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Entry tags:

malevolent: john doe

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Who: John, Serph, and Viktor. Jayce is here too, technically.
What: Three differently unhinged people deciding what to do with a dead body that has the baddest of vibes.
When: The time between 1 and 2 of (cw: graphic descriptions of gore) this thread.
Where: Jayce's iridescent pickup truck.
Warnings: Graphic descriptions of gore, rot, dead bodies, etc. and the usual "thinkin' 'bout cannibalism." If a log warranted a "Dead dove do not eat" tag, this would be it. (We are not eating the dove. This time.)

Serph had planned on checking on Jayce before going hunting; when the man had agreed to try monster meat to try and slake his strangely unending hunger, Serph had agreed to hunt for him. But Jayce had looked... bad, in a way that he couldn't quite put his finger on. It doesn't strike him as particularly normal for humans, but he just doesn't know enough to be able to draw any sort of conclusion as to what sort of affliction he was suffering from. Would Jayce even have the strength to make it to the forest to eat? It seems like a good idea to check on his condition first before going into the forest.

Unfortunately... as Serph nears Jayce's pick-up truck, it's the smell that hits him first. Rot is still a fairly novel concept to him -- everything disappeared in the Junkyard, either down their throats or into the waterways -- but it stinks just like the several days old corpse he'd shoved into the meat processor. The hunger -- his closest companion, never satisfied -- falls strangely quiet, his demon's voracious appetite uneasily quelled.

With a frown he approaches at a jog and is greeted by the corpse of Jayce laying in a pool of blood in his truck's bed. But... who the hell bleeds out in multiple colours? Serph hoists himself up to get a better look at Jayce's corpse, heedless of the rainbow liquid lapping at his shoes.

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At first, John approaches simply because he catches sight of Serph's feathery silhouette from a distance and means to check in on him. Serph has sworn to protect him, which is something only one other human being has ever done; John cannot leave him to venture out of the Convoy without even an offer of help. Perhaps they'll find traps or ruins out in these woods, and Serph will need someone to call out the danger before he can venture too close.

But then he gets close enough to see it. That impossible iridescence, that strange and pitted rot, which reminds him of shapes and colors men should not know. It all shivers with a subtle, malevolent hum.

"Jesus." He stops, breathless, just within sight of Jayce's sprawled body. He has not come close enough yet to see the extent of the damage, the cause of death. They shouldn't go near it. This corpse is poisoned: he can feel it in his teeth. "Serph?"

It's strange.

He's stood atop a mountain of corpses and thought death could no longer hold any more surprises. Entrails, scattered across the ground before being snatched up and torn into by teeth sharper than knives. Organs, once pulsing with life, lifeless in his hands. They were ravenous beasts, armed with bodies that could shear through muscle and bone with ease.

And yet, the corpse before him is nothing like anything he's seen. Fresh blood ought to be bright against the surface of bone white teeth, old blood ought to be dark like ichor -- the thoughts bubbling from beneath the surface -- not shifting with the shimmer of light refracted through a glass prism. His demon's quiet disgust draws him closer -- and he feels a rising urge to put his fingers in it just to see what Varuna's response will be -- before John's voice interrupts him while his hand is still clean, inches from the iridescent liquid.

He turns his head, nods in acknowledgement of John's presence. "John."

He thinks, idly, John shouldn't be here. He shouldn't need to gaze upon death and pain when that's the domain of monsters.

Despite the situation, Serph's voice is as calm as ever. "I found him like this." Jayce had said he didn't think he would last another week. "I don't know what happened. I thought he had more time."

I found him like this, says Serph, and by reflex John does not believe him. He wants to. He sees no reason why Serph should need to lie to him, and the man's hands are perfectly clean. But he keeps the possibility in the back of his mind, as any detective should: he found Serph with a broken body.

John steps closer, and draws in a ragged breath when he sees the extent of the damage. He has seen corpses this badly brutalized, and worse things besides. But it is the first time he's found such carnage here, in a world where he's been growing complacent— a world where he has to safeguard Arthur's fragile body.

"Don't touch it." He halts at the foot of the truckbed, hovering just beyond the first spatters of iridescent blood. "If this rot spread within him, it could be... contagious."

Contagious? Knowledge without experience bubbles up from that same place where non-existant ideas like children are inserted into his mind. Disease, chemical weapons, infection. But he's living on time that doesn't belong to him anyway, isn't he?

"It takes longer than a few hours to rot like this." His voice pitches higher at the end, a slight uncertainty from knowing without understanding.

Serph's far too comfortable around the corpse, even if Jayce's stink does give him pause. It's a special kind of awful curling inside his nostrils and settling into the back of his throat. And while he doesn't touch the body, Serph still takes another step forward so he can crouch down before it, his bottom pair of wings dragging in the blood pool.

"He told me he wouldn't last another week." Jayce knew something was wrong with his body, besides the unending hunger. "His mark from this world was a skull."

A sign, maybe.

He can see the oddly precise cuts across Jayce's chest, his broken ribcage -- a glance down and the fragments of bone steeped in blood are thrown up in bright relief to his eyes -- but more importantly the crushed heart and shifting webbing within.

"It's getting on your wings, Serph!" John growls and frets from the edge of the blood pool. A skull? That means nothing to him. He has yet to see a single symbol he recognizes beyond the one stamped across his eye, and it leaves him powerless to do anything but worry on the sidelines.

"I... suppose we should bury the body." He knows what is meant to happen next. No matter how lowly the man, no matter how gruesome his death, there should be a burial. Arthur had been insistent. This will not be John's first grave to dig. "Nothing of the corpse will be worth keeping. Perhaps we can— wait."

Something has shifted, crystallized within his awareness. He cuts himself off. With a startled pinch of worry to his face, John leans in.

"There's a sort of... light. In the chest cavity." He shifts closer, edging around to peer over Serph's shoulder. Nothing has visibly changed, but John stares as though transfixed by a distant star. "Something... something is still in there."

...Ah. Is burying the body the usual action after someone has died? That first time with Jinana, they had been at such a loss on what to do. Grief left Argilla stricken, enraged at the thought of devouring the Maribel's leader. They knew there was something to be done to mourn the dead but didn't know what that was.

In the end, with few other choices, they'd settled on devouring the dead.

He says nothing of what he had intended once they'd finished examining the corpse. Instead, when John says there's something in there, Serph lifts his hand, intending to reach through Jayce's chest and grasp the light...

Viktor cannot really parse the bodies standing near and inside the truck bed at a distance, his eyes far too shimmer shot to focus wall. Proverbially, he's seeing red the moment he does understand something, anything is close to Jayce's body. Literally, he's seeing purple. Blood vessels in his eyes are blown out with what was actually powering his new form: arcane magic, electricity, and evolved shimmer. What he plans to supplant into Jayce.

If there's nothing getting in his way before then.

The cybertruck is shockingly quiet for its size, thanks to the electric engine. So, revving it up to full speed doesn't so much to make his approach known. There's the tearing up of the ground beneath him, but Viktor lays his elbow down into the horn to blare. He half expects the shapes to fly off like scavenger birds, and it isn't an impossible thought, seeing as it becomes clear at least one is a mass of wings.

The brakes get slammed on once he's peeled in close, the truck emergency break thrown instead of bothering to put it into park, and the door practically kicked open from inside. An at least eight foot tall bug of a man emerges, the only thing human about him his face and the wild mop of hair framing it. Everything else of him is a bizarre exoskeleton of biometal, woven in thin, muscle-like strands. His voice is fried and otherworldly, but more than that, he sounds enraged. Beside his head, a third arm poises back as a scorpion tail might, claws twitching with the irritation of a predator ready to attack. Yet, Viktor's really no fighter, he's only willing to act so threating because of Jayce. He must protect Jayce, even if he's only a corpse.

"Get away from him, you- you vultures!"

Serph visibly startles at the sudden ear-piercing blast of noise -- and fortunately doesn't instinctively grab any part of Jayce in his surprise -- jerking back and whipping his head around in the direction of the long loud honk. As a tall stick unfolds from within the vehicle and advances on them with the fury of a thousand suns, Serph stands to meet him with the calm of a person who is used to being the target of others' ire and knows exactly what he'll do if his patience wears out. (Fortunately for most, his patience is a country's length highway.)

Nevertheless, he shifts slightly so his body is between the new arrival and John; John has been hurt enough in the past.

"We found him like this." He doesn't raise his voice, keeping it steady and even despite his wings tucking in a little tighter. "We were trying to understand what happened to him."

John jumps like a spooked cat. In his head, he can parse what he's seeing only through the reflex of narration, as to a man who isn't there: some kind of creature, tall and metallic, a horribly jointed limb poised above its body like a scorpion's tail—

"Let's go, Serph!" John's own voice rings tinny and deep, not so different from this monster's. There is a similar weight to the sigil stamped across his face, a splinter of some great and sprawling force beyond worlds. It is woven deeply enough to warp his voice and light his eyes with gold. But under that, he looks utterly human. And frightened. "We've seen enough!"

Found him like this, no shit... Viktor knows he would probably look more intimidating to straighten up and stand at his new full height. Instead, he's hunches as usual, looking more like he's ready to bounce and strike with the scorpion-like arm. Familiar to him, his posture fitting into the slouch instinctual. Getting into a fight would be stupid, he's no soldier, even in this body he wouldn't know what to really do if things got violent.

So, more careful than his panic is urging him, he stands back by his truck and clutches both fists at his side. He doesn't recognize either of the two as fellow travelers, but Viktor wouldn't be all that easily recognized the way he changed. He had been keeping to himself up until now, mostly just watching after Jayce and doing any engineering repairs around the Convoy that felt useful.

"Did you touch him!?" Viktor barks, wincing lightly at the crackling volume of his own voice, "He's fragile-"

He's dead.

"-I need to resuscitate him, don't waste my time."

He's caught between two people with emotions running high. Behind him, John radiating fear he can almost smell. Before him, another Drifter radiating fear of a different kind. A plan gone wrong, a calculation awry.

Serph doesn't recognise Viktor (and he's spent the majority of his time away from the Convoy, where he can better use his few skills) but he does recognise that his assumption that the other Drifter had just happened upon Jayce's corpse the way he and John did is incorrect. He glances very briefly in John's direction -- a wordless apology -- as he continues to stand his ground.

"You were here when this happened." It is as much a question as it is an accusation, though he continues to speak in the same even tone. The precise cuts on Jayce's chest... He doesn't think this stranger is the one who killed Jayce (otherwise why resuscitation?) but he doesn't think he was uninvolved either. "Who are you and how do you plan on resuscitating him?"

Isn't he dead?

John has rarely met something that looks so inhuman without it acting violently. He needs no convincing that they shouldn't be here. But if he'd had any doubt, that claim— resuscitate him— would dispel it. This is the sort of madness that cannot be reasoned with.

It is also the sort that Arthur, his brave fool, would dig in his heels to argue.

"What?" he murmurs, appalled. The resurrection is no issue. But the prospect of raising a host for this iridescent plague... forcing a person to occupy such ruined flesh... that is surely a cruelty beyond bearing.

But not one worth losing their lives to prevent. John hovers, prepared to yank his friend out of harm's way should the insectoid creature lunge. His tone is warning. "Serph..."

"I'm his partner!" Viktor barks back with his whole chest. His accent thickens to cement on the words, as if insulted to even have to justify himself. He knows, reasonably, he does need some justification. Especially if these are fellows of the Convoy. If they know Jayce, but not him... Viktor can't tell.

"I turned... into this monster," he says with a just... vaguely shrugging gesture of all three arms to himself, "And I killed him, when I was even less myself than you can see now. He was already dying and fragile and I failed to keep him alive-"

He's not good at this. He's honest, but people do not want the raw, terrible truth of things. They want for pretty lies and smoke. Viktor has no talent and no patience for it.

"I'll fix this, bring him back. My blood is mutated and will work against his infections, reverse what has happened. If you won't help me then leave us."

Jayce's partner? Then he must be...

"You're Viktor," he says with dawning realisation.

Jayce had mentioned him when he put out that call for information...

Serph's expression immediately grows sympathetic when he hears Viktor's account of what happened. He knows all too well what it is like to lose one's mind to a sudden and abrupt transformation, knows the bloody swathe it can cut through people, allies and foes alike. Viktor's raw and unregulated feelings are much more valuable in Serph's eyes than having a pretty picture painted for him; the moment he gained emotion from his own infection, he has seen his new reality framed by the entrails of his enemies.

With a nod to John -- it's not difficult to see his growing unease -- Serph silently steps away from Jayce's corpse. He doesn't fully understand what Viktor intends to do but as Jayce's comrade, it seems correct to allow Viktor to choose what to do with Jayce's body. Getting off the back of Jayce's truck, he gestures towards it as if to say to Viktor, He's all yours.

But Serph will check on the situation later. Just in case a clean up crew is needed.

His gaze on John, Serph decides for them both, "Let's go."

He's certain the idea will be readily welcomed.

Viktor gives a half wince at his name being said. He wasn't hiding it, but he also hadn't told all that many people himself. Which means they got it from Jayce. No doubt the man speaking about him fondly, with trust and appreciation, in his usual way.

Now, this is Viktor's introduction: guilt, betrayal, desperation to make right.

"That's right, it's Viktor," he won't dodge accountability nor blame. He did this. If he brings Jayce back through this brutal and hair brained scheme, then any scorn he's earned will be well worth it. He'd accept that and anything else as the price he pays.

"I'll bring Jayce back to the Convoy, once he's alive. I promise," He can offer that much to these two, given they knew Jayce at least somewhat, "I won't leave him like this, I'll find a way."

That's also a promise. Viktor will bring Jayce back or he'll die trying.

Another promise... One of the last things Jayce had told him was that his promise was gone. What was that supposed to mean?

If Viktor is successful, then maybe he'll get to ask the man himself.

Serph nods in acknowledgement of Viktor's words, his determination, before silently retreating to allow Viktor to make his attempt at returning Jayce to the mortal world. It's only once he and John are far away enough that they can no longer see the grisly sight of Jayce's body or his truck that Serph asks John, "Are you alright?"

John is all too eager to get away. He has been wound terribly tight through every word, grimly expectant of some escalation, some foolish slip that leaves them at the mercy of this— person. This scientist gone mad over his partner's death at his own hands.

He has seen such horrors before. He once twisted this knife himself just to watch how a human mind can splinter and break. It's all too familiar, the pitted iridescence and the man's manic intensity in the face of open gore. There are things he cannot safely be reminded of, and more he would do better not to admit.

"I'm fine." His tone is tight, guarded. He walks a constant, impatient two steps ahead of Serph, and keeps glancing back to be sure they're not followed. "But I would prefer not to worry that you will find this sort of trouble. Sometimes it is safer to walk away."

Serph can see the tension in John, though he has a hard time gauging the intensity of it. John had warned everyone so strongly against disturbing the shrines and had insistently tried to pull him away from Jayce's abnormal corpse and Viktor's approach. There had been something in Jayce's chest, nestled within his ribcage that had quietened the fear.

Whatever it was, it's lost to them now.

Serph's voice is as calm as it ever is as he assures John, "I know when to retreat."

It's not monsters John fears.

Once they're closer to the Convoys, Serph says, "You go ahead. I'll be back later."

He did still need to hunt, after all. Jack would probably be able to soothe John's unease while he's gone, too; the other man was good at smoothing out tension.

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