SUCCUMB

CHAPTER XIV - STILES

And then, heard around the neighborhood, was this loud shot coming from a smoking barrel of a gun.

Stiles felt pain sharply explode, his shoulder surging forward as a bullet was lodged firmly between the bones and muscles, blood trickling down his arm. He wanted to cough in pain, for his knees to give in and to drop down to the ground, just curl up next to his best friend but he couldn't control his body as a sadistic grin found itself forming on his face.

Stiles wanted to stop kicking the limp and bloodied form of his best friend but it was like he couldn't. It's like he's possessed and he couldn't stop because he's not strong enough.

'Oh, yeah. I am possessed.' He thought to himself dryly in both desperation and helplessness.

Even with the pain he's been dealing with, the searing pain he feels every time he took a step towards Melissa as her hands shook, still pointing the revolver at him, Stiles wanted to yell out. "It's not me!" or a more simple message along the lines of "Run to safety!", he wants to tell it to the world, to get the message across but whatever it was that took over him, whoever it was fooling his friends and family, tricking them into thinking that he'd snap and finally gone loco, Stiles wanted to tell them to run.

But it's no use, as Stiles struggled, a cry of pain escaping his lips when his body stepped forward, his leg aching as the bone broke when his father had swung a metal bat at his direction in an effort to stop him from killing Scott's dad, his own godfather who, in his defense, was actually trying to get his dad fired.

Stiles felt like collapsing from the pain, watching as Melissa fired another shot at his chest, his skin cracking like it was porcelain. "Stiles, step back!" Melissa roared at him, anger and hurt evident in her voice as it shook from fear. Stiles wanted to tell the woman who had basically raised him that it wasn't him, but how could he when whoever it was, whatever demon that possessed him decided to hurl the stake at his best friend, earning a cry from his mother. "Scott! Honey, oh, God! Are you alright? Can you hear me?"

Scott didn't respond. It was weird for Stiles because of the fact that he knew, that he could hear every cricket chirping. The feeling was absolutely foreign to Stiles as he saw dust being carried by the wind, the sound of Melissa's shaky breathing. It was weird because Stiles never had the ability of super-hearing and having that power thrust so suddenly into his shoulders—ears, to be more accurate—was a bit unsettling, though not as much as having a random evil spirit take over his body.

Unwillingly, Stiles looked behind his shoulder to take a look at Scott, lying dangerously still on the pavement, eyes glassy and left staring lifelessly across the street. "Oh, Scott?" evil-Stiles—it was easier that way to identify who was who—had the tenacity to laugh at Melissa, who looked horrified at the situation where she had a gun pointed at a boy she raised alongside her son and being absolutely helpless to help Scott to the point where she couldn't even go to his side.

To that point, Stiles wanted nothing more than to break free, so mustered up all the strength he had in his body despite the pain he felt as he tasted something metallic in the back of his mouth. Stiles was no idiot, he knew what it was and he had no trouble thinking of what's possibly wrong with him now. Stiles wanted to just stop it all and yet the best he could manage was a twitch with his right eyebrow, the very same twitch he would get when his father would call him by his real name.

Mieczyłsaw.

"What have you done to my son?!" Melissa demanded for an answer as her grip on the gun tightened, the smell of her palm's sweat becoming so powerful to his smelling. Stiles immediately felt sorry for Scott because if he felt that way, having to smell every single scent within a mile-radius, he'd go nuts.

"Your son," evil-Stiles spat at Scott's body while on Melissa's face was a look of horror Stiles had never seen before. "Your son will be lucky enough to breathe after he's been through what I have in store for him." A sick, twisted grin stretched along evil-Stiles' face when Melissa fired bullet after bullet into his chest until she had no more ammo left. Looking around, Stiles had to wonder why no one had been coming to their aid, wondering why someone was shooting a gun.

There was a kind of laughter that erupted from Stiles' body, like the evil version of him was really amused by something. "You see, the thing is, everyone is so susceptible to tricks that they-they're so easily manipulated to do my bidding," if Stiles could have, he would have cracked a smile. He was getting to evil-Stiles, slowly but surely. Even if the best he could manage was eyebrow twitching and slurred, drunken-like words.

But his victory was short-lived.

Scott finally gave a sign that he's still among the living by giving out an obviously pained groan, and when his best friend pushed himself to lie on his back, Stiles picked up on something cracking, breaking into pieces. Stiles grimaced because he knew that the sound came from Scott's bones breaking off into smaller pieces as kicking gave a rib cage no favors. "Help! Somebody, anybody! Please help me—" it was almost like he could read into Melissa's mind.

'If only it worked the other way around.' Stiles thought hopefully to himself as Scott, who was still on the ground, cough up black blood. Stiles tried to will his feet to Scott's direction, to help his best friend but i t was no use; whatever it was that was possessing him, it's too strong to control, to take control from.

"No one is coming to help you!" evil-Stiles shouted, the loudness of his voice sending vibration strong enough to leave Stiles breathless as if he were punched in the gut. Suddenly feeling pain with his leg, Stiles realized that he held Melissa by her neck, raising her off the ground, seconds away from choking her. "You don't have anyone because I am a god and you," his hand flung out a set of sharp nails—Stiles had no idea where those came from but he had a pretty solid lead as to what caused it—before evil-Stiles dug into the woman's shoulder, blood caking his hand within minutes. "You are going to die a slow and painful death."

Just as evil-Stiles was about to slash Melissa's throat open to leave her to drown in her own blood—God, Stiles thought to himself, why do I have to hear this psychopath's gruesome commentary?!—an arrow whooshed over his face, managing to draw blood from his cheek before catching it in his own hands. Studying the arrow, Stiles knew who it was from.

There are the end of the street stood Allison Argent, beside her stood Isaac and the twins, whose fangs were bared and her father who aimed a gun, behind them stood Noshiko and Ken Yukimura. Lydia, however, gave out a loud banshee screech, an ability she and Deaton have been working on the past few weeks.

Stiles braced himself, trying to prepare his body for whatever kind of damage it would do to him, a banshee's scream. He closed his eyes shut and breathed in deep, waiting for excruciating pain to kick in but it didn't. Wondering what happened, Stiles looked through what evil-Stiles could see and it was a mess: his body, it did something and he didn't know what it was but it probably had to do something with his hands because his palms were aching like crazy and he saw some bruising along the linings of his fingernails.

A sadistic smile once again took place on his lips. "Allison Argent. Bravo. You've managed to steal the people I care most about from me." Stiles heard Melissa gasp, breathing in deep when evil-Stiles let go of her, the way she desperately and quickly crawled to her son's side, gently trying to wake him up, urge him to heal and run the hell out of the street where everyone was hypnotized. "But you see, they're going to die and you're going to watch them suffer." Then, Stiles saw it.

No wonder his hands hurt, Stiles thought to himself as evil-Stiles gave out this really loud clap that managed to make a few cars inside garages alarm off. Whatever it was, it messed with everyone supernatural, even Scott who was already on the ground, doubled over in pain. "Stiles, I know you're not you! Give it up!" Argent shouted, warning him and yet he could see it in the older man's eyes that he was afraid. The tell-tale signs were there if the aimed shotgun isn't enough to relay the message.

Stiles wanted to yell out. He's a bit tired of hearing people telling him to give up, that he's not himself. He knows. It's like all the Spiderman movies showing how the radioactive spider managed to bite Peter or the grand sequence of events that eventually resulted in Uncle Ben's death—he gets it, Uncle Ben dies. The old man dies!

Stiles got the message, he understood that he wasn't himself but what he wanted his friends to grasp was the concept that they needed to get the fuck away from him.

And while the merry lot in front of him didn't scatter, Argent shot in his direction, immediately wounding him, resulting from a groan of pain, earning some shocked looks and expressions from his friends. "Perhaps all hope isn't lost for the host after all," Noshiko murmured as her hands around a small black blade tightened. Stiles didn't know why he was feeling a bit antsy around it but he did. He could see this aura enveloping the blade like it was cursed or something.

The spirit that possessed him, the entity that controlled him from the inside was telling him, yelling at him to back away and retreat now but he didn't. Stiles almost cracked a smile because he was finally winning over whatever the fuck it was. "Help!" Stiles managed to say over gritted teeth when excruciating pain radiated from his legs and chest even though his wounds had long healed.

Everyone surged forward but Noshiko, who kept her eyes on him as if she was closely guarding him. Almost like she was expecting something.

Stiles had half a mind to tell her to spit it out when his fingers began throbbing, a pain causing him to yell out and double over. Stiles swore that if light wasn't shining above him from a street lamp, he'd be mistaken for an animal in pain, an animal that should be put out of his misery.

Noshiko's eyes widened, all of a sudden, and broke the blade she had in hand. "Step away from the nogitsune!"

'Aah,' Stiles thought to himself despite the pain, so that's what this son of a bitch is called.

Stiles didn't know how exactly, but as he watched his friends watch him in horror and shock, he knew that his eyes were flickering between the normal dewy and whiskey brown hue to a dark, more sinister pitch black. "Can't hold it off for much longer," he said through gritted teeth as his strained face muscles slowly relaxed and morphed into a wicked grin. Stiles felt like yelling. He already had control of his body and yet he lost it!

"Stiles?" Lydia asked, her voice rising above the rest of the noise. Stiles wanted nothing more than to tell his girlfriend to look away, to go to safety because he can't guarantee anyone that they'd be leaving the street with their lives. "Stiles, is that still you—" the nogitsune cut her off with a cruel and sinister laugh.

Standing up straight, Stiles first felt the pain of his broken leg when his father decided to practice his pitching with his leg. "Your screaming has put a lot of things into perspective, banshee," Stiles yelled out in frustration while trapped as a spectator in his mind, locked out of his own body, nonetheless. "Certainly provides for clarity one would require." Everything was coming to Stiles now, all the scents he could possibly smell, all the whimpers he could possibly hear from Melissa. "But before I slash your throat to rid you of both your ability to scream and of your life, I've got another person on my agendum."

It was almost like magic, how his body had gone from a few feet away from Allison to a few inches, holding her by the neck, his new nails drawing blood already. "Aah, Noshiko, my old friend!" Stiles was forced to tear his gaze from his friend and felt his lips morph into a cold smirk. "I remember the last time our destinies have crossed paths." A cold and steely expression reigned over the older Japanese woman. "What, doesn't ring a bell? How about your old flame, Rhys?" and then there it was.

Stiles saw it, he didn't know how. There were a lot of things he couldn't exactly explain that went on tonight. Stiles saw the pain that came from her expression, the hurt that had seemed long gone resurfaced through her eyes as if it whatever had happened between them had only occurred yesterday. Stiles felt a bit relief, actually, when his evil-self decided to torment Noshiko instead because, in the corner of his eye, he saw Allison drop to the ground, gasping for a breath of air.

Stiles felt a bit of relief because he knew he wasn't a killer. She'd survive.

"Why that kanji? Why self?" Noshiko stood unafraid in front of him.

Noshiko looked down and gazed at his clenched fists. She smirked. "Because, like how the young Spark is fighting for control, Rhys died as himself and not as a monster. You won't win this battle, trickster." Stiles felt the evil trickster spirit grow angry and furious as Noshiko taunted him. Stiles wanted to yell, now more than ever, to get away because he couldn't fight it off much longer.

Anticipating an attack, Stiles looked away, not wanting to see his body covered in Noshiko's blood but nothing came. Nothing he had expect, anyway. "Noshiko, must you really think of me so vain?" feeling his lips formed a sadistic grin, hell broke loose.

It was more of a blur, actually. Stiles didn't see it all happen because everything passed through so quickly. All he knew was that he was that his father was shooting at him, Argent rushing to get back on his feet, and Scott, well his best friend was trying his best to shield his mother from everything that's happening.

Stiles thought of it all as a huge, grand mess that ravaged the streets. His new and sudden super-hearing picked up on his friends, scrambling to get back on their feet. The nogitsune, deciding to look back on them, Stiles saw that Scott was still heavily injured—his healing hadn't kicked in yet—and had Ethan supporting half his weight. Chris checking on his guns, probably wondering if he has enough bullets to take the fox spirit down.

"We have to find Stiles—er, the nogitsune before it hurts anyone." Scott said through pained gasps and quick breaths. Stiles felt a pang of guilt, even though he knew it wasn't him, it was still his body. A voice in his head kept telling him that he should have tried harder. He should have been stronger. He was powerless against the nogitsune tearing his best friend apart to pieces. "We have to get her back." Scott repeated that like a prayer, even though his body protested.

Stiles froze instantly, even feeling the nogitsune stopping for a while as time seemed to slow down when he looked at the group of people in the distance. They're missing someone, Stiles thought painfully thought to himself as his super-hearing picked up on a heartbeat from behind him. "Finally, we've afforded some privacy to ourselves." The nogitsune smirked. Stiles picked up on a strongly-scented chemo-signal. Realizing that it was weird, having the ability to smell confidence and disgust like some Bath & Body Works scent or a smelly gym sock, he decided that after all of this, he'd leave the sniffing to the werewolves.

"You won't get away with this. Stiles, he's strong—we'll save our friend." Finally, the nogitsune turned around and Stiles felt like breaking down.

Before him was the broken form of Allison Argent, her hands tied behind her back, a leg broken in three different places and a blooded lip to accompany it all. "When will you learn that it's not your friend Stiles I'm after?" the nogitsune asked tauntingly before raising his fist and knocking Allison out cold, the pain absorbed had given him enough strength to block him out for what seemed like eternity. "Don't worry, Spark." The fox spirit said sadistically. "The darkness is only filled with demons. It's not like you're unfamiliar with them."

And just like that, he was alone in the dark.

So, haven't updated in a long time (obviously). Spoilers for the next chapter: character death!