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molten gold

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The link between them lights up with life, coated in blood with a sharp twist of desperation and need. It tugs and Jack tugs in return, slicing the gooey matter in between the planes. Slithering in the rift that leaks him into a small cluttered room soaked in dread and fear, he takes in the view.


The kid looks wrecked. There's a blood trail leading from the door, patchy and unsteady. Which explains that sweet little something added to the call.

"J-Jack" Rhys rasps, stuttering and full of pain. Pale and sweaty. Probably feels like dying, he muses.

"Well, that's quite a predicament you got yourself in, kiddo".

He zeroes in on the shaky hand clutching onto the face. Interesting.

"What do we have here, Rhysie, c'mon show it to the big bad..."

Jack trails off as Rhys follows the request, revealing what looks like quite a fresh nasty looking gash in the place of what supposed to be an eye according to the humanoid anatomy.

His presence boils the air, ironically taking the temperature lower. Kid's panting, his breath short and irregular. Milky colored. Pretty. But that whole thing just won't do. Damaged goods are only fun when you damage them yourself.

"That won't do, pumpkin".

He moves closer, circling. The physical form he possesses right now isn't really suited for small icky rooms, but whatever. Tentacles swirling closer, cocoon like. He's after all a territorial being.

"We gotta fix this, kiddo, your hear me? Don't you dare black out on me right now, huh".

Rhys mumbles something. He really doesn't care what exactly.

"You've been a good boy, right? Haven't given you a reward yet, mmm. And now seems like an awfully good time to do just that".

He swirls, inky black mass oozing and shifting. Hands are hard. The right amount of limbs is frustrating.

"I'm gonna give you a treat and you are not allowed to die on me during it. Comprendes?", Rhys nods, shakily and Jack rolls like a third of his remaining eyes, "Words, Rhysie, I need words. Audible confirmation, it's a tricky deal that goes both ways".

"Y-yeah, ok".

Jack smiles, crooked and harsh. Hungry.

"Good, let's spark this up then, kitten" his hand twisting, he surges forward and dips his fingers into the damaged eye socket. Rhys screams as something inside him breaks a little further, distorting. The blood runs down, mixing with tears, thick, sudden and hot. Molten gold.

It goes on for a while. A short kind of while from Jack perspective.

It is a tricky thing. Which he never really bothered to try out with anyone. Never had a chance also, if you think about it. Especially that blatantly right in your face.

The screams die out, progressing from heart wrenching wailing - good thing he doesn't have a heart now - to hollow sobs and soft, broken whimpering. It's enthralling how fragile it is. This thing. Alive. Flesh pulsing hot around him. He can't help but dig this. Glee finding its way into his eyes. Shining and eerie.

But all nice things tend to come to an end.

He pushes back and Rhys falls, fingernails scratching on the wooden floor. The kid is small and now curling into a ball he looks even smaller. Petty.

Jack watches curiously, waiting, till the kid gathers himself.

"So", he drawls, "How does it feel?"

It's funny somehow. An absurd feeling. And absurd he likes.

He looks at himself and looks at Rhys. Huh. Kid has two hands and he currently has like five or something? Small miscalculations. Really. He dissolves slowly into his usual, more familiar form, feeling the now mismatched eyes following him.

Like looking in the very fucked up mirror. It's perfect. He feels ecstatic.

"Yellow looks good on you, cupcake".