Victuals & Vehemence - Septiplier

Chapter Thirty Seven

"Help me frame this properly," the omega whispers, looking at his mate. Mark's lips curl into a devilish grin. He's won. The alpha tilts his head to the side in thoughtfulness for a moment.

"The best thing to do is say this is just a part of The Angelmaker's attack. You need to clean up and change out of your clothes. Go upstairs, first room on the right, in the dresser, not the chest," Mark directs with eerie ease as he kneels and picks up Jack's knife, pulling out an old rag to carefully rid it of the incriminating stains. The omega scowls at the inexplicably specific directions, operating under the unfortunate understanding of how Mark knows that information. He strips off the blood-stained layers in the kitchen before heading upstairs to make sure blood doesn't trail with him. Jack cleans himself up, then digs through the dresser and gathers clothes as close as possible to what he'd been wearing. After getting dressed again, he looks around the room with a frown. Why not the chest? Jack walks over and unlatches it, pushing back the lid.

The curled up body of an omega, apparently dead for several hours, stuffed into the chest. Jack reels back, gagging. His gut coils in utter repugnance. His mate did this. His alpha did this. Mark did this. Sean can't let such wickedness go by. He has to stop Mark. He has to stop this monster.

But is he not the same? He is just as bad. He manipulated his way to this position, and he's killed plenty. He's murdered. He always took life in the name of justice. This is different.

Is the body downstairs truly that different?

The only difference is the method. The emotion was evident in the murder downstairs. The Angelmaker is never that passionate. Mark always has a strong seal on his feelings. Jack makes his way back downstairs, pulling on the coat as similar to his own that he could find.

"Where are my guns?" he asks Mark as he steps down from the stairs.

"Do you not have them?" Mark asks as he starts up the fire, beginning to burn Jack's clothes in the fire.

"No. I would have used them," Jack replies with a bitter scoff.

"I don't know," Mark shrugs, continuing to feed the fire Jack's blood-drenched clothing. "Make sure to wipe off your shoes and face before you go outside," he adds.

Jack stays quiet while he does as Mark directed, careful to scrub off any last reminders of the murder. He dries off his shoes and pulls them back on, standing.

"Grab the cornbread in the oven for me, will you?" Mark asks casually. Jack tilts his head to the side, frown only deepening. He crouches down, opens it up, and pulls out the cornbread. It's cold, but entirely done, likely left alone for hours. He carries the tin over to Mark, setting it beside the alpha.

"Thank you, darling," Mark murmurs, his focus on ensuring every piece of clothing is entirely burned away. However, the few small pieces of leather in the clothes are burning and stinking up the place. He waits until everything is mostly dissolved into ash before carefully setting the cornbread tin on a small stand as if cooking it there. However, the fire is intense, and it quickly consumes the cornbread, burning it up. Perfect for covering up the smell of burnt clothing.

Jack makes his way outside, eyes roving the area in search of his beloved guns. He finds them strewn about at Hades' hooves, covered in dust. The private investigator curses quietly, scooping them up and hurriedly cleaning them off as a spew of curses flow from his mouth. He needs to get some new holsters. Clearly, the ones he's got aren't doing the trick. He hurries back inside, watching Mark burn the cornbread with a stony gaze. The alpha isn't even fazed by the turn of events. But what should he expect? Mark is The Angelmaker. A monster known for brutal, violent murders that leave the victims manipulated as works of art.

"I can't say this is Angelmaker. The murders aren't..." Jack frowns, trying to find the right word.

"Meticulous?" Mark supplies, standing and dusting off his hands. Jack turns his head to the side and nods. Mark turns to look at his mate.

"No, you are right. The design is Angelmaker, but the execution is too passionate. This murderer enjoys bringing about death. He enjoys the violence of it. The force enacted upon another. The control. He revels in the taking of life, not the pain inflicted- unlike The Angelmaker," Mark hums, eyes burning laser's into the side of Jack's head as the omega keeps his gaze turned away.

"The Angelmaker induces pain, makes people see God, or the lack thereof. That's why we named him that. He's so monstrously sadistic, and then he strings the poor sons of bitches up in a way that honors their final visions. Or whatever he believes they should have been about."

"This murderer takes away life, revels in the control of the theft, of the destruction. He is desperate for control, and he's frustrated with the lack of it in his own life. So he takes it. He razes those who try to control him.," Mark murmurs.

"He takes what he wants when he wants," Jack finishes, voice high and shaking as painful realization fills him.

"He reaps as he wishes," Mark whispers, moving over to Jack. His hands rest on the omega's waist, holding his mate close. Jack whimpers and bows his head, beginning to shake as he curls into Mark's chest.

"I don't... I don't want to," the omega whispers.

"It is beautiful, my love. Your desire, your ability is stunning. You bring emotion to me that I have not felt since my youth," Mark croons, pressing kisses and nuzzling into Jack's hair.

"It's wrong," Jack attempts to defend with all the fragile strength of a baby giraffe taking its first few steps.

"It's who you are."