A/N: I promised porn but I got side-tracked by the gloomy weather outside my window. Warnings for explicit gore, blood and general madness. Also, cannibalism.
He stares at the sky unseeingly, barely comprehending the pain coursing through his decimated body. He waits, because that's all he can do now. Wait for the end to come. His fight is over, he had lost.
His view of the endless horizon, darkened with the grey clouds that were rolling in is blocked abruptly by Rogue, and his vision is filled with redness, deep dark madness that lurked in his eye as he stares at him, hovering above him on his hands and knees.
He's not unscathed, he knows because he was the one who put those wounds there. Thick, red blood drips down from his right eye socket. He thinks his last attack did it and feels regret momentarily before he remembers why. He had killed him. Rogue had killed Lector. Grasped his friend's tiny body in his hands and squeezed the life out of him. And Sting had watched as he did it, once again he had watched his friend die, unable to do anything to save him.
There was no one else around this time to save Lector, no handy teleportation magic to shift his friend away from harm. No one but him and his once partner, driven mad with his own grief when his own exceed had been killed a week back. It had been an accident; no one was supposed to die on that day, no one was supposed to die on his watch.
But they had. Frosche, sweet tiny little Frosche had died in Rogue's arms. He still recalled the way his partner had screamed with rage, the tendrils of shadows whipping out and snagging the perpetrators responsible, the dark mages they had been tasked to take down. He still recalled their screams of terror when the shadows tore them apart, gore splattering the forest grounds and painting the surrounding greenery a sickly red. He recalled the shadows turning on him, curling closer around him and his partner's words, quiet and laced with malice;
'It's all your fault.'
It had been, in a way. He had been the one to suggest bringing their exceeds along. Had been confident that despite the level of difficulty of the job, he would be able to keep everyone safe. Rogue had argued that it would be better to leave their little friends behind where they would be safe, in the hotel room, and they did not have to fight while watching out for them. Frosche was fine with it either way, he always agreed with whatever Rogue had to say anyway. Lector had taken his side, arguing that he wanted to see his cool, strong partner trash the dark mages. Rogue had still been unsure, confessing that he had a bad feeling about this, and he reassured him, bragging that he could just keep his mind on the fight because he could fight and keep both their exceeds safe at once.
And then all hell had broken loose.
They had returned home, and Rogue would not speak a single word to him or Lector, still cradling his friend's little body. He finally let him bury Frosche in their backyard after he pleaded with him the entire night. As he heaved piles upon piles of dirt and earth onto the green exceed's body, covering more and more of it until he was no longer visible under all the soil, he glanced at his partner who was standing at the edge of the grave. And with every shovel of dirt he piled on the grave, he saw the light go out of his eyes and saw madness flicker into life behind those blood red eyes.
A week later, Rogue came up to him one dreary morning. He looks up at him and feels the blood in his veins turn to ice. There in his hands, is the body of his beloved exceed. Lector calls out to him to save him, tells him that Rogue has gone mad. He never finishes his sentence because Rogue grips his small neck in his hands and squeezes. There is a loud snap and it is silent. Sting thinks he knows what madness feels like now.
They had fought. He had attacked him blindly in his rage. Rogue matched him blow for blow, drawing blood with his katana and his lightning quick attacks, while he swung his fists at him, leaving dark bruises and fractured bones in the wake of his attacks. He never wanted to hurt his partner like this, he remembered thinking as he smashed a magic-enhanced fist into his chest and felt the ribs beneath give with a sickening crunch. But they have gone too far now to turn back and things will never be the same ever again.
Rogue surges forward despite the pain he must be in, eyes focused on the end goal as he impales him on his blade, the momentum pushing them to the ground. He lands on his back, rolling to his feet as soon as he hits the ground and lashes out angrily, dragon claws finding their mark and tearing into soft tissue and flesh. He hears Rogue cry out in pain, his voice wet with the blood that must be clogging up his throat. He knows he ruptured something in his previous strike.
They separate, and he pauses when he sees what he had done. Rogue stares at him, pain in his features or what is left of them. The right side of his face is a gory mess, sticky with blood and he watches as Rogue lifts his hand up to his ruined right eye, sharp nails digging into the bloody socket and tearing what remained of his damaged eye out with a hiss of pain. He feels sick down to his core when Rogue tosses the bits of what used to be his right eye aside and resumes the fight.
He cannot remember the rest of the fight after that, but as he lay on his back, arms pinned to the ground by Rogue's blades and a gaping wound in his chest, he found he couldn't care less. At least this would be over soon. He was wrong.
Rogue didn't just want him dead. He wanted to devour him down to his bones. He screamed in agony as the Shadow Slayer tore at his flesh, stripping muscles and tendons from bone and spilling his blood onto the ground, staining it red. Just when he though he was done, he felt him pause, hands hovering as if in debate. Then he understood. Rogue had torn right through him to his lacrima. The lacrima pulsed weakly, slowly losing its potency as a result of its dying host. He knew what the Shadow Slayer would do even before Rogue himself did, and when he reached in and tore the lacrima out of him, he felt pain unlike any surge through him, jerking in place with the utter pain and shock of having his magic forcefully wrenched from him.
The last thing he saw was his once partner's eye, dripping in red and ruin and sweet, sweet madness. Rogue smiles at him, the effect horrific with his teeth stained red with both his blood and Rogue's and bits of Sting's flesh. The Shadow Slayer raised his stolen lacrima to his bloodied lips and Sting closes his eyes, falling into the dark void of death as sweet oblivion claimed him.
Feeling the White Slayer take his last and final breath, Rogue stood. The dragon lacrima he had stolen from Sting mixing inside him with his own, giving birth to a new form of power, insanity and evil.
A/N: Makes sense that the only story I write with both characters being their original gender is a gore-filled horror fest with cannibalistic themes. Go me.