Skin flowers [reverse-harem]

Wind from the north

This is a short in-between chapter, that should be helpful to get a better understanding on the alien's culture and history. Let me know if something isn't clear 🥀.

She doesn't hear the voices,

No word is gifted to her.

She doesn't meet their eyes,

No being stands in front of her.

Rust has coated her organs,

Petrifying the girl from the inside, 

Stopping her breath ,

And blood cells from running.

Her stone-heart beats now,

the melody of a dead butterfly.

Malakai's point of view

The bug looks horrible. Her hair is like a bird's nest. Her skin seems an old cloth full of patches and rags. Dark circles rest under her eyes. I stare at her all day long, I have been doing it for a whole week now. She hasn't noticed me once. I think she is unable to see through the darkness. Is she truly an A rank?

I have met only once the four Honourables and I couldn't even raise my head in front of them. I wasn't able to breath in their presence. And now, they are saying that the gracile girl is the same as them. I could snap her neck with two fingers. Crash her bones by walking over her small body. She isn't strong. She shouldn't be here.

I watch her reading the last book of the pile. I purposely chose the most difficult ones, who is she to give me orders? However, I am starting to think that she understands them. They are research works of century old scientists, written in technical language, which only a handful of intellectuals has completed. But she flips through the pages back and forth, nodding knowingly and sometimes shifting her gaze towards the ceiling to reflect. And then, she goes back to the last line she read. I scoff.

I scratch my tired eyes.

I guess I want to return home and see my clan again. Rest on the sofa, watch TV and talk to them. A couple of days ago a human girl was delivered to our home, but I was called to work. I couldn't even find out her name, let alone what she looked like. Is she going to resemble the bug? Are her lips going to be soft and arched as hers? Would she have the same small straight nose, dark doll lashes, slender fingers, elegant curves and tormented expression?

I scoff and look away.

There is something enchanting about the white-haired prisoner, I wouldn't mind sharing my bed with her. I like her delicate and weak voice. I enjoy how she stands up and lowers her eyes when I come with the food. I, sometimes regret snapping for her pronunciation. Everyone who I have contacted with, has learned Kylkee as their first language. It's unusual and exotic to listen to a no-native speaker.

I would like to hear her talk again. Perhaps, not by barking orders, just by murmuring to herself or pleading. "Malakai, Malakai" the new recruit yells as he runs towards me. I sneer. Why haven't these youngsters learnt some manners? Where is their respect for the elders?

"Malakai" he chants again. The shrilling voice disturbs my ears, hasn't nobody taught him how to sing? This is a prison not a kindergarten, then why am I surrounded by infants?

"What do you want idiotic child" I taunt and focus on the human girl again. Her head tilts up. Her dark eyes meet mine and I shiver. All color leaves her face. She struggles to get on her feet and I turn away from her, in order to glare at my loud colleague.

"Malakai" he repeats and I grow frustrated. He stops in front of me with his hands on the knees. He breaths heavily as if he has run through valleys and mountains. His skin is flushed red.

"There is a new A rank" he vomits the words so quickly that I am not sure I heard him right. My patience snaps, is he serious? Oh boy, why do I have to work with fools? "Yes and what, she is right here" I dismiss him through gritted teeth.

"No, no, there is a new A rank. Another one. There are six official A ranks now" my brain freezes for a moment. My eyes snap open. A bang resonates from the end of the corridor and I spin to see the white-haired girl laying on the floor. My whole body tenses in surprise. A new A rank, how?

For centuries there have been only four A ranks and now in the span of a week two new Honourables appear? What is it happening here? Have we always been lied to? How many A ranks are there truly? My head twirls and I lean on the wall. My knees shake.

"Who are they" I whisper. My eyes stare incredulously at the grey walls of the prison. A new A rank, the precarious balance of our system is shifting. What if a conflict between them starts? The human girl and the four Honourables are already standing on thin ice. She will most likely die if they decide to strike, but what if she gained an ally? What if the new A rank sided with her?

"Northered, his name is Northered. He comes from the glaciers in the extreme north islands and..." he adds shaking his head. Panic and fear raise my hair. Saliva stops in my throat as I wait for him to go on. The heart hammers against my ribs almost breaking them. The lungs fill with oxygen and explode like balloons. I take in his scarlet cheeks, parted dry lips, sweat glistening on his skin and shocked features. The same terror is mirrored on my face.

"What else? What more?" I press and grab him by the collar of his uniform. My hands strangle the fabric. My fingers choke him. I feel the nails digging in his darkening skin.

"He is a gunner" he mouths and I release him. His limp body falls to the ground. He quickly moves away and rests his back against the wall. He breaths in and out loudly. He is a gunner, a gunner, ha really?!

"What do you mean by a gunner? Impossible, an A rank gunner, bullshit" I shout. I take my head with trembling fingers and sit down in front of him. Guns and bows have been banned for a long, long time. Being killed by a bullet means not finding the path leading to the gardens of afterlife. Metal inside the soul causes the compass needle to spin endlessly and pointing towards damnation. How could an A rank choose such an ignoble weapon? Why would he?

Since the invention of fire arms, centuries have passed. No bullet or arrow is a danger for anyone anymore. The reaction time of an average living being is close to the speed of sound, making it useless to shoot them. However, there is always a risk, a risk to condemn your enemy to something more. To something that is longer than eternity. And truly no one deserves to face limitless, maddening suffering.

Everyone is able to dodge a shot, some even manage to cut the projectile and very few can also redirect it or catch it with bare hands. But what if, what if the one shooting was an A rank? Would it be really the same?

"I-it-itt is bad..." the youngster in front of me stutters, his whole body starts trembling. "It is bad, really, really, bad. Worse than anything imaginable" he whines to himself.

"Speak you maroon" I urge him, sweat drips to the cold floor. "He is coming here. He has won custody over the human A rank. He is coming to take her, he is coming" he blubbers.

All of us are going to die. The incarnation of divine punishment is approaching.