Hello!
I have never written anything ARK related before, and felt like my boy needed some love outside of RPing events.
I only own my characters.
Please note that the second chapter will be longer, will have two major fights, and will be extremely brutal, and ultimately end with Diaval washing up upon Nublar's shore. I decided to split the introduction into two chapters, partly in warning, and partly because I'm not sure when I'll update it.
The second chapter will be more based on RP events, but only slightly.
The ARK story lore is also slightly different, if only because the events this story is based on existed before ARK's canon lore was well established. So things might be taken with a grain of salt. Not that it really matters much, since the main setting will be on Nublar.
Either way, thank you for checking this work out!
Blackness.
Diaval remembered he could see nothing in the darkness.
He could feel the cold, hard stone-cruel and unforgiving compared to his mother's warm womb.
The dank and dark air-chill with an earthen scent-was so harsh upon his lungs as he first breathed in ragged gasps, jaws gaping.
He could feel the warmth of his mother's blood upon him.
Coating him.
Protecting him, if how ever briefly from the harsh elements of the underground cell.
He could smell her.
Smell the iron in her blood, the salt within her sweat.
He could feel the mighty pulsing of her heart quake the very earth.
Panic, and an overwhelming sense of dread flooded the hatchling Reaper's senses.
He could see nothing.
He could hear nothing.
But he could feel.
And what he felt was the coldness of the underground lair, the jagged, harsh floor of the cell scraping against his belly. His insect like legs hitting something-something strong and rugged, piercing and cold.
It caused the hatchling Reaper to fret, and try to flee the danger.
Diaval only hit something hard-a sharp, piercing yet dull pain resounding through his snout and head.
Pain-and panic-
-He was being attacked.
The hapless little creature, blind and deaf, scurried about the tiny cell that was barely large enough to fit more than one person, running into the uneven and calloused stone walls-banging into the metal door of the claustrophobic prison.
The small, nigh insect like creature was so convinced it was being attacked, that it was fleeing from an unseen hunter.
Diaval was only fleeing from his own perceived fear, sprung forth from the instinct to survive.
The instinct to fight, and cling to life.
For just a few more, precious seconds.
The instinct to fight for his life, when he was just born.
Blood of a greenish hue began to blot the uneven cave walls, sizzling upon the rock and slowly eroding the stone.
Diaval did not realize that in fighting to save his life-he was killing himself-acidic blood running down his snout and jaws.
Diaval's skittering across the cold, rough floor of the cell was put to a halt by a pair arms wrapping around him, and hoisting him off the ground. Arms that were radiating warmth, if however caked in blood and grime they were-if however malnourished they were. The warmth of the now familiar and all consuming cold of the earthen air and hash prison almost felt too warm to Diaval-too hot-as if he were being burned by fire.
The Reaper King produced shrill, squeaking rasps, limbs flailing and tail thrashing.
The hold upon the hatchling became tighter, more firm, and the cooing of a woman's voice rang out like slowly dripping honey.
But they were sweet nothings he could not hear.
A mother's calming of her child that Diaval did not comprehend.
The newborn Reaper's struggles softened as he felt the beating of his mother's heart, pulsing through her arms to the same rhythm that often lulled him to sleep in her womb. Her heartbeat, pulsing and sharing heat and warmth to him, sheltering the blind and deaf little creature from the harshness of the world, if ever so briefly. Blanketing him with warmth-with the safety and security Diaval remembered feeling in her womb.
Where everything was warm.
Where everything was safe, and nothing was scary.
It was then that Diaval fell lax, comforted by his mother's warmth, and scent.
The scent of blood, and filth, and perspiration in the earthen cell with a metal door.
It didn't matter to Diaval.
His mother was his mother.
His mother smelled like home.
No...
His mother was his home.
Diaval was far used to pain than he was his sight.
The juvenile Reaper's whole world was nothing but darkness, the surrounding cavern walls of his prison crushing, and all consuming. The metal gate that led to the outside was the only light source, down here in the dark.
But Diaval did not mind the dark.
The dark brought comfort.
The dark brought a sense of security.
Like being warm, surrounding by the warmth of his mother.
But Diaval did not feel the comfort and security of his mother's hold in a very long time.
He could no longer smell his mother's scent.
He could no longer smell home.
He no longer was home.
Diaval liked seeing only blackness.
Because when the scary creatures came-with long things that shined with a light so bright it hurt his eyes-Diaval knew he would be hurt. The bright, shiny things would would be jabbed and thrust at him through the bars. Diaval was sure he cried out. But if he did, the noise of the electricity zapping his body-the blue sparks flying and the sound of his skin being burnt, fried and flayed was far louder than the cry he was sure he wailed. His body would spasm and writhe and twist, attempting to get away from the electric prod.
But he had no where to go.
He was growing too large to have ample movement in his cavern cell-and every move scraped his scales and underdeveloped armor around the merciless stone, his back arched, tail curled, legs crouched and neck craning downward to try and wedge himself in his every shrinking cage.
The smell of burnt flesh was ripe in the dank, dark air whenever the scary creatures would be done. The burns made it hurt to move, and blisters and sores would form upon his hide, marring his face, his neck, his chest-even his arms, in his feeble attempts to try and defend himself.
Yes, Diaval quite liked the darkness.
It meant nothing was there that could harm him, like the bright long things that hurt and burned.
But the bright light that burned and stung was not the only thing that brought Diaval pain.
The stabbing pain, like claws raking and piercing his belly, was always there.
The pain of being hungry was ever present.
Diaval did not eat often.
He often cried out through the hardened muzzle made of metal.
Cried out for his mother.
Cried out of fear.
Cried out of hunger.
Cried out of pain.
His mother never came to answer his cries.
Only the scary things did.
All the scary things were bad.
One scary thing was the worst.
One scary thing gurgled and howled when the bright light was pressed to him, and seared his hide.
One scary thing liked to eat in front of Diaval.
Diaval did not eat much, and the toll on his body was causing him to be weak, and emaciated.
Even if food was offered, the juvenile Reaper would struggle to eat through the metal confines of his harness.
They put him in one ever since he bit off one of the scary things' hands-and ate it.
Diaval wasn't sure what he should have been more fearful of-the horrid, howling screams of an injured beast vibrating off of the cavern walls, of the punishment he would surely endure as a result.
Diaval could do little but wait-
-And breathe, in the dank dark of his prison that grew ever smaller.
The noises were different, today.
Something was wrong, but Diaval was not sure what.
The ground shook, and the cavern tunnels echoed in loud pops and noises that the juvenile Reaper was unsure of.
All he knew, was that they were loud, and scary.
But things got even horrifying when a scary thing came.
Diaval expected the only thing he knew, deep down in the all consuming darkness broken by harsh light-pain. But the young Reaper King did not expect the iron gate of his prison to be opened, nor for tiny hands to to unlock the iron muzzle adorning his face to the tone of soft coos and a gentle voice.
Diaval did not understand what was doing on. His body shook and trembled, palpable terror dominating his body, filling his mouth with the cruel taste of dread.
He did not understand the strange noises the scary one was making.
Did not remember them, from a time when he was blind and deaf.
But when her slender, feminine hands gently, tenderly, lovingly caressed his snout to calm and soothe, Diaval remembered.
The quaking of her heartbeat, shaking the very earth and bounding against his black hide, radiating with warmth that pulsed and sedated his wounds.
For the first time, his muscles fell lax, and the knives piercing his belly from hunger became dull.
Soothed, and sedated, from the lulling rhythm of a beating heart, radiating forth like a beacon of faint, flicking hope not yet smothered by the darkness of the earth.
His mother came!
She smelled like Diaval remembered.
His mother smelled like home.
Diaval was not expecting his mother to be one of the scary ones-
-No, not one of the scary ones-
-Like the scary ones.
She looked like them, but she was so different.
She had yellow fur, and blue eyes.
He could see her face.
He could not see the faces of the other scary things.
Outside of his prison was even more scary, even with his mother there.
The scary ones were everywhere and had strange creatures with them. Many of them, Diaval was larger than them-but other were far bigger.
The young Reaper King did not know what they were, but his mother did not appear upset, or concerned.
His mother would protect him if something was wrong.
Diaval knew she would.
The juvenile Reaper was so focused upon the odd creatures and beasts, that he did not focus upon the changes of his environment.
He was far too focused upon his mother-who offered the young beast flesh of an unknown beast.
Diaval never knew when he would next get the chance to eat.
He ate, and devoured anything his mother set infront of him, saliva flying and pooling underneath his eagerly crushing maw.
Diaval ate until he vomited.
His mother was larger than him, once.
But the whelp Diaval once was seemed so long ago.
The Reaper King once relied upon his human mother for protection.
Now, with his mother only reaching the height of his knee-Diaval was her protector.
Indeed, the Reaper King grew into a terrifying beast: Athletic, powerful, intimidating.
Indomitable.
Yes, Jane chose the name Diaval, because she thought it fit well.
Diaval-Devil in Finnish, or some Celtic language-Jane was unsure.
But with the horns her boy had-Diaval may as well have been a devil.
If Jane had anything to say about her boy-he was handsome.
But any mother would say that about her child.
But she found Diaval to be special-striking-for his vivid coloration. The Reaper King sported pitch black armor, like obsidian-fairly typical of Reapers, from what Jane saw. But the skin of her boy was one of a golden hue, dazzling and riveting against the course dark of his thick hide. Her boy's belly was white-white, and pure. An odd color she found, to be among the ones of his own kind. And with his white, pupiless eyes, glowing in the dark? And the burning ember of hell that glowed in the back of Diaval's throat, shimmering like heated flames in a harrowing, thunderous scream?
Yes, Jane quite liked her child.
Her child, that was loyal only to her, and her alone.
In truth, the Reaper King was the blonde woman's closest companion.
She lost many things, when she entered this hellish ARK.
Her daughter will forever remain six years old in her eyes-regardless of the years that have passed on by.
Though it did not stop the questions of invading her thoughts. What did her daughter think of her? Was she angry, for her mother abandoning her? Was she still looking for her mother, after all these years?
How much did Jane miss out on her daughter's life?
How long was she truly gone? Jane was unsure.
The woman just knew that the life she once had, was gone.
Whatever hope there was to repair her failing marriage with her husband was gone.
Did Nathan worry about her, still?
Did he move on?
Surely, he did. He had to.
Or was he still loyal to her, still hoping for her, to come home?
After all these years?
It was not fair, to have her life, her future, ripped from her. But it was even less fair for the strain it put upon her poor husband that busted his balls working in law enforcement. It was even more cruel to her husband, and her daughter, than it was for Jane.
Her family needed her, and she simply could not be there.
Her old life-her old future-was dead.
And this new life gave her a new future.
For many reasons, Jane simply saw Diaval as more than an animal, or a pet, or a companion.
She saw him as her son.
Because having a son-a child-a thing to care for-gave her purpose, and hope.
But now Diaval was too big for her to care for.
It was more so the other way around.
In a sense, Diaval was simply a replacement for her daughter.
What was her daughter's name?
Jane couldn't even remember.
She wanted to say Sophia, but in truth, the blonde woman wasn't even sure.
She couldn't remember anymore.
And that knowledge that she couldn't even remember her own biological child's name, made her feel like she didn't even deserve to be a mother. No wonder she was spirited away to this strange place, without a way to ever go back home.
She was such a shitty mother, the universe decided her family would be better off without her.
Oh, well.
The universe could suck her lift clit.
Because like it or not, Jane was going to try her damnedest to go home.
But what if going home meant leaving Diaval behind?
Jane did not want to leave her boy behind.
She did not want to abandon and fail another child.
Thank you for reading and supporting!
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