Chapter Text
The city resembled an old, decrepit arena more than an actual place of residence— dried blood collected in splotches and trails along the asphalt, chunks were taken out of buildings, half-eaten corpses laid strewn about. The air reeked of violence, of iron and flesh that was just starting to rot.
There were no survivors visible in the carnage. At least, not at first.
Artful sat inside the breakroom of a now-abandoned shop, breaths shallow and vision swirling. Blood dripped from various open wounds, staining his suit and marring his makeup. Bright, shining crimson stood out against white foundation, spilling out of his mouth, the worst of it seeping from a particularly nasty bullet wound in his chest.
He pulled his legs up, burying his head into his hands. This was just great. Not only was he unable to leave safely in this condition, but the creature he was killing with wasn’t distracted by the civilians anymore.
Only one prey remained.
…
He could hear footsteps. Heavy, slow; trying to make themself known. They were growing louder as whoever it was approached.
Artful reached for his wand, ignoring how his body screamed in pain from the straining of injured muscles. He lifted his head, vision caught in a vortex of spinning colors— like melting watercolors being mixed together with no rhyme or reason. It only got worse as he found himself forgetting how to breathe. Fear infected him like a virus, only worsening symptoms from what was likely major blood loss.
He pointed his wand where he thought he heard the entity, even as he could feel his body shutting down, even as his consciousness was slowly leaving.
The last thing he heard was a light thud as his wand fell out of his weak grip, rolling to a stop as the flimsy weapon reached Pursuer.
—————
..silence, for a while. His ears felt like they were blocked with cotton, ambient sounds of the forest remaining muffled. Alongside the crunching of grass, he felt trembling arms wrapped around him, securing him in place as he was carried.
Wait. Carried?
Who was…
Artful forced his bleary eyes open, only to wish he hadn’t at the sight of familiar slateskin. His heart leapt into his throat— he immediately closed his eyes again, trying to feign being asleep. It seemed to work for now.
Where was Pursuer taking him? Why didn’t he just eat him?? His head spun with unanswered questions and the remains of recent injuries. He could taste his own blood in the back of his throat.
Eugh.
A cough escaped him as he tried to rid the taste from his mouth, quiet but still managing to alert the beast.
Putain.. Artful opened his eyes again, only to notice that they had stopped moving. This wasn’t good. He still didn’t know of Pursuer’s intentions, whether they were good or bad. Most likely bad, especially considering how it was tearing into the body of a civilian back in the city with its teeth—
Ah?
One moment he was in Pursuer’s arms, and the next Artful found himself laid gently on the grass. He looked up at the person looking over him, a staring contest that he was primed to lose.
“..hello… monsieur..?”
His voice was horribly cracked and raw, producing an audible wince from the magician. He almost wanted to apologize for sounding so awful, but that would require even more speaking. A shame.
Pursuer knelt down, pausing before beginning to gently prod at Artful’s wounds. He stopped after a hiss of pain alerted him to how he wasn’t exactly helping.
He let out a quiet growl as he inspected the magician’s injuries with his eyes instead. Deep in thought, his words were picked carefully.
“You… are hurt,” he replied, each consonant uttered slowly and clumsily. His voice had a certain rasp to it, one that was gained naturally from not speaking much.
“I. Want to.. want to help.” He offered a toothy grin in an attempt to be reassuring. Humans smiled at each other all the time, right?
It… didn’t seem to work.
Artful found himself feeling both relieved and horrified. On one hand, he likely wasn’t about to be eaten. On the other… Did Pursuer even know how to perform basic medical care?
And was that blood on his teeth? Mon dieu…
He managed a stiff nod, angling his face up towards the sky. His hat had fallen into the dirt, but he was too woozy to care.
“If you wish.” It was either this or bleeding to death, after all.
Pursuer immediately got to work, though his lack of experience was incredibly obvious. Ripping off chunks of moss from trees, he pressed the foliage against the other man’s wounds. Trying to stop the bleeding, he applied what was definitely a bit too much force, considering how Artful squirmed away from the makeshift bandages.
Bright teal eyes narrowed, his expression falling.
“What am I. I… What am I supposed to do?” He leaned closer, still holding onto the chunks of bloodstained moss.
Artful audibly sighed in relief as his wounds were re-exposed to the chilly air, wrapping his arms around himself. For protection or for warmth, that was a mystery.
Perhaps it was both.
“…they might get infected,” he murmured, gesturing to his various deep scrapes, though avoiding the biggest gash in his stomach. He shifted, wincing as he could feel the bullet sliding against split open sinew. “Usually I keep bandages on me.. I must have lost them.” He patted down his pockets just to make sure, confirming that they were empty.
Pursuer stared in response. His gaze followed the rise and fall of Artful’s chest, tail flicking lazily behind him. The magician found himself staring back.
It was strange. Normally Pursuer’s body was just plain gray, resembling stone. But as he looked closer, he could see small bits of red through cracks in the slateskin. Not only that, but his leg seemed to be bent at the wrong angle.
Perhaps he wasn’t the only injured one here.
Though before he had much time to really think about it, Pursuer had gotten up, glancing back the way they came.
“I will find.. things. To fix you.” He dragged his leg behind him as he moved, taking a few uncertain steps away.
Was he just leaving Artful alone?? He didn’t want to be by himself-! At least the entity currently making his exit was some form of company. Besides, it’s not like Pursuer would make it far. The town was probably crawling with police by now…
He didn’t want it to get hurt.
“Wait—“ Pursuer paused as Artful forced himself to sit up.
“Shouldn’t you be… taking care of yourself first, mon ami?” Briefly, he considered reaching out in an attempt to assist— but the sudden retraction of its pupils caused him to hesitate.
The entity said nothing in response, picking out bits of moss from its claws. The surprisingly peaceful silence stretched on for a while, occasionally interrupted by shallow breaths and the whistling of the wind.
And the… footsteps of another?
Pursuer noticed it first. In an instant, he had darted closer, barely disturbing the forest floor as he pulled Artful to his feet.
“Wh—“ Pursuer replied to the magician’s confusion with a shushing motion, slinging his arm around its shoulders and stumbling further into the forest. Artful tried to protest, of course; pulling away and muttering curses under his breath. But Pursuer didn’t listen. If anything, it sped up.
Its teeth were bared. The sight of those sharp canines, weapons used to rip apart civilians like they were just another piece of meat, sent a shiver down the magician’s spine.
He didn't want to die. He didn’t want to be left alone. And he sure as hell didn't want to be locked up for the rest of his life. Conflicting feelings left him frozen for a split second, only to be pushed forwards by a sharp tug and a small growl. A wordless plea to keep moving.
Despite their efforts, the stranger was growing closer. Their footsteps were louder, faster— had the killers been spotted? Artful noticed Pursuer try to start running, only for him to slow down with a quiet hiss. Whatever happened to his leg was taking a much more severe toll now that they were escaping from something.
Just great.
Artful didn’t know if the two of them could fight another civilian like this. What if they had a gun? One more shot and he would be dead, with Pursuer likely not too far behind.
They had to get away. There was no other option.
The magician took a deep breath, and started tugging Pursuer along. Adrenaline was an excellent motivator that kept him at a constant pace.
He could tell the creature was trying to help. His working leg was supporting them as best he could, but there was only so much he could do.
There was only so much both of them could do.
A single fallen branch is what halted their momentum entirely.
Artful wasn’t looking at the ground. His foot was caught on the old wood, and in the blink of an eye, the two were sent sprawling.
He laid on his side, reaching out for his wand. It had fallen a few feet ahead.
The stranger was visible now. A faint silhouette. If he could summon a wall, buy some time, then maybe—
Pursuer was growling now, trying to get up, only to fall silent. A faint thud could be heard as it fell back into the dirt next to him.
What happened? He couldn’t see. There was no way to tell, not when he was laser-focused on getting his weapon back.
The wand was in his grasp now. His hands were growing numb, pins and needles wracking his extremities with discomfort that he barely noticed.
The instrument of destruction was raised—
…
Something had lodged itself into his side.
Looking down, he saw a… dart of some kind?
A tranquilizer dart.
Oh.
The wand rolled out of his reach once again. The last thing Artful saw was the sleeping face of Pursuer next to him as everything went dark.