The Necrodancer

Chapter 16- Chug

warning: rape aftermath depiction

Carlisle returned to his master's office late that night, near 23:00, after his errands, which were to get a few people arrested and to murder a few. It was nothing he couldn't handle alone, but he was surprised that Cicero wasn't designated to go with him; of course, he remembered that his master was having an appointment with them about school stuff, so he wasn't concerned.

He walked into the office and instantly slammed the door closed behind himself.

Thomas' body was still tied to the chair, and the chair adjacent and the wall next to it was splattered with his blood. The black vaporous blood of a reaper floated in the air, curling and twisting like the shadowy spirits of Purgatory. It looked like a murder scene because it was.

"Holy fuck," Carlisle whispered as he walked over to Thomas. "Holy fuck." He knelt down and carefully closed the human's dead blue eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "I'm so sorry, Thomas. You deserved better." He stood and looked at the chair the human had died looking at. "Jesus fuck," he whispered. Sitting in the chair was Cicero's bag.

Suddenly, Forrest Aingeal walked in. "Oh, welcome back!" he greeted jovially.

"What happened here?" His eyes glowed red violet, rage burning inside. "Where is Cicero?" That was when he noticed the cane his master was using: Cicero's scythe. The man's face was bruised and cut in several places; otherwise, he was unharmed.

"Oh, you just missed them; they left about ten minutes ago... yeah, they didn't stick around for very long after I was done with them," the man sighed as he walked to his desk.

"You stole their scythe," the demon growled.

"More than that," the man chuckled with a sly smirk.

Carlisle stared at him for a second. He couldn't see it before, but he could see it all now. He could feel the soul of his master was surrounded by the presence of an angel possessing it. "You're an angel," he hissed.

"Aww," he smiled, "thank you!" He grabbed his coat. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I've got some souls to take care of."

Additionally, he could feel that, along with the scythe, the angel had a reaper's power. His expression fell blank as he took a step away from his master. "You raped them for temporary power over souls."

"Yup, so he no longer requires your service." He put his coat on. "The deal is off. You're free." Carlisle felt the sigil on his chest fade away, and he watched the one on Forrest's wrist disappear. "Clean this up, and have a good night!"

Cicero had to walk home in the rain. Without their scythe, they couldn't get into Purgatory. Without their strength, they couldn't fly, even if their wings weren't torn to shreds. Without their cane, they were in extreme pain and had difficulty walking, even more so in the condition their body was currently in. Their blood swirled around them in the air, rising from their skin as if a fire was burning inside and the smoke was escaping through the gashes inflicted on them by one of Iriel's knives. They were covered in bruises, scratches, hickies, gashes, and bite marks. Their hair was flattened by the downpour and their torn, bloody clothes were drenched even more and sticking to their skin. Tears and water drops cleared away some of the blood on their beaten face, streaking their sallow skin.

They could barely move by the time they got home. They had to crawl up the porch stairs.

The weight of Thomas' soul resting comfortably within them was too heavy.

They collapsed on the wood of the porch in front of the door. They hurt everywhere, inside and out.

That was what happened when reapers trusted demons or humans. They felt betrayed, violated, abused, manipulated, cheated, and abandoned. Forrest Aingeal went against his word. Carlisle didn't save them. Now, they were powerless and could possibly die.

They forced themselves up onto their knees and tried turning the door handle with their shaking hands. Unfortunately, it was locked, which meant that Cicero now had to ring the doorbell and wake up their aunts so they would see them and find out what happened. Not that Cicero didn't want them knowing, but they didn't want them to wake up and see them like this. Unfortunately, if they didn't get patched up soon, their essence would leak out of their form entirely, and they would perish.

They rang the doorbell and waited on the ground, curled up on the slick wooden panels in fetal position.

The door opened. Cicero didn't look up or move, just listened to Reyna let out a blood-curdling scream. "CICERO, DEAR GOD!" The reaper started trying to get up, so their aunt helped them to a kneeling position before lifting them to their feet, wrapping an arm around them. Cicero rested an arm limply around Reyna's shoulders. The retired reaper was wearing a robe over her nightgown, and her long hair was down and lain over one shoulder. "TILDE! THE MORGUE, NOW!" She slammed the door shut behind them. Tilde clambered down the stairs in a rush, nearly tripping over her own slippered feet. They all rushed down to the basement. Tilde started helping Cicero get their clothing off while Reyna got their first aid kit ready with stitching materials, rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, a wooden bar, and a bottle of Spirytus Rektyfikowany.

"Oh, goodness me," Tilde breathed. The crotch of the jeans and underwear the reaper was wearing were torn in a critical place and stained. "Did the demon do this?" Cicero shook their head as they shed Thomas' flannel and their Led Zeppelin t-shirt. "We can fix all of these clothes if you want." They'd been so excited about their outfit when they came down for breakfast that morning. Cicero nodded in approval. Once Cicero was naked, both of their aunts helped their nibling onto the table.

Reyna held up the bottle of the Spirytus Rektyfikowany. She saved it for occasions such as these, where Cicero had to be stitched back together. "Chug." Reyna helped Cicero open their mouth and watched them down the extremely alcoholic drink. Reyna took it away after they got through half of the bottle and set it down on the shelf where it belonged before beginning to stitch their skin back together as if it were made of cloth. Tilde covered the rest of the gashes with wet wash clothes so no more of their essence could escape before standing up by Cicero's head, running her stubby fingers through their hair and made sure their eyes stayed open. She whispered words of encouragement; Cicero barely heard or listened but appreciated the gesture regardless. Tears dripped down Reyna's cheeks every so often as she worked, but she stayed quiet and professional. Tilde didn't stay so quiet, taking shaky breaths and sniffling as she softly cried. Cicero stared up at the white fluorescent light above them, which was partially blocked out by Tilde's face.

Dead human bodies laid on this table all of the time. Soon, Thomas may lay on this table to get prepared for his funeral, but they had no clue what Aingeal would do with his body. Cicero wished they could join those bodies.

Cicero envied dead mortals.