docnukes · 9 months ago
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Davesport sauna because the world is my toy and I play with it
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celticfeather · 4 years ago
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Chpt 1 Here
Chapter 7: Yatagarasu
-Uchiha Itachi-
Itachi dragged his thumb through the blood and smeared it to a pattern on the dirt. Smoke overtook the scent of blood, and he saw soft light gently reflect on scaled black claws. Itachi did not know if he could trust his partner to help him, but the alternative was death.
"Bring me Kisame."
The four-spiked eye of a martyr blinked animally, and the toothy choanal slit inside its beak separated the fading light as his messenger cawed its obedience. Air and dust from the downstroke puffed against his face, and Itachi was terrifyingly, relievingly, alone.
Itachi focused on breathing. In and out, like the waves on the sand of the mangrove shore. He wanted to cough, but some still-reptile part of his brain advised him that was unwise. The vibrant world of the sharingan had faded in the sad colors and weak detail of an ordinary human eye, and then to something less than that. Itachi did not know if he closed his eyes, he did not know how blind he was, some things he saw from multiple angles at once... He drew gentle swirls with his fingers in the mud. Tiny Vs like rising crows, no, they were gills, three tight chevrons next to esurient silver eyes. Why was there mud beneath him? The summer was hot and dry.
He could see a dead weasel on the ground next to him. A convocation of crows gathered in an impatient funeral. With plunging swordlike beaks they tore out the weasel's tongue. They raised its tiny black eyes, tender as berries, and the nerves slithered down their throats. A crow hopped over the corpse's ribs, it had three legs. They tore open Itachi's chest and bore into his heart and all was hot and red, and then, nothing.
He heard a hiss. Samehada, no, heal him damn you!
He felt wind on his face, and his head swung dizzily, though he didn't remember telling his legs to move. The being who smelled of ocean's salt took him somewhere; its humid scent was unfamiliar to him.
Two strange tall birds looked at him. One was orange with violet eyes and the other was violet with orange eyes.
"He needs a healer," the breath of salt sailed to the violet bird.
"I'm a sensory ninja. Not a medic. But there's a doctor in a village nearby."
The world shifted as the ocean bowed. "I'm sorry for assuming."
Shivering steel chilled Itachi's wet skin. A bee stung him on the arm. Someone gave him a glass of orange juice with a straw. It was sweet, tangy and delicious, bright as an orange blossom on a mud puddle. His attention drew to this glass of juice, and his surroundings sharpened. He became aware of a stranger in a white coat in the background.
"The IV will ease the desanguination. However, proceeding further has drawbacks..."
"Like what?" the ocean voice said.
Itachi was out of orange juice. He tried to get the doctor's attention, but he was busy. A blue hand gave him another juice. What a kind hand.
"Chakra-healing him will cause permanent scar tissue damage in his chest cavity. If we go through with this, he could have endurance problems for the rest of his life."
"And if you do nothing?"
"The internal bleeding will rot his organs, and in two days, sepsis will kill him."
"Please do all you can."
The doctor placed his cold hands on Itachi's bare chest. He felt he should have shivered, or flinched, but his body would no longer respond to its nervous impulses. A pulsing like ripples on a puddle spread across his body. It warmed his limbs like alcohol but dispelled the delirium like icewater.
Itachi coughed the blood clot that previously must have held his lungs together. The doctor grimaced.
"Excuse me," Itachi apologized through bloody teeth, looking up at an unfamiliar doctor from the red soaked towel.
The doctor's eyes traced to the medical-waste bin adjacent the chair, and Itachi deposited the towel there.
"How do you feel?" the doctor asked.
Itachi did not feel like answering. He looked instead at the two other menacing individuals in the room with him.
"You are, as usual, praised for your discretion," Konan, the violet crane, told the doctor in what was both thanks and a threat. She drew a black velvet pouch from her robe and paid him in gold coins. It seemed Konan at least was unconstrained by Kakuzu's budget. The pleased doctor accepted the gold without concern.
Itachi examined the treatment room. The equipment was modern, but it was on the ground floor of an ordinary building, with mud walls, and a glassless sunny window. Konan and Kisame stood backlit. He had thought he'd seen Pain, but their leader had not accompanied them to the doctor if he had been there at all. Itachi was not sure what he had imagined of the last hours and what was real. In as subtle a way as he could, he pressed his fingertips over his own eyelids, his tongue against his palette, to make sure they were real. That no crows had picked them out.
He looked at Kisame, his silver eyes were like cautious mirrors. In front of this doctor and Konan, Kisame's expression maintained a perfect mask of normality. Itachi was tempted to probe his thoughts, cast aside the flimsy tin shields guarding the man's mind and dive beneath. He could do it, but he didn't.
The three Akatsuki exited the building. Konan, tall for a woman at his height, walked on his right side with Kisame on his left. Her amber eyes slid to Itachi with aloof concern. "Who did this?"
"Anbu got a hit in while we slept. We took care of them," Kisame answered for him.
"It happens. Have someone professional clean your robes," she advised. She gave them each a gold coin. Little did she know they were already loaded with stolen cash. But they took the gold anyway.
She flared her angular paper wings, and Konan left the fire and water pair to their devices.
"Do we stink?" Itachi asked, turning the gold coin.
"Yes. Well, you do. I can't smell me."
The chakra healing left Itachi feeling disquietingly whole, minus a tightness in his chest. It had been since his Leaf Village days that he received effective treatment. The closest the Akatsuki pack of killers had to a field medic was Kakuzu, and well… fortunately Itachi had never needed his reattachment specialty. Or Sasori, who after a battle might aloofly recommend a certain plant. 'A purple mountain bloom with heart shaped leaves, but chew only its roots, for the pistil metabolizes a stealthy toxin when combined with hydrochloric acid…'
A stealthy toxin.
Kisame gave him a wary, perhaps expectant, side eye as the two men walked silently abreast.
"A question for you, Kisame."
"Yes?"
"You do understand, entrapping me would not be wise for your health," Itachi warned, eyes straight forward.
"You think I set you up."
"I entertain the possibility. You repeatedly asked me about the Infinite Tsukuyomi, interrogated me on the whisper of disagreement, and Zetsu reported it to Madara."
A daring smile. Kisame halted on the path. "Why don't you just look in my head and find out?"
Itachi used no genjutsu on Kisame. When he didn't, Kisame spoke.
"When you disappeared from that orchard, I imagined you and our leader had some Uchiha secrets to discuss. Or you pissed him off. That raven of yours found me, and with one look at your sorry carcass, I knew that you definitely pissed him off.
"But, if Madara wanted you dead, I would not have been able to help you."
Kisame's statement did not exactly exonerate him of double play. Obviously Madara had still had a use for Itachi in letting him live, and therefore Kisame would be instructed to treat him. But it did explain Kisame's train of thought. He believed Kisame was innocent of conducting any purposeful snare against him, for now. Perhaps in asking his questions, the wandering Kisame had just been curious on his worldview. And Itachi realized, he wanted to investigate his partner's principles as well.
"What happened after Madara took you?" Kisame asked.
"Madara used his ability to teleport me somewhere, through some other dimension. We exchanged words, then blows. When he let me live, I vowed my hatred."
"Hopefully he'll credit your rudeness to you being delirious from pain," Kisame continued. "Otherwise, you've got a problem on your hands."
Somehow Kisame's chastation relieved him.
"I know," Itachi agreed. "You need not worry about me. I'll hunt this beast of his — I would prefer not to die."
A short, sure laugh from Kisame.
Itachi's contract with Madara stood: the Leaf would be safe from him as long as he fell in the Akatsuki line. And Itachi would do whatever it took to serve the Will of Fire. Itachi was, for better or for worse, a master of small evils.
"In my hallucinations, I saw the three-legged crow, Yatagarasu. In the myth of my country, he heralds the emergence of gods," Itachi said.
"You've got some weird religion in the Leaf," Kisame dismissed.
"What is the folk religion in the Mist?" Itachi asked.
"Our elders say the world was born on the back of a giant turtle. And when that turtle dies, the world will sink back into the sea."
"So you learn how to swim," Itachi noted.
"I'm not saying I believe in giant turtle gods."
"What does Hoshigaki Kisame believe in then?"
A grunt, apparently.
Kisame was a being on the hunt, the hunt for some sort of belief system. He sought belonging in serving something greater than himself. So he attached himself to Akatsuki and the Infinite Tsukuyomi. Without it Kisame had no purpose and no self.
No, that last part was false.
"Thank you for helping me," Itachi said. "I apologize for accusing you of betraying me."
Kisame looked away from him and said, "Not a problem."
Itachi viewed the sky with his Sharingan. He searched for the ultraviolet aurora of the earth's magnetic field. Perhaps in a peaceful century, the Uchiha clan would reveal to scientists that this was the mystery of how birds migrated: they could see these magnetic, purplish, static in the sky that indicated latitude and north. But Itachi's ancestors taught him early to never reveal exactly how the Sharingan worked to outsiders. The magnetic field hazed in a weak aurora far to the northern horizon, indicating that they were further south than previously.
"Where exactly are we?" Itachi asked.
"Can you smell it? Land of Tea," Kisame answered.
An idea germinated in Itachi. It would be on the way. He thought of banished Susanoo, who wandering earth after his crimes, found his greatest weapon, his Totsuka Blade, in the belly of a giant serpent he had slain.
"I would like to speak with someone here."
"Never took you for one good at making friends."
"I'm not."
"Anything I should know about them?"
"If he licks you… bite him."
Kisame, expression amused, gestured for Itachi to lead the way.
In a few hours, the two dangerous men had arrived in an equally dangerous place.
With his Sharingan, Itachi noticed a small camouflaged snake emerge from a crack, flick its tongue, and recede. He was unsure if his target would answer his summons but it was worth trying. No, he would be answered. This man's greatest sin was curiosity. He would not be able to resist wondering why Uchiha Itachi was on his doorstep, even if it killed him.
The stonework hidden under the jungle vines began to tremble. Itachi had not seen this individual since their last clash in the Akatsuki. Itachi had paralyzed him with a glance and struck his body full of rods. He had not even needed the Tsukuyomi.
A slender white-skinned demon stepped from the revealed earthen cave. His venom-smooth androgynous voice coursed unruffled to the two ninja.
"The young crow approaches the snake at its den. Not how I expected your revenge, Itachi."
"If I wanted you dead, I would have done it already," Itachi commanded.
Orochimaru, somewhat more diplomatic than Itachi, narrowed his eyes. An uneasy wind blew between the two Leaf Rogues as Orochimaru waited for more information. Itachi was too merciless to speak twice.
"Orochimaru of the Sanin," Kisame broke the silence, stretching his lips over his teeth and maintaining eye contact in something between a greeting and a threat. "Good to meet you at last."
"And who are you?" the Sanin returned.
"Hoshigaki Kisame, formerly of the Hidden Mist. A pleasure."
"Mhm," Orochimaru hummed smug as a song, and his vertical pupils traced back to his main interest. The question was an insult: the most knowledgeable being in the five nations surely already knew who Hoshigaki Kisame was.
"I require information," Itachi said. He had reserved fatal judgement on Orochimaru at their last encounter in hopes that this Sanin's talents could be subverted. And one way or another, Itachi would collect his debts.
"Concerning?"
"Forbidden jutsu."
A sly, approving, perhaps flirtatious noise. "You know who to ask."
Orochimaru headed into his dark den, exposing his back in a gesture Itachi found coquette and arrogant. Orochimaru turned his head for Itachi to follow, and paced forward into the darkness. Kisame made eye contact with Itachi, sensing the matter was far more personal than it seemed. Perhaps Kisame's pause confirmed that he was welcome.
"Come," Itachi said. They needed to get away from where Zetsu could see them. And, he could use an ally's eyes in a house of the enemy. Itachi was not arrogant enough to think he was above being outsmarted by an Orochimaru with years to ruminate against him.
Like down the esophagus of a snake, the two rogues walked an earthen corridor after Orochimaru. Flaming sconces gleamed green on modern scientific equipment, and animal specimens lined the walls in glass jars. The jars contained mostly reptiles, but Kisame looked at a shark pup and a crow, and back at Itachi.
In the belly of his lair, Orochimaru halted before a green flaming hearth in a great stone hall. Library halls of tomes and scrolls stretched behind him. He faced Itachi with the flames at his back.
"How truly desperate you must be to come to me for wisdom, Itachi. However… my knowledge has a price."
Itachi did not come to trade.
"I've come to reap your debt. Your cooperation is wholly optional." Itachi's Sharingan spinned Mangekyou.
The fire at the hearth extinguished and it was completely, disorientingly black. Itachi and Kisame were blind. Itachi could not use his genjutsu without light. But he knew snakes could sense heat signatures as precisely as an eye could light. He felt Kisame tense next to him, and his arm reach for Samehada.
Stay calm, Itachi thought at Kisame. He would feel it in his body.
"There's no need for that," Orochimaru deescalated from the darkness. Apparently he had changed his mind on the payment.
"Good," Itachi maintained curtly. "We will continue this discussion in the light."
The green fire returned. Samehada slid back into its hilt. Itachi's eyes retracted to their normal red.
"So," Orochimaru said.
"Tell me all you know about the Second Hokage's instant transportation technique."
An amused purr. "Teleportation. My, my, who has got you on the run, Itachi?"
"We've got places to be," Kisame maintained. The Mist ninja was right.
Itachi cared little about being on time for their next mission in the Land of Rivers. But he had to conceal the exact target of his question from both Kisame and Orochimaru. Madara had no doubt used something related to the Second Hokage's technique for his dimension-hopping. And until Itachi had a way to bind Madara to this plane, Itachi knew he would lose their next fight.
"As much as I respect the Second, it was the young Fourth who was the true master of space-time techniques," Orochimaru said, stepping towards his library.
"I understand. The Flying Thunder-God technique gained the Yellow Flash a run-on-sight order from the enemy alliance, and created the illusion that he was in multiple places at once."
"You are not completely uneducated," Orochimaru pulled a scroll from the wall.
"I would also like to know how to disable it."
Orochimaru paused. "You mean, how an enemy could theoretically stop the Fourth from transporting himself."
"Yes."
"There is some research into this."
"By who?"
Orochimaru pulled a second scroll. "Minato himself. However, Minato's research went incomplete. It involved a sealing jutsu currently unreplicatable."
Orochimaru opened the scroll to Itachi. On it was written a simple character in a brownish ink.
"Human blood," Itachi noted. Aged.
"Minato's blood, specifically. Unfortunately, as you know, Namikaze Minato has been a corpse for thirteen years."
"There must be another way," Itachi said.
Orochimaru closed the scroll. "You could ask him."
"Make no jokes, or worse, threats, Orochimaru," Itachi warned.
Orochimaru dipped his sly head without submission. "I apologize."
Itachi examined Minato's blood scroll. "Are these two all you have on the transportation subject?"
"All that would be of succinct use to you."
Itachi turned the scroll in his hand. He would keep them both for study. Orochimaru was too wise to comment or object.
"We'll be taking our leave now." Itachi said.
"A moment."
Orochimaru presented Itachi with a snake's egg. It was rubbery and pill shaped, rather than hard and tear-drop shaped like a bird's.
"If you need to come here again, do be polite and use this."
Fair chance Itachi would awake to a snake hatchling poisoning him in his sleep, or find himself strapped on the demon's dissection table when activating it. But Itachi accepted the egg anyway. Same as the original Orochimaru, it could be researched, repurposed, or destroyed.
Itachi walked out of Orochimaru's lair, the two scrolls under his arm, purposefully slow and dominant. Then he and Kisame ran briefly in the daylight trees, not wanting to dwell in Orochimaru's territory, and slowed again to a walk when they thought themselves far enough from any possible backstabbing. Kisame extended the first of the two scrolls before him.
"'Mark the jutsu formula on the target...' how are we supposed to use this? We can't teleport ourselves to this country if we've never been there before."
"Indeed we cannot," Itachi said.
"Well!" Kisame closed the scroll with unusual enthusiasm. "Too bad your transportation idea didn't work. I suppose we'll have to travel to the Land of Rivers my way."
As he spoke, Kisame looked through the jungle trees at the emerging ocean.
Your way? Itachi battled a sinking premonition. "Does it involve giant sharks?"
"No."
Good.
"Just one question for you, Itachi."
"Yes?"
"Have you ever taken over a ship before?"
Author's note:
Aaand next up is chapter 8, the KisaIta zany sea adventure!
Many thanks to beta SilverLion for her help reviewing this chapter!
Thank you readers for being patient with this chapter. I had an especially difficult time navigating current world events and I had to leave my home. But it's important to weaponize your creativity when you're stuck in the unknown. Please share this story with your friends if you like it, and let me know what you think :D
Steadfast,
Kelto
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twofootedbones · 4 years ago
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Wooden Boxes (Entire Story)
Summary: Small group of friends finds themselves in the forest just to get drunk and burn tree branches in a fire pit. One thing leads to another and now John is stuck with some kind of cheap horror movie plot box and a becomes responsible for a murder. Now that is all just between him and Father Erik. 
"Father I believe I have done more than sin, " John sat calmly on his side of the confessional. The calm demeanor wasn’t going to last long as his story continued and he knew this. "Tell unto me your troubles child, " Father Erik had invited the boy into the safe space after his recent suspicious behavior. John hadn't always been one to make it to church every single Sunday, but the boy's family was well known here. The man had watched him grow up watching him become more and more of a strapping young man each Sunday up until he had gone off towards college. But for the young man to suddenly appear in his church after all this time, it was obviously a moment of need. John stared down at his shoes, simple black sneakers that he could see the collecting dust fall towards. The woven brown reeds were pierced by the dyed sunlight coming from the stained glass. Greens, blues, and reds danced around the space making everything seem like it was all a children’ room. 
"It started through a party, " 
Erik would've never expected the boy to say anything like that. The blonde never seemed like the type to go to any party higher than a get-together. But there could be a lot about the boy he didn’t know.
 "We were all drinking, no one driving, it was technically supposed to be a camping trip, "
-
"If you haven't finished that wine yet you better fucking pass it bitchboy, " Conner gargled and cackled. His voice slurred through 2 fireballs and more than his fair share in beer. John clung to the white wine like it was a bar of gold. "You drunk slut! Get your own!" He yelled swatting away the hands of his brother. Saron sat across on a separate log, laughing into his premade sex on the beach, while poor Rick sipped from his Vermouth. He had to be the slightly sober one out of all of this, having to get at least a gallon or two of the booze before getting any kind of buzz.
 The blonde twins on the other side of the fire continued to argue about who should get the long empty white wine bottle. The air was crisp, untouched by human pollution, it was strange to both Rick and Saron but to the other two, the forest was a second home. Everyone held their own geographic location close to their hearts, while Saron loved the feeling of sand and the sounds of the sea, John craved the smell of the great pines and the sight of the growing ivy. The fire crackled before them, embers flying up into the now dying daylight. The chill of the wind started to hit everyone but the safety of Rick's van was only feet away. John shot up, almost immediately falling back over in the process. 
"I'm going to go take a piss, and I'm taking my wine with me, " he announced while stumbling towards the surrounding trees. "Don't stay out there for too long!" Rick called after him. Saron pats the older boy on the chest. "This is John we are talking about, if he gets lost then we're in a different forest, " 
The blonde did a sloppy job doing his business, hitting everything around the tree trunk rather than the tree trunk he was currently touching foreheads with. Something yelped behind him, it was like a scream that was gagged too soon. The blonde shot around, zipping himself up with more precision than his blackout brain would've wanted. He had never heard a sound like that in the forests before, no bird or mountain lion could ever make such a sound. There was someone or something out there amongst the leaves with him. 
Eyes started to search the leaves desperately, his drunken brain making him see and assume the worst of the worst. Was there a body amongst them? Did the poor boy wander upon a murder scene? The wind blew through the leaves, the temperature dropping with the sun. Once green trees are now turning black. The forest colors dripping down into the ground, making everything a harsh brown and an unforgiving black. Those green eyes wandered across something that might've matched the scenery, but the shape was wrong. A thick and tall wine box sat rotting amongst the forest floor. The top of the box was covered in layers upon layers of various colored candle wax. It seemed to be fresh wax, no dirt visible in the brightly colored substance. It sat straight up, facing the boy and almost inviting him in. At first, he was going to laugh, no amount of adrenaline could sober him up. He giggled at the box, unable to see any seriousness in the situation, believing that this thing could just be someone’s time capsule or some kind of harmless prank.
 "Did you just scream?" he asked the box. He moved closer, stumbling and slow. He started to talk to the box like it was a small dog, fear had left him. "Ya cold out here buddy? Come on, let's go back to the bonfire, " with that John picked up the box and started to carry it back towards camp. Everyone had already crawled their way into the van by then, so he slipped the box into his lemon of a car, placing it in the passenger side before forcing himself into the pile in the back of the van, shutting the van door behind him. He pushed himself onto the end being back to back with his brother. Having all of the blankets stolen from him before he had even fallen asleep. The sounds of the forest seeming to pierce the metal walls and echo through the vehicle. 
-
"This box, " 
Erik interrupted the story snapping John back to the tan comfort of the confessional. "What did it look like again?" 
John knew all too well what the box looked like, he knew every single detail and wax smudge on that stupid box. For something so simple it was stapled into his mind so well. The bright tan of the wood and how it was stained different shades from the candle wax. How the locks on the side looked so out of place and how the screws were put in wrong.
 "It was a wine box, one of those old ones like the cigar boxes, with white and purple candle wax all over it, " 
“Hm,” 
-
The sun tried it's best to pierce through the dirtied and fogged up windows of the van but had no such luck, only creating a dim and dusty light that stained everything yellow. John had woken up first, almost expecting the sound of his alarm to attack his senses, but instead it was just the lovely symptoms of a hangover. The night before started to come back to him as he gazed upon the white wine bottle he fought so hard to keep cuddled up to him. 
While the red of the metal walls and the yellow of the light provided comfort, something was off. There was something wrong about the scene, it felt as if he shouldn’t be here. The forest was silent, no morning birds, no sounds of the small creatures running through the leaves and the bushes, nothing. Something was stopping everything. 
No matter how hard he tried to shake it, the feeling of someone watching him overpowered his murderous migraine. Rick, the patron saint of all their outings, had packed not only a surplus of aspirins and a cooler of just orange juice. His pounding mind pleaded for him to try and get up to get the two miracle products but something was stopping him. Something was looking right at them, he could feel it. A pair of eyes all too bigger than his own we're starting him down and he could feel them on him. Three deep breaths and counting the number of breaths that came from the rest of the room grounded him. Three of his own and three others. The sunlight started to brighten, desperately wanting to get inside of the van. How much time was he wasting staring at the ceiling? And how much longer was this feeling going to last? 
Then something else tried to get in. An unidentifiable head covered the small back window, much too large to be a human's. It didn't move, just stood there. John couldn't see the window, but when the light that once covered the roof had up and left him, so did any calm demeanor that he once had. "Rick, " 
He called out for the silver-haired boy, hoping and praying that he could see what he was seeing. "Rick, wake up, " John' eyes refused to leave the ceiling, watching and waiting for the light to come back. "Rick, " he repeated in a harsher tone. 
"Wh- what? What?" He had finally woken up, and just like that, the light was back. John finally got his bones to move, sitting up and changing his focus from the roof to the window. "I think there's someone outside the van, " 
"What?" was apparently the word of the day. "Yeah, I think there's someone outside, they were just looking through the window, " 
Rick untangled himself from Saron and pushed himself up against the same window that the head was once hiding behind. The boy pushed to unlock the door while the other two struggled with their own hangovers. Conner lazily watched in awe as the silver-haired boy moved so fast. He swung the van door open as well as started swinging, looking back and forth for anyone around. “Hello?!” he called out to the empty, empty forest. John trailed out after him, wobbly from the sun’s rays attacking his eyes and brains. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s out here,” he said a bit calmer to the staggering blonde. “But there definitely was, look at your poor car dude,” 
John staggered over towards his vehicle, hearing the van door slide shut behind him, the two left there no doubt snuggling back up and falling back asleep. The entire windshield was covered in sap. A full brown and golden coat covered the glass, almost completely obscuring the view. “It must’ve been some fuckin prankster kids or something,” Rick shook his head, reaching to touch the syrup. “I have a snow scraper under the seat it might work,” the blonde mumbled. 
-
“The whole front glass pane?” the older man interrupted with another question. “If it really was just some hooligans, where would they have gotten all that tree sap?” 
John laughed on the other side of the thin woven wall. “It would be quite the prank to pull, no matter how much I scraped, there was no real way to get rid of it,” the boy would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about gathering tree sap just to do that to Conner or believing that Conner had done that to his car himself. “Six car washes later it’s not as sticky anymore but the windshield wiper still gets stuck,” 
“Continue with your story, my child,” 
-
The door swung open all too fast, slamming the door handle into the thankfully placed door stopper. It wasn’t like it was stopping much due to the many doorknob sized holes in the wall. The apartment manager wasn’t exactly happy about it, but this wasn’t exactly anything new. He’s been living here for a year now, when he moves out he’ll fix it. The aspirins had started to wear themselves off as they lacked the power to last the whole migraine. That’s only expected from gas station migraine meds. He shut the door behind him with his foot, unable to touch the handle with his hands as they were both filled with the simple camping equipment and the new antique he gets to add to his collection, free of charge. He set the wine box down on the coffee table, for now, the glass clinking as the metal corners hit the surface.
John left the box there, wandering further into the two-bedroom one bath apartment to shove the other items there before returning to the couch where he would further hibernate. On the way back to the living room, he kicked off his shoes only to leave them somewhere in the hallway. Right now was not the time to keep things simple and clean. The shirt came off next, being thrown somewhere towards the kitchen but he never saw where it landed. A pale body flopped onto the small pull out couch, his feet hanging off the other end but being too lazy to pull the whole small bed out of the couch. Green eyes stared at the wine box that made the coffee table it's home. The box was surprisingly clean for being somewhere in the forest. John started to search for his phone, slapping his pockets until he could recognize the size of his ancient smartphone in his front pocket. 
While Conner begged for him to update his phone and finally live the 5G life if it wasn’t broken don’t fix it. John clicked open the phone and started his common words search. Wine box covered in wax? Spiritual box? Vintage box covered in wax? Spiritual wine box? 
The last search is when he actually got anything. Dybbuk box. What was currently sitting on his coffee table was something called a Dybbuk box. Thousands of clickbait videos showed up in the results. Tens of them having “Gone wrong” somewhere in the title. He opened up Youtube, clicking through the thousands of videos till he could find some kind of informational video that was obviously a child's clickbait. A short video by some kind of news site told him everything he could need to know. Well, not really but get the gist. The box held some kind of demon, a demon that would latch itself onto whoever came into contact with the box. John had carried that box with both hands on multiple occasions. The lady in the video said that the bad events would come in threes, but with the millions of clickbait videos, he started to believe that this was all just a load of shit. Mostly considering that the legendary box was a small wine cabinet and not a dinky single bottle wine box.
 The boy clicked his phone off and set it down on the coffee table next to the box. “Did some Youtuber leave you in the forest, huh?” he asked the box. He smiled at the small prop, laughing about the story he could tell to Travis and Carol in class tomorrow. “I got a bookshelf with your name on it,” he spoke to the box again. 
He didn’t realize that he had slept until he woke up to the natural light leaving him behind. What was he doing when he got home? The light of the street lamps found their way through his windows. He didn’t want to get up just yet, staring out his window and watching the cars on the road outside. Class started back up tomorrow, ending spring break and starting the home stretch to summer break. As if he was even going to make it that long. His grades have been falling to pieces before his very eyes, having to get Travis and Carol to help him with everything. They were upperclassmen and he’s lucky that he even got them to look at his direction. Maybe he could squeeze in a bit of homework tonight. His eyes wandered towards the ceiling. 
Something blocked the light again. 
The same pitch black figure, head much too large for its own body, it was a blessing that the neck could even support it. Or perhaps that's just what the shadow made it look like. John had only got a glimpse of it before it duck down below the window. The blonde shot up, staring back at the window. Now he was starting to regret not having curtains. He didn’t live in a shady part of town or didn't trust his neighbors, but he was starting to. John rolled off the couch, keeping his eyes on the window only looking away to check if the door was locked. It wasn’t. 
The boy dreaded moving anywhere close to the window, it was an irrational fear, there was nothing there he could still be drunk and this all was just his eyes playing tricks on him. He was just tired. It was just one of his neighbors walking by. It was a car going by the streetlamp. 
The two locks shut with two simple clicks. The door knob lock jiggles slightly and the deadbolt sliding securely into place. A short lived wave of calm brushed over him, a breath he didn’t know he was holding escaped between his lips. A crash snapped him back into reality, his body whipped around to face the wine box that had now flashed itself onto the floor, standing up perfectly. John wasn’t a very religious person, while his family forced him into church he believed it was all just some story that people preached for morals like fairy tales. But at that moment, he could believe that there was something in the house with him.
“This is ridiculous,” 
Anger forced his anxiety out and made itself the leading factor of his actions. The blonde stormed over and snatched the box off of the ground, almost throwing it into the spare room. The box landed amongst the forgetting camping stuff on the floor. He slammed the door behind him and went to bed without a shower. 
-
“You threw the Dybbuk box?” 
The voice was harsh and stern. Erik was always a second father to him, so it was a bit difficult to hear that tone. John started to shake, regret and grief taking over him for disrespecting the box and disappointing Erik. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbled holding his head in his hands. The center latched clicked open and the small door opened up, the older man slipping in a box of tissues. 
-
The most annoying alarm rang through the apartment, breaking through the blockage of both the walls and the pillows. John slapped the life out of his phone, sliding his and back and forth to desperately shut the sound off. His face still buried deep into his pillow and blankets still covering his face. His hand bumped into something that definitely wasn’t on his nightstand last night. The harsh wooden texture and the smooth oily feeling made his eyes shoot open faster than a speed dial. There stood the box, right on his nightstand. John sighed, slamming his face back into the pillow, this had to be a prank. His hand remained on the box, trying to think of who had a spare key to his apartment. 
Conner.
 Of course his brother would do some stupid shit like this. His pranks always had layers upon layers of planning. A small splinter of doubt hit him, believing that Conner was too piss drunk to place the box behind him in the woods, but then he remembered that Rick was sober and that trio of assholes lived together. So, of course he would be in on it. The blonde rolled out of bed, checking the time on his phone before picking the box back up. 
“If I throw you away then he won’t be able to move you around anymore,” he spoke to the box again. “But then again, if I hide you somewhere then I could catch him in the act,” he smiled, his plan sounding like a great one. There weren't a lot of places in his apartment that he could hide the box, but there were a few places he knew Conner would never look. So, into the back of the freezer it went. The box was covered up by frozen bags of fruits and vegetables. “Let’s see him find you now,” 
-
John got home from class like it was every other day, slamming the door open and closing it softly before throwing himself onto his couch and crashing his backpack onto the coffee table. Only this time when his backpack slammed itself into the coffee table, it shoved something else off of it. John lacked a TV so there was no way he could blame the crash on something as simple as a remote. The blonde lifted his head to see before him the stupid box. He was started to curse this box and the stupid game his brother was playing on him, did the boy really search through everywhere?! And in the freezer of all places?! He was sick of it. He was sick of the idea that Conner had even thought that doing this stupid little demon prank was a good idea. 
It all just bothered him so much more than it should, unable to understand these drastic moods lately. He was mad almost all the time now, mad at his apartment door, mad at his classmates, mad at his stupid car, mad at his friends for being so fucking nosy, and mad at himself for being mad. It was all so confusing.
But angering all the same. 
The blonde struggled to find out where the thorn in his demeanor was from, while the box in front of him knew exactly where it was from. The boy stared at the box, brows permanently frowed together in the most peeved face he had ever made. “What’s even inside you anyway you useless thing?” he asked in the box. Then it jostled. Causing him to become startled himself. “What the fuck?” he said aloud, quickly shifting to sit up and pick up the box. It jumped again in his hands. This scared him more than just seeing it move on the floor. He's held jumping beans before, but those were small, whatever this was, was bigger than some bug.
 John threw the box across the room, hearing it crash against the wall with a thud then crack open on the floor. The wax scattered itself and the wood splintered. The inside remained pitch black despite the many lights that flooded the apartment. John stood up, backing away but needing to get closer to be able to kill whatever rat or creature Conner had put in this stupid wine box.  It was only after a void black dripping hand slapped itself out of the small box did he realize that this wasn’t a prank. The hand desperately slapped and gripped at the carpet floor, whatever it was attached to wanting out. The fingers curled and flexed in all different directions, seeming to drag itself towards John. The boy was stuck in place, watching with wide eyes as a second hand forced itself out of the broken box. Both arms and finger flexing and flailing around, the sound of the newly wet carpet being slapped on by the mystery appendages. A watermelon sized head pulled itself out of the small opening, the jaw was sharp and pointed in several areas, just above opening in a large toothed mouth with a swirling tongue that seemed to go up and lick the rest of the face like a gecko would to its own eyeball. The head shook back and forth, sometimes even slapping itself on the carpet too, desperately wiggling to free itself from the prison it had once been trapped in. A skinny body followed the head, neck thinner than would ever be expected to lift the head and a chest that was no larger than a notebook. There were no legs on the creature, relying on the long arms it had to keep it mobile. It seemed to look around the small apartment before making a Beeline towards the blonde that only watched in shock and fear as it dragged itself forward and onto the coffee table with just its thin and dripping arms. It was as if the creature was made out of nothing but stale and out of date ink. The large mouth opened before those arms propelled the body towards John with a powerful launch. 
Last thing he knew, the creature was on his face. 
-
John woke up on his apartment floor hours upon hours later. It couldn’t have been that long because it was still light outside, but the buzzing of his phone told a different story. The simple caller ID told him that it was one of his classmates. Well technically an upperclassmen, but he was a classmate all the same. “Hello? Travis?” he spoke slurred into the phone. “John!?” the voice on the other end boomed. “Where have you been!? You’ve been out for two days!” 
There was no way his phone battery had lasted more than 3 hours the day he got home. The boy looked down at himself as the older man on the other line continued to speak, completely tuning him out as he examined himself. He was still wearing the same shirt and same shorts he had been wearing when he got home. The same backpack sat on the coffee table. The scene he endured came back to him, he whipped his head around to look for wither the creature that attacked him or the box he had shattered, but neither were present.
“Are you even listening to me?” Travis snapped him back to the phone conversation he hadn’t gotten a word of. “What?” he asked.
“Where are you? Me and Carol are going to come get you, we’ve been worried to death dude,” 
Well that was reasonable. “I’m just at my apartment,” 
“We’re on our way,” and with that the line went dead.
A feeling of dread started to attack the boy, although it was just a simple phone conversation, he was yet again alone in his apartment. He was afraid to move, even more terrified to even go into any of the rooms of the house. There was no telling where the thing had gone, even if it did make it back to the stupid box, he didn’t want to see it anymore. John looked down to his legs and noticed something he hadn’t earlier. From his ankle all the way up his legs, even so much as stretching under his shorts, was covered in patches of bruises. While some were a fading yellow, others were the deepest purple he had ever seen. How was he supposed to explain these to Travis and Carol? 
John would either have to face his fears of the other rooms, or try and explain that he was attacked by a Lovecraft creature. The boy stood up on aching legs, almost immediately falling back to his stop on the ground. It hurt. The boy's face twisted up in pain, temporarily distracting him from the fear of the loose creature. Each step sent shockwaves through his body, his feet feeling as if he was walking on scolding needles. The walk towards the bedroom door felt as if an hour had already passed, sweat starting to run down his face already. While he turned the doorknob to the room, the one attached to the front door started to shake as well. It was followed by all too forceful knocks and a deep voice that broke through every wall. Maybe it had taken him an hour to get to the bedroom. “Just a second!” he yelled back, the remaining fear that gripped onto him let go, leaving just his injuries to slow him down. The knocks continued as he threw the dresser drawer open, he was surprised that Travis was being this impatient but then again he did drop off the face of the earth for two days. Wait, if they were really worried then why didn’t they just get Conner to let them into the apartment. John stared at himself in the body length mirror as he struggled to hop his legs into the longer sweatpants. Something wasn’t adding up, but he blamed it on school and some other unknown excuse he knew was there but couldn’t think of. 
The blonde started to get used to the new pain that was walking as he rushed from the bedroom to the front door, the knocking continued up until he placed his hand on the doorknob. He paid no attention to it until he swung the door open to see no one there. Nothing but the day’s sun and the gentle breeze made its way through the entrance. A sound went off behind him, he could almost recognize it as the knives in the kitchen clattering to the floor and the coffee table bursting into pieces. 
-
This time John actually woke up. The boy was on his knees in the middle of the small kitchen, steak knife in his hand aimed towards his legs. He couldn’t move, only observing in horror at the various butter and steak knives that sat around him in a circle, each blade curled completely into a corkscrew. His heart is the only thing racing. His knuckles shone white as he squeezed on the handle of the knife in his hand, terrified of the object but refusing to let go of it. He wanted to get up, he wanted to run away, he wanted to find his phone he really did, but something had his legs bolted to the tile floor. Half-assed deep breaths calmed his pulse down somewhat, but how was one supposed to be calm in a situation like this. The blonde tried to look over the kitchen counter towards the rest of the house, unable to see a single thing other than the darkness of the window. What day was it? What time was it? Was he still alive? John was endlessly confused with his situation. The mild confusion and anger stopped dead when a familiar slap sounded just out of his view. His heart rate kicked up again, being just as loud as the several wet slaps that followed the first. The long inked hand appeared again, just around the counter. The flexing appendages pulled and scraped the head and rest of the body into view, the creature dragging and lifting itself to sit right in front of the boy. It was silent. The only sound echoing through the small space was John’ breathing and the sound of the tar from its body dropping to the tile. It was a staring match despite the monster’s lack of eyes. The mouth started to open, open wide. John was convinced that the mouth of teeth would be the last thing he would ever get to see before his body would shut down. The mouth kept going, opening and curling back much like the blades on the ground around him. It revealed a face. The face of a boy much like him but so much younger, bright almost glowing red eyes met his green as the real staring contest began. The muk continued to curl back, revealing hair that could rival the black tar in color and a surplus of skin that one would only find on the body of an albino. 
A simple dress shirt and sweater vest was revealed as it continued to drip away, splatters of blood covering the sleeves while whatever blood was on the vest had been swallowed by the darker colors. The rest of the tar dripped away revealing a sight much worse than the cover of the void. The creature lacked legs because the boy under lacked them as well. The dress shirt and vest were shredded at the ends, revealing in full view a pile of driped and wasted organs that spilled out of the open body. Flesh hung out in surplus, the meat seeming more of a petrified jerky with age. John had audibly gasped at the sight, almost expecting an attack from the boy in front of him for doing anything. But instead, he spoke. “I know,” 
The voice was broken and raspy, but remained deep and sarcastic. “You need to do something for me,” the voice spoke again. 
It took him more than a few seconds but the blonde managed to find his own voice. “Who are you?” he asked. 
“Var, You need to do something for me,” he repeated, his tone becoming more and more aggravated. There was no avoiding the question. “What, what do you need?” 
That was where he had started to cover up the grave he dug himself. John had invited the dybbuk onto himself. He had allowed the creature to attach itself to him. The spirit of the boy and the boy’s disgusting and murderous longing. The boy pulled himself closer, the curled knives moving on their own around him. “2116 Aervre Street,” the boy said, putting his hands on his, wrapping around them to help hold the knife in place. They were as cold as ice, burning his hands the longer they stayed there. The knife started to freeze in his hands, crystallizing and piercing his hands. This was real, this time it wasn’t a dream. The body of the boy melting in front of him, the knife staying attached to his hands. Whispered started from behind him, at first he couldn’t tell what they were saying, but as they grew louder and closer he could make out the word simply. “Kill, kill, kill, kill,” it chanted. 
He had a job to do and Var was going to make him do it. Legs shooting up and moving on their own. The curled knives clattered around the kitchen as his legs started to feel. Wet. The black sludge from the floor flowing up and attaching themselves to his body. He didn’t come back to the present until he found himself sitting in the car. 
The car started with a scream, the busted engine coming to life as the small key started the whole thing. The car lights turned on with a flash before shutting off, leaving the boy in the darkness of the night, only interrupted by the glow in the dark lights of the dashboard symbols. The sharp blade glimmered in the flashed lights, drawing his attention to it once again. He had everything he could’ve needed. Bolt cutters, the knife that had yet to leave his hands, gloves, simple toss away shoes he had left over from summer, he had everything. John could feel himself getting sick over the task at hand, half of his mind rejecting even thinking that the spirit had meant something else while the other half, the half that wasn’t him, was already committing the crime. The busted  box sat in the back, fully visible through the rear-view mirror. Var was watching him, watching him closely. The blonde could feel the pressure of the creature resting on his shoulders, almost forcing itself into his body, forcing him to have a lead foot. The car calmly left the parking lot and out onto the main roads. Snoogle maps screamed the directions to him through the discount sound system. The bluetooth speaker glued to the dashboard jostled as he sped up, completely ignoring the speed bumps as he passed through empty neighborhoods. He bounced up and down in the car, feeling Var shove him back down into the seat. The tools that once sat next to him in the passenger’s seat now found their home on the floor, the wine box in the back seat refused to move, as if it was glued down tight to the middle seat. The fresh wax on the box seemed to melt, never dripping but a constant flow like it was all pulsing. Like it was living. It was living. John ran through a red light, the sounds of the honking cars in the intersection snapping his attention back to the road, he was back on the main road again. The cops were going to be called on him soon. He knew this as a fact. 
The speaker roared his last few directions at him, the bass and water damage almost gargling the words. John was almost convinced that part of the sounds were the demon’s doing. The speaker said something about the destination being on the right before the dust dome completely exploded, shooting the guts of the small speaker forward and towards the metal mesh making that mesh the only thing keeping John from facing an electrical injury. The blonde slammed on the brakes, the tires shrieking behind him the trimming bound to be ruined by now but none of that mattered to him apparently. John yanked the key out of the ignition, checking over it to see if it was bent or not. It was fine though scolding hot to the touch, he learned that the hard way. Hissing as he shoved his twice burnt fingers into his mouth as if it was going to make a single difference. Once with ice and once with heat. Something in the back of his mind screamed at him, he could hear the raspy voice he had heard in the kitchen speaking to him. "Hurry up,” was all the voice was repeating. The words forced a noticeable amount of anxiety on the boy, draping himself over the center compartment to reach the tools he needed on the floor. John put on the medical mask with shaking hands, tucking his hair into a baseball cap he planned to burn after all of this, and scribbled all over his face with a body paint stick not even bothering to look in the visor mirrors. He needed to be unrecognizable. Snatching a satchel from the back seat he was ready to head out. The boy looked over at the house, the first thing he saw was the doorbell cam. There was no real easy way to take those out, so he couldn't use the front door or approach the front steps at all for that matter. The gate to the back was easy money, chain link and short enough not to make much noise climbing over. 
The backyard was large, large enough to fit a pool but remained empty. A sharp knock to the back of his head staggered him enough to drop to the ground. “You didn’t even check for a dog,” the cracking voice screamed at him. Var was right, but John could honestly care less. His vision blurred as he tried to get up, the dybbuk cursing in the back of his mind saying things about how he didn’t hit the other that hard. The blonde walked around, viewing the backside of the house, looking for cameras, open windows, or any lights on in the house. It was as if the place was completely abandoned. Every single curtain was open while none of the lights were on. There was no camera and no lights. “You’re welcome,” Var almost screamed in his right ear. He had gotten all too used to having to deal with the creatures lack of volume control. The sliding glass door made a click, John could only guess that the lock on it had sprung open. The boy took off his shoes, shoving them into the bag and throwing on some cheap flip flops over his socks. Fashion didn’t matter in the middle of attempted murder. The pure rubber shoes squeaked as they pressed against the wooden floors. He started to shut the door behind him when a small gash opened itself up on his arm. It took a lot in his power to yelp while it happened, quickly covering it to stop bleeding. If his DNA evidence was found on the scene, they’d catch him almost immediately. “Easy escape,”
John acted quickly, sliding one of the flip flops off, yanking his sock off, and attempting to wrap and tie the fabric around his arm right as he slipped his foot back into the shoe. The sock ripped to shreds in his hand, easier to wrap around his arm. He was already wasting so much time as it is, feeling the demon on his shoulders grow more and more impatient the more he struggled to tie the fabric off. 
John looked around the dining room and kitchen combo. It was pristine, as if the cleaning lady had just come by not two hours ago and deep cleaned every surface. If he left so much as a trace he’d be fucked. Var started to pull him towards a doorway, that doorway led to the living room. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling that seemed to stretch all the way to the roof, no divider between the up and down stairs areas. A small curving stairwell stretches itself from the bottom to top floor, proudly displaying an open hallway where several doors could be seen, every single one of them was closed. Stress was taken off of his back and neck, feeling Var lighten his attachment. The dybbuk was searching the house for the target, John stood patiently in the living room, looking around the doors to see if there was any kind of alarm system anywhere in the house. That was when he saw some items that started to raise a bit of suspicion. It was difficult to view in the plain darkness, so he pulled out his phone and flashed the light of the screen towards it.
 A wheelchair sat next to the door, with one of those stair climber chairs sitting right next to it. Something wasn’t right here. Some kind of monitor sat next to the tv, the wires stretching from there to the couch. Before he got the time to investigate further the pressure of barbells returned to his shoulders, the pressure forcibly pushing him towards the stairs. His foot touched the carpeted stairs with caution, the fabric below him squishing down and bouncing back as if it had never been walked on before. The knife in his bag began to feel heavy, this time not because of Var but because of the guilt of knowing what he was about to do. While this was a problem, something told John that he wouldn’t even have to take the knife out of the bag. Tears started to gather, glassing his eyes but refusing to fall just yet. His nose started to stuff up but he chose to ignore it, breathing through his mouth allowing his shaking breaths become louder and louder. Var had not made some kind of comment or punished him for the behavior yet, but he knew it was going to come.
 A quick slap to the face set him in the right direction once he got to the top of the staircase. To the left it was. The dead silence of the house was replaced with the light sounds of a breathing machine. Quite literally. John recognized the sounds from having to take his brother to the hospital for an asthma attack. The faint sound alone confirmed his suspicions, this old enemy is quite old indeed. The door was almost highlighted as it sat on the other side of the hallway, green lights shining from the crack at the bottom of the door. The blonde felt empty, as if the hands that were opening and door and the feet that were walking across the cushy carpet weren’t his. Before he could even come to, the once calmy beeping monitor was dead flat. The wire that once held the whole man together in his hands and out of the power socket, but Var still wasn’t satisfied and that was the last thing he had heard. The creature screaming in the back of his mind. “It’s not done till there's blood!” 
-
The morning light invaded the newly placed curtains in the apartment, the light cream color giving the whole living room a comfortable feeling. John needed it. He was free from the creature that had plagued him, but it was all from over. Every single news article and report only reminded him of the monstrosity he had gone through and every single time he had been abused by the spirit that possessed the simple wine box. The blonde could only assume that Var was gone completely, not finding a single trace of the box anywhere in his apartment or car. The knives in the kitchen remained bent though and the scars he earned from his battle with the creature would remain there forever. Perhaps he would be able to deal with all of that. 
-
John took a deep breath, completely calm by the end of his story although he knew there was nothing but trouble that could come from it now. Erik stared at the boy through the woven mesh, the natural sunlight now gone, leaving them with nothing but the artificial light of the church chandelier. The once calming kaleidoscope of stained glass colors is now gone and replaced with the buzzing of LED bulbs and eye straining bright white. The blonde looked up at the man who just stared at him in disbelief. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he begged. 
“Not a soul,” 
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