Domestic ❧ Skephalo AU

Chapter 23.) Self-preservation? Who's She?

Warnings: Themes of violence, knives, and blood. (Blood is mentioned throughout the entirety of this chapter.)

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BadBoyHalo hated his job.

He didn't hate it as much as being a Soul Contractor, but being a Fear Harvester wasn't any easier on his aching heart. He hated having to extract fear from humans like they were livestock, and he especially hated the terrified looks of his prey.

Prey.

The word was so bitter Bad nearly gagged at the mere thought. By addressing them as prey, he was making himself out to be nothing more than a hungry predator, and he didn't want to be associated with a rabid animal despite his underlying congenital thirst for chaos.

Still, there were so many other reasons why he hated his job, and one of those reasons involved a bloody shank in his leg.

If he was being honest, that was entirely his fault. He should have been more careful and paid closer attention to his surroundings. Being caught off guard was nothing short of punishment for letting Skeppy ruin his train of thought.

It was a horrible time to let his brain wrap around the mental image of Skeppy snuggling into him, pressing thoughtless kisses against his forehead while rambling on and on about his day. Such a horrible time indeed. The stinging sensation in his thigh ripped him from his fantasies and plunged him into reality. He almost forgot he'd been stabbed.

"This is... unexpected," Bad murmured as he traced the wound with an obsidian claw. He turned his attention to the man he had knocked unconscious prior to his daydream. It wasn't his intention to harm the human, but since the other had physically lashed out and driven a crude shank into his leg, Bad let his anger get the best of him and he slammed the man's head into the floor.

Ignoring the guilt that festered and writhed in his gut like a parasite, Bad stepped over the unconscious man and slumped against a wall. He propped his leg up to examine his wound closer. The makeshift knife was still lodged into his flesh, but as tempting as it was to tear it out, Bad knew it was safer to leave the weapon until he could find something to stop the blood flow.

There was nothing sanitary enough to dress his wounds, and he really didn't want to tear his sleeves to make a makeshift bandage. The maroon dripping from his leg and onto the floor should have been more than enough to convince him his clothes didn't matter, but... he liked this outfit. He didn't want to ruin it further.

Besides, Skeppy said he loved his outfit, so he couldn't possibly tear—

BadBoyHalo slapped his bloody hands over his face and groaned. It seemed Skeppy had this unique power to get inside Bad's head at the worst times. He was bleeding, with a legitimate weapon sticking out of his flesh. The fur around the wound itself was sticky and gross, and yet the pain wasn't enough to warrant an appropriate reaction.

Speaking of an appropriate reaction, he should've been crying or at the very least whimpering over his injury, but he wasn't; the agonizing pain only prompted his leg to twitch and convulse in response. He couldn't tell if that meant he was getting stronger or something was horribly wrong with him.

After sitting against the wall for what felt like ages, Bad stood up and limped over to the still-unconscious man. He stared at the man's shirt for a few moments before reaching down and effortlessly cutting one of the sleeves. The attire of a random stranger was by no means sanitary, but he liked to think of it as payment for being stabbed, even though the stabbing was entirely his fault.