Content Warning: Gore, a lot of gruesome gore and imagery here. Proceed with caution and a strong stomach.
***
A shock traveled from the back of Tristan’s neck and to his brain. His nerves tingled, and he clenched his teeth, a whistling hiss of steam escaping from his mouth. He leaned his head back, then jerked it forward, slamming his forehead against the blurred, bulbous face. He heard a sharp screech rock his ear dreams, odorous pus hitting his face. His hand clenched around the serrated object he fought for, and when that monstrous clawed hand lifted from his chest, he rolled away. The jolts rippled through his body, euphoric lightning through his nervous system as his shoulder and ribs set into place.
Eric stumbled towards him, grunting and growling. Blood mixed with infected phlegm dribbled down his face. Tristan crushed his nose inwards, leaving nothing but a concave hole in the center of his face.
He looked just as horrible as he smelled.
However, Tristan did not pity him.
He could still hear those voices clawing into his head.
He grimaced and stood up slow, the bottom of his palm patting the side of his head, adrenaline mingling with jolting sparks, bringing everything back in focus. Everything felt slower and yet sharper.
He could see Eric’s swipe coming towards him, watching the pulsing veins struggle against the flimsy skin holding bone and muscles with an unnatural, almost fungal growths in place. Tristan bent backwards lazily, dodging the arm with an unnatural ease.
He could hear the shattering of cameras bursting in the hidden corners of the room, lifting his body upwards to watch the lens crack and then seeing shards burst outwards, like stars. The sparkles almost distracted him from the head ramming towards him.
Almost.
Tristan hopped to the side, twirling the bone shank in his hand. As he pivoted, his arm pushed forward, jabbing the serrated makeshift weapon into Eric’s side. The thrust, along with that scream, was satisfying. He chuckled, pulling the bone and shifting so he was behind the shambling bulk.
Wasn’t he about to die?
He expected to collapse from exertion, adrenaline abandoning him again.
Instead, he was moving faster and striking stronger than ever before.
He looked over to the creature known as Eric. The pitiful heap was whimpering and hobbling. The hole in his side was splitting open his flesh. Organs, mixed with rusted brown blood and gangrene muscle tissue, spilled out and getting tangled in his unbalanced, atrophied legs.
The sight before caused Tristan to bite his bottom lip, his shoulders shaking as he chuckled, “Holy shit!” He stepped forward, his lips curling into a slight smile as the feeble mutant dragged his body away from him. His blue eyes, sharp and alert, looked down at the crippled being, “Now who’s sad.”
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Eric gasped, a sobering reality dragging him down towards the only freedom afforded to him, “That… bitch knew… there was no chance…” He groaned, his eye shifting up towards the thin man who bested him, “She… she turned us into freaks… monsters…” He chuckled, his degrading defeat humanizing him, “She used us…”
“No. She used you.” Tristan knelt down before Eric, gripping the larger man’s chin, glaring daggers into that one eye, “She made me into a monster. You… were just a rough draft.”
Eric heaved, his brown eye rolling up, “You’re just her bitch, boy. She’ll trash you too.”
The dismissive tone this thing used pissed him off. Tristan’s smile faded, and he hissed, lifting the bone, the point coming into Eric’s sight, “Get fucked, Eric.”
He shoved it into that eye, feeling it burst against the side of his hand, that last scream causing a shudder down his pain.
Was it disgust?
Was it amusement?
Was it pleasure?
He didn’t know anymore. He twisted the shank into the hole, watching the body twitch and spasm, “Guess who’s the fuck boy now?” He laughed airily, tears mixing with the blood down his face, “Fuck, the irony is hilarious!”
He stayed there, watching the life finally spurt out of the creature formerly known as Eric Mackie, his hand still gripping the calcified spike. He sat back, pulling out the bone weapon.
He would’ve sat there, releasing all of his emotion in ugly sobs if not for the screeching of hinges dragging along the floor. He stood up, his knees shaking as he felt heat enter the room. His eyes fluttered as light spilled in from the doorway. His lips curling into a smile that did not reach his eyes, “I did it… I killed him.”
His back straightened, and he tilted his head, standing in front of the carcass. His voice, much like the rest of him, was numb. “Did I pass, Ira?”
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