PETRICHOR

Rivka, a young female royal guardsman, is tasked with a daunting mission to assist a species known for brutality against her own.

Caine, a prince of a dying race, seeks aid from those his kind feast upon.

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Author's note

This story will include graphic images and attempt at horror. If gore is not something you are comfortable with, I recommend to not read. Certain themes maybe too much such as infanticide and noncon. While noncon will never be described in this version, it will be mentioned as a fact that it does happen. Please steer away if you might be triggered.
AA

1. A Butcher's Bounty

"Ivan?" Rivka whispered as she sat straight up in her bed in a cold sweat. Something didn't feel right, hugging herself, she surveyed her surroundings. 

 

She was a little girl again, a nightmare had taken hold. Despite the familiarity, her mind refused to grasp that it wasn't reality. She was young, she was in her lofted bed above her parents own.

 

Patting the area beside her, she could feel the warmth of a missing body. 

 

Nothing at the window by her bed, no sign of exit or entry.

 

"Ivan where did you go?" Rivka whispered to herself more than to him. 

 

Alone in her bed she suddenly felt extremely vulnerable, as if there was some overbearing weight on her head, an oncoming wave of distraught. She climbed down from the loft above her parent's bed. Seeing that they were sound asleep, Rivka crept across their tiny home into the area where her adopted father butchered and sold his meats.  

 

All was silent and pitch black, even the pigs to the side of the house were quietly fantasizing of a gluttonous sow in their blissful domestic dreams. A few squees would sound every once in a while, yet the quietness in the house was unnerving.

 

drip...

 

A mass of something wet and raw hung behind a half wall, most likely an unfinished pig with its blood draining on to the floor. This was unlike her father. Mr. Cleaver always finished his work before night, he also did most of it outside. 

 

drip...drip...tink

 

She groped at the counter for a candle and a match, her hands surprisingly shook out of nervousness, as if they had a mind of their own and knew something she didn't. Rivka could have never guessed that lighting a candle in the dark would be so difficult but finally there was light, faint but sure.

 

With this new light she turned to observe the hanging pig, her father would be in trouble no doubt. 

 

She admitted to herself that she didn't really need to look at the pig. But Rivka was compelled. She supposed humans are always drawn to the sight of violence.

 

Strangely though, a force in her mind commanded that she really mustn't observe all the gruesome details. Being a seven year-old of a family in which their main trade was butchering pigs they had lovingly raised from infant to adult, one would think Rivka might have been prepared for what she was about to see, that the image was that much less terrifying. She fought off the nerves to avoid gazing on the carcass.

 

Almost dropping her candle, Rivka realized nothing could have prepared her. At the very moment that she realized what was hanging on the hook she knew she must have been dreaming, that she was asleep at that very moment, tossing and turning with a resting, scrunched look of distress and horror, reliving horrors her mind created after Ivan had...

 

Fortuitously, the bulking yet small mass of a human figure faced away from her of which she shrunk away from this, terrified of who it might be. Who she knew it might be.

 

Rivka tried to make her body realize this was a dream but there was no waking up. Despite her mind finally acknowledging that this must be a dream, she was cornered here with the hideous thing. Covering her eyes, there was hope that maybe she would simply wake up by force, that it would soon be over. Hope came from the idea that the tighter she closed her eyes, the more likely she could escape this nightmare.

 

She was alone in this horror.

 

"Don't worry. All is well."

 

Rivka whirled around in fear, her back to the hooked body.

 

A looming figure had been standing behind her for an immeasurable amount of time being that it felt like an eternity since she had seen the mutilated being on the hook. There was no knowing how long the man had been standing there, but he had been watching her. Still compelled by some unknown force to look at what should not be seen, Rivka raised the candle to view this stranger.

 

She had lived this dream countless times, her mind wondering on the fate of her friend. But this being, this man, had never once been there before. 

 

He was tall, there was horns, fangs, giant feathered wings of solid black and dark blue colors. His skin was darker than the room was before she lit the candle, yet his bright blue eyes could be seen reflecting indefinitely. It was a fomorian, one of high status as well, Rivka could tell by his wings. This was more terrifying than the corpse she just witnessed because a fomorian was the likely culprit to have garnished the poor soul behind her.

 

"H-h-how could-d you!?" She squealed as if a fomorian would understand her pain, a human being's pain. As if this creature could reason why it would be wrong to kill. Rivka hadn't realized it until it was already too late, but she had backed up into the corpse causing it to fall.

 

A ripping of flesh from the hook and loud splatter of blood rang in the silence between her and the terrifying beast. It fell on the ground with a loud and disgusting wet sound, something Rivka would come enjoy out of her enemies one day. As the body landed, it turned over revealing its agonized face. She tumbled back, falling on the ground.

.

It was young Ivan, wide-eyed and terrified, although all life had gone out.

 

Rivka screamed, finally making a human reaction to an image so terrifying. Falling to her knees she clung to him.

 

Blood stained her arms and nightgown and she could smell death. Death was surprisingly warm and musty, thick and sad. It was void of everything. The creature only looked down at her, he stood there beaming as if there was some prize in murdering an innocent young boy. 

 

"All is well Rivka. It is hard to wait but we shall soon be together, and you must wait. You really must." She realized he wasn't beaming at the boy, he was beaming at her. The fomorian turned to casually walk away, his black, lion-like tail quietly swaying back and forth. Confused she looked down at Ivan, his look of horror and agony, replaced by a dead, infectiously crooked grin.

 

One of her favorite of his facial expressions.

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