He had no home, no path, no revenge. It had been taken from him by the female he’d just lost... and needed just as much as he needed his kindred.
There was no point in being here when they were there.
His floating tears tickled his fingers and palms as he started to dig his fingertips and claws into his skull. With heavy, agonised breaths, he pressed harder and harder until there was pressure all around.
He shook and shuddered in repulsion at what he was trying to do, and his neck dipped instead of giving way. His scales and spikes puffed, while tangled growls and whines echoed from him.
I do not want to be here if neither of them are.
“Fuck!” Faunus bit out, before his paw steps could be heard sprinting closer. “He’s trying to break his skull!”
Just when Ingram felt his rigid skull starting to bend in multiple places as it creaked, one of his arms was ripped back.
He immediately roared and turned to the Mavka, his orbs bleeding red droplets. He’d been so close! Just a little more, and he would have gone to where they were, to the afterworld.
Ingram saw nothing, and felt nothing. His mind was completely disconnected from his body as he attacked in a blind rage.
Faunus gave a high-pitched, ear-splitting yelp. The scent of blood that was not his own penetrated his nose holes. He tasted blood, and it was foul to him. It should not be on his tongue, yet he didn’t stop his attack.
He knew at some point the feline-skulled Mavka got out from underneath him, then a split second later, he was tackled to his front, a writhing mess of limbs capturing him.
Ingram grabbed ahold of something hard – a skull, perhaps – and it gave resistance against his strength. He tried to crush it, ignoring the claws that dug at his throat, the pain of it lost to the wounds of his soul.
Someone grabbed his horn and yanked him back.
His spine slammed against the ground, just as cool tendrils wrapped around him from tail to throat. Ingram bucked and writhed to be free of his bindings, releasing roars as he arched his back.
At the same time, he bashed the back of his skull against the ground, wishing the soft grass and dirt would shatter him. He wiggled, squirmed, and twisted with all his might to be free.
Voices argued around him, but nothing was distinguishable to him. All he saw was red. All he heard was his own rage. All he felt was tormenting misery.
A hand was foolish enough to try to soothe him by petting his skull, but it did not smell like strawberries and primroses. It made his hackles rise with the wrongness of it touching him. He pecked it.
He’d take being back at the Demonslayer stronghold over this. If they pulled his heart from him enough times, would it stop aching the way it did? Would the physical wounds be easier to bear than the ones he could not touch or soothe?
Mindless, wild insanity sunk its fangs into him, and he yearned to be completely consumed.
For once... he didn’t want to bite back.
Ingram had no memory of the events that led to his head being removed. It was likely done in order to reset his mental state and bring him back from his deranged and violent outburst.
His body had grown back like thick, muddy black sand, his limbs soft and heavy like they were still just globs. Even before he had fully formed, the same cold tendrils as before wrapped around his body and pinned him against the ground by his front.
He was still in his monstrous form.
Before he even opened his sight, the trickling droplets of ethereal tears floated around the bone of his skull. The deep blue glow of his vision was dazed, more because he just didn’t want to think...
My heart hurts.
He wished the removal of his head made him forget why he was in pain.
He wanted it to go away, to leave him alone.
Then the remnants of strawberries and primroses fluttered in his senses, and he searched for the source. The tip of his beak caught on loose material, and he dragged it closer across the ground.
He didn’t know if the blue dress, empty of Emerie, amplified or alleviated the throbbing behind his sternum. But it was her scent, and he wanted to lay his head on it so that no one could take it from him.
He wanted it to somehow envelop him once more.
Closing his murky sight, like his orbs were empty of the vortex of liquid fire they consisted of, he wrestled with his bindings once more. Why did everyone want to trap him?
The only times he’d ever enjoyed it was when Emerie did so. She always brought him pleasure when she did, and he’d begun to see the bindings as... sensual. He wanted to think of them positively.
“I need to talk to you, so stop fighting and rest,” a deep, feminine voice uttered quietly. “I brought you her dress because I knew it would help.”
He peeked open his sight once more, and the Witch Owl’s white cloak was bright enough to shine through his dim vision.
The snarl that tore out of him was weak at first, but it strengthened with every second she knelt before him.
“You.” His orbs flared crimson, and once more it looked like human blood floated around his skull. “You took her there, didn’t you? This is all your fault.” Her hands reached out to him, and the bark that came from him was aggressive and beastly. “Don’t touch me! Do not touch me ever again.”
“Ingram,” she whispered, retracting her hands from the air.
“You keep taking everything away from me,” he whined, and once more, his orbs drowned in the colour of sadness.
“I just need you to stay calm so we can talk.”
Ingram tossed his head to the side to show her he didn’t want to talk to her. Emerie’s dress twisted beneath his beak, cushioning him against the hardness of the ground.
Looking to the side, he spotted a small and pale woman with blonde hair making her way to them, followed by the wolf-skulled, impala-horned Mavka.
“We saw his body grow back, so we thought we could come over,” Reia said as she placed her hand on Lindiwe’s shoulder, forcing the woman to be her leaning pole while she sat. “How’s he doing?”
“Did you know?” Ingram asked as he turned his head to Orpheus.
“No,” Orpheus stated, his tone unnerving as he crouched behind Reia. “And I still am not pleased.”
Reia tenderly covered the back of Orpheus’ hand with her own when he grasped her side, and gave his wolf skull a small, apologetic cringe.
“You understand how I feel, yes? You have lost many humans.” When Orpheus confirmed, he asked, “Break my skull. Let me leave here. I cannot take it.”
“Ingram,” both Reia and Lindiwe cried out.
Orpheus leaned around Reia as though he’d planned to do as he pleaded, and Ingram lifted his beak up to reach out.
Reia grabbed his wrist and yanked him back. “No, Orpheus!”
“Why not? It is what he wants.” He brushed his claws into Reia’s long blonde hair. “It... is what I would have wanted if you disappeared. If I hadn’t tried to mindlessly search for you that night, this is what I would have done.”