The slaughter only takes him a short while but by the time he finishes, the floors are covered in blood, the space around the sole survivor no exception. But that is not his handiwork and as he moves closer he can see the precise incisions that are still barely visible, blurred by the blood that flows steadily from the child’s entire back; blood tinged black with the ink that they used to engrave the indelible marks further into his dark skin. The pale hair is crusted with blood and lank with sweat as it hangs around the boy’s face, marred by the same precise cuts and tattooing in such a way that he looks to be crying tears crimson with rage and black with hatred.
The emotions pour off of the boy in waves and he relishes the sensation, rolls it around on his tongue, tasting the slightly salty innocence and the bitter tang that always accompanies betrayal. An unwilling sacrifice, but he’d already known that, given how desperately the boy had cried out for aid from those he trusted and then, as he fell further into despair and the clutches of agonizing pain, pleaded with the universe, begged, bargained, offered, until at last he’d fallen silent, degraded and broken. Or at least, he’d thought the boy had been broken.
Now, he wasn’t quite so sure: the blazing points of purple fire that stared out from behind the blonde fringe seemed quite lively to him. He’d meant to make a bargain for the quick fulfillment of the boy’s wish to conduct his soul into oblivion but now a thrill raced through him. This could be a much more interesting game to play.
The boy’s name was Marik and just as he’d predicted, this whim of his would turn out to have much more amusing results than usual. Servitude until the boy’s revenge was fulfilled would be a small price to pay to consume the heated soul that he could feel moving under Marik’s skin as he kissed his forehead over the third eye that resided there to seal the wish. The djinni smirked to himself as he drew the boy into his arms, careful to avoid touching his back and disregarding the small hands that twisted themselves into white hair; the boy would have to try much harder than that to hurt him.
The boy nuzzled further into his shoulder, exhaustion clouding his eyes and slurring his speech as he inquired after the djinni’s name. It didn’t take long for him to come up with one that he felt was suitable for the granter of his wish and the cruel lavender eyes narrowed further in amusement as he repeated the name softly to himself, appreciating the bitter irony of it far too much.
“Akefia. . .Akefia Walaa.”