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Venti’s back is sticky with dried blood and bile. He blinks, eyes half-lidded.
I want to sleep. I’m so tired…
It hurts. I can’t move.
Lifting his head seems like an arduous chore he can’t afford to perform. Instead he turns it, in an agonizing attempt to the side. His cheek rests against the cold concrete, and he can dimly make out the pile of discarded bones and skin a few meters away.
That’s mine.
His tiny, unfed stomach grumbles in protest at the sight. Diluc had offered him his own flesh multiple times, but Venti refused every single one of them. No matter how hungry he would get, he wouldn’t eat human meat. He can’t. Hopefully Diluc would give up at some point, if he shook his head enough.
Diluc had spared him no mercy when he severed all of his limbs.
First it was his left arm, then his right torn from his body in a similar fashion. He had been halfway through sawing Venti’s leg off when the bard finally passed out from the pain. Diluc wouldn’t let him stay out for long though-- after he’d lost both legs, he’d been brought back to consciousness to watch as Diluc cleaned and skinned his limbs. Probably preparing them for his family’s dinner.
The agony isn’t exactly like when his body was in the process of being mutilated, but it hurts just the same. It’s a drawn-out, throbbing and jarring feeling whenever Venti moves the slightest. Both arms had been cut at the top of his biceps, and for his legs, they only remain up to the bottom of his inner thighs.
It’s a wonder that he hasn’t bled out yet, but it must be the curse of his immortality and quick regeneration. He’d stopped bleeding a while ago, actually-- when Diluc torched the ends of his limbs, cauterizing them temporarily.
Painful, Venti’s mind weakly complains. It hurts and burns at the same time.
The pain is intense, but not enough to knock him out again. So he stays awake, drifting in and out of focus while Diluc prepares his flesh. Being forced to listen to the squelching of meat being manhandled and blood slowly oozing out everywhere. It’s messy and it’s revolting, but Venti doesn’t have the energy to continue retching.
So he lies on the floor, limbless, the only remaining body parts being his torso and his head. Is it over, or is he going to continue?
Please be over.
Diluc seems to have finished cleaning the limbs of their meat, and walks over to where Venti lies. He looks down at the bard with an unreadable expression, wringing his wrists and smearing a line of blood off his cheek.
“You know, Venti… I’ve always wanted to collect all the bottles of Barbatos’ breath there are in Teyvat. I’ve spent millions and millions of mora on them, but now that you’re here,” Diluc kneels down, placing a hand on Venti’s cheek that makes him flinch instinctively, “I can have as much as I want.”
Then, he does what Venti would never expect-- Diluc leans down and kisses him, softly and gently and nothing like what he’s done before. Venti’s eyes remain open, in half shock, half horror. He doesn’t kiss back, disgusted by the entire thing-- he can still taste the remains of blood from Diluc’s mouth.
“ Mmnh-- ” Venti moves his shoulders to try and push Diluc away, but is met with a searing pain. Right, he doesn’t have arms anymore. He’s helpless.
Diluc pulls away, a sweet smile on his face. “Are you losing your fight? That’s okay, maybe I can take this opportunity to reward you for being so obedient.”
It takes Venti’s brain a few seconds to click when Diluc unbuckles his belt, pulling down his pants.
“ Nonononono-- ” He starts to sob before the redhead even pulls anything out of his pants. Normal torture and pain Venti can handle, but this is a whole new level of violation he never wants to experience. Not only is it going to be painful, it’ll be humiliating. “ Stop, no- not this, anything else--”
“Oh, do you not want me to fuck you, Venti?” Diluc sneers, his cock already half-hard and smeared with precome. It’s not enough; it’ll never be enough to be a substitute for real lubricant. “But you were so eager a few days ago, why, I’d say you even wished for it to happen.”
“ Nononono, please no-- ” Venti shakes his head vigorously, tears streaming down his cheeks. His expression probably looks very ugly, twisted in a picture of sheer panic and desperation. Not like this. Not in this state, not ever.
Diluc ignores his protests, placing the tip of his cock at Venti’s entrance. His hole clenches in a pitiful attempt at self defence, but Diluc starts to push in anyway.
And he screams, screams and sobs and pleads for Diluc to stop, that he’d do anything, offer up anything to stop getting raped. The thick length pushes past his hole, then deeper and deeper, scraping against his walls. It’s too dry, no preparation; there isn’t the usual pleasurable feeling you’d expect from sex. It’s just rough and dry and it hurts.
With a snap, Diluc buries himself in Venti all the way to the hilt.
Venti shrieks, his back arching off the sticky floor as his hole spasms and twitches around the unwanted intrusion. He thrashes around, or tries to, but without limbs there isn’t much movement he can make. If he tries struggling too hard, the pain stops him.
Diluc groans, and to his horror, the redhead is enjoying this. It’s a groan of pleasure. “Fuck, Venti… you’re as tight as I imagined.”
The bard gasps, taking heaving breaths of desperation, his eyes blown wide with terror. A few more desperate attempts at escape, and he feels something rip in his insides. Warm liquid flows out of his hole, acting as a lubricant for Diluc to begin thrusting into him.
A stinging, throbbing sensation erupts in his lower half when his hole clenches and tries to push Diluc out. It’s a feeble attempt at protecting himself and does nothing.
I hate it it hurts. If it’s possible, it’s worse than the amputation. This is a whole new level of torture and humiliation. “ P-please stop-- ” Venti whimpers weakly. “ Anything-- anything else, please… ”
Diluc begins to grind into Venti even faster, the blood making his movements smoother and easier and not at all more comfortable. He finds the bundle of nerves and stabs at it, creating nothing but waves of pain that drown Venti. “You’re enjoying it, aren’t you? Tight hole like this, clenching around my dick… you were born to be a cockslut.”
I’m not. Stop, it only hurts. “ No, no--” Venti sobs, shaking even harder. “ Get out, get out of me, please, no more-- nononono---”
Diluc shifts in position, getting up on one foot and lifts one of Venti’s thighs up with his hand. He tilts the smaller man at an angle, then rams downwards, hitting deeper and deeper hard enough that it really feels like Venti is breaking.
Mouth permanently open, Venti drools onto the floor while his body spasms from the further intrusion. It’s too deep, too rough, too big, too painful. He’s going to split in half.
Diluc is like his weapon. Large and sharp and causes pain. It feels like he’s being fucked with the claymore, like his body is going to stretch beyond it’s limit and finally snap.
Hurts. Stop it, it hurts.
“Venti, you’re a great cocksleeve. Beg and whine for me a little more, will you? Maybe if you moan, I’ll be softer.”
Softer? Less pain.
Venti opens his mouth, shaky, and lets out a quiet moan. It’s fake and slow at first, but as his body is rocked back and forth, they grow in volume and turn into real moans; moans of pain mixed with pleading and crying. But moaning nonetheless.
To Diluc, it must sound like pleasure. Little breathless gasps and sharp cries that really do make his movements sweeter, more like a lover’s instead of a torturer.
Venti’s hole is slick and slippery with blood, the previous friction gone and the only thing remaining is wet, sloshy erotic sounds. To his horror, he feels something growing in his stomach. Heat flushes his own cock that begins to throb and stand up.
Diluc grins at the sight, his hand going over to it and giving it a long, agonizing stroke. “So you are turned on by it, even after all your limbs have been cut off? Even after I went in dry, you still react like the little slut you are. Come on, moan for me. You look so pretty, crying like that.”
Venti lowers his head and sobs, mixed with more moans of embarrassment. “ I don’t-- ahn- like it, stop- mmnh- please stop it hurts,-- hhah-” His body reacts differently. He shudders and his mind starts clouding over, like a cloud of haze has settled over it. The fact that it isn’t a cloud of pain makes it even scarier. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t he can’t he doesn’t doesn’t doesn’t stop stop
Strings of sticky white shoot out of his cock, splattering his belly. Diluc comes as well, into his abused hole, then pulls out slowly, strings of white and red attached to his dick.
No. I can’t, I don’t like it. I didn’t like it. It hurted it still hurts.
Venti makes eye contact with the winery owner, and shakes his head desperately. “ No more no more please, I don’t want-- don’t like, please please please--! ”
“Oh Venti, how can I stop? Look, you just came from being raped…” Diluc hooks his hands under Venti’s arms and pulls him into a wobbly sitting position. Blood and cum and fluid pools out of his hole, coming in contact with his cauterized legs and produces a stinging, burning feeling. “You love it, don’t you? You love it when Master Diluc fucks you senseless and ruins your tight little hole. Come on, how about you suck me off? Clean the little mess you made.”
Venti wobbles forward, almost toppling over and places the blunt, chopped off area of flesh on Diluc’s thighs. The promise of possibly even worse, even more pain is the sole thing that makes him open his mouth and take Diluc’s length into it. He tries his very best to move his tongue, like how he’d done before under different circumstances, and it works, but there’s no feeling behind it. It merely feels empty, like Venti isn’t even there. He’s watching someone being violated, and if it’s not him that remains, then who? Certainly not Barbatos. He doesn’t feel like a god.
He doesn’t feel like anything. Not even the wisp of wind that he used to be. He’s light and floaty in all the wrong ways.
Diluc sighs, and results in gripping a fistful of Venti’s hair in his hand and driving his cock into his mouth. It repeatedly hits the back of Venti’s throat, but he doesn’t gag-- a small advantage of having no gag reflex. His throat only convulses and swallows in the precome, come and blood-- his own blood down his throat. It tastes metallic and bitter and nothing at all like what he’s tasted before. It’s just revolting. Another few hard snaps of Diluc’s hips and a spray of come shoots down Venti’s throat. He swallows it all, tilting his head back.
At Diluc’s command, he opens his mouth, showing that he’d done as he was told-- swallowed all of the redhead’s seed. At the moment, no fight is left. All he has the energy to do is comply with every order, every command he is given. Who knows what Diluc can dream up when he gets angry?
Sleep. Can I sleep? I’m tired.
Vomit. It smells bad, I feel like vomiting.
It hurts.
When Diluc tells him to lick all the fluid off the ground, Venti does it. When Diluc goes for another round but makes Venti do all the work by himself, bouncing his body up and down on his cock, he does it. When Diluc tells Venti to beg for his dick like the
ç̷̡̣̫͉̠̖͔̜̬̥͊͋̆͗̏̈́̚͘ů̵̟̖̼̭͎̞̘̘̰̥͈͉͓̞m̶̨̥̘͚̻̗͔̝̠̆̊͐̈́̓͒͋̓̚̚͜s̴̉͂͘ͅl̷̛̩͇̭̃͌͂͐̉́̈̓̐̀̓́ư̴̡̭̟͍̭̳͑̾̋̐̎̄̇̆̅̇ẗ̴̬̬͙̣̳̞̱̲̙͚̳̳̿̊̿͂́̐̾͊̀͗͋͒w̶̧̡̦͙͙̜͎͓̯͖̪̙͎̠̓̋̇ͅḩ̵̢̧̛͓̹̝̻͌́́̀͑̂͆͆̇̿͗͘͝͝ö̶̢̡̨͕͎͙̤̟͕́͗̾͠ͅͅr̷̺͕̲͔̳͚͕̥̤͈̀̍̔͐̆̓̈́̀̀̿͊̚͝e̶̢̙̮̗̩͉̲͕̎̃̄̏̀̎c̷̰̟̳̤̯͆͑̉͗̇̏̌͗͛̏̿̌͘͝ő̷̡̡̹̪̻͚̰̦͈͙͕̞͈̽̑̿͘c̴̞͍̥̞̻͚̦̹̬͕̜̎͒̈́̏͋̐̕͠ͅk̶̡̪̝̮̳͇̋̈́̋ͅs̵̛̰̦͓̯͙̝̍̉̐͊̄̌̊͑̆́̄͝ĺ̵̞͉͔̜̝̜̙̯̏̊̒̔̎̐̆̾͊́́͘ę̸̡̨̢͍̻̺͚͔̼̳̹̤͗́̓͛̎͑̒͘͜ͅȩ̸̧̳̳͔̯̬̌̽͂̊̈́̕̚͜v̵̢̦̰̣̘̺̄̈̏̈́̈͛͜ȅ̶̼͓̔͋̉̔͊͋̌͂̔̆͂͊͋̕ that he is, he does it.
Is that what he said? Venti can’t remember. Anything. It’s all just a mix of humiliation and pain and tears and blood vomit raping ruining fucking screaming fear agony crying begging pleading stop stop stop
His voice doesn’t work anymore. If Diluc does anything, he can’t scream. He can’t even gasp. His mouth remains open in a silent cry for help-- no, not help, he knows he can’t be helped. Pain. Wanting for it to end already.
Is his will really this easily broken? What else can he think of, when there’s nothing to distract him from the pain, from Diluc. He never stops. He never gets tired or feels any remorse. Does he even… feel anything at all?
How long has it been? Hours, days, weeks...
Freedom. I want to be free.
This isn’t… isn’t freedom.
Oh, he’s stopped…
Can I close my eyes now?
Tired…
Venti blacks out.
───
He starts screaming before he wakes up.
Something is sinking into his ass. Something sharp and blunt at the same time, like it’s not made for cutting but with the force applied, starts to rip the skin and tear the flesh.
Venti twists his upper body frantically, glancing behind him.
Oh, oh no nonono--
Diluc is pinning his lower half down, the flesh on Venti’s ass snagged between his teeth. He rips and pulls and pulls the strip right off in a surprising burst of force. Like an animal.
Venti’s vocal chords have mercifully healed, but only so he can scream and cry even more to break them over and over again. His limbs aren’t fully regenerated, but their previously cauterized ends have melted into a proper, skin-covered stub. Mimicking a professional amputation-- at least it doesn’t hurt as much anymore, but phantom traces of pain linger at the area where they were severed.
It’s no use struggling, he discovers quickly when he tries to kick and squirm and flip over but Diluc only pins him down harder and continues to devour his flesh. Venti buries his face in the floor, muffled moans, screams and cries escaping his mouth while he defeatedly lets Diluc have his way.
The only thing he can feel is pain, pain and teeth sinking into places they shouldn't to rip the tender flesh right out of it’s place. The all-too-familiar metallic smell drifts into the air, and Venti can’t hold back the urge anymore-- he retches onto the floor again, the same watery bile he’s seen too much come from his own small, frail body.
Diluc must be tired of cleaning it up all the time.
It’s not my fault. It just… hurts.
Can’t stop.
Don’t--
A wave of panic blinds Venti when Diluc pauses. Is he finally fed up with him always dirtying the floor with his blood, vomit, waste? After all, whatever mess Venti makes, Diluc has to clean, and if he doesn’t feel like it, then he makes Venti ingest it back into his body. It’s been a long time, or at least it feels like a long time, since the first time Diluc had amputated him completely. From that day onwards, the redhead would keep making sure his limbs didn’t grow back completely by hacking them off with the same chainsaw. Cut them off, Venti’s vocal chords strain and tear from the screaming, he watches the preparation of the flesh, he gets raped, he d̵̡̠̩͓̅̉̒̆͠į̴̫̗͖̜̠̉̋̎́͝ę̵̡̞̭̝̮̹͙̻͙͕̇̿̾s̷̥̯̜̎͗͗̔̊͌̏̆͌̂̕͝͝, he blacks out, he comes back.
Just because it’s routine doesn’t mean Venti doesn’t dread every single second of it. He’s still perpetually terrified of what Diluc does to him, he still cries and screams every. Single. Time.
So Venti desperately holds back his vomit, swallowing it back into his system when it threatens to spill. Strings of stopstopstopstop still stream out of his lips-- this is new, he’s never been-- it’s never been like this before. Diluc has never done this before. Has he grown impatient from preparing the meat properly? Or maybe, he prefers this method. Fresher-- rawer.
“You want me to stop, Venti?” The voice of a monster asks.
“ No, nononono-- ” Venti sobs, shaking his head vigorously. “ Don’t-- ” A gasp; shuddering breath.
“ Don’t stop. ”
───
Venti moves his shoulders. His forearms are back, which feels strange. That’s longer than Diluc has ever let them grow and stay.
He realizes this probably means Diluc has something wretched in store for him. A splitting headache rips through his brain; is it the physical or mental strain?
He feels someone grab his arm, and he flinches so violently he almost gets whiplash. He doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is-- the familiar rough grip and handling, the calloused palms and fingers.
And even more familiar-- the shape and feeling the teeth will make when they sink into his flesh.
Routine repeats itself: scream and cry and beg even when he knows it won’t do anything. Diluc seems to have taken an increased liking to eating straight off Venti, so he lets it happen.
It’s not like he can do anything about it, anyway.
Then something strange happens-- for what feels like at least weeks, he keeps Venti alive. Every once in a while Diluc will come down to visit him and take a few bites of his flesh, or if he has time, strip off a few chunks, but that’s it. He doesn’t crush his ribs or rip his limbs off or cook him alive. He’s tired and cold and hungry. Without d̶̛̙͚̳̫̹͉̝̺͈̒̔͌͊͜ỵ̴̤͍̜͇̳͓̥͉͓̥͐̀̔͗̋̎̽̾̓́̊͜͜͠ǐ̷̺̤̜̫͕͉̩̖͕͓́̑̔̐̅̎̑̆͂n̷̛̲̏͛̉͛͌͋̑g̷͔͑̽̓, being mutilated beyond recognition, he can’t regenerate the organs inside of him as well. It’s been forever without food, and he’s so… so hungry.
Why aren’t his limbs regenerating, then? Usually they do, faster. Venti doesn’t know.
He doesn’t care.
But he does feel uneasy. The cellar gets lonely, and it feels… weird to not be filled with constant screaming and the stench of flesh and blood. Diluc’s attention is better than this, Venti thinks. He’d kiss him ever so lovingly and carefully if he was a good boy and didn’t struggle so much.
He misses it.
So when the redhead emerges from the darkness, Venti already has his arm outstretched, trembling, ready for him to strip it of it’s flesh. When his body is wracked with spasms of hunger, he pushes it aside-- Diluc first.
And Diluc does-- although this time he’s brought a knife with him. As he slices and Venti starts to sob, he thinks he prefers the teeth more. It’s more familiar, and he would be able to feel the warmth of Diluc’s mouth, and the draining sensation when Diluc sucks the blood out. The knife just feels lifeless and cold, all too smooth and merciful.
But then Diluc takes the flesh he’s cut off, and raises it to Venti’s mouth.
His mind goes blank.
All he sees is red. A strip of red.
Is it food?
To Diluc, it is food.
I’m hungry.
My stomach hurts, everything hurts.
Diluc…
I want food.
Oh… it smells…
good?
Like meat. Metal…
Meat.
Food.
Venti opens his mouth.
The red slides in.
He closes his mouth.
He chews, chews chews
che w s
Swallows.
His stomach growls. It’s greedy.
Venti parts his red-stained lips again.
“ More. ”
───
“ Why can’t I die?? I want-- w-want to d-die, it h-hurts-- Diluc, aah-mmnhg…
Kill me. I want- to d-die.”
It shakes it’s head. Venti can’t tell what it’s doing, but all he knows is that it hurts.
“Did you forget? You can’t die, Venti. Hush, it’ll be over soon. I promise.”
“K-kill me,-- mnaah! D-die, I want to die. E-end, end end end end m-me--”
The monster raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Do you want to know what happens when I try to kill you?”
“Aah, mghn-- yes, k-kill me please kill me die, le-let me d-di-e…”
The monster is merciful. Something cold and sharp presses to his throat, and in one smooth motion, slits it.
Venti drowns in darkness,
h̶̞̾͝ͅȩ̸͔̝̣̱̼̰̈̈̀̊̇̈́̚̕͝ͅ'̸͍̲̲̉̑̃͋̑͆͐͒͊̀̈̀̂͝ş̷̛̛̛̮̻͕̥̣̩͔̺̞͇́̀͑͌͆̿ ̵̧̡̛͇̘͔̹͍̹̮̬̟͈͖͉̈̅̌̿̿̋̾̇̓̇̚d̵̡͍͔͈̖̰̘̟͔̟̹̲̎̉̈́̎̉́̄̇͋͘͘͜͝e̶̫̋͒͋̓͑̌̕ą̵͉̼̹̭̜̙̻͈͉̳̮͌͆̊͗̏͒̄͑d̶̺͕̗̅̽́̆̕͠
but he always comes back.
Kill him
a g a i n.
───
He wakes up.
His limbs fall off.
He watches them get taken apart.
He gets raped.
He eats it.
He is crushed.
His organs spill
into red
and he eats it.
Be burned, and cry plead beg scream shriek pain agony blood red everywhere spill terror fear help no more stop stop sto̷̢͉̪̱̘̞͉̫͖͎͛̉͂͐̕̕͘͜ͅͅp̶̥̜̠͚͈͇̾̂̀́̽͘ ̵̨͎̟̹͓̯̜̊̾́͌̇̈s̶͔̝͎̯̫͆̋͛̓͘ţ̵̡̡̛͔̤̗̱͓̼̘̼͈̩̪̏̃̄̐̾̇͋̑́̏̑͒́͘ơ̶̡̞̞̯̻͕͓̝̝̰͙̤̬͓̇̓͌̀́͐̆̄̇̽ͅp̴̨̛̟͕͍͚̰̤̹̭̭͍̘͔̙͊́̊́͐̊̈͊̕͠͠
̶̖͉̞̫̼̱͖̄̆̿̈̆͌͂͑̍͘͠s̵̛̤̬̝͓͍̯̝̮̲̝̎̋̑̍́́̒̈͐̚͜͝͝͝t̵̩̟̻͇̘͎̹̩̎̕͜ò̴̫̜̼̤̟͙̩̏͐̊͆͘̚p̸̜̈̋̽̇̋̑̑̃̔͘ ̷̨̡̛̬͙̲̯̫̗͓͔͓͖͓̱̀̎̾̆̿̀̀̊̀̎͘͜͝ś̸̨̫͚̥̻̥̃̀̎̄ẗ̸̛̮̖̞̱͓̦̘͊̈́̀̽̋͘͜ͅo̸̼͚̺͊̈́̏͛́̍̈́̍͊͋͗̓̈́̇p̸̦̠̙̃̊͐̀̉̈́̿͗̊͆̔͆̀̅ ̷͖̫̉̉͒͋͂͑̇̔̀̈́͆̚̕͝ṡ̶̹͍̘͉̪͆́̐̂̕͘͠t̵̨̢̜̦̜͓̳͇͚̣͈̯͙͋́͒̆̉̋͑͆͌͘o̵̬̰̯̎̃̇͒̐̊͌̕p̸̛̩̘̀̑̾̆̊̊̀͆̏̿͝͝͠ ̶̧̘̣̭̺͈́͗̈̌̔̒͐͜͜p̵͓̭̲̉l̶̛̩̗͔͓͉̘̞̰̰̀̃̐́̿͘e̶̢̠̲̯͉̝̟̬̼̯̥̰̰̬͓̓̈̆̽͋̄͘ą̶̭͎̣̜̯̻̑̀s̸̨̢̮͎̰̰̭̥̺̪̭͛͒͋̍͗̾̒͠͝͝e̴͍̦̟̖̦̳̦̰̬̅̑̃͋͊̅̀͆͠͝ ̸̧̧̧͖̳̙̔p̸̭͈̪͗̅̆͊͌̈́̂́̾̄̽͘l̷̡̮̲̼͓̪͇̼̮̺̫͖̝̾̌̈́̂͑̌̎ę̵͓͕͇̤̫̝̞̌͐̔͌́͛̾̕̚͝ ą̵̘̠̝̈́̓͗̀͝͝s̴̡̡̖̳͍̦͈͓̝͎̮̥͚̍̊͑́̅̒͂e̴̢̧͕̺͇̗͇̙̱̮̪͊͆̆́́́͐̔̕͜͠͠͝ ̵̡̢͙̻̱͕̩̫͔̖͈̲̐͂̈́̄̉̀͋͛̐͗̊̐̚p̴̡̦̥̆͆͝l̷̢̫͌͊̓͗̓̅̓͛̈́͘ę̴̢̬͈̗̫̩͉͓͇̈̓̔̓̅̓̈́̕a̵͔͚͊̍̅͒s̴̝̙̟̖̤̥̦̫̱͓͇̣̪̏͌͋́̎e̴̛̖̤̪̖͎̖͖͓̅̈́̍̀ ̴̹̻̗̯̳̫̲̖̋͆̃̈́͜͠ṗ̸̮͎͍͎̰͌͌͌l̸̦̱̰̤̰̺͎̞̺̻̍͆͆ͅe̴͍͈̩̔a̵̛͎̙͓̘͕͓̎̉́̉͠s̴̝͕̉͛̂̈́̓̍̆ę̴̞̯̰̮͕̏̑͜͠p̷̜̣͕̗̫̙̘̻͉͕͇̹̗̈̍̿͂͝l̷̡̛̗̠͖͕̯̩͂ẹ̵͔̈́ą̴̣̙͎͓̳̗͈̇͐̏̒̀̎̅͛̉͌͘͝ş̷̢̡͓̱̤̯̮͍̠̲̮̰̀̏͊̎̓͌̓͗͛̍̑́̑͝ḙ̸̢̜̣̪͛́̈̀̄̇̑͊͝p̷̯͎̦͚͇̫̯̄͊̄͛̉̓̐̎̔͑͜͝͝͝ͅl̸̯͚͓̮̲̹͈̼̐̇̓̀̎̐̂͛̆̊̒̃͆̕̕͜ĕ̸̡̗̏̀̃̓̓̀͌̍͋̐̇͝͠a̸̛͖̟̞͚̰̲̺̯̎̾̂̒̀̾͘s̶̨̡̮͖̳̠̙̝̖͊̉̀̑̎̔͛̈̐͊̌̈ẽ̷̡̬̼̼̺͇̙̗̞̟̲̮̿̀͊͘̚͝ͅͅp̷̛̱̺̰̤̰̱̯͚̮͑́̽̋̌̀̿̿̂̌̕ͅl̵̜͖̙̯̘̈́̎̽̈́ȩ̵͋̒̍̍͠a̵̪̽͒̇̍̒̇̅̽s̶̛̰̠̅̍͐̓̿͆̄̈́̈́̈̕͝e̸̛̺̙̪̼̯̜̣͗́̅̍̏̕͜
K̵̨̨̧̛̬̘͎̲͉̱͎̤̣̖͒̎̏̍̅̉̓̓͜͜ ̴̧̛̰̳̼̗̖̝̞͚̺̈̇̇̅͗͌̉͂̃͌́͛͗̊ͅȊ̴̥̪̜̬̺͖̒͋̎͂̒̔̚͠ ̸̧͎̪͎͖̘̥̗̘̬̰̲͗̌̑̽̿̈́͠Ḻ̶̢̯͎̗̪̮̤͚̭̌͐̉͑̄ ̷̰͖̝͉̙̪̮̭͆͌̉̈́̂̾̍͜͜L̶̛͚̿̑͌̐̓͌̐̄̚ M̸̡̥̟͖̼̳̓̊͑̚̚͘͠ ̷̨̮̯̫̦̗̊̅̀͗̐̏̈́͑̚͘͜͝Ė̴̲̼̹̘̂̌̃̋́̓͌̒
───
Venti wiggles his fingers. He hasn’t had hands in so long, it feels weird to have them back. Like they don’t belong.
He almost wants to rip them off again. Having no limbs feels much more comfortable. They don’t look right, either. Have they always been that pale and thin? The only hands he’s had to see in what feels like eternity is Diluc’s. They don’t look like that.
What occasion could it be, that Venti would need his hands and feet?
Oh, his legs-- they’re back too. Feet. When he rises to his legs, they wobble and threaten to give way. When was the last time he walked instead of crawled?
He’s not bare-- white stockings with gold diamond embroidery at the side fit snugly on his legs, but it feels uncomfortable. He’s not used to wearing clothes. They look familiar, though-- has he worn these before?
It can’t be , Venti thinks. He’s never known anything other than this dark cellar, a place where he’s never had a need for clothes. Diluc didn’t really like it when he had to get through layers of fabric to his skin.
He turns to his right, and in the usually empty space, there is a large dining table. It’s covered in a velvety red tablecloth, plates and cutlery extravagantly laid out on the surface. A few platters are arranged in the center, covered with metal domes so that Venti can’t see what’s under them.
Someone places a hand on his shoulder, steering him towards the table. Venti follows, confused-- what is all this? Some new treatment Diluc has thought of? He sits down at one of the seats, feeling the plush cushion underneath him.
It’s soft… sinks in. But it’s nothing like the cold concrete floor, so he hates it.
The man-- he wears an extravagant suit of red, black and white with a rose lapel- sits at the other end of the table, baring his teeth in a grin. A grin that makes Venti’s blood run cold, but comforts him at the same time. “I have something very special planned for us today, Venti.”
Venti shivers, wrapping his arms around his waist. Will he die again today?
Diluc lifts the metal domes off of the plates, and the smell of cooked meat hits Venti’s nose.
What’s laid out in front of them is a feast worthy of royalty. Strangely, it’s mostly meat. A steak that shines with grease, meatballs stacked neatly on top of each other drizzled in red paste, a thick, chunky bowl of red-yellow soup, wine bottles and something that looks a bit like cheese, but fattier.
Diluc scoops a little bit of everything onto the plate that sits in front of Venti, and slides it back to him. “Consider it my treat. You’ve been such an obedient boy lately, I think you deserve it.”
Venti stares at it. Can he really eat this…? It looks weird, smells weird. When he touches it with his fingers, it feels even stranger.
But if Diluc tells him to eat it, then he eats it. He grabs a fistful of everything at once and gingerly lifts it to his mouth.
The taste is… familiar. He hasn’t eaten anything that looks like it, but smells--
smells
taste s
wrong
It only takes him a few minutes of chewing in silence, to double over and vomit onto the floor.
Venti clutches his stomach, bile and liquid slipping past parted lips and onto the floor. Tears stream from his eyes-- he starts hyperventilating, gasping and shaking and crying. Hands, newly formed hands fly to his hair and grip the dark locks, his eyes blown open from-- what, fear? Terror, pain, disgust, wrong… they all feel like the same thing.
Screaming fills the room, a terrible, guttural animalistic scream. Whoever is screaming must be feeling the worst kind of pain there is, Venti’s subconscious mind thinks. I feel bad for him. He’ll be okay right? I hope it doesn’t stay long.
When a hand presses itself to his back and steadies his shaking figure, it does little to calm him down. Pressing hands to his ears, Venti shuts his eyes firmly.
I wish that boy would stop screaming. It hurts my ears, you know… Maybe I shouldn’t be this harsh. He’ll feel better, won’t he?
It’s hard to breathe.
It hurts.
Stop? Will it stop?
It never stops.
Sobbing, crying, pleading, screaming… too much is happening all at once. Venti doesn’t know why, but he holds out one of his arms, like he’s waiting for something to happen.
Someone takes the arm, brings it upwards, and--
teeth
sin k
in,
ripping and tearing flesh out.
Quiet hushing and whispering cuts through the other noises, while his arm loses weight.
Oh, he’s stopped screaming. It feels much better.
Instead of harsh cries and screams, the only thing V̴̢̠̮̗̺̿ě̷̡͓̻͓͊̆̐̓̅͒̚n̷̢̧̖̫̘̗̤̺̘̾̐̍̿t̷̻͔̾̒͜ì̷̢̜͎̱̫̓ hears is soft crying. The cool, pale hardness of concrete beneath him, the blunt thing tearing up his arm is enough to calm his breathing. It’s familiar.
It’s not so bad, see? He stopped screaming. He must feel better. Is someone comforting him? He’s lucky…
V̴̢̠̮̗̺̿ě̷̡͓̻͓͊̆̐̓̅͒̚n̷̢̧̖̫̘̗̤̺̘̾̐̍̿t̷̻͔̾̒͜ì̷̢̜͎̱̫̓ takes a shaky, wet breath through his open mouth.
“ More. ”