Inside // Septiplier

Chapter 16

Mark's eyes darted between Anti and his playset. The snarl and the glint. His fangs a mirror of his handheld weapons sharpened blades, he had been born with daggers. Mark grunted as he struggled to turn his head away from the monstrosities before him. Anti grinned at this discovery begging Mark to question what he had done. "If you can't tell already Markimoo, I've basically paralysed you. I can't work with you squirming and wriggling." Anti rotated around the bench fixated upon Mark's proof of fear. "If you make me mad. I'll squish you like a bug. Like the parasite you are." Hysterical giggles befell Mark as his eyes trembled. "You'd also better stay awake Mark, you don't want me to make you." Anti gestured towards his selection, his smirk widening along with Mark's growing terror. "I'm going to hate this but I'll have to heal those injuries before I begin. Don't want you dying on me. Yet." A silencing click echoed through the basement. Anti growled infuriated by Mark's recovery but suddenly was exhilarated to work with his new canvas. "Now stay still," Anti giggled holding his knife slightly above Mark's throat. "Oh, yeah! I forgot. You don't have a choice." Rising the favoured weapon, Anti surveyed his blank painting, perhaps this would be his masterpiece.

"What to do... what to do..." Anti mused to himself. Disregarding Mark's thoughts of areas he begged Anti not to touch, Anti chuckled. Mark had only made it easier. With a glimmer in his eyes, the reflection of his toy, Anti pinned the tip of the blade on top of Mark's clavicle. His objective was to slice his shirt open, but a little spillage wouldn't hurt. He preferred abstract art anyways. As he dragged the knife down, he tilted his head back, filled with vexation at the sound of the ripping fabric. Mark couldn't scream ridding him of some entertainment, but his expression would suffice for now. Unaware of his aim, Anti continued gliding the weapon down Mark's chest. With Mark paralysed, he was unable to distinguish if he had cut Mark or not. It didn't matter to him. The more pain the better.

Anti withdrew his weapon and peered over his painting. The shirt had been cut open however not cleanly. One could make out a zigzag pattern followed by a diagonal slice, the slice itself began off centre. Too far to the right. The outline of Anti's handiwork was branded on Mark, a crimson indentation, almost a scar, following the same distorted path. Placing the knife's hilt in his mouth, Anti clenched tightly, a single fang covered the handle preventing it from falling. Claws tore the cotton fabric apart. They were almost useless. The sides of the shirt dangled over the bench's edge, Mark's chest now exposed. Retrieving his knife, Anti grinned, beginning to analyse his workspace.

"I wonder Mark, have you ever hallucinated? I mean truly, not that drug inducing shit, I mean the kind that can lead you to kill." Anti dug his blade slightly below Mark's sternum. Despite being paralysed, Mark flinched, enticing Anti. "The mind is such a powerful tool, but it's also a dangerous weapon." Dragging the knife down, Anti licked his lips watching the scarlet liquid begin to rise soon forming an overflowing stream. "I could fuck with your mind Mark, but I'm being nice." The blade had become drenched in the familiar coat. Pulling it out, Anti drew it towards his twisted grin. Allowing his serpent tongue to caress the metallic device, Anti devoured away at Mark's blood. "It's not as bad as Jack's at least." Anti giggled staring at Mark. The only response he received was the trembling pupils.

Anti leaned in closely towards Mark's immobile body. Flesh against flesh, Anti pressed his lips against Mark's. For an instant, Mark rejoiced in the familiar warmth, he forgot the demon inhabiting his friend. This was Jack, and he was kissing Mark. A passionate embrace, completely different to Anti's cold grasp. He imagined his blue irises enclosed by his relaxed eyelids, delved into their affectionate reunion. He desired to ruffle his hair by running his fingers between the soft locks. A flame flickered between them. Bright. Alive. It couldn't be put out.