Quicksilver Brook
Summary: "What's your name?" / "Mercury." / "Mercury. Tell me, are you anything like your father?"
That first memory
is deafening.
A geyser
Of boiling rainwater
That carves a path
Into his skin.
Prying and pulling
At the cells,
Forcing them to split
With each incoming tide.
It leaves an odd taste
In his mouth.
Sharp, burning,
Like salt,
But it's coming from him.
One he comes
To know of
As an unwelcome friend,
As the years drag on.
He is woken
By the cries of an eagle,
A fluttering of wings,
The chirping of a weebill.
Gold overtakes silver,
In the resulting whirlwind.
A vase cracks him
Over the head
And he lies there,
On the carpet,
Chest rising and falling.
The world shakes
As the nest is ripped open,
Leaving a large scar
Among the twigs and leaves.
As she flees
His own wings
Carry him after her,
Tweeting for her.
Until those verdant wings
Beat him back,
Screeching so loud
That the very air
Leaves lacerations on his body.
"Stop following me!
Go back to your father!
You'll be just like him!
How could you not?
When you don't resemble me in any way!
You could just be a bastard!
One of his sluts' spawn!
Don't you ever come near me!
I never want to see that face again!"
It's the current
That carries him back,
To the burrow.
Molten lava burns him
With it's glare,
Oily shadows and ivory blemishes
Warp his vision.
Hollow wings snap
Underneath the weight
Of a boot.
The irony
Is not lost on him.
As he drags himself
Across the slippery ground,
Only to pierce the gray clouds
With his cries
Under a shattered moon.
The metal rod
Is driven right into his bone,
Crackling iron vines
Are tied among his nerves.
It takes some time
To get used to,
He has to learn everything
A second time.
It's a small
Price to pay.
What the Grimm didn't know,
Is that he had left him
With the perfect weapon,
One he could never let go of.
His training sessions
Are long,
When the demon is there,
But they extend into days
When he isn't.
He waits for it,
The amber liquid,
To disappear from
The glass.
To hear the footsteps,
Heading towards his door
The telltale slam of the wood,
A raised fist.
And then he strikes:
His own fists a blur,
Legs delivering blows
That sing when they land.
Each time metal meets flesh
He puts more force into the next one,
Carries the momentum
In every movement.
There is a crackle of flames
The nest is burning;
He grins,
Even as a knife digs into his thigh.
It doesn't matter,
Because he's going to end it all tonight.
His knees are on fire
Shattered
Blades, aura,
Has sliced his thighs and bone
So they no longer resemble living flesh.
Still his legs move,
The metal unyielding
To the blows that rain down
On them.
For each one he receives
He delivers three of his own,
Quicker, stronger,
More viscous.
No,
He doesn't look like his mother,
But his movements
Are closer to her own.
He doesn't stop moving
Until the last breath leaves the monster,
White fur stained crimson
The black corpse unmoving.
That's when he feels the flames
Wrapped around his thighs,
The shards of bone
Breaking the surface of his skin
Just beneath them.
They'll have to be upgraded as well,
He'll have to become less human,
Something more,
Closer to a circling predator
In the skies.
That'll dive on those that stare,
Like the two in the forest,
On the road.
Standing in a river of blood,
And she wants him
To join her.