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Blood Oath

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There were many things that could be said about Karkat Vantas. The chief of those things? He was passionate. Passionate about everything. And everything he felt, was well. More than many expected. His anger was all fury. His sadness all despair. Everything he felt, he felt to the nth degree, even when he tried to cover it up with surly snark and insults. He just felt a lot. And sometimes, those feelings got carried away.

It wasn’t that he meant it to happen. He just sometimes got blinded by emotion. A late-night argument over loud music quickly escalated in the parking lot. Words were said, tempers flared, and well. Karkat did not handle it as well as he could have. Which was a problem he often had.

Honestly, if you asked him, he couldn’t tell you when he got the tire iron in hand. It was kind of cliche, wasn’t it? But the weight felt good. The rough grip. He had started to say something, that douchebag. Maybe it was a question? He didn’t listen. Instead, he just swung.

The first one was always the hardest. The one he actually felt. He almost expected to hear cracking. Or the impact of hitting something wet. But it was the metal that rang through, and his scream. Karkat almost laughed. He had been acting so tough, but when it came down to it? He screamed. Just like a child. He couldn’t have that though. Both hands gripped the iron and he swung again, this time hitting the base of the skull. [i]There[/i] was the crack he had been looking for.

Time lost meaning, and he continued until his arm was sore. Cracks and twangs turning into wet splats as what once was bone structure broke down to what people really were inside. Just meat. Meat and blood. Teeth littered the ground, bits of gore cloning to the now slick weapon in his hand. He slowed. Then stopped. Oh.

Standing there, Karkat frowned, hands on his hips, staring at his current burden. Maybe he shouldn’t have let it get so out of hand. Really, it was the other guy’s fault. All he had to do was turn down the volume on his shitty speakers, and none of this would have happened.

He wiped sweat from his brow, the late summer heat getting to him, though only managed to smear blood across his forehead. Ugh. Great. The yellowed streetlamp above flickering, making his head ache as he surveyed the scene. It was not exactly looking good for him. The body of a 20 something male was slumped on the ground, severely beaten to death, skull caved in from blunt force trauma. Teeth, scattered everywhere. Blood was mostly contained to what was splattered across Karkat, what was pooling on the cracked asphalt, and of course, what clung to the weapon.

He pressed his hands together, thinking it over. How was he going to do this? Walking over, he nudged the corpse, scowling at it. Stupid idiot. Now his night was ruined. Thankfully, loud music still pumped from the car, having not only drowned out their argument, but the sounds of a vicious beating. Opening the trunk, Karkat dug through it until he found some old jackets and towels. Carefully, he wrapped the body and dumped it in the trunk, before cleaning up what he could of the blood on the ground. A good spray was really all it needed, then it shouldn’t show any signs. Teeth were gathered one by one, like he was gathering spilt pearls. Neatly they were placed in the corpse’s pockets.

But what to do with the body. He couldn’t just leave it there, in the car. Eventually it would start to smell, and people would notice. Pinching the bridge of his nose, the man let out a sigh. Alright well. He knew a spot. Someplace secluded and not likely to be explored. He closed the trunk and went around to the driver’s side, sliding in. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t turn down the music yet. Instead, Karkat put the car into reverse, and got out of the parking lot.

It was only when he was about five minutes away that he turned off the stereo, letting quiet invade the car. One might think he would be panicking. Stressing over the fact that he just killed another human being. But well, this wasn’t the first time. Yes, Karkat tried not to make a habit of it. But well. Shit happened. He was just lucky he hadn’t been caught yet. The headlights and the moon above were soon the only light as Karkat left town. There was an old plant that had been half-demolished about fifteen miles away.

It had come in handy before. There had been plans to turn it into something, but well. Land disputes had it wrapped in so much red tape it hadn’t been touched in years. And likely wouldn’t be touched any time soon. He kept his eyes on the road as he drove, feeling somewhat empty inside.

When he got near the plant, he turned off the headlights, driving only by moonlight as he pulled in and hid the car under a large silo that had once held… Something. Honestly, Karkat wasn’t sure. He wasn’t even originally from this town. Shifting into park, he killed the engine and sat for a few moments. Ok. Now to dig a hole. Thankfully, tools had been left here when construction was brought to a halt, so Karkat didn’t need to bother getting his own.

Gravel crunched under foot as he approached a good spot. He didn’t like burying the bodies too close. If more than one was found at a time, people started to suspect things like serial killers. Which he was not. Well, he didn’t *feel* like one. Serial killers had criteria. They had traits that followed from victim to victim. Karkat? Well he just got a little too angry and things just… Happened.

Using the shovel he had found, he started to dig into the dry, dusty earth, only to pause suddenly, back stiffening. Did he hear movement? He strained his ears, willing himself to hear more than he did. As if he could suddenly acquire some kind of supernatural ability. The scuff of shoes on dirt stopped. Or maybe it didn’t exist in the first place. Heartbeat quickened to the point where he could feel it pulsing on his tongue.

The body was in the car, so as long as no one looked, he was safe. Unless they asked why he was out here. Why he was starting a fresh hole in the old, cracked dirt. Why his hoodie was spattered and sprayed with blood. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.