Ethereal | Twilight |

004

A putrid blossom festers in his mouth, and a relentless bullet tears through the sinews of his body—a decaying, shredding cacophony in the symphony of pain.

As the old drunken male staggers toward him, while the others had long gone vanished. Above, lights flicker, the night unfurls, and Sora's flesh sizzles like molten metal. If not for the perplexing fact that he'd once had a thought, that it had may been a fever, or some type of bizarre sickness that had lasted for weeks, until now, he'd probably be imagining that he might die. But in a moment of time being abolished by a drunken lad dragging breaths over his body, It became a moment of authentic monstrosity, a glass bottle smashing across his face. A brutal splatter. Crimson streaks paint a grotesque canvas across his skull and nose.

It takes him a while to recover before the sensation akin to a wild creature ravaging his temples, hands mercilessly crushing the skin on his cheeks, devouring it morsel by morsel is taken action. A type of monster in emotion tearing across his body while in present, he is devoured by mouth, heavy lips over his neck.

A groan leaves his lips, one beat of his heart next to the other. Glass shatters before his face and his view blurs, the man crawling like a hungry man towards his fallen, limp body. "Don't move, don't move." The older groans, amidst the roaring flames within his abdomen, he presses forward, the scorching heat enveloping him, as hands of smoke intertwine with his skin.

His hands strain as he pushes the straddling man over his waist, the concrete beneath him crushing against his skin. "Stop."

His limbs, smoked over hell don't do a thing against the older male. His body spluttering in sickness suddenly igniting at a night like this one, brings a roll of unfortunate events, as if he couldn't be more unlucky. 

His voice leaves his bloodied lips with little effort, seeming like an entertainment as he hears the man's laugh growl over his ears, the chest of another leaning down, their beating hearts slamming against one another.

The man's lips come close to his neck, a hungered expression. The shattered remnants of the bottle, wielded by the man, now lie strewn across the ground, its fractured glass fragments scattered perilously close to his neck, as it ominously grazes the tip of his nose.

His lungs find a desperate need to survive as he tries to escape the disgust coiling around him with the taste of kisses being poured over his skin by drunken lips. Laughter rumbles through, feeling his unraveling clothes with hands sinking through his skin like butter, nails digging through a grave as they come closer to his neck. "Stop."

Had he feared maybe he'd start crying, like a little boy, once more in a position of a lamb fearing its death, an impending doom after its shepherds desire. Had he not went through this before he might have fought, but as his body began to revolt, he lies still beneath the man.

It was over once greedy hands straddled over the edge of his pants, pulling his pants down in a struggle followed by heavy breaths palming over his shoulders. His lips part reluctantly, exhaling a plume of heavy smoke that hangs in the air like an ominous proclamation. A cry, laden with desperation, escapes him as his body convulses in a stranglehold, surrendering to forces beyond his comprehension. In the crucible of raging heat, his form withers, a fragile vessel ensnared by the torment of an unseen power.

His jaw drops with weariness, a poignant acknowledgment of no longer holding dominion over his own corporeal existence. In the midst of this struggle, he inhales, oblivious to the older man's silent watch, unwittingly inviting a violent storm to coil within his abdomen. Instinct takes over, setting ablaze a guttural inferno that courses through his gut, an unrelenting force demanding acknowledgment.

Each heartbeat becomes a deafening crescendo, a captive rhythm tearing free from the cages of his ribcage, creating a symphony of chaos within. "What the hell," the older utters, the words escaping in a breathy exclamation. The older man disentangles himself from the lap, hands relinquishing their hold on the now heated, withering body. The transition is akin to the transformation of his touch into pebbles of painful, raging fire.