#special thanks to rfh to encouraging me to share something on here for the first time lol

[lilfoxay]

So... what if I posted an out-of-context bit of a story from like a year ago that I still haven't finished? Without any warning or explanation? I haven't like... revised it even. And it's bad because I sucked a year ago (just kidding, I'm working on the negative self-talk). It is edgy, it is about angels and shit, I am living my middle school power self-insert fantasies and the only person who can stop me is me when I regret posting this immediately after I hit the button. It's below the cut :P

“Unimportant. Why isn’t their soul out yet?”

“Complications,” Oxy walked forward to stand next to the mortician, as both of them studied me closely. I averted my gaze, and quickly found the floor to be a point of interest. “Their soul fights back.”

“Fights back?”

“Happens very rarely, only with the–”

“Souls of angels,” The room filled with an oppressive silence as all three of us pondered the situation we were in. However, I felt pitifully out of the loop. “Is there any chance we could still try?”

“Yes. But neither of us will like what we see, or what they’ll do to us when they get their memories back.”

“We can handle one bird-brain.”

“I’d be offended, but there’s no time,” The mortician cupped their hands around Oxy’s, and soon they both wore blue, crackling spectral gloves tipped with gleaming claws. “On three,” With a grim nod, Oxy plunged their claws into my chest, and the cold feeling spread throughout my body once more. The mortician stepped up next to Oxy, and both their claws now anchored themselves into a part of me I did not know existed. “One,” Both of them shifted their stance. “Two,” The claws hummed louder, and the otherworldly sparking increased in frequency, leaving the room aglow in a pale blue light. “Three!” With a heave, they both tumbled backward onto the floor, pulling me out of my body as they went. Pulling… us… out of our body. I was bent over the steel table, the claws still embedded deep within my torso. Hands that weren’t mine tried to grip their arms and yanked me free, only to pass through them uselessly. Voices that were never my own cried out from my mouth in a cacophony of shouting and sobbing and begging and suffering. I saw through dozens of eyes. I grasped and tugged desperately at the clothes of those who had rent me from my body with a sickly number of hands to no avail. I towered above them, my head scraping the ceiling of a room that even they could not reach. As they both stood, unflinching as the hands attempted to pull them towards us, I could barely think over the storm of screams in my head.

I could not see my reflection. Oxeleure and the mortician’s eyes remained hidden from my view. The room had no mirrors. The metal on the table before me was dull and dirty, but it was better that way. What little I could see of myself, the reactions and body language of those who stood before me, they were enough.

I was a monster.

And yet they did not hesitate.

“The table! Hurry!” shouted the mortician as they dug their spectral claws into one of my arms.

“No need to tell me twice, I’m not an idiot.” Oxeleure soon followed suit, and with a snarl they dragged me down and onto the table. They fastened the shackles around one set of my arms and my ankles, as the rest of my limbs punched and clawed at them in retaliation.

“Jonas, get in here! Bring the potions!”

“What’s the hurry, I thought you were a profe- holy shit!” All of my eyes stared back at them as I struggled against my binds, my many arms uselessly passing through anything I tried to touch.

“Just shut up and get the potions to the body! I don’t know how long these binds can hold something like this!” Rushing forward with an armful of bottles, Jonas let them fall at my body’s feet as they tilted my head back. Cracking open three of the narrow vials, they balanced them in my mouth and pulled two handfuls of needles from their apron’s pockets. Disembodied golden hands, shining with the same energy as the orbs that had healed me, appeared around them and grasped the needles, urgently opening the rest of the vials and collecting as much of the green liquid as each could hold. I watched as they jabbed the needles into my neck, my arms, my legs, and even a few in my heart. I could see my neck turning pink as the liquid from the bottles in my mouth ran down my throat and seemingly brought my body back to life, without me in it. One of my hands once again tried to go for Oxeleure, grasping at their forearm. This time, it connected. They tried to wrench away from my grip as my other hands lurched greedily towards any hope of freedom.

“Uh, Circe, what does it mean when it stops phasing through objects?” The mortician slowly turned to see, as if scared to confront the reality of the situation.

“Thought you would know that by now like you seem to know everything else. It means we’re running out of time. Prepare to move the spirit,” They deftly dodged my arm’s pathetic attempt to claw at them. “Jonas, is the body ready?”

“Yeah, yeah. About as ready as it’ll ever be,” They turned to the mortician, their eyes glowing suns against the sickly blue hue that filled the room. “Tell me when.” The mortician and Oxeleure dug their claws into the pair of shoulders closest to my head, tensing their muscles in preparation.

“Okay in three, two, one…” The shackles flew open, their runes extinguishing, “NOW!” They both yanked me up from the table, hurling me towards the body as the golden hands injected the rest of the potions into my corpse. Against my will, my many sets of arms braced themselves against the chair and pushed back. The golden hands let the needles clatter to the floor as the blue energy coursed around them. Growing claws of their own, they burrowed deep into my bones and my chest, and I felt my hands slip through the chair as I screamed in agony. With a heave, Jonas, Oxeleure, and the mortician finally shoved my spirit back into my body. The glow from my own soul vanished, as well as the light from the claws and spiritual hands, as they all fell to the floor in exhausted silence.

“Swear to God… if you die after all this shit we just went through…” Jonas growled between gasps. Sharing their sentiment, Oxeleure crawled forward and clasped my leg. It was almost as if the sudden ‘attack’ scared me back to life. I lurched forward, gasping and panting and coughing and living for the first time in days. The mortician recovered the fastest, getting to their feet and dusting off their clothes. I felt firmly rooted in my own body once again, and for the first time, started being able to register the details of my surroundings.