A/N; I cheated a little bit. 'Beithíoch' is Gaelic for Beast, I just googled around xD Part of me really feels like extending the story and posting it on Deviantart…
I would also like to mention this does my head in. Why? Compare Zenon in the English to the Japanese. In the English it's very audible how much she god damn hates everyone. She sounds more pissed and spiteful than upset. In the japanese, her voice is quite… Soft, it really emphasizes that she's wounded by everything that's happened to her. It doesn't play the anger so much as her hopelessness and despair of being so alone.
So yeah. Zen isn't proving east for me to work with D: But hey that's what I got myself into.
Also, I've been looking intro trying to play Phantasmagoria. Failing, I've been watching a Let's Play! On youtube. You'll see the scene that makes me mention this if you've played the game, or at least seen supposedly very controversial scene X3
I also realise that in the last chapter there's actually an unfinished paragraph. I'll fix that. Later.
IDK, reading over this again it all seems like nonsense :( I apologize.
Zenon/Zenobia technically belongs to Nippon Ichi even though they've given so little to work on D:
I just use 'Zenobia' for the sake of the fic xD
There was a story some years ago of beast dwelling in the forest. It was large with many eyes, usually seen by children. Of course, these children very often disappeared. Those that made it home would tell that the creature had several rows of teeth, and an extra mouth across its stomach which opened up and snatched up those underneath it.
To a child, it was so large it blocked out the sky, and its footsteps shook the ground. Many told of seeing their friends devoured by what was soon named 'The Beithíoch'.
As the rumours began to spread, a mother took her youngest to the forest. She returned, but the child did not. She was met with good luck and soon received a fortune. Her household was blessed with brilliant health. She willingly admitted to giving the monster her child, as it promised her all of which she had received. Hearing and believing this, many townsfolk, beseeched by greed, began to sacrifice their children. The town prospered, although the young generation's numbers dwindled. There were bloodcurdling screams from the forest each night, a symphony of cried and shouts of agony. The sound of flesh ripping and blood falling echoed through the night air.
A swordsman and his family soon moved to the expanding town, unknown to the Beithíoch's presence. His wife soon heard all of the talk from her neighbours, and began to think. Come only several days of being in the town, the swordsman returned home to find his young son and daughter absent. It was little surprise to everyone else when the sound of yelling and crashes were heard from the house.
He stormed from the house, heading to the forest where the creature that murdered his children with the aid of his wife slumbered.
The father was never heard from, and the outcome of the Beithíoch was forever unknown.
It was the wall of decaying smell that hit the brunette when she pushed opened the door. It was the lack of lights that sent shivers down her spine, after that. Cassandra had a mild familiarity with this house.
It belonged to someone she could somewhat deem as a friend, but considering the condition… She tried not to think of it. No, it was not this friend she had on her mind to begin with.
This house was often a place where someone close to her often stayed, and it had been some days since she had heard from him. As much as she'd rather not step foot in such a place, it was likely that he was here, for one reason or another.
Now her stomach was turning. The horrible stench she couldn't decipher, and almost unbearable to breath. She covered her mouth, taking a step into the hall as the door slammed behind her. The hall had very limited light from the sun outside, and she had to squint to make out anything.
And then she froze. Suddenly, she could make out all the forms, all of the colours. The walls were barely visible, painted in what she thought was to be grim and blood. Lining the walls, what would have been people. But the bone, the discoloured flesh and organs, it all argued that these couldn't possibly have once been living creatures. It was all too… Grotesque.
She felt as if she was just about to faint, but was beaten to it. There was a large, heavy slam to head, and she collapsed into a motionless heap.
The back of her skull ached, practically unbearable. So much so, it took her several painful moments to realise that she could not move her wrists. At least, nothing efficient. She need not open her eyes to realise that both her hands and feet were bound tightly, strapping her down on a hard, cold slab. Her head still pounding, and she could blood continue to slither down her neck.
Whatever had caused the damage had meant serious business, that much she knew.
"How was it we found ourselves in this mess? Forget it, I talk too much these days. Perhaps because I don't have a choke collar anymore."
She jerked her head to the side, yelping in pain as she did. What felt like barb wire pressed into her neck, and she felt more blood trickle. Not fatal, but she knew tears were welling up in her eyes.
It was Zenon that met her view, having taken quiet paced steps towards her. The screech of a wooden chair's legs rang out as Zenon dragged it across the ground, sitting on it looking almost too pleased. She held a silver platter on her lap, and Cassandra was unable to define anything the was on it. She felt herself gag before Zenon carried on.
"I got rid of that a little while ago. I feel as if I should be able to understand that term, to spread one's wings, but…" She shook her head, pausing and staring directly into her captive's eyes. "Are you hungry, Cassandra?"
"What the hell is going on?" Cassandra spat, trying her best to jerk her body for some form of freedom. She closed her eyes as the pain sheered in her body.
"I used to ask that, but you always told me to shut up. Whatever I was thinking wasn't important." She replied in a matter of fact tone, crossing her legs and lifting the platter close to her chest. "I find the hierarchy setup pitiful. It should be 'If I can beat in your face, I'm better than you.', and Cassandra, I assure you, I could."
Cassandra opened her eyes and stared back, blinking back tears. "What are you raving on about? Zenobia, please… What's happened here? Everyone… All I saw were bodies!"
"Zenon, Z-E-N-O-N." Zenon corrected, almost hissing the letters. "You act more outraged than believed. You didn't come to my home looking for me, did you? Of course not, what have you ever spared for me? You disgust me."
She cleared her throat, continuing on without allowed Cassandra to reply, "It takes every ounce of control I have not to beat you now. Of course, instead of beating me back, you bribe someone stronger to do it. You could never fight your own battles. Always slinking in the shadows to take what was mine to make it yours. Conrad doesn't even taste that that good considering the fuss you put up."
Cassandra froze, seeing a fire in her old friend's eyes. Although her words had since become calm, her eyes burned with a type of hatred she had never witnessed. Something about it told her she was not getting out alive, no matter how hard she fought. "… You, knew about that?"
Zenon ground her teeth in annoyance, glancing off to a corner as a growl emitted from the back of her throat. "How could I not know? Just because you think I'm stupid doesn't mean I am. I have just always been… Forgiving, but I'm sick of that joke."
She glanced down at the platter, before standing up and standing close by the slab. "I saved you what I deemed as the best cuts, however. Are you more partial to lung or intestine?"
"Zen, tell me you didn't…"
"I'm afraid I didn't have the time to marinate all of this. So there's no Sweet and Sour, or pickled anything. Everything's just sweet and juicy, right out of the corpse – No preservatives. It's good for you." Zenon said apologetically.
She carefully placed the platter on an empty area of the slab, enough from Cassandra's body that she couldn't rock and knock it. She hummed, an unnerving smile on her face. She picked up some of the dark red gunk from the plate and pried open Cassandra's mouth with her spare hand. The concoction had a wretched, half slush consistency to it, dribbling down her arm. "Looks yummy, don't it?"
She shoved the dripping concoction into Cassandra's mouth, who's system immediately went into shock.
"This seems to just be a mixture of everything, I couldn't quite define it. But the blood and soft chunks seem to be complimented by the texture, don't you think?"
Cassandra began choking, desperately trying to eject the rotten carrion from her mouth. The taste was so putrid, so horribly strong, nothing could make her swallow it. Zenon seems to acknowledge this, glaring, and shaving it down Cassanda's gullet with her fingers. She choked and gagged in response, as Zenon grabbed a more solid piece.
"Tripe, you could say." She hummed, being somewhat more forceful as once again she pushed it into Cassandra's airways. "You know, I heard that there was a time where banquets for kings were very extravagant. They kill several animals as well as gut them, then they would shove the smallest into the second smallest, and that into one larger. So on until they had stuffed several animals worth into a boar, then they would roast it. Part of me wonders if you could classify this the same thing, although Conrad was larger than you."
Cassandra couldn't hold back the tears. She thrashed her body around, trying desperately to escape, move out of Zenon's grip, but to no avail. She could feel her airways constricting, and her eyes becoming heavier as no oxygen was supplied.
Zenon continued to hum, grabbing several separated bits from the platter and jamming them with the rest. "Diced lung, pancreas, liver… Oh, and a bit of the heart, I believe. A real mix bag for you. I'm sure he would have mentioned giving you his heart. How pathetic."
Cassandra managed to spit, just the slightest amount. The bloodied gunk bubbled from the side of her mouth, and splattered onto Zenon's shirt as she tried once more to gasp for air. Zenon growled, tightening her grip on Cassandra's neck. "Oh come on, that's just disgusting, I thought you had more pride than that."
As if feeling jaded by the act, Zenon grabbed the platter and dribbled the remaining items in, shaving her thumbs in and pushing hard. No air escaped, no air got in, and Cassandra continued to thrash. Thrash, thrash. Then the struggle stopped. The blood bubbled and dripped, and Cassandra's eyes stared off blankly.
Satisfied, Zenon drew her hands back and shook the residue from them, rubbing her fingers on her blouse. Such a mess for a pathetic girl, but at least it had been fun. She breathed deeply, sitting down on the creaking, wooden chair and crossing her arms. She looked to one of the stone walls, silent for a moment, letting her thoughts run.
"I want so much to be alone… but I question whether such a mish can be granted in this overpopulated playground I call home. I am beyond running yet I still wish to flee." She sighed, shaking her head and leaning back into the chair. "I am not like the others, or is that a lie I've fed myself in order to shield the small part of me still living inside? I have no reason to define myself separately except in hopes that I do not hurt myself like everyone else."
"…How drearily I live on."
She wasn't a pretty crier. She was well aware of this fact, even at such a young age.
Perhaps it had been her mother's scolding or disappointed looks from her father that hinted towards it. Tears overflowing, swollen cheeks, red face… And dribbling substance from her nostrils. Unpleasant.
She'd taken to stuffing several things into her pockets to clean up the mess whenever her fragile demeanor cracked. Although, there was never anything she could do about the shaking knees, or trembling fingers, or bloodshot eyes that followed.
She'd known others to have near cute faces as they grizzled. The types that brought them some form of pity. Perhaps seeing a girl she knew receive comfort was her first strike of spite, although she had not acted upon it. No doubt she would have thought back upon this and wished she had.
She could not think at this time.
Her mind raced and heart pounded, and certainly did not look pretty for a small child. There was no ounce of adorable appearance in her terrified expression. She could not think - her hands were trembling. She could not daydream - because her knees barely supported her as she tried so hard to run.
Beithíoch, it would appear, lived. Whether because of the persistent legends, or just to spite Zenobia herself, it continued to linger in the forests. It was Tobias who had been told the stories by his father, and had told the group in Zen's absence. It had been Cassandra who thought up the plan. Sacrifices weren't entirely few and far between, but the quiet girl was useless otherwise.
Zenobia herself, so used to her outcast branding from her hometown, had jumped at the chance to be involved with anything. She hated herself more than she could imagine for being lured, to anger towards herself almost stronger than her fear.
It had all happened so quickly. They were there, then they weren't… But it was, and it was hungry from years gone by.
For the past hour she'd stumbled through the dense forest, ducking under heavy roots and weaving through the closely grown, tall trees. The leaves blocked out most of the sky, and normally she would only be able to see in patches. In such a panic stricken state, she could barely see a thing, feeling through the obstacles more than anything else. No matter how fast and hard she ran, the creature was always close enough for her to smell it's putrid breath. The smell of rotten bones and flesh between its teeth was rancid, barely something she could stand to breathe.
She just couldn't run any longer, her small legs giving out. She had the will, but no more energy, leaving her to crash to the wood's floor. The broken trigs and stray stones scraped her skin and bruised her face. She crossed her arms below her, letting her head rest as she heard the loud footsteps speed closer. She breathed deeply, just praying that her chest could stop hurting before she met with those horrible teeth.
Aw hell. Why not gather up some courage in her last moments? She had always wished to show the strength she knew she had deep down.
She lifted herself up, wiping the tears from her eyes as she saw it charge. Looking about quickly, she grabbed a sharp limb of a fallen tree, turning towards the stampeding beast. She closed her eyes, holding the branch against her body with the lower end positioned against a tree's roots. The sharp, juttered wood point forward and upright-
It rained down – A hot, sticky liquid that felt like it sheered her skin. She let go of the branch and tumbled sideways, trying to clear her eyes as she looked up. The Beithíoch, having run at it's full force, and become skewered on the long, strong branch, jutting out the other side of it's back and spraying down a show of blood.
Zenobia scrambled away, trying to pick herself up but constantly slipping. The blood was pooling from the beast, and the ferocious cry it let out made her ears ring. The Beithíoch, only tearing itself further before the branch dislodged itself from the roots. The wooden splitters divided the skin, pushing to the stomach.
Zenobia covered her knows, feeling her eyes stink from the stench. She felt blind and helpless yet… Some how satisfied that she had at least wounded her attacker. It was a small victory, one that would most likely be short lived.
She curled up on the red ground, sobbing quietly and staring wide-eyed, despite the burning sensation in her eyes. She saw the creature stagger, the acid and contents of it's stomach spilling out onto the ground as it tried to free itself of the foreign object stabbed through it's body. Blood and saliva dripped from its lips as it turned, spotting the little girl once more. It gave a deep bellow, as if determined, and raised it's claws up high.
She staggered up, just narrowly jumping back to avoid a deadly swipe. Her shook with more force than it had before. She felt her legs cement to the ground, even with new-found power telling her to run, fast.
It raised its claw once more, angered, and Zenobia screamed. She threw her arm downwards, turning away.
The leaf canopy above tore apart as a powerful strike of lightning rained down from the sky above – And the air filled with the smell of burning, singed flesh.
She fearfully looked forward, seeing burning leaves snuff out, and the brighter light seeping through the new hole in the canopy.
And the dead creature, whose blood and organs had dried and cracked from the blast. It twitched and writhed, slowing until it no longer stirred.
Her knees finally gave in. She collapsed, falling onto her side and wrapping her arms around herself. She brought up those trembling knees to her chest, then stared. The blood stained leaves and tree roots danced and spun in her vision, leaving her dizzy. Her chest was tight and both her stomach and throat were knotted. Her sobs caught in her throat, sounding like choked back hiccups. She couldn't breath, still racked by fear with the dead fiend beside her.
She pushed herself up, gasping for air, trying to fill her lungs to scream again. Her eyes gazed down at the bloodied, burnt mess. Into the abyss of the dead, brutal eyes. They stared back, to her very core.
Her body hitched, and she jerked forward. The hot, burning sensation in her stomach and throat. The sheer distress pushed her simply to throw up. Her body shook fiercely, and she dared look at the beast once more.
She felt the bile rise in her throat once again.
If she ever needed more proof she wasn't pretty when she was upset…
The town appeared deserted by all except a traveler.
It was said to be the town of the Beithíoch myth origins. The traveler watched from the hill at the town's entrance, whose gaze was only met with blood-soaked buildings and dirt paths. Small, fragile corpses were spread out in front of what would have once been houses. In the frostbitten air, laid out beside each other, almost like gruesome ornaments. Withering trees stood tall in the town, and not a single one remained without the bodies of the rest of the inhabitance hanging from them. It was for the world to see, and the sky was becoming crowded with carrion eating birds, settling for their prepared feast.
Past the swarm of black and glow of red, at the other side of the town, the traveler spied a cloaked figure taking slow steps. A small one on their knees, trying to scramble away. Crying, begging, wishing to live.
The raise of one arm, bringing down the red drenched blade in its possession. A motion more like bludgeoning than slashing, leaving the ground painted like its surroundings. The roar of a different beast sung through the once prosperous town.