Work Text:
He can’t breathe.
He can’t breathe.
The corruption is everywhere. Creeping up along his limbs, a deceivingly gentle sensation when it’s ruthlessly invading his whole being.
Through his mouth.
Through his nose.
Through even his eyes, making a space for itself behind them, the pressure threatening to pop them out of his skull.
It’s rushing through his veins, a blaze tearing through his insides and lacerating his very being from its rightful state. His body, his brain, his soul, all thrown into the ether. Unwanted, unneeded. Leaving him demolished in the darkness’ wake.
The foreign roots from different parts of his body twist elegantly around each other and form a tree inside his lungs. Despite his lung’s fullness they have never felt emptier.
A black branch of corruption reaches the heart he didn’t think he wanted. Caressing it, cradling it. Tearing it to pieces. Devouring it whole, laughing darkly all the while.
The heart is a tumor of weakness. So let med rid you of it.
In his chest is a dying star. All its layers compress on themselves, the core running out of essence and collapsing because of the central pull. The resulting black hole absorbs whatever crumbs of him there may be left.
You need neither ego nor memories. I will bestow upon you a new name. Servant of the demon emperor.
Tremors seize the vessel. The vessel, because this body isn’t his anymore. Hands have through pain and agony molded it into something other. Stretched it out, pulled away pieces and sewed them back together again on a whim. Flesh and bone being of no consequence. Blood being absorbed and then replaced gleefully.
Hands cradle the vessel, possessively admiring their newly created, twisted masterpiece.
My puppet, my knight.
My Nelo Angelo.