, unused for so long, and slightly stuttering. “Who else is in this?”

He felt Vinnie’s heart skip a beat. “Telemral. And….” Vinie hesitated. Tillie’s hand twitched. If he just grabbed Vinnie and squeezed, he’d say what he meant and he’d stop trying to lie, but Vinnie spoke before he moved. “And Glaukos.”

Tillie snarled, pulling away from Vinnie and raising a hand to yank the pendant off. He didn’t want to be connected to that perfect little bastard. Vinnie caught his hand, babbling and desperate. “Please! They’re not as strong as you— Glaukos is weak and soft! Telemral isn’t smart like you! They need someone they can rely on, someone strong that can help them! Tillie, please! I beg of you!”

Tillie’s hand stopped, the leather cord just before its breaking point, taut enough to make a sound if plucked. “I’m… I’m better?”

“Yes!” Vinnie’s hand was shaking over his, heart beating like a rabbit’s. “Tillie, you are smart, and fast and strong. You can change and you can hear and feel in ways that they can’t. You are the closest to what the center was trying to make. They were trying to make more of you. They made Telemral and he was stronger, but you’re smarter. They made Glaukos and he can change, but you’re faster. They wanted another you that didn’t melt and would obey. But you’re the best that they— that I— could have hoped for. Please don’t leave them. Don’t leave your brothers alone.” Vinnie breathed shallowly and Tillie could smell the wet salt of tears.

With a half-hearted snarl, he let go of the pendant. It bounced against his chest and clinked against the gem embedded in his flesh. “Brothers?”

Vinnie tied the leather a bit tighter so the metal wouldn’t strike the gem as Tillie moved. “And I’m your father. I— I made you. You don’t have to call me anything. But I love you, and you are my son.”

Tillie huffed irritably. “I’ll lose the necklace.”

“It won’t leave you.” Vinnie pulled on the leather thong. It tugged against Tillie but he was heavier and eventually, Vinnie let go. No, he didn’t let go. It was too sudden for that. It… went through his hand? “Nobody can take it from you. It will fade through their hands. The only one who can take it off is you.”

Tillie touched it again, feeling the shape. There was something carved into the back of the metal. “What is this?”

“It’s the rune magic. If they call for you, you’ll feel it through that. If you call them, they’ll feel it in theirs. You will be able to walk through a portal to get to them if you hold it and answer them.”

“How?”

“Say ‘I answer’ to answer them, and ‘I call’ and then the name you want for assistance.” The language was different than what they normally spoke, something that felt old and bright. Tillie tried to copy it but the sound was difficult for him to say without lips when it seemed to be nothing but whistling noises. Vinnie coached him, jumping when there was a sound behind them, but he waited until Tillie could say it competently.

“Please don’t hate them. Hate me if you must.” Another sound behind them, an explosion. Tillie felt rumblings through the earth as more destruction was happening deep below. Vinnie’s hands were tight on Tillie. “Promise me you’ll answer.”

Tillie grumbled.

“Tillie, please. I ask nothing else from you. If they need help, I might not be able to be there. Please. I’ll do anything.”

Tillie growled but the sincerity in Vinnie’s pleadings made him finally agree. “Fine.”

Vinnie was relieved from the way the tension in his muscles released, though the tremors in his hands only increased. A scent that had been tickling at Tillie for a while became stronger. Vinnie was afraid. “How do I get what you offered?”

“What do you want?”

Tillie thought about it, ignoring the screaming that he could feel warbling the air. “I want to shift better.” Vinnie made a strangled laugh and Tillie was immediately angry. There was nothing funny about the request. His claws dug into the earth, crunching rocks and digging furrows into the stone as he kept himself in check.

“You can do everything better now that you’re out of there. They used magic to weaken you. Anything you could do before, you can do better now. You can’t copy someone, but you can use the same form if you use the same person’s blood.”

Tillie’s tail twisted in the air. Vinnie might be right— he could hear more, smell more than he could in the sterile walls he had left. Maybe he was stronger, even. One thing he had never had, however, was knowledge of what Vinnie was or where he came from. He’d never met someone who smelt like him or walked like him and nobody else ever said what he was.

“What are you?”

“A mimic,” Vinnie said. Tillie’s skin wrinkled in a frown. “An animal, a beast. I used to be a monster, but I was awakened and given intelligence. I’m the only one like me, just like you’re the only one like you.”

“I want your blood.”

Vinnie froze in place. Even his blood felt slower, his heartbeat hesitant and heavy. Tillie felt saliva gather in his mouth, the urge to bite and get the blood himself growing stronger. “It won’t work.”

“What?”

“You won’t be able to copy me. You’re made from me.”

“I want it anyway.” He didn’t say it was so he could track Vinnie down later if he needed to, or that Vinnie’s scent had become comforting. He didn’t even consciously know the second part, but the desire to have a piece of Vinnie close by was resolute.

Vinnie didn’t speak, pulling something from inside his robes. The vibrant scent of blood filled the air as he heard Vinnie grunt in pain, tongue lapping at the wind to get more of the smell. It slurped back into his mouth as he heard Vinnie fumbling for something. The squeaking sound of a cork being pushed against glass was followed by Vinnie’s hand in his, pressing a vial of his warmth into Tillie’s palm. “It’s magic. It won’t dry and it will stay clean as long as you don’t open the vial.”

Tillie patted himself down to find a pocket but Vinnie grabbed the necklace. He pressed the vial against the pendant before saying something in that light language again and it vanished in a small pop that made Tillie jump. “How do I get it back?” Tillie’s voice was edging on panicked; he had been given something precious and now it was taken away almost immediately.

“Open,” Vinnie said and the vial popped back out with the same sound into his palm. “You put it in and out using that word. Say it.” Tillie repeated a couple of times until the pendant obeyed and the vial returned. “You can only put one thing into the pendant.”

Tillie turned his head to the side, the vibration in the ground growing stronger, more threatening. “They’re coming.”

Vinnie patted Tillie’s shoulders until he knelt down more, pressing his forehead against Tillie’s. “I love you so, so much. Please never doubt that.” He pulled away, turning to face the center. “Now go. Run. Don’t come back.”

Tillie paused for a moment. The hesitation was enough for Vinnie to notice. “I said, GO!” Some power pushed at Tillie and his muscles began to obey before he realized what was happening. He couldn’t feel Vinnie; he wasn’t touching the ground anymore. Tillie hated that. He hated flying, or floating, he couldn’t tell where things were if they weren’t touching the ground.

The explosions were close enough that he felt the warmth tickle his skin. Vinnie was yelling, saying something in that musical, wobbly language, but Tillie couldn’t turn around or stop. He just kept running and running and running until he finally slowed down and collapsed against a tree, exhausted. He must have run for miles as he heard and felt nothing from where he came, no scent in the air from the center and no rumblings in the ground.

He confirmed he wasn’t gooping, touching his limbs and toes to make sure they were solid, then leaned his head against the tree. There was so much going on here. A sticky smell that reminded him of the tree he leaned against. A fluttering of a bird landing in the tree. There was a small creature, something fuzzy and quick, running across the dirt around 10 feet away before it pushed through a bush, the leaves rustling against themselves before stilling.

The sun was rising, the heat slowly filling him from his head down to his toes until he was bathed in the warmth. A breeze passed over him, bringing scents of someplace new. It smelled like cooked meat and leafy water, burning wood and the scent of people. Many people of all shapes, all kinds. His stomach rumbled. He pushed himself to stand, dusting off his torn pants and making sure the moneybag at his waist was still firm.

He picked the direction towards the scents, licking his wounded hand to clean it. He didn’t know where he was going. He knew very few things, in fact. So there was no reason not to go everywhere. He wasn’t going to be tied down again, or told what to do. He was going to do what he wanted, when he wanted, and fuck everyone else. Nobody could stop him anyway.

He straightened a bit at that thought, satisfaction settling in his stomach like a warm meal. He was stronger than anyone he’d ever met. He was bigger, and smart. He knew when not to eat someone, so he could talk to people. He could control himself. But nobody else was ever going to control him again.

[christelightlavo]

Expand : part 5 (manhwa)

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Another lifetime, another hard life—Letitia’s misery continues as her uncle sends her off to the “Monster Lord” to fulfill an old pledge. Imp attacks! The three witches! A hideous masked devil hunter husband! Terrifying is an understatement.

But as she becomes the lady of Halstead, the rumors fall apart. Lord Erden is caring, he likes bunnies, and that *gasp* perfect face under the mask! How can he not know he’s HOT? Can she help protect the castle from devils and help Erden see his true self?

My note : Letitia and Erden are such a cute pair 💕, also don't let the poster fool you. The female lead has a gun and a dragon.

After an office worker is reborn as Everia Oberon, a romance novel villainess destined for an evil life and a tragic death, she decides to skip the drama by retiring to the countryside. Having moved to a frigid region full of nonflammable wood, Everia calls on archmage Theoharis to warm her home with his azure flame… not realizing that she’s bound herself to a lifelong contract! Now that she’s master of a bloodthirsty (but breathtakingly handsome) demon dog, can she kiss the quiet life goodbye?

My note : this is a very chill manhwa, laid back with a strong female lead and a Dog transforming male lead.

I woke up inside my favorite novel, not as the protagonist, Luca Winterwald, but as Judith, his abusive aunt and the first character to die—time for a rewrite! I’ll hand Luca off to his loving, long-lost uncle as scripted, and then live my own life far from danger. At least, that was the plan. When his uncle arrives, Luca suddenly calls out, “Don’t leave!” Now, I must protect Luca from impending family tragedy, raise him to become the hero, and turn this villainess’s ending upside down!

My note : *slaps the head of the manhwa cover* this thing can carry so much family fluff!!

[nntheblog]

Regressor Instruction Manual Characters : All Characters Ranked

Hi guys! like you’ve heard, Regressor Instruction Manual Characters is an Manhwa & Novel series that features a wide range of characters. However, there are some who are more popular than other characters. This list will showcase the most popular Regressor Instruction Manual Characters that have ever existed. Regressor Instruction Manual Synopsis He was suddenly summoned to another world one day. Monsters poured out, a huge disaster incoming. His ability is the lowest. It doesn't matter whether you're the chosen warrior, a talented wizard, or someone who traveled back in time. One must do everything they can, in order to survive. The Regressor's Instruction Manual. "It doesn't matter if I'm trash." Is there anyone who wouldn't do anything they could to survive? Regressor instructional manual. REGRESSOR INSTRUCTION MANUAL Characters Who is The Main Character Of Regressor Instruction Manual ? Lee Kiyoung (이기영) is the main character of How to Use a Returner or Regressor Intruction Manual He possess a Machiavellianism personality trait and is a subtle scammer who manipulates his allies and enemies to his own goals and is specialized in agitation and fabrication. In , Elena Everia stated that she has never seen such a pure, disgusting soul. REGRESSOR INSTRUCTION MANUAL Most Popular Characters Lee Jihye As the soul-mate of our beloved protagonist, Lee jihye, possess a scummy personality to match with her keen sense of social relationship, establishing herself within the guild of black swan notorious for its chaotic political leadership. Jung Hayan Jung Hayan described being susceptible to suggestion and a hard-working woman. She is a classic Yandere. She exhibits possessiveness towards Lee Kiyoung, which was shown when she killed an expedition member when she thought Lee Kiyoung was being stolen from her. Kim Hyunsung At first, he thought of everyone as useful or not, and dangerous or not, but after the Tutorial he felt a sense of true friendship with his companions. Lee Kiyoung said that he doesn't know much of socialising and doesn't know how to make jokes. He always tries to act for the party well being except when it is something personal. Kasugano Yuno Cha Heera Cha Heera is the Guild Master of the Red Mercenary Guild, the most powerful person in Lindel, and among the top five most powerful in the Holy Empire. Additionally, she is the lover of Lee Kiyoung. Elena Everia Sun Heeyoung Past Timeline Backstabbed and ended up as a prostitute in a cheap brothel. (c.331) Later joined the Murder Brigade. It was hinted, she had an intimate relationship with Lee Kiyoung Read the full article

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I'll just live on as a villainess

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Last Visited: 07/25/2021

Status: Incomplete, Still updating

Summary: After an office worker is reborn as Everia Oberon, a romance novel villainess destined for an evil life and a tragic death, she decides to skip the drama by retiring to the countryside. Having moved to a frigid region full of nonflammable wood, Everia calls on archmage Theoharis to warm her home with his azure flame… not realizing that she’s bound herself to a lifelong contract! Now that she’s master of a bloodthirsty (but breathtakingly handsome) demon dog, can she kiss the quiet life goodbye?

[rachrar]

Tillie - Chapter 4

A failed experiment, Tillie is mimic made and staggers along the razor thin edge of beast and man, attempting to find stability and hoping to find a place he is accepted as he is rather than who others want him to be.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Artist: Nautes

AO3 link to full story: HERE

Previous Chapter Summary: After leaving Thunmir, Tillie feels a call on the pendant from one of his siblings. It turns out to be Glaukos, who now goes by Pun. After helping Pun heal, Pun tells him about the Black Blades, an assassin/thief guild, that Pun works for. Tillie joins.

Tillie licked the last of the blood from the vial. It was animal blood, apparently, but the taste made Tillie recoil. This was blood from something he’d never tasted before and it made his stomach turn unpleasantly in a way he’d never felt. If he had to put a name to it, it was similar to how Pun’s blood had made him throw up but less intense. He pushed the vial back across the table. Ayla picked it up, flicking it slightly to remove the few drops of Tillie’s saliva that lingered. “Is that enough?”

“Yes. Stop asking every time you give me a new one,” Tillie scowled. Ayla shrugged.

“I don’t know how much you need or if it’s different between races or species. I’d rather make sure you knew where you were going.” She shifted a paper around then passed one over to him. The paper was magicked specifically for him to have raised lettering. Since he had been earning more than enough to justify his position, he was given a little bit of special treatment.

He ran his fingers over the writing, snorting. “Why are you sending me to this guy? There isn’t even anything useful on this.”

“The customer wants something special. He wants to meet you first to, and I quote, ‘make sure you are worth paying.’” Tillie tapped on the table, nails clicking against the fine wood.

“Does he do this often?”

“When he wants someone new, yes. He’s very particular, but he also pays extremely well. If he likes you, you’ll end up being his personal contractor.”

Tillie paused his fingers. “How many people does he want killed to have a regular assassin on hand?”

“So far it’s been” —more paper shuffling— “ten. The first two were testers apparently and the rest were filled in with increasingly high guildies. He wants someone with a high level of skill but he explicitly didn’t want Pun again. He heard about you somehow so he put you as his first choice. Apparently Pun pissed him off, and since I know you like hearing that Pun failed, I figured it would be a fun one to turn over to you.”

Tillie didn’t like that it was stated so openly, but when he sat across from the third in command, he merely sunk his claw into the parchment and dragged it closer to express his displeasure. She inhaled when it left a deep scratch in the wood, irritated at the damage. He was useful enough that his spite fueled damages were tolerated well enough and he knew it. Nobody else could do what he did.

“Fine. What’s the pay? All it says is where to meet him.”

He heard Ayla shrug. The motion was just as annoyed as he was. “Listen, this guy is weird as fuck. The only reason we keep taking his money is because it’s worth his idiosyncrasies.” Tillie didn’t know that word, but from her tone he had a feeling it was a longer way of saying that the guy was a pain in the ass.

“What’s the name?”

“Ourbill. The blood is from his pets. Er, his ‘tools’. He gets pissed when you call them pets.” She snorted. “They’re just little companion mimics, they don’t actually do anything, but he’s very insistent that they’re tools and not pets.”

“Huh.” Tillie stood up, rolling the parchment and tucking it into a bag at his waist. “Alright. How far is he?”

“Same city, not sure where. He gave us the blood and said that it should be enough.”

Tillie’s tail flicked curiously and he paused at the door. “Has he heard about me then?”

She shrugged. “I guess so. We’re mostly hush hush about how we do things but rumors are always around no matter how we squash them.”

Tillie chuckled. “I’ll be back with your cut later.”

She leaned back in her chair and kicked her feet up on the table. “Don’t die.”

“As if someone could kill me.” She shook her head in response but didn’t reply.

———

The tracking was easy. Tillie found little challenge in tracking down his prey, especially when he was given blood; it was practically a walk in the park. It seemed like the guy tried to complicate it on purpose though, bunking above an extremely busy and very boozy bar near the shore where seawind tried to steal away scents.

He didn’t go through the inn, tempted to buy a drink and knowing it would end up with him deep in the cups rather than working. Instead, he waited for the dark of night to steal away the sun and give him the opportunity to slink up the wall. The building was old and handholds many so it was quick and easy to climb. The guy was on the third floor and Tillie had to take more time to make sure nobody was nearby as he ascended, but after a few moments he was slipping into the open window.

“Leaving your window open when you’re expecting a killer is a bad idea,” Tillie chuffed as he closed the glass behind him.

“I pay your blood money. I expect you to do as you are told, not give opinions.” Ourbill’s voice was droning and monotonous with flicks of an unknown accent warping the syllables. Tillie leaned against the wall, toe tapping on the ground curiously. Three little creatures bounced and played in a corner on top of some blanket. From the way the vibrations were echoing, it was waxed or oiled. Ourbill himself was heavier than he expected, but he was neither tall nor wide. He was writing and as he lifted his arm to place the pen into a sandwell, Tillie heard the clank of metal against wood. Not a golem, he was too light for that, but not human either. Or elf, or dwarf, or anything else he’d spoken to as far as he was aware.

“What are you?” Tillie asked rudely, stepping forward to lap at the air around the man. Tillie felt no change in heartbeat that couldn’t be attributed to a natural adjustment as Ourbill turned around with a thoughtless magical movement spinning him so his back and chair were facing the desk and he was facing Tillie head on.

Ourbill made a sound in his throat of disgust. “Keep your bodily fluids away from me.” Tillie slurped his tongue back into his mouth wetly, making the noise loud on purpose. He heard Ourbill hiss softly under his breath, the sound catching Tillie’s attention. Gata hissed but not quite like that. Ourbill’s tongue made the sound round rather than the throat like gatas, so he was still lost as to what Ourbill was.

Tillie leaned over Ourbill, a hand on the desk and inches away from pinning the man to the wood. Ourbill didn’t move; he didn’t lean back or try to slip out from under him. Shockingly, he leaned forward instead and grabbed Tillie’s wrist, invading his space as much as Tillie was trying to invade his. Just as Tillie thought, Ourbill’s hands were metal prosthetics. The fingers and palm floated separately from each other and from the forearm. The buzz of magic made his muscles twitch but he too did not back down. A gentle, but firm, hand was placed in the middle of Tillie’s chest but below his gem. Ourbill’s fingers were spread to allow the point of the gem to slip between the middle two fingers and his palm pressed tightly against Tillie’s bare skin.

“Release me or you shall learn what my magic can do.”

Tillie debated it, tilting his head back and forth doubtfully. “You can’t be that much of a threat if you have to pay someone else to do your dirty work.”

Heat began to pool in Ourbill’s palm against his skin, his other hand gripping Tillie’s wrist more tightly. He increased the strength and it took only a couple of seconds for Tillie to acknowledge silently that Ourbill could quite easily snap his wrist if he actually tried. “This is your last warning before I burn this gem out of your chest and take it for myself.”

Tillie hummed as if thinking, the idea making a lance of fear slide through his veins. If Ourbill moved even an inch higher and pulled at the gem in the least Tillie would be on the floor like a bug, ready to be stepped on and thrown away. He kept his cool though, forcing himself to stay for a couple of seconds more before moving back. He didn’t want to show Ourbill weakness, but he was personally impressed by Ourbill, as no other person he had ever met, minus Thunmir, had ever been so calm in front of him. A begrudging respect that he had not felt in years warmed his chest from the inside.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tillie said dismissively, brushing Ourbill’s hand away as he straightened. “Fire and sulfur and explosions, I get it.” Ourbill leaned back into his chair more comfortably.

“Are you done?” Ourbill asked. When Tillie shrugged, he took it as a confirmation. “Good. Try again and I will not stay my hand.” He turned back to the desk and plucked out a paper. “I assume you cannot see, so I will read out the order. ‘For the price of—’”

“Is it written with charcoal?” Tillie interrupted. Ourbill seemed thrown off. Tillie heard something whip through the air and meaty slap against the desk with heavy thwap following immediately after.

“Excuse me?”

Tillie tapped the ground a couple of times with a toe claw, his tongue hanging out in a smirk as he confirmed what he thought he had heard. “Nice tail.”

Ourbill seemed nonplussed, the paper crinkling against itself as he lowered it slightly in his hands. “Perhaps I requested the wrong individual.” He rolled the scroll up tightly, a silken ribbon sliding in quick movements as he tied the parchment closed.

“Awh, come on, don’t be like that.” Tillie raised his hands and waved them slightly in an attempt to seem apologetic (he was not). “I didn’t mean to piss you off, I just meant that I don’t need you to read to me unless it’s written in charcoal. If it’s in ink then I’m fine, pens make an indent in the paper and I can feel it.”

Ourbill tapped the scroll against his hand. “Hm. Yes. It is written in charcoal. It is meant to be easily destroyed.” He stood, brushing past Tillie, almost shoulder-checking him. What a ballsy little man. One of Ourbill’s footsteps sounded much different than the other, another metal twang against the floor akin to his arms. Tillie resisted the urge to reach down and pull on Ourbill’s tail as he felt it slap him, the desire strong and hard to refuse. Thankfully Ourbill was out of reach before he lost his self control.

The fire ate the parchment in an eager whoosh as Ourbill tossed the scroll into the flames. “Do you actually want me to leave?” Tillie didn’t want to leave. He felt like he had been doing good at his job, actually, so to do something to wreck his positive streak was a little upsetting.

“I am re-writing the paper for you.”

Tillie fidgeted, picking at his claws awkwardly. It was unexpected and he didn’t know how to respond to that. Someone actually acknowledging something he couldn’t do, but not being angry about it and furthermore, offering to adjust in order for Tillie to be treated as an equal was something Tillie had not experienced. Not since Thunmir. He got concessions from the guild but that was only begrudging compared to Ourbill simply doing it to make sure they stood on the same level.

Ourbill returned to the desk and began writing. The sound of the nib scratching against the paper made Tillie’s skin crawl, just the right kind of noise that made him twitchy. He needed to drown it out. “What are your pe— tools?” He asked awkwardly, uncomfortable with starting conversations.

The pen paused. “Mimics.”

“Yeah, I know that, I mean, you gave me their blood to hunt you down. But if they’re tools, what do they do?” Tillie approached the corner slowly, not wanting to spook the little creatures.

“They are my bags.” Ourbill tapped the pen on the desk, probably to dislodge a clump of ink so it didn’t make a mess. Tillie stopped at the edge of the blanket and knelt down.

A mimic inched forward. It was bat like, little membranes catching the air and tiny claws helping it wobble its way over. “It’s a baby!” Tillie said, shocked, holding out a claw for the mimic to approach.

“Of course they are,” Ourbill said, waving a hand dismissively. “If they were adults they would be too heavy to carry.” Tillie couldn’t argue with that logic, but flicked it away gently when he felt the beast begin gnawing on the nail.

Ourbill finished his writing with a couple of sharp lines before setting the pen aside. “Here is the new copy.”

Tillie pushed the mimicling back onto the cloth, making sure it was toddling away and not returning before he took the paper from Ourbill. Ourbill waited silently as Tillie dragged a claw along the indentations.

Standard stuff, pay after proof of the kill, don’t do anything that incriminated him. Oddly enough, Ourbill called himself Merchant on the paper. Normally Tillie’s contracts were verbal and without any pronouns or names apart from the mark itself, but written like this, having a name of some kind was required. Tillie found it amusing that he was called “Contractor.” This order, compared to the rest he had ever taken, was written as a contract and explicitly included consequences for breaking it as well as a small section at the bottom that mentioned a reward. This guy was just full of surprises.

“So if I bring back the skin, I get an extra 20%?”

“Yes,” Ourbill said, “which I will not report to your guild. Consider it a tip for a job well done.”

“Weird,” Tillie mumbled. He brought his claw up to his mouth to lick away the ink, confused when he didn’t taste anything.

“There was no ink used,” Ourbill clarified as he returned to his desk. “There is no need to waste a resource when all you needed was the deformation of the paper.”

Tillie stood still, holding the paper for a moment, then rolled it up slowly. “Should I burn this? Or…?”

“Keep it on you. Do not be caught with it, of course, but it is your copy of our deal.” Ourbill waved a paper so it would make a sound. “I have my own copy. You can check it if you wish. I used a charcoal sheet so it would be legible to me when I traced out the letters for yours.”

“...No, I’m good.” Ourbill seemed like a person who would happily burn someone on a pyre for lying to him and Tillie had a feeling that Ourbill wouldn’t lie in return.

“Excellent. Then leave. I will see you next when you have the pound of flesh I purchased.”

Tillie tucked the rolled scroll into a bag at his waist, glad that it was one of the dimension bags that Pun had grabbed for him. He didn’t want to bend the paper.

———

Tillie took his time staking out the victim to ensure that there would be no suspects. Normally he just grabbed them and scuttled off into a dark corner to gorge himself, but he didn’t think that would be appropriate for this one. He needed to make sure the skin was whole so he had to be careful.

It was the longest hunt he’d had the entire time he’d been working for the Black Blades. The longest before this was a week, but he felt a need to be perfect, so when he was easing up on week two he didn’t mind it. He traced the parchment periodically to make sure he didn’t miss something, but there really was nothing more to it. Find the mark, kill him, make sure nobody suspects anything, and keep the skin. There was no time limitation listed, though he also didn’t dawdle. He couldn’t take another contract until his current one was done according to the guild rules.

It took 8 days, a full five day week and a half more after he first met Ourbill to find the right moment. The takedown was quick, engulfing the man’s head in his hand and yanking him into the darkness of an alley to slit his throat. Ourbill didn’t say that he couldn’t eat the insides, so he found a back alley butchery and borrowed the use of a few knives to make the work easier before eating his meal leisurely. He gave himself a day to finish the preparation before returning to Ourbill with the skin in the bag. He even removed all the hair and genitals just to make it a little cleaner. He probably didn’t need to, but he felt a need to impress that he steadfastly refused to acknowledge.

He needed to know what Ourbill looked like, the odd man making him curious and willing to deal with the initial dizziness of sight. He took a final lick of the human’s flesh before letting his bones shift and body contort. He flipped his hood up and made sure his mouth was covered, then walked into the inn casually with the bag at his hip. He winked at a beefy dwarf as he passed by, buying a pair of mugs before walking up the stairs. He sniffed a few times to make sure he went to the right door and pulled the cloth over his face to hide his mouth again before knocking.

“Merchant~!” Tillie chirped. “I have an ale for you!”

“I did not order anything.”

“I have your delivery too!” The door opened to reveal Ourbill. Tillie blinked a few times. He didn’t know what he expected but it wasn’t a blue skinned, one eyed man with horns haloing his head.

Ourbill’s eye narrowed, the red iris glowing in the black sclera of an eye the size of an average man’s fist. The size of the eye meant there was no nose but he did still have a mouth that looked rather average for most humanoids. The horns started at each side of his forehead and curled up and around until they touched and made a solid, handle-like shape. Tillie had an intrusive urge to pick him up by the horns and launch him through the window like a bag just to watch him fly. Ourbill was perhaps 5’4” and Tillie still loomed over him as a human, a contrast that felt wrong in some way he couldn’t put his finger on. Ourbill pulled the door open further, revealing that his forearms down were both magical prosthetics with a teal glow pulsing through runes inscribed in the metal. Tillie’s gaze flicked up and he noted that the same teal glow escaping Ourbill’s shirt collar.

Ourbill looked Tillie up and down but didn’t move aside. “I ordered no delivery.”

Tillie rolled his eyes. He might look like a human ready to wrestle with some bulls and break horses, but he couldn’t hide every aspect of himself. He tugged down the scarf covering the lower half of his face, the sawtooth teeth and bony jaws impossible to miss. Understanding lit up Ourbill’s expression and he turned on his heel, waving for Tillie to come inside. Tillie all but skipped in, closing the door. He changed his speed when he saw Ourbill begin to glare, catching the door at the last moment to close it quietly. He noticed there was no second chair, so when Ourbill took the only chair by the desk, he instead pivoted to sit on Ourbill’s bed, his weight making a significant dent in the blankets and mattress. Ourbill’s eye twitched when Tillie offered him alcohol and turned away, uninterested.

“I do not drink swill.”

“More for me then!” Tillie said and raised a mug in a cheer, taking a few gulps of it before setting the cups on the ground and self consciously pulled the scarf back over his mouth. He untied the bag at his waist and tossed it over to Ourbill. The dimension bag was small even though the contents could be much larger, so it was useful in transporting large or messy items. “Here’s the skin you ordered.”

Ourbill caught it at the last second, very nearly missing it entirely. Tillie raised an eyebrow. Alright, not a quick guy. Magic might be his entire schtick. A pretty big and powerful schtick, he had to admit, but still, everyone had weaknesses. What a nice way to find out this confident man’s weak point. Knowing how to kill people was instinctive at this point and he saved that information in the back of his mind. He’d probably forget later, but it was noted nonetheless.

“Did you remove the hair?” Ourbill asked, pulling the drawstring and looking inside.

“Yup. Got rid of the dick too, figured you didn’t want that.”

“Assumption is a poor choice,” Ourbill murmured, “but you are correct.” He walked over to the mimic corner and turned the bag inside out. The wet flaps of flayed skin plopped on top of the three creatures. Tillie immediately heard little munching sounds and pleased squeaks from them as they descended, or rather, ascended into their meal.

Tillie watched in fascination as the mimiclings ate, their little bodies stretching more than he thought they could. Their forms were messy and ambiguous at best, shambling mounds of goo at worst, and it was mesmerizing.

“Have you never seen a mimic?” Ourbill asked. “They are rare but not unknown creatures.”

“I mean, no, not really. I don’t see often at all, so.” Ourbill frowned at the sarcastic tone.

“I suppose I cannot fault you for that.” He stared at Tillie, his large eye’s gaze piercing. Tillie felt like a specimen again, wiggling uncomfortably and looking away. He immediately knew he had failed the staring contest and made himself look weak, a lick of frustration burning at his still overfull stomach. “I am, however, surprised that you shift your form so often.”

Tillie shrugged as Ourbill returned to his seat. “It’s part of my special deal, makes people want to buy me over some rando in the guild, especially when they don’t want to deal with Pun. I get asked for by name sometimes cause of that.” He paused and his eyes tightened in a smirk. “Like you did.”

Ourbill scowled as it was turned back on him. “Do not get a big head,” he said sharply. “It makes for poor customer service.” Tillie went silent awkwardly, fiddling with the mug in his lap. There was less in there than he expected. He must have downed it faster than he thought he did. He tipped the last of the dregs into the other mug.

“So, uh. What do you drink if not this shit?” Tillie raised the second mug and tugged his scarf down to reveal his mouth, tilting it in a waterfall before hiding his sawtooth mouth once more.

Ourbill snorted dismissively. “You could not afford it.”

Tillie rolled his eyes. “With what you’re paying me I’m pretty sure I could afford damn near anything. What is it?”

Ourbill finally looked away to check on his mimiclings, ignoring the question. They were slowing down in their efforts to stuff themselves until they burst, rolling around like fat little balls. Tillie suppressed the desire to smoosh one gently just to feel how plump it was. He really did want to be gentle too, something that surprised him. He normally would have thought about squeezing small things like stress toys but the worst he could muster was irritation when one waddled its way over to him and bumped against his foot.

He felt Ourbill tense but the man didn’t move, watching him keenly for any hint of a threat. Tillie pushed the empty mug away from the mimic, figuring it probably shouldn’t have any booze even if it was just a few drops. It burbled and made a noise he was pretty sure was meant to be a chirp but just came out like a gurgly grumble. Tillie pulled down his scarf and gave a soft hiss, a deep one that warned the baby that it was intruding on his domain. The mimicling whined in distress, legs working overtime to skitter away and comforting itself with its siblings. Ourbill relaxed minutely but Tillie could tell that he was overstaying his welcome.

“That was a brave one,” Tillie commented as he downed the last of his ale. He picked up the other cup and stood, stretching for a moment and listening to joints pop, then cocked a hip and looked Ourbill up and down. “Contract complete or did I miss something somewhere?”

Ourbill turned in his chair and pulled out a bag of coins, the metal jingling merrily but somehow more dully than it should. “10,000 gold as we discussed.” He held the bag out for Tillie to take.

Tillie jiggled the pouch to test the weight. It was all there but there was some softness that he didn’t expect. Confused, he opened the bag and jammed a finger in. The moment he touched it, he understood. It was all wrapped up like it came right from a bank, the little rolls of coins neatly packaged with fabric to keep them together. “Gotta say, you’re the first to give me bank gold.”

“Hm. Perhaps not the last time I shall do so.” Tillie looked up at that, wondering if it meant what he thought it did. “Here is your tip of 2,000 gold for providing the additional service.”

Tillie perked up, taking the second, smaller pouch eagerly. That too was rolled and he wondered why he hadn’t thought of that before. He knew of it, but keeping the annoying little discs in neat tubes kept the gold from ringing out and tempting thieves to try and steal was something he hadn’t considered before. 

Tillie leaned forward, eyes hooded and looked Ourbill up and down like a dish he wanted to eat. “So, that drink you said was your favorite. What was it?”

Ourbill looked confused, answering before he really thought about the non-sequitur question. “Phoseon Ikuni wine, specifically the vintage from the early 500s but no later than 523.”

“So just under a hundred years ago, gotcha,” Tillie’s eyes crinkled in a smile as he thought about that . It was currently 581 so that vintage would be pretty damn old. “Next time you call, I’ll grab a bottle in thanks.”

Ourbill looked around the room as he processed what Tillie had said. “We shall see. Now leave.”

Tillie inclined his head. Now just to find out what the hell Phoseon Ikuni wine was.

[rachrar]

Tillie - Chapter 3

A failed experiment, Tillie is mimic made and staggers along the razor thin edge of beast and man, attempting to find stability and hoping to find a place he is accepted as he is rather than who others want him to be.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

AO3 link to full story: HERE

Previous Chapter Summary: Tillie was taken in by Thunmir, a gata (cat-man) who gave him stability and help his self control. He has just been pushed out of the nest to figure life out on his own.

———

“Shut up.” Tillie ground the woman’s face into the cobblestones more firmly. Her nose was broken and her arm had been bitten off, but she wasn’t dead. Yet, at least. He put a foot on her lower back then released her head. She collapsed against the stone groaning, but didn’t speak, even to complain.  She was bleeding profusely, not just from the bite that took her arm but from the knife he had turned against her as well, her life dribbling on the roadway in heavy, fat rivulets that mirrored the rain pouring down from the dark sky.

Tillie’s claws dug into her back lightly, a silent threat to make her death all the more painful. “Where’s the ring?”

She snorted before cutting off into a choked wail as Tillie squeezed. “H-he took it! I don’t have it anymore!”

The thief struggled against him instinctively, trying to wriggle out of his grip. She wasn’t going anywhere and both of them knew it. He flipped her to her back so she could see her death face to face. “He who?” Tillie asked. 

“Rowan! Please, let me go—” She tried to wipe at her cheeks to remove the muck of the street from her skin, the stench permeating her clothing but the movement just hurt and she whimpered. Tillie loomed over her, tongue twisting in the air before he licked a stripe of her blood off of her face. It was disgusting because she was covered in mud, but the intimidation factor was much stronger and she choked on a hysterical snivel.

Tillie growled lowly, drooling over her. Her heart was beating so fast and he could hear her life gushing out of her arm in wet splashes under his fingers, soaking the mortar between the stones no matter how he crushed the cut flesh to slow the wastage of blood and keep her alive for a little longer, but knew just as well as she did that it was mostly a futile gesture. He held tighter to try to strengthen the tourniquet more effectively and ignored her cries of pain, but it was clear that she was losing too much blood no matter how hard he tried. “Rowan,” he repeated to ensure he heard correctly. She nodded but she was growing weak. Her heart was losing rhythm, an unsteady thump that reverberated through Tillie’s grip. “Where does he live?”

She wasn’t even crying anymore, snot nosed and babbling nonsensically. Tillie grabbed her by the neck and picked her up, letting her feet dangle over the ground. “Where does he fucking live?!” Tillie repeated but the movement encouraged what little blood she had left to leave her in slowly weakening pulses. Tillie snarled, shaking her to try and shock her alive just enough to answer, but there was nothing more. Her heart was as still as she was.

Tillie snarled, jerking her around again for good measure before grabbing the knife from the ground. Someone was sure to recognize it. He didn’t even know why he was bothering to chase down this thief. The money wasn’t worth the effort. The man was paying, what, 200 gold to try and get back some stupid ring? Tillie had already been on it for a few days and his patience was wearing thin.

He raised up the body and took a bite out of the other arm, ripping it off and devouring her greedily. He left her head to roll down the sidewalk. Too much biting for too little meat.

The soft rain was soothing against his skin when he emerged from the awning. He opened his mouth and tipped back to catch a drink, then caught a few handfuls to wipe off the worst of the blood. He would normally lick himself clean but when there was refuse on the street mixed with it, he didn’t feel a need to eat literal trash just to get a few licks of blood. She had tasted sweet though; elves always were a little on the lighter side.

He flicked rain off of his hand and reached to his waist pouch, jingling the coins for a quick count. The noise was loud but he doubted anyone would try to fight him. Another bounce of the bag to recount, then he huffed. 12 gold. Not even enough to get properly drunk in a bar. Not nearly at that threshold where he found threats funny rather than an invitation for a brawl. Where could he even go? He wasn’t going to bother with the merchant’s order anymore, that took too much effort for too little money. He was going to have to talk to people (again) to find another deal and he didn’t feel like doing that either.

The pendant on his chest slapped against his skin, burning hot. Tillie stopped walking and raised a hand to touch it. There was a heartbeat pulsing through the metal, fast— too fast. Whoever it was seemed to be a precarious position. He was tempted to leave it, but the still sharp memory of Vinnie’s pleading made him hold onto it for a moment longer.

“Tillie!”

Tillie jolted in place at the sound, hand clutching onto the metal. It was scalding and he felt it burn his skin but he didn’t let go. The lack of practice made the phrase hard to say, but he spoke slowly and clearly.

“I answer.”

A swirling mass of cold appeared to his side, sucking like a whirlpool and drawing him in. He dug his claws into the cobble, trying to resist, but the pendant pulled at him suddenly and he tumbled into the void regardless. A moment later he spun around in the air to land on his feet as he was spat back out on some only moderately flat stone surface.

The air was still. It smelled of decay and dust mixed with something that was akin to blood but had a different note to it. If he had to pin it down, it smelled similar to his own rather than from a human or even an enkindled.

Rough laughter to his left cut off into choking coughs. At least one rib was broken based on the scratch of bone in thin flesh, but the lungs were fine. Iron clicked against itself as the person shifted painfully, manacled to a stout ring set into the wall, the sound of the chains awakening a crawling sensation over his skin. “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

Tillie remained on all fours, tail flicking to and fro as he assessed the situation further and ignoring the speaker. There were bars 5 feet away, a bucket with stinking refuse in it. They were underground, that was for certain. The weight and groan of stone told him that there was a building above that sprawled out like a mansion. He tilted his head, listening. A few drops of water wound its way from a barred window, wind howling from the small space. It wasn’t windy outside, he noted, just the air moving through the size of the hole made it louder than it would be normally. This was a dungeon, or a jail of some kind.

“Which one are you?” Tillie said, standing up. He stalked closer, tongue licking at the air to gather more scent and information.

“Pun,” he replied, voice hoarse.

“I don’t know a Pun,” Tillie hissed, hackles raising. Was this some kind of trap? The manacles already had him on edge, remembering the way cuffs had always pinned him down without recourse to escape.

“Shit, fuck, right,” Pun hacked onto the ground roughly, a wet phlegm that was far too dense to be just snot and inhaled through a crushed windpipe. “Glaukos. I used to be Glaukos.”

Tillie moved closer until he was hovering above Pun, a hand on the wall to listen for other threats. The scent of blood increased, a bitter, stinging bite on his tongue that made him want to leave. “Prove it.”

Pun wheezed a laugh. “How am I gonna prove it? I used the pendant and now you’re here.”

Tillie couldn’t argue with that, but he still didn’t trust the small creature before him. Pun was perhaps 5 and a half feet tall, maybe 100 pounds. He was clearly emaciated and seriously wounded. How long had he been here before he used the necklace?

“Who gave it to you?”

“Vinnie,” Pun sighed, head leaning back against the wall. He heard Pun’s eyes close and his heart begin to slow. “I really should have called you earlier,” he said, voice slurring as he slumped against the wall. “Didn’t think it was gonna be this bad. I’ll pay for a healer, promise. I won’t make you… pay… for me…” His back slid against the stone, caught only by Tillie’s hands and saved from striking the ground like a limp doll.

Tillie huffed. Well, now he was on a time limit. Pun’s body was shutting down. More bones were broken than he originally thought, the man puddle-like in his hands. He was still breathing but Tillie didn’t know for how long, and he also, annoyingly, didn’t know where he was.

Breaking out wasn’t particularly hard. He ripped the door off by the hinges, throwing it at the guard who wandered by to check out the noise before running past all the shocked guards. It seemed that it was a prison if the groans of the drunks and clinking steps of the jailers was any indication, and not just that but a particularly high level one. What did Pun do to end up in such a bad location? Tillie was quick but he kept Pun still in his hands, shifting and adjusting to keep Pun as flat as possible with his head to the side.

The air outside was clean and salty, the wind gentle but cooling though there was a touch of humidity that made his skin slightly damp. He heard the rush of waves crashing against a shore in the distance along with the sounds of a large, busy night time city. He licked at the air, searching for the scents that told him where a healer was. Healers always stunk of herbs and poultices, wet leaves and sharp magic that made his tongue sting. He scowled when his tongue felt the telltale caress of osseper root and willow bark, bitter enough to make the muscle twist uncomfortably.

Tillie kicked the door open, the answering scream and rattle of pots and herbs confirming his suspicions. “Stay still or I’ll kill you.”

“Yeah, okay, I can do that—!” The healer babbled stupidly, hands flying over the walls and knocking down bottles as he tried to catch his balance to avoid moving too much.

“Heal him.” Tillie thrust forward Pun, the man lolling in his grip.

Tillie heard a hushed “what the fuck is that” before the healer swallowed heavily. “I can do that. What happened?”

“Fuck if I know,” Tillie answered, following the healer to the back room. He set Pun down gently on the bed and pressed the back of his hand against Pun’s forehead. Burning. Tillie grumbled in response, then stepped back as the healer’s instincts began to kick in.

“Alright, then I’ll do everything.” The healer bustled around, grabbing bottle after bottle and shoving some in Tillie’s grip before scurrying off to pull herb bundles down. “Set those here. Put two tablespoons in this pestle— oh, wait. You can’t see, can you?” The healer hesitated, dithering in place.

“I can feel enough,” Tillie rumbled. “Tell me what to do.” The healer sounded unsure, but began to give Tillie exacting instructions. For once, he was glad that Thunmir had forced him to learn how to cook and measure herbs consistently. He never thought he’d be using the knowledge, but here was a good example of the kind of thing that Thunmir always told him would happen.

The balm was boiling in a cauldron before the healer was able to breathe enough to speak, wiping at his head. “So, not to put too fine a point on it, but do you have… coin… to pay… with…” He began to stammer as Tillie turned towards him. “Nevermind, it’s on the house.”

Tillie chuffed in amusement. “I’ll get the money.” He surprised himself with the words, but he meant them regardless. Thunmir always said to never shortchange a healer and, more importantly, it also wasn’t his money. Pun had offered his anyway so Tillie had no skin in it.

“If… you don’t mind me asking,” the healer said again more delicately, clearly trying to have a conversation to lighten the tension that Tillie’s existence caused. “What, uh, exactly, are you? And him?”

Tillie licked at a claw to clean it of the herbs he had been measuring, skin wrinkling at the taste of ginger. He continued anyway, clearly ignoring the question. The healer passed over a clean wet cloth for Tillie to wipe away the traces of the herbs. Tillie was grateful, giving the healer a nod of approval. 

The healer sighed. “Right. Dumb question. Sorry.”

Tillie tossed the cloth back once he was done and the healer yelped at the unexpected slap of wet fabric over his face. “How long til he heals?”

The healer, heartbeat taking a few seconds to return to normal, took a deep breath. “Well.” He exhaled, the motion helping him calm down. “Awake? Tomorrow at most. Up and moving again? A week, maybe? Unless you find a higher healer, that is. I normally don’t treat wounds of this level.”

“What kinds of wounds were there?”

The healer coughed into a hand uncomfortably. “What kind of wounds weren’t there? Bone breaks, lacerations, fever, the coughing sickness. He was lucky his lungs weren’t punctured by his ribs. He was even… well.” He trailed off. When it became clear that Tillie wasn’t aware of what he referred to, he tapped his thighs to muster the words. “He was abused in depraved ways.”

Tillie made a soft growl. The healer took it like Tillie was annoyed with him, beginning to speak again but Tillie waved a hand dismissively. He didn’t care what the healer thought and the healer went silent obediently. Tillie nipped at the sharp end of a nail to clean it thoughtfully. It still tasted like osseper root but there wasn’t much to be done about that. The stench clung tightly— at least his claws tended to shed relatively quickly so he’d have to deal with it until then.

He could always just leave Pun here to deal with his own problems. He didn’t really need to do more than that, he had already fulfilled his promise to Vinnie by bringing Pun to a place where he would be healed. Pun seemed so fragile and weak; just as Vinnie said Tillie was the stronger one by a significant margin. He didn’t care about Pun. If anything, he personally hated the man. It wasn’t exactly good to be the main focus back at the center but jealousy still burned in his chest when he thought about Pun, or rather, Glaukos.

Fancy Glaukos, prancing around like he was soooo important. People cared about how he had been, making sure he was healthy and cared for and so special. But now he was in Tillie’s hands and at his mercy. Tillie was tempted to leave, but therein was his problem. He was tempted and not simply doing it. He hated Pun. He hated him so, so much. But he cared about Vinnie, and Vinnie cared about Pun.

Tillie huffed as he came to a decision. Vinnie would want Pun not only healthy but safe and the best way to do that would be to ensure that the idiots who hurt Pun were dead. “If I come back and he is not here, or is further hurt, I will find you and the next time anyone sees you, it will be in pieces across the city. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” The healer stammered. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to get rid of the people who hurt him,” Tillie said. “Give me the cloths you wiped him down with.”

The healer was baffled, but obediently went to the hamper and offered it to Tillie. Tillie lapped at the air then plucked a couple of the towels out. The healer felt nauseous, a novel sensation in his line of work, when Tillie licked the disgusting cloth. He slurped his tongue back into his mouth, the taste of men’s acrid sweat and metal sticking to his tongue unpleasantly.

“Can I help you with anything else before you leave?” the healer asked awkwardly, putting the hamper back down when Tillie tossed the rags back in.

“No. Keep him safe and healing.” The threat tickled at the healer’s neck and he swallowed heavily, nodding. “I will return.”

———

When Tillie opened the door again two days later, the broken wood had been patched together to fix the snapped panels and made a different sound when the handle touched the wall behind. He had used the knob this time, closing it as he heard the healer scurry to the front room.

“We’re closed, you’re going to need to go to Jenn—” The healer cut himself off when he realized who stood before him. “Hello, sir. Your friend is doing much better. He’s sitting up and he’s eaten and drank quite normally. He’s had no issues with relieving himself and the infections are fading quickly. He should be well enough to walk tonight and back to his normal self in two or three weeks. He seems to be weaker than I had originally thought.”

Tillie rumbled and the healer all but fell over himself in explanation, fear making him jittery. “I don’t know what he is, sir! I estimated compared to a— a human-elf mix but he clearly isn’t! I’m doing my best, I swear it!”

Tillie stalked towards him, feeling the healer wince and his heart beat through his chest loud enough that anyone in the room could hear. “Good enough,” Tillie growled and the healer made a noise of relief, muttering a prayer of thanks to Phortyx for safety.

Tillie walked past the healer and into the back room to check on Pun. Pun greeted him with a cheery “hey-o!” and a wince when he waved. “How was your trip?” So casual as if Tillie hadn’t just saved his life twice over.

Tillie responded with an irritated huff, taking a seat on a chair that felt flimsy but held his weight regardless. “Filling.”

“What does that mean?” Pun asked quizzically. When Tillie leaned back to reveal a slightly bloated, fattened stomach, he closed his mouth with an audible clink of teeth. “Ah. I see.”

“You’re lucky I bothered to wash up before I returned,” Tillie groused. “If you hurled over the floor it was just going to cost more gold to clean up.”

Pun shrugged, the cost clearly ineffective in dissuading him. “Eh. I’ll make more.”

Tillie tapped his claws along the wooden arms of the chair, toes clicking a similar rhythm as he kept his sense of the room fresh. “What the hell did you do that got you beat so bad?”

“Oh, that.” Pun leaned back into the bed. “You know what I can do, right?” His tone was flatter, uncomfortable and unwilling to name the shapeshifting skill in case the healer could hear.

“Mhm.” Tillie didn’t bother speaking, a flat note of understanding.

“I use that and I kill people, to put it bluntly, and I lost the fight.” Tillie tilted his head, not expecting that as a response. Pun seemed too weak to handle something like murder. “I’ll kill when the money's right and the person deserves it, but I don’t like doing those tasks. I mostly steal. Sometimes it’s personal interest but most of the time it’s someone that wants something. I never know if it’s stolen and needs to be returned or if they just want it and have the gold to get ahold of it. It doesn’t matter to me any. I get my money either way.”

“How much do you have on you?”

“Right now? None, obviously.” The sardonic words prickled at Tillie but he gripped the chair rather than snarl, the old wood splintering in his grasp. “But once I speak to the mobile bank, I’ll have a couple thousand. The deal I was trying to finish was going to get me 10 more.”

The healer, just walking through the door, choked and nearly dropped the tray of drinks but caught it at the last moment. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to overhear—”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Pun chirped. “I mean, I wouldn’t spread that around, though. The walls can hear a lot more than you think and sometimes you’ll get a delivery that you didn’t expect if the knives get the gossip.”

The healer’s voice was strangled. “I think I’d rather sew my mouth shut than say anything you two have ever said.”

“Good choice,” Pun said with a grin in his voice. “So what’s the tonic, doc? Some bitter thing? Or is it sour this time?” He sounded hopeful, oddly enough.

The healer gave Pun a cup and Pun groaned after a quick sniff. Tillie didn’t know why, it smelled perfectly fine, especially for some sort of herbal medicine. There was no comparison between Thunmir’s healing and this; Tillie would rather drink this one. “This again?”

“If you want to get any better, yes,” the healer said. The other cup on the tray rattled as the healer tried to keep his composure. “Most people like that it’s sweet.”

Pun scoffed. “I’d rather eat the leaves on their own. At least they’re crunchy.”

“I think you are the only person who has ever said that combination of words and meant it sincerely, sir,” the healer noted. “Please don’t take too long, the oils will separate and then it will be all the worse.”

“Bahh, it can’t get worse.”

“It can get less effective.”

“I guess that’s the one that matters.” Pun sighed. “Alright, bottoms up!” He downed it in a hearty, long quaff, swallowing it bit by bit until he put the cup on the tray with a groan. “Alright, lemme have the lemon juice now.” The cup was passed over without commenting on the fact that the man literally asked to drink lemon juice.

“I’ll be upstairs if you need me,” the healer said to the room. Tillie shifted in his seat. The two men were acting as if they were friendly, something that Tillie never really got. Of course it would be Glaukos— Pun. Whatever.

Once the healer was gone and out of earshot, Pun whined like a child. “Can you believe it, Tillie? That shit costs 10 gold per cup and it tastes like someone gnawed on sugarcane before spitting it out.”

Tillie chuffed with a shake of his head. “It can’t be that bad.”

“It is that bad,” Pun insisted. “Have you ever eaten raw sugarcane? It tastes like dirt and makes my teeth hurt from how sweet it is.”

Tillie waved a hand dismissively. Sweet was the second best taste after savory, Pun was complaining just to complain. “No, but it didn’t smell like something worth bitching about.”

“Go lick the cup then,” Pun said petulantly. Tillie stood up. “Uhhhh... Wait, hang on, I wasn’t actually serious, that’s gross.”

Tillie walked over to the side table, picking up the cup. He licked at the air, then slurped the lingering dregs at the bottom. His stomach immediately hurt, the buzz of Pun’s spit making him spin around and grab a bowl before violently throwing up. Pun watched in shock, leaning back and grimacing at the sight.

“Okay, it wasn’t that bad. Are you good?”

Tillie wiped at his teeth, resisting the urge to snarl as his stomach flip flopped aggressively. “I’m fine. I forgot that I can’t eat anything after you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pun bristled like an angry bird, the blankets rustling as he leaned forward in indignation. “I keep myself clean, I'll have you know.”

“It means that that’s how I shift,” Tillie answered sharply and returned to his chair. The wood complained just as loudly as Pun had, but unlike Pun, Tillie could hit the chair. It splintered in his grip and he very nearly fell on his ass. Pun stifled a snort. Tillie’s tail lashed threateningly and Pun swallowed the laugh.

“Oh. Ohhhhhhhhhhh.” Pun shifted a bandage delicately, trying to readjust it. “So then if you suck someone off—”

“Yes.”

“Heh.” Pun took a drink of his lemon juice, amused, then tried to scratch around a bandage without disturbing it.

“Stop touching the bandage. The sound is annoying.” Tillie said, the rasping sound of gauze making him want to gnaw on the fabric bandage. Not because it was on Pun or had fluid but because it felt like the only way to stop the sound. It had always been a problem when he had been bandaged in the monastery but without the threat of a switch on his stomach, the urge was stronger. Pun pulled his hand away.

“You can hear that?”

“Yes. I can hear your heart beating, I can hear the wind outside, and I can feel the healer picking more herbs out back.” 

“What do you mean, feel and hear?” Pun was curious. “I don’t have any of that. I just see really well.”

“I can feel where and what things are through the ground. I’m told it’s similar to how you can feel and hear gong in the air but I can sense it much further away than you.”

“Well that’s no fair,” Pun kicked his feet under the blanket in frustration. “I’d rather have that than just being able to see. At least you don’t get a headache from trying to focus on something too hard.” A child. Pun was just a child, a brat that complained and whined when he didn’t get his way. Tillie swallowed down the urge to really show Pun the meaning of not fair.

Tillie didn’t want to continue the conversation, moving it towards something else to avoid letting his constant simmering anger burst out. “How do you make that much money? I tried doing the same thing and barely got anything.” His tone was surly, which in his opinion was a fairly solid upgrade.

Pun tilted the cup just to get the rest of the lemon juice, the noise grating when he slurped the last. Tillie felt a splinter poke into a paw pad when his toes twitched. “Not to be arrogant or anything, but I’m good at what I do and that pays a shitload of money for certain people and contracts. For others that don’t need me to borrow faces, it’s because I’m in a guild.”

“A guild? Isn’t that for leather workers or something?”

“Yeah, but it’s also a lot easier to be a thief or an assassin when you have a group to help with resources. You can get people’s movements, their habits, what they hold near and dear, all that kind of stuff without needing to take weeks to really stake them out for that info. They’re called the Black Blades.” Pun set the empty cup on the side table and reclined fully into the bed. “If you need, I can give you a way in.”

Tillie bristled at the idea that someone would need to speak for him, but deflated once he thought about it for more than a second. He wasn’t going to get access by himself and if Pun was as highly regarded as he said he was, then his word was going to be helpful. Tillie clenched his hands, a claw pricking against a scar on the pad of his thumb. “Yeah.” He struggled to force himself to continue. “Please.”

Pun hummed softly in acknowledgement. “When I can get back up, I’ll speak to the guys above me. We can always use more meat.”

“I can shift too, I’m not just muscle,” Tillie snapped. He already mentioned that and Pun already forgot?

“Do you normally throw up afterwards?” Pun asked pointedly.

“No! That was just because we’re made from the same stuff,” Tillie snarled, shoulders rising in frustration and very nearly poking himself with his shoulder spikes. “I’m more than competent to shift and I don’t need your judgment on what I can do, shitling.”

Pun raised his hands to deny the accusation. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that, you’re just stronger than me. How good is your shifting?”

Tillie’s anger transformed into icy resentment and he leaned against the wall with crossed arms. “I… can’t copy people,” he admitted. “I can look like some random human if I get their blood, but it isn’t the same as what you do. I can’t hide my mouth or my scars either.”

“That’s still great though! Nobody else but you and I can do that,” Pun said, trying to cheer Tillie up. It was more annoying than just looking down on him, a hidden pity that made Tillie want to throw the broken chair across the room. “Can you have the same face again or is it different every time?”

Tillie’s tail flicked against the ground and he felt the wooden floor split underneath in a long gash. “I can make it the same if I get the same person’s blood, but if it’s someone new, then the shape is new too.”

“Hmmm,” Pun thought about that, rubbing at his chin for a moment then turned his hand over as he spoke with a pointing finger at an idea. “That’s perfect to avoid being caught, honestly. If you have a new shape every time then you can’t really be pinned down. Can you change back to yourself when you want or do you need to wait for the blood to be used up or something?”

“When I want, but I can’t change again without some fluid.”

“We’ll have to make you a bag that can hold a bunch of vials then. That’ll be easy, there are some dimension bags and I know an alchemist that has little straps to keep the bottles from smashing against each other in hers.” Pun yawned, stretching then whined when it hurt. “I’m gonna nap. Let me know when you’re ready to go.”

He pulled the blanket up and wiggled into a more comfortable position. “You don’t have to stay here the entire time, you know.”

“Shut up and go to sleep. You’re gonna be here for who knows how long and I don’t want it to be any longer than it has to be.”

Pun snorted in amusement, but didn’t prod any further, letting himself slip into the blankness of sleep. With Tillie there, he was as safe as he could be, so Tillie wasn’t surprised when the still weak man was out in mere moments.

———

“Let me lead, alright?” Like Tillie had much of a choice, grunting in response. Pun’s voice was different, mimicking an elf and had an air of superiority that elves tended to have. The walk through the still damp streets was wet on Tillie’s toes, the lingering mud in the cobbles sticking to his toes. They walked along a main street, Pun commenting on things they passed. Tillie didn’t bother telling him that he didn’t need to since he could smell everything well enough. Maybe Pun would know something useful.

“That one is a flower shop, the guy who runs it is really nice. If you bring him some candy, he’ll give you some flowers for free!”

“That doesn’t sound free if you’re giving him something,” Tillie said.

“Oh.” Pun’s step paused but Tillie did not and Pun jogged to catch back up and lead once more. “I guess that’s true. Over there is a jeweler, he doesn’t like selling as much as he likes buying new pieces so the prices are really high. People with a lot of money can convince him though, so he wins in the end, really. There’s a few food places, I recommend Lemon’s Bite, they’re all about sour food, it’s amazing.”

Tillie tilted his head slightly. “People like sour enough to make an entire shop on it?”

“Oh yeah,” Pun said with a grin. “I practically keep that place alive. I love sour like I love Victor, it’s amazing.” Pun’s voice took on a peculiar tone that Tillie couldn’t quite place, a slight squeaky breathlessness that he eventually filed into the ‘I’m a child and think I’m in love’ category. Tillie kept the name Victor in his mind for future notes. Pun was important in the guild and if he had some boyfriend, then the boyfriend was sure to be important as well, if only by association.

“And this,” Pun knocked on a door sharply, “is an appointment only tailor shop. Hey-o!”

Tillie heard wood scrape against itself as a door opened. Whoever it was couldn’t stifle a choke of surprise but caught himself with a cough. Tillie tended to cause that reaction so he wasn’t surprised at the sudden fear he smelled. “Yeah? What’re you looking for?”

Pun tilted back and forth from his heels to his toes, cheerful and peppy. “Sorry to bother, but I’m looking for a knife sharpener, do you have any appointments later?”

Tillie loomed over Pun and put a hand on the doorway. It was nearly too short and he knew he was going to be uncomfortable just walking inside. The man holding the door was sweating now, something that Tillie found amusing enough that when Pun elbowed Tillie (gently) in the stomach to push him back, he took the hint and stepped back. “Sorry for my friend, he’s just helping me out, you know? When I go shopping it can be a lot to carry.”

“H-ha, yeah, I got it. Come on in, let me check the appointment book.” The door opened and Pun and Tillie went inside.

The tiny pieces of fluff from threads and fabric made Tillie want to sneeze, rubbing at his face to try and prevent it; Tillie’s sneezes were usually fairly disgusting. There was someone buying fabric at the front and talking to a shopkeep about the quality of the silk, apparently it was subpar and from Ucil rather than the promised Oflus.

Oflus was a desert country with few exports but they tended towards being the expensive side. It was also a fairly good manufacturing land, taking in materials, making the final product, and sending it back out to the purchaser with a markup. The last person Tillie was trying to find the ring for was from Oflus. Comparatively, Ocil was a thin country that lined the southern half of the western shoreline and whose production was known for cheapness and frailty of work. It wasn’t surprising that a shop would try to pass off something from Ucil as from Oflus instead.

Another shopkeep was speaking to two customers as they demonstrated some hand cranked machine that drove needles into thread to sew fabric together much faster than by hand. There was something about it being very expensive and requiring a lot of magical input to power but Tillie didn’t care all that much.

The doorsman brought them to a counter in the back, flipping through a book. “Ah, I see we have an appointment for next Ledh at two in the afternoon?”

Pun leaned against the table. “Got any for Ixi? My blades are looking really burred and I don’t want them to dull when the magic runs out because I’m waiting forever.”

The doorsman hummed and flipped another page. “How does eight in the morning sound?”

Pun sighed as though he was granting a great concession. “I suppose that will work. Can I request Varcus? I remember the last time I saw him he even replaced the handle for me.”

The doorsman tapped on the book as he traced through entries. “Ah, I see. Varcus in particular is rather booked up, may I know why you request him in particular? We like to know why so we can ensure that all of our workers are trained equally and prevent one person from being overwhelmed.”

Tillie’s tail was curling on itself as he struggled not to scream. What the hell was this conversation? If it was some code it was taking way too goddamn long! Pun gave a light laugh as though this wasn’t infuriating. “Oh, you know, he’s the only one who’s treated my knife right. She’s a Blujj blade so I like to keep her safe.”

Tillie’s mental rampage through the store paused, his thoughts setting down the chair he had been about to throw into the window. Blujj was a country of odd superstition and magical exports and more interesting than anything else Pun had said. He brought himself out of his daydream and focused more on what they were saying.

“I see, what material?”

“She’s made from Droithian blackstone.” The shopkeep made a noise of amazement.

“My goodness sir, may I recommend mentioning that first next time? A Droithian black blade is quite a tempermental material, your taste for Varcus’ touch is well earned.” Pun giggled at the shopkeep’s barely noticeable irritation. “Please, come to the back and we shall check in your knife and ensure it receives the utmost of care.”

The shopkeep closed the book and beckoned for Tillie and Pun to follow. Thoughtful now, Tillie considered the words carefully. Clearly the code related to a Droithian blackstone blade, a black blade, from Blujj.

The Droithian Abyss wasn’t someone people talked about easily or without hushed tones, so to have Pun mention it so casually was worth paying attention to. The Abyss was a deep canyon in the southern sea, deeper than anyone had ever been able to explore. No magic known had allowed explorers to penetrate its depths and reveal its secrets.

Rumors flew, of course, as they always did. The Droithian Abyss held a leviathan that would eat the world at the end of days! No, surely it was a hole all the way down to the bottom of the world where the void ate everything that fell so deeply. Or maybe it was where everything would be sucked in slowly until there was nothing but the abyss.

Blujj, on the other hand, was simply an isolated country on the southeastern tip of land that was filled with caverns and cliffs along the sea’s edge. It held two major harbors known for being the midway point between Ucil and Efrela, so as weird as it may be, it served an important function in ship travel. It was said that there was more of Blujj underwater than there was above but no mermen swam those waters. Even fish were rarer there, likely due to the colder waters that the Abyss radiated, so much of the food was sourced from land, an oddity for such a seabound country.

It was said that there was land across the sea to the south, but the Abyss was long, stretching from Blujj to Broetheo and nobody tried anymore. Nobody smart, at least.

The shopkeep put a key in a lock and clicked it open, then waved for Pun and Tillie to go inside. “Victor’s been waiting for you, Pun. He’s been worried.” The man’s tone was devoid of the customer service warmth it had originally held. “Also, next time you come by, don’t take so goddamn long to say the code, fuckwit.”

“Piss off,” Pun replied, tone just as cheerful now as it had been before. The door closed behind them with a click as the lock slid home once more. Pun turned to walk backwards as he led Tillie inside and down a hallway that sloped into the earth before opening another door. “Ready to meet the head honcho? They’ll decide what’s gonna happen but really, between you and me, don’t worry about it.”

“Why would I?” Tillie side-stepped a chair, the person inside gasping at the sight of Tillie. It was loud in here and smelled of people and food, likely due to the lack of windows to help the air move. There were a few people and he heard them pause their conversation to notice him but felt no need to pay attention in return.

“Oh, well, you know,” Pun stammered, clearly not expecting that response. “Normally people are kinda freaked out meeting someone who runs a guild dedicated to killing and stealing.”

“Do they deal with people eating their kills too?” Tillie asked in return. Pun turned around to face where he was walking and stopped in front of a door.

“You know, probably, but you’re kind of the only one who would do it on the regular. …You would do it on the regular, right?” Pun asked, hand hovering in front of the door.

“It’s free food,” Tillie said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Eugh,” Pun shuddered at the idea. “Gross.” He knocked on the door a couple of times. “I got a new recruit here!”

The door opened after the first knock. “What have I told you about bringing street rats— oh.” The voice went silent. Tillie’s tail flicked curiously. Tillie leaned down, licking at the air.

“You’re small,” Tillie growled at the enkindled, their scent of brimstone in the air prickling at him. “Real small.”

Pun skipped in front of Tillie with a hand to his chest and fear pushing his voice higher. “H-hey hey hey, let’s not do that, alright? I don’t want to end up on the shitlist again. Tillie, please?”

Tillie huffed but stepped back. “Fine.” He shoved Pun’s hand off of his chest. “Make it worth my while.”

Pun wiped at his head with a forced laugh. “Y-yeah, sorry, boss, he’s just. You know, kind of used to being the most dangerous guy around.”

The enkindled harrumphed, crossing their arms. Tillie felt the other’s tail twitch at the air and had an intrusive thought of grabbing them by it and bashing them against the wall. He clenched his hands closed.

“Well then, he better prove himself. What’s your name?” The enkindled’s voice was almost childish but demanding regardless. Tillie estimated them as maybe 15 but he had a feeling they were much older than that.

“Tillie.”

The endkindled made a surprised noise. “I guess that kind of makes a difference.”

Pun laughed again. Tillie was really starting to hate the smug sound. “Right? Kind of a dick but really, a good choice this time.”

“Stop talking,” the endkindled said to Pun. Pun went flat on his heels with a huff, grumbling to himself. “Come with me.”

Tillie put a hand on Pun’s shoulder then shoved him aside as he followed. The door closed behind him. “Heard about you,” the enkindled said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, apparently you start a lot of shit.” Tillie scowled. It was nice that he was strong enough to be noted but he had a feeling that this wasn’t a good thing.

“What of it?” Tillie didn’t bother sitting when the enkindled sat behind a desk. The sense of power that people gave him when he stood taller hadn’t failed him yet. He was wary, but he wasn’t going to let the kid intimidate him even if they spooked Pun. Especially if they spooked Pun, honestly. Anyone that freaked out Pun was on his good side already.

“Nothing,” the enkindled said. “Nice to meet you, Tillie. You can call me Master.”

Tillie slammed his hands on the desk, claws digging into the wood. His nails pierced through some papers and pushed a knife aside as he dragged deep furrows into the wood. “I call no man Master,” he growled.

A small wooden stick slapped at his knuckles and he let go with a hiss of pain. “Behave.”

“I will never call you ‘master’,” Tillie said. He flicked a paper off of his hand at the enkindled. The edge of the paper hit their horn, normally a sensitive organ but all they did was inhale sharply.

“Learn to.”

Tillie reached forward, nails deep in the wood as he prepared to leap over the desk. He heard a fwip rush by his face and leaned back at the last moment, the knife spinning past his head to dig into the wall. Tillie tilted his head, jerking his claws out with difficulty and tapping the ground with his toes to search for the second person in the room.

The enkindled laughed. Another fwip and the knife jerked out from the wall to hover somewhere, presumably by the kid’s head. Tillie tensed— it was in the air which means he had no way to track it. “Magic?” he growled.

“Yup!” Tillie stood up straight and crossed his arms.

“Pick another name.”

“Earn it.”

“I’ll call you nothing at all,” Tillie snapped. He inhaled sharply when he felt the knife against his throat, then chuckled, tail flicking. “Go on, kill me. You’ll lose something you never knew the worth of.” 

The enkindled pushed the knife forward, the point so close to cutting through an artery but not yet piercing more than the thin skin. Tillie didn’t move, laughing under his breath. “Coward.”

The knife moved away and Tillie gloated with a cackle only to be cut off with a snarl as the knife dragged a line over his face. Tillie covered his face with a howl, the wound bleeding copiously as the bone was revealed under the thin skin, a match for the scar over the right side of his head.

“For your temerity and pride, you may call me Glory. Do not besmirch my name and make me regret giving you this honor.” Tillie hissed, the sound low and deep that usually made his prey shudder in fear.

“Fuck you.”

“Earn it.” Tillie was unprepared for that answer and didn’t know how to reply. “Go get stitched up. Let it heal naturally, no magic. Remember your lesson and speak to Ayla for your first contract.” Tillie spun without speaking further, lowering his hands and letting his blood soak the nice carpet. Glory could deal with the results of his own actions too.

[rachrar]

Tillie - Chapter 2

A failed experiment, Tillie is mimic made and staggers along the razor thin edge of beast and man, attempting to find stability and hoping to find a place he is accepted as he is rather than who others want him to be.

Chapter 1

AO3 link to full story: HERE

Previous chapter summary:

Tillie, an artificial life created by wizard scientists, was the first of many experiments. He is a doppelganger, a creature able to mimic others by way of ingesting bodily fluid and learns of his siblings, Telemral and Glaukos. After Glaukos escaped, Tillie was finally given positive attention by Vinnie, a mimic wizard whose blood was used to create the three siblings. Tillie was freed by Vinnie and now wanders the world, unsure of what to do.

———

Tillie’s temper was short and his violence eager to escape, so it made sense that he ended up being the monster that people called him. He didn’t actively want to kill people for no reason, but when they didn’t shut up or tried to lie to him, he couldn’t hold himself back— though it wasn’t like he was trying very hard. It did make life difficult when he wanted to learn about the world, so trying to control himself was a rough road.

He attacked back alley thieves who tried to intimidate him or the fools with knives thinking they could bag him and enslave him to some rich wizard. It helped him gather money, but they were as poor as he was and it was so little that it became more of an annoyance than a help. Once enough people vanished, the guard eventually began to mobilize against him. He knew he was strong, but numbers and magic could win over strength and he wasn’t stupid, so he ran to the next town over and the cycle repeated anew. If the center was able to capture him so many times, then so could someone else. He ended up on a path of constant violence and fleeing the consequences with no idea how to escape it.

He found that alcohol helped dull his senses and melted away the immediate urge to slice through flesh. It was expensive compared to being able to hunt on his own. It was easy to take down a couple of bandits or anyone who seemed annoying enough for food, or in the most dire of circumstances, he could go to the wilds and eat some game there. In comparison, he had to actually use money to get something to drink since he couldn’t make his own or steal more than a keg at a time. He found that out the hard way; a keg couldn’t even get him more than buzzed so it was a waste of time. He did at least get good deals from barkeeps if he offered to purchase multiple kegs in one go. 

Eventually he ended up at a tavern with his last gold, trading the coin for a final mug. Sullen, he sipped at it in an attempt to make it last longer but the buzz was leaving him more quickly than the alcohol was going in. He huffed and downed the rest of it in a quick tilt of the mug, pushing the cup back to the barkeep.

“Another round?”

“No,” Tillie grumbled. He walked towards the door, uncaring if people were in his way. If they were smart, they would move because Tillie sure as hell wasn’t going to change his course. He bumped against someone, the buried anger bursting out in a snarl as he lashed out to grab them. He grabbed nothing but air, confused. The desire for blood was rising with his temper, and his toes clawed into the wooden floors for leverage, ready to leap off to pin down the offender and shred them. It didn’t matter that it was in public. He was out of money anyway and he would be leaving soon.

The tavern emptied quickly, people screaming and running for the doors. Tillie threw chairs and ran around on all fours to try and grab the person slinking out of his grip so easily, touching nothing with every attempt and scarling when he missed. “Where are you?! Fight me!”

Laughter filled the air and Tillie jumped for it only to get nothing again. “COWARD!” Tillie roared, destroying the tavern piece by piece. The satisfaction of snapping wood wasn’t nearly enough when he craved the crunch of bones. It had been too long since he ate someone and this one was going to be the sweetest little treat.

The person was in the air and Tillie couldn’t keep track of them. He could smell that they were a cat-man, a gata or whatever they called themselves, but it was affected by the air currents. He could hear, but when they were dodging around in the air, there were only soft rustles of clothing and fur. More laughter until the tavern was full of giggles, surrounded and infuriated by what he couldn’t grab. Tillie wanted to call it cheating but he knew it wasn’t. He had a weakness and they were exploiting it.

Something struck Tillie on the back of his head and he stumbled forward, a hand raising to the growing bruise instinctively. Tillie hissed, a low and dangerous sound. When he got ahold of them, he was going to take his time skinning them alive, eating them bit by bit until they eventually gave up their heart, the beating meat that was always the most delicious treat. He would—

Tillie fell on all fours when he was hit behind his kneecaps, another blow to the protrusions along his spine making him snarl as he felt the bone resist breaking as pain lanced up his back. “I’m going to— hrk!”

A blow to the back of his neck cut him off sharply, arms shaking as he resisted dropping flat. His tail lashed out to try and grab them but while he finally managed to touch them, it was no more than a passing wound from the spikes. He whipped his tail forward, bringing the blood towards his mouth. It would have to be quick and it was going to hurt to force the transformation so fast, but his fury knew no bounds. He was drooling as he smelled the blood come closer and closer, tongue reaching out for it. He was interrupted with a final knee to the face, falling back to his ass. A metal blade brushed against his neck and he stilled. He clawed into the floor, knowing that he was finally outmatched in a one on one battle and he hated that he was just as much of a failure as the center had said he was.

“Who are you?” Tillie rasped. The blade cut his neck shallowly as he spoke but did not move.

“Thunmir the gata.” The name was a purr, the voice smug and much closer than he thought. Tillie was silent for a time, Thunmir giving him time to think but not removing the weapon.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why haven’t you just killed me?” Tillie hissed. “The second I get up is the second you die.”

Thunmir laughed and Tillie growled low in his chest. “And how will you catch me? You couldn’t before. My steps are too light for you to feel.” Tillie didn’t expect to hear that, head tilting to the side as he thought about what the words meant.

“I thought you were flying.”

“No,” Thunmir said, lowering the blade to the middle of Tillie’s collarbones. The vibrations through the dagger finally gave Tillie a sense of the gata’s location; straddling him but not touching him. “Gata are light on their feet, even moreso than the cats we look like. I can teach you.”

“What? Why would you?” Tillie was wary of some sort of trick. Was Thunmir planning on capturing him somehow? Turn him into another experiment? Tillie pushed up on one arm, uncaring of the blade that began to sink into his skin. “I will not be controlled again!”

Thunmir slid the blade lower and lower to avoid stabbing him until it caught on the bottom edge of the gem over Tillie’s chest, pushing the metal beneath and into the flesh below shallowly. Tillie snarled and continued to rise until the blade changed angle and pushed upwards against the gem.

Pain lanced through his body, such that he had never known; lightning zapped through his muscles and lava rushed in his veins, his skin was frozen solid and his claws were being ripped out, his bones threatening to crack until the blade was removed. Tillie collapsed onto the floor, muscles twitching and sweating profusely enough that he felt rivulets of perspiration drip to the floor— no, that was him, he was melting. At least, on the edge of it, his limbs getting messy and undefined, his fingers smearing together. He was drooling stupidly, tongue hanging out as he breathed and trying to come back to himself but finding that he was practically paralyzed even though the blade was removed.

“I will not control you,” Thunmir said. “I will teach you and you will listen. It is not the same.” Tillie had no ability to refuse, weak and frustrated.

“What… What will you teach me?” Tillie said, words particularly difficult when his tongue resisted his efforts to move.

“How not to lose,” the gata said. “How to temper your bloodlust into appropriate outlets. You are becoming infamous, you know.” He moved off of Tillie. The sound of fabric rasped against the blade to clean it before it was pushed into a leather sheath. “I don’t think you are ready for the world to know you.”

A soft paw almost as large as Tillie’s hand grasped his and pulled. It was a struggle to stand but with Thunmir’s grip, Tillie was soon upright, if unsteady and leaning significantly on Thunmir. “You’re big for a cat-man,” Tillie noted as he was led out the back door. “How were you so light?”

“There are many of us and our breeds matter. I am called tiger-bred. Around your height, perhaps a few inches shorter, but I am sure that I do not weigh as much as you. Gata are light on their feet, so few can track us. What are you?” Thunmir turned the words back on Tillie.

Tillie grumbled before answering. “They called me doppelganger.” Thunmir made a thoughtful noise.

“Interesting. I think you shall be an excellent student. What is your name?”

Tillie choked on a laugh, coughing. He had just been conscripted into some weird cat gang and the guy didn’t even know his name. “Tillie.”

A hand patted his lower back. “It is nice to meet you, Tillie.”

Tillie chuffed, a greeting of his own. “Thunmir.”

———

The monastery of Karses was near the Vegrediac Mountain Range, somewhere between the colder lands of Caofsland and the militaristic Glovernach nation but not quite touching their borders. It was perhaps a hundred miles north of the Uskim Pass that connected the east and west. Without the pass, the quickest trip to the other side of the mountains was treacherous and deadly or going around the range either north or south, a trip that could take over a year. The trip to the monastery from the gulf side city of Fleken was long but it gave Tillie plenty of chances to leave. Something about Thunmir’s genuineness, however, made Tillie want to follow.

The training was rigorous and pushed him to his limits more than once. It wasn’t the physical battling that he had issues with (though he struggled), it was the social ones. Thunmir was firm about that; if Tillie wanted to learn from him, and Tillie begrudgingly did, then he would learn everything. Anything from standing politely to pouring tea. He was taught how to set a table, how to cook reasonable meals that people would be willing to eat, how to sew cloth, to clean, to speak more languages.

Thunmir was, somehow, unaffected by anything Tillie did to try and get a rise out of him. Tillie never heard his heartbeat raise unless it was in the middle of fighting, and his blood never rushed when Tillie tried his best to frighten him. Even when he bit another student and shifted form Thunmir merely raised a brow and said he would need to adjust the training to account for Tillie’s ability to see. The training then included writing, reading, map reading, finding traps that had no sound, reading basic rune magic, and even how to coordinate colors for clothing. Tillie learned that he liked white and pink.

 When he tried to act up and challenge Thunmir or one of the other students, Thunmir was swift with his punishment and he merely received a sharp switch to his stomach for arrogance. He was denied any sort of battle to the death and informed that he could either do as he was told or leave. Though frustrated by his inability to actually challenge Thunmir, he always ended up backing down. Eventually, over multiple months and attempts to kill Thunmir again and again, Tillie submitted entirely as he began realizing that he had no way of defeating Thunmir as he was. That was when Thunmir finally began to teach him how to be an assassin.

Eager to learn, Tillie picked up the training with zeal. He was too heavy to be sneaky in the same way that Thunmir was, but he could be unseen when he climbed the walls with the aid of his claws. He learned how to magnify his senses to better feel and hear what was around him. Eventually, he was able to even grasp the sound and feel of Thunmir’s footsteps. That was the first time Thunmir told him he was proud of Tillie. The warmth in his chest spread like flame and he found himself doing more and more to try and earn the praise again.

Thunmir was exacting in his expectations. He kept Tillie on his toes, teaching him how to face enemies with any kind of weapon and even against magic users. Tillie was quick and smooth and though he often ended up on his ass, he slowly began to win. He planned on one day overcoming Thunmir and he bent his entire will to the task before him. He no longer fought or tested Thunmir’s strength against his own outside of class, choosing to learn and absorb information to make the task possible in the future.

Meditating and self control were the hardest assignments. Tillie was denied food for multiple days then set before raw meat. Tillie was not stopped when he went forward to eat without thinking and it was only when he heard Thunmir tutting that he realized he had been tested. He was frustrated— how was he to know?

Thunmir pointed out that nothing was free, especially here, and he must ask if he could have it rather than take it selfishly. Perhaps it had been meant for the day’s cooking. Perhaps it was meant to be buried as an offering to the earth, even if Tillie didn’t believe in the superstitions that the monastery did. Tillie, surly, listened and made note of it. The next time he was placed before the test, he held back.

He struggled a few times when the meat changed or when how long he had been denied grew longer. The most difficult test was sitting before a gagged man with a heart beat as quick as a rabbit’s, whose blood smelt positively divine. He asked if he was allowed to devour but was denied and told to stay in place. It was days that Tillie knelt before the meal, clawing furrows into the earth and digging his claws into his thighs to keep himself in control.

It was a prisoner, he was told. Someone they had been paid to capture and kill, but now he was Tillie’s test. They even fed the man with food that smelled better than what the students got. Tillie asked every morning, every lunch, and every dinner, but was again denied. He was frustrated. This was stupid. There was no reason to starve when there was a man right there whose life didn’t matter. He leaned forward, muscles desperate to lunge, then huffed and returned to kneeling on his knees.

It was only when Tillie too began to have trouble sitting, mind slowing from hunger that something changed. He asked if he could eat that morning. Expecting a no, he stayed still after the gata spoke. It took a moment for the word to register that it was a yes, leaning forward but not yet moving. He asked again to check that he hadn’t been hearing things and was told yes once more.

Carefully, slowly, he approached where the man had been whining and bitching for nearly a month, a clawed hand reaching to grab his head. Tillie felt a large paw over his and stopped. Thunmir pushed his hand back, then said the word that Tillie hated most; no.

Tillie bristled, the sensation of blood under the man’s thin skin driving him mad with hunger, the heartbeat pulsing through the body calling out to Tillie. No? He had just been given permission! Tillie squeezed, stopping only when he felt the man begin to flail and struggle, his claws cutting into flesh. Blood flowed over the man’s body. Tillie growled, the noise increasing before he snarled, dropping the man and stalking away to the same location he had been for untold hours.

The ground had been compacted from his weight and it was almost comfortable as he settled back in place. Tillie, tempted, did not lick the blood on his claws. He knew the moment he did he would lose control, so instead he dug into the dirt and wiped his hand clean there before filling the hole back in. The scent of blood was hidden by the earth and he only needed to deal with the blood dribbling from the man’s wounds, ten or so feet away.

“I’m proud of you. Now you may eat.”

Tillie didn’t hesitate that time, gorging on his meal until he was lazy on the grass, viscera spread over his body and stomach bloated. He picked at his teeth with a bone, tail flicking in contentment. That was the last test of his self control, Thunmir trusting that he would remember the lesson in the future.

The fighting was becoming easier. The other students had trouble keeping up in duos, then trios, then six before Tillie was even close to overwhelmed. His strength and dexterity was refined, taught how to counter his weaknesses and cover his weak points. He was a burst fighter, quick to overwhelm but not one for endurance. Once he had a limb in his mouth, he had already won. Nothing could recover from losing a limb quick enough to avoid the next bite, and by that time, Tillie was already feasting on his prey.

He faced Thunmir more often as he was the last to stand against Tillie alone, the other students left for some other, weaker teacher. He very nearly defeated Thunmir time and time again, leaving them both with wounds deep enough to need to spend weeks healing before fighting once more. He asked why they didn’t use magic to speed it up and was told that the pain of healing would make the lessons sink in deeper. While he was annoyed that he periodically ended up doing bitch work while he healed, he did have to admit, if only to himself, that Thunmir was right. He only made the same mistakes twice before learning how to avoid repeating them.

While recovering from a particularly rough fight, Thunmir told Tillie to follow him. Tillie expected to be led to the arena and released from his imposed rest, but Thunmir did not stop and continued down towards the back of the monastery. The healer’s room was on the opposite side along with all of the buildings, so he was confused when Thunmir led him towards an area he had visited only once when exploring. He didn’t recall much about it, just that there was a door to leave the walled space and a small cemetery on top of a cliff. Puzzlement filled Tillie until he finally had to ask what was going on.

“We are walking,” Thunmir said. There was a softness to his voice that told Tillie not to question too much. Something about this was quite serious. Normally he’d mock the rituals the monastery followed, ignore them if not knock over the incense just to cause trouble. He did that only once before he learned the hard way to not interrupt something so personal.

Thunmir stopped before a small headstone, kneeling and patting the ground for Tillie to do the same. The ground was firmly compacted; whoever lay here was long buried and faded into the earth. A sharp fwshh of a match catching flame caught his attention, focusing on the minute sensation of heat emanating from the tiny sliver of wood. Was this the test? To figure out what kind of wood Thunmir was burning? Or how large the match was? It was a perfect place to do so. The walls kept in the scent of the settled wooden beams, the earth they walked upon, the multitude of students, and the food cooking all the time like a pocket, so learning from something so small would be borderline impossible.

Tillie didn’t expect the sudden scent of incense before the match was flicked and the flame extinguished. Tillie was even more confused. So it wasn’t some test in a weird place, it was an actual “paying respect to the dead” thing.

Thunmir didn’t speak but Tillie felt Thunmir lean back on his haunches, place his hands on his knees, and begin to breathe slowly. Tillie did the same. Thunmir would tell him something eventually. This was likely some patience test or something.

Tillie was still for the better part of an hour before Thunmir spoke. “Tell me what the headstone says.”

Tillie tapped his knees to try and gather the information from the chiseled stone. It was difficult and took a minute for the vibrations to make sense, but he felt that reaching over the grave to touch the stone would be the wrong thing to do.

“Renso, son of Thunmir. May his rest be peaceful and his return joyful.” Tillie went silent, contemplating what that meant. Thunmir had a son once. From the way the stone fractured, it had to be at least ten, maybe twenty years ago. He didn’t know that Thunmir had a son. Granted, he knew little of Thunmir beyond what he taught within the monastery, but there had been rumors abound. He dismissed them as babblings of the bored, but it seemed that one had hit the mark.

“He was 23 when he met his match,” Thunmir said, adjusting the incense so the rising wind would bring the smoke towards the headstone. “He was strong, but willful. He decried tradition in favor of novelty, and he often pushed back when he felt the training was unnecessary.”

Tillie didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t speak, shifting uncomfortably. Though he could kneel for long periods of time, his digitigrade legs made it uncomfortable when his toes held much of his weight rather than his calf.

“Renso fought like one possessed and did not care how he won as long as he did. He often came away from training with more wounds than his partner even when he won. He was reckless.” Thunmir took a deep breath, held it, then slowly released it. “He was protective too, especially over the new students. He was not unkind, though he was often flighty. An inability to choose can create pain as quickly as choosing incorrectly can. He would choose one to take under his wing then change his mind and pick another as quickly as leaves fell from a tree. He left broken hearts of all kinds in his wake.”

Tillie shifted slightly, a stone poking at his knee. He pushed it away, releasing a tense breath of his own. “That sounds cruel,” he said. “Picking someone and then dropping them when they got excited is kind of fucked up.”

“It is,” Thunmir sighed. “He was loved. He was hated. He was adored. He was reviled. His balance was poor and he walked the line of both mentor and betrayer without committing to either. Do you think he would have been better to ignore the students entirely? Or do you think he was better as he was?”

Tillie adjusted the incense for Thunmir as he thought, slotting another small cone into the smoke fountain. “Ignoring them probably. Then people wouldn’t have been hurt when he left.”

“So it would be kinder to withhold love rather than to lose it once given?”

Tillie’s tail flicked. “I don’t know, I’ve never been loved.”

Thunmir’s tail lashed and slapped him, the fierceness of his emotion conveyed regardless of his placid tone. Thunmir had never struck him with his tail before and he had a feeling that the movement was instinctual rather than purposeful. “Do you truly believe that?”

“...Yeah.”

“Hm.” Thunmir was silent. The incense burned slowly until it faded into nothingness and the sun began to set. The air was brisk against Tillie’s skin. He felt like he had failed some sort of test but he had no idea where he had gone wrong.

“Thunmir?”

“Yes, Tillie?”

“Why did you bring me out here?”

Thunmir ran his hand over the grass growing on the grave fondly. “I wanted you to see what your future held if you did not make choices.”

Tillie was baffled at the idea of being compared to Thunmir’s son. “What happened to him?”

“He was murdered,” Thunmir said, paw brushing away ash from the incense burner as he placed it back on the wooden try he had used to carry it. “A disowned student turned against him in the night. The student learned our teachings well and his death was swift and painless. She left and we did not follow.”

“Why not?” Tillie said, muscles tensing at the indignity. “He didn’t deserve that!”

“But he did, Tillie. He took and took but did not give. He made playthings of his students and pulled their strings to make them dance until he grew bored, then chose a new toy. What did he offer in return?” Thunmir placed a knife on the grave, blade flat against the lush greenery.

Tillie tried to find something to reply with, some way to say that murder was wrong as had been drilled in his head. There had to be a purpose to death for it to be worthwhile and fair. It was money, or anger, or— or— betrayal. He didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to think it, but he finally admitted defeat. He huffed in frustration. “But he was your son. Don’t you want to avenge him?”

“He received what he had paid into,” Thunmir said. “The knife that killed him—” he tapped on the blade with a claw “—was the knife he gave the student the first time they laid together. Do you still believe it was unjustified?”

Tillie shifted his weight uncomfortably before finally grumbling, “no.”

“Tell me what this tale has taught you.”

Tillie suppressed a snarl in his throat, annoyed that this was still some sort of test when it wasn’t something that should be used as a tool. “That you can’t just do what you want.”

“Then what must you do, Tillie, when you do not know what decision to make?”

“Make a damn choice anyway, I guess. Can’t just go back and forth on what you want to do. You gotta choose something at some point.”

“Good.” Thunmir picked up the knife and handed it to Tillie hilt first. “Take this.”

Tillie recoiled away from the blade. “I don’t want it.”

“Are you sure?” Thunmir held it a bit closer and Tillie pulled away further, close to actually shuffling away. “Because this is what you are earning with your attitude.”

Tillie’s breath caught. “No I’m not! I’m actually doing something. I’m not fucking with other people anymore!”

“You are hurting me,” Thunmir said, flipping the hilt back into his own grip and sliding it into a sheath at his side. The sound was the same as he had heard when he first met Thunmir. The blade that Thunmir used to pry at his gem in the tavern had been the one to kill the gata’s son and yet Thunmir kept it at his side and used it like it was some random weapon. Tillie’s stomach churned as bile threatened to rise at the thought.

“Eventually, you will need to fight as though your life depends on it regardless of whom you face.” Thunmir stood up, brushing dirt off of his knees and began to walk back to the monastery. “Think upon my words, Tillie. I do not want to bury another of my children again.”

———

The next time they fought, Tillie held back when he managed to capture an arm in his mouth. His teeth cut into the fur and he tasted blood on his tongue, slurping at it to encourage more to spill but did not bite down. He was reprimanded for it, but did not react except to do his punishment silently. To be told not to bite other students in half but then told to crunch down on Thunmir was a hard dichotomy to manage. It happened time and time again, each victory snatched from him when he hesitated.

He didn’t want to leave, not really. He was restless, but the strict monastery kept him in a positive pattern. He knew what he was doing and when to do it. He knew that there were rules and they were very clear. When he broke one, he knew exactly what punishment he was going to get. The idea of leaving was as difficult to swallow as Thunmir’s flesh. He faced Thunmir over and over and the rate of winning increased even as he ended up forfeiting each time by not dealing a final blow.

“Fight me!” Thunmir demanded, a quarterstaff striking Tillie’s face. Tillie snarled, low to the ground and using a hand for balance as well as to feel the vibrations of movement. “Do not fail me again!”

Tillie hissed, tail lashing hard enough that his own spikes nearly cut himself. “Shut up.” Thunmir leapt to the side and Tillie shifted to keep Thunmir in front of him.

“Or what? You’ll actually fight?” Tillie caught the coming strike of the quarterstaff, crunching it in his hand and throwing the splinters aside.

“I am fighting,” Tillie growled.

“No you aren’t,” Thunmir said lightly, dancing forward to tap him on each shoulder before spinning away again. Tillie’s hackles rose, frustrated that Thunmir kept skipping just out of reach. “If you were, you would actually try to grab me and not just stand there, frozen in place like a coward.”

“I am NOT a coward!” Tillie roared and leapt forward where Thunmir was but caught only air, rolling to spring back up to his feet.

“Then next time, bite me.”

“Shut up!” Tillie turned slowly as Thunmir skipped away and out of his immediate reach. There was vibration under his feet, little pings of movement. Students were walking across the grounds around the arena. A squirrel bounced along the ground and scurried into a tree before stilling. The leaves brushed against themselves like paper, rustling more roughly as autumn’s cool stole the softness away. Thunmir’s footsteps were light, barely noticeable among the rest of the stimulation but Tillie narrowed in on them. He didn’t give any indication however, making sure his body language was focused on a point close enough to the true location that he could be feasibly wrong, planning a feint.

He waited for Thunmir to move forward to aim a strike of his own before reaching up with a hand and grabbing Thunmir by the neck, spinning him around and down and caught the other arm in his mouth. Again he was caught in his self-imposed lock up, the blood dripping from Thunmir’s arm and pooling in his mouth. Thunmir began to growl and slapped Tillie on the head.

“Do it!”

Tillie shook him slightly as if to break the bone, but the action was weak at best and he knew it was a pathetic movement. Thunmir struck him again and again. Tillie kept hold of him but did not bite. Thunmir reached for something in his clothing, probably some of the pepper spray he used previously to punish Tillie, however he was instead greeted by a dagger shoving down against his heart gem and trying to pry it off of his skin.

Tillie immediately snapped down on Thunmir’s arm, crunching on the bone and swallowing the pieces roughly. He grabbed Thunmir around his waist and threw him away to avoid continuing, refusing to let himself fall down the path of eating his mentor. He spat out a knucklebone onto the ground and wiped at his face with his arms to try and clean the blood off as quickly as possible. He didn’t want to keep the flavor of Thunmir’s blood in his memory.

“I am disappointed.” Tillie felt like cold water had been dumped on him, stilling. “I attempted to kill you and you still did not try to kill me.”

“You weren’t really going to,” Tillie said defensively and waved at himself to indicate the lack of mortal wounds. “You don’t want to kill me either.”

“I do not,” Thunmir agreed. “I wish for you to grow. Sometimes, however, we must grow on our own. There is nothing more to be done here when you will not fight to your potential. You must walk your own path now.”

Tillie stepped forward, raising a hand in denial. Thunmir’s blood flicked out like water from his arms in the motion, reminding him of his failure. “No!”

“Earn your money with the skills you have learned. I have set up a caravan for you to go back to Fleken where we first met. Use your claws to take lives as easily as you did before I found you, but take gold for the blood you spill. Life is precious. Take it with purpose.” Thunmir’s voice was firm even as he continued to bleed. Healers were at his side, pouring healing spells into him so he could continue to speak without collapsing. “Leave. You are now denied boarding here.”

Tillie’s breath caught. “You’re kicking me out?”

“I am making you leave the nest, fledgling.”

“But you said I can’t come back!”

“I said that you cannot live here anymore,” Thunmir pointed out. “It is not the same.” Tillie growled lowly in response, arms crossing as he dug his claws into his arms to distract from the aching in his chest. He didn’t want to fail Thunmir but he had disappointed him yet again, and now Thunmir was telling him that he wasn’t good enough anymore. Had he ever really been worthwhile?

“I— I don’t want to leave.”

“You do not have a choice. All children must leave home at some point.” Thunmir gasped as his arm was shifted. Tillie heard bone scrape against bone, guilt hitting him as hard as Thunmir’s fists. This time, however, there was no bruise and the wound went deep into his soul. He should have had the self control to stop even when Thunmir was pulling at his gem, maybe then he could have claimed that he needed more training.

Tillie slowly walked towards the main building, hopeful that there would be some sort of change, that Thunmir would say that he could stay, but there was nothing. He gathered his things, the few that there were. It was some clothing, a hood and a scarf. He threw the hood on and curled the scarf around his face. The short fabric left no hanging tails when it was tucked close and hid his neck. He licked it with just the tip of his tongue, tasting the incense that had seeped into the fabric and knowing it would be the last vestige of the monastery he would have.

Tillie stopped at the main gate, a hand resting on the pillar. He could always go back in, refuse to leave, but he heard the marching of feet and knew it was foolish. People were walking towards him in neat rows and columns made of clean lines and practiced steps. From the sound, they were holding weapons. The faint slices of air told him that they were sharp and not the dulled blades that were used in training.

Bitterness burned his chest under the gem. If Thunmir didn’t want him to stay, then fine. He didn’t want to anyway. This was a place for people who didn’t have anything better to do, for weaklings to gather and pretend that they were stronger than they were. They had to work in groups to take Tillie down, so really, this was just dragging him down. He should have left before when he wasn’t thrown out. It was their loss, he told himself as he forced his body to walk out the gate and onto the path.

He didn’t need anyone. He was always second best anyway, so it made sense that they didn’t want him around. A resentful part of him thought that Glaukos probably could have stayed, would have been welcomed and given space for it to be a permanent home. Tillie didn’t have a home, he had pit stops. It was fine. Tillie was fine. He would go out and kill people and get money, and get drunk to fill that empty pit in his stomach that craved someone’s approval.

The uneven stones under his toes were warm but not overhot. He heard horses whickering and the creak of wood, the soft fabric of covered caravans moving with the wind. There was the scent of humans and the strength of it told him that there was a couple in one of the carts, though there were also some walking about and talking with each other.

Tillie stopped before the first cart and in front of the horses. The horses reared, uncomfortable with a creature that they’d never met before. Tillie took a few steps away so they would settle. “Thunmir told me you had passage to Glovernach.”

The woman holding the reins spat to the side away from Tillie. “You’ll earn your keep. Take care of the horses and curry them daily, deal with their shit, feed and water them. I heard that your kind tends to eat anything it can get hold of, so don’t try anything funny. We have some sorcerers around.”

Tillie chuffed sharply. “There are no others like me.”

“All the better, the world doesn’t need more freaks.”

“Fuck you.” Tillie was tempted to bite, to maim and kill, but the monastery was right there. He could practically feel Thunmir’s eyes on him, watching to see if he kept his cool or if he proved as impulsive as he used to be. Tillie turned and walked away.

He didn’t need Thunmir’s help. He was going to do it himself. He knew the location of Fleken. It was to the south and if he followed the Vegrediac mountain range, then he would need to take a sharp western turn when he came to the city at the base of the Uskim Pass. The road was fairly well traveled so there was no danger of getting lost, just distance between his current location and his goal.

He didn’t know where else to go, so he started walking down the road. It wasn’t long before the stones stopped and the way became firmly compacted dirt kept clear by magic. He crushed pebbles under his claws, satisfied with the sensation. He took a few steps and broke into a light jog, the speed comfortable. It was easier when he didn’t need to go in a large circle around the monastery and the path was so wide. He sped up, running faster and faster until he ended up on all fours, sprinting as fast as he could to get adrenaline moving, to feel his muscles burn and his heart race, all to avoid the pain in his chest. It was just the exercise, he told himself. Nothing else.