[private] chain of the demons; father

[Tycho]

Chain of the demons set free, strange alchemy...

I do not know how long I have been gone. Normally I am much better about keeping track of time, checking in so Father and Mother do not worry. Though I suppose, normally my time away isn’t spent screaming in agony as demons made of ice claw their way through my skin. I tend more toward thorough, categorical exploration of a new location or environment. Well, a cage made of demonic ice is, technically speaking, a new environment. And perhaps pressing against ice that somehow caused pain nerves to fire out of control, far outside of any logical bounds for exposure to frozen water could account for.

Perhaps, then, it is understandable that I do not know how much time has passed since I left my guardian behind at the edge of Echo Trails and set out on my own. Curious, how high levels of pain distort perception. Even now, I do not know how long I have been walking across vast stretches of ice. Each touch of demon claws to my skin burned, cauterizing the wounds even as they sliced through the flesh of my chest, my flank. Trailing down my neck like a caress, coaxing screams from my throat until my voice was broken and raw. With every step, the damaged skin stretches and pulls, blurring my vision and making it nearly impossible to focus. The only thought left in my head is home, and I stumble in what I think is the right direction.

I should know. It should be obvious based on landmarks, the shape of hills, the curve of the river, the angles and planes of the earth, but I can’t think. If I stopped, maybe the haze would clear enough that I could impartially study my surroundings and confirm that I am navigating properly toward home. However. A question buzzes inside my skull, data points synthesizing themselves on autopilot until a reasonable conclusion presents itself: if I stop, I will not be able to start moving again. For once, this is a hypothesis I do not wish to test.

The instant I trip across the border to my family’s territory, the shadow panther is there, glowing green eyes flaring with rage and admonition. I should not have left him behind, those eyes say. He could have protected me, or if he was not enough defense, he could have summoned my father. I am too spent to argue with my friend that I am not a child in need of constant minding, especially when the evidence is stacked so staggeringly high against me.

Instead, I fall into him, letting the shadows that compose his body wrap around me. I am home. I am safe. Now I can finally stop fighting, dragging myself across--when did I leave ice behind? When did my hooves step off that vast stretch of frozen wasteland and onto earth? I don’t remember, and when I look back there is nothing to see. That’s okay. Lifting my head requires far too much work anyhow.

[Pazuzu]

"Evil requires no reason."

I do not worry when Tycho leaves his guardian on the edges of Echo Trails. He was old enough now that I had thought of on more than one occasion dissipating the guardian back into the shadows where I had taken him. But Tycho seemed to like the giant shadow cat and so he stuck around. It was also a great way for me to keep a mental eye on him when he wasn't around us with the hoard of girls that always surrounded us.

I don't even worry when the morning becomes the afternoon.
Or when the afternoon becomes the night, or at least I try not too.

He always tells us when he is going to be back or where he is going, even though he is a stallion now and long able to go out and look after himself. He stays close to home most days, my beautiful boy, and keeps his mom and dad very well informed. He knows how we are, a little overprotective even if we want him to go out and meet others. He hates it sometimes, understands, but definitely hates the socializing.

But when he is still not back by the time the stars start to twinkle, I touch my lips to Ryss's cheek and take to the skies. I caw my worry to the stars and the moons, taking on Luna's favorite shape as I wing myself through the nighttime sky. I don't know how I miss his form or the magic that saturates the ground where the ice was, or the way the magic coats his coat with a smell of sulfur and ice. I don't know how I could miss that smell with my senses being cast as wide as they can.

But the guardian, that other piece of me, growls and snarls it's displeasure and wraps itself around our boy. I explode in the sky, pieces of fire and brimstone, ice and the whipping of the wind create an explosion in the sky as I see him. As I see the blood and the ice burns and all manner of things that had been done to him. I howl, a mass of shadow and particulates that hover in the air as I try to gather myself.

I burn, fire lighting up the sky even as it turns blue to the color of the ice that had created those marks on my son. I would find who did this...and they would pay. Dearly.

Evil, darkness, curls up inside of me, practically purring as it returns as my eyes search the ground, looking for the culprit that hurt my son, that gave him those wounds. I finally reform, managing to piece myself together into something more than a blob in the sky when the guardian's persistent summons bring me back to myself.

I can feel the Darkness howl in pain, in sorrow, in anger that it won't be released today. I disappear, taking with me the fire that had started below me on the ground, burning the trees and the snow of the Forest. I would heal it later.

I am holding my son against me when I reform, insubstantial but solid as a mass of black shadows. "Son." I say softly, whispering it against his form. I suck the pain from him, numbing his body as he is still. I push my energy into him in the wisps of black as he breathes, going through his nose, into his body. I surge healing energy into it, turning the black into white, into green and send it through him, healing each until it is not a gaping wound or a burn any longer. I heal him, taking some onto myself to remember.

I would not forget. The claw marks across my haunches the burn and ache will remind me, even though they are nothing but scars. I cannot touch his mind, cannot make sure he is well. I cannot wipe these memories from his mind. So I leave the scars, leave them so he has his own story. I leave them so others might think twice before messing with him again.

When I am done, I am so tired. The anger still smoldering in my chest, but the worry over Tycho, the guilt of not being there for him, and the pain that he had suffered keep me awake as I curl myself around him on the ground, back in the form of a horse. The guardian watches over us, occasionally growling still in displeasure.

pazuzu

[Tycho]

Chain of the demons set free, strange alchemy...

Pain is the only thing I am able to perceive, all other sensations drowning beneath the onslaught of pain nerves firing in waves, rolling through my body, searing in every wound. I know that I lie on the ground of my home, my guardian wrapped around me and holding me close until my father is there in his place. But all that I can feel is the burn of ice and claws. Hearing Father’s voice allows me to finally slip into unconsciousness.

When I begin to stir again, he is still curled around me, holding me. My body doesn’t hurt anymore. All trace of it gone from my senses and I wonder briefly if perhaps I had my first nightmare. But no, Father would not be holding me like this just because I was distressed in my sleep. Nor even would Mother, though she would have done when I was younger. This is definitely Father, though. I may not have opened my eyes yet, but I would know his scent anywhere. Mine.

It is harder than I expected to open my eyes. Instead, I just breathe out a heavy breath, a sigh weighed down by hours spent screaming and still more hours spent dragging myself home one reluctant step at a time. And as I breathe, I nestle into my father’s warmth, actively accepting the contact, seeking more out in a way that would normally be rather out of character for me. I drift back into a doze for a little while longer, cradled by the comfort of my father’s touch. But eventually my heavy eyelids flutter open and I blink slowly, tired eyes fighting to focus.

I thought I knew pain. I’ve become intimately familiar with agony in the last day or so, but it is nothing to the pain in my father’s face. I wonder if I would have recognized it yesterday, the anguish and the fury simmering beneath it. “Father?” I ask, my voice barely breaking a whisper. I almost move to rise, but bone-deep weariness holds me in place. That’s alright. Here is comfortable. Instead of following through with the motion, I rest my head on my father’s legs, looking up at the sky.

“I do not think socializing went particularly well this time.”

[Pazuzu]

"Evil requires no reason."

I don't even know how to express these feelings without hurting someone. So I cuddle up against my son and I wait. My ears flicker now and again when his breathing changes or when there is a crunching and crackling of movement somewhere in the Trails. This causes the guardian (another part of me) to growl and snarl, lunging that way only to return empty pawed. It was nothing but random wildlife of course, but he was too tense from the worry over our boy. I can't say I blame him (us...me). If I didn't have a tighter control on myself I would be snarling and growling right next to him.

Or out and killing whoever I could reach.

He wakes up once, and I listen to his heart beat and the gentle rasp of his breathing. I don't bother to move, my head and neck still holding him close. The muscles there have long since become numb to the pain from staying in one clenched spot for so long. But I have checked out myself. Imaging all kinds of realities where I find who victimized Tycho and so the same and so much more to him. It almost brings me a kind of pleasure to imagine these. But I have to stop myself and rewind a little.

Ryss would want to be there too.
So all my next fantasies are with her there in her glorious anger. This softens the lines in my face a little, allows my tense muscles to relax. Thinking of her, always brings out a softness in me.

Only when he stirs again, do I move. The pain, the worry, all of it coming back so he could read it like a book on my face. I don't have the energy to hide it, to keep my pain from him. So I don't. I adjust myself so he can do the same and my nose touches his side, his shoulder, anger burning as my lips trace one of his new scars. (The ones on my haunches burn in response and I almost let loose the growl I was holding) His voice calms me, however briefly, and I nod slightly, but still say little. I...couldn't. If I opened my mouth all kinds of emotion would fall out.

Hell I might even cry.

So I just touch him, just assure myself that he is okay as I listen to his breathing, to the beating of his heart, to the rumbles of his voice in his chest and throat. And those words, those tiny words break my heart and make me laugh a little all at once. "Understatement son." And I want to ask, to demand answers from him. If he wasn't my son I would crack open his mind and let them all bleed over the ground. But he was my son, and I would sooner harm myself than let anything happen to him. "Does it hurt still?"

pazuzu

[Tycho]

Chain of the demons set free, strange alchemy...

Gentle touches trace what used to be wounds. I can still feel the echoes of the deepest cuts, still map their trajectory on my skin though the pain has stopped. The tenderness in the contact is something uncommon for us, and it occurs to me for perhaps the first time to wonder if he would prefer it otherwise. If like my uncles with Dara, he would prefer the quiet, casual physical affection they so easily give one another.

It may not come easily to me, and I may have generally preferred my space, too particular about how I am touched and when and why to seek it out. But there is comfort in that touch, and an inexplicable warmth in my chest as he traces what used to be agony and soothes away the hurt. He has always been so patient with me, so accepting of the apparent quirks of my nature that make me more inclined toward distance and solitude rather than the radiant extraversion of my cousins.

This, though? This is...nice.

I made him laugh. A small smile curves one corner of my mouth upward, the side not resting on my father’s lap. Humor is not a strong suit of mine, and getting it right in a moment like this feels...good. He asks if it hurts, and I pause to assess. Exhaustion weighs my entire body down, making even turning my gaze to meet his feel like far too much work. I suspect should I give back in to sleep it will be quite some time before I stir again. I can still remember the feeling of demon claws on my skin, can still remember the sensations that tore screams from my throat.

But I do not hurt.

I shake my head, just the tiniest motion, the absolute minimum of expended energy to achieve the objective of an infinitesimal movement. “No.” I’m not entirely convinced I could move even if the demon-weilder were standing beside me building an entirely new cage and starting all over. But Father is here. I would not have to. “I am...weary.” Not a word I would normally use to describe my physical state, that. But it is more than just my physical energy that has been utterly exhausted, and the barely-quantifiable emotional component...feels appropriate somehow. “So very weary. But the pain is gone. Thank you, Father.”