• 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 • Alastor x Reader

𝐒𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧.

It was around midnight when Alastor made it to the old Vodun ritual grounds in the middle of Black Cry's swamp, an unsettling silence filling his ears. It was strange to not hear the chitter of bugs or to be free of sweat. The cold weather pushed both those phenomenons away. The corpse of what was once a living, breathing being was held bridal style in his strong arms as he knelt down on the frosty grass of the permanent vèvè. A loon's cry echoed in the distance, but it didn't bother him this time. It was somewhat soothing, in a way.

He set you to the side, pulling the shovel off his back and beginning to dig the hole. Lost whispers and watchful eyes joined him in the clearing, examining him as he then took the pickaxe from the second strap over his shoulder and began clearing the stones that were too stubborn to be removed with the shovel; a wide, twisted smile on his face. She'll be perfect. They'll adore her, he told himself, taking the shovel and beginning to excavate the soil away again. The shadow of what was the Loa of destruction stayed back a few steps, gazing around with uncertainty.

"If the Wendigo finds us, it might do a little more than taint your blood black," the Prince told him, worry shaking his aged voice. "To hell with it!" Alastor yelled over his shoulder, overcome by rage. He did not care at that moment. He just needed to finish burying what was left of you. A fire swallowed his eyes and he slammed his foot down against the shovel's head to wedge it deeper into the ground. Zandor watched silently, his ears erect and twitching at every small sound in the woods.

Alastor lugged your body into the deep hole, taking one last look at your dull features with a glint in his eye before beginning to fill the grave in once more. Never enough dirt to fill the hole back up again, he mused, shoveling the soil in and over you. It was a slow process, but eventually there was only a small indent in the Earth where your grave was. A sigh left him and he dropped onto the grassy grounds, crossing his legs and closing his eyes. The earth seemed to shift beneath him, soft incantations leaving the man's lips as he summoned the largest and most powerful of the Loa.

The serpent rose from the vèvè, his snout pointing downwards to take in the small being that summoned him as he rose taller and taller, soon coiling around the edges of the clearing in a circle, allowing himself to come face-to-face with Alastor. "An offering created from the one you love? Goodness, Alastor." Damballa's hot, spoiled breath smacked Alastor in the face, his eyes slowly opening to be met with the mucky yellow ones of the Loa. Scales had begun to chip off around the muzzle of the creature, revealing the hardened grayish pink flesh beneath.

"Why is it you have summoned me?" he rasped in a voice older than the fossils of time, a wheezing cough following his words. This damned snake was going to turn to dust soon, there was no denying that, but when that happened, he would simply molt his ashes like old skin and come out young and spry again, an occurrence that only happened once every millenia. Alastor kept his gaze locked with the superior being as he answered, "I wish for you to brand her."

The narrow slits in the serpent's eyes thinned, forked tongue flicking as he pondered. "Brand her?" he repeated skeptically. Branding a soul was something that took hard work and that only Damballa could achieve. He would require quite the sacrifice. More than a measly human and some elbow grease. "I can, but what are you willing to offer me?" Alastor's gaze dropped to the frosty earth beneath him, jaw clenched.

What did he have to offer? There was your body, but surely that wouldn't be enough, and Damballa seemed to know that. The snake's black hair glistened in the moonlight, showing how oily and unkempt it was. It made Alastor sick. This was the god of the Loa and yet he looked as if he had been living in a cave for years on end. Suppose the Vilokan is a cave of sorts, the brunette justified his superior's ungodly appearance, still trying to think of some way a sacrifice could be made right there and then.