// Nine //

// A new start //

//• Slaving away with Nine •
on SoundCloud by MickeySimp//
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The ballroom exploded into screams of terror, suddenly becoming an arena of pushing and pulling folks, every single one of them fighting to be out the door first and away from the gruesome corpse of their loved leader.

The queen's face was drenched in her own blood, her eyes wide and empty. One could still hear her choked gurgles, muffled by the liquid vomiting up her throat.

Oliver felt no remorse for what he'd done, he was proud, in fact. He wasn't scared of the armed guards circling him, crying and yelling for him to get on his knees before they shoot. He didn't look for Tacey. He didn't make eye contact with a baffled but somewhat curious Nine.

No, Oliver decided to sit where he stood, dipping his fingers into the blood pooling at his feet with joy. Nine crouched beside him, glancing up at the Royal Guardsmen in mock concern. He copied Oliver, putting a clawed finger into the deep red liquid and staring at it, with no mouth to open and lick it off as Oliver did.

"I SAID PUT YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD, MOTHERFUCKER! "

Oliver swivled his head around and glared at the captain in dismay. How could they not see that this was a good, no, 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 event to have taken place? This was such a clear night of opportunity and revelation,how could they not see the death of a queen as a part of that?

The king stood behind the captain, shaking in fear as he watched his wife's murders continuously lap up the blood coming off her fair skin, completely ignoring the roaring demands of the men and women he hand selected to protect the throne.

His face turned red and he yanked his hand through his pitch black hair, his voice equally as dark when he screamed at his army,

"What are you waiting for, you fucking idiots? KILL THEM! " He exclaimed, jabbing a slender finger in Oliver's face.

The captain stared at the king for a second with pale skin, shifting his grip on the machine gun in his hands. He slowly turned back to the pair on the ballroom ground, raising his right hand up to hold the onslaught of fire behind him. With his hand still raised and a giant engulfing pit of dread building in his lower gut, he turned back to the king with sickening wide eyes,

"I don't think we should. "

The king didn't even turn at the captain's words, eyes ahead as he fell to his knees with tears gathered in his eyes.

There was a gaping and gruesome hole in his throat. Blood collected at his mouth, which spilled onto the ground in soft pittering transition.

Nine stood over him, turning and twisting his blood coated hand in bewilderment. He touched the blood with his clean hand and spread it between his fingers in mock delight as he'd watched Oliver do, proceeding to reach up and spread it on his face.

The guardsmen could do nothing but watch, shock freezing them in place and forcing them to see every second of the interaction.

Nine peered into the King's throat, cocking his head and lifting his hand to place it inside.

"AHHHHHHHHHH! "

Without warning, the captain yanked his raised hand down, releasing his bullet hell onto Nine's dark and bloodied form. His men followed suit, aiming and shooting with wide and frightened eyes, shifting away from the monstrosity that stood before them.

Nine could feel the speeding shards of metal graze and penetrate his body, but could not associate any pain or particular emotion with it. He knew there was supposed to be some sort of response to an action such as this, but he had no clue as to what he was supposed to do. He looked at the startled men in confusion, lowering his head to gaze at their arms gripping their guns.
He turned to look at Oliver, who had a single hand over his mouth in complete over joy and was nodding frantically. His free hand was pointing at the mulitated king, jabbing at his corpse and pointing back at the onslaughting men.

It seemed to click for Nine, as he turned back to the men with new vision. He scanned their bodies again, noting the tension in their arms, the gritting of their teeth, their obvious intent to hurt and kill him. If he did this they would all die, he knew that. But he couldn't be the only one to understand the consequences of ripping a hole in a person's face, could he? So why were they still shooting at him? He didn't even touch them yet.

It wasn't anger or confusion that was building in his chest, it was something else, something much more sinister and otherworldly, flaming and compelling and irresistible even if Nine had tried to stop it.

He let his hands guide themselves up to his tie, doing something he'd never seen Oliver do. He pulled at it, loosening it just enough for it to dangle like a string from his neck.

The gunshots were fizzing out and becoming white noise in the recess of his mind, allowing him to focus on the sensation of bullets piercing his body. He reveled in the feeling, in the fact that no matter how hard they tried he never even buckled or whined in pain.

In a strange way, he wanted to feel it. He wanted to be able to scream and writhe in agony, metal tearing open the flesh that didn't belong to him, his nervous system working normally.
So, for nothing but a split second, he filtered the pain through.

It was unbearable, white hot and breath catching, seizing him by every part of his body and ripping it open to eat him alive. He had no mouth but he screeched, the sound of it resounding throughout the room and into every remaining soul in sight.

Nine clenched his clawed fists, glancing up with clear vision for the last time.