Chapter Text
Artful, you fucking idiot.
Run-down streets were lit by the Sun’s waning glow, casting their surface in deep golden hues. If you ignored the general mess in this particular part of town— potholes, trash fluttering in the wind, abandoned buildings left to rot— it could’ve looked strangely beautiful. Dust swirled in the air, leaving it choked with the scent of rot. Not literal rot, no; the rot that came with being forgotten, the slow yet eventual erosion of memories made here. Cities couldn’t be frozen in time, after all, and this one’s greatest moments left a long time ago. There were no more people chatting it up in the streets, no soft light oozing from open storefronts. It was completely, utterly devoid of warmth.
Artful, however, was not paying attention to that, nor to the dust being kicked up by his boots. The crowd of people chasing after him were just a bit higher on his list of priorities. Had to be… what, a dozen by now? Most of them wielded makeshift weapons, besides a few who held—
CRACK.
Guns.
A bullet whizzed past his ear, slamming into a dumpster he sprinted past without a second glance. He held onto his hat tight as he picked up speed, choosing to ignore the accusatory shouts echoing just behind him.
“Stop running!”
“He can’t keep this up forever. He’s gonna slip up eventually!”
“Just accept it, you fraud!”
This wouldn’t work. They were right: he couldn’t run forever. One good shot, and he would be left to bleed out on the asphalt.
So what could he do?
…
He knew of an option. One that wasn’t infallible, but one that could potentially work. There was one problem.
Artful didn’t want to fight back.
Fighting back involved violence, hands slick with blood that never quite washed out. It wasn’t just fear— it was responsibility, sharp and unyielding. Guilt in a different font. It was his job to keep his audience safe, happy, entertained. This group was different from the adoring fans from his past, but the mindset still stuck with him.
Besides, what would…
No. She wasn’t here to watch him fall from grace. Not anymore.
Another bullet flew towards him, grazing his arm, and that was when he made his decision.
Artful turned and ducked into one of the many alleyways that branched out from the main road. There were a lot of these smaller streets; this place was like a maze, full of wrong turns and dead ends.
But he wasn’t planning on staying here.
With a flick of his wand, the shadows surrounding him grew deeper. Not enough to be noticeable, but enough to hide him from plain sight as he tucked himself against a wall that crinkled with countless old wanted posters, snug against his back.
Footsteps grew louder. Artful waited, sweat forming on his brow as he tried to quiet his breathing. A hand was held over his mouth as the crowd ran down the empty alley, so close he could feel the air displaced from their passing.
That wouldn’t distract them for long. He had to get out of here, had to—
“Huh?”
“There’s nowhere else he could’ve gone. He’s hiding.”
“Watch the main road!”
Merde.
Artful peered down the end of the street, only to spot a dead end. His pursuers were whisper-shouting at each other, but the alleyway was so small he could hear them anyways.
There was no time to catch his breath. He had to go, now.
Artful slipped out, darting down the main road and flinching as the streetlights flickered on.
Right. The sunset had passed by now, leaving only the moon in its wake. The automatic lights were both a blessing and a curse; it allowed him to see better, sure, but it also highlighted his location as he passed under each one. The moment the civilians he left behind decided to check here, they would be able to see him from a ways away.
He was on the outskirts of town. The forest stood distant on the horizon, green and brown dots peppering his vision, the streets downgrading into dirt paths further out.
If he managed to slip into the forest, then maybe he could hide amongst the trees. It was nighttime, which would hide him easier. Better odds there than here, with the streetlamps shining down on him with silent judgement. He couldn’t help but shrink under their unyielding gaze. Goosebumps grew uncomfortable underneath his dress shirt, and he suppressed a shiver as he refused to slow down. Wind sliced past skin, small scrapes and bruises and tears starting to sting from his time on the run.
And then— a new sensation. Hands on his back. Claws. Stinging turned into burning as they dug into his flesh, warm blood trickling down the base of his spine.
Artful didn’t have time to scream.
In an instant, he lay on the cold, gritty asphalt, tiny chunks of it grinding into his skin. The claws pulled their way out of his back with a horrific squishy noise, leaving behind ten deep pinpricks of agony. His breath came out short, stuttered; he didn’t speak, shock overcame his ability to, but he hissed as he was grabbed and yanked further back by something lined with spikes. Each one dug into his pant leg, anchoring him in place.
No. No. Not like this. The civilians wouldn’t get him like this.
The civilians were also not the type to growl as he tried to escape.
He froze. His wand was held tight, knuckles growing pale from the strain.
If they were still in the alley…
Then who was attacking him?
With a grunt, he turned himself around, now pushed up on his side.
His heart skipped a beat.
What stood in front of him could be considered humanoid, if you squinted. It stood impossibly tall, body made of slateskin and topped with outcroppings of razor-sharp spikes on its neck and shoulders. Its face stood out, stark white against the dark, with bright teal eyes and sharp teeth shown off in an earsplitting grin. Its expression was marred by hunger. Not rage, not justice, not anything he was used to. This was something deeper.
And this was definitely no civilian.
He audibly gulped as he was dragged a few inches closer, a spiny tail wrapped around his ankle.
“I- I—“ But there was nothing to say. It barely even responded to Artful’s incessant stammering, only tilting its head in silent acknowledgement.
Bone-deep terror had his heart pounding against his ribs. Artful knew that if he allowed this to continue, allowed himself to be dragged away, he would be dead by morning.
So, he raised his wand and pointed it at the beast, hands trembling.
“Let me… let me go,” he whispered. “You picked the wrong man to m- mess with—“
It tapped his wand. It reached out and tapped his wand with its bloodstained fingers.
“Not sharp,” it rasped, and Artful would’ve doubled back in shock if he could. They can talk??? Well, that made sense. It did have similar anatomy to a human, just… sharper in all the wrong ways. Hungrier. More dangerous.
“Small, little thing. What’s the point.” Its eyes refocused onto him, widened with morbid curiosity.
“Ah— get your hands off!” Artful yanked his wand back, out of instinct more than anything else. He held it closer now, practically cradling it as he glared daggers at the stranger. “It is for… magic. That I will use on you if you don’t let me go!”
It stared for a long moment, silence unbroken for what felt like an eternity. Then, it leaned back and started to laugh. It echoed down the abandoned streets, with a quality unmistakably inhuman. The pitch was wrong, the tone was dead. Artful winced at the noise, resisting the urge to turn away.
As quickly as it started, it stopped. Pursuer’s head snapped to look behind them, neck twisting what looked like 360 degrees before they abruptly let go of the magician. Artful scrambled back, but halted under their watchful eye— it carried a silent promise.
If you try to run, I will find you.
With that, Pursuer held up a finger, and disappeared as its spines retracted into its form.
Oh, so it could go invisible too. That was just great. Artful was left wide-eyed in the middle of the road, too scared and confused to even blink.
Voices. He hadn’t noticed them earlier. The civilians, they were leaving the alleyway. Their heads turned towards him, and they pointed before starting their run over—
SHHHHLCK.
A noise pierced the chatter. Something wet and meaty. Somewhere in the back of the group, a civilian clutched at their chest as it bloomed crimson.
CRUNCH.
They were dead before they hit the ground. It was difficult to survive with a giant bite taken out of your throat, after all.
The crowd erupted into chaos.
Artful got to his feet as the next one fell, this time sporting a clean slice across the jugular. Another shrieked as their arm was grabbed by some unseen force. It disappeared just as fast, leaving behind a stump in its wake.
The air felt heavy, weighed down with the stench of blood. He felt sick to his stomach, but fear kept him paralyzed.
What would happen if he tried to interfere? Surely it wouldn’t take too kindly to that.
…Did he even want to interfere?
These people had hunted him down, spat insults at him as they chased him relentlessly. Sure, they had a good reason to, but he couldn’t help but feel a sense of indignation.
They didn’t understand. All they were was a bunch of hecklers.
Artful closed his eyes. It was easier to believe that if he couldn’t see them.
Hands gripped his shoulders, trying to pull him back. A voice begged right next to his ear.
“Please, I—“
He didn’t remember raising his arms to push them away. And good thing he did, too; a sword pierced through their chest, his mystery assailant as its wielder. The civilian’s pleading stopped as they were shaken off the blade, and his eyes opened just as the carnage ended. Artful could pinpoint the exact moment their soul left their body, moments before they met the ground with a dull thud.
They locked eyes as the stranger flicked blood off their blade, shining teal staring into dulled amber. It stood there like it was waiting for a response. Maybe another scream, or an attack, or receding footsteps as he fled.
They got none of that. Artful stood still, held in practiced neutrality (save for a few twitches of his face and the fact his body shook like a leaf).
It stepped closer. Leaning down, fangs ghosted over his neck.
“Your fear. I can taste it.”
Artful couldn’t take it anymore.
“Quoi?!” All that ‘calm’ shattered in an instant— he was on the verge of hyperventilating, panic overriding the natural process of breathing. He tried to push it away too, but his hands froze midair.
He really didn’t want to test its temper.
So, he staggered back instead, nearly falling over as it followed. The air felt stale, choked with iron; no matter how much he took in, it was never enough.
“What do you want from me..?” Now he was the accusatory one, the scared civilian. The victim.
He didn’t like how quickly the tables had turned.
“If you’re going to— to eat me like the rest, then I’ll warn you, I don’t go down that easily—“
“Ew.”
Artful paused. “..what?”
“You’re sick.” It pointed at his face. “Like a corpse. Not… fresh.” It picked up the body between them, casually biting pieces out of it.
What the fuck.
Artful didn’t know whether to feel relieved, confounded, or even more horrified. At least he wasn’t on the menu..??? But the ones chasing him certainly were, and the sounds of muscle and sinew being messily ripped apart was starting to make him feel sick to his stomach.
“Do you have to… to eat them right here?” He blurted out, purposefully avoiding looking at the corpse.
“It’s easier.”
“It’s disgusting!”
“You,” it snarled, pointing at Artful, “are disgusting.”
That made him feel surprisingly dejected. Wait, why did he even care what this thing thought of him?! What he should actually be caring about were the bodies of the civilians, the families— no, the bloodstains they would leave behind.
Don’t make the mistake of giving them pity. You know it’ll destroy you.
With a noise mixed between a sigh and a strangled groan, Artful dramatically tossed up his arms.
“That is enough. I want answers, you… you brute.” He raised his weapon again, steadying himself the best he could. “What is your name? W- What do you want?”
Finally, it stopped feasting. It carelessly dropped the half-devoured corpse, staring at it with a look of disgust.
Huh… strange. Did it not like the flesh? They were eating it with gusto just a moment ago.
“Hold.” They spoke up again, snapping Artful out of his thoughts as they reached behind them. A sheath rested on their back, and within it, they pulled out something that crinkled as claws gently unfolded it.
A newspaper. Front and center, the title read: ‘UNKNOWN PURSUER FOUND STALKING CAMPERS.’
Artful raised an eyebrow, having to squint to read the words. Once he did, he found himself even more confused.
“You may have shown me the wrong thing…” He yelped as it grabbed his wrist, pulling it towards one of the words.
‘PURSUER.’
Ohhhh.
“P- Pursuer..?”
It nodded, and Artful pulled his arm back, silently relieved.
“Alright, Pursuer… what could you possibly want from me?” He crossed his arms, glaring at the person..? Creature? He could now put a name to.
Pursuer stared at him then. Their gaze was sharp, calculated— it stung with the knowledge that he was being sized up, like meat on a platter.
The air was so tense one could cut it with a knife. And cut it they did, as Pursuer shrugged.
“Dunno.”
…That was it???
Artful didn’t know what to feel. Anger, confusion, fear; emotions swirled together to form some unappealing cocktail that tried to push its way out through half-baked pleas for mercy and stuttered-out swears. In the end, he bit his tongue, opting for something much more sensical.
“Well, if you do not know, then am I free to leave? Please..?” The words tasted bitter. He had to force them out between gritted teeth. Being polite was a skill he had left behind, rusty from lack of use. And he especially hated being nice to this… thing.
More silence was all he received in response. This stretch of nothing lasted much longer— maybe around a minute, but Artful was smart enough not to break it first. Pursuer was still staring, but their eyes were vacant. Their focus was elsewhere.
Its head tilted, spines pricking upwards.
Pursuer wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. It was listening.
A faint, yet rapidly approaching mechanical hum made Artful realize that maybe, he should’ve paid more attention too.
The bodies. Each one had severe gashes along any open skin, exposing fat and deeper muscle. Blood oozed out from injuries, chunks of flesh ripped out with razor-sharp teeth. The streets were painted red, yet that wasn’t enough to hide a faint green light coming from one of the civilian’s pockets.
Some kind of pager. Shit.
Pursuer wasn’t moving. They faced the noise with hackles raised and a quiet growl causing their spikes to quiver. It was clear they weren’t planning on fleeing for the time being.
Did they know what they were getting into? The humming of engines had long since become deafening, the sign of many being mobilized to defeat them. The government had upgraded their firepower a while back, so Artful had gotten used to the armored vehicles he regularly had to hide from while scavenging in dying cities.
Pursuer wasn’t from civilization, though. There were no threats like these in the forests.
It wouldn’t be able to fight against heavy weaponry. It would die.
…
It bought him more time to run.
Artful took his chance— one hand on his hat and the other clutching his wand, he booked it in the opposite direction. The forest outskirts were just up ahead. If he could just make it in there, lose the cars between the dense trees and hide before they had the chance to find him again…
Or, that’s what he would’ve done, if not for the rumbling of the ground behind him.
It wasn’t the vehicles. They were too far away, headlights only barely visible on the horizon.
No, this was—
Pursuer was… well, pursuing him. On all fours. They were horrifically fast, but as Artful stumbled over himself from shock, they didn’t take the chance to close the distance. Instead, they slowed down just long enough for him to regain his footing before resuming the chase. Like some sick game of cat and mouse.
His wand. Maybe— maybe he could cast something?? He nearly dropped it as he held it out, the air itself growing lighter as something formed out of it.
Bricks. And those bricks instantaneously formed into quite the well-crafted wall. Unfortunately, Pursuer was much too quick, so the only purpose it served was a temporary roadblock for the cars behind them.
At least the police force was stunted in their chase—? No, wait, judging by the sound of bricks being ruthlessly torn apart, the vehicles had simply gone right through. It made sense… wasn’t like they were far enough to be able to stop. Still though, they didn’t even slow down.
He couldn’t stop either of the parties chasing him. The best he could do was hide.
Artful forced himself to speed up, ignoring how his legs cried out in agony with each step— adrenaline numbed the worst of it, but it stubbornly remained as an afterthought. Each breath came out torn and ragged, dragging in air through overworked lungs, just to get a smidge of the oxygen his body desired. No matter how much he took in, it wasn’t enough. His vision was growing dim at the edges, yet he refused to stop.
Artful didn’t want to die. How selfish.
The rows of dilapidated buildings and pothole-ridden paths gave way to dense foliage. He ducked into the treeline, wincing as stray branches scored scratches on his arms and rips in his sleeves. He pushed them aside the best he could, all the while searching for a place to tuck himself into and disappear. There were no streetlamps here to light the way, the stars blotted out by the treetops— it was almost pitch-black, and it took everything in him to not accidentally trip and fall.
The cars had stopped, having long since been shut off. No doubt they had switched to being on foot. He only had so much time before they commenced their search.
It was quiet. Even the evening birdsong was absent, replaced with nothing but the whistling of the wind— wait.
The footsteps behind him were gone.
Where was Pursuer?
Artful located a small nook by accidentally running into it, one formed from the outcropping of a steep hill, and ducked inside. The darkness mostly hid him from view. This was acceptable.
Nothing was there to accost him the moment he stopped. Nothing was there to tear him apart, take chunks out of his flesh like what was done to the others.
Did it just… lose interest? Or was it somewhere nearby, invisible, waiting for him to lower his guard? He hoped it was the former; surely the government officials tracking them down had to be more appetizing, right? Pursuer had called him sickly earlier, for whatever reason. Inedible.
‘Like a corpse’. Was it talking about his makeup? It was heavily applied, mostly for stage lights that no longer graced his presence. He made a mental note to grab some more at the next town he visited, tucking himself further into his little corner as footsteps became audible.
“We got reports of Artful before this, but by the time we arrived… you saw what happened.”
“So there’s two of them? And they ran off together, you said?”
“Mhm. Maybe if you weren’t so busy messing with the radio, you would’ve seen it.”
“I wasn’t just ‘messing with it’, I was trying to establish communication. The others needed to know.”
“Whatever… footprints trail off around here. Keep an eye out.”
“You too.”
Two figures pushed their way through the underbrush, cast in dim light from small flashlights attached to their vests. No stone was left unturned, the forest left in disarray as foliage was shoved aside and dirt was kicked up.
Slowly, they were growing closer to his place of hiding. And there was no doubt that they would check here.
Artful started to panic.
He’d been chased by these groups before— armored vehicles driving straight past as he ducked out of sight, treating the forest as a safe haven with countless places to escape from view. But luck was a huge part of why he’d evaded them for so long. In a place like this, with less places to hide and more competent people, he wouldn’t last long.
He could attack them now, catch them off guard— there was no guarantee that would work, though. These people weren’t stupid, both of them with rifles trained on their surroundings. They watched the other’s back, each step choreographed to ensure they couldn’t be surprised. And even if he did get the jump on them, who’s to say there weren’t others nearby?
What if he just didn’t move? Would they glance over him..? That was unlikely. One of them peered into a cluster of roots that breached the grass, through an opening barely large enough for a person. If they were checking places like that, his little nook was definitely next up on the chopping block.
He knew he didn’t have much time left. A few minutes, at most.
He had to come to a decision. Fight, or freeze? Flight had long since fled the occasion. It would be stupid to run in the face of trained gunfire.
Just— think, you fool. They’ll kill you. They’ll kill you and you’re too scared to do anything about it—
A scream, sharp and guttural, pierced the night. He couldn’t fully make out everything, but he saw one of the flashlights flicker before going out.
His blood ran cold. What was happening?
Another shout. The panicked firing of a gun, leaving his ears ringing. A pained roar.
One last fleshy impact, and then nothing.
Artful chose freeze. He was so still, he found himself unable to breathe. Fear nestled deep into his bones, a chill crawling up his spine and settling at the base of his neck.
More screaming. This time, it sounded much closer.
Oh.
It came from himself.
Claw-tipped fingers dug into his wrist, dragging him out of hiding and attempting to pull him deeper into the forest. He looked up just as a hand clamped over his mouth, catching a glimpse of teal as his cries grew muffled.
Pursuer.
It was panting, hunger replaced with something different, something cautious.
“Quiet,” it hissed, and Artful nodded. His mouth was hesitantly released, and he resisted the urge to shout for help.
Swallowing his terror, he forced himself to speak as Pursuer tugged him further into the dark.
“W-Why are you—“
“Quiet or I kill you.”
Artful nodded again, fervently this time. Pursuer responded with one last pull— he went along, not wanting to fall.
There were more voices, now. Lights piercing the thick foliage as people came closer to their destination; Panicked instructions and demands were difficult to ignore as they happened upon the bodies left behind. Pursuer was dead silent, the only sign of its presence being the hand clamped around his wrist.
Artful, however, was only human. The darkness ahead was absolute, and he couldn’t see a thing within. He stumbled over clusters of roots, was disoriented by low-hanging leaves whacking against his face. Where Pursuer was graceful, Artful was a blundering idiot. He would’ve felt embarrassed, if he weren’t busy being scared for his life.
All the while, the question of why he was being taken weighed heavy in his mind. Pursuer, from the little Artful had seen of it, was a murderous powerhouse capable of dispatching crowds of civilians with ease. Surely his magic wouldn’t be enough to defend himself, right? He was easy pickings, but Pursuer had labeled him as inedible. It looked at him the same way it looked at the bodies it left behind, meat left to rot mere seconds after death.
Terror. Rage. Bewilderment. All these conflicting emotions left him reeling, so out of it that he almost fell right onto his face as Pursuer dragged the two of them behind a tree. His back was pressed against it, with Pursuer looming over him.
A light cast just behind them the moment they hid. The tree blocked most of it, but if Artful focused, he could make out his unwanted companion a bit better…
..Was that blood?
A blue liquid stained Pursuer’s midsection, dripping down its stoney hide. A smattering of bullet wounds seemed to be the source.
If it were human, it would be long dead by now.
Artful didn’t have time to think on it too much, though— he bit back a yelp as Pursuer leaned closer, pushing him against the rough bark.
“You ran. You knew.” It wasn’t accusatory, nor angry. Just curious, with a hint of urgency in their raspy voice. “Small metal… small metal things. Explain. Now.”
Artful pulled at his dress shirt collar, trying and failing to alleviate the feeling of suffocation that pressed in on all sides. “Uh— uhm… those are called guns. Humans wield them for protection.” Whoever held the flashlight was coming closer, that much was obvious from the sound of grass crunching underfoot. They had to hurry and form a plan before they became target practice.
“They can hit you from far away, b-but they need to be aimed…” Suddenly, an idea formed in his head. He pointed at Pursuer, then back behind them.
“They can’t hit you if they can’t see you.”
Pursuer nodded, and within the blink of an eye, disappeared.
The next few seconds went past in a blur.
The light grew blinding, Artful squeezing his eyes shut as it was shined directly into his face—
BANG.
A sharp pain bloomed in his arm, another on the tip of his ear.
SHHLCK.
The sound of flesh being torn was expected, but not at all welcome. Artful’s breathing grew ragged as he stepped back, clutching at his arm as he forced himself to look at the mess.
A choked gasp pierced the air. His attacker laid bleeding out in the grass, jagged cuts across their neck. And Pursuer, visible once more, was devouring them slowly.
It was distracted. He had to go, now.
Whispering prayers in French, Artful turned and ran for the third time.
He barely got two feet away before something pushed him to the ground.
Forcing himself to look up through bleary eyes, all he managed to make out was a maw of razor-sharp, bloody teeth…
Allowing his head to hit the dirt, Artful let unconsciousness claim him.
Better to be asleep when I die.