Basked In Golden Light [Xerxes Break x Reader]

XV.

"Parasite."

*

There was a collection of ebony rose petals in his hand, and hundreds more, all identical, were scattered all over the perimeter of the room. He crushed them in his hand, allowing a few to slip from his grip and fall uselessly to the floor, his knuckles becoming white from exertion.

The petals, which were once pristine and beautiful had become appalling from ugly folds and bends, and Break dropped them to the ground without a thought, scoffing at the small pile of rejected beauties that had gathered around his feet.

This was all some twisted metaphor about how, if you strip a person of their dignity, and reduce them to their lowliest, they would easily beg at your feet for a second chance at greatness.

"(F/N)." His tone was menacing. And there's something different about his countenance, specifically in his orbs. There was a droplet of a predatory violence, like a drop of black ink in a pool of clear water. And much like the substance crafted from carbon black, if left unsupervised, it would soon corrupt what had once been clear.

"I want you to follow me, but make sure nobody can mark you," he stated, and his eye, which was beginning to overflow with what could only have been feral instincts, took on a hint of playfulness, and the upward movement of his lips reassured you that Break was above regressing to the animalistic nature that all humans were built on.

"If something happens, attack, no matter what, understand?" he eyes you, and his gaze seemed to have designed a whole new gravitational field, because pressure suddenly weighed down on you like chains.

"Understood."

"Good." And he exits the room in quick strides, disturbing more rose petals in his wake, and you're left wondering just how many different kinds of characters Break's managed to accumulate, and just which one was the real Xerxes Break.

*

"Quit talking nonsense and get straight to the point, this timing isn't so bad, now that Pandora's attention has been focused on Oz. . .Vincent Nightray, please return Miss Sharon to me."

"Don't be so nervous, I didn't kill her. I just want something from you." There's contrived laughter.

"I'm sorry, I don't have anything on me that might interest you."

"Mad Hatter is a liar. It's on you, snatched from Cheshire. You'll give me what you seek more than anything- the truth of 100 years ago for your precious Miss Sharon-"

"-how does that sound, Mister Mad Hatter?"

*

Break and Vincent's conversation carried through the air, and their words were all too clear from your position atop the rooftop, painted the soft colors of the moonlight. The shingles of the roof were hard and dry from overexposure to direct sunlight, and it felt more like a downwards slope cluttered with rocks instead of the topper of the residence of a wealthy, prominent bloodline.

The words the two men exchanged were jagged, too, with the intent of a parasite: to use, and potentially harm the other, to reap something for their own personal benefit.

The distinct sound of sparsely-oiled hinges squeaked, and when you peered over the edge of the roof and onto the surface of the balcony below, you saw Vincent strut out into the balcony, carrying a small bottle, both its contents and its exterior reflected borrowed light.

Vincent stops in front of the railing, and his hand reaches past the protection of the railing, the bottle dangling from his superficial grip that consisted of only three of his fingers. There was a delighted, sadistic smile on his face, and he plays with the glass bottle, pretending to make it slip from his grasp only to take it in his other hand.

Before all of a sudden, Vincent drops the bottle, and his other hand doesn't reach out to catch it. There's complacency written all over his face, and you can hear a rattled shout coming from Break.

"CATCH IT!"

Three wolves spawned, landing on the pads of their paws, gracefully leaping off of the railing, their long, muscular limbs tucked close to their bodies, the last of the fur on their tails swishing before they disappeared from your plane of vision.

There's silence, and the smile on Vincent's face ceased to exist, instead replaced with a bitter scowl. He doubles over the railing, hoping that the wolves were at least heavily injured from trying to brace a fall like that, and he hoped to see the glass bottle in tiny pieces, and its contents quickly lapped up by the dark soil.

But all three wolves were all safe on the ground, and aside from pawprint-shaped impressions left on the soil, some of them extended by pawing at the dirt, to make it look like the wolf bore claws gargantuan in length.

One of them in particular was open-mouthed, the bottle wedged in between a pair of vicious premolars, and although it was beginning to shimmer with saliva, the bottle was in one piece, the liquefied contents of it swishing around as the wolf barked triumphantly.

"You little-!"

"If you make those eyes, you look exactly like your brother," Break comments with a snarky chortle, "now back down, you've already lost."

Vincent scoffs, averting his gaze. Break snorts smugly, like a puffed up lion who's basking in his victory after dueling with a smaller, weaker one. Break looks up, meeting your eyes, and he claps slowly, though it isn't done disdainfully, as if to congratulate you on a job well done.