The Chain (Thresh & OC FanFiction)

1. first meeting

He never thought there was another woman on this island besides Gray whose soul he couldn't absorb. Dissatisfied, he watched the girl lying on the beach, her damp dark hair, her tattered shirt, her pale hands wrapped in ropes and seaweed. The life was draining from her slowly, very slowly, but her soul clung to her body remarkably tightly – Thresh supposed it was because of the tattoos that framed one arm, the strange, dark marks he had once seen on people who had come here from distant islands full of speaking and thinking flowers.

He didn't like it. He had come here as soon as he sensed that some life, even if weak and ebbing from flesh, had appeared in the Isles. Thresh walked along the beach and plucked from the dying bodies of the sailors and shipwrecked their weeping, terrified souls. They were sad and scared, but they allowed themselves to be taken obediently. All but this one woman...

Dissatisfied, he sat on a gloomy beach, on a piece of a broken ship, staring intently at the brunette. Her metal-booted legs dug uneasily in the black sand, as if that would help the passage of time. Thresh waited for the woman to die before grabbing her soul into his lantern in mid-flight. He wanted to torture her existence for a long, long time, if only for the fact that currently he couldn't tear her being away himself.

Barely visible behind clouds and mist, the sun had set, allowing night to fall. The beach was dark, illuminated by the pale moonlight. The glow reflected off the living, softly whispering Mist, allowing too much and too little to be seen than the casual observer would have liked. Among the mist and darkness lurked restless spirits, cursed entities and undead minions of undead mages.

Thresh waited. All the other sailors were dead, either absorbed into the lantern by The Chain Warden, or eaten by the undead, or dying to the glory of the Mist with the blessing of the Isles. Only she remained – dark-haired, still alive, with an untapped, safe soul. She was dying, that was certain, but it was taking too long, far too long. Thresh was growing impatient.

Finally, he sighed, muttered some short, ancient curse unintelligibly, and, taking his lantern, started toward the woman. He stood over her, embracing her figure with greenish light. She was breathing slowly, shallowly, and her heart was beating very, very rarely. Thresh leaned over her and brushed sand-covered hair from her face. Pale cheeks, blue lips...she didn't have much time left. And yet, Thresh felt her soul cling to her body, prolonging the agony for an unimaginably long time. The wraith ran his fingers over the tattoos on the woman's arm – they didn't ignite with magic, they didn't light up with runic signs. They just wouldn't let him rip her soul out. Besides, he could do whatever he wanted.

For a moment, he considered slitting the brunette's throat himself. Then he wouldn't have to wait. He could grab her soul at once, lock her up in a lantern, torment her or even devour her instantly. The fingers of his right hand closed around the sickle he wore at his waist. He wanted and didn't want to kill her so much at the same time. He set the lantern down in the sand, slipped his left hand under the woman's back, and lifted her body.

She groaned, a soft, short sigh. Her one hand slowly, tentatively hovered in the air, then settled on his shoulder. An uneasy shiver ran through Thresh's body, something he had never known before. He liked it, even though the Warden had no idea where it came from. He glanced at the woman and was surprised to learn that the spasm was taking over his body again, a pleasant, warm wave spreading over his neck and back. And that feeling lasted as long as he stared at the woman's livid, half-open mouth, at her pale cheeks and smooth neck ready to be slit.

"I want to kill you," he murmured. "And devour your soul. I want it, don't I?"

And the more he wanted it, the less sure he was that this.

He adjusted his grip so that the previously loosely tilted woman's head fell onto his shoulder. The brunette sighed and strangely confidently snuggled into his torso.

"St... ay..." He heard her weak, quiet voice.

"You're still alive," he grumbled reluctantly. "You should have died long ago like the others."

"I'm afraid... to die alone," she whispered so softly that he had to listen to her words to distinguish them from the faint roar of the waves behind him. "Stay with me..."

Thresh narrowed his eyes. Few people had such requests for him.

"Please..."

The guard stood motionless for a moment, then finally strapped his sickle to his belt, placed his lantern in the air in front of him, and lifted the woman more confidently on both hands. She moaned softly, but did not object, clinging to his body with the confidence of a madman.

"Do you even know whom you're asking for a favor?"

"No..."

He snorted. A glow appeared in the east, bloody as ever, dark and disturbing. Thresh sighed and set off, deep into the Isles, hoping that by the time he reached Brotherhood, the woman would die in his arms.