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Never in your relatively short life did you imagine that this was the way you would go; Mom always went on about being careful when you were driving and some paranoid fuck on the news would claim that something in fast food would do you in when you least expected it. "Bet you didn't think about monster bugs, didja you fucking prick", you say internally, even as you pant ragged breaths; moving to Red Grave seemed like a pretty good idea a couple of years ago and if you lived through this, your parents would never let you hear the end of it. Was this shit only happening here? What about Mom and Dad? Are they still --"Aaaagh!" You cry out as one of the monsters swings out a massive bladed arm and white hot pain blooms in your arm - you're definitely bleeding and again, this was such a fucked up way to go."Pardon me."The monster in front of you seemingly freezes in place as a metal spike suddenly pierces through its malformed head (oh god, it looks like a human face, what the actual fuck) and it disintegrates into nothingness. There's a flurry of movement suddenly around you; a gust of wind and flapping, thunder and lightning crashing all around; there's a shadow moving all around your tiny apartment, flitting around and turning into the most horrible shapes you'd ever seen, something straight out of your childhood nightmares. It's almost overwhelming - you hear someone cackle as electricity fills the air, the smell of ozone and burning ash filling your nose. The sentient darkness continues its work, shredding through the terrifying creatures in a tornado of blackness and blood. "Fuck yeah! Take that, you bug-eyed freaks!" someone yells out and you feel a sense of elation; whoever this was, they were here to help and were doing a damn good job too. A calm silence gradually fills the room, only the death rattles of the bug monsters remaining.There's a sound of flapping wings and a low growl - animals?More monsters? "Think that's all of 'em, V."You blink your eyes rapidly and try to survey the scene - your apartment floor is covered in blood and what looked like bits of shell, chitinous and gray, torn off from the creatures that tried to kill you. There's a rustle of movement above you and you let out a small shriek; a huge bird had perched on top of the desk you had your back against, its feathers a deep electric blue. You vaguely remember some nature show you watched as a child and dimly attempt to figure out what kind of bird it is; what kind of a bird had eyes like that, had a beak that split like that -"Hey V, we've got a live one over here!" What the fuck kind of bird talked like that?!"Stay back!" you yell out, grabbing a nearby object off the ground (a broken baseball bat) and taking a swing at the - bird? No, it wasn't, birds don't fucking talk - and the pain in your arm lights anew."What the fuck...what the fuck..." you mutter, trying to make your way back up to your feet. You keep the broken bat pointed at the bird and you swear the thing is actually looking mildly annoyed.This wasn't real, it couldn't be - giant bugs, a talking bird - you swear, if your roommate put something in your coffee and this was some bad trip you were having -"Are you alright?" You startle and focus your eyes on the person who made his way into your ruined apartment. He's tall and svelte, almost a little too slight for his stature; jet-black hair up to his chin and green eyes laser-focused on you. He's handsome, you think numbly and that makes it all the more disconcerting; he's surprisingly calm about the entire thing and shuffles his way around the apartment.A scrape of iron against wood - he's using a cane to walk. Was he injured?Tattoos - covering the pale skin of his arms and exposed torso.Black coat - a little worn, almost patchwork, interesting design though and he kinda pulls it off really well, if you were honest -"I think she's in shock," came the observation from your left and it's the freaking bird-thing again; it's voice is distorted, like it was speaking through static and there was a note of exasperation in its tone"We might have been a little overzealous," the man says again and you're surprised by how young he sounds (and looks, now that you've stopped ogling him, damn you, get a grip). He looks almost apologetic at the carnage he's apparently caused and you're going to have a nice chat about how exactly he went about doing that later.His gaze flicks toward your bleeding arm. "You're injured.""Y-yeah, one of those things..." you stammer out, still a little shaken. "It looks worse than it is." "Your arm looks like shit," comes the blunt reply from the bird, shaking its head. "Maybe I can cauterize it!"You're about to ask the bird - the fucking talking bird - about how exactly he's planning on cauterizing your wound when you notice Tall n' Tattooed has made his way closer. "It might require stitches," he observes, his pale hand reaching up before he clenches it into a fist and drops it back to his side. "I'll...I can just go to the emergency room..." you say and you give him a reassuring smile; you swear he gives you a smirk back."Can I see another's woe/And not be in sorrow too/Can I see another's grief/And not seek for kind relief", he recites with conviction, green eyes still trained on you and your wound. "Was that...a poem or something?" you ask, feeling heat rising to your face and a strange coiling in your stomach. It's hunger and stress...right? That's all it is. You hadn't eaten all day and some bug monsters attacked you..."They're demons."You blink - shit, you said that last part out loud. "All right, princess, guess you're coming with us." The bird lands on the man's outstretched arm and you hear a note of exasperation in its voice. "I...it's fine, like I said - the hospital's not too far from here, I can just...""All hospitals in Red Grave are out of commission.""Okay...um...alright then.""Good.""...thanks for...saving me? I think?""It wasn't a problem.""...what's your name?""I have no name/I am but -""Oh, will you cut that shit out?" squawks the bird indignantly, ruffling its feathers in annoyance. "His name's V."
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As you walk through what remains of Red Grave, there is a sort of sensory dissonance; it's too quiet yet the sound of long abandoned cars, alarms blaring in the distance pierces through the air. The wind smells of burning ash and curdled blood and it threatens to turn your stomach. You hold your left arm gingerly against your body; the white bandage wrapped around your injury was applied well, at least considering how little experience V seemed to have treating injuries. V.That's what the bird-thing (because that's not a bird) said your rescuer's name was. Just the letter V. Not weird at all.You shake your head; not the time to think about that right now. Certainly also not the time to marvel at his profile from where he walked beside you; he had sharp cheekbones, almost cruel-looking if not tempered by his seeming youth. His eyes were emerald-like, glinting with a layer of steel, a mix of what looked like determination and resignation at his fate. You blink rapidly; this was getting ridiculous. This wasn't some stupid fairy tale where an excruciatingly good-looking prince rescues a hapless princess from certain doom and live happily ever after; this was -"What're you muttering about?" the bird-thing says, flying beside you and eyeing you with a sort of nonchalant curiosity. "Is it your arm? I told ya I should've cauterized it.""No, no - it's just," you say, startled from your reverie. "This is a little much to take. I mean...the whole 'demons are real thing.'""It's understandable," drawls V, his gaze focusing on you and making your stomach do an awful flip. "If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern."You give a mighty swallow; more poetry. "Meaning...?""I think what Shakespeare's saying is that a lot of people, yourself included toots, don't really want to believe in demons, so they close off their minds from having even a small glimpse of the Underworld."V smirked. "Close enough."You feel an ache begin to form behind your eyelids. Underworld -- as in Hell. Apparently real too. "...are you a demon?" you ask and you watch V's shoulders tense up ever so slightly. You weren't exactly religious but you've heard of demons taking the form of people; some of them appearing as beautiful as angels and you begin to grow wary of V's intentions. Because that's what he looked like - almost unearthly in his appearance, his disconcerting handsomeness and aloofness making alarm bells go off in your head. The bird - was it a demon as well? It talked, it followed his bidding -"I am not a demon," V finally says after a few seconds and he gives you a pointed look. "If I was, I would've let you perish in that apartment.""Yeah, talk about ungrateful," snarks the bird, perching itself on a nearby street sign. "Should've just let your ass get killed, princess.""I'm...I didn't mean...I am so sorry," you stammer out, feeling your cheeks burn from the shame. The bird was right; it was by a stroke of luck that you were still alive and now you were accusing V of being a demon. "Griffon, that's enough," V says, and you notice that he's standing closer to you. "This is quite the amount of information to take in at any one time, let alone one who has suffered a traumatic event.""She needs to know, Shakespeare," the bird said, sounding just a bit contrite. "Princess here's gonna have to learn fast how to tell demons from not-demons.""Mayhaps we do it in a less abrasive way.""N-no, I'm fine," you say, having calmed down. "It's okay. I guess I just...I panicked and...I'm sorry. You risked your life to rescue me and..."You feel tears begin to escape from your eyes and you hastily rub them away; this was so dumb, you were safe, you'd just been rescued and now you didn't know what to do...your parents, oh god, your parents, were they alright, were they still alive...what if the demons got them and-"For Mercy has a human heart/Pity, a human face/And Love, the human form divine/And Peace, the human dress."V is suddenly standing close to you, so close that you can make out the patterns of the ink decorating his chest; you feel a strange warmth radiating from him. "Do not be sorry for wanting to be rescued," he says, his voice a gentle lilt, nearly all traces of aloofness gone. "For wanting to be protected."You can't help yourself; you envelope your arms around him and place your forehead on his chest; his height makes it so that his chin is resting on the crown of your head. Fresh tears begin to form and you sob quietly, V's steady heartbeat your only solace. For a moment, he seems to freeze at your touch but soon you feel a tentative hand rest on your back. "T-thank you. I'm sor-""Can I see a falling tear/And not feel my sorrows share?"