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yuriolympics · 13 days ago

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Yuri Shipping Olympics - Bonus Round 4: Hunt

Team Horror fill for prompt: Cannibalism Content warnings for: Blood and gore, violence, vore, vomitting, mention of date rape drugs/tactics.

Club lights. Electronic music. Sweat and perfume. Humanity all around, drinking, dancing, living. Blood pulsing just beneath their skin, fitful and excited. This was Vanessa’s hunting ground. She moves through the crowd like a snake through the grass, exchanging easy smiles and fleeting touches. She dances with some, the pretty ones who remind her of what it was like to breathe. They welcome her company, try to bring her in closer, make a connection. But none of them are good enough. They come here with friends, protectors, people who watch their drinks for them and would remember where they were last seen. Rumours of young, pretty things going missing in the night have spread too far and now everyone is paying attention. A pity. But all it means in the end is a longer hunt.

Vanessa doesn’t spend too much time fretting over the details. She hunts sustainably, a single mortal every once in a while to feed the pack. Quickly, painlessly, honourably. There are people out there who make their living selling drugs to kids or shipping weapons to wars halfway across the world. Compared to that, this is nothing. She’s no monster.

She finally spots her quarry by the bar. Young, healthy, purple-haired and vibrant, but most importantly alone. She sips from a cocktail that looks like it’s fruity enough to mask the taste of the powder Vanessa has hidden in her sleeve, and judging by the empty glasses on the bar next to her it’s not her first. People seem to give her a wide berth, as if put off by her mere presence. An outcast, then. Someone othered, whether by her own fault or the perceptions of her peers. This will be easy.

“What’s a girl like you doing here all by your lonesome?” Vanessa asks as she takes the seat next to her, ready to shower this young woman in attention, make her feel like a star. The stranger smiles at her from behind red-rimmed glasses, like she’d been waiting all night for someone to talk to her. “Resting,” the woman replies simply, taking another sip from her drink before putting it down. There’s a curiosity in her eye as she looks Vanessa over, though it’s hard to tell what kind. In any case, she had her attention now. “I don’t like being on my feet for too long.”

“Who does?” Vanessa agrees. She doesn’t really agree, of course. She could stay standing for hours without feeling anything but a phantom pain. But relating to the prey is how you build trust. “Though, someone as fit as you must spend a lot of time on the treadmill.” “Not really. I swim, though. But tonight I’m saving my energy for dancing.”

Vanessa doesn’t pay much attention to what the woman is actually saying, too focused on keeping her attention so she can slip the drugs into her drink unnoticed. She does pick up on the keywords, though.

“Would you care to dance with me, then?” She follows the question with an easy smile and a hand on the stranger’s knee, moving into her space and knowing she’s hit the jackpot when she isn’t rebuffed. A pretty, melodic giggle of the kind Vanessa used to cherish in her youth flees the stranger’s lips, and she covers her mouth with her fingers. “Wow. You’re easy.” It rattles her composure a little, but no matter. Her prey downs the rest of her drink then takes her hand to drag her out onto the dance floor. Things were going to plan, soon this odd girl would be tired out and could easily be brought outside where Vanessa would lead her back to her apartment. Another hunt over and done with. Except, the stranger doesn’t seem to get worn out at all, instead dancing like a woman possessed even with four drinks and a dose of rohypnol in her system. It was getting annoying having to keep up while she swept across the dance floor like a raging storm, but Vanessa kept her appearances up. A hunter does not get frustrated when the prey struggles in its jaws. It’s an expected part of the process, and all Vanessa has to do is account for it. So, she smiles, she laughs, she dances and touches and pretends to be smitten. All the while she’s figuring out her next move. They dance for too long, and eventually Vanessa has to accept the fact that the drugs and the alcohol just aren’t working. Maybe it was too low a dose, or this woman just had an unusually high tolerance. Either way, a change in strategy was needed. It’d be imperfect, but if she could just daze her with the Kiss she could dose her again. “Hey, what say we take this outside?” she suggests, putting on airs and acting all horned up and excited. It’s easy to pretend at want when she focuses on what she’s really here for. Imagining her fangs piercing deep, suckling on this mortal’s pulse, gets her more worked up than any pleasures of the flesh ever could.

It’s almost funny how she acted when she still breathed, treating every roll in the hay with a stranger as if it was something to be proud of. But such is the folly of the living, she supposes. Such limited perspectives they have, like deer who don’t understand the concept of endings until they’re bleeding out in the snow.

“Already? Lead the way, then,” the woman whose name Vanessa never intends to learn replies, taking her hand. Something tells her this is too easy, that she should be more on guard, but she writes it off as baseless paranoia. There’s no time to worry over one unusual mortal when she has a pack to feed. As soon as the door out to the alley shuts, Vanessa’s hands are on her. Caressing, exploring, doing all the things a midnight lover should. The stranger’s own hands are more static, holding on to her in a pseudo-hug while she rubs her face along her neck and shoulder.

Vanessa continues the charade for a minute or so, before mouthing at her prey's pulse point, making her ready, but just as she opens her mouth and extends her fangs-

“You know, you people really are easy.”

Pain. Blinding, excruciating pain sinks into Vanessa’s shoulder and radiates through her whole body. She tries to pull away but something has grabbed onto the meat of her shoulder and is now thrashing from side to side, cutting ever deeper.

She's only released, stumbling backwards in a state of shock, when the purple-haired woman manages to tear free the chunk of her that she's seized in her jaws. Her mouth is a razor-toothed nightmare, overflowing with blood and fabric and dead, stringy meat that she spits out on the ground.

“What… What the fuck are you?” Vanessa mumbles, the Beast threatening to send her into a frenzy as she tries to make distance. Her wound isn't healing. Blood soaks her shirt.

“Stormchaser. A Brightwater in the Shallows. Now don't talk, run.”

Vanessa doesn’t stop to ask for clarification. This could be a bloodline she's never heard of, a fucked up government experiment run wild, or any other number of horrible, dangerous things that a woman like her should have nothing to do with. It doesn't matter. What does is getting away alive, so she goes to the one place she knows is safe. She can’t remember the last time she was this afraid.

Time gets difficult to keep track of as she runs to the apartment. It's only a couple kilometres away, but even with Celerity on her side her wound slows her down, and by the time she bursts through the door her phone has already started buzzing with text messages.

“There you are! Where's the score, I'm fucking hungry- Oh, shit!” Zac, their Gangrel, exclaims from his spot on the couch. He's forced to vacate it when Vanessa collapses on the cushions, red and exhausted.

“M-Monster…” Vanessa hisses weakly, moving her hand away from her wound so her packmates can see the mess of it. It hasn’t even begun to heal yet, even the bone is still missing. “Looks like a shark bite…” Priestess Zabrina mumbles as she examines it, her mandibles clicking like chopsticks, many eyes blinking out of order. “You said a monster did this? What kind?” “No idea… Looked human, acted strange, then her teeth turned into…” comes the reply, as Vanessa gesticulates to where her flesh has been quite literally sawed through and ripped apart. “Could be one of Pisha’s lot, but good luck getting any of the flesh-eaters to sell out one of their own,” Joe, their Ductus, grumbles as he paces back and forth by the seating area, the machete sheathed at his hip striking a sharp contrast against his two-piece suit. “Admirable, really. But fucking frustrating.”

“You got a good look at her face, right? We need to find and whack this bitch before-” Zac chimes in, before the sound of the apartment door closing draws everyone’s attention. There she stands, unbothered by the dried, crusty blood around her chin, calmly locking the door behind her as her gaze moves from person to person like she’s going over a buffet table. The monster. Stormchaser.

For a few seconds, you can hear a pin drop in that studio. Vanessa exchanges looks with her packmates. She’s in no condition to fight, but there’s a gun hidden under the couch. She’d just have to adjust to shooting it one-handed. Joe steps forward, always leading from the front, one hand resting on his machete. He and Stormchaser lock eyes. “What quarrel have you with my packmate? As her Ductus, I accept responsibility for settling any debts she may have incurred from you.” The attempt at negotiation doubles as a stalling tactic. Zac puts his hands in the pockets of his hoodie to extend his claws. Zabrina rubs the spot on her upper arm where she’s hidden a blade. “Quarrel?” the monster asks, curiously. No hint of stress in her posture. “I have no issue with her. This is just… sport. It helps that you kill and endanger humans, but that’s not what led me to you. Any lamprey would have done.” “So this is… what? A hunt? You’ve picked a dangerous game, ma’am.” That gets a laugh out of her, crystal clear and beautiful. “No I haven’t. You didn’t even cover your tracks back to your lair.” Joe narrows his eyes. Stormchaser smiles at him. Zac is the first to move, followed closely behind by Zabrina and Joe, but Stormchaser meets the charge as her flesh ripples and grows until on the third step she’s no human anymore. Eight or nine feet tall, bristling with sharp scales like sandpaper from hell, and jaws full of serrated teeth the length of Vanessa’s thumb.

She’d heard rumours of werewolves, shapeshifting killing machines who made the countryside too dangerous for any vampire to thread, but this is… a shark. A fucking shark on two legs, with the intelligence of a seasoned hunter and a taste for vampire blood.

There’s no time to process this revelation when the beast shoulders Zac out of the way to swipe one of its sharp claws- because apparently the shark monster made of sharp needed claws too -at Joe’s neck. He dodges just in time to avoid being decapitated, only for Stormchaser to pivot to an elbow strike to the side of the head. He goes flying like a ragdoll, crashing through the glass table in the seating area.

Vanessa gets showered in glass while she’s on the floor, grabbing the gun from under the couch. Zabrina ducks low. Her knife of jagged bone bites deep, but she doesn’t get a chance to pull it free before Stormchaser’s massive jaws close around her head and shoulders and lifts her whole body off the ground. She screams there, stuck at an angle like a caver overestimating the width of a squeeze, blood pouring down her chest as she flails and kicks and tries to pull herself free. Her palms are scraped bloody against the shagreen.

“Let go of her, you bitch!” Zac screams, trying to get an angle with his claws, but he has to dodge around Zabrina’s legs as the shark wheels on him. Vanessa struggles to her feet, she can’t get a clear shot either, frantically fumbling with the gun. Freaking out like some fucking amateur, every panicked second stretched out for an eternity. Joe groans as he gets to his feet, but doesn’t even bother to shake the glass out of his hair before he surges forth at the speed of a bullet to stab his machete into the monster’s shoulder, but she barely reacts. She grabs the weapon by its blade, and a second later Joe cries out in pain and jolts backwards as if seized by a sudden surge of electricity. His machete hits the floor.

Zabrina is still screaming, trying to pry open Stormchaser’s jaws, but they only close tighter and tighter. She’s silenced by teeth digging into her mouth and forcing it shut, one of her many eyes bulges out of its socket, and then her skull cracks like a teapot full of gravy. Blood and dessicated brains pour down the shark’s chin and spray in all directions. A piece of bone hits Zac in the face. Zabrina falls, her head and a slice of her upper torso sheared from her body. She’s ash before she hits the floor. The sound was the worst of it, Vanessa registers a second after it happens. She had no idea bone squeaked like that under pressure. Like plastic in a hydraulic press.

Only six seconds in, and they’d already lost their Priestess. The woman who’d taken an aimless band of killers and shaped them into soldiers worthy of Caine.

They all fly into a frenzy as one.

Gunfire fills the air, striking Stormchaser in the back as she tears off Zac’s arm and then his head in two strikes of her claws. He barely has time to start crumbling before the shark’s attention is drawn by Joe, machete in hand. He catches her in the arm, the shoulder and finally in the jaw, practically gaffing her. For a moment it seems that’s the end of it as Stormchaser collapses to one knee, before a deep rumble rattles through her chest. Her wounds seal themselves up in the blink of an eye as she guts Joe with her claws and bites his head clean off. Vanessa empties her magazine into the beast’s chest as she runs at her, jaws agape and eyes full of bloodlust. Teeth close around her upper torso, and she hears her ribs crack as the shark thrashes and tears until she breaks like any other prey item. ~~~

She can’t keep doing this.

Storm clutches the wound in her flank as she drags herself up the stairs to Sally’s apartment, her stomach voicing its protest with every step.

The docks would have been safer, much safer, but the apartment is closer and she can’t afford to risk purging in the street, not with the scene she left back at the lamprey den. Humans tools are too reliable these days, if they find one person’s blood in two different places they’ll make the connection and keep searching from there.

The perils of hunting on land. It’s easier to lure the targets out into Sea, or at least to the coast, but that requires a level of finesse Storm just isn’t capable of.

She leans against Sally’s door and clumsily presses the button for the doorbell. She hears shuffling inside, and when the door opens it’s on a chain. That’s new. “Holy shit, Storm?! The fuck happened to you?”

“Things. I need to borrow your bathroom.” Sally blinks a couple times, then undoes the chain on the door and lets her in. There’s no time for an explanation, as she barges past and practically sprints into the bathroom, dropping to her knees and flipping open the lid to the toilet just in time before something wells up her throat. Blood. Not hers, thankfully. Thanks to her tiger shark lineage Storm has a higher tolerance than most, but the blood of the undead is still poison. It’s lucky they turn to ash upon death, but their blood notably doesn’t. So devouring an entire lamprey left her with a stomach full of an entire lamprey’s worth of toxic blood.

The things we do in Kunmind… ��I-Is that…” Sally says from the doorway, voice trembling. She’s scared, again.

“Yes. I’m so-” is all Storm manages to get out before she retches again, purging another couple of quarts. It smells like a flooded graveyard.

“That- Oh, my god. What the fuck, what the actual fuck…” Sally continues, probably pacing back and forth like she usually does whenever she’s worried.

After another few seconds of heaving and retching with no end in sight, Storm feels the human put a hand on her shoulder then pull her hair out of her face. How kind. It’ll make cleanup easier.

Once she feels like she’s finally gotten all that nasty, horrible stuff out of her system, Storm collapses to one side. Sally catches her before she hits the floor. Runs a thumb along the fresh line of scar tissue going across her cheek from the corner of her mouth.

“Storm, what happened to you?” she asks again, quieter this time.

“Got in a fight. Ate something I shouldn’t have.” “Was it a pack of razor blades? Jesus christ, I’m surprised you’re not-” “That wasn’t my blood.” Storm opens her weary eyes to look into Sally’s, and what she sees there is… confused. Scared. Her brow is furrowed like she’s trying to come to terms with something, before she sweeps her gaze downwards. Her eyes go wide at the sight of the wound that bone dagger made in her stomach. Still hasn’t closed yet. Must have been a special blade.

“You’re still fucking hurt, though. H-Hang on-” Sally looks like she doesn’t know what to do for a second, before flushing the toilet and flipping down the seat. “Sit here. I’ve got some bandages and antiseptic, l-let me just…” she continues, leaving Storm on the toilet seat while she rifles through the medicine cabinet. “You’re kind… But no. I should go. I’ve already woken you up, and used your bathroom. I’ll be fine.” “No. Storm, you just vomited like four litres of blood and you’ve got an open wound in your stomach. You’re staying here.” Sally fixes her with a glare as she retrieves what she needs. If you could call it a glare. It’s more… stubborn. Stern. Adorable. It plays at Storm’s heart. “...fine. You can treat me.” “And you’re sleeping here, too. You need to rest.” “But-”

“Storm.” It’s fun being challenged like this, surrendering the upper hand. A bit undignified, but dignity was for fools. Storm has no problem taking her dress off and showing Sally her damage, wincing a little when the disinfectant touches her. “One night. But then I really have to go.” “Good girl,” Sally mumbles under her breath as she wraps the bandage around Storm’s midriff and seals it tight. She washes some of the blood out of her purple hair before bed, and lets her borrow a toothbrush. It feels strange, settling into bed next to Sally, feeling her body against her back. They’d slept together before, but it’d been different those times. The practical option after they were both exhausted after sex.

Storm knows what this escalation meant, and tells herself not to get too attached to it.

Sea was her home, and to Sea she would return, as she always did. Soon her weeks away from Sally would turn to months, then years, then there would hardly be a reason to return at all.

To stay alive, she has to keep swimming.

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