Chapter Text
“I swear to shit, if ya flash me in the eyes with that thing one more goddamn time,” Wolfwood snaps, poking Livio hard enough on the shoulder to send the kid stumbling back a step, “I’ll leave you here and yer gonna be stuck in the dark with nothin’ to do but bawl yer eyes out.”
Livio’s eyes widen and he yanks the flashlight’s beam away from Wolfwood’s face to instead illuminate a small portion of the canyon wall to their left. “S-sorry!” he squeaks.
Wolfwood sighs and rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Just…keep it pointed down in front of our feet, dumbass.” Livio immediately obeys. Wolfwood gives a perfunctory nod and resumes hiking toward the cave. “Come on, we’re almost there.”
Livio, practically glued to his flank, lets out a small whine. “You’re insane,” he mutters quietly to himself, though Wolfwood definitely hears it. “This whole thing is insane. Hell, I’m insane for following you…”
“Then go back, for fuck’s sake,” Wolfwood hisses. “I didn’t ask ya to come, anyways, ya Crybaby. Could’ve just let me do my thing. Didn’t have to go and follow me.”
Livio’s mouth twists into a pained pout and a twinge of hurt flashes in his eyes. “Sorry,” he says, voice low.
Wolfwood’s chest tightens in the way it always does when he realizes he’s being a fucking asshole. He sighs and lifts the arm that isn’t holding his own flashlight to roughly pat Livio on the top of his head by way of a wordless apology and affectionately musses up his hair for good measure. “Nah, it’s fine. But seriously, if yer scared, stay here or go back. Don’t have to come, if you don’t wanna. I ain’t forcin’ ya.”
Livio’s brows furrow as he thinks. After a moment, he shakes his head and continues following, seeming slightly more emboldened than before. “No, I’m coming,” he says firmly. He flashes Wolfwood a smirk. “I mean, someone’s gotta look after your idiot ass when things go south.”
Wolfwood snorts, probably too loud for the situation. He winces as the sound of it reverberates off the rocks of the canyon. He reels it back and lowers his volume to maintain the air of stealth. “Fair enough.”
With that, they resume their walk through the bottom of the canyon. The path winds sharply and sometimes the trail narrows to where only one of them can squeeze through the walls. Often, those tight portions will then suddenly widen to reveal large, sandy clearings. Strewn about the trail are rocks and boulders, many of which are large enough that Wolfwood and Livio have to scramble over them.
This cave is almost purposely a bitch to find, Wolfwood thinks dryly.
The trek it isn’t easy in the dark, considering they’re relying only on their flashlights and the faint glow of the moons to guide them through the rough terrain. But, they manage.
Livio is slower, with his shorter, skinnier frame. He’s breathing heavy, but he keeps up with Wolfwood well enough. Wolfwood makes a point to purposely pause and “check the battery in his flashlight” or “make sure he still has his lighter in his pocket” so that it buys some time for Livio to catch up to him whenever he falls behind. The kid technically didn’t even want to come, which makes Wolfwood - despite his teasing - hesitant run ahead and otherwise risk making Livio feel like more of a hindrance than the kid probably already does.
But, despite being a stringy sixteen year old, Livio’s tougher than he looks. He has to be, after all. While they might live in the little oasis of Hopeland, the orphanage still resides on the outskirts of the city of December. It’s a rough town, and knowing how to handle oneself in a fight is a must if they’re planning on wandering around on their own.
Wolfwood likes to think that all the muggings, brawls, and debauchery just add to December’s rugged charm.
Within half an hour, they reach the mouth of the cave. There’s an admittedly ominous aura to it, but not so much that Wolfwood’s curiosity is deterred. He waves off the unsettling feeling and looks at the ground around him. Beside his foot are a handful of small rocks. He bends, picks them up, and looks over his shoulder to flash Livio a lopsided, shit-eating grin.
“Ready to meet our famous local cryptid?” he jokes. “Thing’s been freakin’ the town out for decades, I hear. I remember at one point kids were going out to explore and then they’d come runnin’ back to Hopeland an hour later, having wet their damn pants. Then it stopped for a while as I got older.” He pauses and the amusement vanishes from his face, his expression turning dark. “But then little Chrissy came back last week, white as a fuckin’ sheet and in tears, screamin’ about our local monster.” He grits his teeth. “Fuck that. Ya don’t get to just go around scarin’ the piss outta Miss Melanie’s ilk without answering for it.”
Livio starts gnawing anxiously on his lower lip.
He had been angry on Chrissy’s behalf, of course. His heart still aches at the memory of when she came back to the yard, her cheeks tear-stained, overalls torn at the hem, and knees and palms bloodied like she had fallen down while trying to desperately flee from whatever had terrified her during her innocent exploration of the grounds just outside of Hopeland.
Between hiccuping sobs, she regaled them with a tale of a massive, flying creature who chased her away from the edge of the canyon, roaring and hissing after her as she fled. At once, the two suspected December’s historical resident cryptid had to be behind the assault.
As angry and upset as Livio had been, Wolfwood’s righteous fury was, unsurprisingly, far fiercer.
All the kids at Hopeland know that ‘Big Brother Nico’ is the one to go running to at the first sign of trouble. He’s their protector. Livio remembers when he was more hesitant in taking on the role years ago, when he was younger. But at eighteen, he’s accepted the role with fervor.
In fact, the citizens of December know not to fuck with any of the Hopeland kids, anymore. This is exclusively due to the threat of Wolfwood’s temper. Should one of the kids ever come back from a day trip to December either hurt or in tears, ‘Big Brother Nico’ will stalk into town and swiftly rain hellfire down upon the foolish soul at fault for their distress.
If something happens to one of the littles, Wolfwood nearly loses his damn mind.
Thus, their current predicament.
Livio has been trying to talk him out of this little excursion for the past week, as Wolfwood has been practically chomping at the bit to confront the perpetrator who dared make Chrissy cry.
Tonight, Wolfwood couldn’t take it any longer.
Livio had caught him trying to sneak out on his own to come to the canyons where Chrissy had said she’d been attacked. Terrified as he was to accompany him, Livio refused to let Wolfwood go alone. He and Wolfwood were the oldest kids at the orphanage. Therefore Livio had a responsibility to protect the littles, too.
However, they certainly weren’t suicidal enough to let Miss Melanie in on their plan.
So, here they are.
Two idiots wandering around in the middle of the night, trying to find Millions Knives.
Livio pinches the bridge of his nose and whines, “Nico, I think this is a really bad idea -”
He’s cut off by the echo of one of the rocks in Wolfwood’s hand being thrown into the cave.
“Nico!” Livio admonishes with a frantic whisper. He ‘thwaps’ Wolfwood sharply on the bicep with his bony hand. “Don’t piss it off! We’re just here to talk to it, remember?!”
Wolfwood snickers and turns toward the mouth of the cave, purposely raising his voice to nearly a shout. “What? ‘Millions Knives’ gonna get all pissy at me for throwin’ a fuckin’ pebble?” He snorts into the dark opening. “Please. If it gets upset over that, it’s more of a little bitch than I suspected.”
He throws three more rocks in quick succession.
But, the third doesn’t echo like the others.
In fact, it doesn’t make any sound at all.
Like it hadn’t even hit the ground.
Like, instead, it had been caught mid-air.
Dread pools in Wolfwood’s gut at the realization.
Before he can even open his mouth to speak, a deep snarl sounds from inside the cave. Livio leaps behind him and grabs his hand, squeezing it hard.
Wolfwood tries to salvage his quickly failing bravado as he hears scuffling inside and then the sound of bare skin - feet, most likely - slapping against the stone floor, growing louder as it approaches the mouth of the cave.
Ever the bratty teenager with a fragile ego and something to prove, Wolfwood straightens his posture and puffs out his chest, trying to keep up the brave act. He manages this for less than five seconds. All his idiotic courage dissipates like a vapor as soon as he catches a glimpse of glimmering, pointed teeth and icy blue eyes narrowed in cold fury. The unsettling, predatory gaze locks on him and Wolfwood doesn’t even think before his self preservation instincts kick in.
He grabs Livio by his shirt collar and yanks him along, throwing their flashlights to the ground as they bolt.
❖
His lungs are on fucking fire as he heaves hurried, desperate breaths whenever he has the milliseconds to spare.
But breathing wastes time and even milliseconds are not a luxury he currently has.
Instead, Wolfwood presses on at breakneck speed. He devotes his entire being to whatever haphazard escape he can manage in the eerie glow that now showers the bottom of the canyon.
He risks a glance upward and, framed in an almost picturesque image with the backdrop of one of the moons above, sees the telltale neon green luminescent glow from a hoard of thousands of small, flying Worms that are moving in what appears to be some out-of-season migration pattern high above the sharp lips of the rocky canyon.
Wolfwood can hardly afford to spare it a thought, but the realization does briefly strike him: this swarm of Worms wasn’t around earlier when he and Livio were on their way down to the cave. Their sudden appearance would be enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand, if this were any other time.
As odd and potentially concerning as the idea of being under the watchful gaze of Zazie the Beast’s little flying peons might be, Wolfwood can only afford to focus on one inhuman creature at a time. And right now, Millions Knives seems far more immediate and ruthless - therefore, that one takes primary concern.
Scrambling through dirt and shale and back over the boulders he and Livio had so gingerly climbed across earlier on their way down, Wolfwood now fights to clamber and run as fast as he fucking can. He ignores the scratches and scrapes against his palms as he pushes onward.
Another vicious snarl sounds from behind them as, somehow, Wolfwood and Livio continue to leave it in their trail.
They’re fighting to outrun a being that he now realizes is entirely inhuman. A genuine monster.
Behind him, he hears Livio whimper at the sound.
Livio’s breaths are coming out increasingly labored, which worries Wolfwood deeply. The boy may be in his later teens and is scrappy in a fight, but he’s still just a scrawny little shit who barely stands at the height of Wolfwood’s chin, despite being less than two years younger.
“Fuck, come on, Liv,” Wolfwood urges, calling back to him.
Livio manages to slightly pick up the pace, but he’s still not moving fast enough. He’s only a few feet behind Wolfwood. But those few feet will make all the difference if they’re caught.
In this situation, several feet may very well be the decider between life and death.
What’s the saying? When running from a predator, you don’t have to be the fastest - you just have to be faster than the person who happens to be the slowest.
Wolfwood absolutely refuses to let Livio be the slowest. His little brother must be the one to live through this nightmare, if it happens to come down to one of them not making it out of this alive.
Livio hadn’t even wanted to come along. And Wolfwood, the miserable failure that he is, hadn’t even pushed all that strongly for the kid to go back to Hopeland and curl back up safely under his covers. What a shit big brother Wolfwood’s turned out to be.
No, Livio will definitely survive this - he’ll make sure of it. He can never face Miss Melanie again, otherwise.
But for all Wolfwood’s determination, the poor kid just can’t seem to fucking keep up.
Farther back, a mixture of a demented growl and otherworldly hiss sounds through the night as shale tumbles off the side of the cliff, signaling the cryptid’s messy and increasingly imminent arrival. Wolfwood’s surprised it’s taken even this long for the cryptid to catch up to them. Surely it’s faster than a couple of teenagers.
Wolfwood curses to himself. Of course - it’s probably playing with them. Like a demented game of cat and mouse. Wolfwood wonders if cryptids think humans taste better when they’re pumped full of fear and adrenaline.
For what seems like the tenth time, he doubles back and grabs roughly at Livio’s arm, latching on and dragging him stubbornly over the bitch of a terrain in a desperate attempt to shove him ahead.
He vows to himself as he bolsters Livio over a boulder half their size that Livio is making it out alive tonight if it’s the last thing he does in his miserable life.
There is no way his brother is going to die by the hands - claws, whatever - of Millions Knives.
What a stupid goddamn name. To think that this monster has been allowed to live so few iles away from December for all these years is baffling. It should have been chased out of town years ago by some good old-fashioned torches, pitchforks, and bullets.
Wolfwood lets out a huff as he presses on, still forcing Livio to keep in front of him.
“N-nico,” Livio gasps, “I can’t keep this up!”
Wolfwood’s heart drops and another wave of adrenaline and dread hits him. “Shut up and run!” he hollers, voice echoing around the cliffs. He prays his own energy lasts long enough to get them out of this situation.
Quick as lightning, sharp, feather-like shapes suddenly slice through a stone overhang above his head. He leaps forward and narrowly misses the fallout.
Long, pale, feathered limbs reach out to swipe at his heel.
“Go, Liv!” he urges, his voice cracking with sheer terror. Sweat is pouring all down his skin - his shirt is now soaked with it and his bangs are stuck to his forehead.
The ground they’re on suddenly disappears and they tumble down a small ledge. The change in terrain is so sudden that the two are sent practically somersaulting, grains of sand flying into the air as they land roughly on the ground below.
Unfortunately, that is enough for Millions Knives to finally catch up to them.
The monster arrives with little ceremony and immediately launches itself at Wolfwood.
“You dare insult me, you pathetic little whelps,” the cryptid hisses. It slams a clawed hand against Wolfwood’s ribcage, sending him flying through the air until he slams against the base of the cliffside. The wind is knocked out of him and he’s left coughing and wheezing pathetically.
Millions Knives, in its towering form, walks forward and looms over him. It’s massive. Wolfwood’s eyes widen as it nears, figuring the thing has to be at least seven or eight feet tall.
The cryptid’s elongated canines glisten in the moonlight, highlighted with a sickly green from the Worms above. They glisten even more in the light as it runs its long, pointed tongue along them, wetting them with its saliva in a threatening display.
One of Millions Knives’ hands shoots out and roughly grabs Wolfwood’s neck. It yanks Wolfwood high enough to where their foreheads nearly meet and Wolfwood’s legs are left to dangle helplessly several feet above the ground.
Wolfwood gazes into the creature’s eyes. His chest seizes in fear. Millions Knives’ eyes are almost entirely glowing white, tinged just slightly with that undertone of impossibly cold icy blue that Wolfwood had seen glowing in the dark of the cave.
Tracing all along its angular face are small feathers that glimmer with flecks like white opal. In fact, the thin, sleek feathers seem to trail across the entirety of its skin, thickening like soft down in certain places like its chest, underbelly, and thighs.
Wolfwood’s gaze flicks towards the trunk of its body and sees another feature that makes his breath hitch.
He’d heard the cryptid could fly. Many local witnesses throughout the years had described it as a large, terrifying bird diving down at them from overhead. But the reality before him is much more than he expected.
It has a primary set of absolutely fucking massive wings in the middle of its back. Their impossibly sleek feathers shine in a similar way to those along its skin, but are much, much longer and wider in comparison. They also have an extremely angular shape, looking almost like blades.
The moniker finally makes sense. Millions ‘Knives’ , indeed.
There are also two other sets of wings on its upper and lower back, framing either side of the large middle set. While overall smaller in size and length compared to the middle, they’re still nearly four feet on either side of the cryptid’s body, once they spread to their full length. They twitch in a display of palpable animosity.
As he processes the unholy monstrosity before him, clawed fingertips wrap easily around the entirety of his neck and squeeze. The fingers are also covered in sleek feathers that lay flat against the skin. They’re unnaturally thin and bony, but Wolfwood can tell they’re strong. The hue of each finger bleeds from the rest of the creature’s near-white shade into a dark gray color, starting from the middle joint and going down to the tip.
He hates that he finds himself utterly transfixed as one sharp claw from its other hand raises and runs slowly across his jaw and the barely-there patchy stubble that only a teenager could be proud of. The claw, Wolfwood realizes with a chill, is so sharp that he’s certain one quick, delicate swipe across his tender throat would have him bleeding out in minutes.
He wonders if this is what it’s like to look Death in the face.
Faced with his impending doom, Wolfwood scrounges up a rare moment of politeness. “We-we’re sorry,” he manages, eyes screwing shut against the tunnel vision that’s being caused by lack of oxygen. “P-please…”
Millions Knives huffs, breath hot against Wolfwood’s cheeks and nose. It smells of rotting meat and Wolfwood fights the urge to gag at the wholly unpleasant stench. He wonders what kind of things it had to have eaten in order to have breath so fucking rancid.
Animals? Worms? People, perhaps?
It’s in that moment, deep in his soul, Wolfwood accepts his likely impending death.
But, he figures that as long as he can hold out enough to allow for Livio to escape, he’ll be able to leave his mortal coil with no regrets.
At least, that would be the case if Livio wasn’t insisting on being a fucking dumbass.
His idiot brother begins pelting Millions Knives with whatever nearby heavy-looking stones he can manage to throw with his spindly arms, trying desperately to divert the cryptid’s attention away from Wolfwood.
Unfortunately, it works.
The cryptid releases Wolfwood, and he falls to the hard ground in a crumpled heap, letting out a pained grunt as he lands.
It whips around to confront his brother.
“Ya goddamn idiot!” Wolfwood shouts, still coughing as he gasps for air. “Liv - no!”
Livio, realizing he now has the cryptid’s attention, freezes in fear.
It leaps toward Livio and swipes a clawed hand towards his head. Talons catch on tender skin and strike vertically from Livio’s hairline and down his left brow, eye, and to his chin.
Livio lets out a strangled cry and sinks to his knees, clutching his face.
Wolfwood wants to vomit at the sight of the blood pouring down, spurting out between the spaces between Livio’s trembling fingers. Head wounds bleed nasty on the best of days, and it looks like the monster got Livio pretty good.
“No! Let him go ya fuckin’ animal! It’s my fault! I’m the one ya want! Come at me, for fuck’s sake!”
The cryptid seems to ignore his cries and rounds on Livio once again, raising its hand in preparation for another strike.
Wolfwood launches himself forward and tries to grab onto the cryptid’s body in an attempt to physically pull it away. He grabs and tugs desperately until a wing smacks roughly against him, sending him flying back across the dirt.
He lands awkwardly on his arm and the forearm bends unnaturally until Wolfwood feels it snap.
He cries out, nauseous with pain.
One mere flick of its wing has him practically down for the count. Pathetic. He’s too weak. His little brother is about to die, and it’s entirely his fault.
Wolfwood lets out a gut-wrenching scream into the night.
Adrenaline still intense enough to dull the pain just slightly, he grinds his teeth against the agony in his arm and sprints forward to try and resume his attempts to distract Millions Knives from his attack on Livio.
The cryptid hits him again while he’s mid-stride, which sends him flying back even further. He cracks his head against a rock and falls back, dazed.
It’s just toying with his brother now. Allowing Livio to turn over and crawl to try to escape as it walks in languid circles around him. Blood still flowing in rivets down his face, Livio doesn’t get very far until the creature grabs his ankle and yanks him back. It raises a claw and rakes it down Livio’s back, shredding his shirt. Blood from the new wound splashes against the sand.
Wolfwood shakes his head to try and clear it and attempts to stand once again so that he can get to Livio.
His knees give out from the dizziness and the pounding in his skull.
He falls forward, curling in on himself, and squeezes his eyes shut as Livio continues crying out.
Wolfwood is certain they’ll both be dead shortly.
“I’m not strong enough,” he whimpers, weakly pounding the fist on his good arm into the ground.
Tears swim in his eyes and he is faced with the realization that he truly is a failure. He’ll never be deserving of being called ‘Big Brother Nico’, again. Maybe, with this being the way things turned out, he was never actually truly deserving of it in the first place.
He’s a shit brother, a shit protector, and a shit person.
Suddenly, a playful, melodic voice scoffs from beside him, yanking him from his spiral of self-hatred.
“’Strong enough’? Absolutely not. But strength isn’t the only way to come out of this alive,” it chimes in his ear.
Wolfwood gasps and whips his head to the side. The movement is rough and has him gritting his teeth and clenching his eyes shut against the fresh wave of nausea it causes.
Once he reopens his eyes and his vision clears, he comes face-to-face with a strange being.
White, layered hair flaps wildly around their head as violet irises with eerie, thin, vertical pupils stare at him intently. Their pupils remind Wolfwood of a snake’s. They’re bent at the hips, leaning in so close that he can feel their breath tickle his nose, calculating gaze seeming to take in Wolfwood with clear interest.
He can sense an aura of power pulsating around this newcomer. Though it feels decidedly less bloodthirsty than Millions Knives. But the casual, yet domineering attitude exudes a demand of respect, despite their young, almost child-like stature.
They’re looking at him as if examining a floundering, legless bug in a petri dish.
It makes his insides squirm.
The being waves a hand and time seems to slow to a crawl around them. His eyes flick across the way and it looks as if Livio and Millions Knives are almost frozen in place.
This being apparently has a shitton of power.
His eyes narrow at them. “Are ya with that thing? ” he demands coldly.
They snicker and open their mouth to jab a finger inside while making a sound as if they’re gagging.
“Ugh, no. He’s annoying. Besides, we are our own side.” Their voice is, admittedly, pleasant and lilting, despite the threatening undertone. They sigh and poke their bottom lip out, as if in a pout. “And, see, we’ve been bored for a while,” they pause and make a show of looking Wolfwood up-and-down, then they shrug, “so, we’ll help you.”
“'We’?” Wolfwood prods. He’d caught the word earlier, but is just now realizing that it seems purposeful.
They smirk. “I am legion. Therefore, ‘we’.”
Wolfwood frowns at the strange response, but opts to roll with it. After all, he has much more pressing concerns.
“And why the hell should I accept yer help?” Wolfwood shoots back. “No offense, but I’m not feeling very trusting right now.”
While part of him is admittedly tempted to accept the help outright, at this point in his night, Wolfwood isn’t feeling quick to side with any non-human.
They grin maniacally and the sight has goosebumps erupting along Wolfwood’s skin. “You don’t want our help? Fine,” they say, their tone light. “But it’s been ages since we’ve stuck our nose in anything to do with the humans. So we’d honestly feel a little honored at our offer, if we were you.”
He glances over and sees the blood staining his brother and the ground around him. The gash down Livio’s face, from where Wolfwood’s standing, will definitely scar. He might even lose his eye. But despite that and the scratches down his back, Wolfwood suspects Livio might have a chance at surviving this if he manages to get help. They’re very nearly out of the canyon, and it wouldn’t be much farther to Hopeland once he gets out. Miss Melanie is skilled enough to likely be able to staunch the bleeding until the local doctor arrives. If the stars align, Livio will survive - but it has to be soon.
The being clicks their tongue, pulling Wolfwood’s attention back to them. “We’d recommend choosing quickly. Time is ticking and our offer won’t stand for much longer,” they warn in a sing-song tone. As they do, they flick one of their fingers and time seems to start speeding up again, ever so slightly.
Wolfwood grits his teeth, gives Livio one last look, and then turns back to the strange being, his decision made.
“Deal.” His eyes flicker over to Millions Knives who, blessedly, had paused his attack and hasn’t resumed its onslaught against his brother. Rather, it has its claws at its mouth and its tongue looks to be in the middle of lapping at a bit of Livio’s blood.
Wolfwood’s gut curls and his chest heats with a mixture of disgust and rage at the sight.
“Well?!” he snaps at the being beside him. “Ya gonna go over there and fight that bastard, or what?”
They snicker in a way that has Wolfwood suspecting their amusement is entirely at his expense. His eye twitches and he bites the inside of his cheek to prevent anything rude and stupid from coming out of his mouth that might piss them off.
“Please,” they scoff. “Physical fights are dull. Besides, that wasn’t what I meant. You can beat big, bad Millions Knives yourself, if you’re willing to make a little sacrifice.”
Wolfwood swallows thickly at the heavy implication.
“What sacrifice?”
They grin, slitted irises dancing wildly. “Simple. Make a deal with the devil.”
Wolfwood’s eyes widen.
They pause and their face scrunches. “Yeesh. You know what, even we’ll admit that sounded a bit…dramatic.” They tap their chin. “No, Knives is less of a ‘devil’ and more of a…petulant child with a mean streak.” Wolfwood fights back a scoff. That thing? A ‘petulant child’? The being continues, grin widening, “And what do you do when you want to divert a child’s attention away from a toy?”
Wolfwood’s eyes narrow. “You tell me.”
Their smile falls and they roll their eyes. “Distract them with another, better toy, duh.”
“What toy would that be?” He pauses. “Wait, me?”
“In a sense,” they reply. “Knives is a negotiator. He won’t agree to any request unless he can walk away with something that benefits himself. Our suggestion? Offer a deal for whatever he wants, and see what he says.”
Wolfwood’s jaw tenses. “Do ya know what he wants?”
They bark out a laugh. “We have a suspicion.”
“What is it?” Wolfwood demands tersely. He’s already growing tired of this being and their games. They seem to enjoy playing with him and it’s grating heavily on his already very, very thin nerves. Having been told that his temper is dicey at the best of times, he isn’t sure how much longer he can keep his irritation in check before he loses it.
The being clicks their tongue. “Come on, now. Whatever Knives wants from you is probably worth the life of your companion over there, yeah? What’s a small favor if it means saving someone you care deeply for?”
This being’s slightly mocking tone and chilling word choice have Wolfwood’s skin crawling so violently that he’s nearly shivering. But, truly, what option does he have at this point? He’s clearly physically outclassed by Millions Knives, but if he can supposedly make an offer to the cryptid and that might alone be enough to convince it to back off? Wolfwood will gladly trudge through Hell itself, as long as it means saving Livio.
The being beside him seems to sense his resolve and waves their hand once more, allowing time to resume its normal state. Wolfwood belatedly wonders what the fuck this being is. Clearly it’s immensely powerful. He has a guess, but he can’t afford to linger on that, now.
Not wasting any time, Wolfwood shouts across the clearing.
“Millions Knives!”
His voice is strong and cuts through the night air like a machete, not wavering in the slightest, despite the persistent pulsating pain he’s still fighting. The back of his head is sticky with drying blood and his arm is throbbing mercilessly. As much as he’s hurting, he knows Livio feels worse. The thought has him swallowing his own discomfort.
The monster pauses mid-step and turns slowly to face him, feathers around its face ruffling at the brazen challenge.
Wolfwood, despite the confidence that had just rung clearly in his voice, is now very close to pissing his pants in the face of that fierce, icy, glowing gaze. Millions Knives’ lip curls as it seems to recognize the being now standing beside Wolfwood. Its eyes narrow and it bares its teeth in a silent snarl.
The other giggles and waves their fingers playfully in greeting.
Wolfwood’s nervousness spikes as he recognizes the cryptid’s distaste for Wolfwood’s newfound ally. He presses on, regardless.
“I propose an exchange,” he begins. He clears his throat and lifts his chin. “A...a deal. Between you and me. I’ll do anything ya want, and in return…” He looks at Livio and he feels a small flood of relief when he recognizes the rise and fall of his brother’s chest across the clearing from where he is spread out on his back. Wolfwood raises his good arm and points at Livio. “In return, he survives tonight.”
The cryptid’s glowing gaze flits between Wolfwood and the being beside him.
Wolfwood nearly jumps as a buzzing sound starts up beside him. His newfound company is now elevated about three feet above Wolfwood’s head, using a set of thin, almost translucent faintly glowing green wings to keep them floating in the air. These are not feathered like Millions Knives’. Instead, this being’s wings look like those of a large flying Worm.
“Zazie, what did you tell him?” Knives finally hisses.
Wolfwood’s eyes widen.
Zazie?
Zazie the Beast?
The eldritch essence that’s supposedly been around forever, since before humans even bothered to start recording the planet’s history? The entity that’s supposedly composed of all the trillions of Worms’ collective consciousness?
That Zazie?
Suddenly the Worm-like wings and the whole dramatic “I am legion” bullshit make sense.
Well, shit.
Wolfwood’s burgeoning suspicion is confirmed, at least. But to have it actually confirmed still sends a chill through him. Looks like he’s managed to piss off local cryptid extraordinaire and catch the attention of the planet’s most ancient being. This will surely be his last night alive.
“This ain’t about…” Wolfwood pauses, ensuring he utilizes the proper honorific of his new tenuous ally, “Zazie the Beast. Yer here to make a deal with me.”
Zazie lets out an impressed-sounding, “Oooh,” as they observe the drama unfolding.
Wolfwood silently curses them and the fact that they seem thoroughly entertained by this whole goddamned situation. Surely they’ve tricked him and led him to his death. But really, what does he have to lose?
As they say, in for a c-cent, in for a double-dollar.
Millions Knives growls deeply. The sound reverberates around them and has the hairs on Wolfwood’s arms and the back of his neck standing on end.
Zazie tuts playfully. “Awww, come on, Knives.” They reach down to poke Wolfwood’s cheek lightly with a thin little finger. “Look at him, he’s such a cutie. Hear him out,” they coo as Wolfwood fights a scowl.
Zazie starts to twirl their pointer finger in a circular motion and the light source illuminating the area begins to shift. He looks up and sees that the Worms in the sky begin to change their course and, still remaining high above them all, start to swarm in a circle around the area, rather than a straight path. It’s as if Zazie is putting on a little performance to remind the audience who really runs the show.
He swallows thickly, again faced with the sobering realization he’s hopelessly outmatched against either of these creatures - they’re on a whole different level. Zazie more so than even Millions Knives, it seems. Wolfwood might still be young by most standards, but he’s wise enough to know that someone only acts like Zazie - perfectly nonchalant and unbothered - while they’re in a dangerous situation either because they’re stupid, or because they’re the strongest in the room.
And he already can tell that Zazie the Beast is not stupid.
Wolfwood finds himself thankful that Zazie, despite the toying, seems to be supporting him. At least at the moment.
Millions Knives’ eyes narrow and it turns its full attention back to Wolfwood, who tries once again not to piss his fucking pants in the face of that fierce, unnatural gaze.
Suddenly, the cryptid takes a deep, purposeful breath and slowly lets it out. The glow from its eyes dims enough to where Wolfwood can finally discern a blackened pupil. Some of the feathers on its face retract, leaving a more humanoid set of features, complete with a pair of pale blond eyebrows.
“A favor?” Millions Knives finally asks, tone sounding almost bored. “What could you - a measly human - possibly do for me?” It crosses its arms and raises an eyebrow expectantly. The feathers on each of the six wings ripple independently. It makes for an impressive, yet intimidating sight.
Despite its bored tone, Wolfwood can hear a hint of something in its voice. The cryptid is putting on a front. There is something. It seems he just has to push a little bit and find out what it is.
“Surely there’s something ya want?” he replies, praying desperately that Zazie hadn’t been bullshitting him with this suggestion. “Something I can do for ya, despite being a…’measly human’?” He wants to spit the last words, but he restrains himself.
The cryptid’s head tilts to the side as it seems to actually consider this.
Wolfwood continues to press. “I’ll do anything. Really. As long as he survives,” he clarifies, again gesturing to Livio.
Millions Knives turns to look properly at Livio, who is lying supine on his back and seems to be unconscious.
The cryptid turns back to Wolfwood and questions him sharply. “Who is he to you?” There’s a trace of genuine curiosity bleeding into his voice.
Beside Wolfwood, Zazie giggles and whispers in his ear, “Oooh…now you’ve got him interested.”
“Quiet , Beast,” the cryptid snaps viciously.
Wolfwood knows that it is addressing Zazie, but his spine involuntarily goes ramrod straight at the harshness of its tone. He stifles a grunt as the jolted movement aggravates his injuries and sends his vision spinning for a moment.
Millions Knives ignores his pained noise and lets out a deep breath, eventually returning its gaze to Wolfwood and huffs. “Speak, human.”
“B-brother,” he manages reluctantly. He’s unsure if it’s wise to give such information away so easily to the monster, but Zazie’s comment has him wondering - gnawing on even just a slight trace of hope. “He’s my little brother,” he clarifies, voice firmer.
It’s minuscule, but Wolfwood definitely catches it. At his mention of Livio being his ‘little brother’, the monster’s shoulders drop minutely and its expression softens. Any trace of the falter is gone in a flash, but Wolfwood catches the slip.
“Ah,” the cryptid sighs in a way that sounds far more weary than Wolfwood expects. “I have a little brother as well.”
Wolfwood’s eyes widen and he has to actually bite his cheek to prevent himself from saying anything insanely stupid that might get him eviscerated on the spot.
But… seriously?
Millions Knives has a goddamn brother? Well, that’s entirely unexpected, but he can work with it.
He swallows, jumping on the chance. “Do ya, now?” he prods carefully. “Care to share?”
The cryptid narrows its eyes and levels Wolfwood with a calculating stare, but surprisingly continues. “He’s been running from me for decades. Disappearing like a vapor into the throngs of humanity. I haven’t been able to track him down.”
“Tragic,” Zazie quips, not sounding at all sympathetic.
It shoots Zazie a venomous glare.
“Ahem,” Wolfwood clears his throat and musters every bit of fake politeness he can manage. “Please, go on.”
The creature crosses its arms. “You see,” tone perfectly smooth and even-keeled as it readdresses Wolfwood, “I lost him, years ago. And truly, my only desire is for us to reunite.” As impassioned sounding as its tone is, Wolfwood can tell that it’s just a surface-level calm, very likely covering a torrent of emotion on the inside. Only those who are boiling with rage can manage to be that eerily emotionless, after all. Especially when they’re talking about family.
“Alright, so how do ya want me to help?” Wolfwood asks.
For the first time that night, Millions Knives’ lips twist into a smile. It’s just a barely-there upturn on one side of its mouth, but it’s a smile, nonetheless. And it’s fucking terrifying to behold.
Wolfwood decides right then and there that he hates Millions Knives’ smiles more than he hates any other expression the cryptid could possibly make. He would gladly take the alternative of its roaring maw of pointed teeth positioned around his own throat in a killing strike over its goddamn smile, any day.
“We've not seen each other in over fifty years. Society has given him the ridiculous nickname of ‘The Stampede’. But to me, he's simply my brother. And since you are proposing an agreement, I would like you to find him.”
“That’s it?” Wolfwood blurts. Find this bastard’s little brother? That seems far too easy. Surely there must be a catch.
Zazie barks out a laugh. “Well Knives, you have to appreciate this one’s gusto, if nothing else. You tell him to hunt down your inhuman brother - who could be just as crazy as you, for all this kid knows - and all he says is: ‘That’s it? ’” Zazie’s laugh turns into a cackle and they fall forward, still midair, clutching their stomach. It takes several moments for them to calm down long enough to be able to speak properly. When they do, they act as if they’re wiping a tear from the corner of their eye. “Ahh, I love this little guy,” they say, ruffling Wolfwood’s hair. He fights the urge to smack them away. “Seems he’s up for a challenge!”
Millions Knives waves a dismissive hand towards Zazie and he clicks his tongue. “It shouldn’t be a particularly difficult task, all things considered. Though I expect it will take patience.”
Wolfwood’s brows furrow slightly. “Wait, so, if it isn’t ‘particularly difficult’, how come ya haven’t already done it?”
The cryptid’s eyes narrow. “It will take a hand that’s…different from my own. That, and my brother is quite adept at hiding himself from me.”
“Huh. How’s he managin’ that?” Wolfwood asks, unable to reel in his curiosity.
Zazie leans in and whispers in his ear, “Yeah, don’t ask him that. Sensitive topic.”
Millions Knives seems to hear this and its face contorts into a brief expression of fury that nearly sends Wolfwood staggering backward. It quickly collects itself and levels its gaze at Wolfwood, ignoring his prior question. “Find my brother - I don’t care how - lure him away from the humans he so desperately clings to, and then inform me where he is. It may take you a while to track him down. Not to mention, he is also rather slippery. An escape artist, of sorts. When you do find him, you need to ensure he won’t flee before I arrive.”
Wolfwood’s hands start to shake unwittingly as a Very Important Thought crosses his mind.
For all he knows, the brother is probably just as ruthless and vicious as Millions fucking Knives. This might end up being a suicide mission. Hell, he’ll probably be maimed by the other cryptid before he even says ‘Hello’ to it.
He squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to breathe.
No. Even so, it doesn’t matter.
He could die being shredded to ribbons by The Stampede and it would still be worth it, as long as it means that Livio’s safe.
He summons the toughest expression he can manage and levels it at Millions Knives. “Fine. Where should I start looking?”
Its tone is demeaning and it speaks slowly, as if it's talking to a toddler or something of much lower intelligence. “If I knew that, would I be requesting your assistance, human?”
“Probably not,” Zazie quips in a cheerful tone that has irritation instantly spreading thick through Wolfwood’s veins.
The cryptid glares at them, but refuses to take the bait and turns back to Wolfwood. “He enjoys living alongside the humans and seems to linger in areas with large populations. Look for areas with consistent blackouts and electrical issues. You can also likely expect to find a number of casualties in the area.”
Well, that certainly has Wolfwood’s gut-churning.
“Once you find him, do whatever necessary to prevent him from running off again, with the exception of causing him any grievous injuries. You harm my brother and I will peel your skin off of your bones,” it warns icily. Wolfwood swallows thickly and nods in understanding.
The creature continues, “Once you’re certain he will remain stationary, send a message to me with his location and I will come. Do not let him escape until I arrive. Upon my arrival, your task will be complete.”
Spelled out like that, the task suddenly sounds like a lot more than it did initially. He knows it’s probably in bad taste, but he can’t help asking: “And if I can’t do it?”
“Oh, and he’s a realist, I respect that,” Zazie mumbles, feigning seriousness. Wolfwood wants so badly for them to shut the fuck up.
“Ah, yes, the consequences of your failure,” the cryptid says. “I will give you twelve years. That should be plenty of time for you. But if you can’t manage it by then, you and your brother - whom I’m graciously sparing tonight - will pay the price for your failure with your lives.”
“Wait,” Wolfwood chokes, “Twelve years?”
It shrugs. “A decade means relatively little to my brother and me. Also, you seem…” It pauses and makes a show of looking Wolfwood up and down with such a degree of judgment that Wolfwood half expects to wither on the spot under the sudden scrutiny. “ …young,” the cryptid finally says. “You are nothing, now. So spend these years wisely. Grow stronger. Craftier.”
“Fine,” Wolfwood chokes out despite his bruised pride. It’s not like the creature is wrong . He’s realized tonight just how horribly outmatched he is in practically every way by its kind. He’ll need to prepare if he’s to face The Stampede.
“Once you’re prepared, search for my brother and inform me of his precise coordinates. Keep him there until I arrive.”
“And how long should that take?” he asks, brows furrowing. “I mean, if I’m supposed to hold him until ya get there - it’s just - that’s a pretty vague time frame. Don’t wanna go into this unprepared, ya know.”
Fucking hell, he’s so much deeper in this than he’d first expected. From how Zazie phrased it when they’d first suggested he offer to make a deal with Millions Knives, Wolfwood had just figured it would be something along the lines of indentured servitude, offering up a limb for its dinner, luring unsuspecting victims into its cave, or some demented shit like that.
But a search party across the continent, followed up with a damn babysitting job?
The cryptid purses his lips, looking unhappy at the continued line of questioning. “It will likely take me no more than eight hours, if he’s residing within this side of the continent.”
“Knives flies pretty fast,” Zazie quips, twirling languidly as their wings still buzz lightly with the effort of keeping their airborne.
Wolfwood gnaws the inside of his cheek, considering all this. It’s fucking insanity. He doesn’t speak for a moment, merely standing still, scowling in the knowledge that he’s trapped.
Millions Knives hums thoughtfully. “You’re from that orphanage, yes?”
Cold dread pours over Woflwood’s head.
Its tone turns to such a low, menacing octave that Wolfwood feels the vibrations of every syllable down to the soles of his shoes. “You are. I heard you discussing it with your brother when you disturbed my rest, earlier. Now, I may not enjoy venturing into human communities, but I assure you that I do make occasional exceptions.”
Wolfwood’s breathing goes shallow, understanding the threat perfectly well for what it is. They aren’t just talking about his and Livio’s lives on the line, anymore. Miss Melanie, the kids…everyone will suffer, all because of him.
This thing must really want its stupid brother found.
“If you don’t accept this deal,” Millions Knives continues, “I will kill you and your brother now. But if you agree to my merciful offer, you have twelve years to complete these tasks. Your failure to do so within that time will ensure everyone you care for meets a decidedly unfortunate end by my hand.”
Zazie snorts. “You’re adorable when you try to be scary,” they tease.
One of its eyes twitch.
Wolfwood is a hair's breadth away from attempting to strangle Zazie. He’s realizing that it isn’t that they don’t know how to read the room - it’s that they don’t care. And if they happen to piss Millions Knives off enough to where the cryptid ends up just losing its shit, Wolfwood and Livio will surely be the unfortunate casualties in whatever fallout occurs.
Thankfully, his meager amount of self-preservation proves useful enough to just barely resist snapping at Zazie to shut their goddamn mouth.
Instead, he steels himself for the choice he knows he has to make.
A choice borne of his failures as ‘Big Brother Nico’ and that will haunt him for the foreseeable future.
Across the clearing, Livio’s chest is still rising and falling evenly, though Wolfwood can tell that he’s still unconscious. If he were awake, Wolfwood knows he’d be flashing those big, watery, puppy-dog eyes and pleading, ‘Don’t do it, Nico’.
From his current vantage point, Wolfwood can see the dried tear and snot trails that streak down Livio’s dirty, bloodied cheeks. At that pitiful sight, Wolfwood’s immediately assured he’s making the right decision. As long as little Crybaby Livio survives this and he’s able to keep up his bawling and sniffling for years to come, Wolfwood doesn’t really care what happens to himself.
He accepts his fate. It’s his duty to protect, after all.
“Well? Have you made your decision yet, little one?” Zazie prods, pulling his attention from Livio.
Wolfwood can’t help but grimace as Zazie is visibly vibrating with excitement and staring at him intensely.“Go on. It’ll be so… interesting.” Their mouth turns upwards into an unsettling grin that makes Wolfwood’s stomach churn.
He officially decides there and then that all supernaturalistic creatures and ancient beings can fuck off.
He also officially decides there and then that once he completes this idiotic, suicidal babysitting job, he’s through with anything remotely eerie, spooky, inhuman, or even just generally uncanny or unnatural.
Fuck cryptids and monsters.
He clears his throat and looks back at Millions Knives.
He offers out his uninjured arm in an offer to shake.
The cryptid examines it, clearly not having expected the gesture. But it recovers quickly and accepts with a vice-grip, shaking once. Its unnaturally long fingers curl around his hand and up a portion of his forearm. The talons dig into his hand, breaking skin in several places as they squeeze.
Despite these new, stinging cuts that its grip leaves once it releases its hold, Wolfwood finds himself strangely emboldened by the feeling of his own warm blood beading up from under his skin.
A symbol of their contract. Human and monster. An arrangement sealed in his blood.
Zazie’s strange, violet eyes sparkle as they watch.
Wolfwood belatedly wonders if Zazie’s still bored. They sure don’t look bored, anymore. Maybe if he can keep them entertained enough by his idiotic quest, he can convince them to offer him a bit of help along the way. He can play nice when he needs to. And he’s determined to use everything and everyone he can to his advantage. No one at Hopeland will die because of him.
Millions Knives speaks, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. “What is your name, human?”
He narrows his eyes and replies, “Nicholas D. Wolfwood.”