Death and Pestilence

Chapter 8- Pride and Perversity

A/N: Aaaaand were back for another installment of the fresh hell that is this fanfiction! Congratulations to those of you who have made it this far, for we've finally reached the chapter that will force me to change the rating! Change the rating, Feathers, you mean from T to M? Wowzers! (Also congrats to those who noticed my rating was hilariously still T.)

And I know what you all are thinking. OH BOY, IS PLAGUE FINALLY GONNA TOUCH SPECTER'S BIG BLACK CAWK? No, no, son, sit down and eat your peas. Don't worry though, that's gonna happen soon, I'm just waiting for an appropriate time in the plot to do so. But I'm sure you'll- hehe- enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it (especially the end *cough* I MEAN-)

Anyhow, let me get to the real author's note. Just a notice on perspective and stylistic design, really. This chapter is written from Specter Knight's point of view, so you can gain insight on his *cough cough* motives. Also, I kept the narration first person because I thought it would fit the emotion behind this chapter. But enough of that, I hope you lovely readers enjoy!

How strange.

How strange, indeed.

This was not running as I had planned. What's the count of days? I could guess. What's the count of hours? Definitely more than I could tally on my fingers. What's the count of minutes? Oh, thousands for sure. Then what was the count of seconds, oh let me see...

...Three hundred forty-three thousand, two hundred and eighty three.

...Oh? Make that eighty-four.

And with each passing moment rampant desires festered within me. Festered, almost as would a plague, a plague with which a certain creature had infected me. A sinful condition was this lust. I even had an epiphany as to why those mortal fools do not condone it.

Lust left one occupied. Lust left one idle. Lust left one yearning, yet when one was always alone there was nothing for which to yearn but thoughts, ideas. The intangible. And so lust inevitably left one raging, raging at the thoughts you could not make physical, raging at every burning minute spent without him! Thus in my path lay nothing but bones, blood, and fear. As per usual.

At one point, my grave reminded me of him, so I was forced to abandon it (however, I checked it frequently throughout those few days lest he appear without my notice). Yet everywhere I wandered to reap souls were crows, and those damned creatures drew out my repressed thoughts of Plague Knight.

Oh, sweet Hades and Hel. Plague Knight, that pretty little imp, who smelled of sweet death and tasted just the same. Never in my life (or death) have I felt more indebted to and desirous of any one man. For what he's done for me. For what he can do for me. Yet there I was, sitting on the bodily remains of a successful hunt, pensive with thoughts of love. Thoughts I had never been bothered with since I was a mortal, naturally, and was drawn to delicious sin by a lascivious older farmhand. (Needless to say, we were both 'fired' upon the unmasking of our dirty secret. Except my firing was much, MUCH less literal. Though what need not be spoken stays as such.)

Bottom-line was, I had sunken deep into the throes of affection.

I shifted a tad, adjusting my rear to the curvature of my makeshift seat. The dead man's spine seemed to pop under my weight. The pool of blood below was agitated and splattered to and fro. But it would take more than silly sounds to distract me from my thoughts.

My plan was supposed to go smoothly, developed when I was informed that Plague Knight was also a member of the Order of No Quarter. I would intimidate him during orientation to inspire his curiosity into my nature, my existence. He would travel down to the Lich Yard, where I would seduce him and propose he became my lover. The image of him mask-less which I had seen before my death piqued my interest. Although I had nearly forgotten about him in death, that didn't mean I wanted nothing to do with him because of revenge or something asinine (completely the opposite, I would say). I was simply more invested in my primary passion, murder, and pursued it since the opportunities were abundant.

But now murder was dry and tasteless, as any job would be, while Plague Knight was new and sweet. Like a girl would a doll behind a shop window, I yearned for him, wanted him. Whether this was a passion or true love I knew not, but I definitely did not care either way. My chief priority would be to make him my own, and that was that.

Oh, but where was he now? Where was he as I waited patiently for all those three hundred thousand or so seconds beneath the merciless desert sun, beneath the tepid autumn moon? Why had he not come upon my beckoning the day after, or after the day after? Had I not enthralled him enough with my shady mystique? Had I not lavished him enough with sweet nothings and promises of pleasure?

I cradled my head in a bony hand. I sighed, heavy as the smog of a dead man's decay. It's been so long- too long- since I've practiced the art of love. Perhaps I misunderstood his intentions? No, no, not even a monkey would be blind to how he wanted me so. Perhaps I did not seduce him correctly? Well, I certainly did excite him. His heart was racing, a game hunter's horse couldn't catch up. Ah, it must feel wonderful to be so vivacious-.

"KE-KAW!"

"Quiet, bird, thoughts are flowing for once."

"CAAAWWW! Caw caw!"

I glanced at the crow near my feet. Or...crows, rather. Seems it attracted friends with its excited squawks.

"Caw, ka-KAW, caw!"

I rolled my eyes. "Fools. This isn't even your prey!"

"Craw, caw, keh, caw!"

My scythe appeared out of thin air besides me. I waved it threateningly at the birds, cutting pockets into the air before me. "SILENCE. BOW TO YOUR LORD!"

Still they did not yield. "KRAW, CAW, SQUAWWW, CAW." Ever relentless. Some even flapped their wings threateningly at me.

"Damn. Blasted knaves." I removed myself from the man's lifeless body. "Go ahead, eat your fill. I didn't even know crows diet like vultures." I hissed. Though they were oblivious to my slanders in the frenzy of hunger.

My plated, lackluster greaves clicked and shifted as I walked off. It felt strange to walk, so I floated. Then it felt strange to hover, so I descended.

~~~~

I understood now why I was walking. Feeling lost truly humbled a soul. It felt so foreign, so alien to be unsure. I have always been a man who knew what he desired, and what was required to attain the object of said desire. However, now...I did not even know where to begin. What measures might I undertake to win Plague Knight's favor? Would I have to barge into that decrepit, industrial castle of his and demand his affection? Or would I have to persist in waiting for him to come to me?

I sighed, peering up at the dry afternoon sky through my slitted visor. The faint form of a ghost flitted towards me. I glared at it, causing it to cower in fear. Despite that, it did not leave. When it began to talk to me, I tuned it out, engrossed in my thoughts. Why did the denizens of this land, why did my underlings feel so comfortable with approaching me? Why did Propeller Knight feel inclined to accost and show me kindness the other day? Why did Plague Knight not return to me? Why didn't those bloody birds fly away at my command, or this asinine shade flee at my glare?!

WHY DID I HAVE SO MANY DAMNED QUESTIONS?!

"H-hey, man, can you stop being all high and mighty and ignoring me, and just hear me out for a second?" The ghost mumbled in a dopey voice.

"LEAVE ME ALONE, you SIMPLETON. Can thou not see I am tormented?!"

"...What? Tormented? Maaaaan, you've got it all wrong. If anything, I should be more tormented than you! You're alive AND you're a king! But what am I? Nothing but a lame ghost living under this lame autocracy. I'm not down with that, man! I'M NOT DOWN WITH THE MAN!-"

"Hey, listen, calm down. If you wish for something to be resolved, just write it down and slip it into the complaint box, alright?"

"I WANT JUSTICE! YOU CAN'T PUT JUSTICE IN-..w-..wait, we have a complaint box?"

"...No."

"DOWN WITH THE SYSTEM! DOWN WITH THE SYSTEM AND IT'S CRUEL, NEGLIGENT RULER! WHO'S WITH ME?!"

A few other shades in our proximity turned their heads toward the direction of the rowdy one. Then their eyes fell on me. After a bit of pondering some shrugged and resumed their activities, or merely floated away. As did I. I didn't have to take this wraith's silly melodrama. I was a knight, not a king, dammit.

~~~~

Night finally fell on another dreary, forlorn day. So too did this knight fall in slumber after his daily vigil, though such a task was made difficult with the sheer amount of nocturnal activity. Skeletons, zombified and hissing with imaginary larynxes, prowled the barren cobblestone streets of the semi-tended Lich Yard like gravediggers on a Monday evening. Little ravens and frogs did the same, yet they were more akin to grave robbers given they were actually gaining something out of life.

When you were alive, the life you lead held much, much more meaning to it. The desire to survive and thrive was potent, so there were hardly ever any doubts that those meaningless, monotonous actions you performed each and every day of your humdrum existence were, in essence, purposeful (well, unless you were suicidal. But even then there dwelled little worms within you, somewhere, that would persist. Stubborn maggots which reaped joy from dragging your bones to and fro, from tossing your empty shell of flesh around like a rag doll, from unhinging your rusted jaws to sing notes of nonsense and reassure your fellows that you're doing "alright," that you have no call to cares, that you)-

Sweet Hades in hell.

I groaned in agitated anguish. "Being alive is truly terrible!" I hollered to an apathetic moon. "Why am I even alive again?"

No, wait. Why do I even bother? Where was I?

...Oh, yes. The living things. Things alive wished to live. Those dead also wished to live again, yet after a time they grew too accustomed to their state, and only knew how to be dead. Thus, those reborn, although alive, wished to be dead. What an ironic phenomenon. Just a few moons ago I truly yearned to hear my heart beat, to slay again, to feel heated, scarlet blood sift through my cold fingers and warm my very spirit to the bone. Yet now, although I was alive, I did not know how to make proper use of my life, add more purpose than being a reaper and terrorizing villagers (no matter how enjoyable that was) for the Enchantress's morbid amusement. (I didn't need her to tell me whom to smite and why! Though that was a different matter altogether.) I couldn't just live to survive, because I was already aware of the world beyond. And I couldn't just live to work, because I know how infinitesimal those efforts are in the larger scheme of life. And I couldn't just live to fulfill my own desires, either, because now my desires were either pointless or unimaginative.

I simply...didn't know how to be simple.

Yes, simple, as the crows that accosted me for food earlier. Simple, as my allies of the Order who believed there was meaning in pillaging and wreaking havoc on pitiful humans for sport, in acting as simple tools for the plot of a malicious mistress. Simple, as a certain mad scientist whose only aspirations revolve around creating and dispersing illnesses.

Perhaps...if anything, that knight could teach me the art of simplicity. That knight, who reeks and tastes of death, and is just as sweet.

I sighed, exhaling out a hot breath which I've held for much too long now. I tapped my thin fingers against the armrest of a cemetery bench, on which I was currently resting like some homeless bum. Suddenly and in the same agonizing manner as it had been for the past five or so days, my mind was overwhelmed with thoughts of Plague Knight. Thoughts of our encounters, of our discourse. Platonic thoughts, desperate thoughts.

...Especially desperate thoughts.

I squirmed on the bench, tossing side to side like a restless child in bed. It has been so long since I've felt these feelings, these urges. But towards him they were bountiful. Indeed this was infatuation. Infatuation for the pretty man who altered my life- erm, existence- for the better.

However, infatuation was only the beginning of his teachings in simplicity. I wanted more, and I knew he was more than ready to educate me. (But only in the lewdest of senses, obviously).

So why on earth had he not yet returned to me?! What could that little creature possibly be waiting for? Must I approach him myself?!

"GRAAAH!" I roared in aggravation. A loud, medium-tone crash reverberated through the empty yard as I slapped my palms against my forehead. It attracted the attention of some skittish skeleton, who almost released its cutlass in surprise. Though when it realized I was the source of its confusion, it shrugged its shoulders and padded along. Crows flew up to the stones near my bench.

No. No, I cannot approach him myself. In order to maintain my facade of mystique, I had to tone down my desperation when in Plague Knight's presence. I had to assure him that I was waiting, yet not eager, lest he not take me seriously.

...Lest he not take me seriously, as the ghosts, as the crows, and as the skeletons hadn't all day.

A raspy sigh escaped my lips when the realization dawned on me. How infuriating! Because of my damned obsession, my damned lust for the timid demolitionist I had been losing my cool, my aloof yet stern facade, and thus the respect and fear gained from my gross and ghastly denizens had diminished! "Argghh!" I bellowed a growl which again rumbled in the tranquil air of dusk. The bench supporting me creaked against the onslaught of my chafed kicks. Suddenly, my irritated mind began to wander once more. I was so damned peeved. I just wanted to release my anger, my aggression on a ghost, on a skeleton, on Plague Knight, on something!

Or...no, not Plague Knight. I couldn't do that to him. Unless...I could? Of course, I could do anything to anyone. I am dead after all. "No, dammit, you fool!" I hissed, slapping a hand against my forehead, then covering my eyes with my face.

But I can't help myself. This is silly. I laugh deeply, ominously. Now the crows finally decided to depart. I peered at them through the slits in my fingers as they frantically took to the skies, their sleek plumes glistening fiercely as if they were replacing the stars in the sky 'til twilight reared its ugly head. Dammit. I'm not going to woo him with that perverse attitude...

But...oh? Wait. What are these thoughts? Such curious thoughts; a little crow on his knees, begging. Begging for me to keep my distance, cornered against a wall, his hands cover his pale face and his eyes are glued to the floor. My hand reaches out to seize his wrists, both of them, and his trembling permeates my solid form.

...Desperate, desperate thoughts.

With one little tug I successfully lift the tiny crow off the ground. I turn him around and force him against the wall. A gasp escapes his chapped lips. I could've broken his nose, but I didn't care. Why didn't I care?

To where had my hand wandered?

I press myself firmly against the small of his back, fitting in like a ball in a socket, grasping his arms high above his head with one strong, fragile hand. A coarse giggle sounds through his ear, and I can see him shudder. He's not very discrete. Though that's more than fine with me. I'm elated.

My cold claws engulfed boiling flesh. It'd been a while since I've felt such warmth.

Standing on end like a cat's brittle fur, his tail feathers ruffle; something, restrained, struggles against them. His feet shift restlessly, though he remained rooted to the ground. Why didn't he hop away, the little crow? Why didn't he fly away? Were his wings clipped?

It was harder than marble. Or was that too generous a description?

At one point our breathing had almost synchronized, though when my fidgety hands unbuckle his belt, my breath hitches, and quickens in frequency. Now that they were loosened, I was able to infiltrate his trousers, brushing past his feathery hair. I am impressed by how excited he is. Impressed, yet not surprised. I was once an assassin, and not a few times had a male target of mine awkwardly acquired a...fearection, to be frank (I mean, it's not as though that was in the realm of impossibility). Slowly, deliberately, I caressed him, earning a few soft whimpers. I felt the sinews beneath his wrists gently tighten and shift.

It was difficult to keep a steady pace. I was erratic, fervent, starved. It has been far too long since I had felt this. It polluted my mind, all-consuming. Beauty in a simple impulse.

Of course, I needed more. So much more than this. I need to take him somewhere, to disrobe him, to take him. He clenches his teeth, though even then a ragged breath escapes and flees to the open air. But I still need more. I want to hear him sing. I remove my hand from his wrists, but he doesn't bother to lower his arms for some reason, embracing the wall. My fingers ease down his mandible, releasing all of those euphonious little songs of his. My dull laughter rings out in unison. One could turn the foulest of crows into a songbird, it seems.

Raising my lips to his ears once more, I rasp. "Why didn't you fly away, little crow? Are your wings clipped?"

Yet the only response I received was a groan: sudden, piercing, all too real, as I released, curling up. Horrified, any other skeletons and shades (when did they get there in the first place?) around me took that as a final cue to flee. Breathless and red-faced, I slumped back down against the bench, letting my ragged robes fall airily upon my spent flesh like the curtain closing on a show. And what a delightful show 'twas indeed.

Though I may have been relieved for the night, I was in no way relieved for all of those dreadful, ceaseless seconds to come.

A/N 2: Wow that was something, huh? Heheh…eh…*sweats nervously*

Also yea I know it's weird that Specter's fantasy was written in the present rather than past tense. I really didn't know how to go about writing that, so I just figured it might be in the present tense since the situation was hypothetical. If you have any alternative ideas on the matter, though, I'd really like to hear 'em!