Naga!Pythor x Reader

The Heart of Serpentine and the Loyalty of a Constrictai

  You had an arm around Pythor's neck, pulling your hand away from the sticky blood that covered his clothes. He smelled like blood. That awful, metallic, assaulting smell, masking his usual musk that somehow reminded you of antique books.    

    His hair was ragged, strands pasted to the side of his face and rest still tied back but tangled. 

    He was trying to carry you as gently as possible, bridal style, but with each bump of your arm against his chest you winced. 

    His face was more stoic than a statue, if not more solemn. 

    "Pythor, please talk to me," you looked up at him. 

    Nothing.

    "What did you mean Arcturus? What does he have to do with you?"

    Nothing

    "Pythor," you almost whined, "I don't know what you've done or just did, but I know that's it's not your fault. I'm not mad at you. I don't blame you," You glanced from your arm to him. 

    "I do," he said plainly. 

    You winced, starting to open your mouth again. 

    Skalidor topped the hill above you, calling backwards. A wound bled from his stomach, his arm, and on parts of his tail. 

    Pythor started to hand you to him as he slithered over, asking about your conditions. 

    "No, no," you gripped Pythor's neck as he tried to give you away, despite the pain. 

    Skalidor stopped, starting to say something. 

    "Don't be childish," He put his arm in between yours, breaking your grip. 

    Skalidor took you, cradling you in his massive hands as gently as possible, looking between you and Pythor.

    "Who's dead?" Pythor said plainly, slithering on. 

    "The Venomari pilots and one of my soldiers. Everyone is injured in some way or another, nothing dire. All the Mongoose cult . . .they're dead . . . and most dismembered."

    Pythor only gave him a look over his shoulder. 

    "What the hell was that?!" What the hell!" Skales slithered into view, hands twisted around the Hypnobrai staff, the sound of  a helicopter approaching. 

    No change came to Pythor's face. 

    Skales's teeth knashed in rage, you noticed the scarlet-stained rag on his arm, and the similar bandages on the two Constrictai that followed him. 

    "Anacondrai battle rage," the grim answer came from Skalidor, "I saw the strongest soldiers torn apart like wheat during the Serpentine Wars."

    "Like, he has strength, but that wasss something elssse! That was monssterouss, Pythor, that wass horrifying! You had no control, did you!? You're basically a ticking timebomb!?" Skales's eyes blazed in the dying light. 

    Pythor was expressionless. 

    "Those men that attacked us were monsters. They need not be mourned, and it does not matter what they were killed by, only that they are dead," Skalidor defended Pythor. 

    "It would be different it if was only those men," Skales growled, and with no reaction from Pythor, "You don't even know, do you?!"

    "What?" Pythor's voice could have been a recording.